His iron fist tightens on my shoulder, causing me to wince a little. I love my father, and I know he surely only wants what is best for me. But sometimes he does hurt me. I want nothing more than to please him and make him approve of me, to get through this day unscathed by him. I follow his line of sight to the roadside, where a black car has just pulled up. It is an extremely luxurious-looking vehicle, shining and reflective, with very dark windows. I wonder what could be hiding behind the tinted windows.
Then it hits me.
It must be my new husband’s car. I see a muscle clench in Daddy’s jaw and his eyes go narrow, into dark slits. “He is here,” my father says quietly.
“Oh,” I breathe, my heart rate quickening.
“You must not betray anything. Don’t let anyone see your fear, Cassandra. Remember that your actions reflect on the family, and if you screw this up, you will ruin us all,” he explains quickly in an undertone. “Act naturally.”
I want to shoot back, “What exactly qualifies as natural in this situation?” But I bite my tongue, as I have always done.
“Yes, Daddy,” I say dejectedly.
The overlapping, excited conversations among the crowds have dissipated and now they are only whispering and pointing at the big black car. I suddenly feel very dizzy and I realize that I haven’t had much to eat or drink for the past few days. My head starts to go fuzzy, but my father’s vice grip on my shoulder holds me up.
Then the driver side door of the car opens up and out steps the man I am to marry.
I don’t even get much of a chance to gawk, because my mother and father rush over to herd me into the chapel. “He cannot see you before the ceremony! It’s against tradition!” Mother hisses vehemently, poking me in the small of my back to hurry me along.
The inside of the chapel is adorned with simple white and dark green ribbons, with floral arrangements flanking the marital podium. The priest is already standing there waiting. I have known him since childhood. His name is Father Harrison and I spent much of my younger years wanting to marry him, actually. He is an older man, but to a young girl like me, he was the pinnacle of manly ideal. He has been the head of our congregation ever since I can remember, leading the services with a loud, powerful voice and elaborate gestures.
Now, of course, he is old and grey, but still charismatic. When his eyes land on me, he holds his arms open in a stance of welcome. “Little Cassandra Meadows! Hard to believe that it’s time for you to become a real woman of God!”
His warm smile reassures me, even as my father’s hand on my shoulder must be leaving a bruise. Daddy waves to him as he rushes me into a tiny side room to await the ceremony. My mother stands in the dark chamber with me, the both of us quietly listening to the crowds filing into the chapel pews. I peer through a crack in the door, the sliver of space allowing me a very limited view of the church interior. I see my fiancé walk briskly down the aisle, his back straight and head held tall. I can’t see any details, but just the sight of his hulking frame is enough to send a shiver down my spine. I feel so small and fragile in contrast to him.
Everyone is tittering excitedly, quietly, as he passes down the aisle. I blush, knowing that my fellow churchgoers are confused by the fact that nobody recognizes him. He is something very rare, indeed: a stranger in our midst. Surely, they must all be questioning how he managed to sneak his way in. I can just imagine the whispers going around, “Who is this strange man?” “Is he one of us?”
And the worst of all: “How in the world did they ever even meet?”
I want to vomit, right here in the side chamber of my own wedding chapel. My mother seems to pick up on my nerves, as she gently brushes the hair off of my shoulder and kisses the side of my head.
“Don’t be afraid, dear. I know it is daunting, but we all must take this vow. Trust in God to protect you,” she says, so softly I can barely hear her.
“I want to make you and Daddy proud, but I’m scared,” I reply, in an equally low voice.
“We are proud, Cassie. Just be strong.”
Outside in the church, the crowds are all cooing “aww” and I look through the crack to see my little brother, tiny, sweet Isaiah, walking down the aisle holding what looks like a ring pillow. His unruly brown hair is swept back using a copious amount of gel, and there is a half-frightened, half-petulant look on his cherubic face. My heart surges in my chest, and I have the sudden urge to burst out of the chamber, rush down the aisle, and scoop him up in my arms. Something deep in my soul tells me that I won’t be seeing him very often after today.
I miss him already.