At precisely eight-thirty she turned the key in the side door of the
post-office building, and, hurrying to the sidewalk, almost ran along
it. Twenty minutes later, when she reëntered the yard, she was not
alone. She was shooing before her, as she might have shooed a stray
chicken, a thin young man, who wore eyeglasses and whose cheeks were
ornamented with a pair of sidewhiskers of the kind much affected at
that date by theological students or youths active in the Y. M. C. A.
The irreverent laity called such whiskers “fire escapes.”
The young man was the Reverend Mr. Barstow and he was the newly called
minister of the Baptist chapel in Harniss. He had lived in the village
less than a month. Consequently his acquaintance in the community was
limited and his awe of the great Foster Townsend not yet overpowering.
Reliance had chosen him with this fact in mind. Mr. Colton, the big
mogul’s own parson, would have found some excuse for refusing to
marry a niece of that mogul to any one, without being first assured
of his patron’s presence or consent. To suggest that he perform a
ceremony uniting her to a grandson of Elisha Cook would have been like
suggesting that he commit suicide.
But the Reverend Mr. Barstow was not aware that he was being shooed
into danger by the bustling, energetic woman behind him. He was young
and callow and innocent and, although the haste with which he had been
dragged from his study in the parsonage seemed peculiar, the thought
of the fee he was to receive was very pleasing. It was his first
wedding in Harniss. There had been two funerals, but funerals were not
remunerative.
Miss Clark ushered him into the little sitting-room. Bob and Esther
were there. Both were rather pale and nervous, Esther especially so.
Neither had before met the new minister and Reliance performed the
introductions. Then she turned to Griffin.
“Did you get it?” she asked, breathlessly. “Would he give it to you?”
Bob produced from his pocket a folded document.
“I got it, finally,” he said, with a smile. “It took considerable
persuasion and an extra five dollar bill, but here it is.”
Reliance glanced it over. “Seems to be all right,” she observed. “I’ve
never had any experience with such things, but I guess it is.”
“Oh, it is. When I gave him Esther’s name you should have seen his eyes
open. He all but refused then. To hear him talk you would have thought
Captain Townsend was--”
“Sshh!” hastily and with a glance at the minister. “Well then, I guess
we are all ready to go ahead. Where do you want them to stand, Mr.
Barstow? Or had you rather be married in the parlor, Esther?”
Esther shook her head. “No, Auntie,” she said. “I like this room
better. It is more like home than the parlor to me. If Bob--or
you--don’t mind I had rather it were here.”
Bob, of course, did not mind and said so. Reliance glanced about the
apartment.
“Oh, dear!” she sighed. “I wish I had had time to pick up a little and
to get a few flowers--or somethin’. But there! I haven’t had time to
get my breath scarcely, have I? Is everything ready? Then I guess you
can go right ahead, Mr. Barstow.”
The reverend gentleman--he had already examined the marriage
certificate which Griffin handed him--stepped forward. Bob and Esther
stood facing him. Reliance stood further back, in the shadow.
It was, of course, the simplest of ceremonies. And soon over. The
minister’s prayer was longer than all the rest. As he prayed Reliance
stepped back farther and farther from the lamplight. The tears were
streaming down her face, but she wiped them hastily away and at the
“Amen” ran forward, beaming, her hands outstretched. She threw her arms
about the bride’s neck and kissed her.
“The Lord bless you, dear,” she cried. “I hope he’ll bless both of you
always. And I know he will. Young man,” turning to Bob, “I’m goin’ to
kiss you, too. I’m an old maid and, if I can’t go to my own weddin’, I
expect to be kissed at other folks’s.... There!”
Mr. Barstow lingered but a few minutes. To tell the entire truth he
received no pressing invitation to remain. After he had gone Reliance
turned to the wedded pair.
“I don’t want to hurry you a bit,” she said. “Heaven knows I don’t!
But it is almost ten o’clock and--well, if anybody should come here
to-night, they had better not find you. It will be just as easy to
explain after you have gone as before. You know what I mean, of course.”
It was evident that they did. Griffin nodded.
“I am perfectly willing to explain--to Captain Townsend or any one
else,” he said, emphatically. “And so is Esther. We are not ashamed of
what we have done.”
Esther was looking at her aunt. She understood, perhaps even more
clearly than did Bob, the thought in Reliance’s mind. She knew what
sort of scene would follow Foster Townsend’s arrival.
“Oh, Auntie,” she cried, distressfully, “this is terrible for you. If
we go away before--before he comes--you will have to tell him, and he
will blame you, and--and-- No, I can’t let you. I won’t. Bob and I will
stay--and wait.”
Reliance shook her head. “Indeed you will not wait,” she declared.
“There is nothing to be gained by it. What is done is done, and
nobody,” with a momentary smile, “even the great Panjamdrum of this
part of creation can change it.... Besides,” she added, with a sudden
shake in her voice, “I want _somethin’_ pleasant to remember when I
think of this evenin’. I have seen you married, Esther, and I want to
see you and--how queer it seems to say that--your husband leave this
house happy. I don’t want to remember your leavin’ it in the middle
of a fight. Don’t worry about me. The letter you have written your
uncle will tell him almost everything and I shall tell him the rest....
There! Now you must go. Bob, go out and get your horse and buggy.”
Bob went. When he reëntered the sitting-room, he found that Miss Clark
had cleared a space on the center table and had placed thereon three
plates, three glasses of milk, and a chocolate cake.
“I almost forgot that you two hadn’t had a mouthful to eat since
dinner,” she explained. “I haven’t either, but I’d forgotten that, too.
I only wish I could offer you somethin’ worth while, but I haven’t got
it and there isn’t time, anyway. I baked this cake yesterday. It is a
real nice receipt, but I was in a hurry and it fell in the bakin’. I’m
ashamed to give it to you, but it’s somethin’, anyhow.... Oh, I know
you don’t feel like eatin’. Neither do I, so far as that goes. But I’ll
eat a piece of your weddin’ cake if I choke with every swallow. So must
you. Please!”
So they ate a little of the cake and drank the milk. Then Reliance
shooed them, as she had shooed the Reverend Barstow, out to the buggy
which Bob had brought to the door. He shook hands with her.
“I can’t thank you for what you have done, Miss Clark,” he began,
“but--”
She interrupted. “You can stop callin’ me Miss Clark,” she declared.
“That’s one thing you can do. I’m your Aunt Reliance now, same as I am
Esther’s, and I shan’t let you forget it. Take good care of her, won’t
you? She’s a precious girl and you are a lucky young man.”
The parting with Esther was harder for them both. Reliance tried her
best to make it cheerful.
“There, there, dearie,” she said, as Esther sobbed on her shoulder,
“don’t cry--don’t cry. You have done the right thing, you’ve got a good
husband and I know you are goin’ to be happy. Write to me often, won’t
you? Just as soon as you get to Boston and again as soon as you know
what your plans are. And be sure and tell me where to write you.... Now
don’t cry any more.”
Bob helped his wife into the buggy. From its seat she leaned down for a
final word.
“Auntie,” she begged, “you will tell Uncle Foster why I did this, won’t
you? You will tell him I _do_ love him and--”
“Yes, yes. I’ll tell him everything. And I’ll see that he gets your
letter.... Good-by. God bless you both.... Be sure and write me
to-morrow from Boston.... Good-by.”
The buggy rolled out of the yard. She stood there, looking and
listening. She heard Bob get down, open the big gate, close it behind
the carriage. Then the sound of the horse’s hoofs moved off up the road.
Reliance waited until the sound died away. Then she turned and
reëntered the sitting-room. Sitting down in the rocker, she laid her
arms upon the center table, beside the empty glasses and the plate of
cake, dropped her head upon them--and wept.