Chapter Thirty-seven

D ermot held Evangeline’s hand as they stepped out of the chapel and into the snow-dusted churchyard. Theirs was not the most highly attended wedding in the history of Smeatley, but looking out at the beloved faces of her students and their families, the bright and cheerful eyes of her sister, and Ronan walking beside his father, Evangeline could not imagine a more perfect gathering.

She, of course, would have wished for her parents and brothers to have been there. But Grandfather had come from Leeds. He had felt more like family these last weeks, kind and attentive. Either he had changed from the gruff and cold man he’d been during his visits to Petersmarch, or she had misunderstood him all those years ago. Whatever the reality of the situation, she was grateful for his presence.

“Miss Blake! Miss Blake!” a handful of voices called out.

Dermot squeezed her fingers. “You’d best greet your little ones, else they’re liable to knock you down—and me with you.”

She touched the tips of her gloved fingers to his cheek. He understood well the deep affection she had for these children and they for her.

“On with you,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She turned to face her students, offering them a broad smile. “I’m so pleased you’ve come.”

They thronged her, peppering her with questions and echoing her name in the way they always did when wishing for her undivided attention.

John Crossley managed to make himself heard. “Are we to have school tomorrow, Miss— Mrs. McCormick?”

“Miss Susannah and Miss Lucy will oversee school this week while I am away.”

“We will miss thee,” Cecilia Haigh said. She spoke more often than she once had, though she would never be an orator.

“I will miss you, as well.” Knowing how close she had come to losing her students and the life she dearly loved, Evangeline did not wish to be apart from them long. But the joyous reason for her absence far outweighed the pain of temporary separation.

The reminder brought her gaze to Dermot. Dear, kindhearted, loving Dermot. He had been at her side during some of her most difficult days. Knowing they need never be separated again brought her profound relief.

He held his hand out to her again. She took it, warmth spreading through her.

“Have I told you often enough that I love you?” she asked.

He raised her hands to his lips and kissed her gloved fingers. “You have, but I’ll not object to hearing it a few more times.”

She leaned into his one-armed embrace. “I do love you. Coming here and meeting you is one of the best things that has happened in my life.”

“And in mine.” He pulled her closer. “We make a fine team, you and I. And together we will make a beautiful life.”

He bent and kissed her. As he did, the church bells rang.

Tradition in Smeatley held that the bells rang to mark a wedding, tolling out a jubilant celebration. No longer would their peals reverberate against Evangeline’s heart with loss and sorrow. From that day forward, they would soar with hues of love and sing of new -beginnings.