Coral

If I were a carpenter

And you were a lady,

Would you marry me anyway?

Would you have my baby?



If a tinker were my trade

would you still find me,

Carrying the pots I made,

Following behind me.



Save my love through loneliness,

Save my love for sorrow,

I'm given you my onliness,

Come give your tomorrow.



If I worked my hands in wood,

Would you still love me?

Answer me babe, "Yes I would,

I'll put you above me."



If I were a miller

at a mill wheel grinding,

would you miss your color box,

and your soft shoe shining?



If I were a carpenter

and you were a lady,

Would you marry me anyway?

Would you have my baby?

Would you marry anyway?

Would you have my baby?













--Prelude to a Wedding--



After the dress was finished, the rest of the plans seemed to fall into place too easily, and the days to speed by too swiftly. Before Amanda could catch a breath, it was time.



On the morning of her wedding, a day she was supposed to cherish as her most precious memory, Amanda was hiding in her bathroom, being ill. Outside, on Amanda's bed, Stella sat patiently waiting. As did Winter.



Demogene sat in one of the side-chairs, playing with the bouquet in a bored fashion. Polly sat opposite her, tapping her wand nervously against her knee.



Amele, there in the capacity of friend, sat in the desk chair, smiling.



Downstairs, Eloise was making last minute preparations. Agnes, still on her best behavior, had been Eloise's shadow, for the past few weeks, right there to lend a hand in all the arrangements. The sound of her brassy voice calling instructions to the caterer floated up the stairs at random intervals.



The small ceremony was to occur in the parlor, which had been 'refreshed' for the occasion, meaning that Eloise altered all of the furnishings, and then expanded the smaller second parlor to make room for tables, and a dance floor.



Amanda had avoided going downstairs for the past three days, the sight of the tables and plants and garlands and large pillar candles made her stomach coil uneasily. It looked like an awful lot of stuff for just one day.



" Amanda, dear..can I get you anything?" Stella called after a few more minutes.

" Mother...I think I'm dying..." Amanda wailed weakly in reply.



" You're not dying, child. It's nerves." Winter laughed. She effortlessly unlocked the door, and entered, and after a few minutes of low talking, Amanda exited, looking pale and shaking slightly.



Stella sat her on the bed while Polly ran her a hot bath. The whole time they were pouring in scented oils and foaming powders, Amanda was glancing nervously at the clock.



" The bath is ready." Polly told her. " Here let me help you with those buttons."



Amanda bathed behind the screen, irritated at her self for not being able to hold the bar of soap. Everyone else chatted gaily with each other, as if the day were any other day. They were already dressed as well, and perfectly coiffed.



" What time is it now?" she called out.



" Time enough. " Winter answered, stepping into the bathroom with Stella. They were rolling up their sleeves.



" Shouldn't we hurry? We'll be late if we don't hurry!" Amanda said, dizzily.



" The ceremony doesn't begin for another three hours. Now, let me wash your hair."



They came at her from all angles. Spells to dry her off, depilatory spells, tangle charms for her hair, whitening spells for her teeth. The rubbed her with lotions, puffed her with powder and sprayed her with scent. Wrapped in a large purple towel, she sat rigidly while they applied her make-up by hand, and her nail polish by magic.



Then Polly brought in the lingerie and they stuffed her into it. It involved some sort of functional corselet that pushed up her bosom, held in her waist, and held onto her stockings.



Amele came in with the dress then, and began lacing it over the underwear. It fit perfectly, her waist cinched in tightly. She tugged again at the bodice, mortified at how much of herself was on display. Much more it seemed, than when she had worn it before.



" If you don't stop tugging that, I am going to charm your hands to the bouquet." Stella said at last.



" It's too low." Amanda said. " It's much to low. Or...the other thing is too high. I can't go out there like this! I don't think I can go out there at all." She turned as if to flee, but Winter caught her and held her still. Stella pushed her hands away from the lace.



" Stop pulling it! Stand up straight. "



" Brown. Well, it is certainly a peculiar color for a bride, I must say. " Winter stated. " But it looks nice, after all. "



Amanda smiled. She had remained adamant about the brown, and had even ordered her trousseau with browns, oranges, and mauves. All dusky and feminine. She hadn't really wanted a new trousseau, but Eloise insisted that it was traditional and gave her a simple choice. Either you order it, or we'll order it for you.



Imagining the first year of her married life passing by while she wore sequined, aquamarine robes of various crunchy fabrics made Amanda's head ache. She had quickly relented, and placed her order for the browns and pinks.



These clothes did not come from Amele, who was unable to fill such a large order in so short a time, but from a company who sent a convincing saleswitch, complete with a catalogue of pretty, conservative clothing samples.



Amanda had held her head up proudly while making her choices, feeling every inch the mature woman...and only faltering when the lady got to the nightgowns and lingerie.

" Amanda? Are you listening?"



' Yes, of course."



She nodded absently, trying to dislodge the memory of the shocking lingerie they woman had recommended for new brides.



" At least consider it..." the woman had urged.



Consider it she did. It took her just three seconds however to decide she simply could not imagine herself in...any of it."



" Will you please sit down so that Polly can fix your hair?" Stella asked.



" Hmmm? Oh...what's wrong with it?"



" It's a damp, wild mess tied up in a towel." Winter supplied. " Do you want to walk down the aisle with a towel wrapped around your head?"



" Mother...she's nervous."



" Well, of course she is. Everyone is nervous on their wedding day. I was. Well maybe you weren't, Stella. You didn't have time."



" I was nervous, I just had to be nervous in a hurry."



" Have I told you about the day I was married to your grandfather, Amanda?"



Amanda shook her head. She had heard very little about Winter and her grandfather.



Polly began brushing her hair out, while Winter talked, hoping to offer some distraction.



" Clement September. Yes, that's my married name. September. I don't use it of course, because Winter September sounds a bit odd doesn't it? Like someone didn't quite know where they were going. The day we were married, it snowed.



Snow began falling the night before. It was still falling when we woke. It was a horrible storm. I was getting ready, just like you are now, and we could see the snow blowing past the windows.



Well, even Wizards aren't perfect. He and his family didn't arrive on time. They didn't arrive until late that night. They had become disoriented while Apparating, and landed in Russia. They didn't know they were lost, they kept walking along the street searching for my house."



" What happened?" Amanda winced as Polly began twisting her hair.



" Oh the storm abated, at last, and I sat, watching by my window. It grew dark, and still no Clement. It was almost midnight when the doorbell rang. We had all given up and gone to bed. I ran down the stairs in my nightgown, and my father was so relieved to see him alive, that he woke everyone up. We got married at midnight. "



" In her nightgown." Stella added.



" Oh I did not! I put on my wedding dress, and we were married. That's all. His suit was wet with snow, but other than that, we never had any bad luck. Not a bit." Winter said in mock defense.



The other women began to share their stories. Romantic, funny, and embarrassing anecdotes filled the air around Amanda's head. She wondered if the groom was nervous too?



No...probably not. Why would he be? He had been married before.



Polly heated her wand and used it to curl some of the loose tendrils of hair around Amanda's face. They cast a sticking charm on her make-up, painted her lips a dark mauve, and clasped her locket around her throat.



Lastly, her mother helped her to buckle on a pair of uncomfortable but attractive shoes. They had a strap around the ankle to ensure she didn't lose one along the way, which was only one of her fears.



Seeing that Amanda was holding her head very stiffly, Polly laughed at her and assured her the hairstyle wouldn't fall down, no matter how hard she shook her head.



" Try it. Shake your head. See? The only way to get it down is to pull out that hairpin. "

" Amazing..." Magic was truly wonderful at times.



" All right, have a look at yourself. " Stella took Amanda's hand and pulled her to the full length mirror.



Amanda blinked a moment, surprised by the reflection. For a moment, what she saw was a tall, narrow-waisted woman, with smooth bare shoulders, a long lean neck, and smoky seductive eyes.



On closer inspection, she recognized herself under the costume. The shoes had given her height, the boning had taken in her waist and accentuated her curves. The rest was magic.

While she was staring at herself with a mixture of horror and fascination, Eloise let herself in.



She was followed closely by Agnes, and Agnes' daughter Bernice, a shy girl of an indeterminate age, who trying to win over her mother's affections. Simon, Agnes' son, had refused to appear--Amanda was under the impression that he had not forgiven his mother.



" By the stars, Amanda, you look gorgeous!" Eloise exclaimed. " Why, I had no idea that dress would look so good. It seems you were right all along. Now...are you ready to get married?"



" Here, take your flowers, dear." her mother pressed the bouquet, into her daughter's hand.



Amanda suddenly wanted nothing more than to fling herself into her mother's arms and be whisked away. From the ceremony, from change...from the drama of having all those people waiting downstairs, where she was sure to make an utter fool of herself.



She swallowed hard, and blinked back tears that threatened to fill her eyes and wash away layers of carefully applied mascara.



" I don't think I can stand up." she admitted in a small voice. "I think...I think we'll have to wait for another day. I won't be able to walk. I can't recall what I am supposed to say. I can't get married!"



" Of course you can!" Winter said, snapping her fingers." You are a Rookwood, and my granddaughter. You are Estella's child. You will walk out their proudly with your head high and a smile on your face. You will marry Edward, and smile for the camera, because the Ministry is not going to see a Rookwood brought low."



She knelt gracefully, her own dress was a rather deep emerald. ( With Stella's sapphire, and Eloise's royal amethyst robes, they reminded Amanda of a jewel shop.)



" Do you like him, Amanda?"



Her granddaughter nodded. She did. She liked him. He was her aunt's friend, her savior, and yet a stranger. He had never seemed so much a stranger until now, when she was about to bind herself to him eternally."



" Then you are luckier than hundreds of other women and men today who are being married because of this law. He is a good person, not like some of the other Pureblood Wizards. Men who would beat their wives, lock them away, maybe let them die eventually." she paused, to let Amanda recall Martin Ashwell. "You've done very well for yourself, so hold up your head, child."



Winter said all of this in a low voice that only Amanda and Stella could hear. Stella tightened her lips. She was still ambivalent in her true feelings for Mr. Ollivander. She had refrained from voicing any opinion, afraid she might be merely laying her frustrating and irritation on the wrong person's shoulders, when it really belonged on the ministry.

Amanda rose unsteadily then, as her small clock showed it was nearly time. Where had her last three hours gone?



She embraced her mother, and grandmother. Then her aunt.



They all assembled themselves, and with a serene expression and flawless poise that belied her earlier hysteria, Amanda Garrett left her room for the last time as a married woman.



***

If I were A Carpenter-Lyrics, Tim Hardin