by Myrtle Reed
XXII
Autumn Leaves
[Sidenote: Autumn Glory]
Summer had gone long ago, but the sweetness of her passing yet lay uponthe land and sea. The hills were glorious with a pageantry of scarletand gold where, in the midnight silences, the soul of the woods hadflamed in answer to the far, mysterious bugles of the frost. Bloom wason the grapes in the vineyard, and fairy lace, of cobweb fineness, hadbeen hung by the secret spinners from stem to stem of the purpleclusters and across bits of stubble in the field.
From the blue sea, now and then, came the breath of Winter, thoughAutumn lingered on the shore. Many of the people at the hotel had goneback to town, feeling the imperious call of the city with the first keenwind. Eloise, with a few others, waited. She expected to stay untilBarbara was strong enough to go with her.
But Barbara's strength was coming very slowly now. She grieved for herfather, and the grieving kept her back. Allan came down once afortnight to spend Sunday with Eloise and to look after Barbara, thoughhe realised that Barbara was, in a way, beyond his reach.
[Sidenote: What We Need]
"She doesn't need medicine," he said, to Eloise. "She is perfectly well,physically, though of course her strength is limited and will be forsome time to come. What she needs is happiness."
"That is what we all need," answered Eloise.
Allan flashed a quick glance at her. "Even I," he said, in a differenttone, "but I must wait for mine."
"We all wait for things," she laughed, but the lovely colour had mountedto the roots of her hair that waved so softly back from her lowforehead.
"When, dear?" insisted Allan, possessing himself of her hand.
"I promised once," she answered. "When the colour is all gone from thehills and the last leaves have fallen, then I'll come."
"You're not counting the oaks?" he asked, half fearfully. "Sometimes theoak leaves stay on all Winter, you know. And evergreens are ruled out,aren't they?"
"Certainly. We won't count the oaks or the Christmas trees. Long beforeSanta Claus comes, I'll be a sedate matron instead of a flyaway,frivolous spinster."
"For the first time since I grew up," remarked Allan, with evidentsincerity, "I wish Christmas came earlier. Upon what day, fair lady, doyou think the leaves will be gone?"
"In November, I suppose," she answered, with an affected indifferencethat did not deceive him. "The day after Thanksgiving, perhaps."
"That's Friday, and I positively refuse to be married on a Friday."
[Sidenote: The Best Day of All]
"Then the day before--that's Wednesday. You know the old rhyme says:'Wednesday the best day of all.'"
So it was settled. Allan laughingly put down in his little red leatherpocket diary, under the date of Wednesday, November twenty-fifth, "MissWynne's wedding." "Where is it to be?" he asked. "I wouldn't miss it forworlds."
"I've been thinking about that," said Eloise, slowly, after a pause. "Isuppose we'll have to be conventional."
"Why?"
"Because everybody is."
"The very reason why we shouldn't be. This is our wedding, and we'llhave it to please ourselves. It's probably our last."
"In spite of the advanced civilisation in which we live," she returned,"I hope and believe that it is the one and only wedding in which eitherof us will ever take a leading part."
"Haven't you ever had day-dreams, dear, about your wedding?"
"Many a time," she laughed. "I'd be the rankest kind of polygamist ifI had all the kinds I've planned for."
"But the best kind?" he persisted. "Which is in the ascendant now?"
[Sidenote: An Ideal Wedding]
"If I could choose," she replied, thoughtfully, "I'd have it in somequiet little country church, on a brilliant, sunshiny day--the kind thatmakes your blood tingle and fills you with the joy of living. I'd likeit to be Indian Summer, with gold and crimson leaves falling all throughthe woods. I'd like to have little brown birds chirping, and squirrelsand chipmunks pattering through the leaves. I'd like to have the churchalmost in the heart of the woods, and have the sun stream into everynook and corner of it while we were being married. I'd like two taperlights at the altar, and the Episcopal service, but no music."
"Any crowd?"
Her sweet face grew very tender. "No," she said. "Nobody but our twoselves."
"We'll have to have a minister," he reminded her, practically, "and twowitnesses. Otherwise it isn't legal. Whom would you choose forwitnesses?"
"I think I'd like to have Barbara and Roger. I don't know why, for I haveso many other friends who mean more to me. Yet it seems, some way, as ifthey two belonged in the picture."
[Sidenote: Right Now]
A bright idea came to Allan. "Dearest," he said, "you couldn't have thefalling leaves and the squirrels if we waited until Thanksgiving time,but it's all here, right now. Don't you remember that little church inthe woods that we passed the other day--the little white church withmaples all around it and the Autumn leaves dropping silently through thestill, warm air? Why not here--and now?"
"Oh, I couldn't," cried Eloise.
"Why not?"
"Oh, you're so stupid! Clothes and things! I've got a million things todo before I can be married decently."
He laughed at her woman's reason as he put his arms around her. "I wanta wife, and not a Parisian wardrobe. You're lovelier to me right now inyour white linen gown than you've ever been before. Don't wear yourselfout with dressmakers and shopping. You'll have all the rest of your lifefor that."
"Won't I have all the rest of my life to get married in?" she queried,demurely.
"You have if you insist upon taking it, darling, but I feel verystrongly to get married to-day."
"Not to-day," she demurred.
"Why not? It's only half past one and the ceremony doesn't last overtwenty minutes. I suppose it can be cut down to fifteen or eighteen ifyou insist upon having it condensed. You don't even need to wash yourface. Get your hat and come on."
His tone was tender, even pleading, but some far survival of PrimitiveWoman, whose marriage was by capture, stirred faintly in Eloise. "Ourfriends won't like it," she said, as a last excuse.
[Sidenote: The Two Concerned]
He noted, with joy, that she said "won't," instead of "wouldn't," butshe did not realise that she had betrayed herself. "We don't care, dowe?" he asked. "It's our wedding and nobody's else. When we can't pleaseeverybody, we might as well please ourselves. Matrimony is the one thingin the world that concerns nobody but the two who enter into it--andit's the thing that everybody has the most to say about. While you'reputting on your hat, I'll get the license and see about a carriage."
"I thought I'd wait until Barbara could go to town with me," she said.
"There's nothing to hinder your coming back for her, if you want to andshe isn't willing to come with Roger. I insist upon having my honeymoonalone."
"All alone? If I were very good, wouldn't you let me come along?"
Allan coloured. "You know what I mean," he said, softly. "I've waited solong, darling, and I think I've been patient. Isn't it time I wasrewarded?"
They were on the beach, behind the friendly sand-dune that had beentheir trysting place all Summer. Thoroughly humble in her surrender, yetwholly womanly, Eloise put her soft arms around his neck. "I will," shesaid. "Kiss me for the last time before----"
"Before what?" demanded Allan, as, laughing, she extricated herself fromhis close embrace.
"Before you exchange your sweetheart for a wife."
[Sidenote: More Secure]
"I'm not making any exchange. I'm only making my possession more secure.Look, dear."
He took from his pocket a shining golden circlet which exactly fittedthe third finger of her left hand. Their initials were engraved inside.Only the date was lacking.
"I've had it for a long, long time," he said, in reply to her surprisedquestion. "I hoped that some day I might find you in a yielding mood."
When she went up to her
room, her heart was beating wildly. This suddenplunge into the unknown was blinding, even though she longed to make it.Having come to the edge of the precipice she feared the leap, in spiteof the conviction that life-long happiness lay beyond.
In the fond sight of her lover, Eloise was very lovely when she wentdown in her white gown and hat, her eyes shining with the world-old joythat makes the old world new for those to whom it comes, be it soon orlate.
[Sidenote: Beautifully Unconventional]
"It's beautifully unconventional," she said, as he assisted her into thesurrey. "No bridesmaids, no wedding presents, and no dreary round ofentertainments. I believe I like it."
"I know I do," he responded, fervently. "You're the loveliest thing I'veever seen, sweetheart. Is that a new gown?"
"I've worn it all Summer," she laughed "and it's been washed over adozen times. You have lots to learn about gowns."
"I'm a willing pupil," he announced. "Shouldn't you have a veil? Ibelieve the bride's veil is usually 'of tulle, caught with a diamondstar, the gift of the groom.'"
"You've been reading the society column. Give me the star, and I'll getthe veil."
"You shall have it the first minute we get to town. I'd rob the MilkyWay for you, if I could. I'd give you a handful of stars to play withand let you roll the sun and moon over the golf links."
"I may take the moon," she replied. "I've always liked the looks of it,but I'm afraid the sun would burn my fingers. Somebody once got intotrouble, I believe, for trying to drive the chariot of the sun for aday. Give me the moon and just one star."
"Which star do you want?"
[Sidenote: The Love-star]
"The love-star," she answered, very softly. "Will you keep it shiningfor me, in spite of clouds and darkness?"
"Indeed I will."
The horses stopped at Barbara's door. Allan went across the street tocall for Roger and Eloise went in to invite Barbara to go for a drive.
"How lovely you look," cried Barbara, in admiration. "You look like abride."
"Make yourself look bridal also," suggested Eloise, flushing, "byputting on your best white gown. Roger is coming, too."
Barbara missed the point entirely. It did not take her long to getready, and she sang happily to herself while she was dressing. She put awhite lace scarf of her mother's over her golden hair, which was nowpiled high on her shapely head, and started out, for the first time inall her twenty-two years, for a journey beyond the limits of her owndomain.
Allan and Roger helped her in. She was very awkward about it, and wassufficiently impressed with her awkwardness to offer a laughing apology."I've never been in a carriage before," she said, "nor seen a train, noreven a church. All I've had is pictures and books--and Roger," sheadded, as an afterthought, when he took his place beside her on the backseat.
"You're going to see lots of things to-day that you never saw before,"observed Allan, starting the horses toward the hill road. "We'll beginby showing you a church, and then a wedding."
"A wedding!" cried Barbara. "Who is going to be married?"
"We," he replied, concisely. "Don't you think it's time?"
"Isn't it sudden?" asked Roger. "I thought you weren't going to bemarried until almost Christmas."
"I've been serving time now for two years," explained Allan, "and she'sgiven me two months off for good behaviour. Just remember, young man,when your turn comes, that nothing is sudden when you've been waitingfor it all your life."
[Sidenote: The Little White Church]
The door of the little white church was open and the sun that streamedthrough the door and the stained glass windows carried the glory and theradiance of Autumn into every nook and corner of it. At the altar burnedtwo tall taper lights, and the young minister, in white vestments, waswaiting.
The joking mood was still upon Allan and Eloise, but she requested inall seriousness that the word "obey" be omitted from the ceremony.
"Why?" asked the minister, gravely.
"Because I don't want to promise anything I don't intend to do."
"Put it in for me," suggested Allan, cheerfully. "I might as wellpromise, for I'll have to do it anyway."
Gradually, the hush and solemnity of the church banished the light mood.A new joy, deeper, and more lasting, took the place of laughter as theysat in the front pew, reading over the service. Barbara and Roger sattogether, half way down to the door. Neither had spoken since theyentered the church.
A shaft of golden light lay full upon Eloise's face. In that moment,before they went to the altar, Allan was afraid of her, she seemed soangelic, so unreal. But the minister was waiting, with his open book."Come," said Allan, in a whisper, and she rose, smiling, to follow him,not only then, but always.
[Sidenote: The Ceremony]
"Dearly Beloved," began the minister, "we are gathered here together inthe sight of God and in the face of this company, to join together thisman and this woman in holy matrimony." He went on through the beautifulservice, while the light streamed in, bearing its fairy freight ofcolour and gold, and the swift patter of the Little People of the Forestrustled through the drifting leaves.
It was all as Eloise had chosen, even to the two who sat far back, withtheir hands clasped, as wide-eyed as children before this sacred mergingof two souls into one.
A little brown bird perched on the threshold, chirped a few questioningnotes, then flew away to his own nest. Acorns fell from the oaks acrossthe road, and the musical hum and whir of Autumn came faintly from thefields. The taper lights burned in the sunshine like yellow stars.
"That ye may so live together in this life," the minister was saying,"that in the world to come ye may have life everlasting. Amen."
[Sidenote: After the Ordeal]
It was over in an incredibly brief space of time. When they came downthe aisle, Allan had the satisfied air of a man who has just emerged,triumphantly, through his own skill, from a very difficult and dangerousordeal. Eloise was radiant, for her heart was singing within her asplendid strophe of joy.
When Barbara and Roger went to meet them, the strange, new shyness thathad settled down upon them both effectually hindered conversation. Rogerbegan an awkward little speech of congratulation, which immediatelybecame inarticulate and ended in silent embarrassment.
But Allan wrung Roger's hand in a mighty grip that made him wince, andEloise smiled, for she saw more than either of them had yet guessed."You're kids," she said, fondly; "just dear, foolish kids." Impulsively,she kissed them both, then they all went out into the sunshine again.
The minister's eyes followed them with a certain wistfulness, for he wasyoung, and, as yet, the great miracle had not come to him. He sighedwhen he put out the tapers and closed the door that divided him from themusic of Autumn and one great, overwhelming joy.
[Sidenote: On the Way Home]
On the way home, neither Barbara nor Roger spoke. They had nothing tosay and the others were silent because they had so much. They left thetwo at Barbara's gate, then Allan turned the horses back to the hillroad. They were to have two glorious, golden hours alone before takingthe afternoon train.
Barbara and Roger watched them as they went slowly up the tawny roadthat trailed like a ribbon over the pageantry of the hill. When theycame to the crossroads, where one road led to the church and the otherinto the boundless world beyond, Eloise leaned far out to wave afluttering bit of white in farewell.
"And on her lover's arm she leant, And round her waist she felt it fold, And far across the hills they went In that new world which is the old,"
quoted Barbara, softly.
[Sidenote: O'er the Hills]
"And o'er the hills, and far away, Beyond their utmost purple rim, Beyond the night, across the day, Through all the world she followed him,"
added Roger.
The carriage was now only a black speck on the brow of the hill.Presently it descended into the Autumn sunset and vani
shed altogether.
"I'm glad they asked us," said Roger.
"Wasn't it dear of them!" cried Barbara, with her face aglow. "Oh,Roger, if I ever have a wedding, I want it to be just like that!"