"I take you to be mine ...."
The church is old, set deep in the Cornish countryside, a living monument of the Norman conquest. Built of local stone, it stands a stark grey in the midst of the lush graveyard, a strange contrast against the sunlit blue sky and the green of grass and trees. Even the headstones, some ancient, some newer, bear signs of the summer in the blossoming of climbing plants, the mottled spread of lichen and moss over granite and marble. Somewhere nearby lies the grave of the mother she does not recall and he could not save, laid to rest in the churchyard where she made her own vows more than thirty years before.
"....to have and to hold from this day forward ..."
The rings are new, minted and engraved purely for this purpose, a pair of shining golden bands that bear a single message of love. Perhaps they could have chosen to be a little fancier, a little more extravagant, but that would not suit them. There is nothing overstated or extravagant about the bond forged between these lovers; indeed, they care so little for outward displays and arrogant boasts of their affection that their party consists only of those who are necessary - witnesses and celebrant, and the couple themselves. Apologies will abound when the news reaches home, but for now, this is all they wish. All they need.
"....for better or for worse ..."
The car waiting outside is borrowed, practically an antique in itself, offered up by an old friend of the family to bear the party to and from their destination under the blazing summer sunshine. It is perfectly maintained, the product of much love spent over many hours to bring it to the full glory it enjoys now. A car any Bond would be proud of driving, it stands in polished perfection beneath the dappled shade of the ancient yew trees, awaiting its moment to bear the couple on their first journey as two legal parts of a whole. Only a short ride, perhaps, but significant. It bore them together but separate to this moment in time; it will deliver them safely to the next stage on their path, where a riverbank suite awaits them.
"....for richer, for poorer ..."
The necklace is blue, a sapphire heart set with diamond, the first gift made from him to her many months before. So precious, it is not worn but on special occasions, and this is one occasion where leaving it behind could be considered a crime of the first degree. It sparkles, resting lightly against porcelain pale skin dusted with light freckles, the sun-drenched gemstones close to a perfect match both for the eyes they compliment, and the eyes that watch as its wearer takes her place, threading fingers together as though never intending to part.
"....in sickness and in health ..."
The priest can remember standing here to marry the father to his own blushing redhead, so many years before, honoured beyond words that the child of that union has returned to plight her troth with her own true lover here on the very spot where the love that bore her was made manifest in the eyes of man and God. The father is quiet, touched to the core, his hands wrapped tightly in those of his second love as he watches the promises pass between man and woman, too much a man to admit to the happy tears that leak down his smiling face. He, too, is remembering the woman his daughter resembles so closely, the wife and mother they lost too soon, and yet he is still glad. Without that loss, he would not now have the love of the woman on his arm; his smiling daughter would not be wedding the man who matches her in every way.
"....to love and to cherish ..."
The groom is in shirt-sleeves, immaculately groomed as always, and yet he has conceded to the whim of his bride to shed the stiffness of suit jacket and tie for this occasion. It is a moment meant for them, not for those who will look at the photographs in later years. The bride wears a dress, yes, her bare shoulders covered with the open knit of a lace bolero, but it could pass for any summer dress. She will likely never wear it again, enough sentiment deep in her heart to preserve the soft white in some forgotten closet for years to come. It does not truly matter. She does not see what her groom wears, nor does he see what adorns her frame. Their eyes lock with tender devotion; the words pass between them, quiet and fervent; the rings settle to their new resting place, cool metal snug about warm skin.
"....until death do us part."
The promise is made, sealed with a kiss. From now until the moment that death catches up to them, they will walk hand in hand through the joys and woes of the life to come, bound together in the eyes of man and the eyes of God. No big white wedding, no loud declaration, no pomp and circumstance to announce the news that will filter through to those who care in the coming days ....that Jonathan has married his Victoria amid the quiet of England's summer, beneath the rose window of St Anthony and Our Lady's chapel deep in the heart of the Cornish countryside.
The church is old, set deep in the Cornish countryside, a living monument of the Norman conquest. Built of local stone, it stands a stark grey in the midst of the lush graveyard, a strange contrast against the sunlit blue sky and the green of grass and trees. Even the headstones, some ancient, some newer, bear signs of the summer in the blossoming of climbing plants, the mottled spread of lichen and moss over granite and marble. Somewhere nearby lies the grave of the mother she does not recall and he could not save, laid to rest in the churchyard where she made her own vows more than thirty years before.
"....to have and to hold from this day forward ..."
The rings are new, minted and engraved purely for this purpose, a pair of shining golden bands that bear a single message of love. Perhaps they could have chosen to be a little fancier, a little more extravagant, but that would not suit them. There is nothing overstated or extravagant about the bond forged between these lovers; indeed, they care so little for outward displays and arrogant boasts of their affection that their party consists only of those who are necessary - witnesses and celebrant, and the couple themselves. Apologies will abound when the news reaches home, but for now, this is all they wish. All they need.
"....for better or for worse ..."
The car waiting outside is borrowed, practically an antique in itself, offered up by an old friend of the family to bear the party to and from their destination under the blazing summer sunshine. It is perfectly maintained, the product of much love spent over many hours to bring it to the full glory it enjoys now. A car any Bond would be proud of driving, it stands in polished perfection beneath the dappled shade of the ancient yew trees, awaiting its moment to bear the couple on their first journey as two legal parts of a whole. Only a short ride, perhaps, but significant. It bore them together but separate to this moment in time; it will deliver them safely to the next stage on their path, where a riverbank suite awaits them.
"....for richer, for poorer ..."
The necklace is blue, a sapphire heart set with diamond, the first gift made from him to her many months before. So precious, it is not worn but on special occasions, and this is one occasion where leaving it behind could be considered a crime of the first degree. It sparkles, resting lightly against porcelain pale skin dusted with light freckles, the sun-drenched gemstones close to a perfect match both for the eyes they compliment, and the eyes that watch as its wearer takes her place, threading fingers together as though never intending to part.
"....in sickness and in health ..."
The priest can remember standing here to marry the father to his own blushing redhead, so many years before, honoured beyond words that the child of that union has returned to plight her troth with her own true lover here on the very spot where the love that bore her was made manifest in the eyes of man and God. The father is quiet, touched to the core, his hands wrapped tightly in those of his second love as he watches the promises pass between man and woman, too much a man to admit to the happy tears that leak down his smiling face. He, too, is remembering the woman his daughter resembles so closely, the wife and mother they lost too soon, and yet he is still glad. Without that loss, he would not now have the love of the woman on his arm; his smiling daughter would not be wedding the man who matches her in every way.
"....to love and to cherish ..."
The groom is in shirt-sleeves, immaculately groomed as always, and yet he has conceded to the whim of his bride to shed the stiffness of suit jacket and tie for this occasion. It is a moment meant for them, not for those who will look at the photographs in later years. The bride wears a dress, yes, her bare shoulders covered with the open knit of a lace bolero, but it could pass for any summer dress. She will likely never wear it again, enough sentiment deep in her heart to preserve the soft white in some forgotten closet for years to come. It does not truly matter. She does not see what her groom wears, nor does he see what adorns her frame. Their eyes lock with tender devotion; the words pass between them, quiet and fervent; the rings settle to their new resting place, cool metal snug about warm skin.
"....until death do us part."
The promise is made, sealed with a kiss. From now until the moment that death catches up to them, they will walk hand in hand through the joys and woes of the life to come, bound together in the eyes of man and the eyes of God. No big white wedding, no loud declaration, no pomp and circumstance to announce the news that will filter through to those who care in the coming days ....that Jonathan has married his Victoria amid the quiet of England's summer, beneath the rose window of St Anthony and Our Lady's chapel deep in the heart of the Cornish countryside.