Tuscarora High School’s very own, Keira Conley, has not only won the award for best short story at the Young Author’s Contest for the school and county, but has also earned her place as a finalist for the state level. Conley’s submission is below:
The Fool in Her Wedding Gown
I walked through the wheat fields, brushing my hand over the grains. At that moment, I seemed to forget everything plaguing my mind. About a hundred feet beyond me stood an old house, tattered with years of use. Margaret Wallace stood on the porch, holding a watering can in her ink-stained fingers. Her oak hair moved in the breeze like silk. She set down the can and turned her focus to me. A smile crept upon her face. “Hey Lily, I thought you had wedding stuff to attend to.”
“No, we finished an hour ago,” I came on the porch and bumped her shoulder. “I hope I’m not a bother, Coyote.”
She chortled, “You could never be a bother.”
I don’t recall where the nicknames “Lily “and “Coyote” came from. We have used them since our youth and the time we spent together lying in the tall grass fields. We have been in each other’s company for ten years. Two years ago, our relationship took a romantic turn, although it is hard to tell if it was for better or worse. She was vulnerable then, after the death of her parents, leaving me as her sole companion. Emotions got the better of us while logic left. It was more troublesome now as I was betrothed to a man I did not love so my family could get money for my mother’s medicine.
“How are your Coyote Stories coming along?” I asked, noticing fresh ink on her fingertips. Margaret was a writer, though she never told me what she wrote about, so I referred to them as Coyote Stories.
“Not the best; I don’t have any motivation,” she replied, admiring the flowers she grew on her porch. “I have a stuck feeling, being in this town. I don’t know, it’s hard to explain.”
I leaned against her sturdy shoulder. “Then don’t.”
The sun was setting over the mountains protecting the valley we called home. It was always beautiful, the shades of orange and pink like a painting.
“I need to leave,” muttered Margaret, plucking a weed from a pot. I looked at her while she stared deeper into the setting sun.
“But you can’t go. This is our home, Coyote.”
She chuckled, “What is a home? A place where you feel safe? A place where you can be free from the ideals of others? This town has not done that for us; if it did, it wouldn’t call me a spinster under its breath, and we would stand at the altar tomorrow, together.”
“I must disagree; this is home.” I set her hand over my beating heart, “This love we share makes a home, not those around us.”
“Is that why you’re marrying Thomas, the heir to the coal company that practically runs this town?”
I shook my head, “My reason for marrying Thomas is for the life of my mother, that cancels out our own need for love. You understand that, right?”
“Family is important, but tell me Lily, does this feel important?” Margaret held my face as she pressed her lips against mine. The world seemed to dissipate, leaving us in a void. I set my hands on her waist. My heart seemed to beat again, a feeling I had not felt in Thomas’ arms.
Margaret separated her lips from mine, “Now, can you live the rest of your life without that feeling?”
“No,” She held my hands, “Then join me! We can leave the confines of this town and relish that
feeling for as long as we live!”
My breath stuttered as I let go of my grip on her hands. “I have duties here; I can’t abandon them.” Margaret signed and returned to her flowers, “I am leaving tomorrow, with or without you. I’ll be at the church before you wed; I need your final decision then.”
***
I stirred the soup in my bowl, watching the vegetables swirl around the spoon. “Esther,” my mother, frail and white as ever, started, “how are you feeling about tomorrow?”My parents and I sat around a now-empty table. Four of the seven chairs carved by my father now sat collecting dust. They once belonged to my older siblings, but they had all left home.
“I’m nervous,” I replied to my mother. My parents were a reflection of the life waiting for me. A life without love. A life that was decided for them, just as mine was soon to be. It terrifies me. Mother had another coughing fit. Specs of blood appeared on her white handkerchief.
“You’ll be fine,” My father hissed as he comforted his sick wife. He was right of course, I had duties to attend to here. But as I cleaned my bowl and got ready for bed, I was overtaken by the thought that if I did give up love for my family, would it be worth it? This medicine is merely experimental and if the status quo stays, then I am doomed to live the rest of my life thinking I should have left with Margaret.
***
On the east side of the church, I waited for the ceremony to begin. After a sleepless night full of thoughts about my future, it seemed unreal to be standing here in the reflection of the stained glass. I wore simple makeup with my hair down. My dress is made of lace and wool, and
the bodice an accent of coral fabric with a flower pattern. Sounds of galloping echoed against the walls. Margaret sat like a queen on a sturdy
mustang. She dismounted the beast and stood face-to-face with me.
“I know,” I muttered, “I look rid-.”
“Beautiful,” she finished, “You are beautiful, my Lily.” She took a white lily from her bag and placed it in my veil. “Are you coming with me?”
Deep down, I knew the right answer, although it pained me to say, “No.”
Margaret’s eyes became stiff. “Why not?”
I turned away from her. “I can’t go on living knowing I could have helped my mother but didn’t.”
“What? Our love won’t stop; you can’t ignore it!”
“If I must help my family, I will without a second thought,” tears formed in my eyes,
“Besides, you have nothing to lose by giving everything to love, Coyote.”
“That may be true, but I would sacrifice for us. I love you more than every flower, all the stars in the sky, each bottle of ink. What we have goes beyond these simple desires!” She put her hand out to me as a way of asking me to join her in this adventure, “If you don’t come with me
now, we may never meet again. So I beg, join me, Lily.”
I stepped back and let tears fall from my eyes. “I can’t.”
Margaret let her hand fall, rage filling her face. “Then you are nothing more than a fool in her wedding gown. Marrying a man you don’t love, destined to wake up each day to an empty bed. What is to come is your fault, so don’t blame me,”
She mounted the steed again and looked down upon me, tears now like rain on her cheek,
“I thought you loved me,” she said, her voice raw.
“I do,” I whimpered.
She straightened her back. “Then why are you making that promise to Thomas instead of me?” Margaret galloped away towards the mountains, taking my heart with her. The charcoal on my eyelashes fell with my tears, and my body ached. I fell on my knees into the dirt. Can’t I allow myself to be happy? My eldest sister, Emilee, found me on my knees. Deep down, she must have known I didn’t want this wedding. This must have been how she felt all those years ago. Emilee took me by the shoulders, her green eyes staring into mine. She engulfed me in a hug and whispered, “You can do this, Essie.” I stayed a moment in her arms before she set her sights on cleaning me up. She spoke no words as she fixed my makeup and brushed the dirt from my gown, which was for the best. More composed, I entered the church with my father and walked down the aisle to Thomas and a priest. The stained glass made my dress orange in its familiar light I had grown to
dread.
“I, Esther Katherine Pilsbary, take thee, Thomas Benjamin Rickbus, to be my wedded Husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death do we part, according to God’s
holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.” Each word a dagger to my chest, these empty promises without love. As the announcement rang that we were now husband and wife, I realized Margaret was right. I am a fool in her wedding gown.
***
I stood at the sink in a home I had shared for seventeen years, washing dishes from tonight’s meal. Thomas was on a chair to my left in a waistcoat covered with a sprinkling of coal dust from running the mines. He was reading a news article that brought out many scoffs. My three surviving children, Beatrice, Caleb, and Ben, sat across from him, doing assorted schoolwork and whatnot. Pictures of my two daughters who had died during the Spanish Influenza sat on the window sill in front of me. I missed them terribly, but I kept strong for the family I had made. Life was simple and comfortable, it was nice, although it took me a while to see that. A month past the wedding, Mother died. After that, I wondered if it would have been better to leave with Margaret, yet as I matured I realized my choices were right. The memories we shared are enough, anyways I haven’t seen her since she rode off into the mountains. I haven’t a clue if she has found peace or if she even remembers me. But no matter if she does or not, Margaret Wallace will always be a part of me.
“It’s time for you three to get to bed,” I instructed my children, noting the time on the clock. The children grumbled but still did as they were told, abandoning what they were working on. Thomas folded his newspaper and kissed me, “Will you be coming to bed soon?”
Those first few months were hard on Thomas. Like me, he wasn’t thrilled to enter into a loveless marriage, a marriage of convenience, a marriage for money. But as the years passed, we became close and content in each other’s arms.
“Yes, I just have to finish some things first,” I replied, drying my hands.
“Okay, dear,” I leaned against the sink and looked over my home, the familiarity being one of my greatest comforts. From the corner of my eyes, the orange cover of the book my eldest daughter was reading caught my attention. I had never seen it before, meaning she bought or borrowed it today.
Coyote Stories
M. Wallace
My breath halted as the title brought back memories of years past. I took the book from the sofa and walked onto the porch, sitting next to the wildflowers I grew. Under the stars, I opened it to the first page:
To my Lily,
A day has not passed when I have not thought of you. I miss those years more than you
can ever know, and I hope you have found peace in your life. We both deserve it. If you are
reading this, know I forgive and still love you.
-Your Coyote
I smiled and looked into the star-dotted sky. A strange sensation began in my body as my heart beat again, knowing the love I possessed also burned within her. I held the book to my chest as if it was Margaret. “My Coyote,” I whispered into the night, my eyes filling with tears, “I love you too.”
We wish Conley the best as she awaits results of the state-level competition and congratulate her on this great accomplshment in the Liberal Arts. Go Titans!
