Marie’s Wedding ~ a short story

Hello friends!

I come to you today with a wee bit of writing. I’ve been procrastinating sharing this because I know it’s not perfect. Also because the last short story I shared was also about a wedding, and I’m afraid y’all are going to think I’m a hopeless romantic or something.

But sometimes we must bite the bullet and procrastination be hanged. And I promise I have a good reason for writing yet another wedding-centered story.

This one arose from a challenge I did with my dear friend Grace Avender. We’ve done a lot of challenges together in the past, some music related or writing related, and we always have fun complaining to each other how hard our challenges are, and encouraging each other on, and procrastinating until the last minute, and fangirling over each other’s efforts when it’s all over.

Well, this time we decided to combine our love of music and storytelling and send each other a song to write a story from. Grace sent me Marie’s Wedding.

You see why I couldn’t escape this. 😉

Anyhooziers, without further ado, here’s my somewhat highly chaotic story.

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‘Twas a bright, sunny morning on the day of Marie’s wedding, and everything was going wrong.

It seemed the world was against her from the moment she had woken up with a thrum in her chest. Today was the day! She was finally getting married. She had no idea of whom her bridegroom was, but that was of little matter. Her parents had chosen for her, and she trusted them.

She bounced out of bed and promptly twisted her ankle. Things had only gotten worse from there.

“Are you excited?” Her mother had asked as she arranged her daughter’s hair.

“I think I’m more nervous than anything,” Marie admitted. “What if I don’t like him?”

A devilish look had entered her mother’s eye, “Oh, don’t worry love. I know you’ll like him!”

Marie’s shoulders drooped. “Okay, what is that mischievous grin for then? And why can’t I know? It’s not like I’m going to run away. At least I could prepare myself. Kind of a stupid tradition, isn’t it?”

“Hold still!” Her mother pushed a pin into her mess of hair. “Alright, Grandmother. Hand me some of those flowers.”

Marie’s father’s mother sat nearby, cradling a long thin box of flora. “Don’t ye worry, Marie.” Her voice creaked when she spoke. “Ye could have gotten married on a flighty whim of so-called ‘love.’ But everyone knows arranged marriages have happier endings.” She took on an ominous look. “While them love birds only end in despair and divorce.”

Marie’s mother looked over at the woman with fierce eyes. “Mother! Flowers!”

Grandmother opened the box, and breathed a raspy gasp. “What is this?” She drew out a cluster of withered wisteria.

Marie and her mother turned to get a better look, as the older woman held up the flowers in shock and said, “Death has come.”

Marie’s mouth fell open, and she almost laughed at her grandmother’s drama and the pitiful drooping flowers.

“Oh! Nonsense!” Her mother snatched the flowers away. “This is not an omen of any sort.” She turned back to Marie, and forced a smile. “You can wear ribbons in your hair instead, love.”

~~

Marie sucked in her breath and faced the dressing room mirror. Her mother stood to the side and pinched her lips together. Even she looked anxious now.

Had the wrong dress been sent? No, the dress fit perfectly, and was everything Marie had wanted. Yet, how could the dressmakers ever mistake their request for a white wedding dress? And how could she have been too busy try it on or even look at it until the day of her wedding?

“Alright, mother. I know this is all a big mistake. But we’ll make it work. Please don’t worry.” It was the last thing Marie wanted, to add more stress to her wedding day. And what could be done for it anyway? At least the ribbons in her hair were white.

“But Marie, love. You can’t get married in green.”

“Aye! It’s bad luck, isn’t it?” Her grandmother added eagerly. “A symbol of jealousy, I do believe.”

Her mother placed a hand on her arm. “Why don’t we go over to grandmother’s house?” she whispered. “You can wear her old dress.”

Her grandmother’s wedding dress had been handed down and worn by almost every girl in the Maolriain family. It still had a wine stain on it from the fiasco at her older sister Agnes’ betrothal.

 “No…” Marie cocked her head to one side. The dress wasn’t an ugly green. And the light olive color brought out the color of her eyes and her dark auburn hair. She lifted her chin and faced her grandmother. “No, green is the color of life. And new beginnings. I think it’s a rather bold color,” she added in a more cheery tone than she felt. 

What would her groom think of the color? Would he see it as a sign of bad luck?

Her mother let out a weary sigh, but a knock at the dressing room door interrupted any further complaints.

Her grandmother opened the door. 

“Excuse me, ma’am. Have you seen Mr. O’Connor anywhere?” The boy was a picture of chaos. He clutched a fiddle and bow in one hand, and held up a hammer in the other. His face was flushed, as if he had been running about…

“He’s lost?!” Her mother groaned.

But Marie limped forward on her sprained ankle. “Caolán? …Caolán O’Connor?” The boy who had put a toad on her head when they were seven? Thrown a rock at her face (although he claimed he was aiming at something behind her)? Passed notes to her in school that said, “Yur spellin is terble“?

She understood her mother’s mischievous grin now, and a feeling of horror came over her. “Caolán O’Connor… The groom?”

The boy nodded. “Aye. He sent me after a hammer, but I can’t find him now. No one can!”

Marie didn’t hear her grandmother’s response. She still couldn’t believe it. Her parents knew how much she had hated him when she was a girl. How much they had argued, fought, and poked fun at each other over the years.

She looked at her mother, who was watching to see how she would react. “You chose Caolán for me?” 

The mischievous smile was there again. “Well, in a way. He came to us, and after much deliberation,”—she enunciated that part pointedly—” your father and I gave him our blessing.”

Marie wasn’t sure whether she should be angry or not. But everything was starting to make sense now…

She remembered a month earlier, how Caolán had found her walking home from her sister’s cottage.

“Guess what, Marie!” He had grabbed her hand and twirled her a couple times.

A shriek bubbled up from her chest. “Janey Mack, Caolán, what has gotten into you?” She stumbled forward dizzily, and he caught her elbow to steady her.

He spun and walked backwards beside her. “I, Miss Marie Maolriain, am getting married,” he’d announced merrily.

Marie laughed, and stopped walking to look him in the eye and regain her balance. “You? I don’t believe it.”

“It’s true. You laugh all you want.” But he didn’t stop smiling.

“Alright, fine. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh. I’m sure there’s some lass out there who’ll not murder you after a few days,” she teased. “Tell me what she’s like then.”

“Aye, she hasn’t killed me yet. And she’s had plenty of time.” He shrugged and looked off as if he wasn’t sure what to say. “She’s fair. Rosy cheeks. Bright eyes… brighter than any star.” Why hadn’t she noticed the softenness that had come into his voice? The way he had looked at her?

Oblivious. Absolutely, idiotically, utterly oblivious.

Instead she had laughed again. “Well, I’m happy for you.” And she’d felt a warmth in her chest when she realized she meant it. Really meant it.

And yet, after he had bade her farewell, tipping his cap, eyes twinkling… she had felt slightly disappointed and lonely. And then she had chided herself the rest of the way home. What was she thinking? Of course she didn’t want to marry Caolán O’Connor.

But now she was marrying him.

Her grandmother shut the door. “Well, this is all very odd. Maybe it was the groom that ran away this time.”

Her mother closed her eyes and shook her head, “Mother…”

Marie laughed. Her anxiety was gone now that the great mystery had been accidentally revealed. She was wearing a green wedding dress and a wrapped up ankle, and her grandmother was still holding the box of dead flowers, and her groom was missing, and her mother looked like she wanted it all to just go away. And she couldn’t help but laugh in the relief that this wasn’t going to be a perfect betrothal. And honestly, she didn’t want it to be. 

Her mother opened her eyes, and looked at Marie. She lifted her arms. “Well, what shall we do?”

Another knock on the door answered the question. Her grandmother answered it again. 

“Is the bride ready?” Marie’s father stepped into the room. “Green, eh?” He rocked back on his heels.

Marie sagged, and her grandmother held up a hand. “We shall not speak of it!”

“Your first look at the bride, and that’s what you say?” Her mother shook her head and placed a hand on her forehead in dramatic exasperation. 

His eyes crinkled around the corners. “You look more lovely than ever, Marie.” He offered her his arm, and winked. “And the dress rather suits you, I’d say.”

Marie squeezed his arm, and pinched back a girlish grin. “Thank you, Father.”

“Are we all ready then?”

“Aye!” Her grandmother finally tossed aside the dead flowers, which she seemed to be growing attached to. “We’ve been ready for ages! We thought it was you that weren’t ready.”

“No, just had a bit of… last minute hassle with the canopy,” her father said, as if that explained everything. “Off we go then!”

The small bridal party burst from the dressing cabin in a burst of merry disarray. The wedding band had been waiting outside the door, and struck up a lively tune to accompany them. It only seemed inevitable when Marie tripped over the threshold and promptly sprained her other ankle. The happy music screeched to a halt.

“Good golly, Marie.” Her mother exclaimed, kneeling down to examine the sprain. “What are we to do with you?”

“I don’t know,” Marie admitted, grimley. “I don’t suppose weddings agree with me.”

“Nonsense!” Her grandmother said. “Yer gettin’ married today whether ye like it or not. And we’ll just have to make this wedding a joyous one, no matter what happens.” She whacked Marie’s father on the arm. “Sean, yer going to have to carry her.”

“Very well then, Marie.” He bent down and carefully hoisted her up. “Up we go!”

Marie threw her arms around his neck with a nervous laugh.

The band struck up again, a little hesitantly at first, and then with more vigor as the bridal party went forward.

It was a long march to O’Brien’s field where the ceremony was being held. Some of Marie’s anxiety was beginning to return along the way. How was this going to work? She couldn’t barely even stand. But that was also the least of her worries.

“My goodness, they’re a perfect pair.” Her grandmother muttered under her breath when they arrived.

“Hush, grandmother.” Her mother said.

Marie was almost afraid to look. As if looking would make it true. And she wasn’t quite ready to accept the fact that she was marrying her childhood nemesis.

She tilted her head and peaked with one eye. And gasped.

At the end of the aisle stood a small canopy made of birch wood and draped with wisteria flowers. And underneath stood Caolán O’Connor, with his arm in a sling.

Her father carried her down the aisle with a great deal of ceremony. She wondered if he was starting to regret giving Caolán his blessing to marry her. Her grandmother was right, they made quite a pair.

They all stood together underneath the canopy.

The officiant looked a little concerned as he cleared his throat. “Um, who gives this man—I mean this woman to this man?”

Marie held in a snicker.

“Her mother and I do.” Her father said, a picture of seriousness.

“I think you can put me down now, Father.” Marie whispered.

“You’ll be alright?”

Marie nodded. A small throb went through her ankles, but as long as she wasn’t walking it didn’t hurt too terribly. They’d have to hold off on the dancing.

Caolán offered her his free hand. “What happened to you? You didn’t injure yourself trying to run away, did you?” He smirked.

“No, I tripped… Twice. And you?”

“Fell off the ladder while working on the canopy.”

Marie looked up at the pink and purple flora and smiled. “You remembered the wisteria…”

They had argued about her wedding for some dumb reason when they were ten. She had insisted that she was going to be married under a wisteria tree. He had told her she was going to get married in a swamp, most likely to a swamp ogre.

She shook her head at the memory and their silliness, but he only shrugged. “How could I forget?”

The officiant cleared his throat again. “Are we ready to begin?”

Caolán pulled a straight face and nodded solemnly. His eyes were still flickering with gaiety though.

Marie took a deep breath. She looked over at her family sitting in the front seats. Her mother was wiping away tears, but she was pretty sure they were sweet tears of relief. Her father smiled at her with twinkling eyes. Her grandmother looked mildly happy, and Marie noticed that she had tucked some of the wilted flowers into her fading grey hair.  And even though she was marrying her old nemesis, she realized she never felt happier herself. “I’m ready too,” she said.

So they said their vows, and shared a first kiss, and hobbled down the aisle together as all their loved ones threw rice at them with more gleeful zeal than necessary. 

And the road rose up to meet them, and the sun shone warmly on all their faces, and God held them in the palm of His hand. And I suppose I could just say they all lived happily after.

The End.

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So there you have it? What did you think? Would you agree to an arranged marriage if you didn’t know who you were marrying? 😈 I agree with mah girl, it’s a bit of a strange tradition. But when you’re writing a wedding story and looking for a way to add conflict to an otherwise happy and hopefully conflict-less occasion, strange traditions will suffice. 😅

I hope you enjoyed reading. And if you haven’t seen it already, and you should definitely go check out Grace’s story, St. Elmo’s Fire, and help me talk her into writing a sequel. 😉

Until next time, stay lionhearted, and peace out.

~ Chalice