Brutus, undeterred by the commotion, hopped across the stone floor with surprising speed, heading directly for the altar where Mel and Rhys stood.
Without thinking, without planning, Mel bent down and scooped the toad from the floor in one smooth motion. She straightened and Brutus clutched in her hands, his white bow now slightly askew and his expression as impassive as ever.
“I believe this belongs to you,” she said, handing the toad to Thistle, who had arrived at the altar with an expression of mortified distress.
“I’m so sorry! He promised he would stay in the bag! He’s never broken a promise before!”
“Toads cannot make promises,” Anna said, her voice carrying the particular edge of someone who had been proven right at an inconvenient moment.
“He can! He just, this is the first time he’s broken one!”
“Perhaps Brutus was simply eager to witness the conclusion of the ceremony,” Mel said, her voice calm despite the absurdity of the situation.
“He can watch from your arms. But he must remain still.”
Thistle nodded frantically, clutching Brutus with both hands. The toad, having apparently satisfied whatever urge had prompted his escape, settled into her grip without further protest.
Mel turned back to the vicar, who was watching the proceedings with an expression that suggested he had never encountered anything quite like this in thirty years of parish service.
“You were saying?” she prompted.
The vicar blinked, gathered himself, and cleared his throat.
“I now pronounce you man and wife.” He paused, glancing nervously at Thistle’s handful of toad.
“You may kiss the bride.”
Rhys was laughing. He was trying to contain it, trying to maintain the dignity appropriate to a wedding ceremony, but thelaughter was escaping despite his efforts. His shoulders shook with it. His eyes crinkled at the corners. He looked happier than Mel had ever seen him.
“You just caught a toad mid-vow,” he managed. “And then asked the vicar to continue as though nothing had happened.”
“Something happened. Brutus escaped. I addressed the situation and returned to the matter at hand.” Mel felt her own lips twitching despite her best efforts at composure. “That seemed like the practical approach.”
“It was the most practical approach I have ever witnessed.” He reached out and cupped her face in his hands, his expression shifting from amused to tender.
“I cherish you with all my heart, Melanie Langford. Toad-catching abilities and all.”
He kissed her then, there at the altar of the small chapel, with their daughters watching and their friends applauding and one decorated toad observing from his owner’s arms.
It was not a long, passionate kiss, given the audience of children and clergy. But it was real, and it was theirs, and it sealed the vows they had just spoken in a way that words alone could not have accomplished.
When they parted, Thistle was bouncing with excitement, Anna was attempting to restore dignity to the flower basket she had dropped during the toad pursuit, and Viola was crying silent tears that she wiped away with the back of her hand.
“Are you our mother now?” Viola asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Mel looked at the child who had given her a shell, who had trusted her with nightmares, who had learned to speak above a whisper because someone had finally shown her that her voice mattered.
“I am your stepmother,” she said carefully.
“Your mother will always be Celeste. But I am here, and I cherish you all dearly and I will take care of you for as long as you’ll let me.”
“Forever?”
“Forever.”
Viola threw herself forward, wrapping her arms around Mel with the fierce desperation of a child who had finally found something permanent. Thistle joined a moment later, and then Anna, and then Rhys, until they were all tangled together in an embrace that was awkward and wonderful and exactly right.
“This was the most chaotic wedding I have ever attended,” Benedict observed from the pews, his tone carrying evident approval.
