CHAPTER XVII.THE BRIDAL.
Mary Rogers had been in the country for several weeks and had written to Mrs. Barrett that she was to return to London sooner than she had intended, as Gertie was not very well and needed the advice of her physician. To this Mrs. Barrett had at once replied, telling of the approaching marriage and asking Mrs. Rogers to defer her return as long as possible, as Miss Lyle was at home and occupying Gertie’s room. Accompanying this letter to Mrs. Rogers was one from Norah Long, who also told of the expected marriage of Colonel Schuyler with Miss Lyle, and the breakfast to be given at Oakwood, and then added that as both the colonel and Miss Lyle wished her to accompany them to America, she had decided to do so, provided her cousin Mary, to whom she was strongly attached, would go too. Colonel Schuyler owned several cottages, he said, and Mary could have one, if she liked, at a low rent.
Two days before the receipt of this letter Mrs. Rogers had heard of the failure of the bank where her money was invested, and knew that henceforth she must earn her own living. This she could do better in America, and after due reflection she wrote to Norah that she would go, and started for London the next day, intending to take up her abode in the vicinity of Oakwood until the time for sailing. And that is how the cab came to be standing at Mrs. Barrett’s door. Gertie did not alight, but waited while Mrs. Rogers explained to Mrs. Barrett the change in her circumstances and plans, and said that shewould come in a few days and take her things away. Mingled with Mrs. Barrett’s exultation at her daughter’s good fortune there had been more than one feeling of loneliness and desolation as she thought of being alone in her old age, even if that old age was to be well provided for, as Colonel Schuyler had promised. But there was one comfort left her in little Gertie Westbrooke, whom, with Mary Rogers, she meant to keep as long as possible. She was not fond of children, but no one could resist the bright, sunny little girl who filled the house with so much life and gladness, and whose feet and hands were always ready for some act of kindness. And Mrs. Barrett loved the beautiful child with a strong, intense love, which she could not define, unless it was that the child loved her and hung about her neck with soft caresses and words of love. And now she was going away,—and the woman’s heart was heavy as lead, and there were traces of tears on her face as she went about her usual work and thought of the desolate future with Gertie Westbrooke gone.
Owing to Mrs. Sinclair’s health Edith had not visited her mother very often during the past year, and had never met Gertie face to face, so she was only sorry for her mother in a general kind of way when she heard that she was to be left alone. She was very much occupied with her own affairs, and Colonel Schuyler and Godfrey took all her leisure time. The colonel came every other day, Godfrey every day, and between them both she had little time for reflection, but was hurried on toward the end, which approached so fast, until at last the very day had come, a soft, warm August day, when the sky seemed to smile in anticipation of the bridal, and the whole earth to laugh for joy. And Edith felt happy and glad and peaceful as she dressed herself for the occasion, and with her mother and Norah Long, her waiting-maid, started for the church near Oakwood, where her bridegroom waited for her, and where just a few of the late Mrs. Sinclair’s friends were assembled. Thanks to Godfrey and Robert Macpherson, who had returned from visiting his friends, the little church was decked with flowers, and Edith stood under a canopy of roses as she pledged hertroth a second time, and was made Mrs. Howard Schuyler. Just to the right of the chancel, and where they could command a good view of everything, Mary Rogers sat, and with her Gertie Westbrooke. It was the child’s first sight of a wedding, and when that morning Mary had said to her, “Gertie, how would you like to go to church to-day and see Miss Lyle married?” she had clapped her hands for joy, and could scarcely eat her breakfast for thinking and talking of the wonderful wedding.
“Don’t they sometimes throw a bouquet at the bride’s feet?” she asked.
And when told that they did, she gathered and arranged an exquisite little bouquet, which she tied with a white ribbon, and then, moved by some impulse she did not try to define, she wrote on a slip of paper, in her childish hand:
“From little Gertie Westbrooke, with her love, and God bless you.”
This she folded and put inside the flowers, saying to herself:
“She’ll know who Gertie Westbrooke is, and maybe speak to me on the ship.”
Gertie was much interested in the beautiful lady, whom she had occasionally seen from the window when Edith came to call upon Mrs. Barrett, and her interest was increased when she heard she was to be married to a gentleman rich enough and grand enough to be a lord, and that she was to see the sight, and then go to America in the same vessel with the bridal pair.
It was all like a bit of romance, and the little girl’s heart beat high, and her cheeks were like carnation, as she arranged her bright hair and twisted a blue ribbon in it, and put on her best muslin dress, and the string of pearl beads a lady had given her at the last Christmas, and then went with Mary to the church, where, with her face all flushed and eager, she stood with her dimpled white arms leaning on the pew railing, her straw hat falling back from her head, and her sparkling blue eyes fixed upon the bridal party as it came up the aisle.
“Look, Bob! there’s the very face I told you about, overthere in the corner!” Godfrey whispered to Robert Macpherson, with a pinch of the arm, which made Bob wince with pain.
But he saw the face, and started suddenly,—it was so like another dear little face lying under the daisies in the English sunshine. The same blue eyes, the same sweet mouth, the same bright, flowing hair he had tried so hard to put upon the canvas, and failed each time he tried, because of the treacherous memory, which, good in other things, could not retain with vividness the image of the lost one, loved so passionately and laid away from sight amid so many tears and heart-throbs.
“The likeness is wonderful,” he thought. “I must ascertain who this child is. Schuyler will find her for me.”
The ceremony was commencing now, and all eyes were fixed upon the bride, save those of Robert Macpherson. He looked only at Gertie Westbrooke, who, unconscious of his gaze, stood watching Edith in silent wonder and admiration, thinking how beautiful she was in her rich bridal robes, and how happy she must be,—only the bridegroom was a trifle too old, and dignified, and grave, Gertie thought; and then, as she glanced at the tall, handsome Godfrey, she thought if she were the bride she should prefer him to the father, and she wondered a little at Edith’s choice.
“I require and charge you both that if either of you know any impediment why ye may not be lawfully joined together, ye do now confess it. For be ye well assured that if any persons are joined together otherwise than as God’s word doth allow, their marriage is not lawful.”
The clergyman uttered these words with great solemnity, and by mere chance, looked full at Edith, who involuntarily raised her eyes, and felt glad that there was nothing unconfessed on her part. Had there been, she must have shrieked it out even then at the last moment. But Col. Schuyler knew all about that grave at Schuyler Hill; all about the baby girl who died, and liked her just the same. There was no reason on her part why she should not be his wife, and she met the clergyman’s eyes frankly, and felt a thrill of joy and peace even while she wondered if the bridegroom thought of that other bridal, whenAbelard Lyle stood beside her in Mr. Calvert’s parlor, with Emily looking on. And Godfrey had been there too, his first experience of a wedding, perhaps. Had he ever thought of it since? Would his father ever tell him who the boy-husband was, who the childish bride? Probably not, and it was just as well. Godfrey had no concern in her past; only the father was interested, and if he was satisfied, that was sufficient. Thus Edith reasoned to herself, and saw the broad band of gold upon her finger, and felt the pressure of her hand which the colonel gave her, and knew that he was glad because of her, and when it all was over she left the altar as happy as half the brides who embark upon the sea of matrimony, with the uncertain future before them.
As she turned and passed near Gertie, a bouquet fell at her feet, and the face of the child who threw it was something wonderful to look at as she watched to see if her gift would be observed and accepted. It was, for Godfrey and Robert both sprang forward to get it, but Godfrey was the one who picked it up, and turning toward Gertie, he pressed it to his lips, and then, with a sign which Gertie understood, indicated that the bride should have it.
“Oh, wasn’t it nice, though!” Gertie said, when she was home again, and talking of the event. “Such a sweet, beautiful lady, only I thought her face was kind of sorry, and Col. Schuyler was a great deal too old. I’d rather have the son, Mr. Godfrey, you call him. His face is smooth and handsome, and his eyes so full of fun. He is the one who looked at me so in the cab at Mrs. Barrett’s, and he stared at me to-day, and kissed my flowers. I like Godfrey Schuyler ever so much. Do you believe I’ll see him in America?”
Mrs. Rogers had listened with a good deal of interest to Gertie’s remarks about the wedding, but when she came to Godfrey, and began to speculate upon the probability of seeing him in America, a shadow flitted across her face, and she said: “Gertie, listen a moment. You probably will see Mr. Godfrey Schuyler in America, and perhaps on shipboard, and if he noticed you in the cab and at church, as you say he did, he may try totalk to you, but you are not to encourage him. Gentlemen’s sons do not talk to girls like you for any good.”
Gertie lifted her great blue eyes to her auntie’s face a moment, and then, casting them down, seemed to be thinking for a time, when she said, suddenly:
“Auntie, wasn’t my mother a lady, and wasn’t my old home most as big and pretty as Oakwood?”
“Yes,” was the reply; and Gertie continued:
“Then why should not a gentleman’s son talk to me for good?”
“I cannot explain to you now, only seeing you with me, and knowing you are my adopted child, they would naturally place you in my rank; do you understand?” Mrs. Rogers said; and Gertie replied:
“Yes, but I could tell them;” then after a moment she added: “Auntie, who can I talk to? You said those children at the farmhouse were not good enough for me to associate with, and that people like Mr. Godfrey are too good.”
It was a puzzling question, which Mary Rogers could not answer satisfactorily. She had carefully guarded her beautiful child from all contact with children of her own rank, and as she could not hope to find friends in the higher circles, Gertie had led a secluded life and knew very little of young people, and what they did and said. In one sense this made her old, and in other respects she was much more a child than a girl of twelve should be. But the latter character suited Mary, who wished she might keep her darling always as she was now, her very own, with no other love or interest between them. The thought of Godfrey Schuyler jarred upon her painfully, as if through him mischief might come to her pet, and so she raised a note of warning, which Gertie pondered upon the remainder of the day, wondering if she should see him on the ship, and if he would speak to her, and what she should say if he did, and who the man was who parted his hair in the middle, and stared at her quite as hard as Godfrey did, only in a different way, and wondered what her aunt would say if she knew she had given an old photograph of herself to Abel Browning, the freckled boy atthe farmhouse, who cried when she came away, and told her “she was the ’andsomest girl he had ever saw.”
“I just wish I was one thing or the other,” the little girl said to herself. “It is real mean to be too good to play with Abel and Bettie Browning, and not good enough to be talked to and looked at by Mr. Godfrey Schuyler.”