The Complete Short Stories of Lucy Maud Montgomery. Lucy Maud Montgomery
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to herself. She gave a bitter, ugly little laugh.
“Oh, you needn’t look so scared, Frank. She hasn’t run away from you. Hush; come in here — shut the door. Nobody must know of this. Nice gossip it would make! That little fool has gone to the Cove to see her — her father. I know she has. It’s just like what she would do. He sent her those presents — look — and this letter. Read it. She has gone to coax him to come and see her married. She was crazy about it. And the minister is here and it is halfpast seven. She’ll ruin her dress and shoes in the dust and dew. And what if some one has seen her! Was there ever such a little fool?”
Frank’s presence of mind had returned to him. He knew all about
Rachel and her father. She had told him everything.
“I’ll go after her,” he said gently. “Get me my hat and coat.
I’ll slip down the back stairs and over to the Cove.”
“You must get out of the pantry window, then,” said Mrs. Spencer firmly, mingling comedy and tragedy after her characteristic fashion. “The kitchen is full of women. I won’t have this known and talked about if it can possibly be helped.”
The bridegroom, wise beyond his years in the knowledge that it was well to yield to women in little things, crawled obediently out of the pantry window and darted through the birch wood. Mrs. Spencer had stood quakingly on guard until he had disappeared.
So Rachel had gone to her father! Like had broken the fetters of years and fled to like.
“It isn’t much use fighting against nature, I guess,” she thought grimly. “I’m beat. He must have thought something of her, after all, when he sent her that teapot and letter. And what does he mean about the ‘day they had such a good time’? Well, it just means that she’s been to see him before, sometime, I suppose, and kept me in ignorance of it all.”
Mrs. Spencer shut down the pantry window with a vicious thud.
“If only she’ll come quietly back with Frank in time to prevent gossip I’ll forgive her,” she said, as she turned to the kitchen.
Rachel was sitting on her father’s knee, with both her white arms around his neck, when Frank came in. She sprang up, her face flushed and appealing, her eyes bright and dewy with tears. Frank thought he had never seen her look so lovely.
“Oh, Frank, is it very late? Oh, are you angry?” she exclaimed timidly.
“No, no, dear. Of course I’m not angry. But don’t you think you’d better come back now? It’s nearly eight and everybody is waiting.”
“I’ve been trying to coax father to come up and see me married,” said Rachel. “Help me, Frank.”
“You’d better come, sir,” said Frank, heartily, “I’d like it as much as Rachel would.”
David Spencer shook his head stubbornly.
“No, I can’t go to that house. I was locked out of it. Never mind me. I’ve had my happiness in this half hour with my little girl. I’d like to see her married, but it isn’t to be.”
“Yes, it is to be — it shall be,” said Rachel resolutely. “You SHALL see me married. Frank, I’m going to be married here in my father’s house! That is the right place for a girl to be married. Go back and tell the guests so, and bring them all down.”
Frank looked rather dismayed. David Spencer said deprecatingly:
“Little girl, don’t you think it would be—”
“I’m going to have my own way in this,” said Rachel, with a sort of tender finality. “Go, Frank. I’ll obey you all my life after, but you must do this for me. Try to understand,” she added beseechingly.
“Oh, I understand,” Frank reassured her. “Besides, I think you are right. But I was thinking of your mother. She won’t come.”
“Then you tell her that if she doesn’t come I shan’t be married at all,” said Rachel. She was betraying unsuspected ability to manage people. She knew that ultimatum would urge Frank to his best endeavors.
Frank, much to Mrs. Spencer’s dismay, marched boldly in at the front door upon his return. She pounced on him and whisked him out of sight into the supper room.
“Where’s Rachel? What made you come that way? Everybody saw you!”
“It makes no difference. They will all have to know, anyway. Rachel says she is going to be married from her father’s house, or not at all. I’ve come back to tell you so.”
Isabella’s face turned crimson.
“Rachel has gone crazy. I wash my hands of this affair. Do as you please. Take the guests — the supper, too, if you can carry it.”
“We’ll all come back here for supper,” said Frank, ignoring the sarcasm. “Come, Mrs. Spencer, let’s make the best of it.”
“Do you suppose that I am going to David Spencer’s house?” said
Isabella Spencer violently.
“Oh you MUST come, Mrs. Spencer,” cried poor Frank desperately. He began to fear that he would lose his bride past all finding in this maze of triple stubbornness. “Rachel says she won’t be married at all if you don’t go, too. Think what a talk it will make. You know she will keep her word.”
Isabella Spencer knew it. Amid all the conflict of anger and revolt in her soul was a strong desire not to make a worse scandal than must of necessity be made. The desire subdued and tamed her, as nothing else could have done.
“I will go, since I have to,” she said icily. “What can’t be cured must be endured. Go and tell them.”
Five minutes later the sixty wedding guests were all walking over the fields to the Cove, with the minister and the bridegroom in the front of the procession. They were too amazed even to talk about the strange happening. Isabella Spencer walked behind, fiercely alone.
They all crowded into the little room of the house at the Cove, and a solemn hush fell over it, broken only by the purr of the seawind around it and the croon of the waves on the shore. David Spencer gave his daughter away; but, when the ceremony was concluded, Isabella was the first to take the girl in her arms. She clasped her and kissed her, with tears streaming down her pale face, all her nature melted in a mother’s tenderness.
“Rachel! Rachel! My child, I hope and pray that you may be happy,” she said brokenly.
In the surge of the suddenly merry crowd of well-wishers around the bride and groom, Isabella was pushed back into a shadowy corner behind a heap of sails and ropes. Looking up, she found herself crushed against David Spencer. For the first time in twenty years the eyes of husband and wife met. A strange thrill shot to Isabella’s heart; she felt herself trembling.
“Isabella.” It was David’s voice in her ear — a voice full of tenderness and pleading — the voice of the young wooer of her girlhood—”Is it too late to ask you to forgive me? I’ve been a stubborn fool — but there hasn’t been an hour in all these years that I haven’t thought about you and our baby and longed for you.”
Isabella Spencer had hated this man; yet her hate had been but a parasite growth on a nobler stem, with no abiding roots of its own. It withered under his words, and lo, there was the old love, fair and strong and beautiful as ever.
“Oh — David — I — was — all — to — blame,” she murmured brokenly.
Further words were lost on her husband’s lips.
When the hubbub of handshaking and congratulating had subsided, Isabella Spencer stepped out before the company. She looked almost girlish and bridal herself, with her flushed cheeks and bright eyes.
“Let’s go back now and have supper, and be sensible,”