Page 66 of Lady of Milkweed Manor

W hen Edmund Harris found me in my office and asked permission to marry my daughter Anne, I was at first astounded, then utterly amazed.

The poor lad took my expression as hesitance and looked quite miserable.

For one flicker of a moment I saw Charles Harris in the young man’s face and thought of disappointing him in some sort of belated revenge for the obstacles his father had placed between Charlotte and me.

But I quickly banished the petty thought.

Thinking instead of Charlotte, as well as Anne, I warmly assured him of my blessing.

I follow behind now as Edmund goes to find Charlotte to tell her the news himself. I want to witness this moment from afar, so as not to intrude on their reunion.

I see them in the garden, standing close in conversation. Stepping nearer, I am just in time to hear Edmund’s words to Charlotte.

“May I call you Mother now?”

She looks at him, stilled. Then her face blooms into a radiant smile. “Nothing would please me more.”

Anne comes out of the house, and I blink away unexpected tears, stunned all over again at what a lovely young woman our daughter has become. She walks, tall and graceful, to join Charlotte and Edmund in the garden. She laces her arm through Edmund’s, and Edmund offers his other arm to Charlotte.

“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.