A WEDDING DAY
At last the morning dawned. Berenice Morton sprang out of bed and
hastened to scan the sky. Roseate beauty, softened by a line of tinted
clouds, gladdened all the east. The rugged outline of the mountains
lay clear-cut against the flaming sky. The sun heralded the new-born
day with wondrous grandeur. The entranced spectator turned with an
exclamation of joy, but discovered that Bess was still in profound
sleep. She took a step forward to awaken her, but refrained, as she
thought how worn out the girl must be after all the strenuous labor of
decorating the rooms the day before.
So soundly had she herself slept that she did not know that Bess had
not closed her eyes until dawn. All through the night her mind ran from
one thing to another. Once she was seized by the same pain, grown so
frequent of late, which filled her with fear,—but fear for what she
could not analyze.
Berenice quietly drew the shades and, hastily dressing, left the room.
Mrs. West also thought it wise to let the sleeper rest as long as she
could, that she might be able to meet the strain of the day. At the
first stir she heard, Berenice ran upstairs with a dainty breakfast. It
was late, dreadfully so—nine o’clock, Bess noticed, as she stretched
and yawned with no apparent concern.
“Come, Old Sleepy! You better hurry, or Mr. Davis will have to be
entertained by me when he arrives!”
“Berenice, please find James and tell him that he must receive
and entertain—a—Mr. Davis, as I shall be too busy getting into my
‘gordeous’ robes, as ‘Peter Pan’ would say,” said Bess, half jestingly,
as she began to make her toilet. “Hurry back, dear, as I cannot dress
without you,” she called from the banister as Berenice ran down the
steps.
Presently Mrs. West came into the girl’s room with the announcement
that everything was ready,—the luncheon table, the salad, the
dessert,—everything. Father Damien had come an hour ago and was resting
in the library.
“Now, all we are waiting for is the bridegroom and the hour of noon,”
laughed Mrs. West, as she took Bess into her motherly arms and held her
tightly for a moment.
Bess snuggled close and said, with half a sigh, “Oh—h—little Mother; I
half wish he would not come! I am afraid, I dread assuming this awful
responsibility!”
“Why—child—how strangely you talk! Surely, you are not in earnest!”
“I have had the strangest feeling in regard to—to my going away ever
since I promised to go. I cannot bear to leave you—my home, this
happiness, these hills—all—” The girl buried her face against the
woman’s neck and burst into tears.
“Bess, dear, no more tears today. Here comes Berenice; don’t let her
see!”
But the eyes were not dried quickly enough, for as Berenice came
hurrying into the room she exclaimed: “So you’re like all the other
brides; they all have to have a weep, I’m told,” and she gave Bess
a vigorous shake as she continued: “Cheer up, dearie—for—‘behold,
the bridegroom co-om-eth.’” She sang the familiar air in closing her
adjuration.
Berenice hastened about, putting on the last few touches, and then
quickly made her own toilet.
“How are you impressed with my—‘man’?” asked Bess.
“James did not give me an opportunity to see him, but hurried him off
to make his own ‘gordeous’ toilet. We shall have to wait now until you
are Mr. and Mrs. Davis.”
“Oh!” came from Bess’ lips in a startled breath, as again she felt a
sharp pain at her heart.
James had been instructed that exactly at twelve o’clock he, with Mr.
Davis, should proceed to the tree and wait for Bess and her bridesmaid
there at the rock. Mrs. West had watched until the last moment for her
son’s return, but he had not come, although one of the cowboys said he
thought he had seen him early in the morning. She decided it must have
been one of the other men passing through the yards.
Bess heard the stroke of twelve, then she listened until the two men
had passed down the steps. Mrs. West, dressed in soft white, met the
two young women as they reached the foot of the stairs.
Berenice wore a pale pink gown and carried a bunch of autumn leaves and
flowers. The simple dress which Bess wore made her look more girlish
than ever. About her soft, brown hair was entwined the waxen leaves of
the kinnikinick with its scarlet drops, while long, tendril branches
of the same were fastened from her shoulder to her waist. Somehow it
seemed more fitting for an autumn bride than June roses, and Bess had
insisted upon wearing the kinnikinick in preference to anything else.
Half in earnest, she said she wished she might also wear her “precious”
beaded belt! As she stopped a moment before going out-of-doors, Mrs.
West kissed her tenderly and gave her hand a pressure of love and
strength, then led the way to where the others, together with Father
Damien, stood waiting.
“The birds are the orchestra! See that beautiful leaf! Hear that saucy
squirrel!” said Bess, disconnectedly, as she walked slowly forward,
clinging to her friend’s arm.
Berenice’s attention was fixed in wonderment upon several Indians with
squaws standing about among the trees. They had heard of the agent’s
prospective marriage and decided to attend, in hopes of receiving some
of the “muck-a-muck” and participating in the “big eat.”
As Bess lifted her eyes to Dave Davis’ face when she took his extended
hand and was assisted upon the broad surface of the rock, she wondered
at the deep love it revealed.
“It has been so very long, dear,” he whispered, as his lips brushed her
hair.
The priest had opened his prayer book, and, waiting an instant for the
pair to face about, began: “_In nomine patris, et filii, et_—”
A smothered cry came from Bess’ lips the next moment, as she looked
at the face of Berenice Morton. The visitor was still clinging to
the hand James had given her to lead her to her position near Bess.
Great veins throbbed at her temples, her mouth was opened wide, while
horror-stricken eyes stared directly at Dave Davis. Mrs. West sprang
quickly to the girl’s side and assisted James in supporting her
quavering form.
“Go on!” commanded Davis to the disturbed priest, with asperity.
“Wait!” came the countermand from a resolute voice by his side.
With supreme effort Berenice Morton straightened to her full height,
flung her arm, with wide extended fingers, directly at the scarlet,
angry face of Dave Davis. For a single brief instant there was an
awful silence. All seemed suddenly turned into insensible stone!
“You—Dayton Davies! My own sister’s betrayer!” came in a shriek.
Suddenly an ashen grey spread over the accused man’s countenance, while
Bess Fletcher, as the dreadful denouement forced itself into her soul,
reeled back against the tree.
As she clutched at her heart the scarlet berries of the kinnikinick
squeezed through her fingers, like huge drops of bright blood. Her face
was as white as her gown; her lips were rigid and pale. She saw, with
impassive concern, Berenice’s fainting form supported by James and Mrs.
West, placed upon the carpet of pine needles. It had been scarcely a
moment since the terrible words had stunned them all, and yet it seemed
hours.
“A mistake, Father Damien, continue!” said Davis, with a voice hoarse
with anger.
Bess raised her hand with a forbidding gesture, and the priest, seeing
the look of determination upon the girl’s face, needed no words to tell
him that his services were not needed.
He softly closed his book and moved silently away.
Dave Davis stepped doggedly from the rock and turned with parted lips.
“Go—go now!” cried Bess. “Atone, if you can, for that other woman’s
living death! Restore, if you can, her loved ones’ broken hearts!
Recall from that grave out yonder the victim of your perfidy! Smile,
too—if you will, at how nearly—” but her throat closed convulsively.
As soon as he had placed Berenice Morton on the ground, with Mrs. West
administering to her, James rose to come to his sister’s aid. He was
held spell-bound by her tragic attitude, until the storm of censure
which she hurled at the passive man had spent its fury. Springing to
the rock he placed a protecting arm about his sister. In a flash he had
divined the reason of Henry West’s bitter enmity, and wondered how he
had refrained from shooting the betrayer of girls.
Dave Davis tried in vain again to speak, but at the first words he
uttered he was silenced by James saying hotly:
“You better go quickly—before I—before Henry West returns—or take the
consequences!”
“Tell that Indian for me, please,” Davis sneered, as he turned to
leave, “that this is his doing; that the score shall not remain
unsettled—long!”
Without even glancing again at Bess, he strode forward and motioned
to one of the perplexed Indians, who, after a few brief instructions,
hastened toward the stables.
Bess aided Mrs. West and James in resuscitating the unconscious girl,
and by the time she could walk and was removed to the house, all sign
of Dave Davis had vanished.
Leaving James with her friend, Bess hurried up to her room, where
no one might witness her uncontrollable passion. Not a tear came to
moisten her burning eyes, not a sob to stifle the pounding blood at
her temples. For several moments she paced rapidly back and forth, her
hands shut tight, her nostrils wide with heavy breathing; then, falling
upon her knees beside the bed, she buried her face in her arms.
Mrs. West cautiously opened the door and was about to enter to comfort
the girl, when she paused as the words of a prayer faintly reached
her: “Oh! My God, I thank Thee for preserving me this day from danger
worse than death! Grant peace to those tender souls who guarded me from
a fate like their own. Keep me always near Thee; help me to solace
those who suffer.” She did not enter the room, for she knew the Great
Comforter was there before her.
It was fully an hour when those in the living-room heard Bess
descending the stairs. James hurried anxiously forward as she entered
the room dressed for riding.
“There—James, please do not look so. See! I—even I—am smiling! I do
not need sympathy—I want congratulations. Think how much worse it
might have been! Will you get Mauchacho for me, please? Do you mind,
Bee, if I go for a ride? Please, little Mother, do not grow anxious,
for I shall not return until I am feeling—feeling rested. No, I am
not hungry—I could not eat,” she added, in response to Mrs. West’s
request that she first partake of luncheon. Pressing her lips to the
still pallid brow on the pillow, and holding Mrs. West in her arms as
she kissed her, she hastened out of the house. Presently James brought
her horse and watched her silently as she rode out of sight toward the
north, and as he turned with a sigh to re-enter the house he thought:
“I wish I had as much of the Fletcher grit as she has.”