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The Bride Who Fled

by George Byron Koch

The kind Groom was ready, the guests were assembling, and her gown was white and sparkling in the sunlight. A great feast had been prepared and was waiting. Everything was ready.

And then he was at the door again, the dark suitor. She had not succumbed to him before, but he looked so dashing, so cavalier, so knowing. He whistled and winked, pointed to the horizon and whispered "freedom."

She chose. She knew in her heart that it was wrong even as it began, but now she was committed. And besides, it was freedom. A little untidy perhaps, even a bit "sinful," but it was freedom. Nothing else mattered. And so she fled the wedding, the caring, the love, the safety, and they ran together for the other side.

When they arrived, she was welcomed with cheering by others like herself, others who had also fled. And though the place they lived was untidy, with indefinite shadows and uncertain lurkings, it was freedom. He taught her their ways. At first they frightened her, though she wouldn't show it. Some of their ways even repulsed her, but she would not admit it. Better to learn it all, gain it all, even though some sensitive part of her seemed to die off with each new lesson. It was freedom, wasn't it? No price could be too great - though it did seem now and then like she was spending her soul, bit by bit, to retain it. And the wedding gown darkened, grew gray and stained.

With time it became easy. Even those things that had once so repulsed her now drew no more than a passing, knowing smile. She even taught them to others, new refugees from the "light," who had come seeking freedom. "Do what you wish," she told them, "this is the whole of our Law."

She learned to become expert in finding excitement, in new varieties of experience, in new manners of stimulation, though each experiment seemed to take away something more, and to add yet another dark spot to the gown. Still she pressed on, her yearning still not fulfilled by the ever greater depths to which she plunged.

Finally she could sustain the illusion no longer. The gown was tattered and black with stains. She had begun to scrub it again and again with no effect. Her skin was wrinkled and scarred, her face haggard and her eyes hollow. The freedom she had bought came at a great price - her own life. It was not freedom at all, but a fraud, an evil trick. The one who had enticed her away had indeed been knowing. He knew her ending even when he first pointed to the horizon and whispered, "freedom."

He was back now, to take her again as she succumbed to death, to take her to a place of utter isolation, of complete abandonment, a pit of everlasting misery. This was truly the freedom she had bought. But as she was being pulled to this final, dark destiny, suddenly Another imposed himself between her and the dark suitor.

It was the Groom. He was no older than when she had fled from him. He was unstained, untouched, sparkling as her gown had once sparkled. "I will go in your place," he said. "Will you let me?"

"I don't deserve it," she protested. "I have grown dirty, so ugly, so … vile."

"Will you let me?" he asked again.

She tried weakly to neaten her tattered gown. Her hand tried to brush off some of the filth, and then straighten a wrinkled fold. Nothing she did had any effect.

"Will you let me?" he asked, gently.

She wept, remembering his kindness of long ago, sensing it once again, knowing how completely she deserved none of it. But she saw the love in his eyes, and encouraged by it, said, "Yes."

Then he was gone, carried away down the pit by the dark suitor.

It had come to this. So far had she fallen that she would even allow her beautiful Groom to die in her place. How utterly worthless must she be? It had come to this.

And then she looked down at her gown. One by one the stains were fading away. The wrinkles were becoming smooth, the tattered edges were mending and a bit of sunlight glistened on the fabric. A fragrance of healing balm began to fill the air around her, and she felt its warmth flow to her face and arms and hands, until her whole body was suffused in perfume and light. The wrinkles and scars fled away, and she began to glisten even more brightly than the gown. What was happening to her?

Then she heard a distant noise, a great peal of thunder, and she saw a brilliant light. As she watched, the pit which had taken the Groom burst open. He stepped out, and it collapsed beneath him and fell in upon itself. "It could not hold me," was all he said.

He stretched out his hand to hers, and as she touched it, suddenly they were both in the midst of a great city in glorious celebration. In the center of it, guests were assembled, and a great wedding feast was waiting for them. The tattered, stained gown was gone. The haggard, vile body was gone. By his touch, and his gift, she had been restored and made more glorious than she could imagine or comprehend.

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