Dear Diary,
Much has occurred since the last time I wrote. For a while I believed that I may never be able to write again, so distressed was I by the events about which I will shortly tell you. You know already that I have been betrothed to marry Josiah, and that our wedding was to be today. But, dearest diary, woe is me! Let me take you to the moment, the moment that I am certain has ended my young life.
This afternoon, I donned my wedding garb, and went through all the motions every Amish bride must take on her wedding day. I do not think that I have ever been happier than I was in the moments that I spent preparing to join my dearest Josiah upon the altar. The wedding was proceeding perfectly, the day was warm and beautiful, and I looked the perfect Amish bride with my petite frame clothed all in white. I thought to myself that there could not possibly be a luckier man in our whole community than Josiah. I had been taught since I was a girl that the act of marriage and subsequently consummation was not an act that was meant to be enjoyable; it was an act who's only purpose was to produce children. But despite this fact I couldn't help but let my mind wander to what would happen after we were wed... What was it like? What did a man feel like, look like? I felt a warm sensation in my core at these thoughts, causing me to squeeze my thighs together. I rubbed them against each other slightly, feeling the friction from the rough fabric of my gown...
My eyes fluttered shut and I bit my lip softly, an act that startled me back into the moment and I drove those shameful thoughts from my mind. By now it was time for me to process up the aisle, and as I did so, arm in arm with my father, I saw through the haze of nerves and excitement that something was not quite right. The community was not looking at me with pride or happiness but rather pity and sadness. Confused, I turned to the altar, to Josiah. Imagine the depth of my bewilderment then, when, looking to the altar, to the man that was to be my husband, I saw instead no one. There was no one at the end of the aisle but the minister, a graver than usual expression upon his face.
"My dear..." he began.
I couldn't let him finish. I knew what it was that he would say. Immediately my eyes welled with tears. I broke down, right there on the altar, the site that was supposed to be the source of my ultimate happiness. My father attempted to console me, and after I was able to regain a small sense of composure I was escorted back to my room. Mother took me to bed and helped me to undress from my gown, so meticulously sown and now so useless. I changed into my nightclothes and laid upon my bed, where I have remained for many hours, alternating between bouts of sleeping and sobbing. It is to save my sanity that I pick up my pen to recall the sad events of this day. I fear now that it is too late for me. I am doomed to the life of an old maid, an object of pity and an example to young girls of what to avoid...
The week that followed my heartbreak were spent mostly in solitude, and my mother and father respected my need to be alone. But life for the rest of the community must proceed, even though it felt as if mine had ended. And so, after a generous amount of wallowing in sadness I was called down by my mother.
"Annabelle dear" she said softly. "I know times for you are hard, but that does not mean that you are free of responsibility. Your father and I have crops to sell at the market in town today and we will need your help. Get yourself dressed, we leave within the hour."
