Chapter 94: The Happiest Day 5th June 1943
The Quinn house was used to being chaotically busy at the best of times. However, that morning was one that was completely like no other.
Erin's wedding day.
A significant monument in not just her life but all of the family's lives, the time was set for ten o'clock at church, where her husband to be would await. Keeping themselves up with tradition, they'd not seen each other for days, Erin temporarily returning to her room back at the house she'd spent most of her life in. Being able to be spend a little bit more time again with Anna and her parents was nice for a short period, but she couldn't wait to see her fella again. There'd been at least two or three occasions when she'd zoned out, peering off into the distance, that her Da reminded her that she would have to be patient. He could tell that she wanted to run to the cottage to be with him, Gerry himself remembering how eager he was to see Mary after hours apart.
The action started early that morning thanks to Mary, who was up with the birds at five o'clock. The rest of the family were soon awake then too, Erin especially rushed into getting herself ready when there was so much to do. She'd slept surprisingly peacefully given that the most exciting, life-changing day was ahead of her, but that was just how contented that she was. She wasn't losing sleep over seeing James again because it didn't worry her; it warmed her heart. Her parents couldn't say the same though, especially her Mammy, who wanted everything to be just perfect. Her own wedding to Gerry hadn't quite started so well when she turned up late and Sarah fell over in the aisle, leading to a bit of a commotion. There would be no such repeat although with a loose cannon like Michelle in attendance, promises could not be made either.
As Mary and Anna tended to Erin's needs upstairs, the younger sister heavily involving herself on what was a fantastic day for her too, Gerry was sat downstairs in the kitchen. His injuries were finally starting to heal properly but walking still remained difficult. Oddly enough it was walking that would be his primary job that day, although it wasn't such a long walk from the door of the church to the altar. He would be giving away his daughter, her hand officially transferred in the eyes of the Lord to the Englishman, her protection entrusted with him. He was delighted for them, his job as a father complete for the first of his two daughters upon finding the correct man for her to spend the rest of her life with. There were no second thoughts or regrets on his part for allowing James to Marry his Erin, no anger with himself over a poor decision made. James was the correct decision and in truth, the only viable candidate.
He thought he would be alone but unfortunately for him, that was not the case. Joe walked through the front door, announcing his presence by shouting up to Mary that he was there. Gerry couldn't complain too much, they'd been expecting him, but there was still an hour before they needed to get moving, and that was far too long to have to deal with his father in-law, mostly alone. Orla and Marie would arrive at some point, as would Sarah, but until then he would have to face every broadside with no protection. Not that any of them would do a lot to protect him, mind.
Dressed in his absolute finest suit, which only came out for such special occasions, Joe did look quite the part. He was every bit the gentleman that in truth, he really was, hidden away under the hardened exterior that was merely a front. He was almost always pretending to be someone he was not anyway, though his family would never find out his true role with the British Government. For their own sake, it was best that they did not know. The grey hair that was left atop of his head was combed smartly, the patriarch of the family clean shaven as well. No event could stop him from being at his best for the biggest day of his eldest granddaughter's life. All of them were ensuring they were as close to perfection as possible.
"Yer lookin' well, Joe". Gerry addressed him as he walked in. "I've not seen ye in a suit like that for some time".
"Ye've sure got a lot to say for yerself, ye southern shite!" Joe wished him a happy morning in his own way. "What does it matter to ye what I look like? Ye tryin' to have me picked out in the crowd for an assassin?"
"Was it that obvious?"
"Don't get smart with me, boy! I'm always goin' to be lookin' well when I'm put next to ye, even a blind man could tell ye look like a turd".
"Great… thanks…".
Taking his seat opposite, Joe unfurled the prior evening's newspaper from under his arm. It was a shield between him and Gerry which both were thankful for. Left with annoyance at being treated so poorly, though it was nothing new, the latter was then being ignored just to top it off. There'd been a vain hope in his mind that Joe would relent for the day seeing as it was Erin's, not for them to be spent bickering at least. It appeared that it was going to be far too much to ask for when it was already beginning with his father in-law accusing him of hiring an assassin to finish him off. As much as he hated how Joe treated him, he would never go that far.
From what he could see of the paper's front page, that Joe had turned over after reading already in his own home, Gerry could see again that there were bombings being carried out. War talk was rife throughout the country, not just in Derry and there seemed to be a lot more positivity in recent weeks. Raids were being conducted more often into enemy territory, the attack on the German dams being one of the most recent. The very same mission that James was requested for in fact, that was carried out to some success, although there were fairly heavy casualties. The men flying those missions were incredibly brave though, just like any that went out to fight at all, their sacrifices serving as motivation to the people. The war felt as if it was turning in their favour, albeit without a major blow landed yet in mainland Europe. For many, the moment allied feet were back on European soil, the end of the war would soon come. The Nazi's thought that they could steamroll the whole continent, but Britain stood firm and with America now in the war too, the tide was against Hitler and his allies. It was far from over, absolutely everyone aware that victory was a matter of years anyway not weeks. Hope was growing though.
"Hmph! What an eejit!" Joe muttered to himself.
"What was that, Joe?"
Attempting to integrate himself into the man's activities that morning, Gerry decided against his better judgement to speak up. There could have been any number of people that he was referring to with the statement, though perhaps for once it would not be the southerner. As far as he was aware, he hadn't made the news.
Surprisingly, he did not dismiss the question.
"Some soldier fella in Bermuda. No Marine, so he was…". Joe spoke slightly distractedly, still clearly reading. "He was out on patrol around the docks in the dark and he fell in. Stupid prick!"
"Christ… is he alive?" Gerry questioned again.
"Is he alive? What sort of question is that!?" Reverting to his normal-self, Joe shut Gerry down. "Of course he's not ye bone-headed imbecile! He drowned so he did, they wouldn't put in the papers if he'd gone for a wee swim, would they!?"
A swim certainly wasn't newsworthy but a marine drowning on duty out in the Atlantic most certainly was. There were many men lost in war due to abnormal circumstances outside of battle, but there were few stranger than a supposedly strong swimmer drowning in the dark in the waters off Bermuda. It was the sort of death that would be embarrassing to the poor man's family, not least when the rest of the country would be reading about it over breakfast that morning. They would have had time to prepare, finding out before the public, but it probably made little difference to how they were feeling.
"He must have been swept out to sea… terrible way to go…".
"Oh aye, he was Gerry. Some fishin' boat found him, so it did. I bet they weren't expecting a dead marine in their net". Joe snorted. "I bet yer glad the Foyle's not so deep, that could have been you, Gerry".
"I wouldn't start patrollin' the water at night, Joe. That's a bit odd, so it is".
"Ye wouldn't need the darkness. Yer such a massive tool that ye'd try and walk from one side of the Foyle to the other on the water thinkin' yer some kind of second comin'!"
"I don't think I'm Jesus, Joe…".
"Wise up, Gerry, we both know ye've always held a high opinion of yerself. Such an arrogant bastard…".
His statement couldn't have been any further from the truth, and it was the only the fact that he didn't want to ruin his daughter's wedding day, that he decided against saying anything further. Arrogance was something that Gerry only ever dreamed of, never having showed an inch of it in his entire life. When he was outnumbered with so many larger characters around him, there was simply no room for him to be arrogant. He was the consummate father and husband, who cared for his family, always putting himself last without question. The insinuation that he was arrogant hurt him more than he was willing to admit, but he once again told himself to calm down. They couldn't start scrapping on her wedding day.
"I suppose that fella won't have to do any fightin' now….". Gerry distracted himself by changing the topic of conversation, talking to the covers of the newspaper. "He's lucky in that sense, I guess. Well not lucky… he's dead but…".
"His lucks in alright, he avoided gettin' the chance to do fight for his freedoms by drownin' in the dark off an island in the middle of feckin' nowhere! Is that what you's call luck down south?"
"Like I said, I di-".
"Like you said… that's the problem, Gerry. Ye said somethin' and look where we are now, arguin' about a dead marine! Eejit!"
Evidently, that line of narrative was not going to work one bit. A secondary plan was going to have to be performed if the two of them were to survive in each other's company for any longer, but it was safe to say that Gerry was out of ideas. There was hardly anything at all that he could bring up with Joe that didn't end in the two of them disagreeing on something. War should have brought them closer as a family, yet their distance remained a healthy one. Guarding his secrets at all times, a lot of Joe's more recent reluctance wasn't out of the usual hatred though. As much as he might have regretted ever letting the man into his family, he could not deny that he had his smarts. The more distance they kept between them, the more likely Gerry would remain clueless to who he really was.
Luckily for him though, a distraction was offered up from elsewhere in the house. He heard the floorboards of the stairs creaking as the cogs of his brain ticked away, an indicator that someone was coming down them. At pace too, the footsteps being thunderous ones. It ruled out Anna, and in her calm state it was most likely not Erin either. That left only Mary as a possibility, but if she was charging towards them then that must have meant that there was a problem. Only a fool would have predicted that a Quinn family wedding would go off without a hitch.
"GERRY! GERRY!" Mary called out for him.
Before he could reply, Joe threw the paper down onto the table, rising up to his feet to greet his daughter. Making her entrance, already wearing her splendidly green chequered dress for the day, she glanced up to find her Da stood there, surprised by his presence.
"Da… ye weren't supposed to be here for another twenty minutes… oh god, what else has gone wrong!?" She immediately started to worry. "Has he called it off? That English bastard, I'll break every bone in his bo-".
"Relax, love!" Joe raised his voice, grabbing her by the shoulders. "There's nothin' wrong! I came over a bit sooner, that's all".
"Thank the Lord!" Mary crossed herself, pulling away from his grasp. "But we have a serious problem, so we do!"
"What is it?" Asking his wife, Gerry offered a concerned frown.
"I can't find Erin's veil! I… I thought it was with her dress, so I did but I've been through her whole room and it's gone! I told the pair of ye that light-fingered Billy was still out there and none of ye believed me! Now look where we are!"
A local criminal with a reputation for picking pockets and breaking into homes whilst the occupants slept, he was supposed to have been behind bars. Joe knew for a fact that he was, privy to such information, not that he would be able to divulge that to his family. In Mary's mind, the veil could have only been stolen when she'd been the one to put it away herself. The moment the dress fitting was complete and the veil purchased, she'd become the guardian of her daughter's attire for her big day. Theft could have been the only explanation as to why she could not find it that morning, all other more logical ones escaping her. Her husband though, knew better, yet it was not he who was allowed to speak next.
"What are we goin' to do, Gerry… Da!?" Panicking, Mary was having a full-blown cack attack. "I can't have our daughter turnin' up to her weddin' without a veil. No one will ever forget it… we'll become pariahs!"
"What have you done!?" Predictably, Joe turned on him. "I bet ye sold that veil to buy yerself new shoes! I saw those new boots of yers, so I did! Selling yer own daughter's veil to buy shoes… you disgust me!"
"If ye'd let me…".
"No, I won't let ye!" The older man shouted, before his attention went to his daughter. "Right love, we'll need a backup plan, so we will. Who's that wain who got married last week?"
"Joe…".
"Stay out of it, you!"
There was nothing abnormal about how he was being sidelined, but Gerry was becoming more and more agitated when he was trying to prevent any unnecessary worry. The veil wasn't lost or stolen like his wife and father in-law immediately jumped to the conclusions to. He knew exactly where it was because he'd watched where it was last left with eagle eyes, fearing of such a fuss on the wedding day if a sensible head wasn't aware of the location of the garment. That wasn't to say that his wife was not, he would be dead in seconds if he were to even dare cast a thought on it, but he knew how worked up she would already be. One of them had to be calm as to not unnerve their daughter, a role that he was always going to be destined to play that morning.
"Sadie Watson… but her head is the size of a tank, so it is!" Mary commented harshly, though her voice was croaky. "That veil would be too big for Erin and… and how would we get it!?"
"Mary…".
"Is this prick deaf!?" Joe shouted. "I know her Mammy, so I do, I can go over there now and see if I can borrow it for the mornin'".
"But what if she says no!?" There's barely any time left and…".
"Then I'll find someone else!"
"What if there is no one else!?"
That just about did it for Gerry. He was going to have to jump out of his comfort zone around the two of them, if the situation was to be resolved.
"WOULD YE BOTH SHUT IT!?"
Looking at him as if the world had fallen on its head, which it had with the war but even more so with Gerry bellowing at them, Mary and Joe were aghast. It wasn't the first time he'd needed to be more forceful around them but telling them both to keep quiet in the manner he did, was brand new territory. Adrenaline rushed around him as he rose to his feet from the chair he was sat on, using the few seconds silence to move around in front of his wife. He would only be addressing her when he spoke again though, already catching the look of death that Joe was preparing for him out of the corner of his eye.
"The veil is in the bottom drawer in our bedroom, lying flat in the bottom right corner".
"How…". Mary was still so shocked, her brain failed to function.
"I watched ye put it away the other night, so I knew where it would be too, love".
Nodding her head as a way of saying thanks, she departed the kitchen rapidly, racing off up the stairs to shout up to Anna as to where to look. At no point was Erin's voice heard, which meant that she was either crying or unmoved by the veil situation, Gerry suspecting the latter. He didn't like to have the whole house hear him yell, but as was proven with his wife, sometimes it was the only way anyone would listen to him.
Joe remained displeased though, a displeasure he quickly vocalised.
"Why didn't ye say somethin'!?" He enquired, to Gerry's disbelief. "Yer too quiet for yer own good sometimes. Typical!"
Having been referred to as arrogant and then too quiet in just a couple of minutes, Gerry was truly stunned. It wasn't exactly unlike Joe to change his mind on something so quickly, but this was ridiculous even for him. He truly didn't know what to think when he could not do right nor wrong in the man's eyes. As much as Joe would hate to admit it though, it was in his son in-law that saved the day by informing Mary about where the veil was. Erin wouldn't have to walk down the aisle with her head uncovered, the disaster that her mother envisaged proving to be unfounded when the veil was located.
When they were called to the bottom of the stairs ten minutes later, the two well-attired gentleman finally found something that they were aligned on.
At the top of the stairs, clad completely in her wedding dress along with the pesky veil that caused all of the trouble that morning, Erin was smiling down at them. There were tears in both of their eyes, their reactions absolutely identical. She looked incredible in her white outfit, and the way that her cheeks seemed to ride just that little bit higher, as if pushed up impossibly further by the smile, made even Joe's heart melt. No one would be able to steal the show from her on her big day, absolutely no one at all.
"How do I look?" She asked for their opinions.
And that was something else that they could agree, answering in perfect synchronisation.
"Beautiful".
Out in the country, at the wee English fella's cottage, there was a much more relaxed atmosphere. He was already nearly ready by eight o'clock and would be at the church in plenty of time. Getting there ahead of time anyway when he needed to be waiting at the altar for his beloved, his time keeping was better than impeccable. His excitement drove him on, though like Erin, he also slept soundly. At ten o'clock, he would be marrying the love of his life and that deadline was approaching at the right speed for James, who'd waited too long to tie the knot with her. The escalation of the war and his subsequent role in it had denied them, but there was nothing left standing in their way now. Their future was properly starting from that morning. As husband and wife.
He wasn't alone though. The one person who was staying with him to make sure that he got there on time was more in need of that service than he was. Michelle's decision to drink copious amounts of alcohol the night before, that James thought he'd hidden safely, was coming back to haunt her. Her head was absolutely pounding from the intake and if it wasn't for him then she would never have woken up at all. Even then, he was only seconds away from going to the well at the bottom of the garden, to fill up a bucket and launch it at his spare bed. That was where she'd been relegated to after becoming so inebriated, against her initial will to sleep alongside him. If he were to be honest, he was glad that she was drunk. In that regard at least.
Being the one to chase her around on his wedding day amused him greatly though, allowing the Englishman to almost relive his experiences as an officer. She was one of his airmen, not that he would ever refer to Michelle in that manner, needing to be handed out orders and chased around to keep in line with expectations. Having washed herself and changed, it was just after eight o'clock when she found herself walking out into the living room where James was sat waiting. Michelle could hear his feet tapping against the floor, his clear eagerness to get going to the church to marry Erin showing. There was not one ounce of concealment from him, nor would he ever attempt to give one. It was the greatest day of his life bar none, and he didn't care who knew.
"Christ ye'll wear the feckin' carpet out, James". She called over his shoulder. "And yer knee for that matter".
"I know… I just… cannot wait!" He breathed out happily, smiling over to her. "You look lovely, Michelle".
The dress that she was wearing was courtesy of him, James lavishing the money on his cousin so that she looked immaculate. In the role that she was going to play at the wedding, she would have to look her best considering there would be a lot of eyes drawn to her, only just less than the married couple themselves most likely. She was quite apprehensive about wearing it when it was quite tight fitting, the navy blue fabric squeezing her body somewhat. That coupled with the fact that Father Peter would be up there conducting the service, given their prior history, meant it would be quite the awkward outfit to pull off. However, the way it accentuated her figure convinced her that she would be more than just fine to wear it. That and the fact that Clint would be there so she could show off to him exactly what was his, the young woman proud to call him her fella.
"Thank ye… I hope I don't steal Erin's spotlight". She quipped, grinning.
"With all due respect, Michelle, to me at least, that is something you will never be able to do".
"Rude". She huffed, snorting in amusement. "I get ye though. We're cousins, I suppose, that marks me down a few points".
"That takes you off the table!" He laughed.
Rolling her eyes, she laughed too. It was a crying shame that they were put onto the earth as family though, because if they were not then Erin certainly wouldn't be marrying him that morning. Despite their familial ties, she couldn't deny how handsome her English cousin was and that if there was a world in which she had the opportunity, he would have been her fella. Some would have thought it incredibly strange that she held those thoughts, but Michelle Mallon was not a young woman who was afraid of the opinions of others. Erin was an incredibly lucky woman to have found a man like James to spend the rest of her life with, that much was certain. She was delighted for them both though, that was the most important part. One of her best friends and her cousin getting married; there was little else better in a darkened world.
"I am a little worried about my shirt under this though". James admitted as she stopped just in front of him. "It is one of my tighter ones and it… it is quite uncomfortable".
Michelle watched his visible discomfort, James wincing as he spoke. He wasn't normally a man who fussed too much over what he wore, when he looked outrageously attractive in anything that he put on, but it wasn't just any other day. It was his wedding day, that he needed to be in pristine condition for. Wriggling around in an uncomfortable shirt all morning was far from ideal for the Englishman, especially if he did so in front of the most likely large crowd that would be sat in their rows at the church that morning.
"Well ye've got time so ye have, get changed". She shook her head at him. "It's not like yer runnin' late is it?"
"No that is true". He answered, standing up.
"I tell ye though James, ye do look ever so cracker in that uniform. Ye'll have all the women in the church droolin', so ye will".
His cheeks heated slightly at that comment, Michelle smirking when she could see how much it was embarrassing him. It wasn't exactly a lie though, when pretty much any woman in Derry who was available, would do anything to pry him away from Erin's grasp. In marrying her, he was shutting off that angle, not that it meant there wouldn't be those who would still hold some hopes of their relationship breaking apart. He really was that popular, incredibly so when his accent was taken into account. The uniform did a lot for him too, his cousin being right in that regard. Although he was officially retired from his role in the Fleet Air Arm, he would be being married as Vice Air Admiral Maguire, not that the title would be read out in church. That meant donning his finest navy blue, to match Michelle, a uniform that only ever saw light on such occasions. He'd worn it to Sarah and Shane's wedding too, the day he'd scared the shite out of Lieutenant Hamilton and his friends by how imposing he looked. There were few men at his age that could claim to be so physically gifted as well as being so advanced in a military standing whilst still ticking the box of a consummate gentleman. He was the complete package, in a league of his own.
"I hope there is only one woman truly drooling, as you so elegantly describe it, Michelle".
She was rolling her eyes again, sighing.
"Aye I know. But I'll try to keep myself together, so I will".
Teasing him when she knew he would appreciate it and laugh back at her, she was proving exactly why she was the right person for the job of being at the cottage that morning. When he hadn't seen Erin for more hours than he ever wanted to miss her for again, he needed the companionship of someone that he could relax around. Charlene was an option too but being the sensitive and caring man that he was, he did not ask her. Her residual feelings for him were mostly cooled, months on from his recoupling with Erin, but whenever they'd met since, he could still tell that they were there. Her eyes settled on his for just a second longer than they should, her positioning to him a few inches closer than it should have been. Putting her through keeping his mind occupied on the night before his wedding to another woman would have been wholly unfair and quite cruel, the complete opposite of the man he was.
The only downside to having Michelle had been the prior night's drinking, but on a day where his mind was firmly elsewhere, he was able to look past it. They should have had Clint with them too, but he'd only been allowed to leave the docks to be able to go to the wedding itself. Since the vicious attack that was conducted upon him by the American officers, he'd remained in the city, waiting to be shipped out on another destroyer. There'd been a lack of them in port other than the ones solely used for patrolling the coasts, and as his injuries were only just fully healed, he'd not yet been released to active duty. That would begin a few days after the wedding, the investigation into the incident also over. Lance and the other three officers were clearly guilty of their crimes, but to prevent scandal back home in certain areas of the country, they would not face any punishment. The three of them would not be allowed to serve aboard the same ship as Clint again, but their commission remained intact. It was certainly not the outcome that anyone left on the other side of the Atlantic hoped for, thought it left few surprised. The colour of his skin was a sickening barrier than denied him the justice that should have been served, a betrayal of sorts by his own Navy and country in not doing more. Dutiful and equally unsurprised at the outcome, it hadn't swayed Clint's commitment to helping to end the war by fighting. If anything, he would fight harder in the hope that his efforts would perhaps spark a change of opinion across the pond. He didn't want to say it to himself, but deep down, he knew it was wishful thinking.
"Come on then, let's find ye a new shirt".
"I think I can find one myself, thank you". He smiled pleasantly. "Honestly, I will only be a couple of minutes".
"Catch yourself on! Who's goin' to tell ye if it looks alright?"
James knew he could quite easily make the decision himself, but there was a look of pleading in Michelle's eyes that he simply did not have the power to say no to. His guard was down quite shockingly, though he'd already forgiven himself for feeling that way since the moment he'd woken up to the beautiful day that marked his wedding.
"Alright…". His voice trailed, shaking his head in regret slightly.
"Oi! I'm a good judge, so I am! I've plenty of experience in getting shirts on and off a fella, so I have!"
Grumbling rather than admonishing her for her antics, James pointed to the bedroom with his thumb, allowing her to lead the way. Finding Michelle to be so excited about picking him another shirt to wear was somewhat surprising, but he chalked it up to how worked up she must have been at the day. Playing a starring role in proceedings herself, there was a lot for Michelle to think about when he'd put so much faith in her. The choice initially shocked not only her but Deirdre and Martin too, the latter of which questioned his nephew' sanity. He'd offered up plenty of alternatives to his daughter, to the dark-haired young woman's anger, including himself but James declined all offers. From the early days of being together with Erin again, with the thoughts of marriage fresh in his mind when she accepted his offer, Michelle was only ever going to be in attendance in one position.
Rifling through his drawer of shirts, she was indeed in her element. He would have to give her credit, he thought to himself as he sat on the bed behind removing his jacket, the effort going into helping him being immense. Although she'd been in his room before, and had seen all of his clothes most likely, James couldn't help but feel a little guilty as she pawed through the selection. Naïve he was not, knowing of the poverty around him, especially during wartime. There were so many people that were struggling to put food on the table for their families to eat, yet he was able to have a drawer stocked full of just plain shirts. It wasn't as if he earned all of his money either, the King's kitty set aside for his son always hanging over his conscience no matter how much he attempted to shift it. His family did struggle financially themselves, leaving him to wonder whether his cousin thought he should be sharing some of his resources out. As much as James wanted to spend his money so frivolously, the need for discretion wasn't lost on him. Should anyone wish to track where his available funds came from, then they would be walking down a path to disaster.
"What about this one?"
She held up a shirt that matched the colour of his jacket, a much more loose fitting one than the one that currently occupied his torso. He would be very well colour coordinated if he were to wear it, but at the same time, it was far from one of his more popular shirts. That was why it was close to the bottom of the pile. It didn't get much use whatsoever.
"I think I would be overdoing the blue". He replied, running a hand through his hair.
"Alright fine…".
Clearly disapproving of his rejection of her suggestion, Michelle crouched back down in order to go through the rest of the garments. Whilst she continued to make amok of his systematic filing of shirts, the colours being yanked out of their order for her to test how tight the material felt under her fingers, James's thoughts turned to the one woman who could claim to be more important to him that Michelle was. He could only imagine the sort of carnage that was going on at the Quinn household, praying for Gerry that he would be able to maintain order in the face of such chaos. Whether Erin herself would be adding to the drama he did not know, but it was most probably likely that his wife to-be was never too far away from trouble. It was one of the things that he loved about her the most, adding to a list that was as long as piece of string, because the depths of his passion for her would never be found. Even the most grimly sadistic of Nazi torturers hadn't discovered the extent of that love, no matter how hard he tried. It was the only way in which James was upset that Kurt was dead; he would have loved to have seen his face at the back of the church as he married Erin, after all of the baseless threats he'd made about her.
"What about this?" Michelle held up another shirt, grabbing his attention once more.
"Red and blue… it is not for me, and it should not be for you". He chirped his answer.
"Ach don't you start with the poetry. I'm already worried Erin's goin' to have written somethin' for later and I can't be dealin' with that".
"She has. I encouraged it".
"Jesus, Mary, Joseph and the wee donkey! Why the hell did ye do that! I'll need to get drunk, so I will, I won't survive the night if I'm not seeing triple before Erin Lord Byron takes to the stage!"
Stoically defensive around his beloved's work when almost the whole world appeared to despise it, James just stopped short of arguing with Michelle. That wasn't because he didn't have it in him, he most certainly did, but because he'd ceased listening to her towards the end of her rant about the poetry, thoughts of his own catching up. He'd been joyous all morning up until that moment, but it appeared the conscience that had so tortured him for so long with the recurring visits of the ghosts of his past, decided to act against his fate once more. Sensing the distress within him almost immediately when he did not shoot down her complaints about the poetry, Michelle was left frowning at the banker. It wasn't like James to be equivocal with his feelings, apart from on Christmas Eve, which was a night that the two would not speak about on a day that was so far apart from that of the one six months or so earlier.
"James…".
Looking up from where he'd glanced down, shoulders slumped, he could only think to do one thing. The very same policy he applied with Erin as well. Honesty.
"Michelle, can I ask you something?"
Turning herself fully to him, still on her knees by the drawer, the young Mallon did not approve of the way his facial expressions appeared to contort, anguish and pain detectable if she were not mistaken. Changing shirt so close to needing to leave was not a problem, but somehow she knew whatever he was about to ask was.
"Aye…".
"Do you…". He began with a start, before swallowing what she could have mistaken to be something sour by the why his eyes closed shut for a half-second. "Do you think I am good enough for her?"
This was not part of the plan at all, and moreover, not expected in the slightest in Michelle's mind. She'd never seen two people so well made for each other in her entire life, and here her daft cousin was at the eleventh hour, questioning himself. It wasn't right, but life's funny way of bowling along placed the right person, in the right place, at the right time, to snap him out of it.
That was her excuse at least, if he asked, as to why she slapped him. Hard.
"Michelle…". He spoke her name, not sure whether to be offended or pleased.
"NO! DON'T YOU DARE!" She shouted as she stood up, finger pointing at him. "You do not start havin' cold feet on me now, ye wee English fecker!"
Reverting to her more antagonistic self from before the war, it was the only way in which she was going to be able to get him to listen. Being gentle just wasn't going to work with the time that they had left before they needed to leave the cottage for the church.
"Look at what ye've been through… what ye've both been through! Yer both just fine for each other, so ye are!"
"I am not a good man, Michelle". Placing a firm hand on his neck, James breathed out sharply. "I have killed men, Michelle and… and… I have been too weak to stop others from dying in front of me when I could save them. How can… or why should… why should Erin have to live with a man like that?"
"James… James… no…". This time she did soften, reaching to grab his hands and squeeze them. "What ye've done has been for her. Yes, ye've killed a few fellas but… but ye've killed Nazi's, James. Proper fuckin' arseholes who deserved what they got. Yer a hero to me, to Ma, Da… the rest of Derry and probably the world!"
The Englishman went to open his mouth again to contest her point about his heroics, but Michelle would not allow him to. Not this time.
"But most of all, yer Erin's hero and that's the only thing that matters because I'm telling ye what James… James look at me!" She demanded, forcing him to comply. "She loves you, so she does! She loves ye no matter what. Don't ye, ever worry about that. She might be feckin' crazy at times but she'll stand by yer side through anythin'!"
The first time it was not, and neither was it likely to be the last, but Michelle once again found herself as the last line of defence when James became unnerved. He wasn't quite the miracle worker when it came to his own feelings, not that he needed to be though, because she was there to catch him when he looked set to fall. To think she once thought he represented everything that was evil in the world, she could have scoffed at the thought if she was not comforting him. Removing her hands carefully from his as his mind worked away, she offered a more playful slap to his cheek to snap him out of his state.
"Are ye comin' or what!? They won't let me marry her, ye know!"
"I will not let you marry her either". James huffed, pretending to be aggrieved, but grinning impishly. "Erin Quinn is about to become my wife!"
"That's more like it, ye silly fella!" She shouted joyfully, slapping his arm. "Now, we better find ye a shirt because I am not bein' held partly responsible for half the housewives of Derry collapsin' if ye get married without a shirt on!"
"Why did I make you my best man again?" He enquired jokingly, head shaking.
"Can ye name any better fellas than me?"
She wasn't a man, but she couldn't be closer to the truth. James might have known and befriended many good men, and if David were alive, she would be out of a job. But with the Irishman long deceased, he couldn't name a man suitable to the role. He did have Michelle though… he always would, through thick and thin.
The happiest day of his life could not be stopped. Not by anyone. Not even himself.
His small blip of confidence behind him, James's delight for the day continued to rise, the closer that it got towards ten o'clock. With every right too, when he was getting married to the love of his life. There was so much to do still at the church when he got there, within time of course when it was managed so well, James enjoying every moment of it. He didn't care that he was perhaps a little like a chicken without head for a fly on the wall, because at the end of it all, he would always be the winner. Marrying Erin saw him take the greatest victory of his life, one which did not lack for achievement in the slightest.
Guests were beginning to arrive as early as quarter past nine, some of Erin's family amongst them. Shane was at the church early to help him, for which he was grateful when there were plenty of decorations to go up still. The firefighter took to the task like a duck to water, his own wedding being played out in the same venue with the same decorations, not that long before. Colm had also arrived early, but the Englishman had the good sense to get him to help Father Peter, who was far from pleased when he was lumbered with the boring man. James was starting to view him differently even though he knew he was far from entertaining, remember what Joe had told him in the aftermath of his suicide attempt. He and Colm were not too far dissimilar, but the older of the two was a reminder to the younger man of what he could have become if he followed such a path of degradation. That life was just a mere after thought now, even if it was not that long ago that he was seconds away from ending his own existence.
There was going to be a full house, that James knew for certain, which meant there would be a lot of people who would have to stand. Friends and relatives were the priority when it came to seating everyone, but there were also plenty of older member of the community that he knew would be there too. They would be the ones taking the seats, an instruction that he issued to those who were there to help him. Martin and Deirdre were mostly assisting with crowd control, Michelle having been assigned to greeting guests outside, which was quite the gamble for him to make. The chance of her rubbing someone up the wrong way was quite high, but luckily Clint's shore leave began from earlier that morning, guaranteeing a more watchful eye over proceedings.
A lot of the people inside the church would just be there for the ceremony, but it was merely the first leg of the day for the couple to be married. For the second, one of the dancehalls in the city practically opened its doors to him when he asked one night, walking over from the bank after closing up for the evening. Realising how popular an event would be, mostly because of the cheer it would spread through a city that was years into rationing, it would be the talk of the place for weeks. Dancing would most likely go on through the night for some, although James himself hoped to be away well before midnight, for the final leg of a journey that only he and Erin would share. Their wedding night, after they'd excused themselves from their friends and family, would be special, regardless of what she wished to do. He would be whatever she wanted him to be that night, and he would love her for it.
Some of the guests were travelling from afar too, one even across the sea. When they'd last spoken a few weeks earlier, James was surprised to learn that he would be visiting, given how public of an occasion that it was. If the wrong impression was implied and too reaching questions were to be asked, then it would become a very awkward problem indeed. He never would have thought that Major Smithers held an obligation to attend his wedding, but apparently that was the case according to the Major. He felt sorry for him if anything, making the trip across the sea away from his family, to sit through a very formulaic ceremony, only to return home not that long after anyway. Smithers didn't of course have to attend at all, but he wouldn't tell James that. Well, that was before the additional details he'd discovered, facts also not passed on. Despite the lengths he'd gone to, testing his own sanity at times, to protect the young man's best interests, the intelligence officer held him in the highest regard.
He was the latest visitor to the church that morning, one of the last in fact, so much so that James would have turned to walk up to the altar if he hadn't spotted him arriving. Turning up on his own, Charlene having avoided any sort of suspicion that she held a connection to him by arriving much earlier, he'd respectfully worn his finest. A suit that was tailored to absolute perfection, its dark edges fitting perfectly around his neck, the collar just right, he moved briskly. Smithers was well aware of the time, and he did not want to have to be the man explaining to the King why his son's wedding was delayed, even by a second.
"Captain Penrose…". James addressed him with his false title, loudly so others could hear. "I am pleased that you could make it".
"Likewise". Smithers answered with a nod, holding his hand out for James to shake. "I do hope you are not too nervous, James".
"Terrified". He admitted with a playful huff. "But happy… I do not think I have ever been happier".
"Yes I remember the blissful joy of my own wedding day. It only goes downhill from there I'm afraid, a life of constantly being nagged and told to do better…".
Smithers sold his marriage as an unhappy one, though that was far from the case. He was merely trying to tease the young man who was responsibility, with a degree of certainty that visibly shook James for a brief second whilst he digested the information. Quickly deducing that he was being made fun of where he stood, he rolled his eyes and tutted a disapproval at his older countryman.
"Is it not sacrilege to make fun of the groom at his own wedding?"
"I am afraid that comes with the territory". Smithers lowered his voice, the two standing to one side. "Your father did not tell me that I could not mock you".
At the mention of his father, James' lips just slightly quivered for a moment, something that Smithers noticed. Any man would have wished for his father to be at the church for his wedding day, but in James' case there was no way possible in which it could happen. If the King were to arrive with his full compliment of staff and guards, to a wedding of an Englishman in Northern Ireland, then all sorts of questions would be raised. Smithers himself being there was dangerous enough if they were to be overheard at any point, let alone the actual King of England walking through the aisle to take a seat somewhere close to the front. There would be heart attacks if that happened. Forever destined to be away from each other when being close would become a security problem, he was going to be married without the man who'd created him there to see it. Without his mother too, though James had already taken a quiet moment's reflection to think of her. She would have been ever so proud of her big handsome boy.
"I… I only wish he could be here. That I could… meet him and he could… he could see how my life is now complete".
"He knows, James". Firmly gripping the groom by the shoulder, Smithers stared him dead in the eye. "I made sure that he knew just how much you love Miss Quinn. You must never repeat this but… but he even shed a tear".
"He… he shed a tear for… for me… for us?" James asked, choking on his words.
"Yes. Those of us who have spoken to him about you, are aware of how highly he regards you, James. You are his son after all, did you think he would be displeased?"
"I… I hoped he would be content. I did not expect him to show such emotion though when I am nothing but an inconvenience".
Having another crisis of conscience, far from the first time it had happened, it was only the steady hand that Smithers' was yet to withdraw from his shoulder that kept James together. As Michelle told him earlier that morning, he should not have been putting himself through such thoughts, but he could not help it. When those like the Major in front of him were often putting themselves through immense amounts of stress and strain to control his life, he couldn't but feel as if he were a burden. A secret that the King, as well as those trusted to know, would have to take to their graves, him breathing was a problem that would always be faced.
Smithers it was, that was going to have to set him straight.
"You are many things, James… a pain in my arse for one". Smithers joked, earning a laugh and relaxation from the banker. "But to your father and to your country, you will never… ever… be a burden. You are so much more than that".
"Please, do not call me a hero". James muttered, blinking heavily.
"Believe me, when I have spent nights working away trying to piece together where you are and what you are doing, heroism is the last thing I associate you with…".
Poking fun at James again, the Major oddly seemed to know exactly what he needed to keep him cool, calm and collected. They'd not even spent vast amounts of time in each other's company, talking away as if they were old friends in the corner just inside the door of the church. An open and honest man just like the one who was getting married that day, Smithers could hold such friendly discourse, without it being unprofessional. Each appreciated the other, that being the key to their successful working relationship and perhaps even friendship.
"What you are to your father and your country is a good man, James. A great man, if you would allow such praise, but I know you will not. But more importantly, what do you think you are to Erin?"
"I… I am going to be her husband".
"Yes, you are going to be but that is not what I mean. What are you to her now, James? I think I know the answer".
"Then why do you ask?"
"I am asking so that you will say it yourself. It is not information that one should have to tell another".
Realising that Smithers was not being difficult but helpful, James allowed his mind to take a moment off from the stresses of the day. There were only a few minutes left before he would become the happiest man alive, but before then a search of the soul was in order. Michelle's conversation with him that morning felt as if it went along the same lines, yet he could also see the deeper undertones to what the Intelligence officer was insinuating. He was a hero to Erin, the face that she would see every day for the rest of their lives together, the one she'd mourned so fervently when she thought he'd perished. Resting on the darker points of their time together, he was also a source of great pain and distrust for her too, even if they were working away to a future that did not involve too many visits to days gone by. Like all aspects of life though, he could see himself in so many different lights that it was almost quite blinding. The truth was much simpler than that.
"I… I am…". As he struggled, the light bulb flickered on, the message from Smithers understood. "I am me… I have always been me and that has not changed. Erin sees me for who I am, not… not who anyone else or I, think that I should be".
"Precisely, James. That is why you are regarded so highly, wherever you go. Apart from with the Nazi's, that is".
"I would be worried if they did regard me so".
"So would I". Smithers chuckled, finally letting go. "But alas, we shall not speak anymore of the enemy on your wedding day".
"Yes, that would be for the best". James agreed in response. "I hate to impose but do you ha-".
James paused when the Major reached into his jacket, knowing the answer to his question was that he did. He asked for few favours from the man responsible for ensuring his safety, and the one he'd asked was a new one in itself, when he was not the direct benefactor of it. If he had access to his father then he would have asked directly, but to get to the King, there were multiple other men stood in his way who would instead have to convey his request. Smithers warned him at the time that there was no guarantee that even a loving father like his would be able to accept. However, it appeared that his selflessness was endearing him at the very highest table in society. Seeing the letter in Smithers' hand, complete with the royal seal, left him grinning uncontrollably. To his father, and to the Major, he owed so much.
"He even wrote every word himself in my presence". The older Englishman explained. "I think he was touched by how thoughtful the request was".
"What about our friends in America?" A concerned James raised an eyebrow. "Would they not find it strange that he would intervene".
"The clue is in the title, James… friends. Sometimes, even in a time of war, certain friends do not ask certain questions if they are persuaded by other means".
"Do I wish to know what those means are?"
"You would do well to forget we ever had this conversation. Besides, His Majesty would have gone directly to President Roosevelt himself if any feathers were ruffled".
To hear how far his father was willing to go for him, drove the point home even more for James. Yes, he would never be able to be openly acknowledged as the son of the incumbent King, but away from prying eyes, he was treated no differently to the King's other children. It wasn't as if he was moving the world either, far from it, a relatively harmless request as long as it was kept out of the public eye. There would be questions then, of course, because of the nature of the authority that the letter gave. It would be another situation that Smithers would have to keep his eye on, but when James' life was beginning to return to the equilibrium of before the war, it was more than manageable.
The letter handed from one Englishman to another, they exchanged a grateful nod too. For anyone that did see the exchange, the respect between the two men was very much apparent.
"Now, I would kindly remind you that I am yet to be seated and your wedding is due to begin in…". Speaking authoritatively, Smithers pulled back his arm to check the watch that dangled around his wrist. "Four minutes. It would be a good idea to get a move on, James".
"Yes… yes, it would". A suddenly, slightly panicked James, made his presence known. "Right, I shall show to your seat".
"Thank you".
"I think you will be pleased". James hummed as they walked. "I have you sat next to the most fascinating man in all of Derry".
For a day that was going to be dutiful and tedious to an extent, as well as vibrant and uplifting, Smithers could not believe his fortune. Or James' generosity. Going to the trouble to sit him beside someone that was entertaining would at least see him through the wedding, showed that clearly the young man thought just as much of him, mutual respect as such. The son of the man who sat atop the country's throne could have easily dismissed him, holding little time for him when all his function entailed was to protect and serve him. That wasn't the man that James was though.
Albeit, that didn't mean to say that he wasn't a merchant of a grand sense of humour either. Or a prick, as Michelle would have deftly suggested.
"Here we are…". James announced, stopping around three rows back from the front. "Captain Penrose, this is Erin's Uncle Colm. Colm, Captain Penrose".
"It is nice to meet you, Colm". Smithers once again offered a hand, which Colm gingerly shook. "James tells me that you are a man of many stories".
"A story ye say…".
James didn't stay within earshot, or else the wedding would have been late, leaving Smithers to his fate instead. The Major would no doubt have something to say about his choice of seat afterwards but in the short time, it brought him a great sense of amusement to know of how annoyed he would be. Smithers was the first man since David died that he felt confident enough to lead into such a trap, knowing he would face no consequences on the other side. The McLaughlin's would have ganged up on him if he'd have pulled such a trick on them, and his teenage employee Danny was too young to be leading so astray. Too full of life to spend a morning sat next to Colm. Smithers though… he was just right.
Erin could have only been a couple of minutes away, travelling by car to the service in a vehicle that he'd arranged. He only needed a couple for his own surprise of the day to be revealed though, the letter that Smithers passed from him, requiring a final owner that was not from England. There were two owners really, even if the letter was only addressed to one of them, the pair needing to open it together at least. It was lucky for him that one of them was sat directly behind him in the front row on his side, whereas the other would be stood next to him throughout the service. It was the mark of the man that he was, that at a time where he could have been forgiven for thinking of only himself and Erin, that James' mind was instead on others.
"Who was that fella?" Michelle, confused, enquired. "And why did ye sit him next to Colm. Poor bastard...".
"He was a colleague from the Fleet Air Arm". James lied about Smithers in return. "I think his uniform must be in the wash".
"Aye… right…". She answered, as if she didn't believe him, though his resolute look told another story to her. "But why next to Colm? Did he spit in yer rations?"
"No… it was more of an airman's joke. I am sure he will see that I have tried to be humorous".
"He'll probably want yer head, so he will".
She wasn't exactly wrong there; Smithers was well within his rights to wish for him to be hung, drawn and quartered, for giving him an effective death sentence. He took another glance over to see that Colm had the Major exactly where he wanted him, and that after less than a minute, his victim was already plotting a means of escape. Diverting his attention to Michelle's fella a second later, he beckoned him over with a tilt of the head, that confused his cousin. They were getting perilously close to the start of the wedding, and time for chatter was just about coming to an end. It most certainly was not the time to begin a fresh conversation.
"James, I'm not usually one for timekeepin' but…".
"It will only take a moment, Michelle". He interrupted her, curving up his lips. "I have something for the both of you".
Confused instantly, Michelle looked to Clint as Clint looked to Michelle, before they both stared at James as if he was from another planet. She knew that the day of his wedding would be different to any other but having seen just above every side to her cousin that morning, he was starting to worry her by how far he was pivoting away from the norm. She was meant to be the cousin that strayed from convention, not him.
"Forgive me, because I ain't sure I know your traditions here, but shouldn't it be us giving you something on your wedding day, James?" Clint thoughtfully asked.
"Perhaps but this is more important than any gift you could give me". He answered honestly, retrieving the letter from his pocket. "This is for you, Clint".
The letter exchanged hands once more while under the watchful eye of Michelle, who tried to search the wee English fella for signs of what the letter could contain. James writing a letter to them on his wedding day would have been frightfully strange, yet it would not have made sense him having a letter written by anyone else. He was a banker rather than a postman, so unless he'd robbed his own work and was carrying the funds of said robbery with him, it all seemed very strange to her. Addressed to the Yank fella that was unfurling it, neither of them recognised the royal seal, brushing past it as if it was nothing but colourful decoration to them. To James, it was a sign of the life that he could not have that they could equally know nothing of.
For twenty or thirty seconds he waited, as faces of concentration soon turned to ones of complete and utter disbelief. The gift he was giving them on his wedding day was only a rung underneath the main event itself. In the space of one petition to the man that he knew as his father, his cousin's heart was well and truly secured.
"You…". Clint spoke first, not that he could say much. "I… I can stay?"
"This country is a lot better for you being in it, Clint". James elocuted resolutely. "As of today, you are a citizen of the United Kingdom, with all of the rights and privileges that come with such a title. Welcome".
What started out as an out of the box attempt in order to help them, had turned into quite the triumph. From what Smithers had told him minutes earlier, the King did not hesitate in writing the letter to Clint, to inform him of the decision that was made. He was free to begin a life in Britain as he wished, though with the added bonus of not having to leave the United States Navy, should he wish to serve during the war. Knowing how similar men they were when it came to completing the duty, James specifically requested that he was allowed to remain in his position. That was one of the incentives that convinced the American Navy and their Intelligence services, to look the other way. The papers were well out of the loop too, a secretive document that served as a permission for Clint to live the life he wanted to. With Michelle.
"James… ye… ye…". Michelle stuttered, struggling to keep it together. "How? How did ye… the King… the king signed it!?"
"The position of Vice Air Admiral has its perks". He sold her the mistruth. "I called in a favour or two, so to speak".
"Yer… yer…".
Whispers from the back of the church stopped her blubbered reply though. The second that she heard them, Michelle began to dry her eyes. Her Mammy could see her up there and Deirdre would kill her if she was to start crying before the wedding had even started. As much as he wanted his cousin to be able to express herself, James very quickly forgot about their happiness, when a ray of sunshine was about to shine through the doors of the Lord's house. His ray of sunshine… his Erin.
Quiet cries announcing her arrival died down, and for almost a minute, James was left completely alone with his thoughts. Michelle might have been by his side, Father Peter on the other and a whole church packed to the rafters with well-wishers in front of him, but he was completely isolated internally. Around him, he could hear nothing, even when there was some low-level chatter spreading through the rows.
This was the point, he was sure, that he would wake up.
The moment he would awaken from a delirious dream, having blacked out either during or after a torture session with Doctor Van Der Heijden.
And then a flash of white broke through his haze, to reveal that he was not experiencing a hopeful dream but an expectant reality. He'd survived everything and now he was going to collect the ultimate reward for every sacrifice he made, for every life he took and for the memory of those that couldn't be there with him, who should have been.
In her wedding dress, Erin appeared to have made time stop.
She looked stunning, their already glassy eyes locking from a distance. Perfection was supposed to be an unobtainable quality, but she'd shattered that belief in less than a blink of an eye. This exotic vision that danced across his eyeline was about to become his wife, no man in the world luckier in his humble opinion.
So many tried to stop them, but in the end, the two of them were facing each other at other ends of the aisle that morning, standing where others no longer could.
In marriage, they were providing the ultimate proof that their love could survive.
With the past behind them, that love could only thrive.
Considering all of the mishaps and misunderstandings that had marked the time they'd known each other, the wedding of James Maguire and Erin Quinn went ahead smoothly. Father Peter conducted the ceremony with pinpoint precision, not a prayer or song missed, nor a moment too awkward not to saviour. The atmosphere that day was one that did not incorporate the war that went on around them, the desperate struggle for peace in the world forgotten. For a short period of time at least, that was acceptable, especially for the married couple. They were not thinking of anything else except from each other, the correct attitude to have on the most monumental day of their lives.
Walking back down the aisle arm in arm, they caught the eyes of everyone around them, sauntering down to ensure everyone could get a good look at them. Their families were both so proud of them, tears streaming, not least from Mary and Deirdre. They'd grown up together, seen each other get married and were now watching daughter and nephew respectively, beginning their own journey that they'd both started long ago. It brought them great joy and contentment to see how clearly in love they were, watching as their eyes only ever seemed to find each other despite there being hundreds of people around them. The delight wasn't just exclusive to the two of them though. Everyone from the two bridesmaids, Orla and Anna, to Joe and even some of the hardiest of old souls were left with tears in their eyes. Their union was too long in the making, and for everyone who cared for them and beyond, it was felt strongly.
Mr and Mrs Maguire, were walking out of the church together. That was what they now were, man and wife, the knot tied and their future sealed.
The doors were being opened, but before they could make their way outside, a man stood in their way, blocking the view to the outside. Some would have been alarmed at the man's presence, and Erin was, but her husband knew better when he saw who it was. Smithers was already regretting the surprise he'd failed to mention to his younger countryman after having spent the ceremony sat next to Colm, but before it had ended, both he and Charlene managed to sneak out to prepare for it. She was stood out of the way in the warm air, the married couple unable to see her, her role already complete for the day. It was up to her superior to conduct it, not her, a job that he relished when it came to honouring a man fully deserving of what was about to happen.
"Captain Penrose…". James spoke his false name suspiciously but was not concerned when he could see the look on him.
"Vice Air Admiral Maguire. Mrs Maguire". He nodded. "Please wait here for a moment".
"James…".
"It's alright, Erin. I trust him".
He did trust him, but that didn't mean that James knew what he was going to do. It did all become very clear to him though, when Smithers turned around and began to shout orders. He wasn't an army officer nor was James, but the instructions were given as if he was, to men in the uniform of the army that the Englishman did not serve in. The Fleet Air Arm were most likely too thinly spread, but they'd been replaced outside by a unit of the army, one of the ones that were training in the area, stationed just outside of Derry. Even before he could see the men out there, James worked out what was going on by the orders that were given. Erin, confused as anything, did not understand it all, not until at least she made her way outside. Then only a complete fool would fail to realise what was going on.
Smithers stood aside once he was finished, nodding over his shoulder in order to beckon James forward. Coaxing Erin with a gentle nudge, the two of them slowly stepped outside in order to greet their newest set of well-wishers. Formed in a guard, there were sixty men in file, thirty each side along with their officers. They must have been hiding, he thought to himself, because there was not a soul in the church who could honestly say they'd seen soldiers at any point on their way to the wedding that morning. Receiving a guard of honour in the immediate aftermath of his wedding was not something that James expected, but to anyone who knew of him and his record in combat, it was no less deserved. A man who'd crippled the Italian Fleet, who'd took on a tank division with no backup or cover in an aircraft made of metal tubes and line with fabric, who was also the killer of one of the evillest Nazi leaders that their despicable empire had produced. There was perhaps no man more fitting for such an honour.
"This is…". Erin's breath was caught, her words lost. "They're… they're here f-for us".
"I do believe they are, my love". He tilted his head down to her, his words like the finest of silk. "It would seem our guest list did not cover the army".
"Aye…".
His wife caught up in the emotions, feeling the hand of her father on her back to steady her, James turned to Major Smithers, who'd wheeled around to stand by his side again. There was a wide grin threatening to appear on his face, but not before he'd admonished James for the torture he'd been put through.
"You are very lucky that I literally have no choice but to do this for you". He grumbled, voice low. "The most fascinating man in Derry… for the son of the King, you are quite the little shit!"
"Now now Smithers…". James whispered back, facing forward as to make it look as if they were not talking. "They used to behead a man for treason many a year ago".
"That would have been preferrable to sitting next to that man".
Moaning about Colm brought a smile to both of their faces, as they looked out to the horse and carriage that awaited the young couple. Erin had freed herself from his grasp for a moment to embrace her tearful mother, leaving James and the Major the space to converse quietly. Smithers might have hated every second of hearing Colm, who'd talked to him throughout the ceremony even when he shouldn't have, but beneath his professional mask, he could have lost a tear or two himself. There was a sense of fulfilment for him to that day, having been the man responsible for directing James home safely to be able to marry the woman he loved so dearly. Without his management of James' life, even if at times there was failure, the young man might not have been standing there as a married man. He would have most likely been rotting away in a shallow grave somewhere on the continent, another victim of the Nazi war machine.
The younger of the two was about to ask the older about how he'd managed to pull the trick off so successfully, when his attention was diverted to a sound further up the road. Coming out from around the bend, where the trees overhung the road, the distant neighing and whinnying of horses could be heard, along with a rhythm that he recognised as trotting. The majority of people stood either outside of the church or just inside it, like Father Peter, peered up the narrow road to see multiple horses in formation, being ridden up behind the carriage. All of the men atop the horses were dressed in the finest of uniforms, the deepest scarlet tunics covered by cuirasses, their swords drawn up in reverence to the man that they were there to honour. James knew which regiment they belonged to without having to think too hard about it.
The Life Guards, part of the Household Cavalry.
Serving the household of their regimental colonel in chief, who just happened to be…
"Another wedding gift from your father". Smithers whispered. "They will escort you into the city".
"I…". James was just as stunned as Erin had been. "B-but I… I do not understand. Would this not draw attention?"
"Leave that to me, James. Your father wished for you to have his cavalry for your wedding day, and it is up to myself and Miss Kavanagh, to oversee the deliverance of those wishes".
"He really does care…".
"It is never wise to doubt your King, James". Smithers gripped him tightly again. "Especially when he is your father. Go on… I shall speak to you soon".
"Thank you, Major". A hand was shifted between, that was accepted in a shake. "I meant to ask, how is young James?"
At the mention of his son, coincidentally named James too, to the amusement of Lieutenant Colonel Menzies and the Englishman himself, Smithers groaned loudly.
"Do bugger off, Mr Maguire…".
Their pleasantries exchanged, a weak promise of good behaviour given in the dip of a head from James, Smithers excused himself to get out of the way before any photographs were taken. There was only the one photographer present, Charlene having moved on the one from the Derry Journal when it was paramount that the young man's wedding did not make the papers. The risk might have been minimal but when they were already taking a risk in having the Household Cavalry appear to guard the carriage, it was sensible to nip any other issues in the bud. Family and friends stood and smile as photographs were taken, the rest of the crowd dispersing around them, with some making their way home, not wishing to overstay their welcome.
Once they were ready, James and Erin made their way through the guard to the horse and carriage, their family staying on the other side of the soldiers, allowing them the honour themselves without interference. Each soldier stayed resolutely calm and rigid, not one of them cracking a smile. They weren't just young men who saw the war as a jolly, James could tell, they were proper soldiers that were drilled for battle, their discipline apparent. Helping the newly married woman into the carriage the driver shared a few words with James before returning to his seat at the reins, whilst the Englishman climbed into the carriage alongside the woman that he loved. Shouts of farewell came from the crowds left at the church, the loudest of which a close match between a very vocal Michelle and Mary, who streamed water from her eyes watching the newlyweds settle into their seats. Most hearts exploded when Erin rested her head on James' shoulder for a moment and he pressed a kissed to her forehead.
"Tonight then, Erin…". He hummed. "My beautiful, exquisite Erin".
"Yer wife, Erin". She reminded him lovingly, turning her head up at him to smile.
"My wife". The words fell from his lips like he did not believe them. "My wife… do you still wish for us to begin tonight, my dear wife?"
"Aye… I do".
Her voice was raspy, understandably emotional on her wedding day, a hint of fear within it too. The next step for them after marriage was going to be the hardest one of them all because of the past that they'd moved on from, that would always hang over her as the darkest cloud of all. He would be there by her side throughout it though, because unlike at the start of the war when his sense of duty called out to him, he was now bound to her, a new duty to perform should they be fortunate enough to be given a second chance.
"You are sure? I will wait as long as…".
Her finger went to his lips, silencing him.
"I want us to have a baby, James. I'm ready to try, so I am".
"I love you". Was all that he could say in return, all that needed saying.
"I love ye too… husband".
They laughed together at that, before he signalled to the lead rider of the cavalry that now surrounded them, that they were ready to move off. Their family would soon join up with them, but for a few minutes as their procession trawled through the city, it would just be two of them. In time, they both hoped for one more, a child that would be the ultimate proof of their love for each other.
The happiest day of their lives, it truly was.
Happiness that would last them for eternity, however long that was going be…