By Elizabeth Bevarly
Copyright Elizabeth Bevarly
All rights reserved
The fifteenth day of October dawned unseasonably warm in Cleveland. The sun shone brightly over the white frame church that sat on the corner of Elm and Oak Streets, throwing it into shade beneath a canopy of autumn trees stained with gold and red and orange. The church bells pealed joyously for some time, then gradually deferred to the organ rifts of Pachelbel’s Canon inside. White satin and rose petals veiled the aisle, and the altar was virtually obscured by greenery and lavender flowers that sprinkled the room with their sweet fragrance. Four bridesmaids in lilac organdy grinned shyly at the expectant groom, who stood handsome in his Coast Guard uniform, awaiting the arrival of the woman he would take to be his wife.
A bride couldn’t have asked for a more perfect wedding day.
Natalie Mason, however, wanted to throw up.