the wedding.

i.

The Day her husband died, so did she.

Well, not physically, of course. That would be too easy, and life is nothing but cruel. Her eyes had dimmed and she barely ever smiled.

She spent one hour in the morning and one hour at dusk, staring out at the winding dirt road to their little house. She was probably waiting for him to roll up in that old car and embrace her like he always did, ticking her head under his chin and inhaling deeply. They’d stay there until she peeled herself away to finish dinner or a painting, leading him inside with their fingers entangled.

ii.

Her fiancée was a rotten man.

He knew she was dead, and using her own family against her, he proposed knowing she coulden’t refuse. He didn’t actually love her, though.

She was very beautiful, and he proposed to her beauty instead.

She didn’t care to notice exactly, but she knew something was different.

Her fiancée didn’t look at her like he had. Not gentleness. None of the loving kindness he had.

Instead, her fiancée appraised her as if she were a new trophy for his collection. That was all.

iii.

The day of their wedding was supposed to be momentous.

The whole town was there, everybody who was anybody – the Mayor, the Preacher Emeritus and his First Ladies, the Judge. Even the Church Mother had hobbled down the hill with her bad leg to see it.

She woke up late.

She stared blankly into the mirror as they pinned curls into place and adorned her head with pearls, permanently frowning. The girls were gossiping behind her.

She looked out of the window, praying to get struck by lightning.

The sky was clear.

iv.

When he first heard about the wedding, he drew his lips into a thin line and hung his head. It was only a matter of time, he’d assured himself. He didn’t want her to be alone waiting for a ghost.

He tried to push it to the back of his mind, to focus on his missions – but somehow, he still found himself on a southbound train, back to the town.

Back to her.

v.

He was one of the first people in the Church that morning, sticking to the walls like a shadow and listening to the town’s people speak behind their hands and giggled about the young couple. How wonderful it was that they found each other, two good country people.

He turned away.

Knowing that she’d recognize him, even in the dark – that she could feel his soul itself - he snuck up to the Church attic and peaked through the floorboards.

vi.

She was hauntingly beautiful in that white gown. The semi-transparent veil dragged behind her on the lush velvet carpet. Bright flowers overflowed in her arms.

His fingers ached to touch her. To pull her into his arms and hold her there, whispering sweetly in her ear. To be at the end of that aisle once more, waiting for her.

But he couldn’t, because he was dead.

He dug his nails into his fist.

The fiancée, he didn’t love her – nothing was a secret from him. So why was he marrying her so quickly? His chest squeezed, a burning sensation.

When the veil rose, he saw her face.

Her dark eyes, her smile gone. He had done this. He broke his beloved’s heart and she was paying the price.

“There any objections?”

His nails drew blood. This was worse than any torture in on the field. A twisting pain that he felt in his entire body.

“No?” The priest said, “Then - do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?

The Groom puffed out his chest. “I do!”

“Do you take this man as your lawfully wedded husband?”

She was silent, watching the surface become further and further away while she drowned. She glanced up to the ceiling for just a second.

Their eyes crowded her thoughts and she just wanted to collapse in tears.

She closed her eyes, opening them.

He could hear her heart cracking.

“I do.”

“Then what y'all waitin’ for?” The Preacher laughed. “You kiss that bride!”

In the attic he closed his eyes and set his head against the boards.