"THE SOUTHERN PLANTER'S NORTHERN BRIDE."
Over the New England hills the hazy light of a most glorious Indian
Summer was shining, while the forest trees, in their gorgeous array
of crimson and gold, lifted their tall heads as proudly as if they
heard not in the distance the voice of coming sorrows, and the
sighing of winter winds. The birds had flown to their southern home
where I fondly hoped to meet them, for I was to be a bride--Richard's
bride--and the day for my bridal had come. We had been
everywhere--Richard and I--all over the old Meadow Brook farm, sacred
to me for the many hallowed associations which clustered around it,
and very, very dear to him because it was my childhood's home. So he
told me when we stood for the last time beneath the spreading
grapevine, and I pointed out to him the place where years before I
had lain in the long green grass and wept over the fickleness of one
who was naught to me now, save a near friend.
Together we had sat in the old brown schoolhouse,--he in the big
armchair, and I--but no matter where _I_ sat when I told him of the
little romping girl with yellow hair, who had there first learned to
con the alphabet and to trace on the gaily colored maps the boundary
lines of Georgia, little dreaming that her home would one day be
there. Then when I showed him the bench where I had lain when the
faintness came over me, he wound his arm closer around me,--though
wherefore I do not know. Together too, we had gone over the old
farmhouse, he lingering longest in the room where I was born, and
when he thought I didn't see him, gathering a withered leaf from the
rose bush which grew beneath the window, and which I told him I had
planted when a little girl.
Every woman, young and old, in the neighborhood and in the village
had seen him, either face to face or from behind the folds of a
muslin curtain, some calling him "black and ugly," while others
pronounced him "splendid," and all I believe united in saying that,
"Rosa Lee had done wonders, considering she had no great amount of
beauty to do it with!"
Once, when a remark like this came to Richard's ear he smiled quietly
and said, "Rosa Lee is beautiful to me, for though her face may lack
perfect regularity of features and brilliancy of complexion, she has
beauty of a higher order, a beauty of the mind, which is seen in her
laughing blue eyes and sunny smile."
Thus you see, my reader, that Richard thought I was handsome, while
strange as it may seem there were others who said so too, and even I
was sensible of a thrill of pride, such as I suppose conscious
_beauties_ feel, when I stood up before the mirror and saw how well I
looked in my bridal dress of satin and lace--his gift, but not the
same which he had purchased for me some months before. At first I
had proposed wearing the one intended for Dr. Clayton's bride, but
Richard would not suffer it, so I gave it to Lizzy, who, as soon as
_John Thompson_ was of age, which would be in January, would probably
have need of it! This same John was to be our groomsman and much he
amused Richard by telling him of the tall, hateful boy who had once
been a terror to a little schoolma'am thirteen years of age, who now,
with a heightened bloom upon her cheek and a strange light in her
eye, stood waiting the summons to the parlor below. It came at last,
and as I laid my hand on Richard's arm he imprinted a kiss upon my
lips, "the last," he said, "he should ever give to Rosa _Lee_."
Of what came next I have only a faint remembrance. There was a
rustling of satin upon the narrow staircase, down which Lizzie and I
went a little in advance of Richard and John Thompson, the latter of
whom said something in a low tone about _hoops_ and the space they
occupied! this remark shocked _me_ inexpressibly, but Richard didn't
seem to mind it at all. As we passed the front door, the cool night
wind (for it was evening) blew over my face, reminding me of the
South, it was so soft and balmy. When we entered the parlor, I was
conscious of a goodly number of eyes fixed upon me, and as I crossed
over to a vacant spot under the looking-glass I heard more than one
say in a whisper, "Isn't she pretty?" meaning Lizzie, I suppose!
Then a man, whom I recognized as the new Episcopal clergyman (I
believe I've never said that Richard was an Episcopalian) stood up
before us and said something about "_You Richard_--and _You Rose_,"
after which Richard placed a ring upon my finger, squeezing my hand a
very little as he did so. Then, followed a short prayer, in which I
fancied the minister made a mistake in our names, inasmuch as he
spoke of _Isaac_ and _Rebecca_ instead of _Richard_ and _Rose_! This
being done I glanced at the bridegroom. There was no scowl upon his
forehead now, and I could see the light shining out all over his face
as he bent down and gently whispered "_my wife_!"
This dispelled the clouds at once, and as guest after guest crowded
around, offering their congratulations, while Charlie and John
Thompson vied with each other in repeating my new name, I began to
realize that I was no longer Rosa Lee, but _Mrs. Richard Delafield_.