John gave his future father-in-law a quick, searching look and then said in a wistful voice, “I wish that were possible, Mr. Wainwright, but I won’t begin to have an adequate income for a little while yet, you know. I can give Dr. MacKelvie part-time and can’t in honesty accept much for that. Of course, if I were to give up the idea of taking that special work with the other doctor … But I should lose out in the end, for that special work is going to make me worth more money in the end.”
“I understand all of that, of course,” said the old man, with a gesture as if he would brush the idea of such folly from the scene. “You must have all the advantages that are to be had. And as for income, that’s all poppycock! There’s no question of whose income it is between a husband and wife, if they’re both the right kind. Of course, if you were some other style of man I might take your point of view, too—a man who was out to get his hands on his wife’s fortune—but you’re not. And Mary Elizabeth needs your care. I’m an old man. I can’t look after her right. And besides, I may not last long. I wish you’d get married soon! I really do. It will be better for you both.”
John’s voice was husky with feeling.
“I certainly appreciate your confidence, sir,” he said. “I’ll never forget what you’ve said. But you don’t realize, perhaps—you see, I couldn’t possibly keep your daughter in the way she should be kept, not yet. I hope it won’t be long before I can, but—”
“Nonsense,” said the old man testily. “Put your pride in your pocket and forget that idea. Mary Elizabeth has knocked around a lot, and she would rather knock around with you than waste away in a mansion waiting for you. She’s not so hard to please! And anyhow, you wouldn’t starve, I’d see to that. Oh, I know, your precious pride! But look here now, be reasonable! I want a chance to watch you two be happy a little while before I die, and if I get more pleasure out of using some of my money that way instead of hoarding it up for you to inherit when I’m gone, haven’t I a right? Now, listen to me. I’ve got an apartment in New York, looking out on Gramercy Park. I’ve owned it for years, and the family used to live in it winters the years we summered down here, when Mary Elizabeth’s mother was living. It’s old-fashioned, and the neighborhood is not stylish anymore, but I like to keep it because of old times. It’s big and roomy and comfortable. There’d be plenty of room for your father and mother to be with you winters, at least till they want to go back to Florida, though privately I don’t believe they should. I think they need to be with you and be looked after, especially till your mother is thoroughly strong again. I know Mary Elizabeth thinks so, too, for she told me so. And there’ll be room for me to drop in overnight whenever I have business in New York, so I can keep in touch with you all now and then. Come, will you be reasonable and think it over? Here comes Mary Elizabeth now. Here, Mary Beth, come take your future husband and talk turkey to him. I’ve been offering him the New York apartment for you all to live in this winter. It’s all repaired and done over, and if you want any more changes, it’s all right with me. Now, you two run along down the beach and have it out. I’m going back to talk with Mr. and Mrs. Saxon awhile. It’s getting chilly out here for my rheumatic shoulders.”
Mary Elizabeth came running up, catching John’s hand, the last glow of the sunset in her face, and together they walked slowly into the dying glow of the evening.
And so it came about quite quietly, that there was a wedding in the old house at last, although there were almost no preparations.
Mary Elizabeth hunted out her mother’s fine old wedding veil from a carved chest where it had lain wrapped in satin paper for many years. And there was a sweet little white dress, very simple and plain and lovely, among her Parisian clothes, a dress that she had been keeping for some special time. There wasn’t a thing that Mary Elizabeth needed to buy but a clean pair of white slippers, and those she could telephone for, and they would arrive the next day. In fact, a half hour’s telephoning completed all of Mary Elizabeth’s arrangements.
She called up her uncles, and she called up her aunts and a few favorite cousins, and invited them to come down for a house party. She called up Cousin Richie and asked him to meet Jeffrey and Camilla when their boat docked at New York and fly them down also. He was to tell them that it was a celebration of their homecoming and they must come! Then she called up the doctor and the family caterer, gave a brief simple order, and Mary Elizabeth was ready. She didn’t bother with any of the long lines of social acquaintances and friends. This was a family affair.
John’s problems were not so easily solved. He had to get a suitable ring wherewith to wed a Wainwright, and he couldn’t begin to afford the right kind.
He stayed awake half the night and came down to breakfast all perplexed, announcing that he must go up to town right away.
However, his mother called him to a conference and placed in his hand a little velvet box that he had often seen as a child but had forgotten long ago.
“These were your grandmother’s, John. I was wondering if you wouldn’t like to use them—at least for a little while, till you could afford to get something more modern? They are tiny, but Mary Elizabeth has a very small hand. I think she could wear them. Do you think she would like them?”
John took the worn little velvet box reverently and pressed the tiny pearl button that sprang the lid open, and there were the dear old rings, the wonder of his childhood, in a setting of so long ago that it was almost modern. A plain gold band, and another with a great ruby like a drop of blood, and a pearl of rare luster.
“Oh, Mother!” breathed the son. “But they belonged to your mother! I couldn’t let you give them up!”
“It’s what I’ve been keeping them for, Son,” said the mother, with a pleased light in her eyes. “But you’re not to make Mary Elizabeth wear them unless she really likes them.”
“Mary Elizabeth will like them, I’m sure!” said John, stopping to place a reverent kiss on his mother’s forehead. “Dear Mother!”
Mary Elizabeth did. They called her, and she did. She said she would wear them always. She didn’t want them changed for diamonds, ever! She loved them as they were, and when they went up to town, John would put her name and his under the quaint old inscription that was still clearly to be read in the ring, announcing the former wearer and its giver.
Then John had only to telephone to a florist’s shop in the city and get a bouquet.
It was Mary Elizabeth’s father who supplied the minister. Mary Elizabeth was just back from a drive with John to get the license when he telephoned. She hadn’t so much as remembered that a minister would be needed. She gave a little gasp when her father asked her who was going to perform the ceremony. The summer guests who might have a minister among them had mostly gone back to the city now. Mary Elizabeth didn’t number many ministers among her friends, and John had gone up the beach with Sam, so she couldn’t ask him what to do.
Mary Elizabeth hesitated so long that her father grew impatient. He waited another second or two, and then he said, “Well, if you haven’t anybody in mind, how would you like me to bring somebody down?”
“Who is he?” asked the bride-to-be in a perplexed tone.
“He’s the young man who married your mother and me, only of course he isn’t a young man anymore. But he was young then, and your mother and I thought there wasn’t any minister like him, I remember. I just happened to run across him in the city today, and it occurred to me you might like the idea. I could bring him down and park him at the hotel until the time for the ceremony, so there wouldn’t be any wondering about him, and then send the chauffeur after him when we’re ready.”
“Oh, Dad, that would be great!” said Mary Elizabeth delightedly. “I simply hadn’t thought about a minister, and there isn’t anybody I can think of I’d like. It would be lovely to have the same one you and Mother had!”
“All right!” said the father. “Then I’ll bring him down. I suppose there’s still someplace open where we can park him? Some hotel o
r boardinghouse, either there or up the beach a way?”
“Oh, yes,” said Mary Elizabeth. “I’ll see to that. I’ll send Sam up to engage a room somewhere as soon as he comes back. You’ll be down early, won’t you, Dad?”
“Sure thing!” said the father happily. “I might come the night before. All right! Then that’s settled.”
The servants from the city house were to come down for the house party, but Susan Bateman had everything in such apple-pie order that they found little left to do until the guests arrived, so they made a regular holiday out of it.
Mary Elizabeth and John wandered off down the beach in the moonlight with no cares at all the night before the wedding.
Mary Elizabeth wore a simple little blue organdy the day of the house party. Of course, it happened to be made in Paris and had very lovely lines, but for all that, it had a simplicity about it that fitted seashore life, and its color matched her eyes. John told her so a dozen times an hour.
The guests came fairly early, for they wanted to be on hand when Jeffrey and Camilla arrived. They thought it was merely a surprise party for them.
Uncle Warren Wainwright was there with Aunt Fannie, sleek and placid and beaming on everybody, enjoying the view and the pines and reminiscing delightfully about the house and grounds.
Father Wainwright came the night before, as he had threatened, having parked his minister safely a mile up the shore, and went about doing the honors, introducing the elder Saxons delightedly as if they belonged to royalty, as in reality they did.
Sam’s father and mother arrived a little late, as usual; that is, later than the rest, and it was plain to be seen that it hadn’t been Uncle Robert who had been the cause of the delay.
“I really hadn’t a rag left fit to wear,” Aunt Clarice declared in apology, glancing down at the elaborate flowered chiffon she had finally elected to wear. “You know, I’m only just back from the mountains, and everything is simply unspeakable after the entire summer away from home.”
“Oh, but it’s a very lovely dress,” said Mary Elizabeth, pouring a few drops of her own sweet personality on the aunt who most frequently troubled the family waters.
“Well, it had to do,” sighed the poor woman, dismissing the subject and lifting her lorgnette for a glimpse around at the place.
“Why, dear me! The old house really looks quite livable again, doesn’t it? I suppose you had to do a lot of replacing and repairing, and it was hardly worth it, was it? So utterly out of date, but it’s nice to see it again, a quaint old setting of an age that is gone!” And Aunt Clarice heaved a sentimental sigh.
“And where is my infant son?” she next demanded, bringing down her lorgnette from a survey of the fluted columns and giving a quick, alert look about for Sam.
Now, although Sam was fond of his mother, he had rather dreaded her coming, for she was apt to belittle him, and it embarrassed him exceedingly to be called her infant son, but he had prepared for the meeting by an elaborate toilet, the like of which he had not attempted since he last saw her, which explained the immaculateness of his garments. They had lain in a bureau drawer all summer.
He came forward now dutifully, with a gravity and grace that was astonishing considering his years, and gave his mother the kiss she expected. It quite took her off her balance, it was so unusual. Heretofore he had always had to be admonished about it before he reluctantly welcomed her.
She stood back and surveyed him through her lorgnette, as she had the fluted column. Sam bore it very well. He had scrubbed unmercifully behind his ears, he had polished his shoes, cleaned his fingernails to a nicety, and put on a necktie he hated but knew she liked. What more could he do? Besides, he was going to a real school now, and one had to concede something.
“Why Sam!” she exclaimed in pleased surprise. “You’re quite grown up, aren’t you? You did that very well. Betty dear, I believe you must have been good for him in spite of everything, though I do think you went a little beyond the limit when you took him up in an airplane.”
“Oh, I didn’t take him, he took me,” laughed Mary Elizabeth.
“And what’s this ridiculous idea I hear of, that you’ve been putting notions in his head about a new school?” said Aunt Clarice, putting aside the matter of the airplane for a future time when she could hope to do justice to it. “I really can’t think of countenancing his going away from home again when he’s been away all summer—”
But just then, to the distraction of everybody, the buzz of an airplane was heard, and all heads were turned to the heavens. Presently Cousin Richie’s big plane came sailing down neatly on the beach and taxied right up to the big iron gateway.
Aunt Clarice watched the performance with a shudder and several gasps.
“I don’t see how he dares!” she said in a terrified voice. “And to think he presumed to take my angel child and his bride up into the sky! I think it was criminal!”
But nobody heard her. They were all rushing down to greet Jeff and Camilla and Cousin Richie. All but John’s mother, who sat in her invalid chair, relaxed and happy and amused at it all. For did she not know a secret that none of the other guests knew?
The dining room was ready, in festive array with flowers that had been ordered from the city. A long family table, made up of several sections, a reminder of other days. There was no hint of the big bridal cake that had been hidden away. Not even Mary Elizabeth knew about it. For Mr. Wainwright had given the family servants carte blanche to order what was needed, and nothing had been forgotten. But in it all there was nothing to suggest to a casual guest passing through that it was to be a wedding luncheon and not just a plain house party. It was all quite simple and informal, and the various guests looked about upon one another smiling and relaxed, and thinking how nice it was for them all to be together once more like a big family.
They settled down to talk like a bunch of magpies, and Sam stood about grinning to himself at what was to come. It was going to be swell. Nothing to interfere with the fun, everybody here, nobody missing, no frumpy old cousins that were not wanted, just the ones who belonged. He smoothed a wrinkle out of his white linen coat, adjusted the unaccustomed, throttling tie, and smiled to himself. There were few duties ahead of him now, and those nice ones. Sam did a great deal of grinning to himself that morning, and in between he ran pleasant little errands, brought Mrs. Saxon’s shawl, brought her a better footstool, adjusted the pillows for her, got Mr. Saxon’s cane, hovered in the wake of his idol John Saxon, and admired his returned brother and the new, unknown sister-in-law from afar.
No one saw the Wainwright car drive in from the back gate and the elderly stranger in a frock coat who got out and followed Sam up the back stairs to a room appointed for his use. No one even noticed that Mary Elizabeth had disappeared for a few minutes. It was getting near to lunchtime and they were growing hungry. She had likely gone to give orders to the servants.
When Sam and Miss York helped Mrs. Saxon into the living room, the guests merely thought she was chilly out on the piazza, and several of them drifted inside also. Then Sam appeared at the door and called the rest, supposedly to lunch.
“Will you all come in now?” he said pleasantly in quite a grown-up tone, and they responded to the call eagerly.
Inside, they stood about uncertainly in the big living room, thinking how lovely it all looked, with the airy muslin curtains blowing in the fresh sea breeze and gorgeous fall roses in great bowls and vases everywhere, wondering why Mary Elizabeth didn’t give the signal to come to the dining room.
They could see the long table through the archway now, and it looked so festive and inviting.
Then suddenly Mary Elizabeth appeared at the top of the stairs, with her father just behind her. She had changed her dress! She was wearing white! How strange! She must have soiled that pretty blue one! What a pity, it was so becoming! And what was that she was wearing over her hair? A veil? They gasped softly in amazement, those who stood in the hallway and saw her.
&n
bsp; At that instant soft strains from the piano began to sound. They turned about and saw Camilla sitting at the old grand piano, playing. Just soft chords at first, blending in delightful harmony.
Then at the far end of the room, the place that strangely had no chairs in it, Jeff Wainwright and John Saxon appeared, and a stranger with them, an elderly man! A stranger! In a frock coat! The family stiffened and prepared to resent the stranger.
Then the music widened and grew stately and became unmistakably the “Wedding March”!
Why, what was this? A wedding? Why, where was Mary Elizabeth, and had that really been a veil over her head?
But Mary Elizabeth was walking into their midst now, on her father’s arm, smiling with happy eyes, looking toward John Saxon, and stepping to the well-known measures of the “Wedding March.” That rare old lace that draped her head and flowed down over her lovely new white frock must be her mother’s wedding veil. Aunt Clarice was studying it through her lorgnette as it passed her, and recognizing it as if she had memorized every flower on it long years ago.
A low, soft exclamation in chorus broke from all their throats, and then they looked up to differentiate the group at the lower end of the room and single out the bridegroom.
John Saxon! Jeffrey Wainwright’s best man!
And Mrs. Saxon was sitting in a deep, comfortable chair just at the side where she could watch the faces of the two beloved children! She had come north to John’s wedding even as she had dreamed! Ah! Was this what had been going on all this quiet summer? And Mary Elizabeth had done this, put this over on them!
“When she might have had that lovely rich Boothby Farwell,” sighed Aunt Clarice into a costly handkerchief.
Then the quiet voice of the elderly stranger broke the silence of wonder.
“Dearly beloved, we are met together to join this man and this woman in the bonds of holy matrimony—”
Sam, standing in the doorway, his hands gripped together behind his white linen back, held his breath, listening to every word, storing it away for the time when some great experience should perhaps come into his life, getting a sudden vision of what it might mean to join two souls in such a bond, remembering how John Saxon had taught him that marriage was meant to be a picture of Christ’s relation to His true Church. Sam’s eyes grew misty with tenderness, big and faraway and serious, and his expression startled his mother as she suddenly turned and saw him standing there! Sam was growing up! She must get at him and teach him how to behave in society, she thought, with a fleeting sense of her social duties, and then she turned back to take in the lovely scene again, to watch Camilla, playing so exquisitely! That was a revelation, too. She never knew that her new daughter-in-law was a musician. Perhaps she wasn’t going to be so bad after all. And Camilla’s mother over there in the corner really looked very smart in that lovely gray chiffon. She must ask her how she managed to keep so slim at her age.