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A wee one with golden curls and an adorable lisp approaches us. “This is a gift from the Golden Girls.” Her little voice goes solemn. “For your mam.”
“Oh!” My hand goes to my heart as my eyes search for the Golden Girls. Just as I’m looking for them, they file in from the side entrance of the hall, lining up behind the head table where our family awaits us.
“What are they up to?” I ask.
“No idea,” Callum says. “I’d heard they had a little thank you for the trivia nights, but?—”
The women belt out singing in acapella. I laugh as I recognize the tune, “In a Big Country,” by Big Country. Callum’s favorite song by his favorite Scots band.
“What a surprise!” Hearing the tune sung instrument-free in my church friends' beautiful high choir voices, Callum laughs deeply. “‘Tis beautiful!”
The wee girl says to the others, “It’s time.” Looking over her shoulder at me, she gives a severe command. “Follow us, now. Please.”
As we make our way to the head table serenaded by the Golden Girls’ singing, the wee ones toss pink rose petals from their baskets, making a lovely path to our family. It’s like Mam is here for a moment, guiding us to our future together.
I wipe away a tear, and Callum gives my hand a loving squeeze.
Callum’s family greets us with hugs and kisses. We all stand gathered around the long table with my dad and brothers. The singing ends as we prepare for Callum’s toast.
Guests are served chilled champagne in crystal flutes. To the wee ones’ delight, we’ve also made fancy glasses of sparkling white grape juice available for them. We give the older teen cousins a taste of the good stuff, which makes them giddy with the excitement of participating in something so grown-up.
Fiddles and bagpipes play softly in the background as Callum stands at the center of the long wooden table, a glass of Fredrick’s best scotch raised in his hand, ready to give a toast.
At his signal, the music stops. The room goes quiet, all eyes looking at Callum with respect.
"My dear friends and family," he begins, his voice strong and sure. “Today, as I stand here surrounded by those I love most in this world, I am filled with a profound sense of gratitude—gratitude for this beautiful land that has shaped me, for the traditions that bind us together, and for the love that has brought me to this moment."
His eyes meet mine. Pride fills me. I raise my flute to him. Smiling down at me, he raises his glass, the golden liquid sparkling in the chandelier light. “Gratitude for my beautiful bride who has not only taught me patience, but that love is not something to conquer, it’s something to earn.”
Women in the room pipe up with a chorus of “Here, here’s!”
Once more, he addresses the crowd. "To love—a force as wild and untamed as the Scottish hills themselves. May love guide us through life's trials and triumphs. May it be a beacon of hope in times of darkness. A source of strength in times of weakness. May it inspire all who witness it to believe in its power. Raise your glasses with me. To love!”
The crowd claps and cheers. What a beautiful speech. Pride fills me. I stand, holding the skirt of my dress in one hand, my champagne in the other, and kiss his cheek.
Kiss my husband.
The feast begins with a traditional blessing from the professor who has known us since childhood. He talks about love and unity, reminding us that this is not just a celebration of our love but also a celebration of the community that has supported us all these years.
And, of course, he wraps up his speech by giving a nod to the fish that have fed this island for so many centuries. “Eat. Drink. Be merry. And,” he raises a fist in the air, “Save our cod!”
Our plates are filled with hearty servings of haggis, neeps, and tatties—traditional Scottish dishes.
Also, Ms. Marta’s famous scones.
They’re not a traditional wedding food but one I made a special request for. Marta’s serving the blueberry scones in Mam’s big blue bowl, and the wild berry ones are in my pink bowl. Seeing our treasured kitchen bowls side by side on this special day makes me grin so hard that my cheeks hurt.
Callum and I sit next to each other at the center of the head table, surrounded by family and island people bringing us heaping plates of food and sweets. I take a heavenly bite of a wild berry scone, holding back a moan at its perfection. I never can get mine as flaky as hers. Dabbing my mouth with a linen napkin, I turn to Callum with a smile.
“It all feels like a dream,” I say softly.
“Aye.” Callum chuckles as he takes a bite of haggis. “And the celebration’s only just beginning.”
“We have the rest of our lives to celebrate. But the first thing we’ll be doing as a couple?”
“I know. I know,” he laughs. He repeats what I’ve told him a million times since he took the lid off the pink box at Whispering Rose Cottage. “We’re to research the local shelters and rescue facilities and pick the kitten out together.”
“Together!” I can’t wait to choose her, bring her home, and put on the little pink collar with the bell he bought. She has a fuzzy cat bed, polka-dot bowls for food and water, and more toys than one kitten could use.
