Amelia
The day of her wedding dawned dreary and gray. Amelia was up before the sun, sitting on threadbare cushion in the window seat with a neglected book in her lap and a candle burned down to a nub at her side. The book was a love story, and the words gave her pangs. Once upon a time, she'd been a naive little girl and love stories had been her favorite kind of tale.
Now...
Amelia didn't greet her wedding day with excitement. She didn't swell with hope or buzz with giddy anticipation. As the sun rose behind slate-gray, featureless clouds, all she knew was fear. It had planted its seeds in her mind the day she accepted Brent's brother's proposal, and had grown steadily ever since. It had claimed her mind and her heart with creeping tendrils of dread that squeezed every ounce of optimism and gratitude from her soul.
It wasn't the distant, fathomless future that scared her, either. It was the near-term threat. The stifling dread of what would surely befall her in this very room the night Josh claimed her as his.
He would hurt her. Even if he was gentle, as Brent had been, he would hurt her. Brent had hurt her, and she had loved Brent. His body had excited her, and she had wanted him. That sacred, private place between her legs had been hungry for him, and even so... even so, it had hurt. What would it be like with a man she didn't want? She imagined Josh driving into her with the same reckless abandon as Brent. It would tear her apart. Physically, emotionally, and spiritually... he would leave her in tatters.
She had thought about asking him if he would wait until after the baby was born. Maybe then her body would be more accommodating. But she quickly set that idea aside. His proposal was so generous, and some part of her knew he would care and provide for her child. She couldn't risk that to spare herself pain. He would want to take her to bed. What would he do if she denied him the one pleasure he stood to gain from their arrangement?
No, she wouldn't deny him. She would accept his body's demands, however much it hurt her. For her baby's sake. Her son. Lord, how she hoped it was a boy. She wasn't taken to praying, but she had pleaded with all her might-- just let it be a boy.
Dawn didn't break the morning of Amelia's wedding. There were no morning glories. There was no cheerful yellow ball of warmth peeking coyly out from beyond the distant hills. That morning, dawn slipped like oil into the sky, bleeding finality into the clouds. There was no going back. Amelia watched as distant figures crept like ants over the Tuckers' land, and knew her opportunity to flee under cover of darkness had passed. She was as committed now as she would be come noon, when she spoke those dreaded words and bound herself to a man she hardly knew.
Absently, Amelia listened to the grandfather clock downstairs chime the hours as they passed. Six o'clock as the horizon began to show signs of coming light. Seven o'clock as dreary, weary light illuminated the sprawling ranch. Eight o'clock as the house came awake. Normally, at eight o'clock she would prepare herself for breakfast, but the family had adjusted its plans in light of the day's festivities. The elder Tucker had gone to town to make legal arrangements. Her betrothed had left the night before to fetch the preacher. All who remained in the house were she and Melissa, and the small handful of household servants who flitted about in the background. They were around less often that Amelia would have expected-- employed more to help tidy and prepare for larger functions than to deal with the day-to-day.
The clock was chiming nine when Melissa arrived with a tray of food and a wide smile on her face. "We only have three hours!" she exclaimed, setting the tray down on the vanity as Amelia unfolded herself stiffly from the window seat. "We'd better get to work."
All week, Amelia had debated with herself about sharing her fears with Melissa. That first day she'd run to her friend prepared to lament her misfortune, but was quickly waylaid by the woman's unabashed glee.
"Oh, you'll be so happy!" she had gushed, hugging Amelia tight around the shoulders before pushing her back, still clinging to her hands. "Brent would have dragged you about the country, chasing adventures. This way you'll definitely be able to stay! And I know Josh is a little rough around the edges, but he's real soft underneath. He'll take good care of you, you mark my words."
On and on she'd chattered, unaware of the dread that was settling low in Amelia's belly. Of course she couldn't talk to Melissa about her fears! The woman was close to her brother. She cherished him. Respected him. It would offend her to her core if Amelia admitted she thought he'd hurt her. And of course she couldn't explain that she wanted to be part of Brent's adventures. Granted, she'd wanted that before she had a child to worry about, but still...
In any event, she'd kept her fears and her dread from her new friend. And she would continue to do so, she decided as Melissa plopped her into the small stool in front of the vanity and began futzing with her hair. Somebody ought to enjoy this day, and it certainly wasn't going to be Amelia. She didn't think Josh was very excited, either. He'd hardly spoken to her since the proposal, and her heart was torn between fear that he'd change his mind and fear that he wouldn't.
Amelia picked at her food and forced herself to smile and nod as Melissa shared her excitement about the wedding, the party, the future... as the minutes ticked by, she found herself staring at an unfamiliar face in the mirror. Melissa powdered her face to an alarming, sickly shade of white and then brushed rouge onto her cheeks. Her lips were plumped up and glossy from a waxy pink salve, and her hair was brushed into glossy waves.
When the clock chimed eleven, Melissa helped her into the dress. It wasn't white. No shop in town had a white dress in stock, and none could order one on such short notice. To Melissa's disappointment, and Amelia's apathetic disregard, they had settled on a simple gown in such a pale rose color it could be mistaken for white under most indoor lights. It was only in the sunshine that the color bled through and turned to lustrous, flowery pink. Amelia rather preferred the color. It seemed more apropos to her situation. She didn't belong in white.
Fate, it seemed, agreed.
"You look beautiful," Melissa said with a fond smile, straightening the folds of the dress as they stood together in front of the mirror. "Josh will be beside himself."
Amelia doubted that, but she nodded and smiled back. Nod and smile. Nod and smile. Nod and smile. She did look beautiful, she had to admit. She just didn't look much like herself. The dress was made of silky, thin material that seemed liable to rip if she so much as grazed it with a fingernail, and her face felt waxy and thick. She was sure that if she sprang a sweat her entire face would melt and drip away, terrifying what few spectators chose to attend the ceremony.
As unwelcome as Melissa's optimism was, she felt a terrible, lonely pang when her friend began to pack up her things to leave. Perhaps Melissa saw the apprehension on her face, because she set down the wicker basket of cosmetics and hair pins and took her by the hands, peering into her eyes with a sympathetic frown.
"It's going to be alright, Amelia," she said quietly, squeezing her fingers. "I know there are a lot of unknowns, but I promise you it'll be okay. Pa is difficult but he's not dishonest. Your child's future will be guaranteed. You'll be safe here, and you won't want for anything. It's scary, but I give you my word it'll be okay. In a year you'll look back on this day and smile. Okay?"
"Okay," Amelia said, nodding and swallowing the tears that threatened to spring into her eyes. She hoped that was so, almost as fervently as she hoped the child in her belly was a boy. But hope never did anybody much good. Not in practical terms.
Time, which had crept by during the long and lonely hours of the morning, seemed to fly in that last hour before the ceremony. It seemed only seconds had passed before a heavy knock sounded at her door. With a trembling hand, she pulled it open and found her future father-in-law standing in a deep black suit that was sharp in itself but washed out his already pale features.
"You look lovely, Amelia," he said, although it sounded to her like he was delivering a line in a play. "Are you ready? Everyone is here."
Her throat was suddenly too dry to speak, so she nodded wordlessly and let Mr. Tucker take her arm and guide her from the room.
Because it was too cold to hold the ceremony outside, the paltry assembly of guests were in the sitting room. Chairs had been arranged in rows, and the two dozen attendees turned to face her as she emerged.
While she'd entertained romantic notions as a child, Amelia had never had great dreams or notions of what a wedding should be and even fewer about what her own wedding should entail. She did know, however, that this was wrong.
There was no music. There were no gasps or happy crying from the crowd. She had no father to escort her to her new life, and she did not love the man who stood waiting for her with the priest. The priest himself looked harried-- more anxious to finish an obligation than eager to join two souls for eternity. At least it wasn't that preacher from the local church, though. She was grateful Josh had spared them both that displeasure.
She fought the burning behind her eyes and forced her feet to move forward, squaring her shoulders against the stares of her audience. By the time she reached the front, her knees felt as if they would buckle beneath the weight of embarrassment and trepidation. Though Brent's father had surely concealed the circumstances of this union, she felt certain that everyone in the room was staring at her belly and reading her secret shame.
A hand on her elbow steadied her and she looked up into the eyes of the man to whom she was about to commit herself for eternity. She'd always thought his eyes a terrifying, fathomless inky black. Now she found herself standing closer and seeing more. Lamplight flickered, illuminating flecks of amber and mahogany. This close, his eyes weren't inky. They were warm like a dying fire. Warm and narrowed with concern.
"You look beautiful, Amelia," he said quietly, and it didn't sound at all like a line in a play. It sounded like a lonely fiddle, playing its soul to nobody in the corner of a half-empty bar.
For a brief moment, it was just the two of them. The audience disappeared, and she no longer felt Melissa's eager happiness or Mr. Tucker's expectations or Brent's absence. It was just her, with her weak knees and trembling hands, and him, with his own hand steady on her elbow and his eyes boring into hers. She could hear his silent words as clearly as if he spoke them out loud.
Are you sure?
She squared her shoulders and offered him a bracing smile and felt the air shift as he drew a steadying breath and turned them toward the priest.
She didn't hear the words, not even the ones she herself spoke. She clung to Josh's hands and gaze as she repeated the words the preacher offered her. When it was his turn to speak, Josh produced a ring and slid it onto her finger. It felt cold and heavy, and very final.
The priest pronounced them married, and those words were very clear and echoed loud in her head in the stifled, expectant silence of the sitting room. She tore her eyes from Josh's face and glanced at the preacher, who was watching them with his hands folded politely in front of him, the Bible closed and tucked beneath his arm. She looked back at Josh and felt him work his right hand loose from her grip and bring it up to the back of her neck.
It was a ghost of a kiss. His fingers were light on her neck, his lips barely more than a brush of air against hers. When he pulled away she almost followed him, feeling strangely cheated. A smattering of polite applause and congratulations sounded from the crowd, and just like that the life she'd known was over.