The calligrapher's daughter_ a novel - Eugenia Kim [121]
An insistent organ note followed by crashing chords came from the sanctuary, and the music swelled when ushers opened the doors. I reflexively clutched Dr. Sherwood’s arm and he patted my hand. “I’m going to walk you up the aisle to the altar where your husband-to-be is waiting. Reverend Cho will tell you what to do. Just follow his instructions and you’ll be fine. It’s your wedding day, Miss Han, and I want you to think of nothing else. We’ll go slowly, I promise, and there’s nothing to fear. See if you can fall in step with me and we’ll march to the music, shall we?”
I nodded, grateful that he knew I was terrified. He took a step, I took a step, and we walked in together. With back erect and neck slightly bowed, I kept my veiled eyes exactly one meter ahead on the white-draped aisle. I heard people standing and felt hundreds of strange eyes on us. As we neared the altar, it calmed me to catch glimpses of my mother and Dongsaeng standing in the front pew, though I didn’t dare look at their faces.
I took three steps up, negotiating lifting my hem while holding the bouquet. Dr. Sherwood placed my hand in Calvin’s. A fresh-soap smell greeted me, and he ceremoniously held my hand on his, his touch warm, firm and exquisite.
During the service, I thought Reverend Cho’s delivery was similar to Calvin’s careful vocal tempo. All I saw of my father-in-law were his worn but polished shoes, the hem of his minister robes and the fringed ends of his shawl. I concentrated on the instructions given, prayed when I was supposed to pray and repeated what I was told to repeat, until I realized I was hearing Calvin pledge his life to me, and then I was saying my own marriage vows, bonding in word with this man, whose face I had not yet seen on this day. My heart flooded for a moment, but anxious about what might be next, it was only a moment. I remembered that Calvin, in a letter, had apologized to me about not exchanging traditional Western wedding rings after speaking our vows. He hoped that I would forgive him for the assumption that our steamer fare took precedent over the expense of wedding rings, and that I would accept our verbal promise to each other as solid and as true—in God’s eyes and in our own—as gold. Naturally I agreed, and I was also touched by his earnestness and found his practicality appealing. I wrote back that one gold ring in this woman’s lifetime was more than she had ever expected.
Another prayer, then someone came and lifted my veil. The air, open and refreshing on my face, also left me feeling exposed. I raised my eyes to see Mr. Cho—Calvin, my husband—nearing, his features serious yet shining, his skin gleaming in afternoon light colored and subdued by stained-glass windows, his eyes rich with love. He pressed his lips lightly on my cheek, people broke out in applause, the organ exploded in music, and he clasped my hand in his arm and walked me back up the aisle. To be the center of attention and see all the strange faces smiling and clapping at us made my cheeks flush red, except one little cool spot where his lips had touched.
We reached the outer lobby followed by crowds of people shaking our hands and saying congratulations. I was soon separated from my new husband, until Dr. Sherwood formed a receiving line where well-wishers wrung my hand into a bruised mitt. My poor mother and Dongsaeng were forced into awkward introductions and greetings with hundreds of ministers, their wives, missionaries and church dignitaries. My mouth ached from smiling; my fingers throbbed with pain. I finally met my father-in-law, a dark-skinned balding man with glasses and a quiet but powerful demeanor. He bowed, patted my shoulder and said we’d have a real chance to talk later. As people left for the conference hotel, the photographer took over and in relative calm, gave instructions for formal poses. I was relieved