CHAPTER XVIII
A WAR-WEDDING
"I can tell you this Dr. dear," said Susan, pale with wrath, "thatGermany is getting to be perfectly ridiculous."
They were all in the big Ingleside kitchen. Susan was mixing biscuitsfor supper. Mrs. Blythe was making shortbread for Jem, and Rilla wascompounding candy for Ken and Walter--it had once been "Walter and Ken"in her thoughts but somehow, quite unconsciously, this had changeduntil Ken's name came naturally first. Cousin Sophia was also there,knitting. All the boys were going to be killed in the long run, soCousin Sophia felt in her bones, but they might better die with warmfeet than cold ones, so Cousin Sophia knitted faithfully and gloomily.
Into this peaceful scene erupted the doctor, wrathful and excited overthe burning of the Parliament Buildings in Ottawa. And Susan becameautomatically quite as wrathful and excited.
"What will those Huns do next?" she demanded. "Coming over here andburning our Parliament building! Did anyone ever hear of such anoutrage?"
"We don't know that the Germans are responsible for this," said thedoctor--much as if he felt quite sure they were. "Fires do startwithout their agency sometimes. And Uncle Mark MacAllister's barn wasburnt last week. You can hardly accuse the Germans of that, Susan."
"Indeed, Dr. dear, I do not know." Susan nodded slowly andportentously. "Whiskers-on-the-moon was there that very day. The firebroke out half an hour after he was gone. So much is a fact--but Ishall not accuse a Presbyterian elder of burning anybody's barn until Ihave proof. However, everybody knows, Dr. dear, that both Uncle Mark'sboys have enlisted, and that Uncle Mark himself makes speeches at allthe recruiting meetings. So no doubt Germany is anxious to get squarewith him."
"I could never speak at a recruiting meeting," said Cousin Sophiasolemnly. "I could never reconcile it to my conscience to ask anotherwoman's son to go, to murder and be murdered."
"Could you not?" said Susan. "Well, Sophia Crawford, I felt as if Icould ask anyone to go when I read last night that there were nochildren under eight years of age left alive in Poland. Think of that,Sophia Crawford"--Susan shook a floury finger atSophia--"not--one--child--under--eight--years--of--age!"
"I suppose the Germans has et 'em all," sighed Cousin Sophia.
"Well, no-o-o," said Susan reluctantly, as if she hated to admit thatthere was any crime the Huns couldn't be accused of. "The Germans havenot turned cannibal yet--as far as I know. They have died of starvationand exposure, the poor little creatures. There is murdering for you,Cousin Sophia Crawford. The thought of it poisons every bite and sup Itake."
"I see that Fred Carson of Lowbridge has been awarded a DistinguishedConduct Medal," remarked the doctor, over his local paper.
"I heard that last week," said Susan. "He is a battalion runner and hedid something extra brave and daring. His letter, telling his folksabout it, came when his old Grandmother Carson was on her dying-bed.She had only a few minutes more to live and the Episcopal minister, whowas there, asked her if she would not like him to pray. 'Oh yes, yes,you can pray,' she said impatient-like--she was a Dean, Dr. dear, andthe Deans were always high-spirited--'you can pray, but for pity's sakepray low and don't disturb me. I want to think over this splendid newsand I have not much time left to do it.' That was Almira Carson allover. Fred was the apple of her eye. She was seventy-five years of ageand had not a grey hair in her head, they tell me."
"By the way, that reminds me--I found a grey hair this morning--my veryfirst," said Mrs. Blythe.
"I have noticed that grey hair for some time, Mrs. Dr. dear, but I didnot speak of it. Thought I to myself, 'She has enough to bear.' But nowthat you have discovered it let me remind you that grey hairs arehonourable."
"I must be getting old, Gilbert." Mrs. Blythe laughed a trifleruefully. "People are beginning to tell me I look so young. They nevertell you that when you are young. But I shall not worry over my silverthread. I never liked red hair. Gilbert, did I ever tell you of thattime, years ago at Green Gables, when I dyed my hair? Nobody butMarilla and I knew about it."
"Was that the reason you came out once with your hair shingled to thebone?"
"Yes. I bought a bottle of dye from a German Jew pedlar. I fondlyexpected it would turn my hair black--and it turned it green. So it hadto be cut off."
"You had a narrow escape, Mrs. Dr. dear," exclaimed Susan. "Of courseyou were too young then to know what a German was. It was a specialmercy of Providence that it was only green dye and not poison."
"It seems hundreds of years since those Green Gables days," sighed Mrs.Blythe. "They belonged to another world altogether. Life has been cutin two by the chasm of war. What is ahead I don't know--but it can't bea bit like the past. I wonder if those of us who have lived half ourlives in the old world will ever feel wholly at home in the new."
"Have you noticed," asked Miss Oliver, glancing up from her book, "howeverything written before the war seems so far away now, too? One feelsas if one was reading something as ancient as the Iliad. This poem ofWordsworth's--the Senior class have it in their entrance work--I'vebeen glancing over it. Its classic calm and repose and the beauty ofthe lines seem to belong to another planet, and to have as little to dowith the present world-welter as the evening star."
"The only thing that I find much comfort in reading nowadays is theBible," remarked Susan, whisking her biscuits into the oven. "There areso many passages in it that seem to me exactly descriptive of the Huns.Old Highland Sandy declares that there is no doubt that the Kaiser isthe Anti-Christ spoken of in Revelations, but I do not go as far asthat. It would, in my humble opinion, Mrs. Dr. dear, be too great anhonour for him."
Early one morning, several days later, Miranda Pryor slipped up toIngleside, ostensibly to get some Red Cross sewing, but in reality totalk over with sympathetic Rilla troubles that were past bearing alone.She brought her dog with her--an over-fed, bandy-legged little animalvery dear to her heart because Joe Milgrave had given it to her when itwas a puppy. Mr. Pryor regarded all dogs with disfavour; but in thosedays he had looked kindly upon Joe as a suitor for Miranda's hand andso he had allowed her to keep the puppy. Miranda was so grateful thatshe endeavoured to please her father by naming her dog after hispolitical idol, the great Liberal chieftain, Sir WilfridLaurier--though his title was soon abbreviated to Wilfy. Sir Wilfridgrew and flourished and waxed fat; but Miranda spoiled him absurdly andnobody else liked him. Rilla especially hated him because of hisdetestable trick of lying flat on his back and entreating you withwaving paws to tickle his sleek stomach. When she saw that Miranda'spale eyes bore unmistakable testimony of her having cried all night,Rilla asked her to come up to her room, knowing Miranda had a tale ofwoe to tell, but she ordered Sir Wilfrid to remain below.
"Oh, can't he come, too?" said Miranda wistfully. "Poor Wilfy won't beany bother--and I wiped his paws so carefully before I brought him in.He is always so lonesome in a strange place without me--and very soonhe'll be--all--I'll have left--to remind me--of Joe."
Rilla yielded, and Sir Wilfrid, with his tail curled at a saucy angleover his brindled back, trotted triumphantly up the stairs before them.
"Oh, Rilla," sobbed Miranda, when they had reached sanctuary. "I'm sounhappy. I can't begin to tell you how unhappy I am. Truly, my heart isbreaking."
Rilla sat down on the lounge beside her. Sir Wilfrid squatted on hishaunches before them, with his impertinent pink tongue stuck out, andlistened. "What is the trouble, Miranda?"
"Joe is coming home tonight on his last leave. I had a letter from himon Saturday--he sends my letters in care of Bob Crawford, you know,because of father--and, oh, Rilla, he will only have four days--he hasto go away Friday morning--and I may never see him again."
"Does he still want you to marry him?" asked Rilla.
"Oh, yes. He implored me in his letter to run away and be married. ButI cannot do that, Rilla, not even for Joe. My only comfort is that Iwill be able to see him for a little while tomorrow afternoon. Fatherhas to go to Charlottetown on business. At least we will
have one goodfarewell talk. But oh--afterwards--why, Rilla, I know father won't evenlet me go to the station Friday morning to see Joe off."
"Why in the world don't you and Joe get married tomorrow afternoon athome?" demanded Rilla.
Miranda swallowed a sob in such amazement that she almost choked.
"Why--why--that is impossible, Rilla."
"Why?" briefly demanded the organizer of the Junior Red Cross and thetransporter of babies in soup tureens.
"Why--why--we never thought of such a thing--Joe hasn't a license--Ihave no dress--I couldn't be married in black--I--I--we--you--you--"Miranda lost herself altogether and Sir Wilfrid, seeing that she was indire distress threw back his head and emitted a melancholy yelp.
Rilla Blythe thought hard and rapidly for a few minutes. Then she said,"Miranda, if you will put yourself into my hands I'll have you marriedto Joe before four o'clock tomorrow afternoon."
"Oh, you couldn't."
"I can and I will. But you'll have to do exactly as I tell you."
"Oh--I--don't think--oh, father will kill me--"
"Nonsense. He'll be very angry I suppose. But are you more afraid ofyour father's anger than you are of Joe's never coming back to you?"
"No," said Miranda, with sudden firmness, "I'm not."
"Will you do as I tell you then?"
"Yes, I will."
"Then get Joe on the long-distance at once and tell him to bring out alicense and ring tonight."
"Oh, I couldn't," wailed the aghast Miranda, "it--it would be so--soindelicate."
Rilla shut her little white teeth together with a snap. "Heaven grantme patience," she said under her breath. "I'll do it then," she saidaloud, "and meanwhile, you go home and make what preparations you can.When I 'phone down to you to come up and help me sew come at once."
As soon as Miranda, pallid, scared, but desperately resolved, had gone,Rilla flew to the telephone and put in a long-distance call forCharlottetown. She got through with such surprising quickness that shewas convinced Providence approved of her undertaking, but it was a goodhour before she could get in touch with Joe Milgrave at his camp.Meanwhile, she paced impatiently about, and prayed that when she didget Joe there would be no listeners on the line to carry news toWhiskers-on-the-moon.
"Is that you, Joe? Rilla Blythe is speaking--Rilla--Rilla--oh, nevermind. Listen to this. Before you come home tonight get a marriagelicense--a marriage license--yes, a marriage license--and awedding-ring. Did you get that? And will you do it? Very well, be sureyou do it--it is your only chance."
Flushed with triumph--for her only fear was that she might not be ableto locate Joe in time--Rilla rang the Pryor ring. This time she had notsuch good luck for she drew Whiskers-on-the-moon.
"Is that Miranda? Oh--Mr. Pryor! Well, Mr. Pryor, will you kindly askMiranda if she can come up this afternoon and help me with some sewing.It is very important, or I would not trouble her. Oh--thank you."
Mr. Pryor had consented somewhat grumpily, but he had consented--he didnot want to offend Dr. Blythe, and he knew that if he refused to allowMiranda to do any Red Cross work public opinion would make the Glen toohot for comfort. Rilla went out to the kitchen, shut all the doors witha mysterious expression which alarmed Susan, and then said solemnly,"Susan can you make a wedding-cake this afternoon?"
"A wedding-cake!" Susan stared. Rilla had, without any warning, broughther a war-baby once upon a time. Was she now, with equal suddenness,going to produce a husband?
"Yes, a wedding-cake--a scrumptious wedding-cake, Susan--a beautiful,plummy, eggy, citron-peely wedding-cake. And we must make other thingstoo. I'll help you in the morning. But I can't help you in theafternoon for I have to make a wedding-dress and time is the essence ofthe contract, Susan."
Susan felt that she was really too old to be subjected to such shocks.
"Who are you going to marry, Rilla?" she asked feebly.
"Susan, darling, I am not the happy bride. Miranda Pryor is going tomarry Joe Milgrave tomorrow afternoon while her father is away in town.A war-wedding, Susan--isn't that thrilling and romantic? I never was soexcited in my life."
The excitement soon spread over Ingleside, infecting even Mrs. Blytheand Susan.
"I'll go to work on that cake at once," vowed Susan, with a glance atthe clock. "Mrs. Dr. dear, will you pick over the fruit and beat up theeggs? If you will I can have that cake ready for the oven by theevening. Tomorrow morning we can make salads and other things. I willwork all night if necessary to get the better of Whiskers-on-the-moon."
Miranda arrived, tearful and breathless.
"We must fix over my white dress for you to wear," said Rilla. "It willfit you very nicely with a little alteration."
To work went the two girls, ripping, fitting, basting, sewing for dearlife. By dint of unceasing effort they got the dress done by seveno'clock and Miranda tried it on in Rilla's room.
"It's very pretty--but oh, if I could just have a veil," sighedMiranda. "I've always dreamed of being married in a lovely white veil."
Some good fairy evidently waits on the wishes of war-brides. The dooropened and Mrs. Blythe came in, her arms full of a filmy burden.
"Miranda dear," she said, "I want you to wear my wedding-veil tomorrow.It is twenty-four years since I was a bride at old Green Gables--thehappiest bride that ever was--and the wedding-veil of a happy bridebrings good luck, they say."
"Oh, how sweet of you, Mrs. Blythe," said Miranda, the ready tearsstarting to her eyes.
The veil was tried on and draped. Susan dropped in to approve but darednot linger.
"I've got that cake in the oven," she said, "and I am pursuing a policyof watchful waiting. The evening news is that the Grand Duke hascaptured Erzerum. That is a pill for the Turks. I wish I had a chanceto tell the Czar just what a mistake he made when he turned Nicholasdown."
Susan disappeared downstairs to the kitchen, whence a dreadful thud anda piercing shriek presently sounded. Everybody rushed to thekitchen--the doctor and Miss Oliver, Mrs. Blythe, Rilla, Miranda in herwedding-veil. Susan was sitting flatly in the middle of the kitchenfloor with a dazed, bewildered look on her face, while Doc, evidentlyin his Hyde incarnation, was standing on the dresser, with his back up,his eyes blazing, and his tail the size of three tails.
"Susan, what has happened?" cried Mrs. Blythe in alarm. "Did you fall?Are you hurt?"
Susan picked herself up.
"No," she said grimly, "I am not hurt, though I am jarred all over. Donot be alarmed. As for what has happened--I tried to kick that darnedcat with both feet, that is what happened."
Everybody shrieked with laughter. The doctor was quite helpless.
"Oh, Susan, Susan," he gasped. "That I should live to hear you swear."
"I am sorry," said Susan in real distress, "that I used such anexpression before two young girls. But I said that beast was darned,and darned it is. It belongs to Old Nick."
"Do you expect it will vanish some of these days with a bang and theodour of brimstone, Susan?"
"It will go to its own place in due time and that you may tie to," saidSusan dourly, shaking out her raddled bones and going to her oven. "Isuppose my plunking down like that has shaken my cake so that it willbe as heavy as lead."
But the cake was not heavy. It was all a bride's cake should be, andSusan iced it beautifully. Next day she and Rilla worked all theforenoon, making delicacies for the wedding-feast, and as soon asMiranda phoned up that her father was safely off everything was packedin a big hamper and taken down to the Pryor house. Joe soon arrived inhis uniform and a state of violent excitement, accompanied by his bestman, Sergeant Malcolm Crawford. There were quite a few guests, for allthe Manse and Ingleside folk were there, and a dozen or so of Joe'srelatives, including his mother, "Mrs. Dead Angus Milgrave," so called,cheerfully, to distinguish her from another lady whose Angus wasliving. Mrs. Dead Angus wore a rather disapproving expression, notcaring over-much for this alliance with the house ofWhiskers-on-the-moon.
So Miran
da Pryor was married to Private Joseph Milgrave on his lastleave. It should have been a romantic wedding but it was not. Therewere too many factors working against romance, as even Rilla had toadmit. In the first place, Miranda, in spite of her dress and veil, wassuch a flat-faced, commonplace, uninteresting little bride. In thesecond place, Joe cried bitterly all through the ceremony, and thisvexed Miranda unreasonably. Long afterwards she told Rilla, "I justfelt like saying to him then and there, 'If you feel so bad over havingto marry me you don't have to.' But it was just because he was thinkingall the time of how soon he would have to leave me."
In the third place, Jims, who was usually so well-behaved in public,took a fit of shyness and contrariness combined and began to cry at thetop of his voice for "Willa." Nobody wanted to take him out, becauseeverybody wanted to see the marriage, so Rilla who was a bridesmaid,had to take him and hold him during the ceremony.
In the fourth place, Sir Wilfrid Laurier took a fit.
Sir Wilfrid was entrenched in a corner of the room behind Miranda'spiano. During his seizure he made the weirdest, most unearthly noises.He would begin with a series of choking, spasmodic sounds, continuinginto a gruesome gurgle, and ending up with a strangled howl. Nobodycould hear a word Mr. Meredith was saying, except now and then, whenSir Wilfrid stopped for breath. Nobody looked at the bride exceptSusan, who never dragged her fascinated eyes from Miranda's face--allthe others were gazing at the dog. Miranda had been trembling withnervousness but as soon as Sir Wilfrid began his performance she forgotit. All that she could think of was that her dear dog was dying and shecould not go to him. She never remembered a word of the ceremony.
Rilla, who in spite of Jims, had been trying her best to look rapt andromantic, as beseemed a war bridesmaid, gave up the hopeless attempt,and devoted her energies to choking down untimely merriment. She darednot look at anybody in the room, especially Mrs. Dead Angus, for fearall her suppressed mirth should suddenly explode in a mostun-young-ladylike yell of laughter.
But married they were, and then they had a wedding-supper in thedining-room which was so lavish and bountiful that you would havethought it was the product of a month's labour. Everybody had broughtsomething. Mrs. Dead Angus had brought a large apple-pie, which sheplaced on a chair in the dining-room and then absently sat down on it.Neither her temper nor her black silk wedding garment was improvedthereby, but the pie was never missed at the gay bridal feast. Mrs.Dead Angus eventually took it home with her again.Whiskers-on-the-moon's pacifist pig should not get it, anyhow.
That evening Mr. and Mrs. Joe, accompanied by the recovered SirWilfrid, departed for the Four Winds Lighthouse, which was kept byJoe's uncle and in which they meant to spend their brief honeymoon. UnaMeredith and Rilla and Susan washed the dishes, tidied up, left a coldsupper and Miranda's pitiful little note on the table for Mr. Pryor,and walked home, while the mystic veil of dreamy, haunted wintertwilight wrapped itself over the Glen.
"I would really not have minded being a war-bride myself," remarkedSusan sentimentally.
But Rilla felt rather flat--perhaps as a reaction to all the excitementand rush of the past thirty-six hours. She was disappointedsomehow--the whole affair had been so ludicrous, and Miranda and Joe solachrymose and commonplace.
"If Miranda hadn't given that wretched dog such an enormous dinner hewouldn't have had that fit," she said crossly. "I warned her--but shesaid she couldn't starve the poor dog--he would soon be all she hadleft, etc. I could have shaken her."
"The best man was more excited than Joe was," said Susan. "He wishedMiranda many happy returns of the day. She did not look very happy, butperhaps you could not expect that under the circumstances."
"Anyhow," thought Rilla, "I can write a perfectly killing account of itall to the boys. How Jem will howl over Sir Wilfrid's part in it!"
But if Rilla was rather disappointed in the war wedding she foundnothing lacking on Friday morning when Miranda said good-bye to herbridegroom at the Glen station. The dawn was white as a pearl, clear asa diamond. Behind the station the balsamy copse of young firs wasfrost-misted. The cold moon of dawn hung over the westering snow fieldsbut the golden fleeces of sunrise shone above the maples up atIngleside. Joe took his pale little bride in his arms and she liftedher face to his. Rilla choked suddenly. It did not matter that Mirandawas insignificant and commonplace and flat-featured. It did not matterthat she was the daughter of Whiskers-on-the-moon. All that matteredwas that rapt, sacrificial look in her eyes--that ever-burning, sacredfire of devotion and loyalty and fine courage that she was mutelypromising Joe she and thousands of other women would keep alive at homewhile their men held the Western front. Rilla walked away, realisingthat she must not spy on such a moment. She went down to the end of theplatform where Sir Wilfrid and Dog Monday were sitting, looking at eachother.
Sir Wilfrid remarked condescendingly: "Why do you haunt this old shedwhen you might lie on the hearthrug at Ingleside and live on the fat ofthe land? Is it a pose? Or a fixed idea?"
Whereat Dog Monday, laconically: "I have a tryst to keep."
When the train had gone Rilla rejoined the little trembling Miranda."Well, he's gone," said Miranda, "and he may never come back--but I'mhis wife, and I'm going to be worthy of him. I'm going home."
"Don't you think you had better come with me now?" asked Rilladoubtfully. Nobody knew yet how Mr. Pryor had taken the matter.
"No. If Joe can face the Huns I guess I can face father," said Mirandadaringly. "A soldier's wife can't be a coward. Come on, Wilfy. I'll gostraight home and meet the worst."
There was nothing very dreadful to face, however. Perhaps Mr. Pryor hadreflected that housekeepers were hard to get and that there were manyMilgrave homes open to Miranda--also, that there was such a thing as aseparation allowance. At all events, though he told her grumpily thatshe had made a nice fool of herself, and would live to regret it, hesaid nothing worse, and Mrs. Joe put on her apron and went to work asusual, while Sir Wilfrid Laurier, who had a poor opinion of lighthousesfor winter residences, went to sleep in his pet nook behind thewoodbox, a thankful dog that he was done with war-weddings.