after a pause. "She said she'd never speak to you again and she may
never speak to anybody any more. And I've got to take care of her.
That's the trouble with judgments--they never hit just the person they
were meant to hit. We're all so mixed up that somebody else has to be
dragged into it."
Plainly before Rosemary there opened the way of sacrifice and denial.
For a moment she hesitated, then offered up her joy on the altar of
duty.
"I won't be married, Aunt Matilda," she said, bravely, though her mouth
quivered. "I'll stay and help you."
"What?"
"I said I wouldn't be married. I'll--I'll tell Alden I can't. I'll stay
and help you."
"You won't. I won't have you speak of such a thing, let alone doing it."
"You can't help it, if I make up my mind."
"Yes, I can. I'll go and see Mrs. Marsh, and him, and the minister, and
the doctor, and everybody. I'll tell 'em all everything. You go right on
ahead with your gettin' married. I ain't goin' to have your life spoiled
the way mine has been. You're young yet and you've got a right to it."
[Sidenote: Matilda's Burden]
"But--but, Aunt Matilda!"
"Aunt Matilda nothin'! What could you do, anyhow? She don't want you
anywheres near her, and the doctor said she mustn't be excited."
"I could do what I've always done--cooking and cleaning and washing and
ironing, and I could carry things up-stairs for you."
"Maybe you could, Rosemary, but you ain't goin' to. You've served out
your time. Don't you worry about me--I ain't goin' to kill myself."
"I--I wish you'd let me," Rosemary stammered.
"Well, I won't, and that's the end of it. I'll get along someways. The
minister used to say that when God gave any of us a burden we couldn't
carry by ourselves, He'd always send help, so, if I need help, I'll have
it.
"I'll enjoy myself, too, in a way," she went on, after a little. "It's
goin' to seem awful peaceful to have the house quiet, with no talkin'
nor argument goin' on in it. Sometimes I've thought that if I could get
out of the sound of the human voice for a spell I wouldn't feel so ugly.
It's wore on me considerable--never bein' alone except nights or when I
went up-stairs afternoons and pretended to take a nap. Lots of times I
wasn't lyin' down at all--I was just settin' there, with the door
locked, thinkin' how nice and quiet it was. Ma'll get a good rest, too,
while she ain't talkin', though it ain't for me to say she's needed it."
[Sidenote: The Wedding Dawn]
"So," she continued, clearing her throat, "you go right on ahead with
your marrying."
Rosemary bent and kissed the hollow, withered cheek. "I will," she said.
"Oh, dear Aunt Matilda! I wish you hadn't missed it all!"
The older woman's steel blue eyes softened, then filled. "Maybe I've
missed it and maybe I ain't," she said, huskily. "Maybe this life is
only a discipline to fit us for somethin' better that's comin'. Anyway,
if we keep on goin' and doin' the best we can as we go, I believe God
will make it right for us later on."
* * * * *
The morning of Rosemary's wedding dawned clear and cool. It was Autumn
and yet the sweetness of Summer still lingered in the air. Scarlet
banners trailed upon the maples and golden leaves rained from the
birches, shimmering as they fell. Amethystine haze lay upon the valley,
shot through with silver gleams from the river that murmured toward the
sea with the sound of far waters asleep.
Purple lights laid enchantment upon the distant hills, where the
Tapestry-Maker had stored her threads--great skeins of crimson and
golden green, russet and flaming orange, to be woven into the warp and
woof of September by some magic of starlight and dawn. Lost rainbows and
forgotten sunsets had mysteriously come back, to lie for a moment upon
hill or river, and then to disappear.
[Sidenote: Making Ready]
Noon had been chosen for the ceremony, in the little church at the foot
of the Hill of the Muses, for, as Alden had said, with a laugh, "even
though it was private, it might as well be fashionable." Aunt Matilda
was up at dawn, putting new lace into the neck and sleeves of her best
brown alpaca, as tremulous and anxious as though she herself were to be
the bride.
Rosemary had packed her few belongings the day before, in the little
old-fashioned trunk that had been her mother's. As she dressed, Aunt
Matilda sat on the bed, pathetically eager to help in some way, though
it might be only to pin up a stray lock or tie a shoe.
Rosemary shook out the dull ashen masses of her hair with a sigh. As she
put it up, Alden's big betrothal diamond blazed star-like upon her
rough, red hand. She contemplated it ruefully--it seemed so out of
place--then brightened at the memory of the promise Mrs. Marsh had made
so long ago.
"She'll teach me how to take care of my hands," said Rosemary, half to
herself, "so they'll look like hers."
"She?" repeated Aunt Matilda. "Who?"
[Sidenote: Matilda's Compensation]
"Mrs. Marsh--mother."
"Yes, I guess she will. She'll teach you a lot of things Ma and me have
never heard tell of. Maybe you'd just as soon ask her, Rosemary, why she
never returned my call?"
"I will, surely. I don't think she meant anything by it, Aunt Matilda.
She might have been busy and forgotten about it. Anyhow, you'll have to
come to see me now."
"Yes, I will. I've thought I'd put the minister's tintype up on the
mantel now, as long as Ma ain't likely to see it. It'll be company for
me. And I reckon I'll get me a cat. I always wanted one and Ma would
never let me have it. I can keep it down-stairs and she may never know
about it, but even if she hears it meowing, or me talkin' to it, she
can't say nothin' about it.
"My, ain't it beautiful!" she continued, as Rosemary slipped her white
gown over her head. "Please let me hook it up, Rosemary--this is as near
as I'll ever come to a wedding. Are you going in to see her before you
go?"
Rosemary hesitated. "Yes," she sighed, "I'll go. I think I ought to."
"Don't if you don't want to. I wouldn't spoil my wedding-day by doing
anything I didn't like to do."
[Sidenote: Grandmother Relaxes]
"I want to," murmured Rosemary. "I wouldn't feel right not to."
So, when she was ready, she went into the old lady's room. Happiness
made her almost lovely as she stood there in her simple white gown and
big plumed hat, drawing long white kid gloves over her red hands.
"Grandmother," she said, tremulously, "I'm going up to the church now,
to be married to Alden Marsh. Before I go, I want to tell you I'm sorry
if I've ever done anything I shouldn't do, and ask you to forgive me for
any unhappiness I may ever have caused you. I haven't meant to do it,
and I--I believe you've meant to be good to me. I hope you're glad I'm
going to be happy now."
The stern old face relaxed, ever so little, the sharp eyes softened with
mist, and by tremendous effort, Grandmother put out a withered, wavering
hand. Rosemary bent over the bed, lifted her in her strong young arms,
and kissed her twice, then hurried away.
Alden met them as they were half-way to the church, and, utterly
regardless of two or three interested children who happened to be
passing, shook hands with Aunt Matilda, then bent to kiss the flushed
and happy face under the big plumed hat.
"What magnificence!" he said. "I'm unworthy of so much splendour, I'm
afraid. How on earth did you manage it?"
[Sidenote: The Ceremony]
Rosemary glanced at Aunt Matilda, then laughed a little sadly. "Oh," she
answered, with assumed lightness, "I--just managed it, that's all."
At the door of the church Madame welcomed them with an armful of white
roses for the bride. She, too, had a new gown in honour of the occasion,
and her sweet old face was radiant with smiles. "What a lovely bride,"
she said, as she kissed Rosemary. "Oh, my dear! You mustn't, truly! No
tears on a wedding-day!"
The minister was waiting at the altar. Madame and Aunt Matilda sat down
together in a front pew; there was a moment's solemn hush, then the
beautiful service began.
Sunlight streamed through the open windows, carrying the colour and
fragrance of Autumn into every nook and cranny of the church. From
outside came the cheery piping of a robin that had paused upon a
convenient window sill to peep in. There was a rush of tiny, furred feet
through the drifted leaves, and a gleam of scarlet as a falling maple
leaf floated past the open door. In the sunlight the taper lights on the
altar gleamed like great stars suddenly come to earth.
"That ye may so live together in this life," the deep voice was saying,
"and in the life everlasting. Amen!"
[Sidenote: Good-byes]
After the benediction, came the minister's perfunctory congratulations.
When he called her "Mrs. Marsh," Rosemary instinctively looked toward
Madame, then laughed and blushed when she understood. Madame took the
girl into her arms as she came down from the altar. "Dear daughter!" she
said. "Truly my daughter, now!"
Aunt Matilda and Rosemary hurried back to the little brown house,
mindful of Alden's whispered admonition: "Don't keep me waiting long,
dear--please." Neither spoke until after Rosemary had changed her gown,
and stood before her mirror in pale lustrous grey, with hat and gloves
to match.
"I'll go in and say good-bye to Grandmother," Rosemary said.
"Wait a minute. She may be asleep."
Aunt Matilda tiptoed into the old lady's room, then came out again, with
her finger on her lips. "She's sound asleep," she said, "and her face
looks as if she felt better. I guess she'll come to herself again all
right. The Starrs have always been healthy and hard to kill."
[Sidenote: Into the World]
So the two went down-stairs quietly. When the door was opened, Rosemary
saw that Alden was waiting for her at the gate. Smiling and with joy
thrilling her to the utmost fibre of her being, Rosemary kissed Aunt
Matilda good-bye, then ran out to where her bridegroom was waiting, to
lead her into the world of service--and of love.
THE END
TRANSCRIBERS' NOTES
Page 53: hilltop standardised to hill-top
Page 103: shirt-waist standardised to shirtwaist
Page 171: heartbreaking standardised to heart-breaking
Page 221: Millkin' corrected to Milkin'
Various: upstairs standardised to up-stairs; downstairs standardised to
down-stairs