Family Pride Or Purified by Suffering Part 9

MARRIAGE AT ST. JOHN'S.

There were more than a few lookers-on to see Katy Lennox married, and the church was literally jammed for full three-quarters of an hour before the appointed time. Back by the door, where she commanded a full view of the middle aisle, Marian Hazelton sat, her face as white as ashes, and her eyes gleaming strangely wild even from beneath the thickly dotted veil she wore over her hat. Doubts as to her wisdom in coming there were agitating her mind, but something kept her sitting just as others sat waiting for the bride until the s.e.xton, opening wide the doors, and a.s.suming an added air of consequence, told the anxious spectators that the party had arrived--Uncle Ephraim and Katy, Wilford and Mrs. Lennox, Dr. Morris and Helen, Aunt Hannah and Aunt Betsy--that was all, and they came slowly up the aisle, while countless eyes were turned upon them, every woman noticing Katy's dress sweeping the carpet with so long a trail, and knowing by some queer female instinct that it was city-made, and not the handiwork of Marian Hazelton, panting for breath in that pew near the door, and trying to forget herself by watching Dr. Grant. She could not have told what Katy wore; she would not have sworn that Katy was there, for she saw only two, Wilford and Morris Grant. She could have touched the former as he pa.s.sed her by, and she did breathe the odor of his garments while her hands clasped each other tightly, and then she turned to Morris Grant, growing content with her own pain, so much less than his as he stood before the altar with Wilford Cameron between him and the bride which should have been his.

How pretty she was in her wedding garb, and how like a bird her voice rang out as she responded to the solemn question:

"Will you have this man to be thy wedded husband?" etc.

Upon Uncle Ephraim devolved the duty of giving her away, a thing which Aunt Betsy denounced as a "'Piscopal quirk," cla.s.sing it in the same category with dancing. Still if Ephraim had got it to do she wanted him to do it well, and she had taken some pains to study that part of the ceremony, so as to know when to nudge her brother in case he failed of coming up to time.

"Now, Ephraim, now; they've reached the quirk," she whispered, audibly, almost before Katy's "I will" was heard, clear and distinct; but Ephraim did not need her prompting, and his hand rested lovingly upon Katy's shoulder as he signified his consent, and then fell back to his place next to Hannah. But when Wilford's voice said: "I, Wilford, take thee Katy to be my wedded wife," there was a slight confusion near the door, and those sitting by said to those in front that some one had fainted.

Looking around, the audience saw the s.e.xton leading Marian Hazelton out into the open air, where, at her request, he left her, and went hack to see the closing of the ceremony which made Katy Lennox a wife. Morris'

carriage was at the door, and the newly married pair moved slowly out, Katy smiling upon all, kissing her hand to some and whispering a good-by to others, her diamond flashing in the light and her rich silk rustling as she walked, while at her side was Wilford, proudly erect, and holding his head so high as not to see one of the crowd around him, until arrived at the vestibule he stopped a moment and was seized by a young man with curling hair, saucy eyes, and that air of ease and a.s.surance which betokens high breeding and wealth.

"Mark Ray!" was Wilford's astonished exclamation, while Mark Ray replied:

"You did not expect to see me here, neither did I expect to come until last night, when I found myself in the little village where you know Scranton lives. Then it occurred to me that as Silverton was only a few miles distant I would drive over and surprise you, but I am too late for the ceremony, I see," and Mark's eyes rested admiringly upon Katy, whose graceful beauty was fully equal to what he had imagined.

Very modestly she received his congratulatory greeting, blushing prettily when he called her by the new name she had not heard before, and then at a motion from Wilford, entered the carriage waiting for her.

Close behind her came Morris and Helen, the former quite as much astonished at meeting Mark as Wilford had been. There was no time for conversation, and hurriedly introducing Helen as Miss Lennox, Morris followed her into the carriage with the bridal pair, and was driven to the depot, where they were joined by Mark, whose pleasant, good-humored sallies did much toward making the parting more cheerful than it would otherwise have been. It was sad enough at the most, and Katy's eyes were very red, while Wilford was beginning to look chagrined and impatient, when at last the train swept around the corner and the very last good-by was said. Many of the village people were there to see Katy off, and in the crowd Mark had no means of distinguishing the Barlows from the others except it were by the fond caresses given to the bride. Aunt Betsy he had observed from all the rest, both from the hanging of her pongee and the general quaintness of her attire, and thinking it just possible that it might be the lady of herrin' bone memory, he touched Wilford's arm as she pa.s.sed them by, and said:

"Tell me, Will, quick, who is that woman in the poke bonnet and short, slim dress?"

Wilford was just then too much occupied in his efforts to rescue Katy from the crowd of plebeians who had seized upon her to hear his friend's query, but Helen heard it, and with a cheek which crimsoned with anger, she replied:

"That, sir, is my aunt, Miss Betsy Barlow."

"I beg your pardon, I really do, I was not aware--" Mark began, lifting his hat involuntarily, and mentally cursing himself for his stupidity in not observing who was near to him before asking personal questions.

With a toss of her head Helen turned away, forgetting her resentment in the more absorbing thought that Katy was really leaving her.

The bell had rung, the heavy machinery groaned and creaked, and the long train was under way, while from an open window a little white hand was thrust, waving its handkerchief until the husband quietly drew it in, experiencing a feeling of relief that all was over, and that unless he chose, his wife need never go back again to that vulgar crowd standing upon the platform and looking with tearful eyes and aching hearts after the fast receding train.

For a moment Mark talked with Morris Grant, explaining how he came there, and adding that on the morrow he, too, intended going on to Boston, to remain for a few days before Wilford sailed; then, feeling that he must in some way atone for his awkward speech regarding Aunt Betsy, he sought out Helen, still standing like a statue and watching the feathery line of smoke rising above the distant trees. Her bonnet had partially fallen from her head, revealing her bands of rich brown hair and the smooth, broad forehead, while her hands were locked together, and a tear trembled on her dark eyelashes. Taken as a whole she made a striking picture standing apart from the rest and totally oblivious to them all, and Mark gazed at her a moment curiously; then as her att.i.tude changed and she drew her hat back to its place he advanced toward her, and making some pleasant remark about the morning and the appearance of the country generally. He knew he could not openly apologize, but he made what amends he could by talking to her so familiarly that Helen almost forgot how she hated him and all others who like him lived in New York and resembled Wilford Cameron. It was Mark who led her to the carriage which Morris said was waiting, Mark who handed her in, smoothing down carefully the folds of her dress, and then stood leaning against the door, chatting with Morris, who thought once of asking him to enter and go back to Linwood. But when he remembered how unequal he was to entertaining any one that day, he hesitated, saying merely:

"On your way from Boston call and see me. I shall be glad of your company then."

"Which means that you do not wish it now," Mark laughingly rejoined, as, offering his hand to both Morris and Helen, he again touched his hat politely and walked away.

CHAPTER XI.

AFTER THE MARRIAGE.

"Why did you invite him to Linwood?" Helen began. "I am sure we have had city guests enough. Oh, if Wilford Cameron had only never come, we should have had Katy now," and the sister-love overcame every other feeling, making Helen cry bitterly as they drove back to the farmhouse.

Morris could not comfort her then, for he needed it the most, and so in silence he left her and went on his way to Linwood, which seemed as if a funeral train had left it, bearing away all Morris' life and love, and leaving only a cheerless blank. It was well for him that there were many sick ones on his list, for in attending to them he forgot himself in part so that the day with him pa.s.sed faster than at the farmhouse, where life and its interests seemed suddenly to have stopped. Nothing had power to rouse Helen, who never realized how much she loved her young sister until now, when, with swelling heart she listlessly put to rights the room which had been theirs so long, but which was now hers alone. It was a sad task picking up that disordered chamber bearing so many traces of Katy, and Helen's heart ached terribly as she hung away the little pink calico dressing gown in which Katy had looked so pretty, and picked up from the floor the pile of skirts lying just where they had been left the previous night; but when it came to the little half-worn slippers which had been thrown one here and another there as Katy danced out of them, she could control herself no longer, and stopping in her work sobbed bitterly: "Oh, Katy, Katy, how can I live without you?" But tears could not bring Katy back, and knowing this, Helen dried her eyes ere long and joined the family below, who like herself were spiritless and sad.

It was some little solace to them all that day to follow Katy in her journey, saying, she is at Worcester, or Framingham, or Newtown, and when at noon they sat down to their dinner in the tidy kitchen, they said: "She is in Boston," and the saying so made the time which had elapsed since the morning seem interminable. Slowly the hours dragged, and at last, before the sunsetting, Helen, who could bear the loneliness of home no longer, stole across the fields to Linwood, hoping in Morris'

companionship to forget her own grief in part. But Morris was a sorry comforter then. If the day had been sad to Helen, it had been doubly so to him. He had ministered as usual to his patients, listening to their complaints and answering patiently their inquiries; but amid it all he walked as in a maze, hearing nothing except the words: "I, Katy, take thee, Wilford, to be my wedded husband," and seeing nothing but the airy little figure which stood up on tiptoe for him to kiss its lips at parting. His work for the day was over now, and he sat alone in his library when Helen came hurriedly in, staring at sight of his face, and asking if he was ill.

"I have had a hard day's work," he said. "I am always tired at night,"

and he tried to smile and appear natural. "Are you very lonely at the farmhouse?" he asked, and then Helen broke out afresh, mourning sometimes for Katy, and again denouncing Wilford as proud and heartless.

"Positively, Cousin Morris," and Helen's eye flashed as she said it, "he acted all the while he was in the church as if he were doing something of which he was ashamed; and then did you notice how impatient he seemed when the neighbors were shaking hands with Katy at the depot and bidding her good-by? He looked as if he thought they had no right to touch her, she was so much their superior, just because she had married him, and he even hurried her away before Aunt Betsy had time to kiss her. And yet the people think it such a splendid match for Katy, because he is so rich and generous. Gave the clergyman fifty dollars and the s.e.xton five, so I heard; but that does not help him with me. I know it's wicked, Morris, as well as you, but somehow I find myself taking real comfort in hating Wilford Cameron."

"That is wrong, Helen, all wrong," and Morris tried to reason with her; but his arguments this time were not very strong, and he finally said to her, inadvertently: "If I can forgive Wilford Cameron for marrying our Katy, you surely ought to do so, for he has hurt me the most."

"You, Morris! you, you!" Helen kept repeating, standing back still further and further front him, while strange, overwhelming thoughts pa.s.sed like lightning through her mind as she marked the pallid face, where was written since the morning more than one line of suffering, and saw in the brown eyes a look such as they were not wont to wear.

"Morris, tell me--tell me truly--did you love my Sister Katy?" and with an impetuous rush Helen knelt beside him, as, laying his head upon the table he answered:

"Yes, Helen. G.o.d forgive me if it were wrong. I did love your Sister Katy, and love her yet, and that is the hardest to bear."

All the tender, pitying woman was roused in Helen, and like a sister she smoothed the locks of damp, dark hair, keeping a perfect silence as the strong man, no longer able to bear up, wept like a very child. For a time Helen felt as if bereft of reason, while earth and sky seemed blended in one wild chaos as she thought: "Oh, why couldn't it have been? Why didn't you tell her in time?" and at last she said to him; "If Katy had known it! Oh, Morris, why didn't you tell her? She never guessed it, never! If she had--if she had," Helen's breath came chokingly: "I am very sure--yes, I know it might have been!"

"Of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these--it might have been."

Morris involuntarily thought of these lines, but they only mocked his sorrow as he answered Helen: "I doubt if you are right; I hope you are not; hope that it might not have been, as it is not now. Katy loved me as her brother, nothing more, I am confident. Had she waited till she was older, G.o.d only knows what might have been, but now she is gone and our Father will help me to bear, will help us both, if we ask him, as we must."

And then as only he could do, Morris talked with Helen until she felt her hardness toward Wilford giving way, while she wondered how Morris could speak thus kindly of one who was his rival.

"Not of myself could I do it," Morris said; "but I trust in One who says: 'As thy day shall thy strength be,' and He, you know, never fails."

There was a fresh bond of sympathy now between Morris and Helen, and the latter needed no caution against repeating what she had discovered. The secret was safe with her, and by dwelling on what "might have been" she forgot to think so much of what was, and so the first days after Katy's departure were more tolerable than she had thought it possible for them to be. At the close of the fourth there came a short note from Katy, who was still in Boston at the Revere, and perfectly happy, she said, going into ecstasies over her husband, the best in the world, and certainty the most generous and indulgent. "Such beautiful things as I am having made," she wrote, "when I already had more than I needed, and so I told him, but he only smiled a queer kind of smile as he said: 'Very true; you do not need them.' I wonder then why he gets me more. Oh, I forgot to tell you how much I liked his cousin, Mrs. Harvey, who boards at the Revere, and whom Wilford consults about my dress. I am somewhat afraid of her, too, she is so grand, but she pets me a great deal and laughs at my speeches. Mr. Ray is here too, and I think him splendid.

"By the way, Helen, I heard him tell Wilford that you had one of the best shaped heads he ever saw, and that he thought you decidedly good looking. I must tell you now of the only thing which troubles me in the least, and I shall get used to that, I suppose. It is so strange Wilford never told me a word until she came, my waiting maid. Think of that!

little Katy Lennox with a waiting maid, who jabbers French half the time, for she speaks that language as well as her own, having been abroad with the family once before. That is why they sent her to me; they knew her services would be invaluable in Paris. Her name is Esther, and she came the day after we did and brought me such a beautiful mantilla from Wilford's mother, and the loveliest dress. Just the pattern was fifty dollars, she said.

"The steamer sails in three days, and I will write again before that time, sending it by Mr. Ray, who is to stop over one train at Linwood.

Wilford has just come in and says I have written enough for now, but I will tell you how he has bought me a diamond pin and earrings, which Esther, who knows the value of everything, says never cost less than five hundred dollars.

"Yours, loving, KATY CAMERON."

"Five hundred dollars!" and Aunt Betsy held up her hands in horror, while Helen sat a long time with the letter in her hand, cogitating upon its contents, and especially upon the part referring to herself, and what Mark Ray said of her.

Every human heart is susceptible of flattery, and Helen was not an entire exception. Still with her ideas of city men she could not at once think favorably of Mark Ray, just for a few complimentary words which might or might not have been in earnest, and she found herself looking forward with nervous dread to the time when he would stop at Linwood, and of course call on her, as he would bring a letter from Katy.

Very sadly to the inmates of the farmhouse rose the morning of the day when Katy was to sail, and as if they could really see the tall masts of the vessel which was to bear her away, the eyes of the whole family were turned often to the eastward with a wistful, anxious gaze, while on their lips and in their hearts were earnest prayers for the safety of that ship and the precious freight it bore. But hours, however sad, will wear themselves away, and so the day went on, succeeded by the night, until that too had pa.s.sed and another day had come, the second of Katy's ocean life. At the farmhouse the work was all done up, and Helen in her neat gingham dress, with her bands of brown hair bound about her head, sat listlessly at her sewing, when she was startled by the sound of wheels, and looking up saw the boy employed to carry packages from the express office, driving to their door with a trunk, which he said had come that morning from Boston.

In some surprise Helen hastened to unlock it with the key which she found appended to it. The trunk was full, and over the whole a linen towel was folded, while on the top of that lay a letter in Katy's handwriting, directed to Helen, who, sitting down upon the floor, broke the seal and read aloud as follows:

"BOSTON, June--, Revere House,

"Nearly midnight.

"MY DEAR SISTER HELEN: I have just come in from a little party given by one of Mrs. Harvey's friends, and I am so tired, for you know I am not accustomed to such late hours. Wilford says I will get accustomed to them, that in New York they are seldom in bed before eleven or twelve, but I never shall. It will kill me, I am sure, and yet I rather enjoy the sitting up if I did not feel so wretchedly next day. The party was very pleasant indeed, and everybody was so kind to me, especially Mr.