On January twenty-first, Tom paced nervously at the entrance to the Basilica in Assisi. He was nervous. And the fact that Julia and her bridesmaids were late didn’t help matters. He tugged at his bow tie as he waited. Then, a vision in white velvet over organza floated through the front doors like a luminescent cloud.
He was speechless.
“Dad,” Julia breathed, smiling with excitement as she walked toward him.
Tammy and Rachel helped divest her of her cape and adjust the layers of her skirt, unfolding the train that extended behind her. Then Christina, the wedding planner who was hovering nearby, handed Rachel and Tammy their bouquets, which were a mixture of irises and white roses, designed to match their iris-colored dresses.
“You look pretty,” Tom mumbled, pressing a shy peck to Julia’s cheek through her long veil.
“Thank you.” She flushed, looking down at her bouquet, which consisted of two dozen white roses and a few springs of holly.
“Could you give us a minute?” he asked the others.
“Of course.” Christina pulled Tammy and Rachel to stand at the entrance to the sanctuary, signaling to the organist that the processional was about to begin.
Tom smiled at Julia nervously. “I like your necklace,” he said.
Julia’s hands flew to the pearls that hung around her neck. “They were Grace’s.” She fingered the diamonds in her ears too but elected not to reveal their source.
“I wonder what she’d think about you marrying her son.”
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“I’d like to think that she’d be happy. That she’s looking down on us and smiling.”
Tom nodded again and shoved his hands into the pockets of his tuxedo. “I’m glad you asked me to walk you down the aisle.”
Julia looked puzzled. “I didn’t want to get married without you, Dad.”
He cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly in his rented shoes. “I should have kept you when I took you away from Sharon the first time. I never should have sent you back.” His voice cracked.
“Daddy,” she whispered, tears overflowing.
He reached over and hugged her, trying to show her with his embrace what he couldn’t say in words.
“I forgave you a long time ago. We don’t ever need to speak of it again.” She paused, looking up at him. “I’m glad you’re here. And I’m glad you’re my Dad.”
“Jules.” Tom gave a strangled cough, then released her with a smile. “You’re a good girl.”
He turned so he could peer down the long aisle that led to the altar, to where Gabriel was standing with his brother and brother-in-law. All three men were dressed in black Armani tuxedoes, with crisp white shirts. However, Scott and Aaron had eschewed Gabriel’s choice of bow ties in favor of regular ones because bow ties were, as Scott put it, “for old men, Young Republicans, or professors.”
“Are you sure about this?” Tom asked. “If you have any doubts, I’ll call a cab and take you home right now.”
Julia squeezed his hand. “No doubts. Gabriel might not be perfect, but he’s perfect for me. We belong together.”
“I told him that I expected him to take care of my little girl. That if he wasn’t prepared to do that, we’d have a problem. He said that if he treated you as anything less than the treasure you are, that I should come after him with my shotgun.” Tom grinned. “I said that suited me fine.”
“Are you ready?”
Julia took a deep breath. “Yes.”
“Then let’s do this.” He offered Julia his arm, and they nodded to the bridesmaids to begin the processional to J. S. Bach’s “Sheep May Safely Graze.”
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When Julia and Tom entered the Basilica, to the melody of “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring,” Gabriel’s eyes caught hers and a wide smile spread across his features. The January sun peeked through the doors, illuminating the bride from behind and making her look as if a halo shone around her veiled head.
Gabriel couldn’t stop smiling. He smiled through the entire Mass, including his vows to worship his wife and the performance of selections from Bach’s Sleepers Awake and Mozart’s Exsultate, jubilate by a solo soprano.
After the ceremony, he placed trembling fingers on Julia’s veil and lifted it carefully. He swiped his thumbs underneath her eyes, wiping away the happy tears that had trickled down, and kissed her. The kiss was soft and chaste, but full of promise. Then they walked to the lower church and down to the crypt.
They hadn’t planned to do so. Somehow, hands entwined, they found themselves approaching the tomb of St. Francis. In the quiet darkness where Gabriel had his ineffable experience months earlier, they knelt in prayer. Each silently thanked God for the other, for the many blessings He had given them, for Grace and Maia, for their fathers and siblings.
When Gabriel finally stood and lit a single candle, each of them asked God for one more blessing. One small miracle out of the lavishness of his grace. As they ended their prayers, a strange but comforting feeling wrapped around them like a blanket.
“Don’t cry, sweet girl.” Gabriel took her hand to help her to her feet. He wiped her tears away, kissing her. “Please don’t cry.”
“I’m so happy,” she said, smiling up at him. “I love you so much.”
“It’s the same for me. I keep wondering how this happened. How did I ever find you again and convince you to become my wife?”
“Heaven smiled on us.”
She reached up to kiss her husband next to St. Francis’s tomb without shame, knowing that her words were truly spoken.
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