"You're something else," Matt said. "Who is coming today?"
"Not too many people. You guys, my dad, Heidi and Patrick, Tylissa, Miranda, not sure about your brothers, and then Ella's brother, Derek, will be here." I counted my fingers. "I think that's it. Oh, and Dee."
"Can I go up and see Pop?" Matt said.
"Actually, I need you to help me bring him outside for the wedding. We have a cot set up outside for him. He wants to be there."
By the time we got Pop settled outside everyone else grabbed a blanket and had taken a seat on the ground. I greeted Ella's brother, Derek, and introduced him to everyone. The officiant, Mr. Wellington, also arrived. I showed him where to stand and asked Harold, still couldn't call him dad, to bring Ella down.
As he walked up the grassy hill and out of sight, my palms shook as I asked Matt to come stand with me. I didn't expect myself to get nervous with such an intimate setting, but I had waited for this moment my entire life. Years ago, when I found her and lost the receipt with her name on it, I thought for sure I'd never see her again. But she waited for me. And I couldn't wait to spend the rest of forever with her.
My Ella.
Matt tapped my shoulder. "Could you look any happier?"
"Shhhh . . there she is."
My bride. She stood at the top of the hill with my dad.
My heart quickened. She nodded to Tylissa, who handed her baby to Lydia and stood, picked up a violin from behind a tree, and began to play Canon in D. The same song Ella played the night I finally found her.
She walked toward me. I tried to take in the picture and store it for later. Her antique-looking regency dress sparkling in the sun, hair swept up with two white flowers, October trees of various colors in the background. Perfect.
She stopped and stood in front of me, face bright as her dress, a single tear just below her left eye. She mouthed the words, "The best things come to those who wait."
I took her hand, glanced over at Pop, five-feet from us, lying on his back with a smile clinging to his cheeks, then looked into the eyes of the woman who far surpassed my dreams.
I tried to stop myself, believe me, but once I let the first tear out the rest followed without my consent.
"You're beautiful," I said, squeezing her hands.
Mr. Wellington stepped toward us. With tear-drenched smiles, Ella and I said our vows and pledged our faithfulness to each other. Our eyes were locked. The people around us disappeared. I could hear Mr. Wellington as he asked us to repeat our vows. I loved this woman with every part of me and wanted nothing more than to make her the happiest wife in the world.
"Gavin?" Mr. Wellington said. "You hear me?"
"I'm sorry," I said. "What do I say next?"
Everyone laughed.
Ella placed her index finger over my lips. "You say nothing. Just kiss your wife."
My body warmed with anticipation from my head to my toes. I held her hands in mine and turned to face our friends and family.
"Before I kiss my beautiful wife," I said. "I want to say something. A few months ago we had a pretty serious talk in the car. She asked a bunch of hypothetical questions about love and soul-mates and then turned to me, sweet innocence in her eyes, and asked, 'What is love?' We were silent after that. I didn't know what to say. Maybe she didn't either. So we let it go unanswered. Today”—I turned to Ella—“I want to answer that question."
I took a deep breath, looked at Pop behind Ella, still smiling, and continued, "Love is more than a feeling or a thought. It can't be summed up by a dictionary or disregarded when emotions are absent. Love is not abstract. It's not complicated. It's simple. Beautiful. Love is you, Ella. I've seen the way you dance while making pancakes. The way you twirl my hair when I'm driving. The way you admire trees and flowers and ladybugs as though they were an extension of your very person. For the last few months I've watched you. I've taken in every part of you that you allowed. I watched the way you tenderly held Tylissa's baby and rocked her to sleep. I've seen you put your best friend before your own desires when you were set on getting married in a hospital just so she could be there.
"You have shown me, along with that man over there, that life and love aren't as far apart as we think. They go hand-in-hand, like you and me. You can't have one without the other. Everything around us, inside of us, is love. It's in the birds and the rivers, the newborn baby whimpers, and yes, the passionate kisses we share. Life is a package wrapped up in love. To experience love, we have to open it. Carefully. And cherish every gift we're given.
"So, my darling, I don't know if this answer will suffice. Maybe my regency attire inspired it, because this isn't rehearsed. Just know that I love you. I'm so excited to be your husband. Thank you for being the best gift I've ever received. Thank you for being you. And for teaching me what true love is."
I wiped the tears from her face and kissed her salty lips. Seconds later, I kept kissing. And kissing. And kissing. When we finally opened our eyes all of the guests were up at the small reception by the house. Someone even took Pop.
Ella looked up at me, Emerald City brighter than ever, and said, "Guess the world really does disappear when we kiss."
I kissed her again. And again. And again.
"Later," she said, and led me to our guests. "By the way, I absolutely adore you in the Mr. Darcy outfit."
"And you completely took my breath away with your little regency dress here. Where did you get it?"
"I sewed it."
"And I continue to discover who you are.”
We greeted everyone one at a time, talked about this-and-that, and waited until the sun disappeared behind the earth. When it did, we said our goodbyes out front and watched our friends drive off.
"Did you notice something?" Ella said.
"What do you mean?"
"Miranda's car is still here. She left with my brother."
I laughed. "We inspired them."
"Apparently." She smiled and inched toward me. "I love you, Mr. Kessler."
"And I love you, Mrs. Kessler." I picked her up and carried her through the front door. "And so . . . life begins."
We checked on Pop. Completely at rest. Then I carried Ella to our bedroom down the hall. A little strange to have our honeymoon with Pop down the hall, but we didn’t want to leave him. She clung to my neck as I set her down on the bed. Then, she pulled me down to her, a bazillion red rose petals surrounding our new marriage. Our new life together.
With such softness and beauty, she loosened her hair. It fell and curled around her shoulders and neck.
Candles lit our bodies as we kissed to the beat of rain hitting the window. I started with her forehead and kissed my way to her toes, undressing her as I went. Our hands locked above her head, and we kissed again, our love expressed in ways she never allowed before. I knew what she meant now. I can't even describe the meaning and beauty as we made love for the first time, not like two bunnies ready for action, but two best friends ready to become lovers.
We made love. For an hour. Then, even better, she snuggled her warm body against me, draped her leg over mine, and pressed her face into my neck. The feeling of melting into one.
Her breathing slowed as I ran my fingers along her arms until she fell asleep. After a few minutes, I moved my head back, kissed her eyelids, and whispered, “Goodnight, my love,” then watched her sleep. Hours passed. I couldn’t stop looking at her. How did I get here? How did I deserve this? The candles burned themselves out by the third hour. Our bodies, draped in moonlight, inhaled and exhaled to the same rhythm. I know because I made sure of it, matching her sleepy breaths with mine. My eyes could barely stay open, but I couldn’t fall asleep, even when I tried. Too excited, too undeserving, I stared at her, silently promising her I’d never let this excitement die. Ever.
As Dr. Suess himself said, "You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams."
Chapter Twenty Two
Two days after the best day of my life, Pennsylvania’s wind brought snowflakes and sleet. Ella and I lit the fireplace in Pop’s room and stayed up all night with him. He took his last quiet breath at 5:57am on November 1st. It's almost as though he didn't want to face another sunrise without his love.
Ella and I didn't cry as we watched him drift away from this life. We smiled. Thinking of all the memories he wrote on our hearts. We decided to turn his love letters into a book. Not necessarily to publish. Just for our own family as we continued their legacy of love.
We told a few people about the funeral. Just a few and the newspaper obituary, of course. We planned for a hundred or so people to come to the house, so you can imagine our astonishment when thousands of people gathered around his grave as we lowered him into the earth, beside his bride, under the Zelkova trees, where he belonged.
Ella and I decided that we would be buried beside them one day. Hopefully. We saw how easily our own plans for life can be steered into another direction without our approval.
Harold, Ella, and I stood together and greeted each person. The line took three hours to get through and we heard even more amazing stories about Pop. A true selfless man who knew how to live life from the heart.
After everyone left, Ella and I went back to his grave, covered in fresh dirt and topped with tons of letters and flowers. We found his letter to my grandmother hidden beneath everything.
Ella covered her head and neck with her scarf, scooted under my arm, and asked me to read. Shivering, I opened the letter and read.
September 15th
My dearest, precious Miriam,
I told you I would keep writing until the day I died, but my hands are getting weak as I wait for Gavin to find his heart and come back to the house. It shouldn't be long now until I am beside you under your favorite trees. It's hard to believe we planted these trees together over 60 years ago. One for each child we lost. It's also hard to believe that I've spent 54 years without you. Sometimes I wake up and look over. I start talking to you like we always did. 6am conversations about nothing. I miss you and I can't wait to be beside you again. This life hasn't been an easy one without you.
As I come close to my own death I realize there are many good memories we shared. Too many. I can't seem to focus on those right now. What I really want to tell you in this last letter is that I'm sorry.
I'm sorry I stopped writing you these letters after Harold was born. You became so attached to him and I felt shoved aside. I should've kept writing. I hope I've made it up to you in the 2,592 letters I've written since you died.
I'm sorry for not being a good father. I didn't give him the attention he needed and I failed you too. I know I did. I'm sorry, Miriam. I took Gavin under my wing and treated him as though he were my own son. Really felt like he was too. Great kid. You'd be proud of him.
I'm sorry for realizing too late that life is too short to be stupid and selfish. I wasted too many minutes of our life together thinking about what I wanted to eat, or what I wanted to do. I should've asked you more. I should've loved you so much that I wanted only what you wanted.
I was young and stupid. You died before I got the chance to love you right. You always likened our romance to the garden. You said it needed lots of care every day. Water, but not too much water. Sun, but not too much sun. You said if we took care of it long enough the roots would strengthen and we would naturally thrive without so much attention to details. I'm afraid we never got to that point and it’s my fault.
I love you, my Miriam. Always have, always will. My roots are strong now, but you've been ripped out of my garden. So I'm ready now, if you'll still have me, to be buried beside you.
And if anyone ever reads this letter (hello Gavin), do me a favor. Plant a garden over top of our graves. And anytime your own marriage faces trials, especially early on, come back to the garden and remember that the hard work is worth it.
Every love story has obstacles that make both people realize whether what they have is worth fighting for. So realize it now and always say I'm sorry, even when you didn't do anything wrong, just take the blame anyway. Remember, life is too short to be stupid. So spend your life loving.
Back to you, my Miriam, I'm coming now. It won't be long. I miss you so much.
I hereby proclaim the last love letter of thousands.
Most affectionately yours,
Edward Kessler
Snowflakes clung to Ella's scarf and our faces as I folded up the letter and set it back on the grave. Death has a funny way of making you realize how fragile your own life is. I turned to Ella and kissed her in the frosty November night. We created so much warmth that the snowflakes melted on our faces.
I picked her up and carried her up the snow-dusted hill to the house, our house. When I reached the top I slipped and fell on top of her. We laughed and laughed until we lost a few pounds. I hate the cold, absolutely loathe it, but with her by my side, I could’ve fallen asleep on those white hills without realizing I was freezing death. There was something beautiful, deeper. Something amazing about being able to call her my wife. It filled me in ways I never knew I needed to be filled.
“My dear wife,” I said, then picked her up again. “You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on."
She smiled. "You've been memorizing Jane Austen movies, huh?"
"I prefer Shakespeare though," I said, out of breath, as we reached the porch.
"Do you have Shakespeare memorized too?"
I kicked the door open and carried her up the stairs. "Love is not love which alters it when alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove: O no! It is an ever fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken; it is the star to every wandering bark whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle's compass come: Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out, even to the edge of doom."