Part Two (conclusion):

For a moment, all was quiet.

Then a voice spoke out of the thick darkness. “Okay, everyone stay seated till I get the lights back on!” There was the sound of movement. Careful footsteps.

Suddenly, a large light fixture over the choir seats at the very top of the building sprang into life, reflecting in the eyes of several dozen people seated there. A large man turned from the wall and let his hand fall from the switch. “There. Now, as you leave, remember to collect everything you brought in with you,” he said.

“Oh, Mr. Dale, do we have to go so soon?” a woman asked. “It was so beautiful, I just want to sit here and remember.”

Mr. Dale laughed and sat in the nearest seat. “It is quite an experience, isn’t it, Mrs. Stephans?”

Mrs. Stephans sighed. “Sooo romantic!” she said, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.

Several assenting voices.

“I think it was one of the most remarkable experiences of my life,” said the man seated next to Mrs. Stephans.

Mr. Dale nodded and smiled. “I never get tired of seeing it,” he said.

“And you come every day?” someone asked.

“Every day I can, Miss Emery,” he said. He turned and looked down on the chapel. “I feel almost as though I know them. That I’m a part of their special day.”

“Well, I’d say you are!” Miss Emery said.

“Please, can you tell us more about them?” Mrs. Stephans asked.

Mr. Dale wrinkled his brow in thought. “Let’s see,” he said. “Henry and Anna met when Henry’s family moved into the house next to Anna’s family. He was eight and she was six. It was literally love at first sight.  They finally received their parents’ permission and were to marry on Anna’s sixteenth birthday.” He smiled. “By all reports, those ten years between were a very, very long time for both of them.”

His smile disappeared. “But their happiness was not meant to be,” he said. He was silent for several moments. Finally, “Anna was . . . well, she never made it to that first ceremony,” he said slowly. Then sighed. “Henry waited . . . many years for her.”

“Ohhh, that’s so romantic!” someone said.

“But think of the empty years of waiting!” someone else said.

Mr. Dale nodded. “Very long, empty years, Mr. Chambers,” he said. He got to his feet. “And now, I need to ask you all to follow me to the manse,” he said. “There will be coffee, tea and refreshments there. And a bit more conversation if you’d like. Please remember to collect all of your belongings,” he went on. “My collection of cell phones is plenty large already!”

Laughter as several people began to stir, collecting coats, handbags.

Carefully, they followed Mr. Dale down the stairway to the main floor. For a few minutes, Mr. Dale waited while his group wandered about, running gentle fingers over the pews, clustered around the plain altar and gazed far up into the rafters.

A couple paused in front of the old pump organ. “Could you play it, Mr. Dale?”

“I wish I could, but that little organ hasn’t wheezed out a note in over fifty years,” Mr. Dale said.

“So romantic!” one of them said.

Finally, “Just how long has it been, Mr. Dale?” someone asked.

“Hmm. Let’s see,” Mr. Dale said. “Henry and Anna were supposed to have been married in this very church on August 9, 1890, so that makes . . .”

“One hundred and twenty-three years,” Mr. Chambers said.

Mr. Dale smiled at him. “Thank you, Mr. Chambers,” he said. “You’re exactly right. If Anna hadn’t been killed when her buggy overturned on her way to the ceremony, they might have had many happy years together. Children. Grand children. Great-grandchildren. Great, great . . .”

“But how long did Henry live without her?” Mrs. Stephans asked. “And how long had this been going on?”

“Henry died in 1948,” Mr. Dale said. “He was seventy-six.” His eyes twinkled suddenly. “The marriage ceremony first took place after that, I would imagine.” He smiled. “And now the couple, who were prevented from marrying here, get to marry every night in the hereafter.” His smile widened. “It seems . . . fitting, somehow.”

“Who first discovered it?” Mrs. Stephans asked.

“The church caretaker was the first to stumble on the ceremony in 1953,” he said. “As you can imagine he was rather . . . excited. And when he realized that it was re-enacted every single night, well . . .”

“He could see the profits from a ‘nightly ghost tour’ pouring in.”

Mr. Dale laughed. “Somehow, I doubt that,” he said. He moved toward the doors. “Shall we go?” Reluctantly, the group gathered and silently filed out into the evening air.

Mr. Dale glanced around the church, then reached out and snapped the switch on the wall, plunging the room into darkness once more.

He stopped there for a moment, with his head on one side, and listened. Somewhere, he thought he could hear the sounds of laughter and merriment. He smiled. “Have a happy evening, Mr. and Mrs. Henry Blakely,” he said. “You waited such a long time for it. I’m so glad it’s yours.” He started to swing the heavy door shut.

“See you tomorrow!”