Slowly the moon rode over the house, and down toward its way in the West,
and after its vanishing chariot the night stretched wistful arms. Softly
the grey in the East tinged into violet and glowed into rose and gold. The
birds woke up and told one another that the first of August was come and
life was good.
The breath that came in the early dawn savored of new-mown hay, and the
bird songs thrilled Marcia as if it were the day of her dreams.
She forgot all her troubles; forgot even her wayward sister next door; and
rose with the song of the birds in her heart. This was to be a great day.
No matter what happened she had now this day to date from. David had asked
her to go somewhere just because he wanted her to. She knew it from the
look in his eyes when he told her, and she knew it because he might have
asked a dozen men to go with him. There was no reason why he need have
taken her to-day, for it was distinctly an affair for men, this great
wonder of machinery. It was a privilege for a woman to go. She felt it.
She understood the honor.
With fingers trembling from joy she dressed. Not the sight of her pink
calico sunbonnet lying on the chair, nor the thought of wearing it upon so
grand an occasion, could spoil the pleasure of the day. Among so large a
company her bonnet would hardly be noticed. If David was satisfied why
what difference did it make? She was glad it would be early when they
drove by the aunts, else they might be scandalized. But never mind! Trill!
She hummed a merry little tune which melted into the melody of the song
she had sung last night.
Then she smiled at herself in the glass. She was fastening the brooch in
the bit of velvet round her neck, and she thought of the day a year ago
when she had fastened that brooch. She had wondered then how she would
feel if the next day was to be her own wedding day. Now as she smiled back
at herself in the glass all at once she thought it seemed as if this was
her wedding day. Somehow last night had seemed to realize her dreams. A
wonderful joy had descended upon her heart. Maybe she was foolish, but was
she not going to ride with David? She did not long for the green fields
and a chance to run wild through the wood now. This was better than those
childish pleasures. This was real happiness. And to think it should have
come through David!
She hurried with the arrangement of her hair until her fingers trembled
with excitement. She wanted to get downstairs and see if it were all
really true or if she were dreaming it. Would David look at her as he had
done last night? Would he speak that precious word “dear” to her again
to-day? Would he take her by the hand and lead her sometimes, or was that
a special gentleness because he knew she had suffered from her sister’s
words? She clasped her hands with a quick, convulsive gesture over her
heart and looking back to the sweet face in the glass, said softly, “Oh, I
love him, love him! And it cannot be wrong, for Kate is married.”
But though she was up early David had been down before her. The fire was
ready lighted and the kettle singing over it on the crane. He had even
pulled out the table and put up the leaf, and made some attempt to put the
dishes upon it for breakfast. He was sitting by the hearth impatient for
her coming, with a bandbox by his side.
It was like another sunrise to watch their eyes light up as they saw one
another. Their glances rushed together as though they had been a long time
withholden from each other, and a rosy glow came over Marcia’s face that
made her long to hide it for a moment from view. Then she knew in her
heart that her dream was not all a dream. David was the same. It had
lasted, whatever this wonderful thing was that bound them together. She
stood still in her happy bewilderment, looking at him, and he, enjoying
the radiant morning vision of her, stood too.
David found that longing to take her in his arms overcoming him again. He
had made strict account with himself and was resolved to be careful and
not frighten her. He must be sure it would not be unpleasant to her before
he let her know his great deep love. He must be careful. He must not take
advantage of the fact that she was his and could not run away from him. If
she dreaded his attentions, neither could she any more say no.
And so their two looks met, and longed to come closer, but were held back,
and a lovely shyness crept over Marcia’s sweet face. Then David bethought
himself of his bandbox.
He took up the box and untied it with unaccustomed fingers, fumbling among
the tissue paper for the handle end of the thing. Where did they take hold
of bonnets anyway? He had no trouble with it the night before, but then he
was not thinking about it. Now he was half afraid she might not like it.
He remembered that Hannah Heath had pronounced against it. It suddenly
seemed impossible that he should have bought a bonnet that a pretty woman
had said was not right. There must be something wrong with it after all.
Marcia stood wondering.
“I thought maybe this would do instead of the sunbonnet,” he said at last,
getting out the bonnet by one string and holding it dangling before him.
Marcia caught it with deft careful hands and an exclamation of delight. He
watched her anxiously. It had all the requisite number of materials,—one,
two, three, four,—like the despised bonnet he threw on the floor—straw,
silk, lace and flowers. Would she like it? Her face showed that she did.
Her cheeks flushed with pleasure, and her eyes danced with joy. Marcia’s
face always showed it when she liked anything. There was nothing half-way
about her.
“Oh, it is beautiful!” she said delightedly. “It is so sweet and white and
cool with that green vine. Oh, I am glad, glad, glad! I shall never wear
that old blue bonnet again.” She went over to the glass and put it on. The
soft ruching settled about her brown hair, and made a lovely setting for
her face. The green vine twined and peeped in and out under the round brim
and the ribbon sat in a prim bow beneath her pretty chin.
She gave one comprehensive glance at herself in the glass and then turned
to David. In that glance was revealed to her just how much she had dreaded
wearing her pink sunbonnet, and just how relieved she was to have a
substitute.
Her look was shy and sweet as she said with eyes that dared and then
drooped timidly:
“You—are—very—good to me!”
Almost he forgot his vow of carefulness at that, but remembered when he
had got half across the room toward her, and answered earnestly:
“Dear, _you_ have been very good to _me_.”
Marcia’s eyes suddenly sobered and half the glow faded from her face. Was
it then only gratitude? She took off the bonnet and touched the bows with
wistful tenderness as she laid it by till after breakfast. He watched her
and misinterpreted the look. Was she then disappointed in the bonnet? Was
it not right after all? Had Hannah known better than he? He hesitated and
then asked her:
“Is there—— Is it—— That is—perhaps you would rather take it back and and
choose another. You know how to choose one better than I. There were
others I think. In fact, I forgot to look at any but this because I liked
it, but I’m only a man——” he finished helplessly.
“No! No! No!” said Marcia, her eyes sparkling emphatically again. “There
couldn’t be a better one. This is just exactly what I like. I do not want
anything else. And I—like it all the better because you selected it,” she
added daringly, suddenly lifting her face to his with a spice of her own
childish freedom.
His eyes admired her.
“She told me Hannah Heath thought it too plain,” he added honestly.
“Then I’m sure I like it all the better for that,” said Marcia so
emphatically that they both laughed.
It all at once became necessary to hurry, for the old clock in the hall
clanged out the hour and David became aware that haste was imperative.
Early as Marcia had come down, David had been up long before her, his
heart too light to sleep. In a dream, or perchance on the borders of the
morning, an idea had come to him. He told Marcia that he must go out now
to see about the horse, but he also made a hurried visit to the home of
his office clerk and another to the aunts, and when he returned with the
horse he had left things in such train that if he did not return that
evening he would not be greatly missed. But he said nothing to Marcia
about it. He laughed to himself as he thought of the sleepy look on his
clerk’s face, and the offended dignity expressed in the ruffle of Aunt
Hortense’s night cap all awry as she had peered over the balusters to
receive his unprecedentedly early visit. The aunts were early risers. They
prided themselves upon it. It hurt their dignity and their pride to have
anything short of sudden serious illness, or death, or a fire cause others
to arise before them. Therefore they did not receive the message that
David was meditating another trip away from the village for a few days
with good grace. Aunt Hortense asked Aunt Amelia if she had ever feared
that Marcia would have a bad effect upon David by making him frivolous.
Perhaps he would lose interest in his business with all his careering
around the country. Aunt Amelia agreed that Marcia must be to blame in
some way, and then discovering they had a whole hour before their usual
rising time, the two good ladies settled themselves with indignant
composure to their interrupted repose.
Breakfast was ready when David returned. Marcia supposed he had only been
to harness the horse. She glanced out happily through the window to where
the horse stood tied to the post in front of the house. She felt like
waving her hand to him, and he turned and seemed to see her; rolling the
whites of his eyes around, and tossing his head as if in greeting.
Marcia would scarcely have eaten anything in her excitement if David had
not urged her to do so. She hurried with her clearing away, and then flew
upstairs to arrange her bonnet before the glass and don the lovely folds
of the creamy crêpe shawl, folding it demurely around her shoulders and
knotting it in front. She put on her mitts, took her handkerchief folded
primly, and came down ready.
But David no longer seemed in such haste. He made a great fuss fastening
up everything. She wondered at his unusual care, for she thought
everything quite safe for the day.
She raised one shade toward the Heath house. It was the first time she had
permitted herself this morning to think of Kate. Was she there yet?
Probably, for no coach had left since last night, and unless she had gone
by private conveyance there would have been no way to go. She looked up to
the front corner guest room where the windows were open and the white
muslin curtains swayed in the morning breeze. No one seemed to be moving
about in the room. Perhaps Kate was not awake. Just then she caught the
flutter of a blue muslin down on the front stoop. Kate was up, early as it
was, and was coming out. A sudden misgiving seized Marcia’s heart, as when
a little child, she had seen her sister coming to eat up the piece of cake
or sweetmeat that had been given to her. Many a time had that happened.
Now, she felt that in some mysterious way Kate would contrive to take from
her her new-found joy.
She could not resist her,—David could not resist her,—no one could ever
resist Kate. Her face turned white and her hand began to tremble so that
she dropped the curtain she had been holding up.
Just then came David’s clear voice, louder than would have been necessary,
and pitched as if he were calling to some one upstairs, though he knew she
was just inside the parlor where she had gone to make sure of the window
fastening.
“Come, dear! Aren’t you ready? It is more than time we started.”
There was a glad ring in David’s voice that somehow belied the somewhat
exacting words he had spoken, and Marcia’s heart leaped up to meet him.
“Yes, I’m all ready, dear!” she called back with a hysterical little
laugh. Of course Kate could not hear so far, but it gave her satisfaction
to say it. The final word was unpremeditated. It bubbled up out of the
depths of her heart and made the red rush back into her cheeks when she
realized what she had said. It was the first time she had ever used a term
of endearment toward David. She wondered if he noticed it and if he would
think her very—bold,—queer,—immodest, to use it. She looked shyly up at
him, enquiring with her eyes, as she came out to him on the front stoop,
and he looked down with such a smile she felt as if it were a caress. And
yet neither was quite conscious of this little real by-play they were
enacting for the benefit of the audience of one in blue muslin over the
way. How much she heard, or how little they could not tell, but it gave
satisfaction to go through with it inasmuch as it was real, and not acting
at all.
David fastened the door and then helped Marcia into the carriage. They
were both laughing happily like two children starting upon a picnic.
Marcia was serenely conscious of her new bonnet, and it was pleasant to
have David tuck the linen lap robe over her chintz frock so carefully. She
was certain Kate could not identify it now at that distance, thanks to the
lap robe and her crêpe shawl. At least Kate could not see any of her own
trousseau on her sister now.
Kate was sitting on the little white seat in the shelter of the
honeysuckle vine facing them on the stoop of the Heath house. It was
impossible for them to know whether she was watching them or not. They did
not look up to see. She was talking with Mr. Heath who, in his milking
garb, was putting to rights some shrubs and plants near the walk that had
been trampled upon during the wedding festivities. But Kate must have seen
a good deal that went on.
David took up the reins, settled himself with a smile at Marcia, touched
the horse with the tip of the whip, which caused him to spring forward in
astonishment—that from David! No horse in town would have expected it of
him. They had known him from babyhood, most of them, and he was gentleness
itself. It must have been a mistake. But the impression lasted long enough
to carry them a rod or two past the Heath house at a swift pace, with only
time for a lifting of David’s hat, prolonged politely,—which might or
might not have included Kate, and they were out upon their way together.
Marcia could scarcely believe her senses that she was really here beside
David, riding with him swiftly through the village and leaving Kate
behind. She felt a passing pity for Kate. Then she looked shyly up at
David. Would his gaiety pass when they were away, and would he grow grave
and sad again so soon as he was out of Kate’s sight? She had learned
enough of David’s principles to know that he would not think it right to
let his thoughts stray to Kate now, but did his heart still turn that way
in spite of him?
Through the town they sped, glad with every roll of the wheels that took
them further away from Kate. Each was conscious, as they rolled along, of
that day one year ago when they rode together thus, out through the fields
into the country. It was a day much as that other one, just as bright,
just as warm, yet oh, so much more radiant to both! Then they were sad and
fearful of the future. All their life seemed in the past. Now the darkness
had been led through, and they had reached the brightness again. In fact,
all the future stretched out before them that fair morning and looked
bright as the day.
They were conscious of the blueness of the sky, of the soft clouds that
hovered in haziness on the rim of the horizon, as holding off far enough
to spoil no moment of that perfect day. They were conscious of the waving
grains and of the perfume of the buckwheat drifting like snow in the
fields beyond the wheat; conscious of the meadow-lark and the wood-robin’s
note; of the whirr of a locust; and the thud of a frog in the cool green
of a pool deep with brown shadows; conscious of the circling of mated
butterflies in the simmering gold air; of the wild roses lifting fair pink
petals from the brambly banks beside the road; conscious of the whispering
pine needles in a wood they passed; the fluttering chatter of leaves and
silver flash of the lining of poplar leaves, where tall trees stood like
sentinels, apart and sad; conscious of a little brook that tinkled under a
log bridge they crossed, then hurried on its way unmindful of their happy
crossing; conscious of the dusty daisy beside the road, closing with a
bumbling bee who wanted honey below the market price; conscious of all
these things; but most conscious of each other, close, side by side.
It was all so dear, that ride, and over so soon. Marcia was just trying to
get used to looking up into the dazzling light of David’s eyes. She had to
droop her own almost immediately for the truth she read in his was
overpowering. Could it be? A fluttering thought came timidly to her heart
and would not be denied.
“Can it be, can it be that he cares for me? He loves me. He loves me!” It
sang its way in with thrill after thrill of joy and more and more David’s
eyes told the story which his lips dared not risk yet. But eyes and hearts
are not held by the conventions that bind lips. They rushed into their
inheritance of each other and had that day ahead, a day so rare and sweet
that it would do to set among the jewels of fair days for all time and for
any one.
All too soon they began to turn into roads where were other vehicles, many
of them, and all going in the same direction. Men and women in gala day
attire all laughing and talking expectantly and looking at one another as
the carriages passed with a degree of familiar curiosity which betokens a
common errand. Family coaches, farm wagons, with kitchen chairs for
accommodation of the family; old one-horse chaises, carryalls, and even a
stage coach or two wheeled into the old turnpike. David and Marcia settled
into subdued quiet, their joy not expressing itself in the ripples of
laughter that had rung out earlier in the morning when they were alone.
They sought each other’s eyes often and often, and in one of these
excursions that David’s eyes made to Marcia’s face he noticed how
extremely becoming the new bonnet was. After thinking it over he decided
to risk letting her know. He was not shy about it now.
“Do you know, dear,” he said,—there had been a good many “dear’s” slipping
back and forth all unannounced during that ride, and not openly
acknowledged either. “Do you know how becoming your new bonnet is to you?
You look prettier than I ever saw you look but once before.” He kept his
eyes upon her face and watched the sweet color steal up to her drooping
eyelashes.
“When was that?” she asked coyly, to hide her embarrassment, and sweeping
him one laughing glance.
“Why, that night, dear, at the gate, in the moonlight. Don’t you
remember?”
“Oh-h-h-h!” Marcia caught her breath and a thrill of joy passed through
her that made her close her eyes lest the glad tears should come. Then the
little bird in her heart set up the song in earnest to the tune of Wonder:
“He loves me, He loves me, He loves me!”
He leaned a little closer to her.
“If there were not so many people looking I think I should have to kiss
you now.”
“Oh-h-h-h!” said Marcia drawing in her breath and looking around
frightened on the number of people that were driving all about them, for
they were come almost to the railroad now, and could see the black smoke
of the engine a little beyond as it stood puffing and snorting upon its
track like some sulky animal that had been caught and chained and
harnessed and was longing to leap forward and upset its load.
But though Marcia looked about in her happy fright, and sat a trifle
straighter in the chaise, she did not move her hand away that lay next
David’s, underneath the linen lap robe, and he put his own hand over it
and covered it close in his firm hold. Marcia trembled and was so happy
she was almost faint with joy. She wondered if she were very foolish
indeed to feel so, and if all love had this terrible element of solemn joy
in it that made it seem too great to be real.
They had to stop a number of times to speak to people. Everybody knew
David, it appeared. This man and that had a word to speak with him, some
bit of news that he must not omit to notice in his article, some new
development about the attitude of a man of influence that was important;
the change of two or three of those who were to go in the coaches on this
trial trip.
To all of them David introduced his wife, with a ring of pride in his
voice as he said the words “My wife,” and all of them stopped whatever
business they had in hand and stepped back to bow most deferentially to
the beautiful woman who sat smiling by his side. They wondered why they
had not heard of her before, and they looked curiously, enviously at
David, and back in admiration at Marcia. It was quite a little court she
held sitting there in the chaise by David’s side.
Men who have since won a mention in the pages of history were there that
day, and nearly all of them had a word for David Spafford and his lovely
wife. Many of them stood for some time and talked with her. Mr. Thurlow
Weed was the last one to leave them before the train was actually ready
for starting, and he laid an urging hand upon David’s arm as he went.
“Then you think you cannot go with us? Better come. Mrs. Spafford will let
you I am sure. You’re not afraid are you, Mrs. Spafford? I am sure you are
a brave woman. Better come, Spafford.”
But David laughingly thanked him again as he had thanked others, and said
that he would not be able to go, as he and his wife had other plans, and
he must go on to Albany as soon as the train had started.
Marcia looked up at him half worshipfully as he said this, wondering what
it was, instinctively knowing that it was for her sake he was giving up
this honor which they all wished to put upon him. It would naturally have
been an interesting thing to him to have taken this first ride behind the
new engine “Dewitt Clinton.”
Then, suddenly, like a chill wind from a thunder cloud that has stolen up
unannounced and clutched the little wild flowers before they have time to
bind up their windy locks and duck their heads under cover, there happened
a thing that clutched Marcia’s heart and froze all the joy in her veins.