They turned together and the church and congregation were behind them and only the clergymen and the altar and the great solemnity of the occasion before them.
“Dearly beloved.” They were two of the most solemn, most awe-inspiring, most joyful words in the English language when spoken together and at the beginning of the nuptial service. They had been spoken now, and the service was for him and Camille.
Joel spoke only to her when he made his vows, and she spoke only to him. But there were moments in life—their waltz in the Upper Rooms had been one and this was another—when one was aware simultaneously of the two realities of being alone or at least alone with one other person and yet surrounded by other people, all in one harmony of belonging to friends, family, community, the human race. They were precious moments, to be lived to the full and cherished in memory for the rest of a lifetime.
And then they were man and wife and no one was to put them asunder. They signed the register in the vestry and waited while their signatures were witnessed, and came out again, her arm drawn through his, to look about at their friends and family and well-wishers and pass along the nave and out into the spacious yard Bath Abbey shared with the Roman baths and the Pump Room.
He saw faces in the congregation this time, all smiling warmly, a few—Camille’s mother and both grandmothers, Anna—with tears in their eyes. Sarah was still looking on the verge of sleep, but she held out her arms as they approached and Joel took her from Abigail and held her nestled against his shoulder. Winifred gazed up at them with longing eyes, and Camille bent over her to kiss her cheek and then took her by the hand. And they walked along the nave, the four of them, a patched-together family united by the powerful glue of love and hope.
Joel smiled at his wife—good God, she was his wife—and held her arm more tightly to his side.
“Camille,” he said beneath the sound of the joyful anthem the organ was playing, “my wife.”
“Oh yes,” she said, breathless as they passed through the great doors into sunshine. “Yes, I am.”
A flower-decked open carriage would be waiting for them on the other side of the classical columns at the end of the yard to take them up to the wedding breakfast in the Upper Rooms, but first they would have to run the gauntlet of guests who had slipped outside ahead of them armed with flower petals to pelt at them and of curious bystanders who had gathered to watch the show.
“They will be horribly disappointed if we do not make a run for it,” Joel said, releasing Camille’s arm and grasping her hand instead. Sarah was snug and secure on his other arm. He leaned forward and grinned at Winifred. “Ready?”
“Yes, Papa,” she said, smiling sunnily back at him.
“Hold tight,” Camille said.
And they were off, running the gauntlet, laughing helplessly. Winifred’s giggles were high pitched and utterly joyful. Even Sarah was chuckling as though the game had been designed for her exclusive amusement.
“Happy?” Joel cried as petals rained about them and clung to their clothes.
“Happy,” his wife said.
“Happy,” their elder daughter screeched.
There were no other words beyond that obvious one. But why did there need to be when there were feelings in overabundance that were shared by one’s nearest and dearest?
The abbey bells were pealing out the glad tidings of a couple newly married.
Yes, this was indeed happiness.