It was recently brought to my attention that I, tragically,
failed to include a wedding scene for dear Miss Natalie Stewart and her dashing
Lord Denbury at the end of the Magic Most Foul saga, The Double Life of Incorporate Things. It isn’t that I forgot this particular detail, it’s
just that I was introducing, in the end of the novel, Miss Clara Templeton and
the threads that would then be picked up in my most recent books, my Eterna Files saga. While my focus was then onto the next adventure, I
assure you it was not for any lack of love for these two brave young people. It
is also true that the two of them are private people, not ones for show, so
pulling back this curtain on them didn’t feel at the time like the right thing
to do. Now, they seem more willing.
Thanks to the clever Camille and Layla, who wrote to me on this topic, and
included their thoughts and opinions, ideas I have tried my best to incorporate herein. And so, without further ado,
I present to you the missing scene from the end of Natalie’s story, and before
the events of The Eterna Files. This special extended scene is especially for you, Camille and Layla.
You are Cordially Invited to the Wedding of Natalie Stewart and Jonathon Whitby, Lord Denbury
The Manhattan morning was
bright and clear, so different from the grey days of the recent horrors Natalie
Stewart and her fiancé had endured. The weather was a good sign, Natalie
thought, staring out past the long oval mirror she stood before, gazing at the window sill of the church’s bridal
suite where a little flurry of motion drew her eye.
A song sparrow had alit, ducking
under the pane of golden stained glass that had been opened at an angle to
allow a bit of air through on this fine day. It trilled at Natalie, puffing out
speckled brown and beige feathers, and Natalie could not help but gasp slightly
at this small, beautiful visitor, beaming the creature a smile. A second
auspicious omen.
She wanted to reach out her hand,
to see if this magical little being would deign to take to her finger, but she
refrained. While the action would have heralded fairytales of old, such an
encounter would be unnatural, and Natalie had experienced plenty of the
unnatural in her past many months and returning to nature’s order was her
greatest hope. The bird continued singing, Natalie it's patient audience, until it heard other chirping
responses from winged compatriots and it turned to fly away. The little creature vanished into the flowering
bushes outside Immanuel Lutheran Church, on the east side of Manhattan; the
sacred space where Natalie had grown up, searching for the long lost bond of
her mother, and frequenting any place her spirit may live on. Life was full of fragile little birds, souls flitting in and out again.
“All ready, dear?” came a gentle
British accent from the other side of the door. “The guests are all assembled.
It’s time, love.”
“Yes…” Natalie turned to the door,
calling. “Come in here a moment, Lavinia, if you would?”
The door opened and a red-headed
girl, eyes wide and glistening with excitement, swept in, closing it behind her
from any prying eyes. Natalie's dear friend, her only remaining peer, had dressed in all purple, an elegant but simple gown
in head to toe satin, purple being the only color she might ever be seen in
outside of her Gothic black, so it was for the best that this was Natalie’s favorite color,
grateful that her theatrical counterpart was so willing to take a
secondary role today.
“Darling you look stunning! How may
I be of service?”
“Just take a moment with me please?”
Natalie didn’t realize how nervous she was until she heard her own faltering voice.
“Of course, oh, and you’ve not
affixed your veil yet, dear,” Lavinia cooed.
They
looked into the mirror together, drinking in the image of Natalie in a
beautiful ivory lace gown, with that beloved rich purple of hers, accented in ribbon
trim along graceful lines, the ribbons gathering in bunches, attached with
silvery thread and weaving into floral patterns among small seed-pearls, little bouquets around the
bodice line, The deep, royal purple swaths then trailed down the back of the gown, gathering in a high bustle fashioned into a beautiful bouquet of purple satin roses, tumbling down to a graceful train.
Her dark
auburn hair was up in a bun that Lavinia had woven into looping braids at the
beginning of the morning, pulling down a few loose strands to frame her face. “You
must be winsome, my dear,” her friend had said while putting in pins, “while
you’re a sensible, forthright woman, you’re not severe, we can’t have everything
pinned back like a schoolmarm. Let's see some of that passion of yours.” The women had laughed and embraced, these sweet moments all the sweeter for the hardships they had so recently endured. Standing side by side at the brink of death, surrounded by death, witnessing it, and being helped from the other side, it made them comrades in arms, sisters in the gravest of battles. Every relationship around them was stronger for their holding onto life and hope, treasuring chosen family as more precious than any sum of money.
Lavinia
now tended to those winsome locks around her friend’s face. “Your green eyes
are otherworldly in this light,” she said. “A match to Jonathon's piercing gaze. You are the picture of a
lady, worthy of her lord; the beautiful Cinderella marrying her Prince,”
Lavinia stated. “And now the crown.” She reached into the box filled with
violet-scented tissue paper, withdrawing an ivory tulle veil with a pearl-studded
tiara whose comb would nestle into the braids Lavinia had earlier affixed. She set the
veil in place and folded it over her friend, kissing her cheek on the other
side the transparent layer.
“Thank
you,” Natalie managed in a murmur, a flutter of nerves getting the better of
her. “I am so grateful for your help. For you. For being here.”
“Evelyn
Northe would have been in here with us,” Lavinia added, “mother-hen to us all,
but I think she’s been too busy looking after Jonathon, and your father,
tending to their spirits.”
“She is
our guide, our Northe star indeed,” Natalie said. “Our motley and unexpected family is grand,
is it not?”
“Oh, how it is! And while I am
jealous, of course, as my Nathaniel hasn’t the slightest idea of proposing,”
Lavinia scowled. “You mustn’t ever mind me, this is your day.”
Natalie laughed. “He’ll come
around, just you wait. And if he doesn’t, why, you’ve all of New York City to
explore.”
“Indeed!” Lavinia exclaimed. “Come,
we mustn’t keep the guests waiting.” The redhead bent to place the dainty satin
slippers before her friend, as Natalie lifted up the voluminous layers of her
gown. “Step in, my princess.”
Her shoes, accented in the same colors, came to a graceful point,
but the slippers were comfortable, as she didn’t want to go tumbling down a
church aisle. While Natalie appreciated finery, sensibility was always first.
Her corset beneath her layers was likely laced too tight for sense, but that
was also likely her nerves pressing against the whalebone. Her figure was
shapely and that’s all she could ask for. She let herself take a good look, and
a deep breath.
She did look every bit the
princess, in a gown far fancier than she could have ever afforded without
Evelyn’s help, benefactor and fairy godmother incarnate. The same fine tailor that had done up her purple evening gown when she first met Nathaniel Veil outdid themselves on this masterpiece.
“Well, here goes…” Natalie
murmured, hoping her voice would remain with her. Lavinia escorted her to the foyer that had been emptied of guests in preparation for the procession.
The wide wooden church doors
closed, Lavinia deposited Natalie with her father and went to join Nathaniel
through the side aisle, moving quietly and away from view.
“My girl, you are the picture of
loveliness,” her father said, dressed in his finest black suit with a white
cravat, tears in his eyes. Missing her mother went unspoken, she took up such a huge part
of their hearts that needed no explanation.
Jonathan and she had agreed to keep
the event small, private, intimate. Neither of them was much for show, they had
proven to one another that they existed for meaning. When the doors were opened
for her by an elder of the church, an elderly German smiling at her and
murmuring how proud Helen Stewart would be, may she rest in peace, Natalie held onto her father’s hand
as he held out his arm for her, steadying their mutual nerves on one another. Both were the introverted sort, this kind of display made Natalie queasy. But it was for Jonathon. For him, for his love, she would suffer a thousand discomforts to prove her heart.
They’d forgone a large procession,
they didn’t have the family to fulfill the roles nor the desire for the spectacle. Their wedding party, one beloved friend each, a fellow couple who had stood with them at death's door. Lavinia and her partner Nathaniel would step up to support them
at the altar.
When asked what music she’d like,
Natalie had thought only of her mother, and what she would have wanted to hear.
Much like Jonathon, Natalie loved all music, no matter the genre, but her mother had loved Bach most of all, and her
father had raised her with a sensibility that made the composer quite sacred.
So once Natalie was in view, the first notes of a sweet and simple Bach cantata,
on violin and piano, made Natalie feel like she could float forward to her love.
Jonathon Whitby, Lord Denbury,
stepped into view as the music started, the small audience stood and Natalie
felt faint at the look of him. The slight mist of her veil could not filter out
his supreme, exquisite beauty. His ice-blue eyes stole her breath as they
always did; in an ever-changing world, that was one constant.
His beautiful mop of black hair, as
wild as it ever was, a visual representation of his passionate heart, was kempt
enough to be tucked behind his ears, and it made Natalie’s fingers itch to run
through it and muss it all up in a ravenous kiss.
His frock coat was nearly black,
the fabric was rich, with an iridescent quality and as a shaft of light came
through, it carried an undertone of purple in an elegant glow. Natalie felt
quite sure Evelyn Northe must have advised him as to the accents, for the deep
plum cravat he wore exactly matched the accents on her dress. What a good
mother she’d been to them, helping this all come together.
That, or perhaps Jonathon had snuck
a peek of the dress when it had arrived at Evelyn’s house, courtesy of her
favorite tailor. That would be like him, trying to get everything right, trying
to make sure all her details were attended to. Looking at him, she fell in love
with him all over again, a sickening, wonderful, beautiful tumble all the way
down the aisle as she moved slowly, her father beaming at her side.
Reverend Blessing, in his finest
church robes sporting embroidered doves, his deep brown skin a contrast to his
huge white-toothed smile, offered the kind of expression that was so
full of love and grace Natalie could see the holy spirit shining through
as if it were a lamp within him. The holiest and best of clergymen she knew, a
man who had saved their lives and believed them when only Evelyn Northe did,
was an Episcopal priest and not Lutheran, but the church didn’t mind, and the
denominations were in full communion. The two would have had no other man marry
them than Blessing, who had prayed with them in their direst need.
When she reached the altar, nodding
her head to the Reverend, her hands leapt out in front of her, reaching for
Jonathon, and his hands met hers, both of them warm and trembling with excitement
and nerves. Gingerly he lifted the veil and let it fall behind the pearl crown,
murmuring breathlessly how beautiful she was. Natalie bit her lip and blushed.
He would, she knew, always have that effect, and she rejoiced in it. Her
happiness in that moment managed just slightly to edge out her nerves.
Neither of them were souls of the
stage, that was their friends, Nathaniel and Lavinia, who stood as sentries on
either side as their wedding party. Nathaniel had thankfully not upstaged the
groom and was dressed in the simplest black frock coat she’d ever seen him in.
However he was already crying, the dear, over-dramatic soul.
When the vows began, Natalie had to
take deep breaths, her history of Selective Mutism would forever haunt her,
making language in times of pressure difficult, but looking at Jonathon, the
whole reason she’d been able to speak again, the words flowed. They were words,
after all, for him, and her undying love.
"I do" went by in a haze. All was
said, agreed to, promised, and finally when Jonathon moved in to kiss her and
there was a polite applause, she felt all the fear and tension she’d kept held
within her since the beginning of the terrors that followed them fall away.
When they turned to the joyous crowd, Natalie first looked at her father, then Evelyn. Beautiful and elegant Evelyn in a champagne silk gown, the picture of ageless grace and the woman who had become more to both Jonathon and her than either of them could quantify, mother and mentor, guardian and guide, her heart swelled. But then joy tumbled again a moment, like that little sparrow from the window sill if it flew into a harsh wind. She ached as she thought who else should be standing there.
When they turned to the joyous crowd, Natalie first looked at her father, then Evelyn. Beautiful and elegant Evelyn in a champagne silk gown, the picture of ageless grace and the woman who had become more to both Jonathon and her than either of them could quantify, mother and mentor, guardian and guide, her heart swelled. But then joy tumbled again a moment, like that little sparrow from the window sill if it flew into a harsh wind. She ached as she thought who else should be standing there.
Maggie should have been there too. Lost, misguided, brave, redeemed, recently departed Maggie. Natalie's sensibilities were flooded with a flush of guilt and sadness, over how all of it had ended. But
as if to reassure her, the ghost of a young woman, radiant in transparent
white, wafted through the wall of the church, floating below a stained glass
window of martyred saints. Maggie. She had come after all.
Maggie's spirit blew a kiss towards Natalie, and Jonathon, shook
her head as if saying not to worry, and floated to the back of the chapel,
where Natalie noticed other ghosts, in a flash of light, now appeared like angels, a floating, luminous host.
Her mother.
Lady Denbury.
Natalie squeezed Jonathon’s hand harder. He turned to look, gasped at the sight of the attended mothers and
instinctively wrapped his arm around the waist of his newly pronounced wife.
Lord Denbury led the new Lady Denbury down the aisle and out
to the front of the church, where there was rice and embraces, flower petals, cheers and congratulations. And of course they were bid kiss, again. And they
kissed when they weren’t bid. No one stopped them. They were finally free to be
as openly in love as they’d been nearly from the moment they met, when the
impossible became possible and two souls collided against one another in a
burst of color and light.
To the dazed glee of love, they
lost themselves, and Natalie found that everything was aglow, a
happy sense of floating, at last, with no weary cares. As if she were as feather-light as the ghosts around them that had served not as haunts but guardian angels.
She didn’t and wouldn’t
let go of Jonathon’s hand and thankfully no one asked her to. He certainly didn’t
let go, in fact, his arm was around her waist as often as it could be,
fingertips brushing and grazing and wandering to the bare skin of her cheek,
her neck, up her arm, causing delightful shudders amidst the hazy glow of
feeling like everything was, at last, well. Solved. Settled. And would be,
happily ever after and all that.
For all Natalie felt like she’d
lived through an Edgar Allan Poe tale, now she was living the end of a magical,
sweeping love story, a romance like she could never have dreamed, a love she
thought never could have been found, and for this change of genre, from horror
to happiness. If one were to tell her story, she thought, let it be this, and nothing more.
(The end)
(BUT these
characters live on into the future, in other works…)
--
Please note, dear readers: For
those who love these characters, they do appear as co-stars and in many cameo
appearances in my Eterna Files series, a dark, gritty, X-Files sort of tale
that takes place two years after the events of Magic Most Foul.
To answer another question, there
is a child of this marriage, Evelyn Helen Whitby, and yes I will be writing
about her in books to come, in the future. As all my worlds are parallel
worlds, thankfully I don’t have to let go of any of these dear souls, who so
have their hooks in me.
Please come visit me in the Eterna Files and Strangely Beautiful worlds, where familiar faces collide and the dark allure of the ghostly, Victorian Gothic still reigns supreme.
Cheers, blessings and happy haunting!
Leanna
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