The most striking thing about this one was the number of children present. There were two benches at the head of the Meeting House, with the entire Higgins family seated on one, and all of the Hardmans on the other. Bree and Roger sat down front, Brianna with wee Davy in her arms. Fanny, Jem, Amanda, Tòtis, Germain, Joanie, and Félicité (so aptly called Fizzy) were squirming on the bench in front of Claire and himself, presumably on the theory that a soft but menacing clearing of the throat on his part would ensure restraint on theirs. He hummed a bit, low in his chest, to make sure his voice was in good order, and saw Jem and Germain stiffen slightly. Good.

His breastbone still hurt when he took a deep breath, but he could take a deep breath, and he thanked God for that.

He’d walked all the way to church. Slowly, and his left knee hurt like the devil, but his heart was light. He was alive, he could walk, Claire was beside him, and death was once more a matter that he needn’t fash himself about.

Bobby Higgins abruptly stood up, and the congregation hushed instantly.

“I thank you all for comin’ here today,” he said, but it came out squeaky and he cleared his throat audibly and repeated it, nodding to the congregation. His face was flushed—he was very shy, and no orator—but he stood steady and held out his hand to Silvia, who was pale but poised. She stood, took his hand, and turned to the congregation herself.

“As Robert says, we thank thee for coming,” she said simply.

“I’ve not done this before,” Bobby said to her. “You’ll maybe need to guide me.”

“It’s not difficult,” Patience Hardman said, encouragingly.

“No,” Prudence agreed. “All thee has to say is that thee marries her.”

“Well, but he has to say he’ll feed her—well, us—doesn’t he?” Prudence put in. “And protect us?”

“He might say that,” Patience agreed dubiously. “But he doesn’t have to. ‘I marry thee’ is enough. Isn’t it, Mummy?”

Silvia had her eyes squinched shut and was rapidly turning as red as her husband-to-be.

“Girls,” she murmured. “Please.”

The ripple of amusement among the congregation died away. Bobby and Silvia looked at each other, away, faces flaming, then back. Aidan McCallum stood up from the bench and walked up beside his stepfather. Aidan was thirteen and nearly as tall as Bobby.

“It’s all right, Da,” he said, and turning round he beckoned to his younger brothers, who scrambled up beside him. He beckoned to the Hardman girls, who looked at one another in question, then came to a silent agreement and stood up, too.

“We’re going to marry you,” Aidan said firmly to the girls. “All of us are marrying all of you. Will you— Oh, sorry, will thee all marry us all?”