The Crow
We were asked to imagine a character, and then write around the idea that "it was something she (or he) hadn't thought about in half a lifetime".
Being six feet tall in her socks was not an advantage, when one lived in a dilapidated caravan. Always dressed in a black gown, covered when she was out in a flapping black cloak, topped with a shock of white hair, it was wasy to understand why her neighbours named her "the Crow".
Once upon a time she had been called Francis, Sister Francis. Before then, her parents had named her Hilda. At the age of 70, her childhood name came with sweet memories of summer days spent with her brothers. Until she overtook them in height, gaunt, masculine looks, and ice-sharp intellect. She intimidated every man reckless enough to wander into her orbit. Few tried.
Hilda was sorting through an old wooden trunk. She hoped to find some things to give away, but most would be discarded. Then, tucked away in a corner, wrapped in aging tissue paper, she found her wedding gown. She carefully unwrapped it and it cascaded across her lap, in a river of silk and lace, full of memories, both bitter and sweet. It was something she had not thought about for 20 years, since she had escaped the convent. Escaped? But that implied that her decision to enter the convent had been imposed upon her. 21, with a mint-new degree in theology, yet it had been her decision to make and the right one at the time. The right one. And Hilda's mother sighing and worrying over her changling daughter's future.
Hilda rememberd the consternation on Revernd Mother's face, when none of the wedding gowns in the convent's collection would fit the giant novice. There was nothing graceful or solemn about a gown that hung vaguely around Hilda's sturdy calves and fitted, so long as she remembered not to breath. On her most longed-for day, she was going to have to wear something patched togehter from two gowns. But before the sisters had to sacrifice their precious collection, Hilda's godmother came to the rescue.
Perhaps Aunt Bessy had recognised some distant ancestor DNA in Hilda's corvine face. Perhaps she felt overwhelming guilt for all the neglected exeats and the paucity of birthday postal orders. Aunt Bessy paid for a dressmaker to visit the convent and measure Hilda for a wedding gown of silk and leave and pearl. Far too grand for a humble novice of course. But Aunt Bessy said that every bride shoud look well on her wedding day. Even if she was only going to marry the Son of God. So what could Reverend Mother do, but accept the generous offer with a good grace.
Hild sat on the floor of her little caravan, and remembered her clothing day. Remembered it with a smile for the idealistic child she had been. It was possible that she felt a pang of sadness when the silky dress had been removed and replaced with a simple blue gown. But it had been the right decision. The only one.
49 years of poverty, chastity, and obedience in the service of God. 20 years of poverty, chastity, and obedience to herself alone. Still waking at five in the morning, to witness the new day. Seeing the Divine in every blade of grass, every bird's song. It was a comfort to know that every decision she had made had always been the right one.