3
"It's no use," Victor finally said. He rubbed at his forehead in frustration. He dropped to his knees beside the stump Victoria was sitting on. "It's just a few simple vows. Why is this so difficult?"
Victoria bit her lip. He was trying, he truly was. She'd had him repeat the vows after her, line by line, several times as they walked through the woods. By the time they'd come to the clearing they'd been over it at least half a dozen times. Victoria had taken a seat on the stump as her feet had grown cold and tired. Doggedly Victor had pressed on, fumbling attempt after attempt. Now Victoria was beginning to get a little worried. What would happen if he simply could not recite his wedding vows? Would Pastor Galswells truly not allow the marriage to take place?
Impossible. Wasn't it?
"There's room for us both," Victoria said, moving so that she was just barely perched on the stump. "You needn't kneel in the snow. You'll catch your death."
Victor stood, brushed off his knees, and lowered himself onto the stump beside her. He didn't take up much room. Even so, they were pressed hard side by side. She reached out her hands for his. When he took them she could feel how icy he was. He didn't even have an overcoat. But she had plenty of cape. So she pulled his hands below her cape to rest on her lap, still holding them. Perhaps the combination of her own warmth and the snug wool would help.
"Thank you, that's...uh...that's...warm," he told her.
"You're welcome," she replied.
They sat in silence. She could feel Victor's hands warming in hers. The dark shapes of roosting crows filled the trees above their heads. Behind them was the ragged edge of the cemetery near the river. Mayhew stood back on the path smoking his pipe and looking up at the sky. He was close enough to keep an eye on them, far enough away to give them a bit of privacy.
"Shall we ask Mr. Mayhew if he might have a fountain pen?" she asked at length, lightly, attempting to recreate the joke from earlier. But when Victor looked down at her, he looked very somber.
"I don't want to have to do that. You deserve better," he said. His tone was low and serious. "I want to give you better than that. Because...well. I confess. This morning, I was terrified of marriage. But then, on meeting you, I felt that I should be with you always. And that our wedding could not come soon enough. And I want to do it properly."
Victoria became aware that her mouth had fallen open as he spoke. She scarcely dared to believe what she was hearing. She'd not been imagining things. It had not been wishful thinking. Victor felt it, too. And here, in the woods, he was so articulate. So sincere. And he was looking at her so hopefully, so expectantly. At last she got the breath to reply.
"Oh, Victor," she said softly. "I feel the same."
This time there wasn't any reason to stop the inevitable. There, in the deepening twilight of the winter woods, Victor's lips met hers. His were very cold and dry. But they were perfect. It was physically impossible for them to get any closer, but still they tried.
There came a cough from beside them, and a hand tapped at Victoria's shoulder. She opened her eyes to see Mayhew. Immediately she drew away from Victor. Mayhew was standing there a trifle awkwardly, and he was quick to pull his hand away from her shoulder. Victoria flushed with embarrassment. She'd completely forgotten he was there. Victor, though he looked as embarrassed as she felt, was looking at her in a way she couldn't quite describe. It was a gaze like a warm touch.
"I think that's the sort of thing I'm chaperoning against," he reminded them, sounding amused. He hacked, clapping Victor amiably on the back. He took a puff, and then tipped his cap to them. "I'll wait over here, we'd better head back."
Obediently they rose, Victor helping Victoria to her feet. Reluctantly she let his hands slide away from hers. She smoothed her skirts and her hair, trying to distract herself from the waves of sensation that had accompanied their kiss. Every nerve she had still seemed localized on her mouth, remembering the touch of his. Victoria cleared her throat and stepped to join Mayhew. To her surprise, Victor did not follow.
He remained by the stump. He'd pulled something from his pocket, and was gazing at it in his palm. Victoria saw it glint in the moonlight coming through the trees. His brow was furrowed.
"Victor?" she asked. It took him a moment to answer. He looked from the ring to her and back again. Then he straightened up, squaring his shoulders, his face set. When he met her eyes, Victoria was actually a little taken aback. Victor looked...determined. Confident. Full of resolve.
"One more try," he said. "With this hand, I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine."
Victoria and Mayhew shared an astonished look. Victor's voice, passionate and sure, rang through the clearing. It even sounded a little deeper than it had before. A man's voice, not a boy's. Victoria felt a small smile grow to a full beam as she watched him. Mayhew tilted his cap back, looking impressed.
Victor glanced back at them. He was smiling, full of pride. Pride which veered amusingly into showing off, for he tossed the ring up in the air as though it were a coin, and caught it deftly on its way back down.
"With this candle, I will light your way in darkness," Victor continued. He took to one knee in the snow at the base of the huge oak tree. "With this ring, I ask you to be mine."
Oh yes, a thousand times! Victoria thought, her fingers to her lips. Her cheeks were warm, and her heart swelled. He'd done it. Beautifully. Beside her, Mayhew gave a small round of applause. Victor was grinning hugely, boyish and impressed with himself. Only then did she notice that he had slid the wedding ring onto a small branch sticking out of the ground.
"That was beautiful. But whyever did you do that?" she asked with a laugh in her voice as she picked her way across the clearing to join him. She gestured at the ring on the branch. He grinned up at her, giddy with his success.
"I was caught up in the moment," he replied with a little shrug. "Besides, it seemed like bad luck to put it on your hand. Like seeing you in your wedding dress before the wedding day. You know?"
"I suppose," Victoria replied. Yes, it made sense. They'd not actually put rings on each other's fingers during the rehearsal, either. The rings were special. A symbol of their bond and their vows. But still...she dearly wished to have that ring on her hand. Tomorrow could not come quickly enough.
Victor reached to retrieve the ring. The branch moved. With a creak and a crunch it actually moved. Victor jerked his hand back as Victoria gasped. A cool wind ripped through the clearing, ruffling their hair and clothes. The crows, wide awake, were fluttering and cawing in the branches above.
Quick as lightning, the branch shot up out of the snow and seized Victor's arm.
Victoria was frozen, too horrified to scream. Her mouth was gaping, her hands pressed to her face, in a silent parody of a shriek. All she could do was watch as Victor was pulled roughly down into the snow. His entire arm disappeared into the ground. There was a dull thump when his shoulder and face hit the snow, and he made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a shout.
The sight of poor Victor's face connecting with the cold ground got Victoria moving. Before she could think better of it she bent and grabbed him about the waist. She hauled at him as hard as she was able. Victor was straining against whatever had his arm, pushing against the snow with his free hand.
There was a muffled snap, and the two of them went tumbling as Victor was freed. Victoria, already off-balance from pulling at Victor, went down hard on her back. The back of her head bounced painfully off of the ground. Victor landed in a sprawl on top of her, his elbow driving directly into her stomach, taking her wind. It was not often that she was grateful for her corset, but just then she was thankful for the layer of protection it offered.
Dazed, she just lay there for a moment as Victor scrambled off of her. He made a horrified noise, and she twisted about to see what the matter was. He was sitting on the ground beside her, furiously shaking his arm. There was something attached to it. With another cry he managed to fling it some distance away. It hit the ground by Victoria's feet. She sat up fully so that she could get a better look. When she finally realized what it was, she gave her own small cry of horror.
It was an arm. A skeletal forearm and hand. It wore the remains of a glove. Victoria's wedding ring glinted on its finger.
Sick and shocked, Victoria stared uncomprehendingly at it for a few seconds. Victor was still sprawled on the ground beside her, and he was staring, sheer horror on his face, at the oak tree. She followed his gaze.
A thumping was coming from beneath the ground. Soil and snow cracked and heaved. The earth appeared almost to be breathing. Hideous snapping noises filled the clearing as vines and twigs broke. The crows were swirling and cawing overhead. Both of them cried out when another arm shot out of the ground and a hand clawed for purchase in the snow.
Hearing their screams, Mayhew dashed over to them, narrowly avoiding a diving crow. When he saw the arm, he froze. His pipe fell out of his mouth and clattered on the ground. Victoria scrambled awkwardly and painfully to her feet. Mayhew put out a hand to steady her, and then they both reached to help Victor off of the ground.
Hurriedly Victor stood, his eyes still fixed on that grasping arm. Something else was emerging from the hole in the ground. The rest of it. Whatever it was. With one arm he swept Victoria behind him and backed up, trodding on her feet and skirts in his haste. Mayhew stood beside them. They all stood there, frozen, staring. Victoria was shaking, and she could feel that Victor was, too. She risked a glance around him to see what he was seeing.
A head and torso had emerged from the ground. Shrouded in white, it almost glowed in the bluish twilight in the clearing. Glints of bone were visible here and there. Rotted flesh. A moth-eaten and moldy shroud. Victoria clamped a hand to her mouth to muffle her scream.
A corpse had torn its way out of the ground beneath the oak tree. It stood before them, its feet still in the shallow grave. With a smooth motion the corpse lifted the veil from its face. It was a young woman, Victoria realized. Her age, perhaps a bit older. And that was not a shroud. It was a wedding dress. The dead woman's eyes were focused on Victor.
"I do," she whispered.