CHAPTER I
BETTY'S WEDDING
Spring had come to Lloydsboro Valley earlier than usual. Red-bud treesglowed everywhere, and wild plum and dogwood and white lilac were all inbridal array. At The Locusts the giant trees which arched over the longavenue had not yet hung out their fragrant pennons of bloom, but oldColonel Lloyd, sauntering down towards the gate, was clad in a suit offresh white duck. Usually he waited until the blossoming of the locustsgave the signal for donning such attire.
As he neared the gate he quickened his pace, for he had caught sight ofa slim girlish figure hurrying along the path from Oaklea, and agraceful little hand waved him a greeting. It was Lloyd, coming home forthe daily visit which she had never failed to make since her weddingday, six months before.
"Good mawning, grandfathah deah," she called gaily from a distance.Then added as she joined him and lifted her face for the customary kiss,"How comes it that you are all diked up in yoah white clothes so earlyin the season? Don't you know that we haven't had blackberry wintah yet,and it's bound to turn cold again when they bloom? Or have you heard somuch about the wedding that you just naturally put on white?"
The old Colonel playfully pinched her cheek, and linking his arm inhers, turned to go back toward the house with her.
"Well, Mrs. Rob Moore, if you must know, my actions are guided by thethermometer and not by the almanac, and I haven't heard much about thiswedding, except that a young Lochinvar has come out of the West to carryaway our little Betty before we are ready to give her up. It's too muchto lose you both within half a year of each other."
"How utterly you have lost me!" teased Lloyd. "You see me mawning, noonand night. When I'm not at The Locusts you're at Oaklea, or at the othahend of the telephone wiah. Heah I am, come to spend the whole live-longday with you, and you say you have lost me. Own up, now. Honest! I'myoah same little girl that I've always been. I haven't changed onebit."
"I know," he admitted, smiling down affectionately into the glowing facelifted to his. "It might have been worse. But it will be losing Betty inreality when _she_ goes. Arizona is a far country. I wish that youngjackanapes had never seen her. There are plenty of fine fellows backhere in Kentucky she might have had, and then we'd have had her where wecould see her once in a while. How long has it been since she came toThe Locusts to live?"
"Twelve yeahs, grandfathah," said Lloyd, after a pause, in which shecounted backward. "She's been just like a real sistah to me, and I feelworse than you do about giving her up. Lone-Rock does have a dreadfullydismal fo'saken sawt of sound. But I can ovahlook that for Jack Ware'ssake. He's such a splendid fellow."
The Colonel made no answer to that, for he fully agreed with her, butchanging the subject said in an aggrieved tone, "I suppose that even thefew days that are left to us will be so taken up with folderols andpreparations that we'll scarcely see her. It was that way when Eugeniahad her wedding here; caterers and florists turning the house upsidedown. And it was the same way with yours. So many people in the housealways going and coming, so many things to be planned and discussed anddecided, that I scarcely got a word in edgeways with you for a wholeweek before."
"It will not be that way this time," Lloyd answered. "It has been lessthan a yeah since Jack's mothah died, so Betty wouldn't have anythingbut a very quiet affair on that account. It is to be so simple and sodifferent from any wedding that you've evah seen that you'll nevah knowit's going to take place till it is all ovah. There's to be no flurry orworry about anything. Mothah wanted to make a grand occasion of it, butBetty wouldn't let her. There'll not be moah than half a dozen guests."
They had reached the house by this time, and on again being assured thatLloyd intended to remain all day, the Colonel left her and turned backto take his usual morning walk, which her coming had interrupted. Thetelephone bell rang just as she entered the door, so Lloyd ran up-stairsto her own room, knowing that her mother would be busy for a few minuteswith giving the daily household orders. Lloyd's own ordering had beendone nearly an hour, for Rob's business necessitated an early breakfastto enable him to catch the eight o'clock car into the city. He did notreturn until six, so she could stay away from home any day she chose,with a clear conscience. She took her housekeeping seriously, however,and had turned out to be a most capable and thorough-going littlehousekeeper, but with experienced servants who had taken charge ofOaklea for years her cares were not heavy.
Her room had been kept for her, just as she had used it, all through hergirlhood, and Mom Beck put fresh flowers in it every day. Lloyd alwaysdarted in for a quick look around, even when she came for only a shortwhile. There was a glass bowl of pink hyacinths on her desk thismorning, and she sat down to make a list of several things which shewanted to suggest for the coming event. Presently there was a rustle ofstiffly starched skirts in the hall, and she looked up to see Mom Beckin the doorway. The old black face was beaming as she called: "How's myhoney chile this mawnin'?" Then without waiting for an answer, sheadded, "Miss Betty said to tell you she's up in the attic rummagin', andwants you to come up right away."
Passing on down the hall, Lloyd paused beside her mother, who sat withtelephone receiver to her ear, long enough to seize her in anoverwhelming embrace that muffled the conversation for an instant, thenhurried up the attic stairs to find her old playmate. The little dormerwindows were all thrown open, and the morning sun streamed in across themotley collection of chests, old furniture and the attic treasures ofseveral generations.
On a camp-stool in front of a little old leather trunk, sat Betty. Itwas the same shabby trunk that had held all her earthly possessions whenshe left the Cuckoo's Nest years before, and she was packing it withsome of those same keepsakes to take with her on her wedding journey toher new home in the far West. A bright bandanna was knotted into a capto cover her curly brown hair, and a long gingham apron protected hermorning dress from the attic dust.
Somehow, as she sat over the old trunk, carefully folding away therelics of her childhood, she looked so like the little Betty who hadfared forth alone from the Cuckoo's Nest to the long ago house-party atThe Locusts, that Lloyd exclaimed aloud over the resemblance. The threeyears of teaching at Warwick Hall had given her a certain grown-up sortof dignity, added a sweet seriousness to the always sweet face; but thewistful brown eyes and sensitive little mouth wore the same trustfulnessof expression that they had worn for the mirror in the little room upunder the eaves at her Cousin Hetty's.
"'DO YOU REMEMBER THE FIRST TIME YOU EVER SAW THIS?'"]
As Lloyd's bright head appeared at the top of the stairs, Betty glancedup, calling gaily, "You are just in time, Lloyd, to see the last ofthese things. Don't they take you back? Do you remember the first timeyou ever saw this?"
She dangled a little white sunbonnet by the string, and Lloyd, pickingher way between boxes and barrels, reached out her hand for it, thendropped to a seat on the rug which had been spread out to receive thecontents of the trunk.
"Indeed I do remembah it," she exclaimed. "You had it on the first timeI evah saw you--travelled in it all the way to Louisville. I was soscandalized to see you arrive in a sunbonnet, that I could scarcely keepfrom letting you know it."
"And this," continued Betty, holding up an old-fashioned basket of brownwillow with two handles and a lid with double flaps, "this was mytravelling bag. My lunch was in this, and my pass, and five nickels, andthe handkerchief that Davy gave me, with Red Ridinghood and the wolfprinted in each corner. Here's that self-same handkerchief!" she cried,lifting the lid to peep in.
Scattered all around on the rug at her feet were many articles to bepacked in the trunk, but for the next half-hour the work went slowly.Each thing that Lloyd picked up to hand to her suggested so manyreminiscences to them both that they made little progress. One was anewspaper, bearing the date of Lloyd's first house-party. It wasbeginning to turn yellow, and Lloyd scanned the columns, wondering whyBetty had saved it. Then she came to a poem marked with a blue pencil,and cried:
"Oh, Bett
y! Heah's yoah first published poem! The one called 'Night.'How wondahful we all thought it was that you should have somethingprinted in a real papah, when you were only twelve. Don't you remembah,you had the measles when we carried it in to show it to you? But yoaheyes were so bad you couldn't see, and it was so pitiful. You asked tofeel it. I had to guide yoah poah little groping fingah down the pageand put it on the spot. It almost broke my heart!"
"I know," answered Betty. "I thought that I was going to be blindalways, and that my long, long night had begun. And it seemed queer thatthe only thing I had ever published should be called Night. That was aterrible experience."
She laid the paper carefully back into the portfolio from which it hadslipped, and picked up the next thing, a box of typewritten manuscript.
"My ill-starred novel--my story of Aberdeen Hall," she laughed. "Don'tyou remember the night at the Lindsey cabin when I read it aloud, andeach one of you girls made such a solemn ceremony of wrapping it up? Gayfurnished the box, Lucy the paper, and Kitty tied it with a fresh pinkribbon slipped out of her nightgown. And you put on the big red sealingwax seals."
"With the handle of the old silvah ladle that had the Harcourt familycrest on it," interrupted Lloyd eagerly. "I can see it now, a daggahthrust through a crown, and the motto, 'I strive till I ovahcome!'"
"That was an appropriate motto," laughed Betty. "It nearly killed mewhen the novel came back from the publisher. I'd have burned it on thespot if it hadn't been for your grandfather. But what he said encouragedme to put that motto into practice. I'm glad now that I didn't burn themanuscript, for I've lived to see its many faults, and to be thankfulthat the publishers didn't accept it. I'd be heartily ashamed now toclaim it as mine before a critical public. But it has much that is goodin it, and I'll do it over some day and send it out as it ought to be.In the meantime--"
She interrupted herself with a glad little cry. "Oh, I didn't tell you.I've been so joyful thinking that Jack is coming to-night, that I forgotI hadn't told you my good news. You know I've been working all winter ona book of school-girl experiences. Well, I sent it to the publishersseveral weeks ago, and I've just had their answer. They are so pleasedwith it that they want me to go on and make a series of them. The letterwas lovely. I'll show it to you when we go down-stairs. It makes me feelas if fame and fortune might be just around the corner."
"Oh, Betty!" was the breathlessly joyful answer. "I'm so _glad_! I'm so_glad_! I've always told you you'd do it some day. It's a pity--" Shestopped herself, then began again. "I was about to say that it's a pityyou're going to be married, because you may be so taken up with yoahhousekeeping and home-making that you'll nevah have time for yoahwriting. But, on second thought, I can't say it. I know from experiencethat having Rob and a home like mine are bettah than all the books thatanybody could write."
"_Jack_ will never be a hindrance to authorship," asserted Bettypositively. "He's already been the greatest help. He's so proud ofeverything I write, and really so helpful in his criticisms that he is aconstant inspiration."
At this mention of him she reached forward and began to scrabble thingshastily into the trunk.
"Here I sit, dawdling along with this packing as if the morning were notfairly flying by, and he'll be here on the five o'clock train. There'sso much to do I don't know what to touch first."
Thus inspired to swift action, Lloyd began to help vigorously, and thepile of relics were soon out of sight under the travel-worn old lid.Souvenirs of their boarding-school days at Lloydsboro Seminary, ofChristmas vacations, of happy friendships at Warwick Hall, went in in ahurry. Her old tennis racquet, a pennant that Rob had sent her fromcollege, a kodak album of Keith's that they had filled together onehappy summer, Malcolm's riding whip, all in at last, locked in andstrapped down, ready for their journey to their new home.
Down-stairs there was other packing to do, but Mrs. Sherman wasattending to that with the assistance of Mom Beck and Alec. All thestores of household linen, which was her gift to her belovedgod-daughter, from whom she was parting so reluctantly, were carefullyfolded away. The chest of silver from Papa Jack, all the collection ofbric-a-brac and fancy work sent in by many friends in the Valley,Lloyd's gift, a Persian rug, and the old Colonel's, a large box ofcarefully selected books, had already been shipped to Lone-Rock, totransform the plain old living-room into a thing of beauty. The etchingwhich the Walton girls sent would help largely in that transformingprocess, also the beautiful painting of beech trees which Mrs. Waltongave, knowing that Betty loved the stately old trees as dearly as didshe herself.
It was Betty's great regret that The Beeches was closed at the time andthe family all away, for she longed to have these especial friends withher on her happy day. Elise was still in school at Warwick Hall, Mrs.Walton visiting Allison in her beautiful Washington home, and Kitty hadgone to San Antonio for another visit with Gay Melville at the post. Thewedding was to be so very quiet and simple that she could not ask any ofthem to come so far to be present, but she wished for them all over andover.
Eugenia would have come had it not been that it was too far to bringlittle Patricia for such a short visit, and she was not willing to leaveher behind. She wrote a long letter, recalling her own beautifulwedding, at which Betty had been a bridesmaid, and added, "If you'reonly half as happy as I am, Betty, dear, you'll never regret for aninstant giving up the grand career we all prophesied for you. But inorder to remind you that it is still possible for you 'to be famousthough married,' Stuart and I are sending you the most efficienttypewriter we can find in the shops. It has already gone on to await youin Lone-Rock."
Ever since the arrival of the first gift, a little silver vase from MissAllison McIntyre, which would always suggest the donor's love of flowersand her garden which she shared lavishly with the whole Valley, Bettyhad been in a beatific state of mind over the loving favor showed her byher friends. Her pleasure reached high tide, however, when the last onearrived, a box marked from Warwick Hall. It was from Madam Chartley. Thebox was so big that they made all sorts of wild guesses as to itscontents. Layer after layer of paper and excelsior were lifted out, andall they could find was more wrappings. At last, from the very centre,Alec lifted out a fragile cup and saucer, which Betty recognized with acry of astonishment and delight.
"One of the ancestral teacups! I didn't suppose Madam would part withone of them for anybody!"
She turned the bit of delicate china so that Mrs. Sherman could see thecrest, and the motto, "I keep tryste." The note folded inside broughthappy tears to her eyes, for it said that she was the only one to whomone of these treasured heirlooms had been given. Madam felt deeply thata spiritual kinship existed between her old ancestor Edryn and thelittle friend who had kept tryst so faithfully in all things.
Jack came at five o'clock. He was to be the guest of Oaklea, but most ofhis time was spent at The Locusts. That night, when moonlight andspringtime filled the valley with ethereal whiteness and sweetness, heand Betty sat out on the porch. Three generations of Romance madeenchanted ground of the whole place. In the library an older Jack andElizabeth sat recalling the night like this when they had entered_their_ Arcady. Outside, under the arching locusts, up and down, up anddown, paced the old Colonel in the moonlight. But not alone; for everylilac-laden breeze that stirred the branches whispered softly,"_Amanthis! Amanthis!_"
Once Jack looked at Betty, sitting beside him in the broad shaft ofmoonlight, its glory streaming across her white dress and fair face andsaid, "It's like that song, 'Oh, fair and sweet and holy,' out here. Whycouldn't we have the wedding on the porch, where I first saw you,instead of in the house? Right here in this moonlight that makes youlook like a snowdrop."
"Would you really like to have it out here?" asked Betty, pleased by theidea herself and pleased because he suggested it. "It would be a verysimple matter to have it so, and there'll be nobody critical enoughamong our few guests to call us sentimental if we do."
So it came about that the wedding next night was the simplest and mostbe
autiful that any one there had ever witnessed. Besides the twofamilies, Miss Allison and Alex Shelby were the only guests; Alex,because of the part he had played in restoring Jack to health, and MissAllison, because no occasion in the Valley seemed quite complete withouther. She had been too closely bound up with all the good times ofBetty's little girl days and her happy maidenhood, not to be present atthis time.
Betty had said, "I want my last evening at The Locusts to be just likethe first one that I ever spent here, in one way. Then Lloyd sang andplayed on her harp. I've missed it so much since she took it over toOaklea. I'd love to have the memory of her music one of the last that Icarry away with me."
So that night, when she stepped out on the porch all dressed for herbridal, she found the harp standing in one corner, gleaming in themoonlight like burnished gold. Fair and tall, it impressed her as it haddone when it first struck her childish fancy, that its strings had justbeen swept by some one of the Shining Ones beyond, who were a part ofthe Pilgrim's dream. She was standing beside it when Lloyd and Rob andJack walked over from Oaklea. Her filmy white dress, exquisitelycloud-like and dainty, was as simple and girlish as the one she had wornthe night before; but this time Jack did not compare her to a snowdrop.The moonlight gave such an unearthly whiteness to her gown, such aradiance to her upturned face, that he, too, thought of the Pilgrim'sdream, and likened her to one of the Shining Ones herself.
With that thought came the memory of a beloved voice as he had heard itfor the last time at the end of a perfect Sabbath, singing of those"Angels of Light," that had been so very real to him since they firsttrailed comfort through his earliest lullabies. Man as he was, somethinglike a poignant ache seemed to grip his throat till he could not speakfor a moment, because "the little mother" was having no part in this,the crowning happiness of his life.
Later, Miss Allison and Alex dropped in as informally as if they hadcome to make an ordinary evening call, and they all sat talking awhile.Then Lloyd took her place at the harp and sang the songs that Bettyloved best, till the moon rose high enough to send a flood of silverylight between the tall white pillars. There was a little stir around thehall door, and Lloyd, seeing the colored servants, who had gatheredthere to listen, step back respectfully, gave a signalling nod. The oldminister, who had just arrived by the side door, came out past them.
Lloyd's fingers went on touching the harp-strings, so softly that itseemed as if a wandering breeze had tangled in them. Every one rose asthe minister came out, and Jack, taking Betty by the hand, led herdirectly to him. There was no need of book to prompt the silver-hairedold pastor. He had joined too many lives in the course of his longministry, not to know every word of the solemn ritual.
There in the fragrant stillness of the moon-flooded place, with the odorof the lilacs and the snowy wild-plum blossoms entrancingly sweet, andthe melody dropping softly from the harp-strings like a fall of far-offcrystal bells, they gave themselves to each other:
"I, John Alwyn, take thee, Elizabeth Lloyd."
"I, Elizabeth Lloyd, take thee, John Alwyn."
"Until death us do part."
It was all so sacred and beautiful and still, that even Rob felt thetears start to his eyes, and no one moved for a full moment after thebenediction. Even then there was not the usual buzz of congratulationsthat always follows such a ceremony; but the tender embraces andheartfelt hand-clasps showed that the spell of the solemn scene wasstill upon them.
Suddenly lights streamed out through all the windows, the dining-roomdoors were thrown wide open, and Alec bowed the party in to the bridalrepast. It, too, was as simple as all that had gone before, save for thetowering cake in the centre.
"We just had to have that a mammoth and a gorgeous affair," explainedLloyd, "to send around to all Betty's admiring friends and old pupilswho could not be asked to the ceremony. We'll be busy for a week sendingoff the little boxes."
"No," she replied later, to Alex Shelby, "Betty wouldn't have any ofthe usual charms and frills, like 'something borrowed, something blue.'She says she's lost faith in them since so many of them that she's knownof at different weddings have failed to come true. Besides, everybodyheah has their fate already settled. We all know about yoah engagementto Gay, even if it hasn't been announced. You'll be the next to go. Youdon't need a ring in a cake, or the bride's bouquet thrown over thebannistah to tell you _that_."
Later, when it was time to start to the station, and Betty had joinedthem again in her travelling dress, the old Colonel looked out to seewhat was delaying the carriage.
"It's not coming at all, grandfathah deah," explained Lloyd. "Thebaggage has gone on ahead and Betty wants to walk. She said she'd rathahgo that way, just as if she were only saying good night to you andmothah and Papa Jack, and would be back in a little while. She doesn'twant it to seem like a long good-bye. She wants her last look at you allto be heah at home."
But, in spite of everybody's efforts to make it appear that this wasjust a casual going away, only a temporary separation, Betty found theparting almost more than she could bear. She clung to her god-mother amoment at the last, wanting to sob out all her love and gratitude forthe beautiful years she was leaving behind her, but there were no wordsdeep enough. Her last kiss was given in silence more eloquent thanspeech. At the bottom of the steps she whisked away the tears whichwould gather despite her brave resolve to fight them back, and turnedfor one more look at the House Beautiful before she left it to gofarther on her pilgrim way.
There they stood, the three who had filled her life so full, who hadtaken the place of father and mother and indulgent grandfather in herlife. She smiled bravely as she gave them a parting wave of her hand.She could not let tears dim her last sight of those dear faces. Anotherwave for Mom Beck and Alec Walker and old Aunt Cindy, who stood behindthem calling their blessings and good wishes after her. Then she went onwith the others.
The moonlight filtered down through the trees, casting swaying shadowson the long white avenue. Rob, walking ahead with Lloyd, looked backwhen they came to the "measuring tree," to say to Miss Allison and Alex,who were just behind:
"It doesn't seem natural for a crowd of this size to start out on anight like this in such a quiet way. We always used to sing. Strike up,Alex!"
Instantly there was wafted back to the watchers on the porch the wordsof a familiar old song:
"It was from Aunt Dinah's quilting party I was seeing Nellie home."
How many scores of times had that song echoed through the valley! Theyhad sung it crunching through the snow with their skates on theirshoulders; they had hummed it strolling through starry August nightswhen the still air was heavy with the smell of dew-laden lilies. Now,once more they sang it, like boys and girls together again, and Bettywiped her eyes with a little thrill of pleasure when Jack's voice joinedin the chorus. She had never heard him sing before and she did not knowthat he had such a deep, sweet voice. It pleased her, too, to know thathe was familiar with the song and could join in with the others asreadily as if he had always had a part in her happy past.
At the gate she turned for one more look at the house, with its lightsstreaming from every window, and wondered when she would ever see itagain.
"But no matter how long it may be," she thought, "I can carry the cheerof those lights with me always, wherever I go. It's been such a happy,happy home."
When they reached the station there were only a few moments to wait forthe train. She stood holding Lloyd's hand in silence while the otherstalked, until they heard it rumbling down the track. It was a fastexpress that stopped only by special order, and then only long enough tothrow the trunks on, so the leave-taking was over in a rush. In anotherinstant she was sitting with her face pressed against the window pane,peering out for a last glimpse of the place. She saw just one quicklyvanishing light as they sped by, and whispered, "Good-bye, dear Valley."
A sudden feeling of homesickness took possession of her for one longmoment. Then Jack's hand closed over hers, holding it in a warm,
strongclasp, and she knew that he understood just what that parting meant toher. Instantly there sprang up in her heart the knowledge that all shehad left behind was as nothing to the love and sympathy that was toenfold her henceforth.