BEFORE THE MARRIAGE.
Oh the morning of the 9th day of June, 18—, Wilford Cameron stood in his
father’s parlor, surrounded by the entire family, who, after their
unusually early breakfast, had assembled to bid him good-bye, for
Wilford was going for his bride, and it would be months, if not a year,
ere he returned to them again. They had given him up to his idol, asking
only that none of the idol’s family should be permitted to cross their
threshold, and also that the idol should not often be allowed the
privilege of returning to the place from whence she came. These
restrictions had emanated from the female portion of the Cameron family,
the mother, Juno and Bell. The father, on the contrary, had sworn
roundly as he would sometimes swear at what he called the contemptible
pride of his wife and daughters. Katy was sure of a place in his heart
just because of the pride which was building up so high a wall between
her and her friends, and when at parting he held his son’s hand in his,
he said,
“I charge you, Will, be kind to that young girl, and don’t for Heaven’s
sake go to cramming her with airs and nonsense which she does not
understand. Tell her I’ll be a father to her; her own, you say, is dead,
and give her this as my bridal present.”
He held out a small box containing a most exquisite set of pearls, such
as he fancied would be becoming to the soft, girlish beauty Wilford had
described. Something in his father’s manner touched Wilford closely,
making him resolve anew that if Kitty were not happy as Mrs. Cameron it
should not be his fault. His mother had said all she wished to say,
while his sisters had been gracious enough to send their love to the
bride, Bell hoping she would look as well in the poplin and little plaid
as she had done. Either was suitable for the wedding day, Mrs. Cameron
said, and she might take her choice, only Wilford must see that she did
not wear with the poplin the gloves and belt intended for the silk;
country people had so little taste, and she did want Katy to look well,
even if she were not there to see her. And with his brain a confused
medley of poplins and plaids, belts and gloves, pearls and Katy, Wilford
finally tore himself away, and at three o’clock that afternoon drove
through Silverton village, past the little church, which the Silverton
maidens were decorating with flowers, pausing a moment in their work to
look at him as he went by. Among them was Marian Hazelton, but she only
bent lower over her work, thus hiding the tear which dropped upon the
delicate buds she was fashioning into the words, “Joy to the Bride,”
intending the whole as the center of the wreath to be placed over the
altar where all could see it.
“The handsomest man I ever saw,” was the verdict of most of the girls as
they came back to their work, while Wilford drove on to the farm-house
where Katy had been so anxiously watching for him.
When he came in sight, however, and she knew he was actually there, she
ran away to hide her blushes, and the feeling of awe which had come
suddenly over her for the man who was to be her husband. But Helen bade
her go back, and so she went coyly in to Wilford, who met her with
loving caresses, and then put upon her finger the superb diamond which
he said he had thought to send as a pledge of their engagement, but had
finally concluded to wait and present himself. Katy had heard much of
diamonds, and seen some in Canandaigua; but the idea that she, plain
Katy Lennox, would ever wear them, had never entered her mind; and now,
as she looked at the brilliant gem sparkling upon her hand, she felt a
thrill of something more than joy at that good fortune which had brought
her to diamonds. Vanity, we suppose it was—such vanity as was very
natural in her case, and she thought she should never tire of looking at
the precious stone; but when Wilford showed her next the plain broad
band of gold, and tried it on her third finger, asking if she knew what
it meant, the true woman spoke within her, and she answered tearfully,
“Yes, I know, and I will try to prove worthy of what I shall be to you
when I wear that ring for good.”
Katy was very quiet for a moment as she sat with her head nestled
against Wilford’s bosom, but when he observed that she was looking
tired, and asked if she had been working hard, the quiet fit was broken,
and she told him of the dress “we had made,” the _we_ referring solely
to Helen and Marian, for Katy had hardly done a thing. But it did not
matter; she fancied she had, and she asked if he did not wish to see her
dresses. Wilford knew it would please Katy, and so he followed her into
the adjoining room, where they were spread out upon tables and chairs,
with Helen in their midst, ready to pack them away. Wilford thought of
Mrs. Ryan and the check, but he shook hands with Helen very civilly,
saying to her playfully,
“I suppose you are willing I should take your sister with me this time.”
Helen could not answer, but turned away to hide her face, while Katy
showed one dress after another, until she came to the silk, which, with
a bright blush, she told him “was the very thing itself—the one intended
for to-morrow,” and asked if he did not like it.
Wilford could not help telling her yes, for he knew she wished him to do
so, but in his heart he was thinking bad thoughts against the wardrobe
of his bride elect—thoughts which would have won for him the title of
_hen-huzzy_ from Helen, could she have known them. And yet Wilford did
not deserve that name. He had been accustomed all his life to hearing
dress discussed in his mother’s parlor, and in his sister’s boudoir,
while for the last five weeks he had heard at home of little else than
the probable _tout ensemble_ of Katy’s wardrobe, bought and made in the
country, his mother deciding finally to write to her cousin, Mrs.
Harvey, who boarded at the Revere, and have her see to it before Katy
left the city. Under these circumstances, it was not strange that
Wilford did not enter into Katy’s delight, even after she told him how
Helen had made every stitch of the dress herself, and that it would on
that account be very dear to her. This was a favorable time for getting
the poplin off his mind, and with a premonitory _ahem_ he said, “Yes, it
is very nice, no doubt; but,” and here he turned to Helen, “after Mrs.
Ryan’s services were declined, my mother determined to have two dresses
fitted to sister Bell, who I think is just Katy’s size and figure. I
need not say,” and his eyes still rested on Helen, who gave him back an
unflinching glance, “I need not say that no pains have been spared to
make these garments everything they should be in point of quality and
style. I have them in my trunk, and,” turning now to Katy, “it is my
mother’s special request that one of them be worn to-morrow. You could
take your choice, she said—either was suitable. I will bring them for
your inspection.”
He left the room, while Helen’s face resembled a dark thunder-cloud,
whose lightnings shone in her flashing eyes as she looked after him and
then back to where Katy stood, bewildered and wondering what was wrong.
“Who is Mrs. Ryan?” she asked. “What does he mean?” but before Helen
could command her voice to explain, Wilford was with them again,
bringing the dresses, over which Katy nearly went wild.
She had never seen anything as elegant as the rich heavy poplin or the
soft lustrous silk, while even Helen acknowledged that there was about
them a finish which threw Miss Hazelton’s quite in the shade.
“Beautiful!” Katy exclaimed; “and trimmed so exquisitely! I do so hope
they will fit!”
“I dare say they will,” Wilford replied, enjoying her appreciation of
his mother’s gift. “At all events they will answer for to-morrow, and
any needful alterations can be made in Boston. Which will you wear?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I wish I could wear both. Helen, which shall I?” and
Katy appealed to her sister, who could endure no more, but hid her head
among the pillows of the bed and cried.
Katy understood the whole, and dropping the silk to which she inclined
the most, she flew to Helen’s side and whispered to her, “Don’t, Nellie,
I won’t wear either of them. I’ll wear the one you made. It was mean and
vain in me to think of doing otherwise.”
During this scene Wilford had stolen from the room, and with him gone
Helen was capable of judging candidly and sensibly. She knew the city
silk was handsomer and better suited for Wilford Cameron’s bride than
the country plaid, and so she said to Katy, “I would rather you should
wear the one they sent. It will become you better. Suppose you try it
on,” and in seeking to gratify her sister, Helen forgot in part her own
cruel disappointment, and that her work of days had been for naught. The
dress fitted well, though Katy pronounced it too tight and too long. A
few moments, however, accustomed her to the length, and then her mother,
Aunt Hannah, and Aunt Betsy, came to see and admire, while Katy proposed
going out to Wilford, but Helen kept her back, Aunt Betsy remarking
under her breath, that “she didn’t see for the life on her how Catherine
could be so free and easy with that man when just the sight of him was
enough to take away a body’s breath.”
“More free and easy than she will be by and by,” was Helen’s mental
comment as she proceeded quietly to pack the trunk which Morris had
brought for the voyage across the sea, dropping into it many a tear as
she folded away one article after another, and wondered under what
circumstances she should see them again if she saw them ever.
Helen was a Christian girl, and many a time had she prayed in secret
that He who rules the deep would keep its waters calm and still while
her sister was upon them, and she prayed so now, constantly, burying her
face once in her hands, and asking that Katy might come back to them
unchanged, if possible, and asking next that God would remove from her
heart all bitterness towards the bridegroom, who was to be her brother,
and whom, after that short, earnest prayer, she found herself liking
better. He loved Katy, she was sure, and that was all she cared for,
though she did wish he would release her before twelve o’clock on that
night, the last she would spend with them for a long, long time. But
Wilford kept her with him in the parlor, kissing away the tears which
flowed so fast when she recalled the prayer said by Uncle Ephraim, with
her kneeling by him as she might never kneel again. He had called her by
her name, and his voice was very sad as he commended her to God, asking
that he would “be with our little Katy wherever she might go, keeping
her in all the _mewandering_ scenes of life, and bringing her at last to
his own heavenly home.”
Wilford himself was touched, and though he noticed the deacon’s
pronunciation, he did not even smile, and his manner was very
respectful, when, after the prayer was over and they were alone a
moment, the white-haired deacon felt it incumbent upon him to say a few
words concerning Katy.
“She’s a young, rattle-headed creature, not much like your own kin, I
guess; but, young man, she is as dear as the apple of our eyes, and I
charge you to treat her well. She has never had a crossways word spoke
to her all her life, and don’t you be the first to speak it, nor let
your folks browbeat her.”
As they were alone, it was easier for Wilford to be humble and
conciliatory, and he promised all the old man required, and then went
back to Katy, who was going into raptures over the beautiful little
watch which Morris had sent over as her bridal gift from him. Even Mrs.
Cameron herself could have found no fault with this, and Wilford praised
it as much as Katy could desire, noticing the inscription, “Katy, from
Cousin Morris, June 10th, 18—” wishing that after the “Katy” had come
the name Cameron, and wondering if Morris had any design in omitting it.
Wilford had not yet presented his father’s gift, but he did so now, and
Katy’s tears dropped upon the pale, soft pearls as she whispered, “I
shall like your father. I never thought of having things like these.”
Nor had she; but she would grow to them very soon, while even the family
gathering round and sharing in her joy began to realize how great a lady
their Katy was to be. It was late that night ere anybody slept, if sleep
at all they did, which was doubtful, unless it were the bride, who, with
Wilford’s kisses warm upon her lips, crept up to bed just as the clock
was striking twelve, nor awoke until it was again chiming six, and over
her Helen bent, a dark ring about her eyes and her face very white as
she whispered, “Wake, Katy darling, this is your wedding day.”