Author's note: Tradition would have us believe the night before St. Agnes' Day, January 21, is always bitterly cold. A virgin who says her prayers and goes to bed without supper this night will surely see her future husband in her dreams. With a "tip o' m' hat" to John Keats for inspiring me with THE EVE OF ST. AGNES and Sister R________ for assigning Keats' poem to sophomores in her English literature class for January 20, 1977, thank you.
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There were worse things that could happen to a college freshman, thought Madeline as she pulled her little brother's sweat shirt down her body. Little brother... that's a laugh; in his second year of high school Jimmy's six feet five inches tall and still growing, so his shirt hung down to her thighs, nice and warm on a cold January night. She briefly considered dousing herself with perfume so her scent would cling to it and make all his buddies wonder, but instead she made a mental note to tell him she hadn't worn a stitch under it and pulled off her panties. Better still, she thought, she'd tell all his buddies and let them snicker when they saw Jimmy wear the shirt! But then she thought how childish she was being.
What had begun as a run-home-and-do-two-weeks-worth-of-laundry weekend had turned into a snow-bound state-wide shut down. Her roommate, Sue, had called to tell her the university was snowed in and dorm's heat was out: All students trapped on campus were camping in the one dorm that could hold them, guys on the east wing, ladies on the west. No neckties on door knobs tonight, no privacy signals if you've got six people in a two-man room, but the lobby was lively. Couples on the couches were wrapping stadium blanket around themselves to cuddle under the watchful eyes of house mothers and resident advisers, while single guys tried to figure out how to break up the gaggles of chicks with Greek alphabet soup on their sweats. Maybe by Tuesday the rest of the world would be back at school, but Sunday night would be another evening at home for Madeline.
It seemed to Maddie that she had left this bedroom so, so, long ago and yet so recently. The prom and homecoming pictures that made her feel grown up a year ago had given way to a dorm room full of mascot teddy bears and poetry by long-dead philosophers, gods who had Roman names as well as Greek, math problems that could tell you where a planet would be in parabolic orbits, and new faces and new faces that replaced new faces. Sue had come from a school that might have been the bitter rival of her own high school in every sport except tidally-winks, but the two might as well have been best friends from birth because as roommates they got along so well.
Maddie and Sue had no problem meeting guys, and in fact they had surprised themselves by still being virgins after the fall semester. There was no Thanksgiving break-up for either of them since none of their dates, double dates mostly, had gotten past first base yet. "Are we doing this wrong?" Sue asked when they came back in January. "Are we playing too hard to get?"
"No!" Maddie had been emphatic, "I'm not playing hard to get, I AM hard to get, but I'm damn well worth the trouble! The guy who gets my cherry is gonna deserve it! He's gonna be so... he'll be so... so..."
Sue had grabbed her around the shoulder with one arm: "Mine too, sister!" she shouted before they both broke into a mutual giggle-fest. Maddie's "so-so" became their secret password. Over the next two weeks they pointed out to each other all the guys who were "so-so," which to the roommates meant "fine," " handsome," " hunk," " great bod," or any other attribute they could apply to a potential stud. The other girls in the dorm looked at them like they'd each grown a third tit, but they had dates for three home basketball games and plenty to talk about while they lay in their beds every night until they went to their respective homes last Friday. On Sunday Sue made it back to school before the blizzard.
Maddie's Aunt Angie, her father's oldest sister, had been in town when Maddie came in Friday. Having a single aunt was always a wonderful thing in romance novels, but having one who made a six-figure living as an artist was wonderful beyond anything Maddie's friends ever managed to come up with over summer breaks. Traveling to Los Angeles, New York, Miami and Quebec had thrilled Maddie and her brother, and next summer she'd planned to accompany Angela to London as an assistant, not a niece, much to Jimmy's chagrin. Angela regaled the teenagers with tales of her travels, the places she saw and the clients who commissioned her work, and she was a repository for every answer about family blood-lines, who was getting married, who needed to get married and who was too young to get married, any question that any teenage girl could think up. As Aunt Angie put it, "legends and love and the songs we sing aren't just how I make a living, they're my life!"
When the family finally retired that night Madeline turned off her lamp and stood in front of her window peering out at the still-falling snow. She half expected sugar-plum fairies to come dancing across the lawn, but none appeared. The night was cold, even through the insulated glass, so at length she turned down the covers, kicked off her slippers and crawled into her bed, her "little virgin bed" as Grandma used to say, and closed her eyes, praying to dream of her "so-so" man.
The door burst open and Auntie Angie came charging into Maddie's room, throwing back her covers and grabbing Maddie's hand. "Hurry!" Angela said in an urgent whisper, "Time is short!"
"Auntie?" Maddie puzzled as Angela dragged her out of bed and toward the hall.
"Hush, child! He's coming! He'll be here any moment!"
"Wait, Auntie!" Madeline protested, "My slippers! I'm..."
"No time!" snapped the older woman as she pulled Madeline down the stairs. "Everything you need will be provided when he gets you there!"
"Where?" Madeline demanded. Angela didn't answer as she threw back the bolt and flung the front door open, still holding Maddie's hand in a death-grip. For the first time Madeline noticed her aunt was wearing a heavy cloak with a great gray hood, like the heroine of some gothic romance.
The cold wind whipped her hair and legs as Angela dragged Maddie into the snow. The girl's bare feet felt the dry, penetrating cold of ankle-deep drifts chill her to the marrow of her bones and the cold flagstones, unyielding under her steps as she struggled to keep up with the gray figure that pulled her.
At the street the older woman stopped and pulled her niece under the cloak. Her body was warm and Maddie tried to snuggle, becoming desperate.
"Thirty five years ago on this very night of the year Johann and I eloped!" said Angela.
"You were married?" Maddie begged, burying her face on her aunt's shoulder. "But you don't use his name..."
"We had the same family name, child. On the other side of the Atlantic and five grandfathers ago we had a common ancestor. Johann and I eloped on the eve of St. Agnes' day, through snow like this!"
Five grandfathers ago? St. Agnes? Maddie would have asked a thousand questions if she hadn't been interrupted by the sound of approaching hoof beats. She pulled her face away from her aunt's body to see a man on a white stallion charging toward them, a long red cape streamed behind him, his flowing brown hair flying a foot long behind his head. His noble face was set in grim determination and leather gloves gripped the reins. His boots kicked the stallion's sides as if he sought to outrun whatever was pursing him, but he reined the horse to a stand-still a foot in front of the women.
His face was no longer stern, but happy when he reached down to grab Madeline's hand. "Come, my darling!" he commanded, "the moon is already up! Its light shall make our journey faster!"
Maddie felt herself being pulled off the ground by that one mighty hand, and dropped into his other arm. He shrugged his shoulder and his cape seemed to wrap around her body, his chest felt hot against her shivering body. With a loud "Yahh!" he spurred the beast again and they charged into the night. Madeline glanced back to see the gray figure of Angela receding into the distance before burying her face against her rescuer's chest. She grew warm quickly.
Was it minutes or hours before the stallion's gallop slowed first to a trot and then to a halt? Madeline pushed the cape aside to see a drawbridge falling silently before them. As the heavy timbers broke the silence with the heavy thud, the horse stepped onto the still-vibrating bridge and carried the couple into... into... into...
The light was gleaming, bright as noon, and Madeline was no longer cold. The courtyard was bright, polished marble and the steed's hooves clopped and echoed from pave stones. A crowd was cheering as a servant, bowing from his waist, came forward to take the reins. Another servant pushed a set of steps under Madeline's feet and the prince gently lowered her before swinging down from the saddle to take her hand and help her down to the ground.
Madeline suddenly realized that she was no longer barefoot, and her brother's sweatshirt had become a gown of the finest white silk. She looked up into the beaming eyes of her prince and saw nothing but his face as he led her forward, forward, one foot ahead of the other in her silken shoes, forward...
Young women in dazzling blue and saffron silk with gleaming jewels swarmed around them and the prince let go of her hand. A translucent veil went over her head and someone behind her pinned a wreath of white flowers to her hair. More flowers were handed to her; a bridal bouquet.
Her father appeared from nowhere, wearing a ruffled shirt and swallow-tail tuxedo, his hair slicked back tightly against his head. He held out his left elbow and she wrapped her right hand around it. He hesitated, admiring her, his eyes gleaming behind tears of joy.
Golden doors swung open before them as if some enchantress had commanded them with a wand and there was a ruffled sound of a large crowd rising to its feet. She clung to Daddy's arm as an ancient pipe organ began to belt out the Bridal March. They stepped forward together.
As they walked down the aisle she saw her mother, in a violet dress, hair bedecked with pearls and tears streaking her makeup, a dozen bridesmaids and Sue, her maid of honor, with huge smiles on every face, and opposite them the groomsmen, some in the uniforms of Royal Guards, some in tuxedos identical to her father's suit. Foremost was a man she first mistook for her prince, but quickly realized was his brother, and next to him her brother Jimmy, grinning like a cat who had eaten a canary and gotten away with it.
