Early in December, in a snow-storm, Sue Lake was married to John Gesner.
"Some things are incomprehensible," declared Mrs. Wadsworth,
plaintively, looking at the snow, "to think that she should marry an old
beau of mine. So soon, too. How a widow can ever think--"
Tessa refused to see her married until the last moment. "You must be a
good friend to me through thick and thin," Sue coaxed, and Tessa went
the evening before; but the evening was long and silent, for Tessa could
not talk or admire Sue's outfit. The pretty brown and crimson chairs
were again wheeled before the back parlor grate; but when Sue went out
to attend for the last time to her father's lunch, there was no
hilarious entrance, and Tessa's tears dropped because they would not be
restrained.
Sue's talk and laughter sounded through the hall; but Tessa could hear
only "Good-by, Mystic; you and I will have our talk another day."
"Kiss me and say you are glad," prayed Sue, when they went up to Sue's
chamber to exchange white silk and orange blossoms for travelling
attire. "It's horrid for you to look like a funeral. Mrs. Towne looks
glum, and Miss Gesner had to cry!"
The snow-flakes were falling and melting, as they were falling and
melting the day that Sue sang for Dr. Lake; there was a fire in the
air-tight to-day, and by some chance the low rocker had been pushed
close to the side of the white-draped bed. Sue seated herself in it to
draw on her gloves and for a last hurried, hysteric flow of words.
"I'll write to you from Liverpool, Tessa. I hope that we sha'n't have
any storms; I might think that it was a judgment. I don't want to be
drowned; I want to see London and Paris and Rome. Isn't it queer for me
to be married twice before you are married once!"
"You may be married three times before I am married once," said Tessa,
opening a bureau drawer to lay away an old glove box.
"Oh, no, I sha'n't! I'll stay a rich widow, but it was distressed to
stay a poor one. Did I tell you that Stacey is married? I was so
delighted. He's got a good wife, too; real sober and settled down. So I
didn't do so much harm after all your fuming and fussing. I like to make
people comfortable when I can. And now we're happy all around just like
a book. I wonder what will become of you before I get back. I expect
that Dine will be married. John is as tickled as he can be! It's lovely
to be an old man's darling; I am to have my own way about every thing.
I'm glad that he wasn't a widower; I hate widowers!"
A tap at the door summoned Sue. "Good-by, dear old room!" she cried
gayly. "You've seen the last of me. I hope that you will get every thing
you are waiting for, Tessa."
As once before on Sue's wedding day, Tessa was taken home in Dr. Towne's
carriage.
"I wonder if he knows," she said.
"If he do it can not trouble him. He understood her."
"I am beginning to understand what the hurt of love is."
"What is it?"
"Don't you know?"
"I think that you are teaching me."
"It is a lesson that we have learned together. I used to wonder why God
ever let us hurt each other; perhaps that is the reason, that we may
learn together what love is!"
"Do not the students ever come to the end of the chapter and learn the
next lesson?"
"I do not know what the next chapter is."
"Perhaps if we study hard we may learn that together."
"Great patience is needed to learn a lesson with me."
"I have a great deal of patience."
"I'm afraid that I haven't."
"Having confessed our sins, suppose that we forget them."
"I can't forget mine."
"Can you forget mine?"
She tried to speak, but the words stumbled on her lips.
"Look up and answer me."
She could not look up; she could not answer.
"Tessa, say something."
"Something," she said childishly between laughter and tears.
After a moment, during which her glove had been unbuttoned and
rebuttoned and he had leaned back, holding the reins loosely, she spoke:
"You _have_ been patient with me. I will not have any more whims or
fancies--I know now beyond any need of reasoning--"
"What do you know?"
"Something very happy."
"And now shall we be as happy as Sue and her rich old lover?"
"Do you see this ring?" touching the emerald. "It means that I must tell
your mother that I am satisfied, fully and entirely and thoroughly,
before I say 'Yes.'"
"_Can_ you tell her that?"
"Ask her and she will tell you."
"Tessa, it has been a weary time."
"I think that there must always be a weary time before two people
understand each other; I am so glad to have ours come before--"
The sun set behind clouds on Sue's second wedding day. Tessa tried to
write, she tried to read, she tried to sew, she tried to talk to her
mother and Dine; but failed in every thing but sitting idle at one of
the parlor windows and looking out at the snow. There was a long evening
in the shabby parlor; quiet talk, laughing talk, and merry talk mingled
with half sentences, as many things both old and new were talked about.
There were several happenings after this; one of them, of course, was
Dinah's marriage to her wonderful John; Tessa's wedding gift to her was
a deed of the house in which they had both been born. Another happening,
perhaps, as much in the nature of things as Dinah's marriage, although
the girls could not bring themselves to think so, was their mother's
marriage to Mr. Lewis Gesner. Tessa remembered her promise to her
father; she spoke no word against it, and by repeated chidings kept
Dinah's words and behavior within the limits of deference.
Pretty little Mrs. Wadsworth was a radiant bride, and the bridegroom was
all that could be desired; Mrs. Wadsworth prudently concealed her
elation at having married a man richer than Tessa's husband and with a
residence far handsomer. Mr. Lewis Gesner became the kindest of husbands
and Miss Gesner was a model sister-in-law.
On her own wedding day, one of Tessa's grateful thoughts was that her
father would rejoice to know that his "three girls" were in happy homes.
Miss Jewett's congratulation was a dower in itself: "Your fate was worth
waiting for, Tessa."
"Another poor man undone through you, Lady Blue," said Mr. Hammerton. "I
might have known that you were growing up to do it."
"Is Tessa married?" Felix asked in his slow way. "I hope that he will
take good care of her."
Another happening was the arrival of Mr. and Mrs. John Gesner and son.
The baby had been born in Germany and could call his own name before he
came home to Blossom Hill.
The name was a surprise to Tessa: "Theodore, because it has such a
pretty meaning," Sue told her. "His father wanted John or Lewis, but I
insisted; I said that I would throw the baby away if I couldn't name
him!"
She petted him and was proud of his rosy face and bright eyes, but
confided to Tessa that he was a great deal of trouble, and that she
hated that everlasting "mamma, mamma."
"I don't understand _you_, Tessa, you treat your little girl as if she
were a princess."
That afternoon Tessa and the baby were alone on one of the balconies at
Old Place; baby in her betucked and beruffled white frock and white
shoes was taking her first steps alone, and baby's mother was kneeling
before her with both arms out-stretched to receive her after the
triumph.
Baby's father stood in a window watching them; but for the eyes that,
just now, were like the woods in October his face would have been
pronounced grave; the white threads in his hair were beginning to be
noticeable, and before baby would be old enough to drive all around the
country with him, his hair would be quite white.
"An earnest man with a purpose in his life," Dunellen said.
"Must you go out again so soon?"
Baby was crowing over her success, and the mother's arms were holding
her close.
"There's a poor woman with a little baby that I must see to-night."
"A girl-baby?"
"Yes," smiling down at her, "a girl-baby."
"Poor little girl-baby! _Poor_ little girl-baby!" she said, pressing her
lips to baby's hair.
"What were you thinking when the baby ran into your arms just now?"
"I was thinking," holding the beruffled little figure closer, "that it
isn't such a hard world, after all, for little girls to grow up in."