Maybe I will never be welcomed by anyone.
Maybe the fate of the ghost of Hallelujah Junction is to be alone forever.
And yet… alone would be better than what is happening now.
I’m marrying Scarecrow.
I have no choice. Not now. Not ever.
This is my life.
Papa Rich looks down at the paper again and reads, “Now you will feel no rain, for each of you will be shelter for the other. Now you will feel no cold, for each of you will be warmth to the other. Now there will be no loneliness, for each of you will be companion to the other. Now you are two persons, but there is only one life before you. May beauty surround you both in the journey ahead and through all the years. May happiness be your companion and your days together be good and long upon the earth. May you both walk under God as dutiful servants. We honor fire and ask that our union be warm and glowing with love in our hearts. We honor wind and ask that we sail through life safe and calm as in our Father's arms. We honor water to clean and soothe our relationship—that it may never thirst for love. With all the forces of the universe you created, we pray for harmony as we grow forever young together. Amen.”
It’s word for word from my wedding day with Christopher.
Christopher… my husband.
My old husband.
No longer. Never again. Goodbye, Christopher.
Scarecrow and Papa Rich both say, “Amen,” but I barely squeak out the word, as my throat feels like it’s closing.
My heart is shattering, because I truly believed Christopher and I would be wed for life. We gave our vows. We spoke the words.
But then, I remind myself that he was forced to marry me. He was forced to love me. He was forced to care for me after our rescue. He was forced in every aspect. He didn’t marry me of his own free will, and even though he said he’d watch over me after we were rescued… did he really have a choice? No. I forced that too.
Force.
This is my punishment for my part in his captivity. This is God’s way of righting our sins.
I have to marry Scarecrow.
Papa Rich opens his hands before us, and resting in his palm are two gold bands. I take the larger one, and Scarecrow takes the smaller. It’s the same ring I wore with Christopher that Papa Rich had taken from me on the plane. They are recycling the ring. The same ring but a different man.
“Brother Scarecrow.” Papa Rich slices through my thoughts. “Do you take Sister Ember to be your bride, to honor, to cherish, and to walk under God’s eyes together as one?”
“I do,” he says with a smile on his face that shows nearly every decayed tooth in his mouth.
“Sister Ember,” Papa Rich continues as I consider running outside and jumping off the ledge of the cliff and putting myself out of the misery I feel and know more will come. “Do you take Brother Scarecrow to be your husband, to honor, obey, and walk under God’s eyes together as one?”
“I do,” I somehow manage to say. I’m still not sure if it’s because the possibility of death by falling to my demise is still on the table.
The gold band slides onto my finger, and I allow the tears that had been threatening to shed cascade down my cheeks.
At least I have the ring. It will remind me of Christopher. It will keep him close to me in a small way.
I swipe at a tear. But is that what I want? Do I want a constant reminder of what I had but what never truly belonged to me to begin with?
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”
Run to the cliff now.
Run and jump.
Run and jump!
Death is better than—
Scarecrow leans forward and presses his chapped and scabby lips to mine. The kiss is brief, but not brief enough. I nearly vomit, but before I do, he mercifully pulls away, beats his cane on the floor, and lets out a hoot.
“Hot damn, I got me Wife Number Three!”
“It’s getting late,” Papa Rich says, acting as if he didn’t just marry his daughter off for the second time.
No big deal, right?
Just take a bride from one husband and have her marry a second.
“True,” Scarecrow says, studying me. “Out of respect for Richard being under the roof, we’ll wait to consummate the marriage when I return.”
His words are as if the angels from above flew down and granted me their grace.
Consummate the marriage…
The very thought….
Thank God for his decision.
I’ve survived some extremely harsh situations, but I don’t believe I can survive having Scarecrow inside me. I can’t have sex with the man. I’d die first.
“Holly will be sleeping with me tonight,” Scarecrow adds. He points to a corner of the room with a tattered curtain hanging. “Ember, that will be your room. Violet will assist you in finding bedding. We don’t have much, but I’m sure she can muster something up.” He then looks at Papa Rich. “I’m sure you can make do with your pack?”