Chapter 35 — The Wedding

The day was warm and sunny, and a clear blue sky and glowing sun lent brilliance to the beautiful day that Saturday afternoon in June. The moment had come. No one had been allowed in the tall iron gates without their guild-edged invitation, and there were no exceptions. It was the most talked about event in Brier Hill County: romantic images and heated discussions about the bride and groom; rumors circulated Stephanie would be a runaway bride. Stratford Place was a photographer’s dream, an elegant old country estate sitting high on a hill with lush landscaping; they swarmed the grounds, some in trees, all eager to get the best shot.

There was an awed silence when the guests, sitting in rows of folding chairs on the spacious lawn, saw her coming through the gate in an open carriage pulled by two white stallions. The clip-clop of the horses’ hooves on the cobblestone was the only noise. Stephanie wore a long white veil, a gorgeous white silk organdy wedding gown, and held a cascade of blush-colored roses. She glowed and smiled demurely for the photographers—looking radiant and happy as the horses cantered up the hill.

As she drew closer, the enormity of the massive crowd hit her hard: her heart skipped a beat, and she held her breath. She did not regain her composure until the white gazebo came into sight, and she saw Richard standing tall, looking exceptionally handsome in his black tux—he was, undoubtedly, the most handsome man she’d ever known. She could see the excitement on his face as he craned his neck slightly to glimpse her. She was about to become Mrs. Richard Cooper.

She hesitated when the carriage came to a full stop, and she came face to face with Sawyer. It was an agonizing moment: She turned pink—thankful for the veil that partially covered her face. Sawyer stood beside Judge—the resemblance between the two uncanny; anyone would know that Sawyer was Judge’s son. The irony was that it was Sawyer who gallantly lifted her out of the carriage. A look passed between them.

Sawyer’s mouth brushed her veil covered ear. “This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do,” he whispered, his dark eyes sad, unable to disguise his emotion.

A flock of squawking geese flew over in formation, drawing the attention away from them momentarily. They both looked up, in unison, at the geese, and it broke the tension. The photographers captured it all: the geese, flying overhead against the clear blue sky; the bride’s face, in awe of nature’s gift; her hand clutching the handsome Mennonite’s shoulder tightly. It would create a sensation among the readers of the bridal magazines.

All the attention was on the geese. No one noticed the big black raven that swooped down and dropped a black ribbon as Sawyer set her down onto the wide crimson velvet rug strewn with rose petals.

Nothing could have prepared her for this moment: being the center of attention while five hundred people stared at her—watching her every move. She felt overwhelmed as she clutched Daniel’s arm and bravely forced herself to look into the crowd.

“Smile, Stephanie,” a photographer said as a flash went off in her eyes.

She forced a plastic smile, grateful for the veil that hid the tears that kept rising within her, making the guests a blur. Her white linen shoes stepped upon the black ribbon. Doubt filled her. A shudder went through her. Her heart pounded. She leaned into her father for support.

She wasn’t far from Richard, but she couldn’t bring herself to make eye contact. Her emotions were running rampant: she struggled for composure, wanting to run. Had she dared to look, she would have seen what everyone else saw: a tall, handsome Matthew McConaughey look-alike smiling broadly with a cleft chin, with a look of adoration, waiting patiently at the end of the red carpet.

Suddenly out of nowhere, a huge bumblebee buzzed and made circular motions around Stephanie’s head. She tensed, ignored the bee, and kept walking. Her father’s sting would be much worse if she didn’t go through with the ceremony. She was further distracted when Raven flew across their path. She missed a step and fell out of sync with her father.

Stephanie straightened her shoulders, but her eyes followed the bee that continued to buzz around her head. She watched as Raven flew to the gazebo and sat atop the white structure, adorned with pink and white roses.

Richard had lost his broad smile. He watched nervously, taking out a white handkerchief and wiping beads of sweat from his brow. It had occurred to him that she might, very well, run. A bee had targeted her, and she was showing signs of panic. Regardless of what she might do, he could not alter the fact that he was deeply in love with her; and his steely blue eyes willed her to make it to the altar.

She could feel Raven’s beady black eyes boring into her from atop the gazebo.

At the altar, Daniel shook hands with Richard. It was a defining moment. Daniel, a man of immense wealth and distinction, had ‘given his daughter away’ to his best friend’s son. A man of status: wealthy, ambitious, and successful; a man who came from a strong line of men equal to the Stratfords lineage. In Daniel’s mind, it was a match that could not fail. He kissed Stephanie lightly on her forehead and walked briskly to his seat in the front row. He sat down next to Marguerite and took her hand.

Stephanie kneeled next to Richard at the altar and tried to ignore feelings of doubt. She gazed momentarily at the old priest: he was flushed and sweating from the heat under the long white vestments. A large gold cross hung around his neck and swayed like a pendulum. She found the cross hypnotic and dizzying and tried not to look at it.

The buzz of the bee came closer and closer. Stephanie felt it land on her neck in precisely the same place where Damien had bitten her. There was a sharp, burning pain, and she felt herself falling in slow motion as everything went black.

Damien’s wrath was upon her. 

Stephanie’s face turned white, and she gasped for air.

“She’s in anaphylactic shock,” Richard called out with a sense of urgency. “Does anyone have an EpiPen?”

“I have one,” a friend of Marguerite’s called out.

Bradley rushed the pen to Richard as he laid Stephanie flat. 

Marsha rushed to Stephanie’s side and held her gown up while Richard pushed the epi-pen into her thigh. There was a click. 

Richard wiped beads of sweat off his brow with a white handkerchief, then squeezed her hand. He held her tightly, his anguished dark face inches from hers. Stephanie squeezed back, morbidly aware of her family surrounding her: Daniel, Marguerite, Parker, Marsha, Richard, and Sawyer.

Suddenly she felt herself leaving her body, engulfed in blackness, and tumbling aimlessly through the air. Black turned to fiery red. She found herself in the Crimson Room in Damien’s grip. His expression was venomous, as he held her tightly in his arms.

“You will not marry the mortal,” Damien lashed out. “You belong to me.”

Teetering on the brink of two worlds, and locked into a battle for her life, she said, “You sold me. The curse has ended.” 

“The curse has not ended,” he blared. “When you are nineteen and nine days old, I will come for you.”

“You’re lying. It is not my fate to live a life of servitude to a dark prince.”

“It is your destiny. I am your Master.”

Her voice weak, she somehow managed to say, “You are not my Master. I choose The Light.”

The words alone had given her strength. 

Miraculously, a bright light engulfed her, and King Midas appeared. 

“Let her go,” King Midas commanded. “She is mine. You sold her.”

She felt Damien release her. He faded away into the darkness, and a vision of peasant women on her knees praying flashed through Stephanie’s mind. She wasn’t alone—there were other’s fighting evil, and their weapons were prayers—not swords. 

 Stephanie felt herself rapidly passing through dimensions, and was elated when she caught sight of a castle in the sky made of jewels: rubies, diamonds, jade, opals. Everything imaginable. Was this the Jewel Box? What was happening? King Midas had claimed her. Lillian had said he wanted her for Midas. Her mind willed herself to stay but a thunderous voice said: It is not over my child; you must return to earth.

Stephanie did not want to let go of the vision—The Jewel Box is where I need to be—somehow, I must find my way back. The vastness of the cosmos was overwhelming as she traveled faster and faster. A Mad Hatter appeared wearing a green top hat, carrying a green umbrella turned inside out. 

“Help me, please,” she cried out. “I need to get back to the Jewel Box.”

“You’re going the wrong way, Miss,” he said, smiling a toothy grin. 

Stephanie landed with a thud. She opened her eyes, feeling weak but more aware than she’d ever been in her life. Was escape only an illusion? A feeling of dread filled her body. She still felt Damien’s hold on her. Her eyes followed the cross, swinging back and forth in front of her. The old priest was on his knees, anointing her forehead with oil. Was he giving her the Last Rites? A small voice deep inside of her told her she must fight to live. 

A faint Mona Lisa smile crossed Stephanie’s lips as she gained the strength to reach up and rip the cross from the priest’s neck. She felt victorious as she held it to her lips and shut her eyes, feeling the vibrations of the cross. 

“She’s alive,” the priest gasped, catching the gold chain that had once held the cross in his hand. He looked at Richard, unsure whether to go on with the wedding ceremony.

“Proceed with the ceremony,” Richard said, his voice holding a sense of urgency. 

“Stephanie, do you take this man to be your wedded husband?”

Stephanie clutched the cross tightly, as if she feared recompense from Damien. “I do,” she said, her voice weak but determined.

“Richard, do you take this woman to be your wedded wife?”

“I do,” Richard said.

“I now pronounce you man and wife,” the priest said.

The hills and valleys echoed with the sound of music, as Maggie Thornton, the organist that she’d known since childhood, played the recessional Ave Maria. “I’ve won a battle, Stephanie said triumphantly as she clutched the cross tightly. Her breathing returned to normal. 

Richard, exuberant, gathered Stephanie up in his arms and kissed her tenderly. He carried her down the red carpet to the horse-drawn carriage, smiling for the photographers. She blushed when Richard kissed her—the cameras flashing as he climbed into the horse-drawn carriage holding her as if she might break. 

Richard accepted congratulations triumphantly, exclaiming, “I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

Stephanie took a deep breath, thankful to be alive. Had Richard saved her life? Or was it King Midas? It was unsettling not knowing. 

Richard kissed her, a tender kiss. 

The guests followed the carriage until they came to the tent, then they swarmed in droves into the big white tents. The popping sounds of corks of champagne bottles could be heard.

The Stratfords and Coopers were ecstatic. They were now joined by marriage and would now spend every Christmas and Thanksgiving together. Every holiday was mandatory. The family hovered together.

“At last, we’re family,” Daniel declared triumphantly. Ecstatic, they all hugged and kissed—ready to begin a new chapter in their lives. And hoping for their first grandchild to join their bloodline together.

Stephanie bit her lip wondering when they were going to stop this craziness of talking about grandchildren. God knows—Damien would never allow a child. She sat next to Richard in the carriage color slowly coming back into her face. Though she looked contented, her mind was running rampant. There was Sawyer to think about, and some Amish still believed she was a witch.

Damien had sent the bee to put her to her death on her wedding day. Would she have to fight Damien for the rest of her life?  The bee had rendered her helpless and her only ammunition was prayer, willpower, and perhaps the oil the priest had anointed her with had warded off evil. For now, victory was hers.

Stephanie looked up at Richard. He leaned toward her, and their lips met. He kissed her, a long, lingering kiss. There were flashes as photographers captured the moment.

The words that her grandmother had instilled in her from a young age rang in her head…

Fairy tales can come true… if you believe.

But somehow Stephanie didn’t believe it.