Chapter XLVIII A Wedding at Mondreer
How they missed Leonidas at Mondreer can be felt by all who have ever had a dear one leave the family for an absence of years in far distant lands.
In the city such a loss is felt painfully enough; but the busy life of the crowd distracts attention from individual missings.
In the country, and in the winter, when clouds, and rain, and snow prevail, and with bad weather they have worse roads, and no interchange of neighborly courtesies, and all within the house is still, silent and depressing, the absence of the friend is felt far more deeply.
The day after Le’s departure the weather changed, bringing a dull, gray sky, and a warm rain, that melted all the splendor of the snow, and turned the hard roads into gullies of mud, so confining the family of Mondreer to their own house.
Certainly they tried “to be jolly under difficulties.”
Mr. Force reminded them that they had really nothing to mourn over, since young navy officers must go to sea, and that if they all were as steady as Le the long voyage must do them good, improve their minds, and strengthen their bodies; and that they had much to be thankful for, since sickness and death had kept away from their homes.
Mrs. Force and Odalite were a little more silent than usual, and that was all the difference to be seen in them.
Wynnette went singing about the house, to pretend that she was merry. But, while gazing from the parlor window out upon the dark sky full of soft, fine, warm rain that turned the lawn into a marsh, and hid the wooded hills on the west and the bay on the east from view, she suddenly snapped out:
“Euphonious Mondreer should be relegated to its original, descriptive name, and be called Mount Dreary, as it is in the old patents and deeds!”
“But was it Mount Dreary last week, when we had the glorious sunshine, and the splendid frost and snow, and the waters of the bay as blue as the sky they reflected, eh?” inquired Miss Meeke, deprecatingly.
“I don’t know!” said Wynnette, perversely. “I don’t remember any glorious sunshine, or splendid frost and snow, or any blue waters. It has always been rain, and mud, and darkness in this world ever since I was born! And I don’t remember anything else, and I don’t believe in anything else—there, now!”
“My dear! my dear! do not talk so!” said Miss Meeke.
“I can’t help it,” said Wynnette. “I know it always has been just this way, and it always will be. But who cares if it will? Not I, for one.
“‘Hi diddle diddle! The cat and the fiddle!’”
sang Wynnette, dancing away from the dreary window and dancing out of the room.
As for little Elva, she went moping about the house, with red eyes, sniveling in the most undisguised manner.
Miss Meeke was gravely busy with her wedding preparations.
Mrs. Anglesea was the jolliest person in the house, sympathetically interested in everybody’s feelings and occupations.
Occasionally, when there was a solemn pause in the conversation around the fire or around the board, the happy creature would take the whole company to task for their gloom.
“Call this a parting, do you? Why, the young fellow hasn’t gone out of reach of civilization—newspapers and mail bags and telegraph wires. Wait until he goes on a wild-goose chase after the North Pole, where you can’t hear from him for months or years, even if you ever hear from him again, for his chances are to leave his bones on the icebergs, if they are not crunched up by the white bears. My father and my brother were whalers, and used to be gone for years, when we—mother and I—did not hear from them, and had to trust in Providence. And that was bad enough. But when they both went off on an Arctic cruise—craze, I called it—’long of Capt. Kane, I tell you that was a time of trial. But this young Le! Phew! Why, he’s only just over there.”
The near approach of Natalie Meeke’s wedding, however, was the best diversion of all.
The whole family, from Mr. Force down to little Elva, were deeply interested in it. They all made her useful presents. Mr. Force gave her a set of silver spoons and forks; Mrs. Force, a china tea set; Odalite, her own wedding dress, with all its accessories of wreath, veil and fan, etcetera; Wynnette, a handsomely bound Bible; and Elva, a prayer book and hymn book.
Mrs. Anglesea bestowed a heavy, gold cardcase.
“There! Take this, honey,” she said, in presenting it. “I ain’t got no use for it. I bought it when my dear old man made his first haul, and we went up to ’Frisco to sell the dust and have a lark. It took my fancy, for I thought it was a snuffbox. Now, all the wimmin out at Wild Cats’ either smoked pipes or took snuff. As for me, I did neither. Couldn’t get into the way of it, you see. But when I saw this splendid snuffbox—as I thought it was—I just said to myself I’d buy it, and carry it in my pocket, to have it always about me to remind me as I was getting to be a rich ’oman, and to take it out and make a show of it by offering of any one who might drop in a pinch of snuff, even if I never sniffed a sniff myself. I thought it would take them all down. But, Lord! didn’t one of ’em take me down, neither, when she up and told me as this was a wisitin’ cardcase, and wouldn’t do to hold snuff noways? Well, honey, it never was no use to me, for what call had I for a wisitin’ cardcase at Wild Cats’? No, we didn’t send up our cards when we called on our neighbors there. We didn’t often put on our bonnets to go a-wisitin’. We just hev a’ old shawl over our heads and run in and out ’mong neighbors. We did.”
Natalie warmly thanked the donor, as soon as she could get a chance to speak.
Dr. Ingle and Miss Meeke were married on the twentieth of January.
The sky had cleared, the ground had dried, the roads were good.
The wedding was a quiet one, no one being invited but the oldest and most intimate friends of the parties—that is to say, the Rev. Dr. and Mrs. Peters, of All Faith Rectory; the Grandieres, of Oldfield; the Elks, of Grove Hill; Miss Bayard, of Forest Rest, and Mr. Roland Bayard, of nowhere in particular.
The ceremony was performed in the drawing room of Mondreer, by the Rev. Dr. Peters. The bride was given away by Mr. Force. She wore the elegant wedding dress which had been prepared for Odalite; the two little bridesmaids wore the same dresses in which they had appeared at the attempted wedding of the month previous. Roland Bayard was the groomsman.
Immediately after the ceremony the bride’s cake was cut and served. Roland Bayard received the hidden ring, which promised him a bride in the course of the year, and he immediately crossed the room and put it on the finger of little Rosemary Hedge, amid the good-humored congratulations and laughter of the little company, and to the great confusion of the quaint, little girl who had been favored.
Soon after this the negro fiddlers came in and tuned up their instruments.
The young men took their partners and the dancing began.
Roland Bayard, as groomsman, opened the ball with the bride. Dr. Ingle, with the first bridesmaid, was their vis-à-vis. The dancing continued until ten o’clock, when an elegant little supper was served in the dining room.
After this the bride changed her dress, and the just-wedded pair took leave of their friends, and entered the carriage engaged for the occasion, and amid a shower of slippers departed for the young doctor’s new home.
The subsequent developments of Anglesea’s machinations will be related in the sequel to this volume, entitled “Love’s Bitterest Cup.” This is published in uniform style and price with this volume.
The End