“And just on the chance,” Joe went on, “I told Mrs. Hawthorne that I’d rather not start work until Monday. That gives us three days for a honeymoon, if we’re married tomorrow….”
“Tomorrow!” cried Betsy.
“Tomorrow!” chortled the driver. “I told you, miss, that he didn’t let any grass grow under his feet.”
They were all laughing when they drove up to 909, and the fare the driver named wasn’t so huge as Betsy had feared. Joe dug down for a magnificent tip.
“A wedding present in reverse, skipper,” he said. He and Betsy ran up the steps and the family burst out the door in welcome. Any annoyance over the long wait melted away as Joe kissed Mrs. Ray and gave her the flowers, and kissed Julia, and was introduced to Paige. Margaret had had to leave, but Mr. Ray had stayed home, and his liking for Joe caused his face to brighten.
“You haven’t changed,” he said in a pleased tone as they shook hands.
“Anna is keeping some muffins hot,” Mrs. Ray said.
“Anna,” said Joe, “will you do something else for me?”
“Sure, I will.”
“Keep those muffins hot just a little while longer,” he begged with an irresistible smile. “I want to talk with Mr. Ray…if you have a few minutes, sir?”
“Why, of course, Joe!” But Mr. Ray’s tone was stiff again. He led the way upstairs to a small back room which he called his study. It held a roll-top desk and a picture of the shoe store in Deep Valley and an even bigger picture of ex-President Theodore Roosevelt. He and Joe disappeared inside.
The others clustered around Betsy.
“Where under the sun were you?”
“It was pretty awful, waiting.”
“Of course, we knew you had a good reason.”
“Oh, we did!” Betsy laughed softly. “Joe was looking for a job. And he got it!”
“The Tribune took him on!” Mrs. Ray sighed with satisfaction and relief.
“No, the Hawthorne Publicity Bureau. It’s run by the wife of the city editor of the Courier. She needed a very good man to raise money for the Belgian refugees, and of course she snapped Joe up. And Mamma! He asked her to the wedding.”
“The wedding!” Mrs. Ray looked alarmed. “But Betsy, even though Joe has a job, you know how Papa feels….”
“I know,” Betsy answered soberly. Everything would depend, she thought, on how that interview in the study was progressing.
Everyone had the same thought, and they sat in silence, listening. They heard a steady flow of voices. Joe and Mr. Ray. Joe and Mr. Ray. Joe for a long time, and then Mr. Ray for a long, long time, sounding excited and positive.
Once an intelligible phrase floated out. “Leave it to Teddy!” Mr. Ray was saying.
The group downstairs looked at each other in complete mystification. What, their raised brows seemed to ask, did Teddy Roosevelt have to do with Betsy’s wedding?
“Politics!” Mrs. Ray said scornfully.
Anna brought Betsy a cup of coffee. She brought her a muffin. Mrs. Ray and Julia wanted coffee, too, and Paige started pacing the floor. At long last the door of the study opened.
“T.R. is as right as rain,” Betsy heard her father declare as he and Joe came down the stairs.
Mr. Ray beamed at the huddled group. “What are you women wasting time for?” he asked jovially. “There’s plenty to be done around here, if we’re having a wedding tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow!” everyone cried out as Betsy and the taxi driver had done.
“Why, didn’t Betsy tell you that Monday Joe starts his new job, helping those wonderful Belgians? He and Betsy are entitled to a little honeymoon, aren’t they?”
Betsy fled to Joe’s arms.
“I told him, Jule,” her father continued, “that I felt I could speak for you. I told him we both realized that he and Betsy had known each other for years and ought to know their own minds. They’ve waited long enough! Especially with this war business on. We may be in that ourselves, if it hangs on. Jule!” His voice warmed with interest. “Joe interviewed Teddy just a short time ago. He’s been giving me all Teddy’s views. Teddy thinks just as I do, and just as Joe does, that this is an assault on civilization….”
Mrs. Ray was gasping. “But tomorrow! Couldn’t it be next week? One day—for a wedding dress and cake and decorations…”
Mr. Ray gave Joe a tolerant glance which said: “These women!”
“You only need to organize things,” he replied indulgently. “I’ll go over to the florist and get him to work on some decorations. How about a wedding bell over the fireplace?” Mr. Ray smiled. “We were married under a wedding bell; weren’t we, Jule? And it took pretty well.”
“You and I, Mamma,” said Julia, “can take Betsy downtown and help her buy a dress. Maybe we could pick Margaret up at school? She ought to be in on this. Anna can do everything that needs to be done here. You’ll have a caterer make the wedding cake, won’t you?”
“She will not,” came Anna’s voice from the doorway. “I may be getting old, but I can still bake cakes, and decorate them, too. I made the cake when the McCloskey girl was married!”
The McCloskeys were an almost mythical family for whom Anna had worked in the distant past. Any mention of them always served to quell the Rays.
“I’ll take Joe to call on Dr. Atherton,” said Paige. Dr. Atherton was the Episcopal clergyman who had married him and Julia. “We have to get a license, too, boy!”
Joe did not reply. Betsy’s head was on his shoulder. His cheek was on her hair.
“Hey!” Mr. Ray called. “Hey, you kids! Do you want to get married, or don’t you?”
Joe and Betsy came back from some deep dream. They smiled at each other, and out at the smiling faces.
“Yes, sir. Certainly. Sure,” Joe said hazily.
“Yes, Papa!” chimed Betsy.
5
The Wedding
ON THE MORNING OF her wedding day, Betsy woke early. She lay snugly under the blankets looking around the dim, familiar room and out through a misty filigree of branches at a world still indistinct.
Everything was ready for the great event. This had not been accomplished easily. After Joe and Betsy came out of their daze, the preceding morning, and began to plan, they had promptly run into difficulties.
Paige would be best man and Julia matron-of-honor. That was understood. But when Betsy started blithely naming bridesmaids, her mother had protested.
“Darling, you can’t have bridesmaids at a small wedding like this!”
“But Mamma! Tacy couldn’t have Tib and me for bridesmaids! The three of us ought to be together in one wedding,” Betsy had argued.
“Then Tib will have to have a big wedding. You wouldn’t! Remember? Besides, Tacy couldn’t do it just now.”
“That’s right! But I’d like Margaret to be something.”
“Margaret,” said Mrs. Ray, “will be my right-hand man, as usual. And there will be plenty to do, even though it is just a family wedding.”
“Of course,” Betsy hinted, “Tacy and Tib are family.”
“Well, practically!”
“And Katie and Leo.” Katie was Tacy’s sister.
“They’ve moved to Duluth.”
“And Carney and Sam are family,” Betsy pleaded, for Carney was almost as old a friend as Tacy or Tib, “Besides, we’ll need Carney to play the wedding march.”
“That’s true,” Mrs. Ray admitted.
“And Cab! Cab’s certainly family. Remember how he used to stop in for breakfast on the way to high school, Papa?”
Mr. Ray chuckled. “I certainly do.”
Betsy had kept on talking rapidly. “Alice is family, Mamma. I’ve known her all my life. And Winona, and Dennie, and Irma…”
“Betsy! Betsy!” Mrs. Ray broke in. “We’ll stop with Cab or there’ll be no stopping at all.”
Joe looked sheepish. “I’ve invited the Hawthornes, Mrs. Ray.”
“They’re very welcome,” Mrs. Ray said
warmly. “And now we must do our ’phoning, for we have to get downtown.
Betsy smiled, lying in bed, to remember that wild telephoning. After her mother had invited the uncles, aunts, and cousins, Betsy began. With Joe at her elbow, she had called Tacy first, then Carney. Sam, her husband, had been transferred to Minneapolis, and they lived with a baby daughter just a few blocks away.
“What do you want me to play?”
“Why, Lohengrin.”
Joe pushed Betsy aside. “Dum, dee, dee, dum,” he hummed.
“Would you like ‘Song Without Words,’” Carney asked, “for that fateful moment when you’re waiting to come downstairs?”
They telephoned Butternut Center, but Aunt Ruth could not come. Homer, her helper in the store, was ill.
“I’ll come down to see you soon. Bring my wife,” Joe told her grandly.
They telephoned Deep Valley. Tib’s light, excited voice floated through the room like Tib herself.
Cab had a surprise for them. “Sorry! I’d love to come to your wedding, Betsy, but I have to go to my own.”
“Cab! Do I know her?”
“No. She’s a North Dakota girl. You’ll love her, though.”
“Oh, I’m so glad!” Betsy said. It seemed beautifully fitting that she and Cab, friends of so many years, should have the same wedding day.
Betsy had telephoned Mrs. Hawthorne. It wasn’t easy, but she summoned her poise for Joe’s sake, and the rich joyous voice at the other end of the line reassured her.
“Do you really want us? We’d love to come. I don’t know why it is, but I feel already as though I knew your Joe.”
Then Mr. Ray had departed for the florist. But before Joe and Paige left to see Dr. Atherton, Joe had called Betsy aside.
“Where shall we go on our honeymoon?” he asked. “We haven’t time to go far. Shall I make reservations at a hotel right here in Minneapolis?”
“How about Lake Minnetonka?” Betsy whispered. “I’d like the country better. Wouldn’t you?”
“Of course. And there are hotels at Minnetonka. What a woman I’m marrying!” He kissed her.
“Enough of that!” called Paige. “Find out what flowers she wants for her bouquet.”
“Anything, and forget-me-nots,” said Betsy.
“I’m never going to forget you, honey.”
“I just want to be sure.”
“Forget-me-nots,” said Paige, “may be hard to find at this season.”
“If Betsy wants them, I’ll find them,” Joe replied. He was in his sea-swimming, mountain-toppling mood.
“We’ll have Bachelors’ Dinner at Shiek’s,” Paige said. “I’ll round up Harry and Sam. That will keep us out from underfoot.”
For Anna had poked her head out of the kitchen to say meaningly, “Everyone ate out, the day before the McCloskey girl’s wedding!”
Mrs. Ray, Julia, and Betsy were whisked downtown by taxicab. This was no day for trolleys! And they found a lovely dress—almost as fine as a dressmaker could have made, Mrs. Ray remarked. The sweeping white silk was frothy with tulle. It even had long tulle sleeves. And Betsy planned to wear the tulle cap and veil, edged with orange blossoms, that Julia had worn for her wedding.
“You’ll wear it next, Margaret,” Betsy said, for Margaret had joined them. Julia had ’phoned the principal in her most impressive voice. After lunch they had all helped Betsy buy silken slips, chemises, night gowns, a pleated pink chiffon negligee, and a boudoir cap, trimmed with tiny rosebuds.
When they reached home, Mr. Ray was making a fire in the grate. They had picnicked around it.
“Just the five of you! You look like Deep Valley!” Anna had said fondly, looking in.
Everything had been attended to. Everything was planned, or ready. After so many years of loving him, Betsy was going to marry Joe.
She stared out the window where the sky behind the elm trees was streaked now with crimson and gold. She was going to be married tonight, and she wanted her marriage to be perfect.
“Just perfect!” she said softly, aloud.
She wanted her home to be happy and full of love, as the Ray house was. She wanted to be all Joe expected her to be. He knew her well; Betsy was glad of that. She wouldn’t have wanted to go through life pretending to be someone she wasn’t. He idealized her, though.
Jumping up, she closed the window and found a pencil and paper, and getting back into bed, she made a list. Betsy was always making lists. She had done it for years, resolving at various times to brush her hair faithfully, or to manicure her nails, or to study French, or to read through the Bible.
But I never made a list as important as this one, she thought, writing at the top,
RULES FOR MARRIED LIFE.
1. Handle Joe’s money well. That, she knew, was important. She had noticed that married people had more trouble about money than almost anything else. She would keep accounts, she resolved, and never be extravagant—unless Joe wanted to be.
2. Keep yourself looking nice when Joe’s around. Don’t plaster on sticky creams at night, or wear your hair in curlers. She would put up her hair after he went to work, she planned.
3. Wear pretty house dresses, like Mamma does, and see that they’re always clean. Some organdy aprons would be nice, too.
4. Learn to cook. Betsy frowned over that one. You’re fairly bright. You can learn if you try.
5. Always, always, be gentle and loving. No matter if you’re tired or feeling cross. Papa and Mamma don’t quarrel, she thought. You and Joe don’t need to, either.
She read the list over several times, looking sober. Then she tore it up and, getting out of bed again, she knelt down and pressed her head against the blankets.
Back in bed, she heard her father going downstairs. He would be opening the furnace, for September mornings were cool.
But her wedding day was going to be fair. The sky was already radiantly blue.
Margaret came in, her long black braids hanging over her night gown. She snuggled into bed beside Betsy.
“I’ve been thinking!” she said. “When it’s time for you to be married, I’m going to put Kismet in the basement. You know how he hops up to that niche above the fireplace to drink out of the goldfish bowl? What if he should do it in the middle of the wedding?”
“Margaret,” said Betsy, “you think of everything!”
Julia came in. This was unexpected for, with Julia, getting up was a major undertaking. She came in, blinking sleepily, her curly hair in wild disorder, and climbed in on the other side of Betsy. She closed her eyes.
“Breakfast in bed,” she murmured, “would be nice. Golly, it would be nice!”
Betsy and Margaret giggled.
Mrs. Ray came in, crisply dressed. She looked like a general planning a campaign.
“You three get up!” she ordered.
“Mamma,” murmured Julia, still with closed eyes, “do I smell coffee, or do I just imagine it?”
“You just imagine it. Get up!”
“It’s Betsy’s wedding day, you know.”
“That’s why you have to get up. There’s lots…”
“I think I hear Papa!” Julia opened her eyes. She cocked her head. She sprang to a sitting position. “Papa!” she cried. “You’re an angel!”
“An absolute angel!” Betsy echoed.
“Why do you go and get married then?” asked Mr. Ray, beaming, as he passed a loaded tray. “You stick by us, Margaret!”
Mrs. Ray sat down with a cup of coffee and a slice of buttered toast. “Your father,” she observed, “is a man in a million. Don’t expect Joe to do this for you, Betsy.”
“Joe!” said Betsy with a lilt in her voice. “I wonder how soon he’ll be coming.”
“Why, not until evening, of course!”
“You won’t see him until you meet at the altar.”
“Oh, no!” Betsy wailed.
“Someone’s coming in now,” Margaret observed, trying not to laugh, and Joe halloed from the foot of th
e stairs in a loud and happy voice.
“Joe Willard!” Julia called. “You’re not allowed to see Betsy until the wedding.”
“Bosh!” shouted Joe. “May I come up?”
“No!” cried Betsy, for her hair was still in curlers. She bounced out of bed; and Mr. and Mrs. Ray went downstairs, laughing.
“Maybe Joe could use a cup of coffee,” Mr. Ray said.
Joe was drinking coffee when Betsy joined him on the small back porch. He put down the cup to take her hands.
“I have wonderful news! The Minnetonka hotels are closed for the season, but Harry and Tacy have a cottage out there. They’ll loan it to us, Harry says.”
“Joe!”
“Doesn’t it sound like a dream?”
The day passed like a dream. Betsy and Joe sat on the little back porch which was covered with morning glories, still in bluish-pink bloom. They wandered, hand in hand, around the leaf-strewn lawn. They weren’t allowed indoors.
Anna was barricaded in the kitchen, beating and stirring and grumbling. The cake was to be a surprise.
The florist carried in potted plants and long cardboard boxes which exuded a wet flowery smell. But the transformed fireplace was to be a surprise, too.
Julia was pressing, for Betsy. Margaret was polishing silver. They kept running out with telephoned messages. Tib had arrived at Tacy’s. Carney warned that Sam was buying rice and collecting tin cans.
Joe and Betsy smiled at each other. They had a wonderful getaway plan.
Joe left after lunch. He would not see her now until he saw her coming down the stairs to marry him. He put his arms around her.
“I love you. I could set those words to music,” he said, very low.
Betsy was sent upstairs to rest. She went—so she would not see the fireplace—by way of a short flight of stairs that ascended from the kitchen to a landing where it met the flight that came up from the living room platform.
She lay down but she could not rest. It was a good thing, she thought, that she had made her resolutions earlier, for now her head was whirling. She looked around the blue and white room that she would leave so soon.
“I’ll be back often. But, as Mamma says, it won’t be the same.” She could not feel anything but happy, though.
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