Chapter 12: The Harvest Wedding
They were married on a warm Saturday in October, on the grassy meadow beside Esopus Creek.
There were no velvet ropes. There were no five-thousand-dollar floral arches, no paparazzi cameras, and no seating hierarchies designed to make people feel small.
The altar was framed by two ancient sugar maple trees blazing in natural gold and scarlet foliage.
One hundred and fifty neighbors—farmers, blacksmiths, teachers, nurses, and students—sat on hand-hewn oak benches beneath the open blue sky.
Diana wore a simple, flowing ivory linen gown she had sewn herself, adorned with a crown of wild mountain laurel and asters.
Nathan stood beside her in a clean dark wool vest and linen shirt, his hand holding hers with a grip as strong and secure as the bedrock beneath their feet.
Arthur Sterling stood beside them as Nathan’s best man, his face radiant with the pride of a grandfather seeing his true family united in light.
When the local pastor pronounced the blessing, the crowd erupted into joyful cheers, their voices echoing off the mountain slopes as acoustic fiddles and banjos began to play a lively Appalachian reel.
Long wooden tables were assembled on the meadow, groaning beneath platters of roasted squash, smoked trout, fresh sourdough loaves, and hot apple pies.
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They danced on the grass until the stars filled the mountain sky, celebrating a love that had no price tag, no secrets, and nothing left to hide.
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