It lay well within his grasp. A gold band twinkling defiantly at him. The diamond encrusted crown caught the sun rays as they filtered through the wooden beams of the little, suburban church and glittered like a thousand ripples on a mountain stream.

The ring was brand new, from a very fine jeweller in Manhattan.

“Exquisite,”  she had called it.

‘Showy,’ was his opinion.

Nothing like the good old fashioned gold bands with a tiny, almost insignificant, diamond hidden somewhere along its perimeter. Those rings were simple, for simple folk. This one had a gem that could dazzle your eyes. It was just another ruse by the pig-headed bridegroom to make up for the lack of true love for that lovely, confused, young girl at the altar. His thoughts led him to look at her. She was clearly very nervous. Her veil covered her expressions from all others but he knew how to read her face like a book. None of that tight-lipped feigned, calm could fool him. He could sense a tear glistening at the corner of her eye, so much softer than the sparkle of the showy diamond, so much more precious, yet he hated to see it. He wanted to walk up to her and hold her safely in his arms, to dissuade her one more time from marrying this worthless boorish pig, to come away and live with him forever after.

She had caught his eye. She wrung her hands. In a movement so small that only his sharp eye could catch it.

Two soft blue eyes asked him, “Is it found yet?”

He shook his head. Her face fell. Her mouth drooped some more. Now he found himself regretting his impulse and cursing himself under his breath for his own weakness. He dropped his gaze and crawled some distance on all fours. The ring was somewhere safe under his right knee now. Yes! It was safe from that man’s grasp. The one man he hated most in this world. He couldn’t understand what she saw in him. A good for nothing fellow. Agreed he had a flourishing law practice somewhere in Boston and could afford a car and a chauffeur and even a gardener or two for his silly rose trees. But there was nothing more to him. And the biggest question mark of all was, “would he keep her happy?” He had his doubts.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder from behind. It was Mrs Hamilton – the bride’s maternal aunt. “Well, George, have you found it?” she enquired arching her eyebrows shrewdly.

“Not yet.”

“You are not looking carefully enough, none of you.”

She was at her bossy best.

“Yes! Yes! I know, I know. I’ll be getting on with it then.”

He announced in reply and carefully moved ahead making sure that he dragged it with himself. After she was gone he cautiously removed it and clenched it in his fist. He would place it under the carpet when no one was looking. He got up, facing the entrance to the church. The back of a man dressed smartly in expensive navy blue suit blocked his view. The man turned presently.

“Oh! There you are! Have you found it?”  The man looked anxious. His gray eyes were shy.

“Sincere,” was the way she liked to describe them. But what did the poor angel know of men! He was annoyed as if some insect had destroyed his peaceful thoughts by buzzing too loudly.

“Well indeed! Would I still be slithering down here like a snake if I did! Eh?” He answered gruffly.

“Oh, pardon me. I am just a bit nervous,” said the groom with those appealing gray eyes pleading for empathy.

All he got was a snappish, “You better be off somewhere else. No use both of us searching the same place now, is it?” He watched the tall, lean, young man walk away in  dejection.

He closed his eyes. All right, so the fellow was rich and fairly good looking. Even he had to admit it though he refused to believe (unlike her) that he resembled a great Roman emperor. Neither  his sharp nose or high cheekbones could make up for those shy, gray eyes.

He surveyed the scene. Guests were on their knees searching for the ‘missing’ ring. It was over half-an-hour now since that wretched thing had gone missing. He turned around. The angel was standing quietly at the altar. One white gloved hand clutching her bouquet, the other flicking the folds of her gown impatiently. Her lips were painted a beautiful coral, almost red now against her skin which had paled considerably since the morning. She had looked so radiant on the way to the church. His clenched fist wavered for a second, threatening to fall open. She was not looking at him, nor at any one else. He followed her gaze to the face of  Christ. His heart swelled up with emotions which he could not identify. He remembered her on a swing, laughing , flashing a perfect set of white pearly teeth as he stood behind her giving the swing mighty shoves at regular intervals that made her burst out into giggles. The world had been young and new. “Young and new,” were not  the words she had used this morning while trying to describe what she was feeling to her aunt Miriam ( Mrs Hamilton, that old mother hen).

He was brutally recalled from his reveries by a sharp sigh of exasperation that escaped her lips, as she turned away from Christ and woefully glanced round the room. She looked for a moment at her aunt who was as expected  supervising everyone. Her eyes next rested on a group of men in their wedding best grovelling under the leadership of her uncle Martin, a thoroughly well-bred showman.

His eyes watchfully followed her countenance, as she looked for a very long time at the tall, handsome figure dressed in navy blue, who was in furious consultation with his best man. He could see that the only thing which kept her from joining the rest in the search was the fear of getting her wedding finery all messed up. He had been led to believe during all those years when he had watched her grow into a lady, that men were worthless, good-for-nothing, quite inefficient and too tiring. She had solemnly vowed never to have anything to do with them. He remembered how a long, long time ago, she had snatched away a trowel from his hands on the beach and set it upon herself to teach him how to build a proper sandcastle. He recalled how she had insisted on building a tree house on her own like all the boys did.

But now here was that tough little tomboy walking to the altar with an absolute buffoon who was not worthy of her in any respect. Here she was fretting over an idiot who had allowed the wedding ring to be lost on his wedding day. If he was so clumsy while putting a ring on her finger, how unstable was the marriage going to be. All right! Granted the boy had been very nervous. True! His hands had been shaking all the while, so when the ring business began, he shook a little too much, and the ring slipped down and rolled out of reach and out of sight before any one could stir a muscle. They should have all remained seated and let a few people search, but no, there had to be panic and all the guests were soon down on their elbows and knees scanning the dusty carpets of the church for that precious piece of junk.

Ironically he’d been the one to find the blasted thing. He was hoping so much that someone else would find it to save him the misery of having to hand it over to that buffoon. It was almost like handing him the license to marry her. As he stood there now watching her, he knew that it was sign from heaven that he had found the ring.  A sign that the wedding was to be saved from turning into a disaster. A sign also telling him to let go.

His clenched fist gradually opened. His mouth went dry, his eyes were tearful, he tried to speak, to shout out that he had found it. To make every other heart in that church happy but his own. But no words came. At that very moment she turned her tense white face and mournful eyes towards him, like she had innumerable times in the past. She started to walk towards him. Her face drained of all colour, of all hope.

“Have you found it yet?” she asked in a half whisper, swallowing a sob. He wanted to cry like a baby but his heart felt so warm that he couldn’t help but let out a hearty laugh.

“Why of course my darling! See like always, I made  everything all right! I have been standing here trying to get everyone’s attention for the last five minutes but nobody would notice me,” he held out his palm to display the ring. All the crawling people sprang up and a cheer went around.  Some smiled and laughed, others hugged each other, clapped or thanked the Lord.

The wealthy, handsome brute walked up to take his pretty bride’s right hand, beaming even more than the diamond on the ring. The best man collected the troublesome object from his palm.

His hands felt sweaty and cold and shook a little as he saw the slender finger of his angel finally wear that blasted ring. Then all of a sudden, the diamond looked elegant on her finger, a perfect symbol of a near perfect love. She stole one glance at his face while taking her wedding vows. She saw an old and worried man with graying hair. She also saw his eyes and the regret written all over his face as he studied a young man in navy blue. Her loving gaze also saw a smile, first unwilling and then broad and true, lighting up his sincere, gray eyes.

‘Now I know why I have always found gray eyes so charming,’ she thought as she looked tenderly at her husband.

‘Daddy has them too.’

Amrapali Hazra is a design, art, literature and life enthusiast. Now pursuing a career in design, visual art, and occasional writing, she finally feels she is ready to take the plunge into her first novel.  A self-proclaimed philosopher, she ponders history, anthropology, mythology, esoteric and metaphysical questions. She keeps her eyes, ears and mind as open as possible, and hopes for a day when only the connections between human cultures will matter and not the differences.