Chapter 39 – Once Upon a Midsummer's Night
They were married in June.
On a surprisingly balmy midsummer's night, with a sea-cooled breeze infused with hints of brine and salt to counteract the gentle warmth that birth a rare San Francisco summer evening, Pam and Tara declared themselves to each other, declared to be faithful and declared to be true to their one and only mate.
The wedding was a painfully intimate affair, comprising of the couple themselves, the Authority's designated magistrate and the unquestioning presences of Mrs. Brice and Mrs. Mackenzie.
Pam had refused to announce their union on the transport of great fanfare, much to Tara's complete and utter bewilderment. Surely, the latter had thought, surely her mate would seize upon the opportunity to propose, plan and set into motion a wedding preparation of grandiose proportions, as was allotted to those high up in the echelons of society. Nothing was more important to a Victorian woman than her wedding day, Tara knew; it was an event one's mother would have ingrained and prepared her daughter for from the moment she was plucked from the birthing cradle. For a Victorian woman, especially one of aristocratic stock, there was no higher ambition than to marry, and marry well.
Thus, embrangled and perplexed by Pam's lack of interest in partaking in activities so clearly an intrinsic component of her upbringing and education, Tara had voiced her concerns, her voice at that time mingled with strains of anxiety and a barely discernable undertone of panic as her mind raced through all the possible scenarios to explain her mate's almost indifference to what was supposed to be the most important day of her life.
Pam had simply smiled affectionately when Tara came to her frazzled and confused, the immortal features of her face bedizened with barely concealed worry, orbs of obsidian industriously making a study of the brumal features of Pam's face, searching for even an iota of doubt or hesitancy regarding their upcoming nuptials.
Cupping Tara's cheek lovingly in her hand, Pam proceeded to erase all her mate's apprehensions with a plainly worded explanation:
"I don't need an ostentatious orchestration of flowers and lace; I just need you."
And so it was, on a prodigious Wednesday evening – for Wednesday was regarded in Victorian society to be a most auspicious day for such events – Pam and Tara became forever bound by the ties of matrimony.
The wedding took placed in center of Thornton Manor gardens, beneath a clear shelter of dusky skies sprinkled liberally with a dusting of twinkling stars. Beds of freshly planted blood red roses decorated the grounds and delicately fragranced the air, adding to the quiet, romantic ambience, made all the more prevalent by the aurulent washes of lamp light strategically located around the gardens grounds.
Mrs. Brice had been allotted the highest honor of standing by Tara's side, as both best man and maid of honor. Tears already swimming in her eyes and a fond, proud smile tugging at her lips, the willowy woman couldn't help but feast caesious eyes upon Tara in all her sartorial splendor, the affectionate, material observation so palpable that Tara herself was almost moved to tears.
Instead, she acknowledged the look, and reciprocated with an affectionate kiss to her housekeeper's cheek and a gentle squeeze of the willowy woman's hand.
They had then both gasped in tandem when Pam finally graced the small party with her presence, her arm tucked securely in the crook of Mrs. Mackenzie's elbow as the matronly woman walked Pam, down the makeshift aisle, tears of her own threatening to madefy orbs of a starling emerald green even as she thrust her chest out, pride getting the better of at the present moment as she was outfitted with the important task of walking Pam down towards her future.
Tara thought her knees would surely buckle when Pam walked slowly towards her in a wedding dress that had been Tara's gift to her, the component for Pam's "something new."
"We must acknowledge traditions made immortal to the passing of time, angel," Tara had gently elucidated a fortnight ago when Pam had opened her mouth to protest. "A simple wedding I will consent to, the disregarding of traditions I will not."
And so it was, Pam walked towards Tara sartorially furnished in a dress so splendorous and uniquely designed so as to make known the womanly silhouette befitting to Pam's lithe frame that it was all the vampire could do not to scrabble for the nearest solid surface on which to keep herself upright.
"Stand up straight," Mrs. Brice hissed, disapproval nigh in her voice when Tara seemed to physically wilt next to her.
"I'm unsure if my legs are up to such a Herculean feat," Tara replied feebly, her Southern drawl but a hoarse, dry croak as India ink soaked eyes latched helplessly onto the enrapturing vision that was her future bride walking towards her.
"You are vampire; try," Tara's housekeeper drawled, her tone droll and eyes amused though she reached up with a discreet hand to cup Tara's elbow, supporting her weight that suddenly seemed much too heavy for the vampire to withstand.
Tara had managed a weak, appreciative smile in Mrs. Brice's direction before her midnight gaze was inevitably drawn back to Pam, mouth falling slightly open as she drank in the sight of her mate.
Pam was habilimented in a dress comprising of a full skirt of finest ivory silk and lace, made all the more abundant by the carefully constructed layers of satin petticoats, underskirts and a bustle to enhance her womanly attributes. A long satin sash formed a bow at the back of the skirt around her trim waist, its tails flowing down to rest most discreetly as it joined the court length train of the skirt that seemed to flow behind Pam like shimmering milk.
On her torso, Pam wore a boned and lined fitted bodice with a brocade pattern of subtle champagne gold. Beneath it was an ivory blouse that complimented the lining and shape of the bodice with medieval sleeves that added a touch of history and elegant flair to an already pleasing attire.
Completing the enrapturing dress was a single tier, chapel length veil of silk tulle that was perched amid a cloud of lightly curled flaxen hair, loosely pinned, expertly styled and left to tousle down her back and shoulders in an tasteful disarray. The veil was shot through with threads of pale blue satin and attached to a coronet of pale pink roses. On her feet Pam wore slippers with an inch high heel made from fine satin the color of snow and her hands were concealed beneath short, white sheer cotton kid gloves.
She was the quiddity of perpetual feminine beauty and Tara had found herself taking needless shallow breaths in a vain attempt to quell the sudden and peculiar buzzing in her head.
Pam herself, had been struck dumb by the sight of Tara and a loose whimper threatened to escape from subtly painted crimson lips as she took in the sight of her mate, her body already instinctively leaning into Mrs. Mackenzie as her knees took on the consistency of blancmange.
Tara was dashing in all cuts of cloth, from evening wear to common wear she seemed to favor though it was beneath her affluent stature to do, but seeing her mate bedecked from head to toe in the most formal and traditional of garments, all tailored to contorted to that sinewy, muscular frame with its subtle feminine curves, Pam was hard pressed not to succumb to a fainting spell.
As such, Pam fervently hoped as she walked towards her future on unsteady legs that she would not fall for azure eyes were focused not on the ground on which she was walking, but on the handsome, urbane and sophisticated visage that was her mate.
Tara was clad smartly in a knee length, double-breasted formal black frock coat made from the finest wool. It fell over complimentary black cashmere striped morning trousers held up by a Berlin wool on canvas style pair of suspenders embroidered with geometric designs that were worked into the material with shades of red, blue and green silks. It had been a gift of Pam's own painstaking creation and Tara wore it proudly, vowing to treasure it forever when Pam had presented her with it the evening before.
Beneath the frock coat was a double breasted white starched waistcoat, which sat over a formal fitted wing collared formal dress shirt. Circling her neck was a neatly tied black folded cravat which rested snug against her throat. On her feet were black patent-leather button boots, polished so enthusiastically that they shone and caught bits of star-light.
Completing this devastating garb, Tara wore a pair of pearl colored gloves with black embroidery and a black silk top hat that sat snug on her head, her hair of thick atrous strands gathered behind her head and neatly queued.
"Beautiful," Tara whispered lovingly when Pam came to a graceful stop before her. Unable to resist, she reached over, took Pam's hand in her own then brought it up to her lips for a tender, reverent kiss. "The most eesome being in all of the land."
Pam blushed most beautifully, the stain of rouge coloring pale cheeks and warming her face but she recovered in time to smooth down the lapel of Tara's frock coat, more to establish contact with her mate than to set to rights an attire that was already impossibly impeccable.
"You are positively dashing, Tara," Pam murmured, her voice smoldering with the embers of her desire. "I find myself going breathless at the mere sight of you."
Tara simply grinned the flattering compliment and grazed another kiss to the back of Pam's hand.
"Face your intended, please," the magistrate interrupted softly as Mrs. Brice and Mrs. Mackenzie moved to stand on either side of their respective charges in their designated places, close by not too close so as to crowd the joining couple.
Pam and Tara did as bade, smiling softly at each other as they gazed besottedly into the other's eyes, immediately lost and drowning as they fell into pools of endless pitch and deep oceans of cerulean.
"Now, join your hands, and with your hands, your hearts," the magistrate intoned in his oracular, lyrical inflection, which was curiously pleasing, like the unprompted tune of a bird in the early hours of the morning.
The couple acquiesced, Tara taking Pam's hand so carefully and gently in her own that Pam saw her vision blur as tears misted over her eyes.
The magistrate's commencement speech into the rites of matrimony was all but nonsensical noise to both Pam and Tara, who were gazing so deeply, so smittenly into the other's eyes that it was a wonder either managed to tear their gaze away when it came time to recite their vows.
"Lord Thornton," the magistrate addressed quietly but insistently and Tara was hard pressed to look away from the orchidaceous vista that was her enchanting mate. "Please recite your vows," he continued when Tara turned dewy, love-struck eyes onto him.
Tara nodded, cleared her throat nervously but when she opened her mouth, her tongue stubbornly failed to cooperate, her voice non-existent in her throat. She closed her mouth, brows knitting as she struggled to put to use her conversationalist skills that seem to have fled her person.
"Speak plainly, but speak from the heart," the magistrate urged softly when a prolonged silence began to blanket the air.
"I love you, Tara," Pam whispered in a susurrant burr when Tara continued to struggle with the basic of motor functions.
It was the three words Tara needed to fortify her nerves and she paused only to kiss the back of Pam's hand in thanks before she finally was able to begin.
"Pamela," she spoke quietly but articulately, her mate's name escaping past tumid lips on a breathless, devout sigh so imbued with love that Pam bit down on her lower lip in response, a vain attempt to stave off tears she knew would inevitably fall.
"Poets often describe love as an emotion that we cannot control, a force that overwhelms logic and common sense. That was what it was like for me. I didn't plan on falling in love with you, and I doubt if you planned on falling in love with me. But once we met, it was clear that neither of us could control what was happening to us. It was inevitable; we fell in love. Despite our differences, we fell in love, and once we did, something rare and beautiful was created, almost as rare and beautiful as you."
Pam had hitched a sob at this and Tara was inclined to pause, if only to allow Pam a moment to settle herself, Tara doing all she could to soothe away the emotions overwhelming her mate by way of a lone dusky thumb brushing gently over the protrusions of pale knuckles.
"The best kind of love is the kind that awakens the soul and makes us reach for more," Tara continued softly when Pam urged her to with a nod and a watery smile, eyes sparkling with love. "The kind that plants a fire in our hearts and brings peace to our minds. That's what you've given me, angel; it's what I hope to give to you. Forever."
Tara paused again, but this time it was to establish a deep and intimate locking of her midnight gaze onto whorls of mercurial blue and gray. She allowed herself to be mesmerized by all those intriguing shades of azure, cobalt, cerulean and Prussian blue before resuming her address, the fierce, almost savage spark of love she found in those enrapturing eyes almost her undoing.
"If I've but one goal to make in life, it would be to make you happy, Pamela. Every minute we have spent together has been permanently seared into my memory and I shall never forget a single moment of it. Know that you are nothing short of my everything and know that the greatest achievement of my life has been to love you and be loved by you. If I could reach up and hold a star for every time you've made me smile, I've no doubt that the entire evening sky would sit in the palm of my hand."
A third pause, but this time it was so that Tara could reach up to touch her fingers to Pam's cheek, dark eyes softening with endless affection when Pam immediately leaned into her loving touch, blue eyes hooding.
"Whatever our souls are made of, Princess, I know that yours and mine are the same, and I promise you now, before kith and kin that in times of grief and in times of sorrow, I will hold you and rock you and take your grief and sorrow and make it my own. Know now that when you cry, I cry; when you hurt, I hurt, but I promise anyway to help you hold back the floors of tears and despair and make it through the potholed street of life.
I promise you, Pamela Swynford de Beaufort, keeper of my heart, nurturer of my soul, to love you as you are to be loved, to cherish you as you are to be cherished and to handle your heart with a tenderness and care that it so rightly deserves. I love you, my angel. I always will."
The conclusion of Tara's vows had induced in Mrs. Brice and Mrs. Mackenzie stifled sobs and the rustling of handkerchiefs as they utilized these square pieces of cloths to dry their madefied eyes and the crystal clear tears that sundered their cheeks.
Pam herself, dazed speechless by Tara's impassionate speech, found that she fighting a losing battle to force her lungs to cooperate; she didn't seem to be able to draw in enough breath and was so lightheaded at the present moment that she was sure she would faint.
"Ms. Beaufort?" the magistrate was forced to prompt once more when Pam failed to acknowledge the calling of her name.
A gentle caress on the back of her hand from Tara roused Pam from her stupor and she smiled sheepishly at her mate before turning her attention to the magistrate.
"Yours vows, if you please," the magistrate pressed.
"Yes. My apologies," Pam murmured on a low blush as she ducked her head sheepishly.
Tara smiled and drew circles over Pam's knuckles. "I'm right here, Princess," she whispered when it was Pam's turn to visibly struggle to corral her thoughts into a sensible procession. "I love you."
"I love you too," Pam replied immediately, instinctively, and though her tone was quiet, her words and the sincerity behind it rang loud and fierce. She squeezed at Tara's hand then took a deep breath, finding courage in Tara's loving gaze and the manner in which her mate's wild, indomitable energy coiled around her like a warm embrace.
"Tara," Pam breathed out, the vampire's name sounding like a pious prayer on her crimson lips. "Some believe that loving someone requires a leap of faith for you are giving them your heart and trusting them not to break the most fragile part of you. No matter what happens to us, Tara, I will never regret making that leap for you. You are my dream; you've made me who I am and who I want to be. Holding you in my arms has proven to me more natural than drawing breath. You have made a place in my heart where I thought there was no room for anything else. You alone, with your unflagging determination and illimitable obstinacy – "
Tara chuckled at this, her mirth echoed by Mrs. Brice and Mrs. Mackenzie while Pam smirked, glad to have injected a note of jocularity into the otherwise weighty atmosphere.
" – you made flowers grow where I cultivated dust and stones," Pam pressed on softly, intimately when the laughter tapered off. "I want you to know that I would rather share one single, solitary lifetime in the company of your effulgent presence than face all the ages of the world alone."
Pam paused as she blinked to clear away the curtain of tears that seemed bent on obscuring her oceanic, bathic gaze from obtaining occulatory evidence of Tara's immortal features. When she finally caught sight of Tara smiling gently, dreamily at her, she couldn't help the manner in which the corners of her lips curved into a beatific smile, a smile that Tara immediately reflected.
"You taught me about love, Tara, you. If I know what love is, it is solely because of you. Do you know how I know that I'm in love with you? I know I'm in love with you because it's hard to fall asleep at night for my reality is better than my dreams. I love you, Tara; I love you so much. I am who I am because of you. You are every reason, every hope, every dream I've had and hoped to have, and no matter what might happen to us in the future, know that every single night we have spent together had been the greatest of my life."
Pam halted once more when a lone hematic tear meandered lazily down Tara's face, clinging to her cheek like a quivering, organic ruby. Pam reached up, thumbed away the drop of blood, then bit back an aroused moan when Tara immediately took her bloodied thumb into her mouth, licking it clean, the act casual, but stirring desire into the cauldron of passion and need that Pam kept warm and bubbling solely for Tara.
"I love you, Tara," Pam resumed, voice shaking slightly from a well of emotions so overwhelming they threatened to rob her of her tongue. "Not only for what you are, but for what I am when I'm with you. I love you, not only for what you have made of yourself, but for what you have made and are making of me. I love how easily you make me smile, how the twinkle in your eyes makes my heart stutter and my soul to sing when you look at me. I love your strength, your grace, your unfailing kindness and the care that you show so freely to those you hold dear."
Pam paused one last time, shifted closer to Tara, who instinctively leaned forward, then reached up to cradle a strong, stubborn jaw. Looking straight into orbs of pure flawless obsidian, she whispered heatedly, almost brokenly, "I want all of you, Tara. Forever. You and me. Every day. My heart is, has been and always will be yours. I cannot wait to embark on the journey of life with you, Tara. I cannot wait to be permanently, unchangeably and irreversibly yours."
Tara, whose sinewy frame had begun shaking increasingly as Pam poured out words from the deep penetralia of her heart, tugged Pam towards her until their fronts were almost flush. Turning to the magistrate, she impatiently growled, "Hurry up."
The couple's audience chortled and Pam huffed out a laugh. The magistrate himself raised an unamused brow, made a show of pointedly ignoring Tara's impatient demand and turned to Pam.
"This is the one you choose?" he inquired conversationally if a little dramatically "The ceremony has not yet been concluded; you can still walk away and save yourself a future with this mule-headed creature."
Pam snickered but shook her head. "She is the one I choose, and I shall endeavor to weather all her imperfections, however few and vexing they may be."
"How very gracious of you," Tara mumbled but her eyes were shining and an impish smile pulled up the corners of her lips as she regarded Pam.
The magistrate smiled in turn, made a show of shrugging his shoulders as though to say, 'You are the architect of your woes' then proceeded. "Rings, please," he prompted at Mrs. Mackenzie and Mrs. Brice who were Pam and Tara's respective ring bearers.
Tara was first, taking the handmade platinum scroll wedding band with intriguing flourishes of knots and swirls coupled with intricate arcing lines painstakingly crafted so as to reflect the design of Tara's household insignia and crest, from Mrs. Brice with fingers that were trembling so hard that she almost dropped the object in question, much to her housekeeper's combined consternation and amusement. She held her non-existent breath as she slid open the slit of the glove finger to reveal Pam's ring finger, held the ring abeyant over Pam's fingertip, then looked up into Pam's ocean-kissed gaze.
"Please," Pam had whispered, and with that one word, Tara slid the ring down to the knuckle.
The adorning of Tara's ring finger with a wedding band of her own, whose design was a mirror of its twin, but thicker in width, followed in a similar fashion and when the second wedding band fell to rest snug around her ring finger, Tara couldn't help but stare down at, her expression simultaneously awestruck and confounded, as though she couldn't quite contemplate the magnitude of such symbolism made manifest into an object tangible and real.
"The ceremony is complete," the magistrate announced briskly. "No more let life divide what death can hold together."
The parting words came burdened with an ominous message, one which only Tara was privy to and allowing a solemn visard to momentarily mask the immortal features of her face, she turned and sent an imperceptible nod the magistrate's way, waited until his inclined his head in acknowledgement of her acknowledgement before turning her attentions back to Pam, the features of her face resuming its joyous, effulgent expression.
"You may now kiss the bride."
It was the words, Tara had been waiting for all evening, and the verbal permission had barely left the magistrate's mouth before Tara swept Pam into her arms, dipped her playfully but no less carefully at the waist then captured her lips with her own, the cheers and congratulatory offerings supplied by kith and kin nothing but a distant drone as they sealed their union with that long awaited, much yearned for betrothal kiss.
TBC
A/N – Pam and Tara's vows was an amalgamation of a bunch of quotes I borrowed from Nicolas Sparks, Robert Jordan, Jane Austen, Dr. Seuss, Emily and Charlotte Bronte and a whole lot of other incredibly talented authors and poets I know I forgot but can't remember because I've misplaced my notes while traveling. Just letting you that they're not my words; I was simply borrowing them.
The magistrate used quotes from Percy Bysshe Shelley and William Shakespeare.
This is going to be the last history lesson I ever give y'all, pinky promise. Probably sick of them already anyway huh?
Lesson 1 – Colors of the wedding gown
Colors were carefully chosen in Victorian times because they were thought to influence one's future life. So, Pam's had white, blue and pink roses.
White – chosen right
Blue – love will be true
Pink – of you he or she will always think
Lesson 2 – Origins of "Something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue with a six pence in her shoe"
Something old – expresses the newlywed couple's desire to retain connection with their kin. Also, if something old was given to the bride by a happily married woman, it was thought to ensure that the bride would too have a happily married life.
Something new – a reflection on the new union created by the couple and thought to bring to their future, health, happiness and success.
Something borrowed – an opportunity for the bride's kith and kin to lend her something special or lucky as token of their love and acceptance of her upcoming nuptials.
Something blue – blue was a symbol of fidelity and constancy. The tradition of the bride wearing something blue was implied to begin in Israel where brides wore a blue ribbon in their hair to symbolize the promise they were making to their husbands.
Six pence in her shoe – to ensure a wealthy future
Lesson 3 – Dates and months of wedding days
June was the most popular marriage month in Victorian days, the tradition being practical and having mythological origins. June was the month named after Juno, the Roman Goddess of Marriage and it was thought that Juno would bring prosperity and happiness to those who wed in her month. If a couple married in June, the bride was likely to give birth in Spring, which then allowed her to recuperate before the Fall harvest.
May was the least favorable month to marry for the Victorian saying goes: "Marry in May, rue the day."
As for which day of the week to marry, refer to this popular Victorian rhyme:
"Marry on Monday for health
Tuesday for wealth
Wednesday the best day of all
Thursday for cross
Friday for losses and
Saturday for no luck at all."
Lesson 4 – Tara's suspenders
Suspenders embroidered with geometric or floral designs were considered a popular gift a soon to be bride would give to her soon to be husband, or in Pam's case, wife.