THE WEDDING.
Many times Aunt Betsy had hobbled to the door, and shading her eyes with
her hand, had looked wistfully up the hill in quest of Mark and Helen,
wondering why they stayed out so long, when they must know the sun was
nearly down, and wondering next if Morris would never go home about his
business and give Katy a chance to dress.
Poor, worried, unfortunate Aunt Betsy! her foot was very lame, and her
arm was badly bruised; but she bandaged it up in camphor and sugar,
wincing at the terrible smart when the wash was at first applied, but
saying to Morris, who asked if it did not hurt cruelly: "Yes, it hurts
some, but nothin' to what the poor soldiers is hurt; and I wouldn't mind
it an atom if I hadn't broke the dish with the heathenish name."
And, indeed, the loss of the charlotte russe did weigh heavily on Aunt
Betsy's mind, proving the straw too many, and only Bell Cameron, who,
with Lieutenant Bob, had come on the same train with Mark and Mrs.
Banker, had power to reassure her by telling her that charlotte russe
was not essential at all; that, for her part, she was glad to have it
out of sight, as it was her especial detestation. This comforted Aunt
Betsy, who had made many of her preparations for the wedding with a
direct reference to the "city folks" so confidently expected. The
substantials were for the neighbors--those who would have no supper at
home, but reserve their appetites for the wedding viands; while the
delicacies, the knickknacks, were designed exclusively for "them
stuck-up critters, the Camerons," not one of whom, it now seemed, would
be present except Bell. Father Cameron was not able to come; he would
gladly have done so if he could, and he sent his blessing to Katy, with
the wish that she might be very happy in her second married life. This
message Bell gave to Katy, and then tried to form some reasonable excuse
for her mother's and Juno's absence, for she could not tell how
haughtily both had declined the invitation, Juno finding fault because
Katy had not waited longer than two years, and Mrs. Cameron blaming her
for being so very vulgar as to be married at home, instead of in church,
where she ought to be. On this point Katy herself had been a little
disquieted, feeling how much more appropriate it was that she be married
in the church, but shrinking from standing again a bride at the same
altar where she had once before been made a wife. She could not do it,
she finally decided; there would be too many harrowing memories crowding
upon her mind, and as Morris did not particularly care where the
ceremony was performed, provided he got Katy at the last, it was settled
that it should be at the house, even though Mrs. Deacon Bannister did
say that she had supposed Dr. Grant too High Church to do anything as
Presbyterianny as that.
Bell's arrival at the farmhouse was timely, for the unexpected
appearance in their midst of one whom they looked upon as surely dead
had stunned and bewildered the family to such an extent that it needed
the presence of just such a matter-of-fact, self-possessed woman as
Bell to bring things back to their original shape. It was wonderful how
the city girl fitted into the vacant niches, seeing to everything which
needed seeing to, and still finding time to steal away alone with
Lieutenant Bob, who kept her in a painful state of blushing by
constantly wishing it was his bridal night as well as Dr. Grant's, and
by inveighing against the weeks which must still intervene ere the day
appointed for the grand ceremony to take place in Grace Church, and
which was to make Bell his wife.
* * * * *
"Ain't Morris ever goin' home? He won't be dressed in time, as sure as
the world, if he stays here much longer," Aunt Betsy said a dozen times,
until at last her patience was exhausted, and going boldly in where he
was, she bade him start in at once, or he would not have time to put on
his best coat and jacket, let alone Katy's changin' her clothes.
Thus importuned, Morris quitted the house, just as Mark and Helen came
slowly up, their faces happier, if possible, than his own, and telling
of the great joy which had succeeded their dark night of sorrow.
* * * * *
"Come in here, Helen, I have something to show you," Mrs. Banker said,
after she had again embraced and wept over her long-lost son, whose
return was not quite real yet, and leading her daughter-in-law to her
bedroom, she showed her the elegant white silk which had been made for
her just after her marriage, two years before, and which with careful
forethought she had brought with her, as more suitable now for the
wedding than Helen's mourning weeds.
"I made the most of my time last night after receiving Mark's telegram,
and had it modernized somewhat," she said. "And I brought your pearls,
for you know you will be most as much a bride as Katy, and I have a
pride in seeing my son's wife appropriately dressed."
Far different were Helen's feelings now, as she donned the elegant
dress, from what they had been the first and only time she wore it. Then
the bridegroom was where danger and death lay thickly around his
pathway, but now he was at her side, kissing her cheek where the roses
were burning so brightly, and calling still deeper blushes to her face
by his teasing observations and humorous ridicule of his own personal
appearance. Would she not feel ashamed of him, in his soiled, faded
uniform? And would she not cast longing glances at her handsome
brother-in-law and the stylish Lieutenant Bob? But Helen was proud of
her husband's uniform, as a badge of what he had suffered, and when the
folds of her rich dress swept against it, she did not draw them away,
but nestled closer to him, leaning upon his shoulder, and when no one
was near, winding her soft arms about his neck, whispering: "My darling
Mark, I cannot make it real yet."
Softly the night shadows fell around the farmhouse, and in the rooms
below a rather mixed group was assembled--all the _élite_ of the town,
with many of Aunt Betsy's neighbors, and the doctor's patients, who had
come to see their loved physician married, rejoicing in his happiness,
and glad that the mistress of Linwood was not to be a stranger, but the
young girl who had grown up in their midst, and who, by suffering and
sorrow, had been molded into a noble woman, worthy of Dr. Grant. She was
ready now for her second bridal, and she looked like some pure waxen
figure in her dress of white, with no vestige of color in her face, and
her great blue eyes shining with a brilliancy which made them almost
black. Occasionally, as her thoughts leaped backward over a period of
almost six years, a tear trembled on her long eyelashes, but Morris, as
often as he saw it, kissed it away, asking if she were sorry.
"Oh, no, not sorry that I am to be your wife," she answered; "but it is
not possible that I should forget entirely the roughness of the road
which has led me to you."
"They are waiting for you," was said several times ere the parties
waited for were quite ready to go; but everything was done at last, and
slowly down the stairs passed Mark Ray and Helen, Lieutenant Bob and
Bell, with Dr. Grant and Katy, whose face, as she stood again before the
clergyman and spoke her marriage vows, shone with a strange, peaceful
light, which made it seem to those who gazed upon her like the face of
some pure angel.
There was no thought then of that deathbed in Georgetown--no thought of
Greenwood, or the little grave in Silverton, where the crocuses and
hyacinths were blossoming--no thought of anything save the man at her
side, whose voice was so full and earnest, as it made the responses, and
who gently pressed the little hand as he fitted the wedding ring. It was
over at last, and Katy was Morris' wife, blushing now as they called her
Mrs. Grant, and putting up her rosebud lips to be kissed by all who
claimed that privilege. Helen, too, came in for her share of attention,
and the opinion of the guests as to the beauty of the respective brides,
as they were termed, was pretty equally divided; both were beautiful,
and both bore traces of the suffering and suspense which had purified
and made them better.
In heavy, rustling silk, which actually trailed an inch, and cap of real
lace, Aunt Betsy hobbled among the crowd, her face aglow with the
satisfaction she felt at seeing her nieces so much admired and
appreciated, and her heart so full of good will and toleration that
after the supper was over, and she fancied a few of the younger ones
were beginning to feel tired, she suggested to Bell that she might start
a dance if she had a mind to, either in the kitchen or parlor, it did
not matter where, and "Ephraim would not care an atom," a remark which
brought from Mrs. Deacon Bannister a most withering look of reproach,
and slightly endangered Aunt Betsy's standing in the church. Perhaps
Bell Cameron suspected as much, for she replied that they were having a
splendid time as it was, and as Dr. Grant did not dance, they might as
well dispense with it altogether. And so it happened that there was no
dancing at Katy's wedding, and Uncle Ephraim escaped the reproof which
his brother deacon would have felt called upon to give him had he
permitted so grievous a sin, while Mrs. Deacon Bannister, who, at the
first trip of the toe, would have felt it her duty to depart, lest her
eyes should look upon the evil thing, was thus permitted to remain until
"it was out," and the guests retired _en masse_ to their respective
homes.
* * * * *
The carriage from Linwood stood at the farmhouse door, and Katy,
wrapped in shawls and hood, was ready to go with her husband to the home
where she knew so much of rest and quiet awaited her. There were no
tears shed at this parting, for their darling was not going far away;
her new home was just across the fields, and through the soft moonlight
they could see its chimney tops, and trace for some little distance the
road over which the carriage went, bearing her swiftly on, her hands
fast locked in Morris', her head upon his arm, and the hearts of both
too full of bliss for either to speak a word until Linwood was reached,
when, folding Katy to his bosom in a passionate embrace, Morris said to
her:
"We are home at last--your home and mine, my precious, precious wife."
The village clock was striking one, and the sound echoed across the
waters of Fairy Pond, awakening, in his marshy bed, a sleeping frog, who
sent forth upon the warm, still air a musical, plaintive note as Morris
bore his bride over the threshold and into the library, where on the
hearth a cheerful fire was blazing. He had ordered it kindled there, for
he had a fancy ere he slept to see fulfilled the dream he had dreamed so
often, of Katy sitting in the chair across the hearth, where he placed
her now, himself removing her shawl and hood, then kneeling down before
her, with his arm around her waist and his head upon her shoulder, he
prayed aloud to the God who had brought her there, asking His blessing
upon their future life, and dedicating himself and all he had to his
Master's service. It is such prayer which God delights to answer; and a
peace, deeper than they had yet known, fell upon that newly-married pair
at Linwood.