Ring
She always knew that they would never be able to marry, not in any conventional sense of the word.
Slipping alone into Reverend Wheelock's small Moravian church one day, Alice and Uncas recited the traditional vows to each other, holding hands tightly, his eyes filled with tenderness, hers with tears.
And Alice was content. Their marriage would never be recognized, never be considered legal, never be considered a marriage at all really, but it was everything she could have ever wanted.
Uncas knew of the white custom of a wedding ring, and offered to procure one for her, but Alice rejected the notion. Instead, she asked him to slip one of the coppery bands he always wore on his left arm onto hers. They were a part of him, she said, and she wanted them to become a part of her.
It was a little big on her, the one she chose, so Uncas moulded it a bit to help it fit better on her smaller wrist, Alice's smile as bright as the sun as he did so.
In her quieter moments, she will sometimes twist the band around on her wrist, the metal gleaming in the sun, or brush gentle fingers over it, and think of the day Uncas placed it there. It is the intrinsic piece of him that is now hers. Her unconventional wedding ring.
