When the Rain Came -- A Wedding Story

My very first blog post is a wedding present to Anna Meade and Michael Loy as part of the Dark Fairy Queen Writerly Bridal Shower (#DFQWBS). True love prevails! 

Anna and Michael -- I raise a glass to a happy marriage and a lovely life. xo

 

When the Rain Came

By Leslie Fulton

eBook: Yes

The drought had been vicious that year. Trees sulked, flowers refused to bloom. The river was oily and sluggish, its waterfall a silent clamber of rocks.

It was taking its toll on animals and people too. Birds refused to sing. Woodland creatures only stirred from their burrows to listlessly look for desiccated acorns. Folks were ornery when they could summon up the energy—most of the time they sat on their porches and stared out at the fallow fields.

It was a bad time. 

A few bright spots shone through. One defiant lilac tree, the oldest, burst into fragrant purple blooms. A lone robin warbled its summer song. And a young couple fell in love and planned their wedding.

“Are you sure you don’t want to wait until the rains have come and gone?” asked Anna’s aunt. “It’s awfully dusty and dry. Not a pretty time for a wedding!”

“Positive,” said Anna firmly. “I know what I want and what I want is to marry Michael. I’d do it tomorrow if I could.” 

Her aunt shrugged. “Well, we’ll just make the best of it.” She leaned over and gave her favourite niece a kiss on the forehead. “No matter what it’ll be a lovely wedding and you’ll be a beautiful bride.”

The days passed. The sun shone cruelly. But Anna and Michael were resolute in their good cheer. They loved each other and they were to be married soon. And some day the clouds would roll in and the soft sweet rain would come, Anna was sure of it.

The morning of the wedding dawned as it had for the past 365 days—a hot sun on dry land. A canopy had been set up in the garden, white chairs arranged for the guests. Anna slipped into her lacy gown and anxiously looked up at the bright sky.

“Anna!” She smiled when she heard the voice of the man she loved.

“I can’t see you, you know that,” she called from the window, careful not to let him catch sight of her. She believed in these time-honoured superstitions.

“My cousin sent us an amazing gift,” said Michael. She could hear the excitement in his voice.

“What is it?” she asked, peering around the curtain.

“It’s a surprise. You’ll see it when you walk down the aisle.”

Anna checked her clock. She could hear the assembled guests buzzing happily. Ten minutes to go before she married the man she adored. She carefully fastened a rope of pearls around her throat, a treasured family heirloom.

It was time. Anna gathered up her skirt, took a deep breath and opened the door to the start of her new life. When she emerged from the house the music started—a selection of old standards Anna loved to sing. 

As she slowly walked toward the canopy, Anna’s eyes caught glimpse of a miracle on the brown grass. A thick swirl of red, pink, orange and white rose petals marked the path toward her future husband. The air was redolent with their sweet scent. This was the gift from Michael’s cousin—a burst of colour on a parched landscape. 

Anna reached for Michael’s hand and turned to him, smiling.

And then the rain came.

Legend has it that as testimony to true love, roses always bloom along Anna and Michael’s nuptial path through drought, sleet and snow.