AFTER-PIECE

It was not a lavish affair. The parents of both the bride and the groom were deceased, and no other relations were in attendance at eleven o'clock in the morning, for the wedding of Miss Victoria Faith MacKenzie and Mr. Jack Dance at the ancient parish church of St. Nicholas in Heathpoole.
   
Jack would never have believed he could ever persuade Tory to get married in a church; he'd have preferred the playhouse, himself. But Tory warmed up to the idea as soon as she learned that St. Nicholas was the patron of sailors and ships. Besides, it was not the fearsomely modern St. Mary's Chapel at Heathpoole Wells; the church of St. Nicholas might as well have been hewn out of the rugged stone of the cliff on which it was situated, south-west of Prospect Square, overlooking Heathpoole Bay.

No less ancient and craggy was the vicar, Mr. Templesmith, who performed the ceremony, a merry old soul with pink cheeks and hair as white as seafoam. It was true that he had never seen either the bride or groom inside his church before, but both had been well-known about the town for twelve weeks the previous summer, and they had recently purchased a house in the village, so Mr. Templesmith was satisfied as to the legalities. Then, too, during their previous tenure in the town their theatrical company had staged two benefits in support of local charities administered by the church, so the vicar assumed that God was satisfied as well.

The bride and groom were both of legal age, and both had sworn that there were no impediments to their union, in terms of either consanguinity or other living spouses. No groomsman stood up for the groom, nor maid or matron of honor for the bride. Instead, all five witnesses stood in a half-circle behind the couple while the brief ceremony was performed — brief because all commands to obedience and duty had been removed at the groom's request.

In the event, Tory had neither to be dragged to the altar nor coaxed to play her part, seizing the moment fearlessly. She was so radiant, standing beside him in her simple, moss-green frock, it was Jack who almost forgot what he was about. But when they vowed to love, honor, cherish and support each other, a poignant hush settled over the witnesses arrayed behind them, all of whom later signed the register: Mrs. Jane Kennett, Mr. Thomas Ashbrook, Mr. Christopher Bell, Mr. Albert Delaney, and Mr. Alphonse Belair.

No time, money, or energy was expended on a wedding breakfast, much less a honeymoon. Both parties agreed those resources might be put to better use elsewhere, besides which, as Jack had pointed out, it was assumed by everyone outside their little circle that he and Tory were married already. But Delaney stood them all to a noonday glass of fizz at the Half Seas Over to mark the occasion, which was heartily enjoyed by all.

The others then repaired to the playhouse to prepare for the arrival of the rest of the company, over the next few days. Their private celebration, Tory knew, would begin later tonight. And last the rest of their lives. 

Top: St. Govan's Chapel, St. Govan's Head, Pembrokeshire, Wales