It's the big day, and I have a task ta do.

Chapter 54 – Rain Again, But Just a Sprinkle

It was the sort of rain that didn’t soak your boots, just kissed the tips of the leaves and freckled the dust. I stood by the orchard fence in the still light, the kind that stayed golden even with a few raindrops drifting down. There weren’t no clouds. Just the tiniest shift in air and a scent like clean linen and turned earth. First time it had rained since that long spell broke, and it felt more like a blessing than anything else.

Lu had gone to bed early, worn out from pacing all day makin' sure pies were coolin', the boys were washed, and Gus knew what page to read from. I couldn’t sleep. My feet wandered on their own, like they knew where I had to go.

I made my way past the stillhouse, through the back gate, and up the hill where we’d placed Peg’s marker. It weren’t a grave, not exactly. Just a tall stone from the creek and her name etched in careful letters. We’d scattered her ashes up here not long after I first arrived. Thought maybe I’d talk to her a bit.

The air was sweet with damp grass and wildflowers. I ran a hand over the stone, rain cooling my fingers.

"Mornin', Peg," I said. "I know it's night, but it still feels like mornin'."

Silence answered, as always. But not the lonely kind. More like the way a porch creaks when you sit down, sayin' welcome without speakin'.

"Thought I should tell you," I went on, "I’m gettin' married."

I waited. Wind rustled the grass. One of them pale hummingbirds zipped past, all wings and nerve.

"She ain’t you. She never tried to be," I said. "She’s stubborn, like you. Quick with her hands and quicker with her tongue. She's got a heart like a red oak. Deep roots. Stands tall even in storms."

I wiped the water from my brow. Couldn’t rightly say if it was rain or not.

"You'd like her. I think you'd tell me I waited long enough. Maybe too long. I still love you, Peg. That don’t go away. But it don’t mean I can't love again."

I sat on the log nearby and let the silence stretch.

"She don’t mind my quiet. Or the mess I make when I try to fix the plow. She takes care of the boys like they're kin, even when they track mud through the kitchen. She made this place a home. She even keeps a bit of your jam recipe on the shelf—just says it tastes like someone who knew how to love."

The rain let up. Just like that. Not even a full shower. Just a whisper.

I stood. Brushed off my knees. Laid one hand on the stone again.

"Thank you for the years, Peg. Thank you for lettin' me have tomorrow."

I took a few steps and turned back once, like I always did. Like she might wave, just once. But the stone stood silent and calm, and that was enough.

On the walk back down, the orchard glistened. Leaves hung with beads of water like pearls. A couple boys had forgotten to bring in the laundry, and shirts danced gently from the line like sleepy ghosts.

The house was lit soft with lantern glow, and through the window I saw Lu curled on the couch, one of the boys' patched quilts pulled over her legs.

I stepped inside, boots quiet on the floorboards. She stirred a little but didn’t wake.

I watched her for a moment—the way her brow furrowed even in sleep, like she was halfway through plannin' somethin'.

"Love you," I whispered, leanin' down to kiss her temple. "See you at the altar."

I hung up my coat, dried my boots, and went to bed with a heart just full enough. The rain had come and gone, like a soft-spoken friend who knew just when to arrive—and just when to leave.

Chapter 55 – The Wedding

They say time don’t move much on this isle, what with the sun hangin’ in the sky like it’s got nowhere else to be. But that morning, everything felt brand new. I stepped out onto the porch to the smell of fresh-cut wildflowers and the sound of Dos tuning a stringed box he’d fashioned outta scrap wood and wire. Didn’t sound pretty, but it had heart—and today, that was enough.

Lu was already up, fussin’ with her hair by the water barrel. One of her sisters stood behind her with a handful of ribbon, wrangling braids like she was ropin’ cattle. Lu caught my eye, and her smile near about undid me. She looked like spring had decided to dress itself up in person-form.

“You best get outta sight,” she said, pointing a soapy finger at me. “No peeking 'til it's time.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, mock salutin’, then slipped off to help the boys haul benches out to the orchard.

The trees had all budded out, full of new leaves and tiny apple nubs. Gus stood near the front, wearin’ what I guessed passed for his best clothes—a clean flannel shirt and a wide grin. He had a little book in one hand and a canteen in the other, both of which I figured would get some use.

“Hope you remembered the words,” I joked.

“I remember enough,” Gus said, winking. “It ain’t the words that matter. It’s the meanin’ behind ’em.”

Uno and Quattro had laid out the cider jugs and honey pies on a plank table, draped with one of Lu’s mama’s patchwork quilts. The smell was somethin’ fierce—syrup and fruit and baked bread with a splash of sharp whiskey steam coming from a kettle one of the boys kept over a small fire.

We’d cleared a little path between the trees and made a spot right beneath the biggest apple tree—its branches spread out like it knew it had a role to play. The benches filled quick with neighbors and helpers. Folks brought folding stools, chunks of log, or just settled in cross-legged with kids on their laps. I saw Ann, Lu’s mama, sitting tall in the front row, dressed in a skirt that shimmered like beetle wings. She caught my eye and gave a small nod—not approval exactly, but acceptance. I’d take that.

Then, the music started. It weren’t perfect. Dos strummed the box while Seis tapped a tin pot like a snare. Nueve held a bottle to his mouth and blew a long, low tone that somehow worked. And out walked Lu.

She didn’t have no veil. Didn’t need one. Her dress was sky-colored, handmade by one of her relatives for her ma, and tied at the waist with yellow thread. She carried a little bunch of wildflowers, mostly bluebells and apple blossoms. Her eyes met mine, and everything else just melted away.

“You clean up nice,” I whispered when she reached me.

“You still look like a scarecrow,” she replied, smilin’.

Gus cleared his throat and opened the book.

“We’re here today,” he began, “under a sun that never sets and a sky that never tires, to witness what happens when a man and woman figure out they’d rather face the unknown together than alone.”

He looked at me. “Ron?”

I took Lu’s hands. Her fingers were calloused, warm. “You helped me find life again,” I said. “You brought order to my chaos, steadied my heart. I ain't ever gonna be the same—and I thank you for that.”

She blinked quick, like holdin' back tears. “You’re stubborn,” she said. “You’re grumpy. You think biscuits are a food group. But you’re kind, and steady, and full of more love than you let on. I choose you. Always.”

Gus raised the book. “By the powers vested in me by no official authority whatsoever, and by mutual agreement of all present, I now declare y’all married. Kiss her before she changes her mind.”

I did. The boys whooped and hollered, clapping and banging whatever they could find. Someone tossed a handful of barley into the air, and a goat that’d wandered into the orchard tried to eat Lu’s bouquet. She laughed and shooed it off.

We signed a big sheet of paper Uno had drawn up with bold letters: “Contract of Union, Mutual Respect, and General Toleration.” Beneath it, we both signed our names, and the boys added their thumbprints in honey as witnesses.

We took a walk through the orchard while the others made ready for the reception. Just the two of us, hand in hand. The sky stayed bright and warm. No shadows, just light. We didn’t say much. We didn’t need to.

At the far end of the orchard, we paused.

“Scared?” Lu asked.

“Not of this,” I said. “Maybe of messin’ it up.”

She leaned her head on my shoulder. “Then we mess it up together.”

We turned back toward the house, hearts lighter, feet firmer. I wasn’t just a man with a past no more. I was a man with a future. And it looked mighty fine in a blue dress.