The next two weeks were busy ones for all the Brown household: first and
foremost, the ever-crying need of clothes to be answered; second, the
old house to be put in apple-pie order; all the furniture rubbed and
rubbed some more; the beautiful old floors waxed and polished until they
shone and reflected the newly scrubbed white paint in a way Judy thought
most romantic. (But Judy thought everything was romantic those days.)
She was "itching to help," and help she did in many ways. Molly would
not let her rub furniture or wax floors, but she had the pleasure of
hanging the freshly laundered curtains all over the house, and she was
received with joy in the sewing room by Miss Lizzie Monday, the
neighborhood seamstress. Miss Lizzie was of the opinion that the Browns
thought entirely too much about food and not nearly enough about
clothes. Indeed it was a failing of the mother, if failing she had, to
have good food, no matter at what cost, and then, since strict economy
had to be practiced somewhere, to practice it on the clothes.
Miss Lizzie had once been present when they were packing a box to send
to Molly at Wellington, and had sadly remarked: "In these hard times,
with the price of food what it is, poor little raggedy Molly could have
had an entire new outfit from the contents of that box." Mrs. Brown had
indignantly denied that she was spending any money at all on the box,
but the fact remained in Miss Lizzie's mind that the food in the
delightful box, so eagerly looked for by the hungry college girls,
represented so much money that had much better be put on Molly's outside
than her inside.
"Not that much of it goes on her own inside. I know Molly too well,
bless her heart. Can't I just see her handing out that good old ham and
hickory-nut cake and Rosemary pickle to those Yankees? And they, raised
on pale, pink, ready-cooked ham and doughnuts and corner grocery dill
pickles, don't know what they are getting. Molly, in her same old blue
that I have made over twice for her!--and that ham would have bought the
stuff for a new one (not that I would have had it anything but blue).
The half gallon of Rosemary pickle would have trimmed it nicely, and the
hickory-nut cake would have made her at least two new shirtwaists, and
the express on the box would more than pay me for making the things."
Judy loved to hear Miss Lizzie talk, and used to encourage her to praise
her friend, while she sat helping to whip lace or planning the
bridesmaids' dresses for Molly and Sue. These dresses were flowered
French organdies. Molly's was covered with a feathery blue flower, that
never was on land or sea, but it was the right color, which was the
important thing; and Sue's bore the same design in pink. The bride's
dress, a lovely simple gown of the finest Paris muslin, was all done and
pressed and neatly folded in a box by the careful Miss Lizzie, with one
of her own sandy hairs secretly sewed in the hem, which is supposed to
bring good luck, and a "soon husband" to the owner of the hair.
There was some doubt and much talk about how the bridal party was to
enter the parlor and where the minister was to stand. The parlor at
Chatsworth was not very suitable for an effective wedding, as it was in
the wing of the house and opened only into the hall, giving, when all
was considered, not much room for the growing list of guests. Although
it was a very large room, having only one entrance made it rather
awkward. It was only a few days before the wedding and this important
subject was still under discussion.
"I can count at least ninety-eight persons who are sure to come," said
Mrs. Brown, "all of them kin or close friends, and how they are to get
in this room and leave an aisle for the wedding party, goodness only
knows; and if the hall and porch are full, it will be very
uncomfortable."
Judy and Kent were pretending to be the bride and groom, grave Sue was
the minister, John and Paul, flower girls, and Molly, boss. Mildred and
Crittenden were not allowed to practice for their own wedding, as Miss
Lizzie said it was bad luck, and Miss Lizzie was authority on all such
subjects. So the two most interested were seated at the piano,
pretending to be the musicians doing "Chopsticks" to wedding march time.
"Crit, I believe you will have to give Milly up. There is no way to have
a decently stylish wedding in this joint," said Paul. "Let's stop the
festive preparations and all of us go to Jeffersonville. It would make a
grand story for my paper."
Judy had been very quiet for some minutes and her face wore what Molly
called her "flashed upon that inward eye" expression. Suddenly she
cried, "I have it. Come on and let's get married out of doors." She
seized Kent by the hand and dragged him out on the lawn, the rest
following in a daze.
"Look at that natural place to be married in: the guests under the
trees; room for everybody; a living altar of shrubs and flowers at the
end of the tan-bark walk; minister entering from the grass walk on one
side and Mr. Rutledge with his best man from the other; down the steps
Mildred on Ernest's arm, followed by Molly and Sue. Can't you see them
coming up the tan-bark walk? Just at sunset, the people in their light
festive clothes, your mother beautiful in her black crepe de Chine, with
Paul and John and Kent standing by her making a dark note near the
bride? Oh, why, oh, why did they not have holly-hocks up this garden
walk instead of by the chicken yard fence? It would have made the color
scheme simply perfect."
Judy paused for breath. She had carried the crowd by her eloquence, and
so perfectly had she visualized the whole thing that each one was able
to see what she meant, and absolute and unanimous approval was given the
scheme. Kent, with his artistic eye, was in for it heart and soul, and
began to plan Japanese lanterns to be lit after the ceremony in the
rustic summer-house beyond, where supper was to be served, observing
that their color might somewhat take the place of the holly-hocks that
were in the wrong place.
"Just where did you want the holly-hocks, Miss Judy? We might do better
another year if we knew just what your orders were."
"On both sides of the tan-bark walk, just beyond the intersection of the
grass walk. Can't you see how fine and stately they would look, and what
a wonderful mass of color?"
"Right, as usual. What an architect you would make! That power of
'seein' things' is what an architect needs above everything. Any one can
learn to make it, but it is the one who sees it who is the great man or
woman, as in the present case."
Things had been humming so since Molly's return that she had had no time
for the confidential talk with her mother that both were hungering for.
The Browns always had much company, but at this season there seemed to
be no end to the comings and goings of guests, principally comings: many
parting calls being paid to Mildred by old and young; Molly's friends
hastening to greet her after the eight months' absence at college; a
steady following of young men calling on Sue, in spite of her suspected
preference for Cyrus Clay, the nephew of Aunt Sarah Clay's deceased
husband, and the one Aunt Mary objected to because of his living up such
a muddy lane. Presents were pouring in for the bride; notes had to be
answered; trains to be met; express packages to be fetched from the
station; and poor little Mrs. Woodsmall kept in a state of constant
misery over the Parcel Post business Bud was doing, and she with "never
a chanst to take so much as a peep."
Molly, ever mindful of others, hitched up President one off day and
drove over to the postoffice and got the poor thing. Then she let her
see every single present; and feel the weight of every bit of silver;
and hunt for the price mark on the bottom of the cut-glass; read all the
cards; and even go into the sewing-room where Miss Lizzie Monday proudly
showed her the clothes, and let her take a good look at the wedding
dress all folded up in its box. But when Mrs. Woodsmall began to pick at
the hem where her sharp eyes discovered an end of the stiff sandy hair,
sewed in to bring a "soon husband," Miss Lizzie snapped on the top and
told her sharply to stop rumpling up Miss Milly's dress.
The night after Judy had solved the problem of where the wedding was to
be, Molly felt that she must have her talk with her mother. Judy was
tired and a little distrait, visualizing again no doubt; seeing the
wedding in her mind's eye; regretting the holly-hocks; wondering if she
really did have the power that Kent attributed to her, that of a
creative artist. If she did have it, what should she do about it? Was it
not up to her to make something of herself if she had such a gift? Was
she willing to work, as work she would have to, if she really expected
to do something? At the back of it all was the thought, "Would Kent like
her so much if she should turn out to be a woman with a purpose?" Judy
was obliged to confess to herself as she dozed off that what Kent Brown
thought of her made a good deal of difference to her, more than she had
thought that any man's opinion could make.
Molly waited until she thought Judy was asleep and then crept softly
downstairs to her mother's room. Mrs. Brown was awake and glad indeed to
see her "old red head," as she sometimes lovingly called Molly, coming
to have a good talk. It is funny what a difference it makes who calls
one a red head. Now that horrid girl at college, Adele Windsor, had
enraged Molly into forgetting what Aunt Mary called her "raisin'" by
calling her a red head, and yet when mother called her the same thing it
sounded like sweet music in her ears.
Mother had some things to tell Molly, too. She did not altogether
approve of John's inamorata, the girl visiting Aunt Clay. It was a case
of Dr. Fell with her.
"I do not love thee, Dr. Fell.
The reason why I cannot tell;
But this I know, and know full well,
I do not love thee, Dr. Fell."
Then she did think if Sue intended to marry Cyrus Clay she should not
lead on the other two young men, who seemed quite serious in their
attentions. She hated to say anything, because Sue was so dignified.
"Now if it were you or Mildred, I would speak out, but you know Sue
always did scare me a little, Molly."
And Molly and her mother giggled like school girls over this confession.
Sue was very handsome and lovely and good, but she was certainly a
little superior, and Mrs. Brown found that, if she had any talking over
of things to do, she wanted either Molly or Mildred, who were "not too
pure or good for human nature's daily food."
Molly was eager to know what her mother thought of Judy, and was
delighted at her frank liking for her friend. Then Molly had to tell her
mother of her hopes and ambitions; of her triumphs and disappointments
at college; and of her growing friendship for Jimmy Lufton, the clever
young journalist from New York who was trying to persuade Molly to go
into newspaper work; of his liking for her that she did not want to
ripen into anything more serious, but his last letters were certainly
growing more and more fervent.
"Don't flirt, little girl, don't flirt. It would not be my Molly if she
deceived any one. Have all the fun you can and as many friends as
possible and enjoy life while you are young. You are sure to be popular
with every one, men and women, boys and girls, but don't be a coquette."
"Mother, I don't mean to be ever, and really and truly I have done
nothing to mislead Mr. Lufton, and maybe I am mistaken and conceited
about his feeling for me, and I truly hope I am. I have never done
anything but be my natural self with him."
Mrs. Brown smiled, well knowing that just being her natural self was
where Molly did the damage, if damage had been done.
"Mother, there is something else." Mrs. Brown knew there was, and was
patiently waiting. "You know Professor Green? Well, I gave him your
invitation to come to Kentucky."
"And what did he say?"
"He said, 'Thank you.'"
"Is he coming?"
"I don't know." Molly found talking to her mother about Professor Green
more difficult than she had imagined it would be. "When you wrote me two
years ago that some eccentric person had bought the orchard and I could
finish my college course, I told Professor Green about it, and also told
him I should like to meet the old man who had saved me from premature
school-teaching. And when he asked me what I'd do if I should happen to
meet him, I told him I would give him a good hug." Molly faltered.
"Well, mother, when I told him good-by and gave him your invitation, I
went back and--I just gave him a good hug."
Mrs. Brown sat up so vigorously that Molly, sitting by her side, was
almost jolted off the bed.
"Why, Molly Brown! And what did Professor Green do?"
"He? Oh, he took it very philosophically and bowed his head 'til the
storm was over."
Mrs. Brown gave a gasp of relief.
"He must be a good old gentleman, indeed. About how old is he, Molly?"
"The girls say every day of thirty-two."
"Why, the poor old thing! Do you think he could take the trip out here
to Kentucky all by himself?"
"Mother, please don't tease. There is something else. Jimmy Lufton wrote
a little note which I found in the bottom of the basket of fruit he had
put on the train for us. It was wrapped around a lemon and said, 'Here
is a lemon you can hand me if, when I come to Kentucky this summer, you
don't want me to stay.'"
"Oh! The plot thickens! So he is coming, too."
"Yes, but he lives in Lexington, and is coming out to see his family,
anyhow."
"Well, Molly, darling, you must go to bed now, but before you go tell me
one thing: do you want Professor Green to come to Chatsworth?"
"Yes, mother, I think I do," and giving her mother a hug that made that
lady gasp again and say, "Molly, what a hugger you are," she flew from
the room and raced upstairs two steps at a time.