Page 96 of Boy of Chaotic Making

The Leiningens had some rough edges, but Owein was learning everyone had rough edges. Granted, some were rougher than others, but even those might smooth out, with enough time and care. They were a nice family. Yet even if they hadn’t been, Owein would have kept his promise. He didn’t need Merritt’s help to do that.

And so, under witness of Lady Helen, Hulda Larkin, Merritt Fernsby, and Mr. Blightree, Owein approached the contract once more. Holding a freshly dipped quill, he wrote his name in shaky, unpracticed letters right under Merritt’s.

In the morning, they sailed back for Rhode Island.

Chapter 32

April 12, 1847, Blaugdone Island, Rhode Island

The door to Merritt’s bedroom opened as Merritt struggled to put on cuff links by himself. “Heaven help you,” said his friend Fletcher, jogging across the room. “You can’t look good even for your own wedding?” He grabbed Merritt’s stiff shirt collar and straightened it, then tugged on the shoulders of his blue vest.

“What?” Merritt glanced at the small mirror on the wall. “I think I look rather dashing.” In truth, he always thought he looked strange with his hair pulled back, like it somehow made his face bigger, though Beth had combed his waves into a rather nice-looking tail.

Fletcher took the cuff links from him and attached them himself. “Usually it’s the bride who takes too long, not the groom.”

Turning away from the mirror, heart doing a little flip, Merritt murmured, “Fletcher ... are they here? Did they come?”

Fletcher clicked the last cuff link into place and looked up, his face a stoic mask. It lasted for about two seconds before his white-toothed grin broke. “Yes, even your mother.”

Merritt sighed, laughed, and cried all at once. Stood back and wiped his eyes on his knuckles, then thanked his friend when he offered a handkerchief. “Praise the Lord,” he murmured.

“Don’t get distracted.” Fletcher took a step back and looked him over. “You can have the family reunionafteryour vows.”

“Of course.” He dabbed his eyes again and folded up the handkerchief. “I’m keeping this.”

Fletcher merely shrugged and held out his arm. “Shall I walk you to the altar?”

Merritt shoved the man and escorted himself to the door, unable to quell the smile on his face. He hurried down the hall and the stairs and through the reception hall. Out the door, where he could see the small wedding party seated before a large green arch with white April flowers on it. An outdoor wedding was a little eccentric, but the licensing had all been done through the church, and what was his relationship with Hulda if not a little unconventional?

He saw them almost immediately. His mother, Scarlet, and Beatrice took up the front row of chairs, his mother on the aisle, her body turned as she spoke to Hulda’s mother across the way. Her parents were stern folk who didn’t laugh enough, in Merritt’s opinion, but they were kind and seemed happy about the situation, and that was all Merritt could ask for.

Despite Fletcher’s admonition, Merritt went straight to his mother, who cried out and stood at the sight of him. He embraced her tightly, taking in her familiar smell.

“Oh, my boy,” she said into his hair, “you look so dashing!” She pulled back and dabbed at her eyes with her own handkerchief. “I think you’ve grown again.”

“I believe I will be two inches short of six feet the rest of my life.” His voice croaked, though not from the use of communion. He’d barely used the spell over the last month since returning from England. Few might be aware, but the average shrub and dormouse didn’t make great conversation.

His sisters stood as well; Scarlet leaned over and kissed his cheek. “We have many introductions to make, after,” she said, tilting her headtoward the second row, where a man and three boys sat. That would be Merritt’s brother-in-law and his nephews, whom he’d never met. His heart pulsed to bursting, almost like he’d felt when sharing his body with Owein. He nodded to the family. In the row behind them looked to be Beatrice’s brood. Her girls waved at him, making him chuckle. The next row held the Portendorfers.

“She’s coming!” cried out Danielle, Hulda’s younger sister. She, her husband, and her children sat behind Hulda’s mother, and behind them was Beth and, surprisingly, Myra, though the latter wore a short veil on her hat to hide her face. Owein sat beside Beth, his hair neatly combed back. His new jacket fit him well, but Merritt had a feeling it wouldn’t fit him much longer; that boy still had some growing to do. Their eyes met, and Owein smiled. Merritt could almost hear his words inside his head, like he was the dog again, saying something like,Will this take much longer?OrWhen can we eat?The thought stirred nostalgia, and Merritt found himself pulling out Fletcher’s handkerchief again. Baptiste took up the end of the row, beefy arms folded over his chest, looking very satisfied with himself. If nothing else, the luncheon would be splendid.

Shaking out his nerves, as he reallyshouldn’tbe nervous, having technically already been married for a month, Merritt went over to the very patient pastor. “Thank you,” he said.

The pastor nodded, and the small congregation rose as Hulda and her father stepped off the porch of Whimbrel House.

Heaven help him, she was beautiful. She wore a colbalt dress withlace, far more lace than Merritt had ever thought he’d see on her, though it adorned only her collar and sleeves. The dress had a wider collar than she normally preferred, elongating her neck and presenting that lovely collarbone of hers. Matching lace hung from her veil. Her arm looped with her father’s, and she held a very simple bouquet of white daffodils to match the archway. A light blush crossed her nose as she met his eyes. Merritt grinned, then reached out his hand as she neared.

As Hulda slipped her hand into his, her father said, “Do take care of her.”

“I shall do nothing but,” Merritt replied, and pulled her toward the pastor. He held both her hands in his and smiled; she mirrored it.

The pastor began saying ... something. It sort of went in one ear and out the other. Merritt couldn’t look away from Hulda’s eyes, which glimmered nearly green in the late-morning light. It had rained all last week, and they’d worried they’d have to move the wedding inside, but God had gifted them with sunshine today.

I love you,Hulda mouthed, and Merritt silently repeated it back, squeezing her hands. Her hair, what he could see of it under the veil covering it, was elaborately braided and pinned, and Merritt found himself very eager to ruin it.

Hulda tipped her head to the pastor, signaling that Merritt should probably pay attention now.

“Repeat after me,” he instructed, and Merritt did.

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