The Black Dress

And put on the green,

For she is forsaken and only nineteen.

Around the time I was ten, too young to understand the true meaning of what was happening around me, my older sister fell in love with the biggest knave of the town. Mama warned her about boys like him and told her not to do so. I thought that boys were icky at the time, so she was stupid anyway.

Fa la la la la la la la,

Fa la la la la la

For she is forsaken and only nineteen

-

Oh he courted her and he kissed her

and he made her heart warm.

And then when he left her he laughed her to scorn.

He was handsome and he knew it too. He could play with girls' hearts the way puppeteers play with marionettes, and put them aside just as easily when they had been played with to his contentment. He avoided serious relationships like the plague, which is why it surprised all in town that he was openly courting my sister, instead of just speaking empty words of admiration.

For all reasoning, he seemed like a man head-over-heels in love. He came to the gate, only to the gate because Papa, although he still let my sister date him, he had threatened to shoot the boy the moment one of his feet touched the lawn. Every day he would cautiously wait by the fence, with a fresh flower in hand. Once my sister saw him through the window, she would fly through the door to greet him, and would give her the flower for the day then kiss her sweetly on the cheek.

When Papa would ask if he touched her in any other way, she would say no. Once he left the room, Mama would ask if he touched her in any other way, and my sister would say that he had only touched her in sweet ways. Yet, in our room together, I had seen the bruises on the nape of her neck, hidden by her auburn hair, and the ones on her shoulders, hidden by her dress. I asked her if something had fallen on her. She laughed as if there were some hidden meaning that I didn't understand. "I suppose you could say something like that." I now know the meaning of those words and marks. Love had fallen heavily upon her and those bruises were from strong kisses. At the time however, I ignored my sister's eccentric words as part of her old age, but I couldn't help notice that the way the knave looked at her had changed.

When he greeted her at the gate with a smile, flower, and kiss, something dark slithered in his eyes and his touch didn't seem as lighthearted. It troubled me; it was like the way he had treated the many other girls, but a ten-year-old child knows nothing of how lovers greet each other.

I can't remember how much later it happened, it could have been years, it could have been weeks, but in the middle of the town square one day, he told her that he never wanted to see her again. My sister just laughed slightly, assuming he was joking. His face remained cold, and he restated the same. She begged him for his reason, tears welling in her sky colored eyes, but he merely laughed and said that she was a whore who would sleep with any man who paid her notice.

Fa la la la la la la la,

Fa la la la la la

And then when he left her he laughed her to scorn.

-

Forsaken, forsaken

her heart is forlorn,

But he is mistaken if he thinks she will mourn.

She ran home that evening, her face red from the effort of not crying a single tear. It's quite an amazing feat to hold all those tears with a heart that is broken; many people can't even do it with a heart that is whole. It's much like trying to hold spring water with a cracked pitcher.

Papa was out of the house so she told everything. She and Mama thought I was napping in bed, or out playing in the fields, but really I was behind the door, listening to every word as the sun went down. I heard about all the glances he would give her to enforce the words he spoke. I heard about the soft caresses and the desirous ones that followed. She told of the nights of romance and love making in the forests beneath the tree limbs and shady stars and all the promises of forever and the praises of beauty.

That's when she stated that she had loved the Snake and would never mourn the loss of his love. Why should she care that the devil no longer loved her?

Fa la la la la la la la,

Fa la la la la la

But he is mistaken if he thinks she will mourn.

-

For we'll build her a cabin

on yon mountain high

Where the wild birds can't find her nor hear her heart cry.

Her words were strong, but her eyes told a different story. They had filled with tears again and on the verge of spilling over. She took a breath and looked toward the ceiling in an attempt to keep any tears from leaking past her lashes.

Papa came in just that moment, home from hunting, and with one glance at my sister he was ready to take his rifle and use it on something much bigger than rabbits. My Mother, knowing his intentions even before my father, blocked the doorway. She knew how to calm him, and she convinced him instead to build a small home for my sister in the woods far away. That way the cad could never take pleasure in her pain, and she could never be ridiculed or made a mockery of for her naïve folly by any of the people in town.

My sister readily agreed.

Fa la la la la la la la,

Fa la la la la la

Where the wild birds can't find her nor hear her heart cry.

Even though our intentions were good, it's her you hear crying when the wind whistles. Her heart was broken beyond repair because her true love was a scoundrel who would rather break her heart than change his ways. It was impossible for a knight in shining armor to save her because she had loved the knave so completely that no matter how handsome, or brave, or chivalrous the knight was, her heart would never accept another as her one love.

It would be possible for her to love again, yes, but it would have been a lie to that other man. She would never be able to love him in the same way. She would never be able to love him in the same way as the knave, because not only had the rogue stolen her maidenhead, he had stolen a large piece of her heart, and there was no way for him to return it.

Take warning, take warning,

Young ladies pray do,

For you are quite lucky that this is not you.

So many young ladies have felt the pain of heartbreak, but their hearts lived to see another love. My sister's did not. After she died, her pain lived on in the broken howl of the wind on tormented nights. Even I have been affected. I've grown to be a lovely young woman, and many men have tried to court me. I have felt their love sweep over me like a summer's breeze and I have loved them in return. Yet, I can still hear the knave's voice when they speak the same phrases to me. Their hearts might be true, and their lips might be honest, but none yet have helped me overcome my fears.

So, young ladies, both younger and older than I, learn from my sister. Don't give your heart away so completely, until you have sworn your unending love to each other and sealed the loving vows with a pair of golden rings.

Fa la la la la la la la,

Fa la la la la la

For you are quite lucky that this is not you.