A/N: Many thanks to my lovely reviewers! Please let me know what you think of this one...
Chapter Forty-seven
Theodore 'T-Dog' Douglas was buried beneath a tall Hickory tree in a quiet corner of the Greene family farm. The morning dew had glistened under a benevolent sky as soft words were spoken of honor, friendship and generosity. Tears had fallen solemnly as a life was remembered. Now three hours later, another life is cherished as Rick leans against the doorframe of a small bedroom and watches a seriously injured boy open his eyes on a bright new day.
A veil of confusion clouds Duane's expression as he looks at his father. Rick's breath catches in his suddenly dry throat as he sees the boy's eyebrows angle downward in a somewhat frustrated visage, as if he is having trouble putting his thoughts together. The thick white bandage wrapped around his head seems like a disguise, masking the true personality of the boy they knew. Oh God, was he out for too long? Does he have permanent damage? A fissure of ice grates along his spine beneath the black and white checks of his button-up shirt. He straightens in the doorway and wipes his damp palms against his favorite black jeans, so thoroughly worn they appear more of a dark gray now.
"Duane?" Morgan says his son's name ever so gently, a question clinging to the dust that floats in a sunbeam streaming through the window above the bed. Time stands still as they wait for a sign of recognition, a hopeful response…
"Daddy?"
Oh thank God! Rick releases a long-held breath as immeasurable relief weighs heavily behind his eyes.
"Yeah, son," Morgan says, reaching a hand to his son's cheek. "I'm right here."
"My leg hurts, Daddy," Duane says, his voice low and groggy but coherent enough to dispel their fears.
Rick blinks back the tears as he sees the moisture leaking from Morgan's eyes, his Adam's apple bobbing hard in his dark throat.
"I know," Morgan replies gently and then tucks his emotions away with a hard sniffle. "You busted it up pretty good but Hershel fixed it up for you."
"What happened? Where are we?"
"You were in a car accident, and now we're at a farm owned by…"
Morgan's voice fades as Rick runs up to the second floor to retrieve the owner of the farm. "Hershel!" When he follows the veterinarian back down the stairs a moment later, his focus gets snared on a pool of sunlight spilling in through the sitting room window and spotlighting a familiar looking blanket. Folded over the back of a chair, the thin white stripes that are outlining blocks of red and black squares are glowing in the sun, highlighting a pattern that closely resembles that of the tartan of his own sexy Scott. Sweet baby Jesus. Moving quickly down the stairs, he runs out to the porch and scans the area in front of the house. Beyond a wood and wire fence about a hundred yards from the front steps, a tall windmill turns slowly through a quiet breeze. Though he must have seen it earlier in a peripheral glance, its significance had not registered until this moment. "My God, that's Carl's windmill," he murmurs as a grin takes shape on his face. He looks to the left of the structure in search of another object from his son's dream. Disappointment creeps into his chest when he doesn't see anything extraordinary. He turns to the right and walks to the end of the porch, his heart barely beating as his breath holds onto a thin strand of hope. Gazing around the corner, he finally sees it; a huge tree with a funny little wiggle standing proudly at the edge of a vast pasture. He exhales deeply and tilts his chin to the heavens as his eyes fall closed. Thank you. "Erin." He breathes her name as he turns back to the front door. After two strides his excitement has his legs pumping to a quick jog, racing to share this discovery with her. He hadn't seen her all morning and now he feels like an addict going through withdrawal.
Immediately after the funeral she had gone to the stable with Maggie to help with the horses and drown her sorrows in the muck of the stalls. While she had sought to seek relief in the physical labor, he had drifted numbly between Carl's room and Duane's, and the tents that the others had pitched between the two campers and a small cluster of trees just inside the fence, a respectful distance from the house. He'd wandered and waited and worried, agonizing over the things that were beyond his control.
Stepping into the house, he glances to the right and sees Erin following Maggie out of the kitchen with a radiant smile that extinguishes the darkness of the last twenty-four hours. With her freshly shampooed hair falling in damp red curls over her shoulders, leaving small patches of wet on his white tee shirt, she feels like warm sunshine kissing the springtime dew after a terribly long winter. Her khaki jeans fit her form like a glove, hugging her curves below the loose hem of his oversized shirt. She looks earthy and fresh and welcoming. Like coming home.
"Rick, he's awake!"
He moves to the side to let Maggie go by and reaches for Erin's hand. "I know, sweetheart. Come here," he says, pressing his lips to her temple and then turning back toward the door.
"Where are we going? What about Duane?"
"Duane's good, honey. He's gonna be fine." He leads her out of the house and pulls her along the porch to the right. "Come on, I want to show you something." Standing at the corner of the wraparound, he lays one arm across her shoulders and stretches the other out toward the pasture. Bending his knees, he leans down to match her eye level. "Look over there. What do you see?"
"A big empty field."
"No, not completely empty." A few seconds tick on and then he hears the catch of her breath.
"Oh my God, is that our tree?"
"Oh wait, I forgot something else. Stay here," he says, already turning to race back to the sitting room. He grabs the plaid blanket from the chair and nearly trips over a basket of magazines in his haste to get back to her.
Returning to her side, he presents the folded blanket slowly, reverently, as if he were showing her a swaddled infant to be carefully treasured. "Look what I found in Hershel's house."
The expression of awe on her face matches the feeling that had swelled in his chest when he'd first seen it himself. "Sweet baby Jesus."
He chuckles with a proud grin. "My thoughts exactly."
"Rick, that's the blanket from our dream. Isn't it?" she asks, stroking the material with a gentle hand.
"Yeah," he says slowly. "I think we sat on this blanket under that tree out there."
"Oh my God."
"Come on." He takes her hand and leads her down off the porch, making a beeline for the big oak tree. He can't take his eyes off of it. Every step is a step closer to happiness. He feels it in the marrow of his bones. With her hand in his and the plaid blanket tucked securely under his arm, this moment actually is a dream come true.
"Wait," Erin says with a grain of skepticism as they near the tree. "It doesn't look right. Something is different."
"I know," he replies, looking for the fat knot of the lopsided heart. "Hang on." He pulls her to the right side of the massive trunk and smiles at the darkened wood about six feet up from the roots.
"There it is!" she exclaims with infectious delight as she squeezes his hand beneath the tall branches.
He spreads the blanket on the ground and then steps onto its center with his open palms extended, beckoning her to join him. She lays both hands in his and he pulls them up to his chest. "Okay, Red, first things first." He clears his throat in respect for the magnitude of the moment. "Erin, it took me twenty-six years to find you, but on the day you were born, my soul was given its mate. You were created for me and you'll never know how grateful I am for that. Nothing would mean more to me now than the honor of calling you my wife." He falls slowly to one knee and watches her eyes shimmer with a tearful smile. "Will you marry me?"
"Oh, honey," she whispers through her tears. "With all my heart, yes." She drops down to her knees and throws her arms around his neck. "I love you."
He holds her tight against his chest, feeling the beat of her heart keeping perfect rhythm with his. "I love you back, honey. So much it hurts."
She leans back with a nod of her chin and then presses her forehead to his as her fingers curl into his dark hair. Sniffling with a warm smile, she softly says, "No love has ever hurt so good, but I promise I will do everything I can to ease the pain."
"Me too, sweetheart. Always." He presses his lips to hers to seal the oath. "Now," he says, rubbing his hands tenderly along her back. "Who will we get to marry us?"
"Well, in Scotland they used to do something called 'handfast'."
"Isn't that some kind of wiccan thing?"
"Not originally, no. I think I read somewhere that the Highlanders started it centuries ago because the clans were so spread out and the priests rarely came up from the lowlands," she explains. "So a couple would have their own private ceremony, securing their hands with a few strips of cloth and vowing their love to each other. That's all it took for them to be considered married for a lifetime. Or they could consider themselves engaged and then have another big ceremony a year and a day later."
Listening to her story, he realizes that they are very much like the old Highlanders, all spread out. "I want a lifetime," he says slowly, drawing out the words like the promise he means them to be, breathing life into each syllable as he pours his heart into her hands. Rising to his feet and pulling her up along with him, he reaches into his back pocket for the bandanna that Daryl had given him a few days before. "Alright," he says with a nod as he holds up the red cloth to their linked hands; his left clutching her right. Silently, she takes the end and winds it several times around their wrists until there is just enough left to work together in tying the two corners, binding their wrists securely in place. Together.
With profound emotion building up and filling his senses, his entire world is narrowed down to one oak tree and the woman standing in its shade; the touch of her hands in his, the sight of her face as she gazes up at him with unconditional love, the smell of her own sweet essence that has never failed to guide him home, the sound of her breathing at this very moment - along with the echo of every breath she had ever taken as she lay in his arms, and the taste of her body that is forever suffused into his tongue after so many tender nights of feeding his soul.
The farm disappears along with the ravaged world beyond it. They could be standing on the edge of a quarry or next to a big willow tree. He blinks and for a moment, they are standing by a big willow tree overlooking a small peaceful lake, the ties of the bandana that unites them in matrimony swaying lightly in a gentle breeze. He blinks again as the soft quack of a duckling fades away and they are back inside the shadow of the big oak tree. He swallows hard and opens his heart. Completely.
"Erin Butler, I take you as my wife, my lover, my partner in every sense. I swear I will treasure you with all my heart and protect you with my body. I promise to earn your respect, and give it tenfold in return. I promise to make you laugh… even when I make you mad." He can't keep his mouth from curving up at one corner as his eyes flicker with a glimmer of mirth. His heart flips when she smiles brightly up at him, joy dancing in her own eyes. Again, he swallows the emotion thickening his throat and leans closer to convey everything that she means to him. "I will hold you dear," he says softly, reverently, "And I will love you with every ounce of my soul." Lowering his head, he kisses the back of her hand, sealing his vow as her husband.
He watches her eyes glisten with tears of endearment. She blinks them away but the sincerity in their depths still shines bright. "Richard Grimes, I take you as my husband. You are my lover, my best friend and partner, and I swear to cherish you for the rest of my days." She lowers her gaze to his chin and pulls her bottom lip through her teeth. He can envision the inner workings of her mind as she takes a moment to shape her thoughts into the words that will make her his wife. When she looks up again, her expression is open, honest, and affectionate. "I will protect your heart, value your strength and forgive your faults." Compassion floods her eyes on the last three words and his throat tightens even more. "I will make you laugh, ease your pain, and dry your tears with utmost respect." She sniffles softly and swallows hard. "I will hold you dear…" Her voice breaks and her tears cause his own vision to shimmer behind a cerulean wave. He blinks hard to clear the moisture and releases a long emotional breath, steadying them both with a tender smile. She shakes her own tears away with another sniffle and looks at him with solemn conviction in her gaze. "And I will love you with every ounce of my soul."
He leans down to meet her lips when she lifts her chin to him, but his pucker finds nothing but air when she pulls back suddenly. "What?"
"Wait, we need a broom!" she cries.
"What for? Isn't this the part where I get to kiss my bride to seal the deal?"
"No. I mean yes, but we need to jump the broom first. Or in this case – a stick."
He watches her reach over her head with her free hand to grasp a long thin sprig extending off of a thicker branch. He grabs it at the base to aid her effort and she breaks it off with a grunt followed by a soft apology to the tree.
"Now what?" he asks, enjoying the look of determination on her face.
"Hold it for a second." She snaps off the shoots that are protruding from the tip with a scattering of Spring leaves. "Okay… here." She lays the bare stick on the ground at their feet and then rises with a transcendent smile aimed right at his heart.
God she's beautiful. She radiates pure love as she holds his gaze and he feels like the luckiest man that has ever walked the earth. Please let me be worthy of her love. Emotions run rampant again as he sees her eyes well up with tenderness.
"I love you, Rick."
"Thank God," he says softly as he lifts her hand to feel the warmth of it against his cheek. Moving her hand to his mouth, he kisses her knuckle with a solemnly whispered, "I love you back."
She sniffles once and breathes deep. "Okay, this is considered a leap of faith for working together through tough times ahead."
"Sounds good to me. Ready?"
"On three. As high as we can."
He bends his knees and on her third count he takes a leap of faith for the hope of many years together. Tough times naturally come with the territory of any marriage, but coupled with surviving an apocalypse where times are abundantly tough on a daily basis, their love will be put to the test again and again. In the span of the one heartbeat that he is airborne, he remembers that her leg still isn't completely healed from the snakebite and all the uncertainty of the ravaged world slithers into the space between his boots and the grass. In the breadth of a millisecond, he feels completely off-balance as anxiety rears its dreaded head. But when his feet land on the other side of the stick, the ground is solid beneath him and Erin's hand is warm and reassuring as she stands surefooted at his side, steadying his world once again. They are in this together. In sickness and in health, in good times and bad. Together. Thank Christ.
As soon as she straightens, glowing like the bride she was meant to be – his bride, with her veil of auburn curls and the hem of his large white tee shirt billowing in the breeze as it hangs loosely on her thin frame, her grace bringing an elegance to the cotton that could rival the lacy train of a fancy wedding dress, he turns toward her and reaches his free hand to cup her joyously grinning cheek. "Come here, Mrs. Grimes." He covers her mouth with tenderness, loving her with a kiss that is slow and deep and meaningful; a promise to get her through those future rough times with honor and devotion.
When he finally releases her, he pulls her into a tight one-armed embrace with their other hands still linked and tucked between them. Lifting his head, the farm comes back into view over her shoulder. A wide spread of green surrounds them as the windmill continues its steady cycle. He thinks of his son and the dream that he'd told them about.
"Honey," Erin says into the crook of his neck. "I feel bad that Carl wasn't part of this."
"Yeah, I was just thinking the same thing."
"He said the dream had everyone around us. Now I feel like we cheated him."
"I know," he replies, pulling back to meet her eyes. "Look, I'm really glad we did it this way, with just the two of us…"
"But maybe we could have another ceremony that includes the others."
He presses his lips softly to hers, a gentle kiss that carries all the sincerity in his soul. "Thank you." For everything.