A June Bride

A warm south breeze brought an early morning mist that streamed in rivulets down the old farmhouse bedroom window.  The entire house was quiet and I blinked a few minutes to ensure I was actually awake and not dreaming.  It was my wedding day!  

My best friend was cocooned beside me in the bed, still fast asleep from her flight the previous day beating all the odds with an airline strike.  She’s here and that is all that matters now.  I watched her sleep awhile because I knew I would never get back to sleep.  With so much on my mind, that luxury would be impossible.  I inched out of the old iron bed as quietly as I could.  The bed creaked and groaned with my shifting weight, but my friend slept on.

“Rain before 7…sun before eleven,” I quoted to myself.  I wanted it to be a sunny day so our wedding pictures could be taken outside.  I felt calm.  It is typically easy to get me fired up and excited, but not this morning.  All the preparations were done, to the point that an older sibling said I was ‘organizing myself to death’.  It is my nature to be this way though, and it does relieve the stress at the last minute when my checklist was all complete.  It was to be the beginning of a lifetime of lists…little did I know.

I grabbed my Mom's green quilted housecoat off the hook behind the bedroom door and draped it around me.  It was comforting to have something so familiar to encase my shivering body.  Her scent still clung to the lace trimmed collar. This June had been a cool month and it was still cool at this hour.  I tiptoed across the upstairs hall and descended the old wooden stairs.  I counted the stair threads in my mind and instinctively stepped gingerly over the one stair that creaked.  Year and years of practice sneaking in after a date and not wanting to awaken Mom and Dad had paid off.  I waited a minute or two…there wasn’t a sound.

The heavy wooden door leading to the kitchen was closed and with dismay I knew pushing it open would probably cause a ruckus.  On closer inspection I realized it was just closed over, not latched, so it opened freely.  With a start I jumped when I realized I wasn’t the only one up at this hour.  In the corner of our country kitchen there was a rocking chair that was my Dad’s space.  He was sitting there, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor, with a cigarette in hand.  He looked up surprised to see another soul at this hour and smiled.  His baby blue eyes searched my face and in his usual deadpan voice commented; “You’re up early.”  It was then my heart took a leap and I couldn’t contain my excitement.  “I couldn’t sleep.”  Dad looked down at the floor and took another drag on his cigarette.  “I suppose not,” was all he replied.

I wanted to get dressed before the others got up and the house became a hub of activity.  My closest sister was my maid of honor and she was sleeping in the bedroom off the living room.  I knew with two other girls trying to get ready it would be pandemonium, so I relished the early morning quiet.  The first thing on the agenda was to iron my veil.  To this day I don’t know why I waited until the ‘day of’ to do this.  I hauled out the old metal ironing board and with a screech and a thud it was ready for its first assignment.  While the iron was heating up I carefully laid the veil over the board.  My Dad looked up and I could tell he was nervous.  “Please don’t burn that veil,” he murmured.  I laughed.  “It’s okay Dad, I won’t.”  He watched from his corner of the kitchen while I carefully passed the iron over the length of veil.  It was lovely.  I looked at it from a detached place, still not believing that in a couple of hours I would be wearing it.  Dad was quiet.  And that simple gesture calmed me.  Was he thinking of his baby girl getting married today?  I never knew the thoughts that passed through his mind that morning.  He was a man of few words.

Many years have passed since that June morning.  I can remember vividly the short time we spent together, alone in that old kitchen.  Dad had made tea and we sat together and sipped on it, chatting in hushed tones.  And just like the old folklore stated, a short time after the clock had struck 7am; the sun streamed through the sun porch windows.  It was going to be a great day!

June 29th, 1974

On June 29^th, 1974 at 10:00 A.M., I married my best friend.  39 Years later I can, without any doubt, say… he is still my best friend.  Happy Anniversary!!

L.Lorraine