Page 175 of Lady of Milkweed Manor
“He’s told you our news, then, Mother?” Anne asks.
Smiling, Charlotte nods. She links her arm through Edmund’s, placing her free hand on his, as if drawing as much physical contact as possible deep into her healed but forever scarred soul.
Lucy, our youngest, comes up behind me and puts her hand in mine. “Why is Mummy crying?” she asks.
“Those are happy tears.”
“She is happy?”
“Yes, she is soon to be the mother of the bride.” To myself I add,and groom....
So we are to be related to the Harrises after all. Not the relationship any of us anticipated all those years ago, but the one God saw, designed even.
Charlotte Taylor is my wife, my dearest friend. And as I stand here at the edge of the garden she has helped me tend so beautifully here in Kent, watching her bright eyes flit from daughter to son, son to daughter, I see joy transform her countenance, her spirit soar to heights beyond earlier imaginings. I see her lift her face to heaven and I know she is thanking God. From where I stand I join her prayer, thankful that He has transformed all the pain and sacrifice of the past into something so beautiful. I leave my solitary post and step into the garden, into the sunlight. Thankful, especially, that I am here with Charlotte, to watch her, finally, fly free.
