A WEDDING-DAY IN BARNRIFF
If signs and omens meant anything at all, Eve Marsham and Will
Henderson were about to embark on a happy and prosperous married life.
So said the women of Barnriff on the day fixed for the wedding. The
feminine heart of Barnriff was a superstitious organ. It loved and
hugged to itself its belief in forebodings and portents. It never
failed to find the promise of disaster or good-fortune in the
trivialities of its daily life. It was so saturated with superstition
that, on the morning of the wedding, every woman in the place was on
the lookout for some recognized sign, and, finding none, probably
invented one.
And the excitement of it all. The single-minded, wholesome delight in
the thought of this wedding was as refreshing as the crisp breezes of
a first bright spring day. To a woman they reveled in the thought. It
was the first wedding actually to take place in the village for over
seven years. Everybody marrying during that period had elected to seek
the consummation of their happiness elsewhere. And as a consequence of
this enthusiasm, there was a surplus of help in getting the
meeting-room suitably clad for the occasion, and the preparations for
the "sociable" and dance which were to follow the ceremony.
Was there ever such a day in Barnriff? the women asked each other.
None of them remembered one. Then look at the day itself. True it was
the height of summer; but then who had not seen miserable weather in
summer? Look at the sun gleaming out of a perfect azure.
Mrs. Crombie, a florid dame of adequate size, if of doubtful dignity
to fill her position as spouse of Barnriff's first citizen, dragged
Mrs. Horsley, the lay preacher's wife, through the door of the Mission
Room, in which, with the others, they were both working at the
decorations, to view the sky.
"Look at it, my dear!" she cried enthusiastically. "Was there ever a
better omen for the poor dear? Not a cloud _anywhere_. Not one. And
it's deep blue, too; none of your steel blues, or one of them fady
blues running to white. Say, ain't she lucky? Now, when Crombie took
me the heavens was just pouring. Everybody said 'Tears' prompt enough,
and with reason. That's what _they_ said. But me and Crombie has never
shed a tear; no, not one. We've just laffed our way clear through to
this day, we have. Well, I won't say Crombie does a heap of laffing,
but you'll take my meaning."
And Carrie Horsley took it. She would have agreed to anything so long
as she could get a chance to empty her reservoirs of enthusiasm into
the Barnriff sea.
"You sure are a lucky woman, Kate. Maybe the rain wasn't an omen for
you at all. Maybe it was for the folks that _didn't_ marry on that
day. You see, it's easy reading these things wrong. Now I never read
omens wrong, an' the one I see this morning when I was bathin' my
little Sammy boy was dead sure. You see, I got to bathe him every
morning for his spots, which is a heap better now. And I'm real glad,
for Abe has got them spots on his mind. He guessed it was my blood
out of order. Said I needed sulphur in my tea. I kicked at that, an'
said he'd need to drink it, too. An', as he allowed he'd given up tea
on account of his digestion, nothing come of it. Of course I knew
Sammy boy's spots was on'y a teething rash, but men is so queer;
spechully if the child's the first, and a boy. Now what----"
"And the omen, dear?" inquired Mrs. Crombie, who had all a woman's
interest in babies, but was just then ensnared in the net of
superstition which held all Barnriff.
"The omen? Oh, yes, I was coming to that. You see, as I said I can
read them, an' this is one that never fails, never. I've _proved it_.
When you prove an omen, stick to it, I says--and it pays. Now, this
morning I set my stockings on the wrong--ahem--legs, and not one, but
_both_ of them was inside out. There's bad luck, as you might say. And
folks say that to escape it you must keep 'em that ways all day. But I
changed 'em! Yes, mam, I changed 'em right in the face of misfortune,
as you might say. And why? you ask. Because I've done it before, and
nothing come of it. And how did I change 'em? you ask. Why, I stood to
my knees in Sammy's bath water, an' then told Abe I'd got my feet wet
bathing him. He says change 'em right away, Carrie, he says, and, him
being my man, why I just changed 'em, seein' I swore to obey him at
the altar."
"Very wise," observed Kate Crombie, sapiently. "But this omen for
Eve----?"
"To be sure. I was just coming to it. Well, it wasn't much, as you
might say, but I've proved it before. It come when I was ladling out
Abe's cereal--he always has a cereal for breakfast. He says it eases
his tubes when he preaches for the minister--well, it come as I was
ladling out his cereal; it was oatmeal porridge, Scotch--something
come over me, an' my arm shook. It was most unusual. Well, some of the
cereal dropped right on to the floor. Kate Crombie, that porridge
dropped, an' when I looked there was a ring on the floor, a ring, my
dear. A wedding-ring of porridge, as you might say. Did I call Abe's
attention to it? I says, 'Abe,' I says, 'look!' He looked. And not
getting my meaning proper, he says, 'Call the dog an' let him lick it
up!' With that I says, 'Abe, ain't you got eyes?' And he being slow in
some things guessed he had. Then seeing I was put about some, he says,
'Carrie,' he says, 'what d'ye mean?' I see he was all of a quiver
then, and feeling kind of sorry for his ignorance I just shrugged at
him. 'Marriage bed!' says I. 'And,' I says, feeling he hadn't quite
got it, 'in Barnriff.' If that wasn't Eve's good luck, why, I ask
you."
"And when you were bathing----"
"Oh, that--that was another," Carrie replied hastily. "I'll tell
you----"
But Kate heard herself called away at that moment, and hurried back
into the hall. Her genius for administration was the ruling power in
the work of decoration, and the enthusiasm of the helpers needed her
controlling hand to get the work done by noon, which was the time
fixed for the wedding.
But omen was the talk everywhere; it was impossible to avoid it. Every
soul in the place had her omen. Jane Restless had a magpie. That very
morning the bird had stolen a leaden plummet belonging to Restless and
carried it to her cage, where she promptly set to work to hatch it
out. And she fought when Zac went to take it away. She made such a
racket when it was gone that Jane was sorry, and picked out a small
chicken's egg and put it into the bird's cage. "And, my dears," she
concluded triumphantly, "the langwidge that bird used trying to cover
up all that egg was simply awful. What about that for luck? A magpie
sittin' on a wedding-day!"
But, perhaps, of the whole list of omens that happened that morning,
Pretty Wilkes, the baker's wife, held the greatest interest for them
all. She was a woman whose austerity was renowned in the village, and
Wilkes was generally considered something of a hero. Her man had won
seventy dollars at poker the previous night, and had got very drunk in
the process. And being well aware of the vagaries of his wife's sense
of conjugal honor, had, with a desperate drunken cunning, bestowed it
over night in the coal-box, well knowing that it was one of his many
domestic pleasures to have the honor of lighting the cook-stove for
his spouse every morning. "And would you believe it, girls?" she cried
ecstatically. "If it hadn't have been Eve's wedding-day, and I'd got
to bake cakes for the sociable, and so had to be up at three this very
morning, while he was still dreaming he was a whiskey trust or some
other drunken delusion, I'd sure never have seen that wad nor touched
five cents of it, he's that close. Say, girls," she beamed, "I never
said a word to Jake for getting soused, not a word. And I let him
sleep right on, an' when he woke to light fires, and start baking, I
just give him a real elegant breakfast with cream in his coffee, an'
asked him if he'd like a bottle of rye for his head. But say, I never
see him shovel coal harder in my life than he did in that coal-box
after breakfast. I'd like to gamble he's still shovelin' it."
It certainly was a gala day in Barnriff. The festivity had even
penetrated to the veins of Silas Rocket, and possessed him of an
atmosphere which "let him in" to the extent of three rounds of
drinks to the boys before eleven o'clock. The men for the most part
took a long time with their morning ablutions. But the effect was
really impressive and quite worth the extra trouble. The result so
lightened up the dingy village, that some of them, one realized, had
considerable pretensions to good looks. And a further curious thing
about this cleansing process was that it affected their attitude
toward each other. Their talk became less familiar, a wave of
something almost like politeness set in. It suggested a clean
starched shirt just home from the laundry. They walked about
without their customary slouch, and each man radiated an atmosphere
of conscious rectitude that became almost importance. Peter Blunt,
talking to Doc Crombie, said he'd never seen so many precise creases
in broadcloth since he'd lived in Barnriff.
There was no business to be done that day. Even Smallbones was forced
to keep his doors shut, though not without audible protest. He
asserted loudly that Congress should be asked to pass a law preventing
marriages taking place in mercantile centres.
No one saw the bride and bridegroom that morning except Peter Blunt
and Annie Gay. Annie was acting as Eve's maid for the occasion. She
positively refused to let the girl dress herself, and though she could
not be her bridesmaid, had expressed her deliberate intention of being
her strong support. She and Eve had worked together on the wedding
dress, which was of simple white lawn. They had discussed together the
trousseau, and made it. They had talked and talked together over the
whole thing for two months, and she had handed Eve so much advice out
of her store of connubial wisdom, that she was not going to give up
her place now.
So it was arranged that Gay was to give Eve away, and Annie was to be
ready at the girl's elbow. That was how Annie put it. And no one but
herself knew quite what she meant. However, it seemed to be perfectly
satisfactory to Eve, and their preparations continued, a whirl of
delight to them both.
Peter Blunt was Will's best man. And he found himself left with
nothing much to do but smile upon inquirers after the bridegroom on
the eventful day. His other duties were wrested from him by anybody
and everybody in the place, which was a matter of considerable relief,
although he was willing enough. But there was one other duty which
could not be snatched from him, and it was one that weighed seriously
on his kindly mind. It was the care of the wedding-ring. That, and the
fear lest he should not produce it at exactly the right moment, gave
him much cause for anxiety. Mrs. Gay had done her duty by him. She had
marked the place in the service which he must study. And he had
studied earnestly. But as the hour of the wedding approached his
nerves tried him, and between fingering the ring in his waistcoat
pocket and repeating his "cues" over to himself, he reached a painful
condition of mental confusion which bordered closely on a breakdown.
At half-past eleven the village was abustle with people emerging from
their houses. It was Gay who sighed as he surveyed the throng. Not a
soul but had a broad smile on his or her face. And what with that, and
the liberal use of soap, such an atmosphere of health had been arrived
at that he pictured in his mind the final winding up of his affairs as
an undertaker.
Then came the saunter over to the Mission Room. Everybody sauntered;
it was as if they desired to prolong the sensation. Besides, the women
required to look about them--at other women--and the men followed in
their wake, feeling that in all such affairs they acknowledged the
feminine leadership. They felt that somehow they were there only on
sufferance, a necessary evil to be pushed into the background, like
any other domestic skeleton.
The Mission Room was packed, and the rustle of starched skirts, and
the cleanly laundry atmosphere that pervaded the place was wonderfully
wholesome. The gathering suggested nothing so much as simple human
nature dipped well in the purifying soap-suds of sympathy, rubbed out
on the washing board of religious emotion, and ironed and goffered to
a proper sheen of wholesome curiosity. They were assembled there to
witness the launching of a sister's bark upon the matrimonial waters,
and in each and every woman's mind there were thoughts picturing
themselves in a similar position. The married women reflected on past
scenes, while the maids among them possibly contemplated the time when
that ceremonial would be performed with them as the central interest.
The happiness was not all Eve's, it was probably shared by the
majority of the women present. She was the object that conjured their
minds from the dull monotony of their daily routine to realms of
happy fancy. And the picture was drawn in a setting of Romance, with
Love well in the foreground, and the guardian angel of Perfect
Happiness hovering over all. No doubt somewhere in the picture a man
was skulking, but even in the light of matrimonial experience this was
not sufficient to spoil the full enjoyment of those moments.
The bridegroom arrived. Yes, he was certainly good-looking in his new
suit from "down East." Dressed as he was he did not belong to
Barnriff. He looked what he had been brought up, of an altogether
different class to the folks gathered in the room.
One or two of the matrons shook their heads. They did not altogether
approve of him. He was well enough known for a certain unsteadiness;
then, too, there was a boyishness about his look, an irresponsibility
which was not general among the hard features of the men they knew.
Most of these thought that Eve was rather throwing herself away. They
all believed that she would have done far better to have chosen Jim
Thorpe.
Then came the bride, and necks craned and skirts rustled, and audible
whisperings were in the air. Annie Gay, following behind, heard and
saw, and a thrill of delight brought tears to her sympathetic eyes.
She knew how pretty Eve was. Had she not dressed her? Had she not
feasted her eyes on her all the morning? Had she not been a prey to a
good honest feminine envy?
And Eve's dress was almost as pretty as herself. There were just a few
touches of a delicate pink on the white lawn to match her own warmth
of coloring. Her gentle eyes were lowered modestly as she walked
through the crowd, but if their pretty brown was hidden from the
public gaze her wealth of rich, warm hair was not, and Eve's hair was
the delight and envy of every woman in Barnriff. Yes, they were all
very, very pleased with her, particularly as she, being a dressmaker
with all sorts of possibilities in the way of a wedding-dress within
her reach, had elected to wear a dress which any one of them could
have afforded, any one of them had possibly worn in her time.
The ceremony proceeded with due solemnity. The minister was all
sympathetic unction, and was further a perfect model of dignified
patience when Peter Blunt finally scrambled the ring into the
bridegroom's hand several lines later than was his "cue," but in time
to save himself from utter disgrace. And the end came emotionally, as
was only to be expected in such a community. Kate Crombie, being
leader of the village society, started it. She promptly laid her head
on Jake Wilkes' shoulder and sniveled. Nor was it until he turned his
head and fumbled out awkward words of consolation to her, that the
reek of stale rye warned her of her mistake, and she promptly came to
and looked for her husband to finish it out on.
Annie Gay wept happy tears, and laughed and cried joyously. Jane
Restless borrowed her man's bandana and blew her nose like a steam
siren, declaring that the heat always gave her catarrh. Carrie Horsley
guessed she'd never seen so pretty a bride so elegantly dressed, and
wept down the front of Eve's spotless lawn the moment she got near
enough. Mrs. Rust sniffed audibly, and hoped she would be happy, but
warned her strongly against the tribulations of an ever-increasing
family, and finally flopped heavily into a chair calling loudly for
brandy.
It was, in Doc Crombie's words, "the old hens who got emotions." It
was only the younger women, the spinsters, who laughed and flirted
with the men, giggling hysterically at the sallies ever dear at a
matrimonial function which flew from lip to lip. But then, as Pretty
Wilkes told her particular crony Mrs. Rust later on at the sociable--
"It was the same with us, my dear," she said feelingly. "Speaking
personal, before I was married, I'd got the notion, foolish-like, that
every man had kind o' got loose out of heaven, an' we women orter set
up a gilded cage around 'em, an' feed 'em cookies, an' any other
elegant fancy truck we could get our idiot hands on. They was a sort
of idol to be bowed an' scraped to. They was the rulers of our
destiny, the lords of the earth. But now I'm of the opinion that the
best man among 'em couldn't run a low down hog ranch without
disgracin' hisself."
It was not till after the ceremony was over, and before the
"sociable," which was to precede the bride and bridegroom's departure
for Will's shack up in the hills, where she was to spend a fortnight's
honeymoon before returning to Barnriff to take up again the work of
her dressmaking business, that Peter Blunt had time to think of other
things. He was not required in the ordering of the "sociable." The
women would look to that.
Before he left the Mission Room, to return to his hut to see that his
preparations were complete for Elia to take up his abode with him for
the next fortnight--he had finally obtained Eve's consent to this
arrangement--he scanned the faces of the assembled crowd closely. He
had seen nothing of Jim Thorpe during the last two months, except on
the rare occasions when the foreman of the "AZ's" had visited the
saloon. And at these times neither had mentioned Eve's wedding. Now he
was anxious to find out if Jim had been amongst the spectators at the
wedding, a matter which to his mind was of some importance. It was
impossible to ascertain from where he stood, and finally he made his
way to the bottom of the hall where the door had been opened and
people were beginning to move out. As he reached the back row benches
he bumped into the burly Gay.
"Seen Thorpe?" he inquired quickly.
Gay pointed through the door.
"Yonder," he said. "Say, let's get a drink. This dogone marryin'
racket's calc'lated to set a camel dry."
But Peter wanted Thorpe and refused the man's invitation. He was glad
Jim had come in for the wedding, and hurried out in pursuit. He caught
his man in the act of mounting his broncho.
"Say, Jim!" he exclaimed, as he hastened up.
Nor did he continue as the ranchman turned and faced him. He had never
seen quite such an expression on Jim's face before. The dark eyes were
fiercely alight, the clean-cut brows were drawn together in an
expression that might have indicated either pain or rage. His jaws
were hard set. And the pallor of his skin was plainly visible through
the rich tanning of his face.
"Well?"
The monosyllable was jerked out through clenched teeth, and had
something of defiance in it. Peter fumbled.
"I'm glad you came in," he said, a little helplessly.
The reply he received was a laugh so harsh, so bitter, that the other
was startled. It was the laugh of a beaten man who strives vainly to
hide his hurt. It was an expression of tense nerves, and told of the
agony of a heart laboring under its insufferable burden. It was the
sign of a man driven to the extremity of endurance, telling, only too
surely, of the thousand and one dangers threatening him. Peter
understood, and his own manner steadied into that calm strength which
was so much the man's real personality.
"I was just going over to my shack," he said. "You'd best walk your
horse over."
Jim shook his head.
"I'm getting back right away."
"Well, I won't press you," Peter went on, his mild eyes glancing
swiftly at the door of the Mission Room, where the villagers were
scrambling out with a great chattering and bustle. "Just bring your
plug out of the crowd, Jim," he went on. "I'd like a word before you
go." Without waiting for his friend's consent, he took the horse's
bridle and led the animal on one side. And, oddly enough, his
direction was toward the Mission Room door. Jim submitted without much
patience.
"What is it?" he demanded, as they halted within three yards of the
door. "Guess I haven't a heap of time. McLagan's busy breaking horses,
and he told me to get right out after the--ceremony."
"Sure," nodded Peter, "I won't keep you long. I'd heard there was
breaking on the 'AZ's.' That's just it. Now, I'm looking for a couple
of plugs. One for saddle, and the other to carry a pack. You see, I've
struck color in a curious place, and it promises good. But it's away
off, near twenty miles in the foot-hills. It's an outcrop I've been
tracing for quite a while, and if my calculations are right, the reef
comes right along down here through Barnriff. You see, I've been
working on those old Indian stories."
He paused, and his quick eyes saw that the crowd was lining the
doorway waiting for Eve and her husband to come out. Jim was
interested in his tale in spite of himself, yet fidgeting to get
away.
"Well?" he demanded.
"Well, I need two horses to carry myself and camp outfit. And---- Say,
here's Eve," he cried, his large hand suddenly gripping Jim's arm and
detaining him. The ranchman shook him off and made to mount his horse.
But Peter had no idea of letting him go.
"Jim," he said in a tone for the man's ear alone, "you can't go yet.
You can't push a horse through the crowd till she's gone. Say,
boy--you can't go. Here she is. Just look at her. Look at her sweet,
smiling eyes. Jim, look. That gal's real happy--now. Jim, there ain't
much happiness in this world. We're all chasing it. You and me,
too--and we don't often find it. Say, boy, you don't grudge her her
bit, do you? You'd rather see her happy, if it ain't with you,
wouldn't you? Ah, look at those eyes. She's seen us, you and me.
That's me being such a lumbering feller. And she's coming over to us;
Will, too." His grip on the man's arm tightened, and his voice dropped
to a low whisper. "Jim, you can't go, now. You've got to speak to her.
You're a man, a real live man; get a grip on that--and don't forget."
Then he released his hold, and Eve and Will came up. Eve's radiant
eyes smiled on him, but passed at once to Jim. And she left Will's arm
to move nearer to him. Peter's eyes were on the darkening brows of
her husband, and the moment Eve's hand slipped from his arm, he gave
the latter no choice but to speak to him. He began at once, and with
all his resource held him talking, while Eve demanded Jim's
congratulations.
"Jim," she said, "I haven't seen you since--since----"
"No, Eve." Then the man cleared his throat. It was parching, and he
felt that words were impossible. What trick was this Peter had played
on him? He longed to flee, yet in the face of all that crowd he could
not. He knew he must smile, and with all the power of his body he set
himself to the task.
"You see we've been up to our necks in work. I--I just snatched the
morning to see you--you married."
"And no congratulations? Oh, Jim! And I've always looked on you and
Peter as--as my best friends."
Every word she uttered struck home through the worn armor of his
restraint. He longed madly to seize this woman in his arms and tear
her from the side of his rival. The madness of his love cried out to
him, and sent the blood surging to his brain. But he fought--fought
himself with almost demoniac fury, and won.
"Eve," he said, with an intensity that must have struck her had she
not been so exalted by her own emotions, "I wish you the greatest
happiness that ever fell to a woman's lot. I hope, from the bottom of
my heart, this world'll give you everything you most wish for. And,
further, you are right to reckon Peter and me your best friends. As a
favor, I ask you that whenever our friendship can be of service to you
you'll call upon it. Good-bye and--bless you."
He had his reward, if reward it could be called. Eve thrust out one
white-gloved hand and seized his, squeezing it with a gentle pressure
that set his blood throbbing through his veins afresh.
Then the agony passed, and left him cold. The warm hand was withdrawn,
and the girl turned back to her husband. Peter relinquished his ward.
The big man's end had been accomplished. As husband and wife walked
away, and the crowd dispersed, he turned to Jim, who stood gazing
straight in front of him. He looked into his face, and the smile in
his eyes disappeared. The expression of Jim's face had changed, and
where before storm had raged in every pulse, now there was a growing
peace.
"Jim," he said gently, "about those horses----"
"Guess you won't need them now?"
Thorpe looked up into the grizzled face with a half ironical smile,
but without displeasure.
"Peter, you had me beat from the start."
But Peter shook his head.
"It's you who've won to-day, boy. Guess you've beat the devil in you
to a hash. Yes; I need those horses, an' you can get 'em for me from
McLagan."