Short story: The Heir

I thought I'd put up a short story that I wrote for my course. It is an allegory about the fate of the Baha'i revelation so far. I thought that its tragic theme was fitting for the commemoration of the martyrdom of the Bab.

The Heir

A fable by Alison Marshall

   Squire Edmond Denman stood with his back to the fire. His legs were locked back, his feet set apart and his arms crossed at the wrists behind him. He looked straight ahead at an oil painting on the opposite wall; the dark figure of his grandfather stared back with a dour face. The weak morning rays of winter filtered in through the window of the parlour, which gave sweeping views over the fields and woodland on his 600-acre estate.
   David Denman, the squire's son, sat with crossed legs in one of the two armless, high-backed chairs, which stood on each side of the fireplace. His right arm lay across his stomach, and the curved fingers of his left hand were jutted up against his bottom lip. He stared with a deep frown at the translucent flames dancing off the top of the burning logs and glowing embers.
   David let his hand drop. "I do not want to marry her, father," he said. "I have no affection for her. She is spoiled and disagreeable."
   "These things are of no conseqence," said the squire. "Isabella is from an old family. Been in the county for three centuries - almost as long as we have. She is very suitable."
   "Well, they matter to me. And it is my marriage we are talking about," said David. "At the very least, I would like to have a wife I can tolerate."

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