Impatiently our household awaited Buford's return. Jean, his bride of
two days, bore his absence, and the suspense of his still unsettled
fate, with more fortitude than I the weary waiting for the coming of the
priest, whose blessing was to give me my own--my Ellen. Each day, as I
watched her minister more and more tenderly to Aunt Martha, who was
slowly dying, and had now and then rare hours of confidential
intercourse with her, my love, which I had thought already great beyond
power of increase, grew and deepened, till every plan and aspiration
centered around her, every thought and emotion was inspired by the glad
consciousness of our mutual love.
Thomas and Nelly would not start to Kentucky while their mother lived,
nor until after Buford's fate was settled.
There was much hot, foolish talk of banishing Tories, and the English
government had been ordered to convey them to England. Through the
strong influence which General Morgan and myself had been able to enlist
for Buford, however, we hoped to procure for him, at least, a pardon.
Both households lived on week after week in anxious suspense, made
endurable by the love which brightened the lagging hours.
Meantime Ellen's home was building, planned as to its larger outlines
after my vision, but in all details modeled to meet Ellen's tastes and
wishes. Whenever the weather permitted, and it was possible for her to
leave Aunt Martha--for even the new daughter could not take Ellen's
place acceptably at the invalid's bedside--we rode together to the green
knoll with its fair prospect, which our home was to crown, to inspect
with almost affectionate interest each beam and brick, and to suggest,
alter, and replan to the bewilderment of the tolerant workmen.
Nevertheless the slow winter days dragged along, and Buford's repeated
delays and excuses wore my patience to a thin edge as spring approached.
Was I to wait forever for my long withheld happiness?
Aunt Martha had been beyond all suffering for a week, and Thomas and
Nelly were almost determined to start to their waiting field of labor
without again seeing Buford, when he returned--taking us all by surprise
at last.
But he brought no priest with him. "None would come so far," he said,
"in such unsettled times." One indeed had been at first willing, but
could not get the requisite dispensation from his superior. He, Buford,
would be obliged to go back at once to Philadelphia, but he could stand
the separation no longer and had returned for Jean. Why not Ellen and I
go with them, stop in Baltimore to be married, and then go on to
Philadelphia to help him? With me to intercede, personally, for him, he
felt sure of obtaining not only pardon but the restoration of his
estates.
I took this disappointing news across the fields to Ellen. Surely the
fate of Tantalus was not much worse than mine!
"Yes, I'll go to Baltimore with you, Donald," she said cheerily--seeming
so little disappointed over this further delay that I was for the moment
hurt. "Indeed, if you can help your brother, it is your duty to go.
Moreover, I shall like a wedding journey, and I have always wanted to go
to Baltimore and to Philadelphia."
That put a new phase on the matter. Since it would give Ellen pleasure
to take the journey, and we would take it together, I could endure a few
more days of waiting. And a happy journey it was, in our own four-horse
post chaise, notwithstanding the roads were muddy, and the March weather
precarious. Still more happy its ending.
Ellen and I were married in the Cathedral by the solemn ceremony of the
Catholic Church, with only the priest's assistance--the choir boys, and
Jean and Buford for witnesses. Afterwards Ellen went into the
confessional, while I waited alone for her in the dimly lighted,
reverence-inspiring edifice. She joined me, presently, her face both
tender and radiant.
"The good Father, Donald," she whispered, slipping a warm little hand
into mine, "bade me obey my husband, and follow my conscience in all
things--even should that lead me into becoming a Protestant; for I must
not let my religion come between me and my wifely duty, since marriage
was a God appointed sacrament. You must never again say, my husband,
that the Catholic faith is bigoted and superstitious."
"I trust I shall never say anything to wound my dear wife," I answered;
"all her principles and feelings are sacred to me. As to her being a
Protestant, that she shall never be unless she truly wishes it. As a
loyal Catholic, I have learned to love her, and if she is happier still
to be one, I shall love her none the less for that," and I kissed first
the sweet, earnest face upturned to mine, and then the tiny jeweled
cross which had been one of my gifts to her. Three weeks later Buford's
pardon had been obtained, with a full restoration of his estates. He
would return to Philadelphia, occupy the family mansion, and resume his
father's business, for which indeed he had been destined and trained.
But, first, he must take Jean back to her mother, as he had promised,
and gain her consent to really giving up her only daughter. Buford's
supposed poverty, indeed, had been a strong argument in his favor with
my mother. If he had nothing, she argued, why should they not settle
down on the home place? It was big enough for all and then she and Jean
would never be separated. Buford's good fortune would be, I feared, a
sad blow to dear mother. But, then, Ellen and I would live not far away,
and she could often visit us; while Jean affirmed that her mother should
spend part of each year in Philadelphia--for, after all, it was not much
of a journey, with good stage roads all the way.
* * * * *
This is the true story of a somewhat eventful life, and I must e'en tell
it as it happened. I cannot then conclude it by saying that Ellen and I
lived in perfect happiness ever after. In truth we had our sorrows and
disappointments, such sorrows and disappointments as are common to
mortals--even our differences at times.
Yet, looking back upon our united lives, I see that they have been full
and happy--almost realizing the radiant vision of my youth.
One of the incidents of it which gave us much pleasure, was a visit,
some years after our marriage, from good Father Gibault. His love for
Ellen and hers for him was almost that of a real father and daughter,
and his interest in our children that of a grandfather. Especially did
he take delight in the manly blue-eyed son we had named for him. Before
he bade us farewell, to return to his beloved land of Illinois, he
absolved Ellen finally from her allegiance to her old faith, bidding
her, since her conscience allowed it, be one in creed also with the
husband to whom she was fully united in life and purpose. Though devoted
priest of a faith, held bigoted by some, he too believed that creeds are
man made, and that God lives not in doctrines, but in our hearts and in
our deeds.