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With
her wedding dress fluffed up around her, Jessica watched in the mirror as the
woman touched up the last of her makeup. She wondered if anyone could hear her
heart hammering away in her rib cage.
She
rubbed her sweaty palms together, trying hard to remember not to smooth them
along the white silky folds of the dress that Kent had picked out for her. She
was the unwilling bride who didn’t even get to choose her own dress!
The
dress was beautiful, she had to admit. But it was definitely not something she would
have chosen for herself. Being conservative and
traditional, she certainly wouldn’t have chosen
something that fitted her like a glove. The bouquet of
flowers they placed in her trembling hands were roses and baby’s breath. Not
the calla lilies she would have chosen to borrow their elegance to outfit the
ambience she would have gone for.
The reception hall sparkled, as if Kent hired a team of minions to
shine everything even down to the floor. The floral arrangement and the
sparkling chandeliers helped to cast a festive glow in the hall.
The guests came out in droves, none of whom she had personally
invited. Jessica
recognized many of them who were members of the small town.
Her
heart plummeted.
Everyone
had come out to see her marry Kent.
Everyone,
except her father!
Everything
about this wedding was all wrong!
The
wretched feeling only got worse when Kent’s sisters filed into the small
dressing room. Four women, whom she barely knew, introduced themselves as
Tracy, Liz, Carly and Kim. She smiled tightly at them as they fussed over her
dress.
“I
didn’t know my brother had such good taste,” Carly said, her voice sickeningly nasal.
Jessica
cringed. Did the whole world know that Kent chose the dress? Could this situation
get any more humiliating?
She
felt wronged. Somewhere deep within a scream was forming but it couldn’t
surface. Each time Jessica opened her mouth to protest amidst the oohs and
the aahs over the dress and flowers, and how wonderful it was of Kent to take care of
such things, the words evaded her lips and she clamped her mouth shut
again.
There
was a fire deep within her and she was burning to tell someone that she didn’t
agree to this wedding, but instead she allowed herself to be led down the hall
where her Dad’s longtime friend and the mill’s foreman, John Macpherson, waited
to escort her down the aisle and into the waiting arms of Kent Holmes.
And even as she glanced at John, her heart wrenched painfully in her
chest. The whole thing was terribly wrong! There was no way she’d ever get married
while her Dad was laid up in a hospital bed and in a coma! But Kent had taken
over everything and had bullied his way into her life. Never before had she
felt so helpless and hopeless.
Jessica
clasped John’s arm tightly as her knees threatened to give way under her. The
huge doors of the worship sanctuary yawned open
before her and she heard Bella, the church organist, belt out the first notes
of “Here Comes the Bride” on the church’s big organ that had been there ever
since Jessica could remember.
Everything
in the church hall seemed to glimmer and shimmer in the bright garish sunlight
that was streaming steadily through the church windows. A wedding should be a
joyous occasion, and yet she felt it was the most wretched day of her life. She
pasted on a smile; a faint tilt at the corners of her lips, and choked back the
tears that were threatening to come.
I could run, she thought.
But
then where would that get her? It would only prolong the inevitable until
her father emerged from his coma.
Jessica’s
legs were wooden and heavy, and she commanded them to move as John took one
step forward, gently tugging her arm as he went.
Reluctantly, Jessica put one foot in front of the other. It was as if she was
being led as a lamb to the slaughterhouse, ‘minus the bleating and the wailing
and the gnashing of teeth’, as her grandmother would say. She might as well
have been wailing, if only her mouth would open and the words would come.
She glanced
at the people standing in the pew; women craning their necks to get a better
view of the bride, while some dabbed at their
tears with their husbands’ handkerchiefs. Of course,
their husbands stood aloof and straight-faced, waiting for the boring ceremony
to end and for the festivities to begin. Jessica’s heart lurched inside her
chest when she caught sight of Mark in the pew amongst a group of teetering old
ladies, on the left side of the church; the bride’s side. That side of the
church was scanty in comparison to the groom’s side.
Mark
stood a full two feet above them, his sandy brown hair glimmered
in the sunlight streaming from the skylight above their heads.
He
smiled at her. It lit up his face, and she immediately became furious with him.
What was he so happy about? She sent him a “Help me!” look but he smiled even
more and even winked at her!
Jessica’s
heart sank. Any hopes of rescue from her fate seemed dashed now as Mark was
clearly no longer on her side. Furious, she looked straight ahead. Now it was
up to her. Again the thought resurfaced, she
could simply become the runaway bride and just break free and take a hike for
it. But where would that leave her and her father’s mill? Then again, how
was marrying Kent any good for her father’s mill? Didn’t it just mean that
he would have access to her shares and more controlling power of the mill?
But it also meant she would have access to his 30 percent. Maybe she could
eventually buy him out and then she would have full control. She prayed silently for God's help because she had no idea what she should do.
She
kept moving in the direction toward the smug groom waiting at the end of the
aisle. Jessica squared her shoulders and placed one shaky, sweaty hand into
Kent’s large one. Her heart constricted as she took note of Kent’s wolfish grin
and how his hand clasped her fingers tightly.
They
turned and faced the minister. Jessica didn’t hear much of the
minister’s drone as he spoke about the sanctity of marriage and how it should
not be entered into lightly. Her heart squeezed in her chest when she heard
Kent say “I do”; and then it was her turn to answer.
She
opened her mouth to say something…anything…but the words seemed to squeeze
along her throat, cutting off her air supply. Gulping,
she clutched at her heart; the sudden pain, unbearable. Beads of sweat
dotted her brow.
If she didn’t
turn and run now, she would never get another chance!
However,
it seemed as if Kent had guessed her thoughts as
his clutch on her hand became tighter, almost cutting off the blood flow to her
fingers. She glanced up at him and saw that his wolfish grin had transformed into
a fiendish sneer.
Dear God! She was
marrying the devil!
- Excerpt from The Hopeful Promise (Book 3 - Cannon & Durnam Textile Legacy)
