Anne stood at the altar. She wore her great-grandmother's dress, much mended. She had heard that once there was a train that went the length of the aisle. Instead, a piece of rough cloth abraded her back, for there had been no fabric to match it when the seam split. Her hair was braided down her back, no longer left loose like a child's. She was a matron now.
The church was austere. It had no decoration but the beams that shaped it.
A man stood next to her, her husband-to-be. The minister announced they were joined in the eyes of the Lord. He was her husband.
It was dim. The windows were thick and small. Dusty light emanated from them but was unable to pierce the empty depths of the room.
The man's, Edmund's, her husband's, mother sat on the other side of the aisle. Anne hadn't had social contact with her, although Anne knew the woman was acquainted with her parents somehow. It had been mentioned earlier that Edmund's father was attending to a mishap with one of the ports and would be unable to attend. She was beaming at her son. Maybe, Anne thought, maybe this would all work out.
Her mother and father sat behind her, as witnesses. Her mother had a slight smile where she sat, ramrod stiff. Whenever Anne had caught her glance during the brief ceremony, she'd been shooed back to the proceedings at hand. Her father was slumped over, examining his watch. As per his habit, he pulled out a tooth pick to scrape dirt off the intricate engraving. He then used the pick for its intended purpose and fished out a remnant of the day's lunch, flicking it away.
The bells chimed once, twice, thrice. The tones reverberated through the rafters, shaking her. Edmund, her husband, she had to keep reminding herself, held out his hand. She took it. It was clammy. The tough pad of his middle finger, callused after years of tithing, brushed the gold band now on her finger. “It's a pleasure to wed you, Mrs. <!— surname —>.”
His brown hair was untidily cut. His nose was perhaps large and his face was perhaps long. His smile was kind though and she felt herself returning it. “It is a pleasure to wed you, Mr. <!— surname —>.”
They spent the rest of the day assembling their marital home. He had carried her across the threshold while she clung to his neck. She had laughed. It was pleasant to laugh. Her trousseau had been sent when they'd decided on the location. It was near the outskirts, but a pleasant enough place with an engine portal in the center to warm them during the long winters. A bed was easily created, and a table and two chairs. They came out slightly warm to the touch.
Her clothes were hung in the wardrobe. The hems of her new dresses brushed the floor and she noted that the bar would have to be raised. A clean white cloth was laid on the table. Her hope chest was filled with tidily embroidered handkerchiefs. Many didn't hand embroider theirs, but trusted the task to the portal. The handwork helped her to pass the time. She'd never been fond of sitting on a chair doing nothing. She needed to keep her hands busy.