Chapter Text
Prologue: White Lace, White Lies
“I hope I'm in your dreams/ The way you are in all of my mine/ You've got a love so fine I wish that I could make you mine” by Sierra Ferrell.
The sun illuminates the wooden floor, shades of gold colors the rust wood. The beams of light strengthen as the sun rises from its sleep, although it appears someone was awake before the world’s clock decided to bring light in the sky.
Sitting alone, a young woman sits in the small wooden room , playing with the beam of light that shines through the window. Her skin glimmered, giving her skin a yellowish tone. She flipped her hand around exposing the line of her palms that were more defined than ever. She only retrieved her hand back quickly when the door to the room opened and chaos erupted.
All the women she surrounded herself with on a daily basis, the women she had grown up with, all the women that perfectly understood her began to talk. Mary-Beth Gaskill gasped, taking her first look at her friend. Karen Johns followed suit giving her light hearted complement. Their sweet words were broken from the forming fire that pushed through.
“Joan, tell Miss Grimshaw you want your hair down. "Tilly Jackson said as she walked closer to the girl that sat next to the window.
“Miss Baez and I discussed this yesterday. Having her hair up will make her look more mature.” Ms. Grimshaw argued.
“Just let the girl have it whichever way she wants.” Abigail Robert’s, now known as Marston spoke, her calming voice defusing the forming argument.
With a smile, Joan looked at the women going back and forth sharing their opinions. She watched as their eyes glimmered as if they were little girls reading a story book for the first time. They ran their fingers through the young woman black ,curly and wavy hair, now frizzy due to the spring breeze. A brush made light contact with her hair to break out the knots , which had turned a chestnut color from the light that pressed against her.
“I like my hair down.” Joan began, her finger wrapping around a hair strand to create a more defined curl. “Anyways, I don’t think it’s that big of a deal.”
“It ain’t a real wedding anyways.” Molly O'Shea voices out in the corner. Her hands wrapped around her body.
Immediately, all the voices in the room were gone as all heads in the room turned to the redhead in the corner. Their eyes open wide and their breath hitched as they await the reaction of the bride to be.
Joan's eyes went to the wooden floor, her finger pulling at the skin. All she let out was a sigh as she tried to gather her words. She looked up at Molly for a second, who has taken a step back and is looking at the floor in avoidance of all the sharp eyes staring at her.
“Well, yeah…but it’s an occasion we can all dress up.” Joan commented with a smile.
There was a knock on the door, stopping Molly from forgiving herself. All the women's heads turned towards the door and quickly Ms. Grimshaw opened the door a little to see who it was.
“Is Joan ready.” A familiar voice spoke.
Joan tilted her head to peer past Ms. Grimshaw catches a glimpse of Hosea Mathew at the door. His clothes were well polished, his white hair pushed back, and a smile grew on his face when he caught a glimpse of Joan.
Standing up, she pressed her hands through the skirt of her dress to straighten out the wrinkles. Joan's steps were quick as she walked to Hosea.
“You look beautiful, my dear.”
A chorus of all the women's voices sang in Joan's ears, their hands adjusting finally things on Joan white dress. The white lace that lined her dress was corrected, her hair was pushed behind her ear, and the light lipstick that Karen had let her bowered was put on.
Joan smiled and began to follow as she caught a glimpse of two men past Hosea. They couldn’t see her, but they most definitely could hear the flock of compliments that were being thrown at her.
They were a reminder of what she was here to do, of the lies she will have to face for the rest of her life, but most importantly, they were a reminder of who was missing in her life. Noticing her heavy breathing, Hosea grabbed her hands. His voice soft almost like a whisper, “Your parents would be so proud of you.”
Joan could only smile weakly, gripping his hand in the process. Biting her lips, she moved forward a little and all the voices began to quiet down as they admired the bride walking down the hall.
“Well now, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” Dutch Van Der Linde said, his voice smooth getting everyone's attention. He is dressed similar to Hosea; except he’s wearing a top hat that he tips towards Joan.
The young bride's eyes met the grooms, her chest tightening as she took him in. Similarly, she could feel his eyes traveling through her causing her to shift around a little. Her fingers gripping the white lace of her dress.
Breaking the silence, Hosea pushed the groom a little, “Come on, Arthur. Let's not keep the preacher waiting.” The elderly man extended his hand for her to grab onto as Arthur Morgan moved with Dutch.
With a few steps, Joan could see the warm light paint the altar. The preacher stood straight with a book in his hand and behind him stood a looming statue of Jesus, who Joan focused her attention on as she heard everyone stand up to look at her.
The light from the stained glass painted the statue of the man. His arms stretched out and his face tilted to the side looking at the space where Joan was walking her way too. His carefully carved emotions become more clear as she walks closer to him. Although it's been a few years since she saw his face, the loaming grief from their past encounter will never be forgotten.
The preached voice broke her out of her trance, she was now standing in front of Arthur who was looking at the ground trying to remember his vows. His suit was tight and a little dirty, she didn’t remember the last time she saw Arthur with a suit. Maybe when he was with Mary, but Joan was too young and to focus on her own worlds to acknowledge it.
When the preacher stopped she glanced at both the groom and the bride who stood in silence for a second or two. Their eyes focused on different things as they tried to gather their thoughts. With a breath, Joan watched as Arthur began to speak.
“I promise to do right by you,” he said simply, his blue eyes meeting hers. “To protect you, and…to try to be the man you deserve.”
It was simple, not the grand speech she secretly wanted but she was a grown woman now; not a teenage girl having a child crush on a man. She knew what she was getting when she agreed to the Dutch plan.
Continuing, Joan spoke “I promise to stand by you, through all of life’s trials,” she said, her eyes locked on Arthur’s. “To be your partner, your confidant, and your friend.”
There was a silence that followed her vows as they awaited the rings that were passed to the preacher. His long finger dropped the ring in Joan's hands, she flipped over taking a quick glance at Arthur with the ring that soon will be on her finger.
His hands were steady as he brings her close to his, there a second of no movement before he slips on the ring to accompany her other one. His eyes instead of meeting Joan’s they land on something behind her.
She knew perfectly well, like if they were eyes behind her head. That Dutch was nodding to him and Hosea was smiling. The girls sat around them, their eyes flickering like gold under the sun, admiring her. She’s living a dream that everyone in the room wishes to be in. Although it was painted with lies it was nice to pretend.
Following along, she passes the ring through Arthur's finger. It was similar to her, gold painted around it. An evil thought entered her head, she wondered if he kept Mary's ring in his pocket.
The preacher's words were quick, declaring them husband and wife. Immediately the girls all cheered and a smile landed on Joan's face hearing her friends. Although when her attention was brought back to Arthur she stood still for a second as he leaned a bit closer to give her a chaste kiss near the corner of her lips.