A Wedding in Appomattox Virginia.
It wasn’t a hurricane, not even quite a tropical storm. We were headed west and hoped to beat the rain, hoped for the sun to shine on Roxanne’s wedding--her outside wedding. But the rain seemed to travel with us, towards the foot of the mountains, to the farm.
By the time we saw the balloons and dirt road leading to the farmhouse--the sprinkles had turned steady. We passed a freshly cut field where an arch had been erected and artfully adorned with dark, red flowers and ribbons. The wind blew sheets of rain onto the cars parked on the side of the road, and onto the huge white tent behind the farm house.
The clouds remained white and we still hoped for the sun to make its way through. It’ didn’t.
By the time we saw the balloons and dirt road leading to the farmhouse--the sprinkles had turned steady. We passed a freshly cut field where an arch had been erected and artfully adorned with dark, red flowers and ribbons. The wind blew sheets of rain onto the cars parked on the side of the road, and onto the huge white tent behind the farm house.
The clouds remained white and we still hoped for the sun to make its way through. It’ didn’t.
The guest list had grown from a modest fifty to one-hundred. The farmhouse had one working bathroom--located off the master-bedroom, and had no door. So a bank of porta-johns had been placed behind a hedge of laurel, close to the tent.
It was the end of summer. We had gathered around the porch, under the trees. Girls and women, dressed in light dresses, held umbrellas over their heads. Men pulled golf umbrellas from their cars and work umbrellas from their trucks. Everyone hoped that the arch in the field would be abandoned and the ceremony would be held in the huge, lovely, white and dry tent. But word came that we should proceed to the field.
We did.
We made a canopy of our umbrellas, organizing the smaller ones in the center and the larger ones on the outer edge. Those without cover were called over to stand within the circle. The men with their backs to the on-slanting rain found their trouser legs soon soaked. But our bodies began to generate warmth within the circle. There were several clusters dotted around the field.
We waited.
Word came that we should move closer to the arch and make an isle of sorts for the wedding party to pass through. We walked as a unit, keeping umbrellas overhead and in formation.
The groomsmen and groom took their places in front of the arch. The mothers were escorted down the aisle--men holding umbrellas high overhead. The bridesmaids in royal blue, knee-length dresses of different designs, carrying bouquets of roses and berries, balancing assorted, borrowed umbrellas in the air, most wearing cowboy boots - made their way to the left of the arch.
Music drifted across the field, piano, “The Glasgow Love Theme”, and Roxanne appeared in her white, lace dress--looking like a goddess--a wreath of flowers and berries on her head, a bridesmaid holding her train out of the puddles, the flower girl tossing red rose petals along the way in front of her.
When she reached her groom, the umbrellas were tossed aside. They took each other’s hands and smiled and laughed as the officiant read the ceremony as the rain turned the paper soft in his hands.
Roxanne and her James were married. And that was that.
© Glenda Kotchish
September 28, 2015
