CHAPTER XVII
"I, Sarah, take thee, Frederick, to my wedded husband, to have and tohold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer forpoorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, tilldeath us do part, according to God's holy ordinance. And thereto I givethee my troth."
The old clock in the corner was ticking very distinctly; the scent ofroses in the crowded room made the air heavy with sweetness; the candleson the mantelpiece flickered in the breeze from the open window; outsidea whip-poor-will was singing in the lilac bushes.
"With this ring I thee wed, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow:In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."
An involuntary tear rolled down Mrs. Gray's cheek, to be hastilyconcealed and wiped away with her new lace handkerchief; her husband waslooking straight ahead of him, very hard, at nothing; Ruth adjusted thebig white bow on little Elsie's curls; Sylvia felt for Austin's handbehind the folds of her dress, and found it groping for hers.
Then suddenly the spell was broken. The minister was shaking hands withthe bride and groom, Sally was taking her bouquet from Molly, every onewas laughing and talking at once, crowding up to offer congratulations,handling, admiring, and discussing the wedding presents, half-fallingover each other with haste and excitement. Delicious smells began toissue from the kitchen, and the long dining-table was quickly laden down.Sylvia took her place at one end, behind the coffee-urn, Molly at theother end, behind the strawberries and ice-cream. Katherine, Edith, andthe boys flew around passing plates, cakes of all kinds, great sugareddoughnuts and fat cookies. Sally was borne into the room triumphant on a"chair" made of her brothers' arms to cut and distribute the "bride'scake." Then, when every one had eaten as much as was humanly possible,the piano was moved out to the great new barn, with its fine concretefloors swept and scoured as only Peter could do it, and its every stallfestooned with white crepe paper by Sylvia, and the dancing began--forthis time the crowd was too great to permit it in the house, in spite ofthe spacious rooms. Molly and Sylvia took turns in playing, and eachfound several eager partners waiting for her, every time the "shift"occurred. Finally, about midnight, the bride went upstairs to change herdress, and the girls gathered around the banisters to be ready to catchthe bouquet when she came down, laughing and teasing each other whilethey waited. Great shouts arose, and much joking began, when Edith--andnot Sylvia as every one had privately hoped--caught the huge bunch offlowers and ribbon, and ran with it in her arms out on the wide piazza,all the others behind her, to be ready to pelt Sally and Fred with ricewhen they appeared. Thomas was to drive them to the station, and Sylvia'smotor was bedecked with white garlands and bows, slippers and bells, fromone end of it to the other. At last the rush came; and the happy victims,showered and dishevelled, waving their handkerchiefs and shoutinggood-bye, were whisked up the hill, and out of sight.
Sylvia insisted on staying, to begin "straightening out the worst of themess" as soon as the last guest had gone, and on remaining overnight,sleeping in Sally's old room with Molly, to be on hand and go on with thegood work the first thing in the morning. Sadie and James had to leave onthe afternoon train, as James had stretched his leave of absence frombusiness to the very last degree already; so by evening the house waspainfully tidy again, and so quiet that Mrs. Gray declared it "gave herthe blues just to listen to it."
The next night was to be Austin's last one at home, and he hadpromised Sylvia to go and take supper with her, but just before sixo'clock the telephone rang, and she knew that something had happenedto disappoint her.
"Is that you, Sylvia?"
"Yes, dear."
"Mr. Carter--the President of the Wallacetown Bank, you know--has justcalled me up. There's going to be a meeting of the bank officers justafter the fourth, as they've decided to enlarge their board of directors,and add at least one 'rising young farmer' as he put it--And oh, Sylvia,he asked if I would allow my name to be proposed! Just think--after allthe years when we couldn't get a _cent_ from them at any rate ofinterest, to have that come! It's every bit due to you!"
"It isn't either--it's due to the splendid work you've done thislast year."
"Well, we won't stop to discuss that now. He wants me to drive up and seehim about it right away. Do you mind if I take the motor? I can make somuch better time, and get back to you so much more quickly--but I can'tcome to supper--you must forgive me if I go."
"I never should forgive you if you didn't--that's wonderful news! Don'thurry--I'll be glad to see you whatever time you get back."
She hung up the receiver, and sat motionless beside the instrument, toothrilled for the moment to move. What a man he was proving himself--herfarmer! And yet--how each new responsibility, well fulfilled, was goingto take him more and more from her! She sighed involuntarily, and wasabout to rise, when the bell sounded again.
"Hullo," she said courteously, but tonelessly. The bottom of the eveninghad dropped out for her. It mattered very little how she spent it nowuntil Austin arrived.
"Land, Sylvia, you sound as if there'd ben a death in the family! Do perkup a little! Yes, this is Mrs. Elliott--Maybe if some of the folks onthis line that's taken their receivers down so's they'll know who I'mtalkin' to an' what I'm sayin' will hang up you can hear me a little moreplain." (This timely remark resulted in several little clicks.) "There,that's better. I see Austin tearin' past like mad in your otter, and Isays to Joe, 'That means Sylvia's all alone again, same as usual; I'mgoin' to call her up an' visit with her a spell!' Hot, ain't it? Yes, Ialways suffer considerable with the heat. I sez this mornin' to Joe,'Joe, it's goin' to be a hot day,' and he sez, 'Yes, Eliza, I'm afraid itis,' an' I sez, 'Well, we've got to stand it,' an' he--"
"I hope you have," interrupted Sylvia politely.
"Yes, as well as could be expected--you know I ain't over an' abovestrong this season. My old trouble. But then, I don't complain any--onlyas I said to Joe, it is awful tryin'. Have you heard how the newminister's wife is doin'? She ain't ben to evenin' meetin' at all regularsence she got here, an' she made an angel cake, just for her own family,last Wednesday. She puts her washin' out, too. I got it straight fromMrs. Jones, next door to her. I went there the other evenin' to get anightgown pattern she thought was real tasty. I don't know as I shalllike it, though. It's supposed to have a yoke made out of crochet ortattin' at the top, an' I ain't got anything of the kind on hand justnow, an' no time to make any. Besides, I've never thought thesenew-fangled garments was just the thing for a respectable woman--thereain't enough to 'em. When I was young they was made of good thick cotton,long-sleeved an' high-necked, trimmed with Hamburg edgin' an' buttoneddown the front. Speakin' of nightgowns, how are you gettin' on with yourtrousseau? Have you decided what you're goin' to wear for a weddin'dress? I was readin' in the paper the other day about some widow that gotmarried down in Boston, an' she wore a pink chif_fon_ dress. I was realshocked. If she'd ben a divorced person, I should have expected some suchthing, but there warn't anything of the kind in this case--she was adecent young woman, an' real pretty, judgin' from her picture. But Ishould have thought she'd have wore gray or lavender, wouldn't you? Thereoughtn't to be anything gay about a second weddin'! Well, as I was sayin'to Joe about the minister's wife--What's that? You think they're bothreal nice, an' you're glad he's got _some_ sort of a wife? Now, Sylvia, Ialways did think you was a little mite hard on Mr. Jessup. I says to Joe,'Joe, Sylvia's a nice girl, but she's a flirt, sure as you're settin'there,' an' Joe says--"
"Have you heard from Fred and Sally yet?"
"Yes, they've sent us three picture post-cards. Real pretty. There ain'tmuch space for news on 'em, though--they just show a bridge, an' apark, an' a railroad station. Still, of course, we was glad to get 'em,an' they seem to be havin' a fine time. I heard to-day that Ruth's babywas sick again. Delicate, ain't it? I shouldn't be a mite surprised ifRuth couldn't raise her. 'Blue around the eyes,' I says to Joe the firsttime I ever clapped eyes on her. An' then Ruth ain't got
noget-up-and-get to her. Shiftless, same's Howard is, though she's just aswell-meanin'. I hear she's thinkin' of keepin' a hired girl all summer.Frank's business don't warrant it. He has a real hard time gettin'along. He's too easy-goin' with his customers. Gives long credit whenthey're hard up, an' all that. Of course it's nice to be charitable ifyou can afford it, but--"
"Frank isn't going to pay the hired girl."
"There you go again, Sylvia! You kinder remind me of the widow's cruse,never failin'. 'Tain't many families gets hold of anything like you.Well, I must be sayin' good-night--there seems to be several peopletryin' to butt in an' use this line, though probably they don't want itfor anything important at all. I've got no patience with folks that usesthe telephone as a means of gossip, an' interfere with those that reallyneeds it. Besides, though I'd be glad to talk with you a little longer,I'm plum tuckered out with the heat, as I said before. I ben makin'currant jelly, too. It come out fine--a little too hard, if anything.But, as I says to Joe, 'Druv as I am, I'm a-goin' to call up that poorlonely girl, an' help her pass the evenin'.' Come over an' bring yoursewin' an' set with me some day soon, won't you, Sylvia? You know I'malways real pleased to see you. Good-night."
"Good-night." Sylvia leaned back, laughing.
Mrs. Elliott, who infuriated Thomas, and exasperated Austin, was anever-failing source of enjoyment to her. She went back to the porch towait for Austin, still chuckling.
After the conversation she had had with him, she was greatly surprised,when, a little after eight o'clock, the garden gate clicked. She ran downthe steps hurriedly with his name on her lips. But the figure comingtowards her through the dusk was much smaller than Austin's and a voiceanswered her, in broken English, "It ain't Mr. Gray, missus. It's me."
"Why, Peter!" she said in amazement; "is anything the matter atthe farm?"
"No, missus; not vat you'd called _vrong_."
"What is it, then? Will you come up and sit down?"
He stood fumbling at his hat for a minute, and then settled himselfawkwardly on the steps at her feet. His yellow hair was sleeklybrushed, his face shone with soap and water, and he had on his bestclothes. It was quiet evident that he had come with the distinctpurpose of making a call.
"Can dose domestics hear vat ve say?" he asked at length, turning hiswide blue eyes upon her, after some minutes of heavy silence.
"Not a word."
"Vell den--you know Mr. Gray and I goin' avay to-morrow."
"Yes, Peter."
"To be gone much as a mont', Mr. Gray say."
"I believe so."
"Mrs. Cary, dear missus,--vill you look after Edit' vile I'm gone?"
"Why, yes, Peter," she said warmly, "I always see a good deal ofEdith--we're great friends, you know."
"Yes, missus, that's vone reason vy I come--Edit' t'ink no vone likeyou--ever vas, ever shall be. But den--I'm vorried 'bout Edit'."
"Worried? Why, Peter? She's well and strong."
"Oh, yes, she's vell--ver' vell. But Edit' love to have a goodtime--'vun' she say. If I go mit, she come mit me--ven not, mit somevone else."
"I see--you're jealous, Peter."
"No, no, missus, not jealous, only vorried, ver' vorried. Edit' she'syoung, but not baby, like Mr. and Missus Gray t'ink. I don't like Mr. YonVeston, missus, nod ad all--and Edit' go out mit him, ev'y chance sheget. An' Mr. Hugh Elliott, cousin to Miss Sally's husband, dey say heliked Miss Sally vonce--he's back here now, he looks hard at Edit' ev'ytime he see her. He's that kind of man, missus, vat does look ver' hard."
Sylvia could not help being touched. "I'll do my best, Peter, but I can'tpromise anything. Edith is the kind of girl, as you say, that likes tohave 'fun' and I have no real authority over her."
As if the object of his visit was entirely accomplished, Peter rose toleave. "I t'ank you ver' much, missus," he said politely. "It's a ver'varm evening, not? Goodnight."
For a few minutes after Peter left, Sylvia sat thinking over what he hadsaid, and her own face grew "vorried" too. Then the garden gate clickedagain, and for the next two hours she was too happy for trouble of anykind to touch her. Austin's interview with Mr. Carter had proved a greatsuccess, and after that had been thoroughly discussed, they found a greatdeal to say about their own plans for September. For the moment, shequite forgot all that Peter had said.
It came back to her, vividly enough, a few nights later. She had sat upvery late, writing to Austin, and was still lying awake, long aftermidnight, when she heard the whirr of a motor near by, and a moment latera soft voice calling under her window. She threw a negligee about her,and ran to the front door; as she unlatched it, Edith slipped in, herfinger on her lips.
"Hush! Don't let the servants hear! Oh, Sylvia, I've had such alark--will you keep me overnight!"
"I would gladly, but your mother would be worried to death."
"No, she won't. You see, I found, two hours ago, that it would be a longtime before I got back, and I telephoned her saying I was going to spendthe night with you. Don't you understand? She thought I was here then."
"Edith--you didn't lie to your mother!"
"Now, Sylvia, don't begin to scold at this hour, when I'm tired andsleepy as I can be! It wasn't my fault we burst two tires, was it? Butmother's prejudiced against Hugh, just because Sally, who's a perfectprude, didn't happen to like him. Lend me one of your deliciousnight-dresses, do, and let me cuddle down beside you--the bed's so big,you'll never know I'm there."
Sylvia mechanically opened a drawer and handed her the garment sherequested.
"Gracious, Sylvia, it's like a cobweb--perhaps if I marry a rich man, Ican have things like this! What an angel you look in yours! Austin willcertainly think he's struck heaven when he sees you like that! I nevercould understand what a little thing like you wanted this huge bed for,but, of course, you knew when you bought it--"
"Edith," interrupted Sylvia sharply, "be quiet! In the morning I want totalk with you a little."
But as she lay awake long after the young girl had fallen into a deep,quiet sleep, she felt sadly puzzled to know what she could, with wisdomand helpfulness, say. It was so usual in the country for young girls toride about alone at night with their admirers, so much the acceptedcustom, of which no harm seemed to come, that however much she mightpersonally disapprove of such a course, she could not reasonably findfault with it. It was probably her own sense of outraged delicacy, shetried to think, after Edith's careless speech, that made her feel thatthe child lacked the innate good-breeding and quiet attractiveness, whichher sisters, all less pretty than she, possessed to such a markedextent, in spite of their lack of polish. She tried to think that it wasonly to-night she had noticed how red and full Edith's pouting lips weregrowing, how careless she was about the depth of her V-cut blouses, howunusually lacking in shyness and restraint for one so young. In themorning, she said nothing and Edith was secretly much relieved; but shewent and asked Mrs. Gray if she could not spare her youngest daughter fora visit while Austin was away, "to ward off loneliness." She found thegood lady out in the garden, weeding her petunias, and bent over to helpher as she made her request.
"There, dearie, don't you bother--you'll get your pretty dress allgrass-stain, and it looks to me like another new one! I wouldn't havethought baby-blue would be so becomin' to you, Sylvia. I always fanciedit for a blonde, mostly, but there! you've got such lovely skin, anythinglooks well on you. Do you like petunias? Scarcely anyone has them, an'cinnamon pinks, an' johnnie-jump-ups any more--it's all sweet-peas, an'nasturtiums, an' such! But to me there ain't any flower any handsomerthan a big purple petunia."
"I like them too--and it doesn't matter if my dress does get dirty--it'llwash. Now about Edith--"
"Why, Sylvia, you know how I hate to deny you anything, but I don't seehow I can spare her! Here it is hayin'-time, the busiest time of theyear, an' Austin an' Peter both gone. I haven't a word to say againstthem young fellows that Thomas has fetched home from college to helpwhile our boys are gone, they're well-spoken, obligin' c
haps as I eversee, but the work don't go the same as it do when your own folks is doin'it, just the same. Besides, Sally's not here to help like she's alwaysbeen before, summers, an' it makes a pile of difference, I can tell you.Molly can play the piano somethin' wonderful, an' Katherine can spoutpoetry to beat anything I ever heard, but Edith can get out a wholeweek's washin' while either one of 'em is a-wonderin' where she's goin'to get the hot water to do it with, an' she's a real good cook! I neversee a girl of her years more capable, if I do say so, an' she alwayslooks as neat an' pretty as a new pin, whatever she's doin', too. Whydon't you come over to us, if you're lonely? We'd all admire to have you!There, we've got that row cleaned out real good--s'posin' we tackle thecandytuft, now, if you feel like it."
Sylvia would gladly have offered to pay for a competent "hired girl," butshe did not dare to, for fear of displeasing Austin. So she wrote toUncle Mat to postpone his prospective visit, to the great disappointmentof them both, and filled her tiny house with young friends instead,urging Edith to spend as much time helping her "amuse" them as shecould, to the latter's great delight. Unfortunately the girl and one ofthe boys whom she had invited were already so much interested in eachother that they had eyes for no one else, and the other fellow was aquiet, studious chap, who vastly preferred reading aloud to Sylvia tocanoeing with Edith. The girl was somewhat piqued by this lack ofappreciation, and quickly deserted Sylvia's guests for the more livelycharms of Hugh Elliott's red motor and Jack Weston's spruce runabout. Mr.and Mrs. Gray saw no harm in their pet's escapades, but, on the contrary,secretly rejoiced that the humble Peter was at least temporarily removedand other and richer suitors occupying the foreground. They were far frombeing worldly people, but two of their daughters having already marriedpoor men, they, having had more than their own fair share of drudgery,could not help hoping that this pretty butterfly might be spared thecoarser labors of life.
Sylvia longed to write Austin all about it, but she could not bringherself to spoil his trip by speaking slightingly, and perhaps unjustly,of his favorite sister's conduct. As she had rather feared, the shorttrip originally planned proved so instructive and delightful that it waslengthened, first by a few days and then by a fortnight, so that one weekin August was already gone before he returned. He came back in holidayspirits, bubbling over with enthusiasm about his trip, full of new plansand arrangements. His enthusiasm was contagious, and he would talk ofnothing and allow her to talk of nothing except themselves.
"My, but it's good to be back! I don't see how I ever stayed away solong."
"You didn't seem to have much difficulty--every time you wrote it was tosay you'd be gone a little longer. I suppose some of those New Yorkfarmers have pretty daughters?"
"You'd better be careful, or I'll box your ears! What mischief have _you_been up to? I've heard rumors about some bookish chap, who read Keats'ssonnets, and sighed at the moon. You see I'm informed. I'll take care howI leave you again."
"You had better. I won't promise to wait for you so patiently next time."
"Don't talk to me about patient waiting! Sylvia, is it really, honestlytrue I've only got three more weeks of it?"
"It's really, honestly true. Good-night, darling, you _must_ go home."
"And _you've_ only got three weeks more of being able to say that! Isuppose I must obey--but remember, _you'll_ have to promise to obeypretty soon."
"I'll be glad to. Austin--"
"Yes, dear--Sylvia, I think your cheeks are softer than ever--
"I don't think Edith looks very well, do you?"
"Why, I thought she never was so pretty! But now you speak of it she_does_ seem a little fagged--not fresh, the way you always are! Too muchgadding, I'm afraid."
"I'm afraid so. Couldn't you--?"
"My dear girl, leave all that to Peter--I've got _my_ hands full, keeping_you_ in order. Sylvia, there's one thing this trip has convinced mewe've got to have, right away, and that's more motors. We've got theland, we've got the buildings, and we've got the stock, but we simplymust stop wasting time and grain on so many horses--it's terribly out ofdate, to say nothing else against it. We need a touring-car for thefamily, and a runabout for you and me,--do sell that great ark of yours,and get something you can learn to run yourself, and that won't use halfthe gasoline,--and a tractor to plough with, and a truck to take thecream to the creamery."
"Well, I suppose you'll let me give these various things for Christmaspresents, won't you? You're so awfully afraid that I'll contribute theleast little bit to the success of the farm that I hardly dare ask. But Icould bestow the tractor on Thomas, the truck on your father, and thetouring-car on the girls, and certainly we'll need the runabout forall-day trips on Sundays--after the first of September."
"All right. I'll concede the motors as your share. Now, what will yougive me for a reward for being so docile?"
She watched him down the path with a heart overflowing with happiness.Twice he turned back to wave his hand to her, then disappeared, whistlinginto the darkness. She knelt beside her bed for a long time that night,and finally fell into a deep, quiet sleep, her hand clasping the littlestar that hung about her throat.
Three hours later she was abruptly awakened, and sat up, confused andstartled, to find Austin leaning over her, shaking her gently, andcalling her name in a low, troubled voice.
"What is it? What has happened?" she murmured drowsily, reachinginstinctively for the dressing-gown which lay at the foot of the bed.Austin had already begun to wrap it around her.
"Forgive me, sweetheart, for disturbing you--and for coming in likethis. I tried the telephone, and called you over and over againoutside your window--you must have been awfully sound asleep. I was atmy wits' end, and couldn't think of anything to do but this--are youvery angry with me?"
"No, no--why did you need me?"
"Oh, Sylvia, it's Edith! She's terribly sick, and she keeps begging foryou so that I just _had_ to come and get you! She was all right atsupper-time--it's so sudden and violent that--"
Sylvia had slipped out of bed as if hardly conscious that he was besideher. "Go out on the porch and wait for me," she commanded breathlessly;"you've got the motor, haven't you? I won't be but a minute."
She was, indeed, scarcely longer than that. They were almost instantlyspeeding down the road together, while she asked, "Have you sent forthe doctor?"
"Yes, but there isn't any there yet. Dr. Wells was off on a confinementcase, and we've had to telephone to Wallacetown--she was perfectlydetermined not to have one, anyway. Oh, Sylvia, what can it be? And whyshould she want you so?"
"I don't know yet, dear."
"Do you suppose she's going to die?"
"No, I'm afraid--I mean I don't think she is. Why didn't I take bettercare of her? Austin, can't you drive any faster?"
As they reached the house, she broke away from him, and ran swiftly upthe stairs. Mr. and Mrs. Gray were both standing, white and helpless withterror, beside their daughter's bed. She was lying quite still whenSylvia entered, but suddenly a violent spasm of pain shook her like aleaf, and she flung her hands above her head, groaning between herclenched teeth. Sylvia bent over her and took her in her arms.
"My dear little sister," she said.