“MERRY AS A MARRIAGE BELL”
Congress adjourned on the fourth of March, and within a week from that
time the crowd that always follows in their wake left Washington, and
the city dropped into comparative repose; for not only were all the
receptions over, the multitude departed, but the season of Lent was on.
The Forces enjoyed this time of rest from the world. They attended old
St. John’s Church three times a week, and lived quietly between whiles,
looking forward with pleasant anticipations to the arrival of Le, and to
all the delights that were expected to follow that event.
Le arrived on Easter Sunday morning. His ship had reached New York on
the day before. He had obtained leave of absence, and he had only time
to catch the latest train to Washington, “on the run,” leaving all his
luggage behind him and having not a moment to telegraph his friends of
his approach.
He reached the city at twelve o’clock midnight, and not wishing to wake
the family up at that hour, he took a room at a hotel.
But by sunrise the next morning he was up and dressed, had paid his
bill, taken a hack from the sidewalk, and was on his way to P Street
Circle, to look up his uncle’s city house.
That Easter Sunday the family were assembled around the table in the
pleasant breakfast room of their house, which looked out upon the
circle, where already the parterres were brilliant and fragrant with the
earliest spring flowers—hyacinths, pink, blue and white; daffodils
golden; tulips flame and fire color; jonquils, like golden cups in
silver saucers; bridal wreath; yellow currant burning bush—all budding,
but not yet blooming. All the grass of a tender emerald green. All the
trees just bursting into leaf. Birds singing only as they sing on a
spring morning.
“What a beautiful Easter Sunday is this! Not a cloud in all the sky!”
said Odalite, as she turned from the window to take her seat at the
table.
Mr. Force stood up to ask a blessing, but the doorbell rang sharply and
he sat down again.
And before any one could put a question the door flew open and Le rushed
in like the wind.
Every one jumped so suddenly from the table that chairs were overturned
in their haste to welcome the wanderer.
There followed much handshaking, hugging and kissing, rather mixed and
confused, until Le found Odalite in his arms. Then he came to a stop and
held her there while he answered questions.
“Hadn’t an idea your ship was near port. When did you get in?” inquired
Mr. Force.
“Anchored yesterday at half-past two, got leave, and caught the three
train. Hadn’t time to telegraph, or even to pack a portmanteau. Can any
one lend me the loan of a clean change of linen?” inquired Le, with a
look of distress.
“Of course! You shall go to my room and help yourself. But you don’t
look much in want,” replied his uncle.
“Now sit down, Le. We were just about to begin breakfast when you came
in,” said Mrs. Force, as the manservant in attendance placed another
chair at the table for the newcomer.
There was silence for a few moments while Mr. Force said the grace.
Then the confusion of Babel began again. All asked questions, and
without waiting for them to be answered, asked others. Wynnette and
Elva, who were home for the Easter holidays, seemed to run a race with
their tongues as to which could talk fastest and most. Mr. and Mrs.
Force had much to ask and to tell. Odalite, and even quaint, little
Rosemary, put in a word when they could get a chance.
It is always so when a sailor returns from a long voyage to his family
circle.
There was but little breakfast eaten that morning, though they lingered
long at the table—so long that, at length, Mrs. Force felt obliged to
ask the question:
“Are you going to church with us this morning, Le?”
“Of course I am, auntie. I should be worse than a heathen not to go, if
it were only to give thanks for my safe and joyful arrival at home,”
replied the young man.
“That is right, my boy. I like to see you hold fast to the faith and
practice of your forefathers in this untoward generation,” said Mr.
Force.
“Well, then, since you are going with us, Le, dear, you had better get
ready. We have but little time,” advised the lady.
“Come with me to my room, Le. My underclothing will fit you well enough,
I am sure. Bless you, my boy! you have caught up to me in size,” said
Mr. Force, as he arose from the table to conduct the midshipman.
The ladies of the circle also went to their chambers to get ready for
church.
And this was Le’s welcome home.
Wynnette, Elva and Rosemary had a week’s holiday with which they were
all the more delighted because of their dear Le’s presence.
Although, as in love and duty bound, he devoted himself almost
exclusively to Odalite, yet he found time to take a little notice of his
younger friends—to tell them how much they had grown, how greatly they
had improved, how womanly they had become since he saw them three years
before, and so on and so on.
During this week the preparations for Leonidas and Odalite’s marriage
were discussed.
It was decided that the wedding should take place on the first of April.
“All Fools’ Day! What a commentary!” exclaimed Wynnette, when she
learned the decision.
No one had thought of its being All Fools’ Day when the date was fixed;
and now that it was so fixed, the circumstance was somewhat too trivial
to warrant any change in the time. So on the first of April the happy
event was appointed to come off.
“I should like to ask Roland Bayard to come up to be my groomsman,” said
Le, to no one in particular, since he spoke in full family council.
“Why, I thought he was at sea!” said Mr. Force.
“No, uncle, he has just got home. I had a letter from him this morning.
He had seen the arrival of my ship in the papers and naturally addressed
his letters here. I suppose his aunt gave him your address.”
“Quite likely. She knew it.”
“Queer, isn’t it?” ruminated Le. “Roland and I do happen to make our
voyages and returns simultaneously, or nearly so, and without any
possibility of intended concert of action.”
“Well, if you happen to start about the same time for a voyage of the
same length, you will be apt to return about the same time, I suppose!”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“And now, Le, my boy, in regard to inviting young Bayard here, do so, by
all means. Ask any of your particular friends. And ask them to come a
day or so beforehand, so as to be ready for the occasion.”
“Thank you, Uncle Abel; but I think Roland is the only one whom I care
to invite.”
“Does the liberty you have given Le include us all, papa, dear?”
inquired Wynnette.
“In what respect, my dear? I don’t understand you.”
“May each of us invite one or more very particular friends?” Wynnette
inquired.
“You must consult your mother and Odalite about that,” replied Mr.
Force, good-humoredly.
“Whom do you wish to ask, Wynnette?” inquired her mother.
“Why, only the Grandieres and the Elks.”
“You mean the young people, of course?”
“Yes, mamma, dear.”
“Let me see. There are about eight of them, all counted—six girls and
two boys. Well, my dear, you know this wedding is to be a private one,
in our own parlor, and no company is to be specially invited to the
wedding. But you may write and ask your young friends to come and make
us a visit for a week or two, so that they may be in the house about
that time.”
“Oh, thank you, mamma, dear! that will be best of all!” exclaimed
Wynnette, in delight.
And that same day she wrote to Oldfield and to Hill Grove to ask the
young Grandieres and Elks to come up to Washington about the last of
March to make a visit, mentioning that Leonidas had got home from sea,
and that he and Odalite were to be married on the first of April, and
hoping that they would come in time to witness the wedding, which was to
be a very quiet one in their own parlor.
Wynnette knew that such letters as these would insure a visit from those
to whom they were written. And she was right. In a very few days came
answers from Oldfield and Grove Hill. All the invited accepted the
invitations, and would report in Washington on the thirtieth of March,
two days before the wedding.
“Let us see,” again reflected Mrs. Force. “There are nine guests coming
in all—counting six Grandieres, two Elks and young Bayard. Of them six
are young girls, and three are young men. How shall we dispose of them?”
“Oh, mamma, dear, we must pack, like we used to do in the country. Elva
and Rosemary and myself can sleep in one room. The four Grandiere girls
can sleep in the large double-bedded room. The two little Elks can have
the little hall chamber and sleep together. And Roland Bayard and the
Grandiere boys and Le can have the large attic room, and sleep on cots.
Never mind where you put young men and boys, you know!” said this little
household strategist.
“Well, we must do the best we can for them,” replied the lady, and she
turned her attention to other matters—to the details of Odalite’s simple
trousseau, which was only to consist now in a white silk wedding dress,
a gray poplin traveling dress, a navy-blue cloth suit for the voyage
across the ocean, and a few plain, home dresses and wrappers, with
plenty of underclothing.
All the preparations were completed on the morning of the thirtieth.
Even Odalite’s trunk was packed, nothing being left out but her bridal
dress and traveling suits.
Just before tea on the afternoon of the thirtieth, there was the
expected inroad of the Goths and Vandals, in the forms of the young
people from Oldfield, Grove Hill and Forest Rest.
They all traveled by the same train and arrived at the same hour—a
laughing, talking, hilarious, uproarious troupe.
They were met with a joyous and affectionate welcome.
“And where is my little Rosemary? Where is my quaint, small, young
woman?” inquired Roland, when he had shaken hands with all the rest.
“Why, here she is! Here she has been all the while!” exclaimed Wynnette,
dragging the shy girl forward.
“What! not that tall young lady? Miss Hedge, I beg ten thousand pardons.
I was looking for a little girl I used to ride on my shoulder!”
exclaimed Roland, in affected dismay, as he took her tiny hand and
raised it to his lips.
Now, Rosemary was not tall, except in comparison to what she had once
been. Rosemary was still small and slight—“a mere slip of a girl,” as
every one called her. She colored and cast down her eyes when her old
friend pretended to treat her as a young lady.
He saw her slight distress and vexation, and immediately changed his
tune.
“Why!—yes!—sure enough! This is my little Rosemary, after all!” he
exclaimed.
And then she looked up shyly and smiled.
“Come! Let me show you your rooms, girls. And you, Leonidas, convey
these young men heavenward. You young Shanghais will have to roost in
the loft at the top of the house. Beg pardon. I mean you young gentlemen
will be required to repose in the attic chambers of the mansion. Indeed,
we shall all have to be packed like herrings in a barrel. Beg pardon,
again. I mean like guests at a hotel on Inauguration Day. But the more
the merrier, my dears,” sang Wynnette, as she danced upstairs in advance
of her party.
Have you ever been in the aviary at the zoo, when all the birds have
been singing, chattering and screaming at once?
If you have, you will have some idea of the condition of Mrs. Force’s
house on this first evening of their young guests’ arrival.
They chattered in their rooms, they chattered all the way down the
stairs, and they chattered around the tea table.
The extension table in the dining room had been drawn out to its full
length to accommodate the party of sixteen that sat down to tea.
All these young people sitting opposite each other at the long board,
and under the full blaze of the chandeliers, showed how much they had
grown, changed and improved during the three years which had elapsed
since their last meeting and parting in the country.
Odalite was the most beautiful of the group. She was now nineteen years
of age; her elegant form was rather more rounded, her pure complexion
brighter, her eyes darker, and her hair richer; her voice was deeper and
sweeter; and all her motions more graceful than before.
Wynnette was seventeen; tall, thin and dark; with the same mischievous
eyes, snub nose, full, ripe lips, and short, curly, black hair.
Elva was fifteen, tall for her age, thin, fair, with soft, blue eyes,
and light, flaxen hair.
Rosemary Hedge was also fifteen years old, but very tiny for her age,
with slender limbs and little mites of hands and feet, a small head
covered with fine, silky black hair, a fair, clear, bright complexion,
and large, soft, tender blue eyes.
The four Grandiere girls—Sophy, Nanny, Polly and Peggy—whose ages ranged
from fourteen to twenty, were all of the same type, with well-grown and
well-rounded forms, fair complexions, red cheeks and lips, blue eyes,
and brown hair; except for difference in age and size, never were four
sisters more alike.
The two Grandiere boys, whose ages were nineteen and twenty-two, were
like the girls, with the same well-knit forms, blooming complexions,
blue eyes and brown hair—only their features were on a larger and
coarser scale, and their faces were freckled and sunburned.
The two Elk girls, Melina and Erina, were respectively thirteen and
sixteen years old, and both bore a certain family likeness to Rosemary
Hedge, except that they were not so tiny in form or dainty and delicate
in features and complexion. They had the large blue eyes and the fine
black hair, but their faces were thin and their complexions sallow.
Perhaps the most improved of all these young people during the preceding
three years were the two gallant young sailors, Leonidas Force and
Roland Bayard, with their tall forms, broad shoulders, deep chests, fine
heads, handsome faces and full beards—only with a difference; for Le’s
hair and beard were of a rich, silky brown, while Roland’s, alas! were
of a rough, fierce red.
Upon the whole, the group of young folk around the table was very fair.