LOVE CONQUERS ALL

LOVE CONQUERS ALL

 The elegant swan ice sculpture sat on the circular table in the great hall where it had presided for the past few hours as the wedding reception proceeded. Small droplets started dripping from its beak under the dozens of chandeliers that lit the ballroom, their crystal prisms shimmering. Pristine white tablecloths covered each table, adorned with gleaming china, elegant crystal, and a large and confusing array of cutlery. Dead centre of each table was a centerpiece with cream-coloured roses, ivy, and tall stately candles. Ivory arches formed a decorative background for the head table, echoing the decor of the centrepieces. The entire venue was exquisite, classy, timeless, and traditional.

The bride and groom cut the elaborate five-tier cake, artfully strewn with ivy and cream-colored roses, as guests crowded around the cake table. Ben feigned smashing his cake plate into his bride Callie's face, but her no-nonsense face made him pause in mock terror. The best man shouted, “I guess we know who will wear the pants in this family,” and everyone laughed. The groom puckered up his lips and instead, gave his new wife a big noisy smooch on the lips.

The crowd once again erupted in laughter, and the ensuing drama was averted … for the time being.

 The servers scurried around, passing out dessert plates and asking the guests if they preferred coffee or tea.

In the far corner of the room was a sparsely populated table with two elderly couples and a lone man attired in a shabby black tuxedo. A wilted crimson rose was pinned to his lapel. His back was to the walls on two sides, and his eyes were glued intently on the antics of the happy couple. His face was  sullen and somber. Not by sound or facial expression did he reveal his emotions.

He kept to himself, rebuffing any opportunities to converse with the other guests at his table. For the most part, he stayed hidden behind the tall tower of roses in the centre of his linen-draped table.

 At one point in the evening, Marian Havelock, the Mother of the Bride, wandered by and gave him a curious look. She looked like she might stop by and start a conversation. He immediately bent over and made a pretense of tying his shoe, to avoid any possibility of her reaching out to him. She smiled and waved at the two elderly couples at his table. Then she moved on, and a puzzled look crossed her face.

When Marian returned to her place at the head table she sat beside her husband William, and she had a brief whispered conversation with him. He turned as she gestured to the table in the corner. The Father of the Bride glanced over, shook his head, and gave a shrug.

The dancing began, and the groom led his bride onto the dance floor for the first dance. The intricate steps they had recently learned were fresh in their minds. He twirled her into his arms, her full skirts flowing about her. The stranger in the corner watched each move intently.

The guests erupted in applause as with a final flourish; the groom spun the bride into his arms and ended the dance with a passionate kiss. Then it was time for the traditional father-daughter dance, and William claimed his daughter with pride and joy. They moved around the dance floor easily to a golden oldie, smooth and sweet. The sentimental lyrics brought a tear to many an eye, and just when there was nary a dry eye in the house, the music changed and the couple began a fast-paced popular song that brought unbridled laughter to the room.

 As the night progressed, the silent guest in the corner continued his perusal. The two elderly couples had dragged their chairs to neighbouring tables as soon as the meal had ended and left him to his silent and solitary scrutiny. The servers had cleared the table, and he sat alone as the cream-coloured rose centrepieces slowly turned dark and rusty and started to wither, the candles on the centrepiece, had flickered and gone out leaving the table and its solitary occupant in semi-darkness.

The night's revelry continued. The Groom and his mother danced together, followed by the bridal party, and then the floor was open to all and sundry. The DJ had an eclectic mix of music, and his expertise at drawing dancers onto the floor was impressive, as was the amount of champagne and liqueur that flowed at the bar. The wedding would prove to be the talk of the season.

Midnight approached, but none dared to leave. Even the seniors who normally would have retired for the evening could not pull themselves away from the fun and festivities.

In the grand foyer, just outside the ballroom, was a beautiful coy pond and fountain, cozy leather seats, and beside them stood an impressive grandfather clock. All could hear its midnight gong in the momentary lull between songs.  The DJ attempted to play another hit, but his turntables had fallen strangely silent.

 The stranger in the corner arose slowly and made his shuffling way to the edge of the dancefloor leaving his table with its now gray tablecloth and dead roses. All eyes turned to his deeply compelling presence. Those close by took a step back and then another as he advanced on the assembly.

He reached out with one withered hand, its long fingers gnarled, his fingernails long and talon-like. His face was grim.

He twisted one hand sharply, and the groom fell to his knees. Another twist and the groom fell flat on the floor, gasping for air.

 The guests and wedding party screamed, but none seemed able to run. They seemed rooted to the spot where the wicked tableau was taking place. The shabby old man took a faltering step closer.

 But the bride, now kneeling before her husband, turned sharply and held out an upraised hand, her palm flat in that age-old gesture to halt.

“Stop!” she cried loudly. “He’s mine.” Her eyes glowed with an unknown brightness and she seemed to recognize who and what he was and to realize his dark intentions. She cradled Ben's head in her lap. Callie’s body was shielding him, protecting him, saving him. “You can not take him,” she commanded, ”I swear, as God is my witness and by all that is Holy. You! Shall! Not! Have! Him!”

As the guests stared in their frozen state. The dark stranger stepped back through the elegant hall, past the tables with their rose and ivy centrepieces, and through the banquet hall doors. With a nonchalant shrug, born of long standing; he thought, sometimes you win, sometimes you lose and sometimes love conquers all.