The Stepmother's Story (super rough draft, write-a-thon edition)

Bright morning sun, softened by sheers shifting gently in the breeze, played on the floor at Cilla's feet. As she smoothed down the flounces with the flat of her hands Cilla's brows knitted, she muttered "This dress makes me look so wide. When did I get so wide?" Stepping back she took the full length into view. Her face flushed at the thought of what this day held for her. "Pish! There's no reason to act like a June bride." She fanned her face and picked up her short train and walked out of the cloak closet that was doubling as her dressing room. There was no one to give her away. She had arrived at the registrar's by coach. She had called ahead to make sure they would have a room for her dress in. Taking one last deep breath, squaring her shoulders, Cilla opened the door that separated the foyer from the registrar's office and stepped through. The registrar's wife, smiling through rheumy eyes, met her with a pat on the arm. A moment later two rough-looking men in what must have been their finest cambric and corduroy came through the door, pinstriped denim hats in their hands, rumbled through the door. A moment after that Mr. White arrived, his hair oiled, face raw from shaving, his head ducked down, his eyes looked--could it be hopeful?--darkened under his thatched eyebrows. Behind him was the most beautiful girl Cilla had ever seen, in a lovely simple dress that must have looked much better on the girl wearing it than it did on display at the shop. Cilla knew this was Mr. White's daughter, Snow. She realized she continued to think of Snow as a girl even though she was clearly marrying age. At the same time she knew it was simplest and safest to continue thinking of her as a child. As everyone shuffled into place for the ceremony, Cilla couldn't help but recall her first wedding, lush with lilies, organdy, and taffeta, beaming with pride and love, overflowing with youth and beauty. Cilla sighed and turned to Mr. White, who took her hand in his. She could tell he'd taken an emery board to his callouses earlier that day. The vows were exchanged so quickly it was over before Cilla thought it had really begun. When Snow came forward to sign on the witness line, Cilla was struck again by her beauty. At once reminded of her own smooth skin lustrous eyes that had made her the talk of the town when she was about that age. The sight of Snow stirred a flutter in Cilla's chest that she recognised from long ago. Cilla forced her eyes up to meet Mr. White's own warming face. Snow had his eyes, Cilla couldn't help but notice.