He cleared his throat, and his voice rose so that everyone could hear it. This is what he said:
“As a father, I’m supposed to give away my daughter, but I’m not sure that I’m able to do this.”
The congregation went silent, and Hegbert nodded at me, willing me to be patient. Jamie squeezed my hand in support.
“I can no more give Jamie away than I can give away my heart. But what I can do is to let another share in the joy that she has always given me. May God’s blessings be with you both.”
It was then that he set aside the Bible. He reached out, offering his hand to mine, and I took it, completing the circle.
With that he led us through our vows. My father handed me the ring my mother had helped me pick out, and Jamie gave me one as well. We slipped them on our fingers. Hegbert watched us as we did so, and when we were finally ready, he pronounced us husband and wife. I kissed Jamie softly as my mother began to cry, then held Jamie’s hand in mine. In front of God and everyone else, I’d promised my love and devotion, in sickness and in health, and I’d never felt so good about anything.
It was, I remember, the most wonderful moment of my life.
It is now forty years later, and I can still remember everything from that day. I may be older and wiser, I may have lived another life since then, but I know that when my time eventually comes, the memories of that day will be the final images that float through my mind. I still love her, you see, and I’ve never removed my ring. In all these years I’ve never felt the desire to do so.
I breathe deeply, taking in the fresh spring air. Though Beaufort has changed and I have changed, the air itself has not. It’s still the air of my childhood, the air of my seventeenth year, and when I finally exhale, I’m fifty-seven once more. But this is okay. I smile slightly, looking toward the sky, knowing there’s one thing I still haven’t told you: I now believe, by the way, that miracles can happen.