Isabel McGregor laid on her bed on a hot August day, staring at the ceiling. She was still wearing the long white dress that her mother had been adjusting with last-minute alterations an hour ago. Even with the stifling heat of her bedchamber, the warmth of the dress with its long sleeves and high collar didn’t bother Isabel. Or perhaps it was just that she was too tired - mentally and physically - to shed the heavy silken garment. The past few days had been so hectic and rushed with final preparations for the ceremony which was to take place tomorrow. Tomorrow! Sitting up in her bed, Isabel looked over to the small table next to it and picked up the slip of paper which lay there. The paper itself was smooth and ivory-colored with roses printed on the sides and bottom; two doves with a ribbon and two rings between them printed on the top. Hers and Franz’s wedding invitation.

Reading over the invitation for what seemed to be the hundredth time, Isabel sighed with frustration. So much was wrong with this invitation, even with the paper it was printed on. Isabel had insisted that they didn’t need to have fancy invitations printed on shiny paper in Phoenix, to which her mother simply replied, "Don’t be silly, dear. Of course we’ll get these invitations. You’ll thank me later."

And then there was the church. When Sheila McGregor had bluntly stated that of course the wedding would be held in the church in Phoenix, Isabel had replied by saying that she didn’t need to be married in a big fancy church. She went on to say that she would much rather be married right here on the ranch, in a quiet candlelight ceremony under the stars. But again her mother had said, "Don’t be silly dear. You’ll thank me later."

Finally, there was this dress; this monstrosity with its long sleeves, lace cuffs, dainty roses embroidered into the hem and the high, tight neckline, not to mention the voluminous skirts and long train. Isabel had wanted to wear a simpler gown like that of her grandmother, one with shorter sleeves and a neckline that allowed her to breathe. And her grandmother's gown would be perfect. True, it was musty and yellowed, but it was simple with its short sleeves and lace trim which had been sewn into the neckline by her great-grandmother's own two hands. When the wedding planning had first begun back in December, Isabel had tiptoed up into the attic and tried the dress on. It had fit her perfectly, as if it were made just for her. Yet still the same maternal advice - "You’ll thank me later."

Isabel sighed again and set the invitation back on the small table, then laid back on her bed. She looked up at the ceiling again and wondered what her husband-to-be was thinking right now. Rolling her eyes, Isabel said to herself, "Maybe we should just elope."

Meanwhile, on the other side of the ranch, Franz Bhaer was perched precariously atop a stepstool, hanging a picture on one of the walls of what would soon be his and Isabel’s home. It was nothing special; just a small cottage with enough room for himself, his wife, and any children that they would bring into the world. Stepping down from the stool, Franz backed away from the wall, and after leaning forward to adjust the picture so it hung just right, smiled in approval. It was a small needlepoint picture that his Aunt Meg had sent him as an early housewarming gift; in bright red letters were the words "Let God Bless All That Dwell Within". Around these words were pictures of cacti and tumbleweeds, with a deep red sunset in the corner. And it was perfect where it hung; right by the entrance to the small parlor.

After putting away the stool, Franz sat down on one of the bright upholstered chairs that Aunt Amy had sent him as a housewarming gift. And she had sent quite a few housewarming gifts, along with a beautiful crystal vase as their wedding gift. Amy’s idea was that a couple’s first home should be comfortable, yet stylish, and it just wasn’t possible to be stylish with wooden chairs covered with dusty cowhide.

Only one day. In one day, he would be married to Isabel McGregor. Just thinking about it stirred up the butterflies that since then had been laying dormant in his stomach. Oh, he was looking forward to marrying Isabel. There was no doubt in his mind of that. Ever since the day Franz had looked into Isabel’s eyes, proposing to her in the dusty field in front of her home, he had been looking forward to this day. But something just didn’t seem right. For the past few months, ever since Isabel and her mother had started preparing for the marriage ceremony, the former had seemed so upset whenever the wedding was mentioned. Of course, Mrs. McGregor was going a bit overboard with the wedding plans; getting fancy invitations, having the ceremony take place in a church in Phoenix, and purchasing an elaborate gown (which Franz had never seen because of an old superstitious tradition). Only Amy Laurence could plan a more elaborate wedding, and Franz couldn’t help but wonder if his aunt was somehow involved in all this.

Sighing, Franz got up from out of the chair and headed outside, carefully shutting the door behind him. He walked slowly over to the McGregor house on the other side of the ranch with his faded Stetson tilted downwards to block the rays of the sweltering sun. Halfway there, he noticed a shadow creeping across the ground where he trod. Tilting his hat back, he looked up for a moment; there were a few fluffy cumulus clouds overhead, but nothing serious. He had seen clouds like that all the time in Concord, and the most they ever meant was a brief afternoon rain shower. Lord knows they needed the rain. All summer the weather had been so dry with its suffocating heat. Granted, they were in a desert, but even a desert was supposed to cool down once in a while. Yet this entire summer the sun had beat down on the McGregor ranch with an unrelenting fury. Three cattle had died already and Douglas McGregor remained indoors, fearful that his heart might give out in this heat, leaving him unable to walk his daughter down the aisle tomorrow. Yes, a bit of rain would be just what this ranch needed.

Franz walked through the front doors of the McGregor homestead and removed his Stetson, setting in on a hat rack made out of cattle horns nailed to the wall.

"Isabel!" he called, walking up the stairs and approaching her room, "where is my beautiful bride-to-be?"

Isabel’s eyes snapped open; she must have dozed off. Sitting on the bed, she realized she was still wearing this dress… this hideous thing.

"Isabel," Franz’s voice called nervously from behind her door, his cheeks reddening, "are you… er… decent?"

"Yes, um, no, I mean…" Isabelle frantically tried to pull the dress over her head, but it was so tight that she couldn’t possibly remove it without tearing it. Oh how she would love to tear it, and then she wouldn’t have to wear it tomorrow. Then maybe, just maybe, Sheila McGregor would consent to the kind of wedding that Isabel wanted. Tugging harder and more frantically at the fabric, she tried to remove it, but to no avail. And Franz couldn’t possibly see her in this dress. Not only was there that silly superstition about not letting the groom see the bride in her dress before the wedding, but Isabelle did not want Franz to see her in this… this monstrosity!

Franz was just about to open the door when Mrs. McGregor’s hand gently pulled it away.

"Let me check on her, Franz," she said, giving her future son-in-law a wink.

Franz stepped back, a look of confusion spreading across his tanned face. But when Mrs. McGregor opened the door and slipped inside, he saw a flash of white silk and knew that Isabel must be having problems with her wedding dress. Turning away with a half-embarrassed  grin on his face (how dare he sneak a peek of his wife-to-be in her wedding dress? What about that superstition?), he headed down the stairs to the parlor. Once there, he sat down by the window and looked outside. The few clouds that he had seen a few minutes ago had multiplied since then and the sky was darkening. Perhaps there would be more than just a light afternoon shower…