CHAPTER XXII
A JULY WEDDING
PEGGY'S brother Dick had parodied an old rhyme to fit the occasion andsang it with gusto, in season and out of season. It was Dick's voice,caroling in a high falsetto, and breaking ludicrously on an average ofonce a line, that woke Peggy on the most eventful morning of her life.
"A wedding day in May Is worth a load of hay. A wedding set for June Is worth a silver spoon. A wedding in July Isn't worth a fly."
Peggy winked hard and sat up in bed, turning instantly toward the eastwindows. "Oh," she cried joyously, "what a glorious day!" And so indeedit was. Apparently the weather man had carefully selected whatever wasbest in all the year, and combined his selections into one perfect dayin honor of Peggy's wedding. There had been a little rain the nightbefore, and the air was as sweet as if perfumed by June's roses. Therewas a freshness that suggested early spring, and something in thebreeze as exhilarating as October. Peggy reflected complacently thatthis was just her luck.
She wondered, as she dressed, what she was to do with herself betweenthe hours of eight and six. Her trunk was packed for going away, andthe other trunks were ready except for a few articles to be added atthe last minute. She had acknowledged every gift she had received. Thedressmaker was through with her, and the wedding dress was hangingin Peggy's closet, with a sheet draped over it that no speck of dustshould mar its immaculate whiteness. Peggy decided that her wedding daywas to be characterized by elegant leisure.
Of course this expectation was not realized. To begin with, there weremore presents. They came by parcels post and by express. Deliverymenhanded them over as nonchalantly as if they had been ordinarypurchases. Others came by special messengers, who grinned knowinglywhen Peggy signed for them. Breakfast was hardly over when it wasnecessary to send for Graham, that he might assist in opening thepackages. But Graham was not as satisfactory in opening packages as anumber of other people, Priscilla and Amy, for instance. If Peggy cried"Isn't that beautiful?" he always looked straight at her as he said"yes," and then it was necessary to remind him that he was supposed tobe admiring a piece of silverware or glass. Peggy always said, "Howbeautiful!" when a package was opened. And then if the article weresomething she really wanted, she would add, "Isn't it lucky, Graham,that some one thought of that? I don't see how we could have kept housewithout it." And if it were something quite unsuitable she would cry,"How kind everybody is. I never saw anything like it."
The present from Peggy's college class came the morning of the weddingday, when it was practically certain that no one was to be marriedin advance of Peggy. It was a very attractive silver vase, with theclass motto engraved about its base. Peggy's delight was marred by onecharacteristic reflection. "I have so many things. It's almost a pitythis didn't go to some girl whose friends weren't so generous."
"Any one could have had it," Graham reminded her, "who was readyto take the risk. This is in recognition of your courage, like theVictoria Cross."
Of course the wedding presents were not going to South America, butwere to be stored against the young people's return. "Don't you hateto go away and leave all these lovely things, Graham?" Peggy asked,stroking the gleaming sides of a copper bowl as if it had been akitten. And then with her usual happy faculty for seeing the brightside, she added, "But think of coming home and finding them waiting forus! Why, it'll be like getting married all over again."
Wedding presents, however, were not to occupy Peggy's thoughts to theexclusion of other matters. All sorts of affectionate messages keptcoming, special deliveries, telegrams, telephone calls. A girl likePeggy, who for twenty-one years and over has been helping to make theworld a happier place, is likely to be surprised when she comes tocount up her friends. Elaine Marshall, who had moved from the city andnow lived with her married sister, came down for the day. "I couldn'tstand it, not to be at your wedding, Peggy," she declared. And LucyHaines walked in about noon, looking so radiant that Peggy at oncesuspected an especial reason. There was a little pearl ring on thethird finger of Lucy's left hand that Peggy had never seen before. Lucyblushed when she saw Peggy's contemplative gaze focused on it.
"Yes, Peggy, it's--it's Jerry," owned Lucy, looking so proud and happythat she did not seem even distantly related to the disheartened girlwho had once thought it was no use trying. "He's grown into such asplendid fellow. Everybody says I'm so lucky. And, Peggy, if it hadn'tbeen for the summer you spent at Doolittle Cottage, it's not likelythat either of us would ever have amounted to anything."
Mary Donaldson called up to say that she was coming to the wedding.Her father and cousin had promised to carry her downstairs, and theywere going early so she could be in her place before any one elsearrived. "I don't believe you're a bit more excited than I am, Peggy,"Mary laughed. And another surprise was when Uncle Philander and hiswife drove into town, with a bushel or two of flowers piled about themin the buggy.
"They're not such awful stylish flowers," beamed Aunt Phoebe. "Ofcourse there's a few roses, but most of our bushes bloomed themselves'most to death in June and haven't done much since. The rest are justeveryday posies, so to speak, but they'll make little bright spotsaround the house, and anyway, you can't have too many flowers at awedding."
At four o'clock the bridesmaids went home to dress. The mother of theflower girl pounced on her and carried her upstairs.
"Peggy, dear," said Mrs. Raymond warningly.
"Just a minute mother. I want to tell Graham something." Peggy led herlover into a corner and whispered in his ear, "Don't you want to comeback and get a glimpse of me after I'm dressed."
"Well rather."
"Because you know, if you don't like me," dimpled Peggy, "it's not toolate to change your mind." She was inclined to be reproachful whenGraham caught her in his arms and kissed her before everybody, butGraham insisted it was her own fault, and on reflection Peggy decidedhe was right.
At six o'clock the little church was well filled. In spite of Graham'steasing, Peggy's humble friends could hardly be distinguished fromtheir so-called betters. Hildegarde Carey, slender and elegant, sat inthe pew behind Elvira Bond, and noticed nothing peculiar except thatElvira blew her nose oftener and with more emphasis than is customaryon such occasions. It was either that or weep, and Elvira chose theleast of the two evils. As for Jimmy Dunn, with his purple necktie anda large scarfpin that resembled a diamond, he was fairly resplendent.
The march pealed out and the people rose. Up the aisle came thebridesmaids walking very slowly. The little flower girl, all smiles,seemed as unconscious as if weddings were an old story in herexperience. And then came Peggy on her father's arm, and Elvira Bondwas not the only one whose eyes brimmed over as she passed.
A great deal can happen in five minutes. The organ pealed out again,and now Peggy was Mrs. Graham Wylie. She put her hand on her husband'sarm and smiled up into his face, Peggy's own sunny smile. She hadpromised for better or for worse, but in her heart of hearts she wasconfident that the future held only good for the two of them. And asGraham was equally positive on that score, they went down the aislewith illumined faces.
Only a few besides the two families came to the house from the church.These, with the out-of-town guests like Elaine and Lucy, and thewedding party, filled the cosy little house to overflowing. MaryDonaldson sat in a corner, radiant; and since she could not cross theroom to kiss the bride, the bride crossed to kiss her.
It was after the chicken salad had been disposed of, and they werepassing the ice cream, that Peggy's attention focussed itself on hernew friend, Mr. Kennedy. He stood by himself for the moment and hisface was rather grave for a young man, a guest at a wedding. But as hecaught her eye, he smiled resolutely and came over to her.
"I'm sorry you're going away, Mrs. Wylie, just as I met you. It doesn'tseem fair."
"I'm sorry, too," said Peggy. "If we'd only known that night atthe Green Parrot that you were a friend of Graham's it would havesimplified matters so much."
Mr. Kennedy's face again l
ost its smile. He turned and looked thecompany over. "Your friend Hitchcock isn't here to-night, is he?"
Peggy was delighted. She had been wishing for a chance to bring Horaceinto the conversation, and here Mr. Kennedy had done it himself. Whenagain the young man looked at her, he was almost startled by theradiant mischief of her face.
"Horace Hitchcock here? Oh, dear, no! I can't think of anybody I'd beless likely to ask to my wedding."
"That's one point, evidently, on which you and Miss Combs are not inagreement."
Peggy pondered. "Priscilla might ask him to her wedding. I don't know.But it's certain he didn't ask _her_ to _his_."
Young Mr. Kennedy's start was unmistakable. "You don't mean he'smarried?"
"Yes indeed. There was quite an account of it in the papers. But if youdidn't know his name, you wouldn't remember."
"No, I wouldn't remember," agreed Mr. Kennedy. All at once he wasbeaming. "I shall be glad when the next two years are up, Mrs. Wylie,"he cried boyishly. "I have a hunch that you and I are going to be greatfriends."
A moment later he joined Priscilla, and from that time on followed herabout like her shadow, and the observant Peggy smiled approval. She wasnot in the least discomfited by Graham's reference to high explosives.The most dangerous things in the world, in her estimation, weremisunderstandings.
At ten o'clock the bride went upstairs to change to her littlegoing-away suit with the Eton Jacket, that made her look hardly olderthan the Peggy Raymond who entered college. And then the good-bysbegan. "We'll be back in a few days," said Peggy as she kissed eachone, but even that assurance failed to give comfort. For though Peggyand Graham were coming back for twenty-four hours, they were to sail onthe sixth. Peggy's friends returned her smiles bravely, but there washardly one who did not struggle to keep back the tears.
They crowded out on the porch to see her go. Some one hurled an oldshoe as the taxi-cab glided away. Peggy leaned from the window to waveher hand, and then the darkness swallowed her up.
Amy, Ruth, and Priscilla stood side by side. The tears were runningdown Ruth's cheeks, and Priscilla's eyes were wet. Amy had forcedherself to smile during Peggy's protracted leave-taking and the smilepersisted, though it had become a grimace.
"Is this place called Friendly Terrace?" Amy demanded tragically, "Oris it the--the Dismal Swamp."
"Or the desert of Sahara," suggested Priscilla, a quaver in her voiceshowing that the suggestion was not altogether a joke.
"Girls!" for a moment Ruth struggled with a sob, but she conquered itand went on resolutely, "I don't know who named Friendly Terrace, butI do know it was Peggy who made the name fit. And we've got to keep itup. We can't let it become like other little streets where nobody caresfor his neighbor. We've got to show what Peggy meant to us by--by--"
"By keeping the home fires burning," interpolated Amy, and Ruth noddedas if the familiar phrase said all she had wished to say.
As the others crowded indoors, declaring after immemorial fashion thatthere had never been a prettier wedding nor a lovelier bride, Peggy'sthree friends stood side by side; Ruth's hand was fast in Amy's, andAmy's arm was about Priscilla's waist. And while none of them spoke,each of them in her heart was silently pledging herself to keepFriendly Terrace what Peggy had made it.
THE END
Peggy Raymond's Way; Or, Blossom Time at Friendly Terrace Page 22