The Wedding Planner checked her Rouge Allure lipstick and pearly smile in the rearview mirror before answering the call. “Hello dear, I am just down the road and will see you in a few minutes.”
“Okay, I’m just kind of freaking out over here,” The Bride said. “Have you seen the article? It mentions this plantation specifically. I just can’t believe the timing; this is all such a mess.”
The Wedding Planner jumped in, her smooth voice not missing a beat, “Darling, I have seen it, and everything will be just fine. It’s not like there’s going to be a protest or anything. It’s just a little challenge that I will take care of.” She smiled in the mirror again, ensuring she looked confident in what she said. “I have coordinated dozens of beautifully perfect weddings at this venue. Yours will be no different.”
“Okay, but that article made me feel like a terrible person.” The Bride sniffled. “It’s just so overwhelming. Please tell me there’s a way to make it better. What should I do?”
“Honey, this is nothing for you to worry about the day before the big event. Today is about celebrating with the ladies. Have you spoken with them?” The Wedding Planner noticed a small chip in her nail polish and grimaced.
“Yes, one of The Bridesmaids has already dropped out because of the negative press. It just breaks my heart.” The Bride’s voice caught on the word ‘heart.’
“Never mind her then, that’s fine. You still have four other women with you, correct?”
“Yes, the others are already here, getting settled into their rooms and exploring the grounds.”
“Okay then. You just focus on relaxing, and I’ll see you in a few minutes.” The Wedding Planner pressed the hang-up button on her steering wheel. Her eyes widened to take in the image that appeared before her. She squinted at a glimmer in the shape of a child in the middle of the road leading to the plantation.
With a gasp, she swerved, slamming her silver Mercedes into the trunk of a sprawling Southern live oak. The top half of her body flew forward, cracking her collarbone and snapping her neck.
Smoke rose between the car’s smashed front end and the tree. The sun began to set over the horizon, glinting through the Spanish moss draping down from the thick branches.
***
“Where is she?” The Bride said to The Maid of Honor, 20 minutes later. She called The Wedding Planner for the third time, but it just kept ringing. “She said she was right down the road; I don’t get it.”
“Maybe she had to make a quick stop or got an emergency call? I’m sure she’ll be here soon,” The Maid of Honor handed The Bride a chilled bottle of Champagne Avenue Foch.
The Bride poured it into five tall flutes and carried the tray of fruit arranged in the shape of flowers, cheese, and chocolates into the parlor. “Will you gather the ladies? I want to make sure everyone is okay and that we can move on with the festivities as planned.”
The Maid of Honor rose, passed the grand ballroom, and made her way up the stairs.
Meanwhile, the First Bridesmaid exited the house, closing the main entrance door with its ornate silver handle behind her. She marveled at the towering portico pillars and curved structures of the Greek-Revival style of the building. With light steps, she descended the imported marble-covered stairs and walked around the side of the house toward the sugar processing barn.
A few small structures stood next to the barn, and she wondered if those were the slave cabins and overseer’s house that she had read about in the article. She had been to the plantation before but hadn’t explored these parts of it. There was so much to see in the main house that these details were overlooked on her previous tour.
The First Bridesmaid agreed with the article’s author that places like this should have memorial plaques and markers to address the tragedy of slavery. But, she wasn’t sure if it meant people should no longer host weddings and other events there. Wouldn’t that be a way to bring more attention to the history and prompt more thoughtful dialogue about it?
Back in the main house, The Maid of Honor grasped the intricately carved wooden stair rail with her manicured hand and followed the stairs to the second floor. She admired the silver fleur de lis pattern that marked each step along the wall. The scent of tea olive mixed with dust lingered in the air. The staircase groaned with each step she took.
Through the first guest room doorway, she found The Second Bridesmaid seated at the vanity table, touching up her makeup in the mirror. She dabbed concealer under her reddened and puffy eyes.
“Everything okay?” The Maid of Honor asked with a light knock on the doorframe.
“Oh yes, sorry. I was a little worked up, but I think I’m fine now. It really is a beautiful place, and I don’t want to ruin this special occasion.” The Second Bridesmaid lifted her chin.
The Maid of Honor agreed, reassured The Second Bridesmaid it would be fine, and encouraged her to join them in the parlor to get started on the hors d’oeuvres and champagne.
As they descended the stairs, the setting sun shone through the giant arched windows, reflecting off the long golden waves and diamond earrings of The Maid of Honor. The Second Bridesmaid followed with hesitant steps behind her, hoping The Bride wouldn’t notice the evidence of her tears.
“One down, two more to go.” The Maid of Honor told the Bride with a wink. “I’ll let y’all dig into those treats while I collect the other two.” She glanced at the bottle of champagne. “Oh! I see we’re already running low on our libations. I’ll get another bottle from the wine cellar.”
The Maid of Honor strolled down the hallway, passing the grand dining room and ballroom, glancing into each one to take in their elaborately decorated magnificence. Each room combined vastness with delicacy, and she pictured the crowd of guests in expensive dresses and suits that would fill them for the wedding the next day. She reached the door to the basement that had been turned into a wine cellar and turned the silver handle.
Darkness saturated the stairway. The Maid of Honor’s hand sweeping over the wall found no light switch. Lowering her hand to the top of the rail leading to the depths of the house, she discovered a candle and a set of matches. How quaint, she thought. With a flick of her wrist, she struck a match and held it to the wick. The candle provided just enough light to see a step or two in front of her, and she managed them carefully in her Louboutin stilettos.
A metal scraping noise at the back of the basement jolted her, causing her heel to miss the next step. The candle tumbled down the stairs and was extinguished by the time it reached the bottom.
The Maid of Honor’s right leg extended ahead of her in an attempt to reach a step too far below. Her torso slammed back onto the stairs with her left leg bent at an awkward angle behind her. The back of her head landed with a thud on the corner of the top step, cracking her skull. Her eyes remained open as the pool of crimson began to seep into her golden hair fanned out around her head.
***
“How are you feeling about all of this, the article?” The Bride asked The Second Bridesmaid with a pained look.
“Honestly, it was a bit of a shock for me, and I’m not sure what my feelings mean.” She looked down at her plate of hors d’oeuvres. “I want to support you, and I know it’s too late to change venues, so we can just make the best of it.” Her eyes flicked toward the window, where she saw The First Bridesmaid outside, then back down as she twisted her wedding ring around her finger.
“Yes, it is terrible timing, and I appreciate your honesty.” The Bride shared how difficult the situation was for her. She admitted that maybe deep down, she knew there was a dark history behind the beauty of the place. But of all the times she had been there with The Groom’s family, it never came up. It was best to leave some mystery regarding topics like his family history and their money. She sighed, then took a delicate sip of champagne.
“Well, you still have four of us here with you. Did you bring the games?”
“The Wedding Planner was in charge of all of that, and she should definitely be here by now. I’m not sure what the holdup is.” She finished the last sip of champagne and looked around for The Maid of Honor with that new bottle.
Upstairs, The Third Bridesmaid approached the low balcony wall outside her third-floor bedroom. She breathed in the fresh air while gazing at the sunset behind the cypress and oak trees that filled the distance. The First Bridesmaid, out on the other side of the property, caught her eye as she entered a small structure next to the barn.
This was, of course, a beautiful venue for her friend’s wedding, but it also came with a strange haunted feeling when she thought about what went on there all those years before. The Third Bridesmaid leaned over the balcony and, with a deep breath, took in the floral scents from the arrangement of irises, violets, and Southern azaleas in the garden below her.
When she turned around, she thought she saw a face in the bedroom mirror. She stumbled backward, throwing her arms above her head. It all happened too quickly for her to release a scream. The momentum of her arms flung her body over the balcony wall, and she fell through the air. She landed with a thump, crushing the flowers below her that failed to prevent the shattering of her spine.
***
The First Bridesmaid entered the small house, which was more of a shack, especially compared to the main house. Her steps echoed in the emptiness. She scanned the space and imagined where the sleeping pallets had been, and the small fire pit cooking area in one corner emanated a mix of oil and burned wood. Nauseated by the smells and humid air, she shuffled out of the suffocating space and headed to the barn.
She found the worn wooden structure to be darker than expected inside. Just a few strips of sunlight pierced through to show a shimmer of dust particles in the air. Scanning the large vats and machinery, she assumed they had been used for sugar cane processing. The article had mentioned that plantations like this made a lot of money from sugar, this property especially.
Who benefitted from that money now? Who had worked for it? The whole idea created a stronger sour feeling in her stomach. The First Bridesmaid wondered if she had made the right choice in coming here and supporting the wedding at this historic venue.
Rusted machetes hung on the back wall that were once used to cut down the thick cane stocks. Back-breaking work, she assumed. Ready to wrap up her unofficial tour, she turned toward the exit but then looked up at the loft that stored large equipment above her.
The sounds of groaning and splitting wood froze her in place. Before she could understand what was happening, the boiling tank broke through the wood slats of the loft and came down on her, crushing her body under its weight. The tank’s size meant only her foot stuck out from under it, the last trace of her being a black Italian leather slingback.
***
“Well, have you explored the house?” The Bride asked The Second Bridesmaid.
“Not yet. Only what I saw on my way to the bedroom I’m staying in on the second floor.” She looked around the room to take in the large paintings framed in heavy gold.
“You must see the rest of this place. It truly is inspiring, concerning history aside. Go ahead and look around. I’ll wait here for that next bottle of champagne on its way up.”
The Second Bridesmaid picked up her small plate with dark chocolate, brie, and green neptune grapes. Heading toward the hallway, she admired the embellishments that touched each wall and even the floor. She entered the grand dining room and ran her finger across the first table's solid wood. Each one had eight place settings with gold utensils, gold-rimmed glassware, and magnolia-patterned plates.
As The Second Bridesmaid popped a grape into her mouth, she felt her silky auburn hair being brushed off her neck from behind and gasped. The quick air intake lodged the grape into her trachea, causing it to close around the fruit. Panicked, she grabbed at her throat as it started to swell. Her face flushed as she struggled for breath. It wouldn’t come.
The Second Bridesmaid collapsed to the floor as her red face turned white, and her lips took on a shade of blue under her shimmer lip gloss.
***
By 11 p.m., The Bride was all alone. A quick walk around the property revealed one horrific sight after another. The image of her best friend lying dead on the basement stairs with the blood from her tiny body dripping onto the floor from each step broke her remaining resolve.
She never found The Wedding Planner, but she had no hope anyone could save her from the unimaginable nightmare. There would be no wedding, no happily ever after for her. The Bride couldn’t understand why all of it happened to her, but she had no strength to fight her new reality.
The Bride trudged into the dark honeymoon suite with trembling steps and pulled open the armoire with her beautiful gown. Her tear-stained fuschia Dior dress fell to the floor. After removing the silky cream-colored material from the satin hanger, she brought it to her face to breathe in the smell of the hopes she previously had for the big day. Stepping into the gown, she zipped the back and refused to look in the full-length mirror beside her. She yanked down the long veil her fiancé’s mother had passed down to her and let it drag along the floor as she staggered down the staircase.
Once she entered the ballroom and turned on the lights, The Bride threw one end of her veil over a sparkling crystal chandelier. She caught it and tugged both ends. The weight didn’t seem to affect the chandelier’s attachment to the beam above her.
She tied a loop with a large knot into the bottom of the veil and then pulled over a chair with an intricate floral pattern of gold and pearl-white thread woven into the silk fabric. With a flick of each ankle, her red Pradas flew off. She stepped onto the chair. After securing the loop in the veil around her neck, she kicked the chair out from under herself.
The Bride dangled from the chandelier in the middle of the opulent ballroom where she was supposed to be wed the following day. A single final tear slid down her powdered cheek.
***
Author’s Note
This story was inspired by the article "In the 2020s, We’re Hoping Plantation Weddings Go the Way of the Confederacy—and We May Get Our Wish" by Maiysha Kai, along with the campaign led by Color of Change. For a novel-length story on this topic, please read When the Reckoning Comes by LaTanya McQueen.
About the Author
Lauren Oertel is a community organizer covering Texas and New Mexico for a nationwide nonprofit that works on voting rights, policy advocacy, elections, and antiracism. Her work has been published in The Ravens Perch, Evening Street Review, Gemini Magazine, Noyo Review, The Bloom, Steam Ticket, The Bluebird Word, Bridge Eight, and The Sun Magazine. She won first prize in the 2021 MONO. poetry competition, she was a winner of the 2022 Writer's Digest short story contest, the 2022 and 2023 Mendocino Coast Writers' Conference poetry contests, and a finalist for the 2023 Prime Number Magazine Award for Short Fiction.
About the Artist
Ruth Johnson is a student at Columbia College Chicago studying journalism with a minor in graphic design. She currently works at the school’s newspaper, the Columbia Chronicle, as the publication’s creative director. She doesn’t like the Oxford comma.
