Page 12 of Bartholomew
This woman was not the Quasimodo-like figure that my parents had painted her to be.
She was a woman. Sure, she wasn’t slight or lithe, like the girl Gideon had tied up last night, but she was curvy, with what looked to be an hourglass figure hidden by that haphazard dress she wore. Where was the ogre of a woman they had described to me? She was just a woman. A normal woman who had curves.
With the smile still plastered onto my face, I watched as she finally made her way to me.
“Dearly beloved, we gather here today in the presence of God and this congregation to set forth this man and this woman in holy matrimony. Who gives this woman away?” Reverend Jacob spoke robustly, startling me from my thoughts.
“Ahem, mm, yes. I do,” Elder Christian, her father, spoke. His voice was gruff, gravely, like he had been smoking cigars for about forty years.
“Glory be to God,” the reverend spoke.
“Glory to God in the highest!” the congregation responded happily.
“Today, as we come together to share in the joy of a union of two souls before God —”
I barely registered Reverend Jacob’s voice fading away as my hands reached out almost of their own accord and lifted her veil. I felt Levi’s hand on my elbow, trying to stop my motions without drawing too much attention, but my focus was not on him. Neither was I focused on Reverend Jacob, or the now hushed congregation we now stood before. My focus stayed solely on her.
It didn’t make sense.
As I lifted the veil from her face, it made far less sense than even before. She had blonde hair, almost golden in hue. High set cheekbones elongated her rounded face, making it appear almost oval shaped. Her lips were full, plump, and formed a soft pouting look that made me want to rub my thumb over that lower fullness until she opened up for me.
It was her eyes, though, that had me captivated, shocked. Her eyes were unlike any I had ever seen before. Some cross between blue and sea green. They were wide and open and made me think of a million different things all at once.
What would those eyes look like after I kissed her?
What would they look like after eating a bite of decadent dessert?
What would they look like in more sinful and delicious circumstances?
“Ahem. Mr. Temple?” Reverend Jacob uttered, looking half annoyed and half pissed as I mentally found myself back in the sanctuary and not in a hypothetical highlight reel of a game I may just start calling Delights with Delilah.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, shaking the thoughts from my head physically. There was a collective gasp from the congregation, and judging by the look on Delilah’s face, no one thought I was apologizing for my momentary pause. It seemed they all thought I was about to bolt from this sanctuary, quick as a Dash. “What were you saying, Reverend?”
“Is everything alright, Mr. Temple?” Reverend Jacob asked me, his eyes narrowed thinly at me.
I could tell everyone in the room was just waiting for me to change my mind. Delilah bit her lower lip but otherwise showed no sign of worry. She was a strong woman. I shot her a smirk before I spoke.
“Never better, Reverend. I was just taking a moment to praise God for the gift of this marriage. Please continue,” I urged, feeling lighter than before when Delilah let go of that lower lip stuck between her teeth.
Then she smiled.
It took all the willpower I had within me to not physically clutch at my heart and stumble backwards. Her smile could light up a room. What on sky daddy’s green earth could have possessed the people of this hellish town to talk about this woman with such disdain and disgust? They acted like my marriage to her would be a more of a modern-day retelling of the Taming of the Shrew, just without any of the good parts.
This was no shrew. No, before me stood a woman who was beautiful, curvy, and had a smile that made me want to tell her jokes and terrible dad puns all day every day just so that smile would never leave her face.
“Do you, Bartholomew Temple, take Delilah Christian, as your lawfully wedded wife…” the Reverend’s words prattled on. I had enough sense in my brain to pay half attention, but it was nearly impossible to focus on anything other than the fact that this endeavor might not actually be the death of me. After all, I was going to be married to a beautiful woman.
“With this ring…” her voice, soft and rich, called to me as she placed the ring on my finger. Her hands were soft, unadorned by gloves as Ruth’s had been.
I repeated the words back to her, sliding the gold band on her ring finger. Only for it to get stuck on her knuckle. A blush lit her face brilliantly. One I would have loved, had it been under different circumstances. But this blush was pure embarrassment. The tittering of laughter rippled through the crowd, pulling anger from my stomach. There was no reason to laugh at the woman. The ring was stuck on her knuckle. Rings got stuck on fingers. It happened to everyone, especially when one was nervous, as I am sure she was.
I wrapped her hand in my own, keeping the ring from view. We probably should have dropped hands at that point, but I did not care. It was my job to protect her, and if this small act gave her any modicum of comfort, then I would happily comply.
“By the power vested in me by the grace of our God Almighty and by the town of Zion, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Bartholomew, you may kiss your bride.” Reverend Jacob’s words rang loudly in my ears. It was done.
It was done, and I was married.
I was a husband.
