Page 165 of Save the Date
She felt a warm surge of happiness, at the surprising recognition that these were her people, and that finally, she belonged.
“I know Ryan tried to explain this, but tell me again how you’re connected to the people who own this plantation?” the Colonel asked.
“Mitch and Libba Strayhorn are friends,” Cara said, liking the way the word sounded. “And clients. Jack and Ryan totally rebuilt this barn,” she added proudly. “And pretty soon, they’ll be family. Their son Harris just got engaged to Jack’s little sister Meghan. You’ll meet everybody at the reception.”
From inside the barn, they heard a piano softly playing, accompanying the violin. And the first strains of Mendelssohn’s wedding march.
“Okay. Now!” Ellie whispered. The Colonel stiffened and froze.
“Now!” Ellie repeated, waving her hankie like a starter flag. “Go. Go. Go.”
“Dad?” Cara squeezed the Colonel’s arm. “Just this once, maybe I could be on time?”
***
Every head in the room was turned in their direction. Somebody, probably Ellie, had remembered to turn off the overhead lights and switch on the dozens of strings of café lights that crisscrossed from the barn beams. Their guests’ faces were a blur of golden light.
She floated up the aisle on her father’s arm, hurrying a little to match the Colonel’s measured march steps. At one point, it occurred to her that she hadn’t actually hired a piano player for the wedding. When she glanced toward the altar, she was shocked to see an elderly woman with a shock of white hair pounding the keys of an upright piano she’d never seen before.
Sylvia Bradley? Only Jack Finnerty could have managed such a feat.
Finally, they were at the altar. Jack and Ryan stood at ease, dressed in dark gray dress pants, open-collared white shirts, and mismatched vintage tweed vests. Cara had made their boutonnieres herself, from flowers she’d planted in the courtyard garden at Jones Street, sprigs of dusty miller, lavender, tiny white asters, and blue salvia wrapped with raffia, backed with a single quail feather.
The minister, one of Jack’s high-school classmates, wore a dark suit, and a jaunty straw boater with a sprig of lavender tucked in the hatband.
The Colonel reached out and shook Ryan’s hand vigorously, then shook Jack’s, and after another moment, gave the bridegroom a hug.
He turned, kissed Cara on both cheeks, and stepped quickly away to a spot on the front bench next to Jack’s mother and father and Bert.
Cara was dimly aware of all the faces watching theirs. She heard the minister’s words, heard Jack’s deep voice, firmly pledge to love, honor, and cherish her. She heard herself breathlessly promise to do the same.
“I now pronounce y’all husband and wife,” the minister said. He grinned at Jack. “She’s all yours, buddy.” He nodded at Cara. “And he’s yours.”
Jack Finnerty swept Cara into his arms. She felt her legs buckle, gasped as he dipped her backward, low to the floor, felt his warm lips on hers. When he finally released her, she stood unsteadily.
“Okay?” he asked, his hazel eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Okay,” she assured him, breaking into a smile that lit up the room.
Ellie Lewis, standing to one side of the altar, exhaled for the first time that day.
The Colonel stood and shook hands with Bert again, as the guests stood and began to make their way to the bar at the back of the room. “Nice wedding,” the Colonel said, doing his version of polite conversation. “I think Cara finally got it right this time, don’t you?”
“Absolutely,” Bert said. “I’m kind of an expert on these things. They both got it one hundred percent right.”
