A CAVALRY WEDDING.
And now the --th were all in from the field, and the wives and families
of those officers who were there to be stationed were arriving by every
train, and the post was all bustle and confusion and rejoicing. Some
changes had occurred, as had been predicted by the colonel, but many of
our old friends and several of later date were ensconced within the
homely walls, and preparing for the combined rigors and comforts of a
Wyoming winter in garrison. Here again were old Stannard and his loyal,
radiant wife: here were the Turners and Raymonds and Webbs and Waynes
and Truscotts and Heaths and Freemans, and others of whom we have not
heard, and stanch old Bucketts, the sorely badgered but imperturbable
quartermaster, and Billings, the peppery adjutant, and Mrs. Billings
(whom their next-door neighbor Mr. Blake epitomized forthwith, to the
lady's vehement indignation, as Billings and Cooings), and Mr. and Mrs.
Wilkins and the little Wilkinses, and a "raft of youngsters," as the
junior bachelor officers were termed, and with Blake was his sworn
friend and ally Billy Ray, now the senior lieutenant of the regiment.
Life was gayety to all but him, for Marion--the light of his very
existence--had returned to the East. For ten days before the arrival of
the regiment Russell was paradise. There were long, joyous, exquisite
interviews in the dear little parlor at the Truscotts'. There were rides
and drives over the boundless prairie; there were plannings and
promises, and--I fear for once in his life Ray felt no great joy in the
arrival of the old regiment, for on that day Major Taylor's family went
East for the winter, and under their escort Miss Sanford departed.
Bright and gay as was the winter that followed to all the ladies and
most of the officers, there was one fellow at least to whom hops and
dinners and germans had faint attraction. Routine duty at a cavalry post
soon palls on the most enthusiastic. The endless round of roll-calls,
stables both morning and evening, of drills and guard-mount, boards of
survey and garrison courts, recitations and rifle-practice,--all serve
to keep up constant demands on time and attention. There is just one
thing that will throw about them all a halo of romance and
interest,--the presence at the garrison of the girl you love; and when
such a blessing has once been enjoyed and then is suddenly taken away,
the utter blank is beyond description. Only to a few has it happened
that the love of their lives has been found in garrison, and only they
will quite realize what life at Russell became to Ray after Marion
Sanford went East. He had greatly changed as every one saw. Not that he
was less buoyant and brave, but that he was far more thoughtful, grave,
and earnest. He was exact and punctilious in the performance of every
military duty, was always ready to "bear a hand" at the entertainments
and parties, but the haunts where he had once reigned supreme knew him
no more. The post trader was heard regretfully to remark that Ray wasn't
half the man he expected to find him, and there were rattle-pates among
the youngsters in the regiment to whom "Ray's reformation" was a source
of outspoken regret. "If that's the effect of getting all over in love,"
said Mr. Hunter, "I don't want any of it in mine."
Poker, too, languished as a popular pastime; the demand for morning
cocktails had unaccountably fallen off; the bar-keeper would fall asleep
at the club-room from sheer lack of employment during the afternoons and
early evenings, for many of the married ladies had brought maiden
relatives as friends to spend the winter with them, and half a dozen new
romances were starting; and the colonel had his eye on some of the old
_habitués_ of "the store," and Wilkins and Crane and one or two other
formerly reliable patrons were kept too busy to spend time or money at
that once seductive retreat, and with the injustice of embittered human
nature it was their wont to ascribe it all to Ray's backsliding, a
matter of which that young gentleman was for some time in ignorance. He
spent his off-duty hours in writing or reading or long chats with
Truscott and romps with Baby Jack; he always dined with them on Sunday,
and was in and out between their house, the Stannards', and "Saint's
Rest" (as Blake had named the bachelor ranch which he and Ray occupied
in partnership) at all hours of the day or evening; he was properly
attentive at the colonel's, and called frequently upon the young ladies
visiting the Waynes' and Heaths' and Billings' (Mrs. Turner never would
have young ladies with her, they were too distracting), and of course he
was subjected to incessant queries about Miss Sanford. It was too absurd
to deny the engagement, said the garrison, for everybody knew he wrote
regularly and she answered. Nevertheless, Ray, Truscott, Stannard, and,
of course, Mrs. Truscott and Mrs. Stannard, denied that any engagement
existed. Ray and Marion had quietly decided, as has been indicated, that
there should be none, until--until he could offer her a little army
home. But denials only stimulated the womenfolk into hazarding ingenious
questions and suggestions, and the men to various conjectures more or
less wooden-headed. At first it was theorized that he had proposed and
been rejected; that was disposed of by her frequent letters. Then that
"she had him on probation," and would marry him if he could keep clear
of the old temptations a year,--two years or so,--unless some fellow
came along meantime and swept her off. Bets were hazarded on the
different events, and there was no end of talk about it, and Ray was the
object of much sentimental interest among the ladies. One thing,
however, was clearly observable. They, the ladies, with the confiding,
caressing, insinuating, and delicious impertinence of the sex, could and
would hazard their suggestions to him in person, and were laughingly
parried; but if any one among the men were ass enough to suppose that
_all_ the old Ray had vanished he had only just to attempt to be
jocularly familiar or inquisitive with him on that or a kindred subject,
and get a Kentucky kick, as Blake called Ray's snubs, that would make
him red in the face for a week. Poor Crane was the victim of the final
experiment, and it was his last attempt to be facetious for many a weary
month. It was a snapping December morning, one of the Advent Sundays,
Truscott was officer of the day, and Ray had escorted Mrs. Truscott to
church in town, and it so happened that a number of officers were in the
club-room (for the colonel and Billings had gone away to North Platte on
a court-martial, and the major did not care to haul in on the reins
while the chief was absent), and looking out on the wintry prairie as
they came driving into the garrison. There was some little sly comment,
thoroughly good-natured, over the metamorphosis which a year had made in
Ray, when suddenly the door opened and he bounded in.
"Give me a flask of good brandy, Muldoon; our driver is almost frozen."
Of course there was a ripple of laughing chaff over the unchristian
spirit which prompted people to search the Scriptures in such weather
and freeze the helpless victims of their piety,--the drivers. All this
Ray parried in his old jaunty way, his white teeth gleaming and his eyes
twinkling with merriment over some unusually good hit; but as ill luck
would have it Mr. Crane had been up too late or too early--or both--and
had managed to drink more than was prudent. He had always smarted under
the scoring Ray had given him in Arizona, and he saw, or murkily thought
he saw, a chance to say a stinging thing. The bar-keeper had just
wrapped the flask in paper and was handing it to Ray, when Crane thickly
began,--
"Makes a heap of difference in a man this gettin' spooney, don't it?
Year ago Ray would have sneered at fellow's going to church, an' now
he's doin' it--self. Next thing, by George, he'll be havin' 'ligious
scruples 'bout goin' Indian-fighting."
There were sharp, sudden growls of "Shut up, you idiot!" "Choke him off,
somebody!" but all too late. Ray heard every word of it, and his eyes
blazed in an instant. Every man saw the coming storm, and there was an
awkward rising from chairs and gathering about Crane as though to hustle
him out of the room. For a moment Ray stood there quivering with wrath,
seemingly making strong effort at self-control, then, with the old ring
and snap to every word, he first sent the bar-keeper out of the room,
telling him to take the flask at once to his quarters, then turned
quickly on Crane, who was stupidly shuffling at a pack of cards.
"This is the third time, Mr. Crane, that you have made it necessary for
me to bring you up with a round turn. You intimate that a year ago I
would have sneered at a man's going to church. Never, sir, in my whole
life has man or woman, boy or girl, heard from my lips one word of
ridicule or disrespect for religious faith or religious observances. You
are in no condition to-day to appreciate what I say, perhaps, so you may
have until to-morrow for complete apology and retraction; but this much
you _can_ understand, sir: if you fancy for one instant that religions
scruples, or any other kind, will interfere with my fighting now or at
any time, you are most damnably mistaken, sir, as you will find as soon
as you are sober enough to receive a message." And with that he turned
and left the room. The next morning Blake was out with a note, as
everybody knew would be the result, and poor Crane tied a wet towel
around his head and sent for Wilkins and Heath and others, and they all
told him the same thing. He had made an outrageous ass of himself, and
had best write a full apology,--and he did. It was "the church
militant," said Blake, "that Billy joined," and it was evident enough
that the chip was still there on Ray's shoulder. Even Marion Sanford's
sunny head had not displaced it.
And then came a time in the spring when Ray's letters began to be very
frequent, and Rallston's big fist sprawled in on all manner of envelopes
from all manner of Iowa and Nebraska hotels. He was doing a lively
business in the horse and cattle trade again, had quit gambling, said
rumor, and Mrs. Rallston was with him now on all his journeyings, and
looking marvellously well and happy; and along in April Blake and Ray
were doing all they knew how, with Mrs. Stannard's assistance, to make
their quarters habitable for lady's use, and Rallston and Nell came and
paid them a visit of an entire week, and went away enraptured with the
regiment. Rallston was ill at ease at first, but his wife's grace and
beauty, the fact that she was Ray's sister, and that Mrs. Stannard and
Mrs. Truscott became devoted to her from the start, and that "old
Stannard" and Truscott took Rallston under their protecting wings, and
showed him around as though there had never been a flaw in his
record,--all these things and his natural good nature combined to make
him popular among the officers, and the night before they left he had
the whole crowd in at a "stag party" in town, whereat there was much
conviviality and good feeling; and the next thing whispered about the
garrison was that Ray had "an interest in the business," for when
Billings wanted a new horse, and could find none just to suit him in the
stables, he sought Ray's advice, as he always did in such matters (the
cloud between them had long since drifted away, but not until Billings
had "made a clean breast of it"), and Ray told him to wait a few days
and the horse to suit him would be there, and he could take his own time
in paying for him, too. (He did, by the way.) And when May came, and
with it orders for a summer camp, Ray's old troop took the field without
him. Another vacancy had occurred, and Rallston sent three baskets of
champagne from Omaha that all might drink the health of the new captain,
whose troop was down the road at Sidney. Verily, Fortune was smiling on
the gallant fellow on whom she had seemed to frown. Even the course of
true love was defying all previous record, and had run with exceptional
smoothness. Barring the one fearful task of having to write to her
father, his courtship had been sweet and unimpeded as all its first
surroundings had been bitter. And now, free, hopeful, redeemed, what was
there to wait for? Why not claim his bride and a long leave of absence,
and take her with him to see the dear old mother in Kentucky? "The
engagement is at last announced," wrote Grace to Truscott, who was
scouting over the Big Horn, "and the wedding will be some time this
summer. Was it not odd that you and he should each have received
promotion just before marrying? Little did dear Maidie and I ever dream
in the old days at Madame Reichard's that we were to marry captains of
cavalry in the same regiment. Oh, Jack! why _didn't_ I have a military
wedding? Marion says that the entire community is so shocked at the idea
of her accepting an unknown army officer that she has determined to have
a brilliant affair of it, and Mr. Sanford says that she shall have
everything she wants that money can buy, and they say he is 'rolling in
wealth' now. His wife has been behaving like an angel ever since
Marion's return, and, much to the Zabriskies' disappointment, the
reception will be at the Sanfords', and she will be married from there
and the whole clan will be gathered to see it, and there will be eight
bridesmaids, three of whom were our classmates at school, and, of
course, the wedding itself will be in the old cathedral church, and all
the officers there in full dress and the band from Governor's Island.
Oh, Jack! can't we go back and do it all over again? Marion says there
is only one thing to mar her happiness: she cannot have cavalry officers
for groomsmen because almost all Mr.--Captain Ray's (there I go making
the same blunder that used to exasperate me so in Mrs. Turner last year:
she _would_ speak of you as _Mister_ long after you were captain, only I
knew she did it on purpose)--_Captain_ Ray's friends are in the field
and cannot be spared, but Mr. Blake is to be best man, and there will be
plenty of other officers. Marion says that at first her father looked
very, very solemn at the idea of her falling in love with a cavalry
officer, and could not be reconciled to it, but one evening he came home
late from New York,--he had been at a dinner at the Union Club, and
there was introduced to General S----, who sat next him, and in some way
he asked about Mr. Ray, and the general said there wasn't a braver man
or finer officer in the cavalry, and spoke of him in such a glowing way
that Mr. Sanford came home radiant. Well, excepting my Jack, the general
was right." And Jack's answer was that he thought it would be an
excellent plan for Mrs. Grace to take Baby Jack and a "two months'
leave," and go East and exhibit her glory and delight to grandpapa and
grandmamma, and see Marion married. Mrs. Stannard was to start by June
30,--why not go with her? The California mining venture--his old Arizona
investment--would fully warrant the extravagance. Many a woman will
refrain from attending the gayest of balls because her Strephon cannot
be there, but where is the woman who can resist a wedding? Grace went,
as a matter of course.
What pen can describe the sensation that had shaken society to its
foundation when it began to leak out that the lovely Miss Sanford,
eldest daughter of the Honorable Blank Sanford,--plutocrat,--was going
to marry an army officer? This, then, was the reason why swains from
Philadelphia and New York had sighed in vain all that winter. Ever since
November she had been the acknowledged belle, frank, joyous, radiant,
gracious, winning, a woman all men worshipped and all women envied. "I
wish I could find something in her to criticise," was the despairing
summary of a would-be rival. "She is so courteous, so considerate, so
generous, so hopelessly regardful of everybody else's rights and
feelings. _I_ don't think she's a radiant beauty. You cannot but see
defects in her features, but who ever saw a more winning face? I don't
wonder everybody, old and young, is simply fascinated by her. I watched
her there all last evening when they had that little party. She was
surrounded every moment. She was having the best kind of time, but her
eyes were everywhere watching to see that everybody was entertained, and
no sooner was a woman left alone for an instant than she was by her side
with a gracious word--or a man. It is so everywhere she goes. Now, who
on earth can this officer be? What's an officer like, anyhow?"
It was no isolated opinion. Marion Sanford was a marked woman in general
society, a woman who reigned, queenlike, over every heart; but, among
the circle of her relatives, the uncles and aunts and cousins who lived
within the sphere of her attractions, she was held to be little less
than the angels. It made it all the harder for Ray, since everybody was
eager to see what manner of man it was that had won so peerless a pearl
from their midst. It was loyalty to him, pride in him, love for him more
than anything else, that made her choose a military wedding, that all at
home might see something of the brighter side of army life and the
social attractions of the men who were his chosen comrades.
And at last it comes: a day of cloudless sunshine, of soft and balmy
air, heralding a moonlit evening that could have served for the
Midsummer Night's Dream, and inspired the melodies of Mendelssohn; and
the massive walls of a great cathedral church are silvered by the rays
without, and pierced by the brilliant flood of colored light shining
from within. Carriage after carriage rolls up through the dense throng
of curious but silent spectators and discharges its load of
richly-dressed occupants through the carpeted, canvas-roofed lane of
belted police, through the massive portals of the church, past the
welcoming "masters of ceremonies,"--two society swells, who know
everybody and where everybody is to be seated,--and by them are
presented to one of half a dozen stalwart young officers in all the
glitter of shoulder-knots, helmet-cords, aiguillettes, sabres, and
belts, and these martial ushers receive the wondering ladies on their
arms and escort them with much ceremony to the designated pews, wherein
they are deposited with the precision of military bows, and the escort
returns forthwith, clanking down the aisle followed by curious eyes.
Carriage after carriage arrives, party after party is ushered in with
the same unerring ease, just as the staff-officers conduct detachments
to their assigned positions: no break, no confusion; and the good
people of the peace-loving metropolis, to whom army matters have long
been a dark and uninviting mystery, begin to admit that there are some
points worth noting in a military wedding. And then "society" begins to
recognize each other with nods and smiles and fluttering fans, and to
look about and take mental inventory of the marvellous changes in the
vast interior. Verily, Marion Sanford's circle of friends and relatives
has effected transformation here! Back of the congregation the
organ-loft is concealed from view by ornamental screen-work and an
arbor-like arrangement of vines and leaves, from which the gilded pipes
and gothic spires shoot up into the vaulted ceiling; but no one knows
who or what may be there concealed. Towards the altar the church is a
bower of beauty. Immediately in front of the chancel rail and facing
inward towards the centre aisle are the elevated seats of the
choristers, with the pulpit and lectern on opposite sides and at the
outer edge of the choir-stalls. The pulpit and lectern themselves are a
creamy mass of daisies,--Marion's own flower,--while between them
stretches a light trellis-work, half concealing, half disclosing, the
choir-stalls beyond, twined with smilax, and thickly studded with white
roses and carnations. Over the centre aisle this trellis takes the form
of an exquisite floral arch, spanning the steps to the choir-level and
the broad aisle beyond. All the pillars are twined with smilax; all the
chancel rail is similarly decked, while roses, carnations, and
"snowballs" are everywhere. Each side of the altar is ornamented by tall
pyramidal groups of palms and tropical plants, while the upper portion
of the church is filled here and there and everywhere with foliage and
blossoms. A great marriage-bell of carnations hangs over the altar
steps; the altar itself is one mass of daisies; the air is heavy with
perfume and now, as eight o'clock approaches, rich with soft, exquisite
melody that comes floating from an unseen orchestra in the loft. Every
now and then there is unusual flutter and curiosity as the ushers stride
up the aisle with comrades in full uniform, who, with their wives, are
"army guests," and they are escorted to the seats just back of the
choristers, among the relatives and nearest friends, where they are
placed half facing the crowded assemblage, and are at once the object of
hundreds of curious eyes. There are the bald head and red face of old
Colonel Pelham and the majestic proportions of his much-better-half,
who, as scion of all the De Ruyters, is quite at home confronting the
social battery; and Mrs. Stannard with her happy blue eyes and noble
bearing, and Mrs. Truscott, exquisitely dressed and an object of no
little admiration among observers of both sexes. "Old Stannard" fidgets
at the unaccustomed harness of full uniform, and kicks impatiently at
his sabre, wishing himself out on the Arizona deserts again, but
defiantly determined to hold his own and glare the people down. Men of
the artillery and engineers, too, are ushered into their seats, and then
everybody seems to be settled; it lacks but two minutes of eight by the
watch, and a military wedding must be of all things on time. Suppressed
excitement can be heard without. The doors leading into the vestibule
are closed. Everybody is staring back at the church entrance, and still
the sacristy door remains firmly shut. Surely 'tis time for the groom
and his best man to appear there; one minute of eight and no sign. Who
in all that crowd could dream that Ray and Blake have vainly stormed the
vestry door and found it locked? By some unaccountable error the sexton
has barred their entrance as well as that of the intrusive uninvited
whom he meant to exclude.
"What on earth shall we do, Billy?" quoth Blake. "I can heave a brick
through the window and crawl in after it. It will ruin our uniforms, but
we'll get there on time."
"Back to the front!" says Ray, pardonably white and tremulous. "We can
scurry up the side-aisle. It's our only chance now!" So back they go,
and the next instant the vestibule door opens just a few inches, the
congregation rises to a--woman, and two slim-built fellows in full
cavalry uniform, the long yellow plumes of their carried helmets
floating behind them and their sabres clattering, hasten up to the head
of the church just as the tower clock booms the first stroke of eight.
Organ, orchestra, and ringing voices burst into triumphant melody, the
vestibule doors fly open, and, headed by the crucifer and his sacred
emblem, the white surpliced choristers come thronging up the centre
aisle, while the whole congregation turns and faces them, as wedding
congregations will, and the lofty rafters ring with the exultant
strains,--
"Hark! hark, my soul! Angelic songs are swelling."
Slowly, reverently, they move up through the broad lane, flanked by
eager faces; the choristers are followed by the brilliant party of
ushers,--soldier and civilian,--the gray-haired father and his handsome
wife; then come the fair bridesmaids, two and two, all in fleecy silk,
and bearing dainty bouquets of daisies tied with the cavalry colors,
while between the last two, sister and cousin, and as though led by
them, veiled, and with downcast eyes, a matchless picture of sweet
womanly grace and beauty, is Marion.
The choristers file to their places, the father with the lady of his
name halts at the archway, stepping to one side that the ushers and
bridesmaids may move on to the altar, which they encircle right and
left; Ray, pale and white, but with eager light in his handsome dark
eyes, steps quickly down, with Blake close at his heels, and bowing low,
meets his fair bride at the arch, then turns and faces the two
white-robed clergymen who come forward from the chancel, leaving the
venerable bishop at the holy altar. The swelling hymn has ceased, and in
its place low, sweet, witching strains of music float through the
vaulted sanctuary; a hush as of intense expectation falls upon the
listening throng, and the deep voice of the rector is heard in the
solemn opening exhortation,--"Reverently, discreetly, advisedly,
soberly, and in the fear of God." _Is_ it fancy? or, as that
never-answered challenge comes: "If any man can show just cause why they
may not lawfully be joined together?" _does_ Ray throw back his head
with something of that same old semi-defiant gesture that as much as
pays it wouldn't be a safe thing for any man to try? And then another
voice is heard, feeble, tremulous with years, ay, with deep emotion; it
is that of the revered old soldier of the Cross, whose lips long years
before propounded the same solemn query to her sainted mother; who
under that same roof received this child, a smiling baby-girl, into the
congregation of Christ's flock, and signed her with the sign of the
cross; who led her, a sweet maiden, to the altar there beyond to renew
the solemn promise and vow that was there made in her name; from whose
hands she had on bended knee so often received the consecrated elements;
whose aging accents had trembled in grief and sympathy even as they
uttered the words of solace, "Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord,"
and whose consolation was sweetest to her in the bitter days when that
blessed mother died. No wonder Ray can feel that she is trembling from
head to foot, and that his "I will" is firm and strong as he looks
squarely into the eyes of the venerable priest and honors him for the
gathering tears he sees there; no wonder his own turn proudly, fondly,
down on her as her soft hand is placed in his nervous palm, and Blake
sets his teeth to repel the gasp of delight with which he hears the
clear-cut enunciation of every word of his solemn troth. For the life of
him he cannot help thinking how many a time he has heard that voice in
the wild days on the frontier, in Indian battle or in garrison debate,
and marked the same ring of determination when he was deeply moved. "By
gad, but he means it! I never knew him when he didn't mean every word he
said!" he gasps to himself. And then--'tis her turn, and clear,
bell-like, yet silvery soft, her sweet voice repeats the trembling words
of her old pastor; and all over the great church men and women hold
their breath and listen with eager ear; and eyes grow moist and throats
grow lumpy, and some who love her dearly can hardly restrain a flood of
tears, for never for an instant, from the first word to the last, do her
eyes, glorious in their trust and faith, exquisite in hope and love and
tenderness, falter from their fond, loyal gaze up into his. There is
uncontrollable recourse to handkerchiefs, a rustle, and sensation
throughout the crowded ranks of society as the last solemn word of her
troth is spoken, and Blake thanks heaven that the organ tones grow
perceptibly louder and more triumphant, and so does Ray, who would
gladly balk that awful hurdle on which so many a poor fellow has
floundered,--"With all my worldly goods I thee endow;" but he holds
gallantly to the ring. He hardly knows that they are following the
white-robed clergy forward to the altar now, and that there it is the
bishop's voice that greets them; but despite the helmet and sabre that
hang twixt him and her he is close by her side, and ere he knows it is
kneeling there at the chancel rail and listening to the grandest,
sweetest benediction in all the eloquent ritual of the church, and
then--and then, he has risen and is gazing into the humid eyes of his
wife.
Oh, with what triumph and joy the mingled tones of organ and orchestra
burst into the exultant music of the Wedding March! How the lights dance
and whirl! how overpowering is the perfume of rose, hyacinth, and
carnation! He has blindly shaken hands with some one, but Marion takes
his arm, and together they meet the thronging sea of faces and step
blithely down the surpliced lane of choristers, down the archway stairs,
down the broad and carpeted aisle between the batteries of smiles and
tears, and after them comes Blake towering beside the first bridesmaid;
come all the other damsels on the arms of their attendant cavaliers;
and carriage doors are banging, and there is a merry chime resounding
through the moonlit street, and away they drive to the handsome old
home, with all its windows ablaze with light, and grounds with colored
lanterns; and there in the great bay-window they take their stand, with
the circling ranks of lovely bridesmaids and gallant groomsmen about
them, and have time to note the lavish and beautiful decorations, for
here, as at church, flowers are everywhere, and banks of daisies with
the R. S. monogram in carnations, the crossed sabres of the --th,
cavalry guidons, and the stars and stripes all tell of the work of
loving hands and hearts. And such a picture as she makes as she stands
there by his side! When, when was Marion half so lovely? Her rippling
hair, her lustrous eyes, her pure complexion, her beaming, blissful
smile, her winsome charm of manner that none could ever quite
describe,--none could ever imitate! Her dress? Must I tell of that?
True, madam, I bow in all meekness. No wedding description could be even
tolerable, as you say, that ignored the bridal toilet. Why! therein,
too, Marion shone forth in one of her quaintest, most original guises.
_Such_ a struggle as she had had with Madam Finnegan,--that autocrat of
metropolitan _modistes_! "I will be no conventional bride," she
declared; orange flowers she would not wear, but her veil was fastened
by her own flower,--exquisite daisies in silver and gold filigree work;
and the dress?--Madam vowed it would ruin her _prestige_,--that it was
unheard of, impossible; that no bridal dress could be made low-necked
and sleeveless; but Marion well knew the beauty of her neck and arms,
and Ray had begged it should be so. Madam protested, but in vain; the
low-cut, sleeveless corsage fitted closely to the lines of the lovely
figure, and gleamed with pearl embroidered lace, while the front of the
skirt was trimmed _en tablier_ with the same, and a profusion of rich
point-lace fell on either side from the waist to the bottom of the
skirt. Soft, rich, creamy satin was the material, falling in long,
straight, ample folds from the waist to the end of the train. Neither
pearls nor diamonds would she wear. Not a gem is in her ears. Her one
decoration is an exquisite daisy-chain or necklace,--a dainty and
delicate piece of handiwork in gold and silver,--and this is Ray's
present to his bride.
Of the hundreds invited to the church, only relatives, closest friends,
and "the Army people" are bidden to the reception at the Sanfords'. The
Army represent Ray's kindred, for the loving old mother had been growing
too feeble of late to venture on the journey, and she had decided to
await their coming to her at Lexington; and Nellie Rallston, who longed
to be present, gave it up when her husband decided that his business
would not permit him to be so far away at such a time, but as
compensation, he told her to compute every dollar she thought the
journey with all incidentals would have cost them, and to double it and
send to Chicago for the loveliest present the money would buy as her own
gift to Billy's wife. As for himself, he had already chosen his
present,--the prettiest Kentucky saddle-horse that ever woman rode. It
was his way of expressing his appreciation of what she had done for
Dandy. And so it happened that in the big room up-stairs, where the
presents are shown to the limited few who are bidden to the reception,
Nell's beautiful bracelets are flanked by two photographs,--counterfeit
presentments of a most shapely and knowing-looking little steed, yet
unnamed,--with Mr. Rallston's congratulations and best wishes. There is
no describing the many costly and beautiful gifts from the great circle
of friends, relatives, and school-mates. Papa's, too, is of eminent
solidity, though flimsy paper is the medium, but there are some that
cannot be passed over without remark. There is significance in them.
One is a worn iron horseshoe, framed and set in gold, backed with
velvet, and surrounding an oval miniature of a horse and rider; the
horse is the lithe-limbed sorrel, Dandy; the rider, in the broad-brimmed
hat, the blue scouting-shirt, and Indian leggings, is Ray. Touch a
spring at the base of the frame and the front flies open and reveals
that this is but the enclosure, for within nestles an exquisite little
Swiss watch and chain of daintiest workmanship, with the monogram M. S.
in diamonds. The horseshoe bears this inscription: "From the officers
and men of Wayne's squadron, --th U. S. Cavalry, in grateful remembrance
of a deed of heroism which renders sacred to them the name of Ray." And
there is a letter from Wayne, which says, "The shoe is one of the four
your gallant husband stripped from Dandy's feet the night he braved
death to bring us rescue. The other three are not to be had for love or
money. My wife and children have one of them: the two companies that
composed the command have each another, framed and inscribed over the
first sergeant's door." (Marion had no present she was so eager every
one should see as this.) Then there is a wonderful clock of curious
workmanship with a musical chime of bells that is going to prove
something of a white elephant in moving from one post to another out on
the frontier, but Marion vows it shall never be left behind. It comes
from the men of the captain's own troop, many of whom served under him
in Arizona, and there's a letter signed by the whole company, from the
first sergeant down to Private Zwinge, in which they send their loyalty
and duty to the bride of the bravest officer and kindest friend soldier
ever had, and Marion shows this to Grace with blithe, happy laughter.
"_Now_ talk to me about your Jack!" she says.
Ah, well! Smiles and tears are intermingled, as they must be even in the
marriage feast. There are so many there to whom the bride recalls the
gentle, winsome mother, only, never was seen on that young mother's
face, even in her maiden days, such peace and joy as is in the bride's
to-night. There is no long lingering over the reception. Society will be
invited to some formal affairs of that kind when the happy couple return
from their brief wedding-tour, and only a few magnates from abroad have
to be shaken hands with. The immediate wedding-party are soon
seated--twenty of them--at the great table in the dining-room, while all
the guests are scattered about at little quartette affairs around the
broad halls and conservatory, and the orchestra plays sweet strains from
their perch on the enclosed piazza, and busy waiters fly to and fro, and
soon the champagne-corks are popping and the rooms are ringing with
mirth and merriment, and Ray and Marion, seated side by side at the
head of the broad table, are bombarded with toasts and congratulations,
and the laughter and applause grow incessant as the bridesmaids and
groomsmen exchange the poetic "mottos" in the favors they find at their
places, and no bridesmaid seems quite able to properly affix the little
gold sabre that is nestling in the folds of her napkin: it takes a
soldier's practised hand to fasten them in those dainty India silks; and
every groomsman swears that no one but a woman can ever properly adjust
the daisy, which, as a scarf-pin, is his reward for the evening's
services; and some inspired fellow-citizen gracefully proposes the
health of the hostess, and an eminent statesman present ponderously does
likewise for the bride, although it was the fixed determination that
there should be no formal speech-making; but Mr. Sanford happily comes
to the rescue in a few remarks of unaccustomed humor, in which he sets
the room in a roar by expressing his satisfaction at having married off
one encumbrance, his modified rapture in the reflection that there were
still two or three in the way of daughters and nieces whom he felt bound
to similarly dispose of, his comfort in the sight of half a dozen such
likely young officers as those present, and his hope that they wouldn't
"fool away their time." This dispels anything like formality, and the
next thing there is a health to the Army and shouts for Blake. He finds
his long legs slowly, and comes to the scratch infinitely puzzled as to
how he is to worry through, but all is merriment by this time, and fun
and laughter reward his feeblest shots. He is understood to begin
somewhat as follows:
"You ought not to expect me to respond for the Army. I can't speak for
the ladies thereof because they never gave me a chance to practise (oh!
slander!), and I can't drink for the men because they insist on doing it
for themselves (another libel!). In fact, after being here five days as
the guest of our hospitable friends at the club, I'm wondering how any
one ever could see anything to drink to in the army. Life there is a
fearful grind. In the lofty and inspired language of Canon Kingsley,--if
not cannon, he was at least a big gun in ecclesiastical circles
(oh!),--it is a life in which
'Men must shirk and women must sweep.'"
(Loud protestations.) "Indeed, if it were not for the ladies--God bless
them!--we would have nothing but fighting in the field and stagnation at
home; but, whenever they get to running things their way, it--it is just
the reverse." (Shame! No! Wretch!) He vainly strives to rally under the
fire of imprecation, but it is too late. The groomsmen are denouncing
him, as he deserves to be, as a slanderer and recreant. Mr. Ferris and
Mr. Waring spring to their feet to implore the assembly to reject any
and all such statements as the emanations of an embittered,
oft-rejected, and "subtle, perjured, false, disloyal man;" and poor
Blake, who really wanted to wind up with an apostrophe to the crowning
excellences of the bride, is driven to cover, a victim of his vicious
propensity for burlesque. He has created illimitable merriment, however,
and is to be infinitely congratulated on getting off so easily. And then
the bride-cake is cut, and eager is the excitement over the search for
the prophetic ring, and the blushing bridesmaid who gets it has plainly
made a deep impression on the young artilleryman who is seated next her,
and is accused of already wearing his colors in her cheeks; and then
comes the dance, and the crash-covered floors are speedily alive with
twinkling feet, and the bride's own set in the lanciers is surrounded by
a throng of eager lookers-on. And Ray's color has come back to his
bronzed cheeks, and he has looked so well, so infinitely happy, so proud
and radiant all the evening, and yet so grave withal, so quiet and
self-restrained. All men speak of the earnest feeling that is evident in
his acceptance of the showered congratulations, and the army comrades
who have been long separated from him wonder at the change that has come
over the fellow they once called "Rattling Ray."
And Marion! Heaven's blessings never lighted a more exquisite face than
is hers to-night! She is simply radiant, simply irresistible, for the
girls hang about her to repeat their congratulations again and again, to
win another kiss, to hear the winning, gracious accents of the voice
that has so long charmed and enthralled them. Old and young, rich and
poor, big and little, those kinsfolk, school-mates, and neighbors,
especially the little ones who were her scholars in the Sunday-school,
flock about her, watch her with fascinated eyes; and for every one she
has sweet and gracious words and beaming smiles; she holds them to the
last. The children troop about her as she is led away to change her
bridal-dress for the journey. 'Tis approaching midnight and the "owl
train" leaves within the hour; and they hang about the stairways waiting
for her reappearance, and hover in mysterious fascination about Captain
Ray as he comes in his travelling suit of mufti, and wonder why he
should discard his uniform and sword, and the carriage is now at the
door, and great store of rice and old slippers are got in readiness, and
presently down the broad stairway she comes, metamorphosed as to
raiment, but radiant, winsome as ever; and they seize upon her and bear
her off bodily into the great parlor, and throng about her and pull her
this way, that way, every way, and kiss and maul and squeeze and rumple,
and never seem to exhaust her infinite patience or their own extravagant
capacity; but at last they begin to surge towards the door-way, and the
bridesmaids hover in circle for the closing ceremony, and she tosses her
bouquet to the ceiling amid shouts and scurry, and, marvel of marvels!
it is captured by her of the rosy cheeks and dancing eyes who has
already secured the ring and fascinated the artilleryman, and they reach
the door, and Ray has squeezed out to the steps, and some of the
emotional cousins have retreated sobbing to deserted nooks and corners
about the house, and at last she comes forth and springs lightly down
the stairs, and the rice rattles after her along the broad walk, and the
groomsmen line the gate-way and usher her into the carriage, and stand
there ready to volley them with old slippers, and Ray is just about
springing in beside her, when down comes Blake with his seven-league
strides, bearing a sobbing little sunny-haired maiden of seven in his
arms.
"Hold on!" he shouts. "This is my little sweetheart, and she shan't be
left out in the cold."
And Marion leans from the carriage, and Ray stands to one side, as the
weeping little one holds out her arms.
"Oh, Miss Ma--wion, I haven't had one kiss. They all cwowded so, and I
was the only one." And her sobs break forth afresh.
"My own little kitten!" she cries, as the child is seized and folded to
her heart. "How could I have come away without seeing my baby scholar?"
And the mite is hugged and kissed and comforted and sent back to Blake's
strong arms, rapturous because she has had Queen Marion's last embrace,
and then Ray springs to her side and the door slams, and the horses
plunge, and away they drive amid a shower of blessings and old slippers;
and they have gone a block before she notes his silence, and, turning,
sees that his eyes are closed, that a tear is glistening on his bronzed
cheek.
"Will,--husband," she whispers, lovingly, tenderly, half-reproachfully.
"What is it?" And her little hand steals into his.
For a moment there is no reply. His arm is quickly thrown around her and
she is drawn close to his breast; his lips are pressed to her forehead,
but he utters no word.
At last she hears the answer,--
"My darling. I am wondering what I ever did to deserve one moment of
your love. I am wondering what man _could_ deserve--you; and, I--was
praying God's guidance that I might never disappoint your trust."
* * * * *
It is many a long year since that bright summer. Men have come and men
have gone. Vows have been made and vows and hearts together have been
broken, and yet, some lives, though into each "some rain must fall,"
have been full of sunshine.
Only the other day there came Eastward a letter from a proud young
matron,--still young despite the cares incidental to the possession of a
lively brood, among whom there seems no higher ambition than to emulate
the exploits of a certain Master Sandy Ray, who is in pristine
knickerbockers and perennial mischief. "Jack says," writes this proud
mamma, "that with all his pranks that blessed little rascal is his
father all over, fearless, truthful, and generous, and Captain Ray
fairly idolizes him. My Jack junior is a head taller and nearly two
years older, but the two are inseparable, and it is a sight to see them
'going off scouting' on their Indian ponies. As for Marion, I believe
she is the happiest woman in the army."
Well! Mrs. Truscott ought to know, and this goes far towards
substantiation of Truscott's theory, that Marion's faith was given to a
man who was loyal in every fibre of his being, tender as he was brave,
steadfast as he was loving, and he loves her as such a woman deserves to
be loved, tenderly, faithfully, and to
THE END.