You were a summer bride and just nineteen years old. I can only imagine how taken Henry was with your beauty. And those eyes, those stunning clear blue eyes…
I’d like to picture that day as a happy one, albeit quiet and informal. Please allow me to indulge, as no photos exist of this simple affair…
He didn’t have much to give her. Henry looked down at the calloused hands of a laborer and shook his head. Not much at all, yet this beautiful, petite woman was willing to call him husband. Rosa entered the chapel, wearing a simple dress she’d sewn in a mad-rush with her sister’s help and God didn’t she look incredible.
How, he thought and not for the first time, did I get so damned lucky?
She smiled at him from across the room and the world spun in a crazy swirl of light.
It just really was impossible that this day had come to the likes of Henry Blair. His happiness faded just a bit when he thought of the future that awaited her. The back-breaking work, the sorrow and pain of life on the edge. Still, she understood. Her parents had made a go of it – left Canada in search of the great dream. They’d made it, so would Henry and Rosa, as long as they stuck together.
He straightened as she walked down the aisle with her arm looped through his brother, Newell’s. Did he have to be so tall? So infernal handsome? Henry took after his father: short, wiry and tough. He supposed that was a good thing, as Rosa was a delicate as a summer flower…
The thought drifted away when she reached his side. He saw merriment in those wicked blue eyes and mirth. And damned if it wasn’t his job to keep that spark alive through all the trials they faced. Rosa Drinkwine would know she was loved every day that the good Lord gave them to share.
She deserved nothing less.