“It’s Pete’s uncle. The one who is going to marry us.”
From her vantage point, Hope could see Amity nod.
“You know he’s not a real minister. I mean, he got ordained on one of those online sites, but he doesn’t have a church or anything.”
“I assure you, his online ordination means he can legally marry in the state of Idaho,” Amity said calmly.
“Pete and I were at his house last night. He said he hoped he didn’t forget to send in the marriage certificate after the ceremony because then we’d be living in sin. He laughed as if it was some big joke. I told him he’d better not forget. Now I’m worried he will.”
“He was teasing you, Brooke.”
Brooke continued as if her mother hadn’t spoken. “I told him if he didn’t send in those forms, Pete and I won’t be legally married.”
“And I told you,” Mrs. Hauder interrupted, “that the marriage would still be legal.”
Hope’s knees began to tremble. She rested a hand on the nearby chair for support.
“Your mother is correct,” Amity said to Brooke. “Even if the forms aren’t sent in, the marriage is legal.”
“Are you certain?” Brooke fixed her gaze on Amity.
“One hundred percent positive. This issue has come up before. I verified it myself with the county recorder.”
“See, I told you.” The older woman’s tone turned chiding. “Do you ever listen to me? No.”
Cold fear stole Hope’s breath. As mother and daughter continued to bicker, a dull roaring filled her ears. She couldn’t move.
“You can come out now,” Amity said good-naturedly. “Troll Bird and Spawn have departed.”
Slowly, Hope rose to her feet.
“Did you ever hear anything so silly?” Amity chuckled and refilled the bowl on the vintage scale decorating her booth with more chocolate mints. “Thinking that just because the forms didn’t get sent the marriage wouldn’t be legal.”
A shaky laugh was all Hope could manage, while inside her thoughts raced.
On a sunny Saturday in early October, John Burke rode into Harmony on the back of his new Harley. The sights and smells of early autumn surrounded him. While most of the lawns were still green, the leaves had already morphed into vibrant shades of red and yellow and orange. There was a pleasant earthy fragrance to the air, as if it had recently rained. John inhaled deeply.
He’d been back many times, but those had mostly been quick trips around the holidays. This was different.
He reached the business district and continued to drive slowly, admiring the town square. A three-story stone city hall anchored the middle of the square, while shops lined the perimeter. Old-fashioned gas lamps stood like sentinels at the edge of the brick streets, ready to cast their light on the canopied storefronts.
In no particular hurry, John circled the square several times, taking note of businesses that were new since his last visit. The names were displayed on colorful awnings over storefront windows: The Coffee Pot, Petal Creations, and Carly’s Cut and Curl. The only business not showing any action on a lazy Saturday afternoon was the Thirsty Buffalo, a popular local bar.
Though John had loved working and living in Portland for the past ten years, Harmony was home. When he’d left after high school, he’d vowed to return when he was a success.
Against all odds, he’d reached that goal. But along that circuitous route with its peaks and valleys, John had discovered an undeniable truth. Success was more than a healthy bank account, more than following your passion; it was putting God and family first. Now he was coming home to put that belief into action.
John never knew his grandparents. His father had taken off when he was ten, shortly after his mother had been diagnosed with cancer. When he was sixteen, she’d died of the disease. The only family he had was Aunt Verna, who wasn’t really his aunt.
Verna had been his mother’s childhood friend. When his mom passed away and John was tossed into the foster care system, Verna had taken classes to become a foster parent and brought him into her home. She was his family now. As she aged, he wanted to be there for her. But Verna wasn’t the only reason he’d returned to Harmony.
John turned his cycle onto a brick street where older homes sat far back with huge expanses of lawns draped before them like green carpets. Except for one barking beagle and a boy on a bike, the neighborhood was quiet.
At the far end of the road, he caught sight of his destination. The two-story home, with its wraparound porch, stained-glass window panels, and abundance of gingerbread molding, stood big and white against the brilliant blue of the sky. The ornate wrought-iron fence surrounding the main yard only added to its charm.