THE ZOMBIE BRIDEGROOM

THE ZOMBIE BRIDEGROOM-Short Story retelling of The Robber Bridegroom

Daffodil, the miller's daughter was as graceful as the birds that flew across the sky. She could sing as sweet as any songbird.

She sat and sang when she worked. She learned embroidery and made such pretty designs that the women of the village clamored for them. She was commissioned by other marriageable women to embroider on their wedding gowns. And, in time, on their newborn's christening gowns.

Each time Daffodil embroidered on these a tiny tear fell onto her work. When would she be able to design her own gown?

"Father?"

"Yes, my dear daughter?"

"Am I to marry soon?" she asked.

She looked up from the work she had been sewing on. Her lovely green eyes filled with tears.

Her father nodded. "It is time, I believe. I will send out a call to all the young men to come and meet me. Soon, I will find a suitable husband, my dear girl."

Daffodil smiled as she put her sewing aside. She ran over to her father and embraced him. "Thank you, Father. Oh, thank you."

But days passed and no one came to the mill to inquire about Daffodil's hand in marriage. It was true that she had no dowry to speak of. Only all the grain and bread a man could eat.

Daffodil took to sitting at the window to watch the villagers stroll by. She lost her appetite. She lost her will to embroider and soon the women of the village stopped asking her to design pretty things for them.

Her father watched her wither away like a flower without water.

He asked her to go for a walk with him. She was too pale and thin. Perhaps a walk in the summer sun would restore her spirits.

A man on a huge black horse nearly ran them over in his haste to gallop by them as they crossed the road near the mill.

Daffodil fell onto the dusty road. Her father raised a fist at the man shouting at him.

The man reared the horse to a stop and jumped down from the saddle. He rushed over to Daffodil and helped her up.

She brushed herself off.

"I am so sorry, I did not see you. Are you hurt?"

She shook her head. "I am not hurt, sir. You should be more careful," Daffodil said in her lilting voice.

The man, who was very handsome, stared at Daffodil. "Your hair is the colour of a newly fallen acorn and your eyes are the colour of the brightest, greenest leaf," he said in a deep voice. He stared at Daffodil.

He turned to look at her father. "And is this your daughter, my fine sir?"

"She is," said the miller.

Daffodil's father looked the man up and down and although something gave him pause, he tried to concentrate on the fine woven clothes the man wore. Perhaps this man would make a groom for his daughter. "Who are you, sir? I do not recognize you from the village."

"I am new to your hamlet. My name is Lord Baize."

"You are welcome, sir. Baize Hall has not been lived in for these many seasons. I believe you lived there as a boy?"

"I did, indeed. My father's business took us to London but occasionally we would return to visit Baize Hall."

He held the reins of his horse in one hand and his hat in the other in deference to Daffodil.