[Illustration]
From early morning a large crowd of men, women, and children gathered
near the chapel. At the hour set for the ceremony a sigh of approval
went up as ten sleighs appeared drawn by white horses whose tails and
manes were braided with multicolored ribbons. Around the animals’ necks
tinkling bells were hung, and their harnesses were dazzling.
“Not a bishop or a governor would be ashamed of such horses,” said one
watcher to another.
In the first sleigh, driven by the eminent Popov, rode the priest with
his psalmist, at sight of whom the men uncovered their heads and the
women bowed low. Behind the priest rode Turgen with Kamov. Then came
Marfa with the children and the wife of Popov. And behind them notables
of the district with their wives.
It was a real procession, grand enough to satisfy the most critical.
Even nature rejoiced. The sun was out and the snow sparkled under its
rays.
The priest descending blessed the people, the chapel’s single bell
boomed out, and the guests crossed themselves as they knelt.
With difficulty everyone crowded into the small chapel, for no one
wanted to miss this most unusual event. There was a feeling of
expectation and awe.
Blessing the people again, the priest began to pray:
“Brothers, sisters, let us pray to the Lord God for all our people and
for the prosperity of our great land.”
It was a brief prayer, and after that the wedding service started.
Turgen felt himself to be in a trance. Never before in his life had
he been the center of so much attention. The burning candles and the
singing moved him to wonder: “Is it possible that all this is for me, a
poor Lamut? What have I done to deserve such grace from God?”
He was in fear of making an awkward movement that would mar the
service. But the priest lent him support with his kind, understanding
eyes, and from time to time when the questions were incomprehensible,
Kamov came to his assistance. Marfa beside him was solemn and composed
as she whispered what seemed to be a prayer, but when their glances
met her face lighted with a smile of quiet happiness.
To the children it was all part of an enchanting fairy tale. This was
what their mother meant when she said that Turgen would become their
father! It was no more than fitting, of course, that he should be paid
such honor. For was not Turgen the greatest of storytellers and the
kindest of men? So thinking, they crossed themselves fervently.
Still in a daze, unable either to think or to pray in such magnificent
surroundings, Turgen got through the ceremony, made a sign opposite his
name in a big book, and was taken to the home of the Popovs, where the
tables groaned under mountains of food. There was frozen and smoked
fish, steaming hot soup, slabs of venison and other meats, and finally
delicious cloudberry with frozen cream.
After a few tumblers of vodka, the place was filled with friends who
slapped him on the back and showered him with good wishes. Fortunately,
Kamov noted his embarrassment and saved him from the noisiest guests,
while at the same time he saw to it that the supply of vodka was
limited. There was enough for gayety--and no more. The presence of the
priest also was a sobering influence.
It was much later and time for the party to end when Kamov rose and
called for silence.
“Friends,” he said, “let us wish Turgen, Marfa and the children a
long and happy life. There is a custom among us to give gifts to the
newlyweds, and for my part I am giving them a fine horse, with harness
and sleigh. I hope they will do me the honor to travel to their home in
it this night.”
He was about to say something more, hesitated and then exclaimed: “Hail
to the new family!”
The company broke into enthusiastic applause. “Fine, fine! Okse! Okse!”
It was an excellent speech, everyone agreed. No one could have done
better.
Not to be outdone by the merchant, Popov now got to his feet: “And I am
making the new family a present of one of my best milk cows.”
Others, stirred to generosity by the prevailing good will, shouted
above the hubbub declaring their gifts. Afterwards all trooped out to
the yard to see Turgen off, on the invitation of Kamov who longed to
hear the horse and sleigh admired.
After seeing that Marfa and the children were made comfortable for the
ride, Turgen took his seat and to the accompaniment of gay, friendly
voices urged the horse into motion. Soon the voices were left behind.
The forest closed in on either side and there was nothing to be heard
but the pounding hoofs, the creak of runners, and the cheerful tinkle
of a bell around the horse’s neck.
Marfa touched Turgen’s arm. “It is like a dream,” she said. “Such kind
people.”
There were many things Turgen might have said in answer. But why
remember evil? So he only looked at his wife and smiled.
Aksa, who had been unusually silent, now spoke up: “Turgen--Tim and I
have decided to call you Father. May we?”
“Indeed you may,” Turgen responded heartily. “And just when did you
decide this?”
“Oh, as soon as we left the church.”
Turgen nodded. “I see. So that is settled and I suppose,” he added
slyly, “you have no other problems.”
“Yes, I have,” she retorted. “I want to know what we are going to call
this horse.”
Turgen deliberated.
“Would Friend be a good name?”
“Yes, very good!” the girl exclaimed.
Tim, impatient with his bold, talkative sister, could hold in no
longer. “It seems to me we have a great many animals. But to whom will
the mountain rams belong?”
[Illustration]
Turgen felt a surge of love for the boy. Half-jokingly and
half-seriously he answered: “Yes, we have the beginning of a fine
household. But the rams belong to God, and they will always be His. You
and I can only guard and care for them. You remember you promised.”
Then, his heart so full of happiness that he did not trust his voice
to express it, he grasped the reins and shouted to the horse: “Come
Friend. Hurry! We are going home.”
The horse quickened its pace, the children shrieked in pleasure, Marfa
and Turgen looked at each other and smiled. Not one of them doubted
that they were rushing full speed toward a new and a good life.