For our honeymoon, my wife, Tanya, and I received matching colds. What did we expect getting married at the end of September?
We were traveling through Europe. First stop: a brief 24-hours in the village of Haworth in England, where the Brontë sisters had lived. Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre were two of Tanya’s favorite books.
We bought a map of popular moor walks, where Heathcliff and Cathy might have played as children, or Jane Eyre could have hidden from Mr. Rochester. But the moment we found the path around dusk, the British weather found us.
Wind and rain whipped at our faces as we argued on the moor like two of the Brontë sisters’ star-crossed lovers.
“We already have sore throats,” I said. “If we stay out here we’ll get pneumonia. Sweetheart, we have to go back.”
We’d only been married a few days and already I was breaking Tanya’s heart. Please, God, I prayed, make this wind and rain go away.
The moment we turned to head back to the village, the howling wind and rain stopped. All was calm and still as we walked the moor for hours. Just like in the pages of her favorite books, my wife’s honeymoon had a happy ending.
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