Tracy Park Part 71

'Yes, Tom; I'm going to marry Harold,' Jerrie replied, unhesitatingly, as she laid her hand on Tom's arm and walked with him down the stairs.

It seemed to her the most natural thing in the world that she should marry Harold, and she was not at all abashed in speaking of it to Tom; but when outside they saw Harold coming up the walk, the color rushed to her cheeks, and her eyes grew wondrously bright with the love-light which shown in them, as she dropped Tom's arm and hurried to Harold's side.

'By George, I b'lieve I'll go and hang myself!' Tom said, under his breath, as he stalked moodily away; but instead of that he went across the fields to Le Bateau, where he sat for an hour, talking with old Peterkin and waiting for Ann Eliza, who had gone to Springfield, her father said, after a new gown, for which he was to pay two hundred dollars.

'Think on't!' he continued. 'When we was fust married and run the 'Liza Ann, the best gown May Jane had to her back was a mereener or balzarine--dummed if I know what you call it--at one and ninepence a yard; but now, lord land, what's two hundred dollar gownd to me! Ann Eliza can have forty on 'em, if she wants to. There she is; there's the kerridge! By gosh, though, ain't she a neat little filly!' and the father's face glowed with pride as he watched his daughter alighting from the carriage, to which Tom had hastened in order to a.s.sist her, for she was still a little lame and limped as she walked.

He saw the two hundred dollar gown, for Peterkin would have it displayed, and admired it, of course, and wished thut he had half the sum it cost in his own right, and wondered if he could stand it, as he walked slowly home, where he heard from his mother that they were still to remain at Tracy Park for a while, and that his father was to have one hundred thousand dollars settled upon him.

'I guess now I'll wait a spell, and let old Peterkin go to thunder,' he decided, and for two weeks and more Ann Eliza watched in vain for his coming, while Peterkin remarked to his wife that if Tom Tracy was goin'

to play fast and loose with his gal, he'd find himself brought up standin' mighty lively.

The news that Harold and Jerrie were soon to be married, and go with Arthur to Germany, created some surprise, and some talk, too, in town, where many of the people had believed that there had been an understanding, if not an engagement, between Harold and Maude. But Tom put that right with a few decided words. There had never been an engagement, he said. Maude had liked Harold very much, and he had liked her, but had always preferred Jerrie; in short, matters had been as good as settled between them, long ago.

This last was a little fiction of Tom's brain, but the people accepted it as true, and began to look eagerly forward to the approaching marriage, wondering, as people will, who would be invited, and who would not. It took place the 10th of October, in Mrs. Crawford's little parlor, with only a few intimate friends present--Grace Atherton, the St. Claires, Ann Eliza Peterkin, and the Tracys, with the exception of Dolly, who could not do so great violence to her feeling, as to attend a wedding. Billy was not there, but he sent a magnificent emerald ring to Jerrie, with the following note:

DEAR JERRIE,--I can't see you married, although I am glad for you, and glad for Hal. G.o.d bless you both. I shall never forget you as long as I live; and when you come back, maybe I can bear to see you as Hal's wife, but now it would kill me. Good-bye.

Jerrie read this note with wet eyes up in her room, and then pa.s.sed it to Harold, to whom she told of that episode under the b.u.t.ternut tree, when Billy asked her to be his wife.

'Poor Billy! I am awful sorry for him, but I can't let him have you, Jerrie,' Harold said, pa.s.sing the note back to her, and kissing her tenderly, as he added: 'That is my last kiss for Jerrie Tracy, my little girl of the carpet-bag. When I kiss you again, you will be my wife.'

'Come, children, we are waiting,' came with startling distinctness from Arthur at the foot of the stairs, and then Harold and Jerrie went down to the parlor, where they were soon made one, Arthur giving the bride away, and behaving pretty well under the circ.u.mstances.

He had been very flighty the day before, insisting that Jerrie should be married in white, with a blue ribbon on her bonnet, just as Gretchen had been, and when she reminded him of Maude's recent death, he replied:

'Well, Gretchen will wear colors if you do not.'

And again he brought out and laid upon his bed the dress bought in Paris years before, and which had been waiting for Gretchen on that stormy night when he heard the wild cry of the dying woman above the wintery gale. She was with him again in fancy, and when he went out to the carriage which was to carry him to the cottage, he stepped back and stood a moment by the door as if to let some one enter before him, and all during the ceremony those nearest to him heard him whispering to himself, 'I, Arthur, take thee, Gretchen,' and so forth; but when it was over he came to himself and seemed perfectly rational, as he kissed his daughter and shook hands with his son-in-law, to whom he gave a check for ten thousand dollars, saying as he did so, that young men must have a little spending money.

It was a very pleasant wedding, and every one seemed happy, even to d.i.c.k, whose spirits, however, were rather too gay to be quite natural, and whose voice shook just a little as he called Jerrie Mrs. Hasting, and told her he hoped to see her in Paris in the spring as he thought of going over there with Nina to join the Raymonds.

'Oh, I hope you will! Nothing could make me so happy as to meet you there,' Jerrie said, looking at him with an expression which told him she was thinking of the pines and was sorry for him.

The newly married pair were going directly to New York, where Arthur was to join them on the 4th, as the _Germanic_ sailed the 15th.

All the wedding guests accompanied them to the station, Tom accepting a seat in the coupe with Ann Eliza, who wore her two hundred dollar gown, and was, of course, overdressed. But Tom did not think much about that.

He was ill at ease that morning, though trying to seem natural; and when the train which took Jerrie away disappeared from view, he felt as if everything which had made life desirable had left him forever, and he cared but little now what he did, or with whom his lot was cast.

So when Ann Eliza, who had cried at parting with Jerrie, dried her eyes and said to him, 'It is such a fine day; suppose we drive along the river; it may dispel the blues,' he a.s.sented, and soon found himself bowling along the smooth turnpike with Ann Eliza, whom he thought rather interesting, with the tears shed for Jerrie on her long, light eyelashes.

'I shall miss her so much, and be so lonely without her. I hope you'll call often,' she said to him, when at last the drive was over, and Tom promised that he would, and kept his promise, too; for after Arthur left, he found Tracy Park so insupportably dull, with his father always in Maude's room and his mother always in tears, that it was a relief to go to Le Bateau and be made much of as if he were a prince and treated to nice little lunches and suppers, even if old Peterkin did make one of the party and disgust him so at times that he felt as if he must s.n.a.t.c.h up his hat and fly.

And one night, when the old man had been more than usually disagreeable and pompous, he did start up abruptly and leave the house, mentally vowing never to enter it again.

'I'd rather saw wood and gather swill, as Hal used to, than listen to that infernal old brag,' he was saying to himself, when he heard a wheezy sound behind him, and looking round saw the old brag in full pursuit and beckoning him to stop.

'I'm goin' to walk a spell with you,' he said, locking his arm in Tom's as he came up. 'I want to have a little talk.'

'Yes,' Tom faltered, with a dreadful sinking of the heart, while Peterkin went on:

'You see you've been a comin' to Lubbertoo off and on for mighty nigh a month, and as the parents of a family it's time I as't your intentions.'

'Intentions!' Tom stammered, trying to draw his arm from Peterkin's.

But he might as well have tried to wrench it from a vise, for Peterkin held it fast and went on:

'Yes, intentions! Thunderation, hain't a chap 'sposed to have intentions when he hangs round a gal who has money like my Ann 'Liza! I tell you what, Thomas,' and his manner became very insinuating and frank, 'as nigh as I can kalkerlate I'm worth three millions, fair and square, and there's three on 'em to divide it amongst--May Jane, Bill, and Ann 'Liza. Now, s'posin' we say three into three million, don't it leave a million?'

Tom acknowledged that it did, and Peterkin continued:

'Jess so. Now I ain't one of them mean skunks that wants his folks to wait till he's dead afore they enjoys themselves; and the day my Ann 'Liza is married, I plank down a million in hard cash for her and her husband to do what they darned please with; cut a dash in Europe as Hal is doin', if they like, or cut a splurge to hum, it's all one to me. I call that square, don't you?'

Tom admitted that he did, and Peterkin went on:

'Now, then, I ain't goin't to have Ann 'Liza's affections trifled with, and if I catch a feller a doin' on't, d'ye know what I'll do?'

Tom could not guess, and Peterkin continued:

'I'll lick him within an inch of his life, and then set the dogs on him, and heave him inter the river! See?'

It was not a warm day, but Tom was perspiring at every pore as he saw presented to him the choice between a million or to be 'licked within an inch of his life and then dogged into the river.' Naturally he chose the first as the lesser evil of the two, and began to lie as he had never lied in his life before. He was very glad, he said, that Peterkin had broached the subject, as it made matters easier for him by showing him that his suit might not be rejected, as he had feared it might be.

'You know, of course, Mr. Peterkin,' he said, 'that I am a poor young man, with no expectations whatever, for though Uncle Arthur has settled something upon father, I cannot depend upon that, and how could I dare to look as high as your daughter without some encouragement?'

'Encouragement, boy? Great Scott!' and releasing Tom's arm, Peterkin hit him a friendly slap, which nearly knocked him down. 'Great Scott! What do you call encouragement? When a gal is so fl.u.s.tified at seeing you, and so tickled that she tetters right up and down, while her mother hunts heaven and earth for t.i.t-bits to tickle your palate with--quail on toast, mushrooms, sweet-breads, and the Lord knows what--ain't that a sign they are willin'? Thunder and guns! what would you have? Ann 'Liza can't up and say "Marry me, Tom;" nor I can't up and say, "Thomas, marry my daughter," can I? But if you want to marry her, say so like a man, and I swan I'll meet you like a man, and a father!'

Alas for Tom! he had nothing left him to do except to say that he wished to marry Ann Eliza, and that he would come the next evening and tell her so.

It was Peterkin who answered his ring when he presented himself at the door of Le Bateau, Peterkin more inflated and pompous than ever as he shook the young man's hand, calling him Thomas--a name which aggravated him beyond all description--and telling him to go right into the parlor, where he would find Ann 'Liza waitin' for him, and where they could bill and coo as much as they liked, for he and May Jane would keep out of the way and give 'em a chance.

Even then Tom cast one despairing glance toward the door, with a half resolve to bolt; but Peterkin was behind him, pus.h.i.+ng him on to his fate, which, after all, was not so very bad when he came to face it.

There was nothing low, or mean, or coa.r.s.e about Ann Eliza, who, but for her very bright red hair, would have been called pretty by some, and who was by no means ill-looking, even with her red hair, as she stood up to receive her lover, with a droop in her eyes, and a flush on her cheeks; for she knew the object of his visit, into which he plunged at once. He did not say that he loved her, but he asked her in a straightforward way to be his wife, and then waited for her answer, which was not long in coming, for Ann Eliza was no dissembler. She loved Tom Tracy with her whole soul, and felt herself honored in being sought by him.

'Oh, Tom!' she said, while the tears shone in her eyes, which Tom noticed for the first time were large and clear and very blue. 'It does not seem possible for you to love me, but, if you really do, I will be your wife and try to make you happy, and--and--'

She hesitated a moment and then went on:

'Save you as much as possible from father. We cannot live here; you and he would not get on; he means well and is the kindest of fathers to me, but he is not like you, and we must go away.'

She was really a very sensible girl, Tom thought, and in his joy at finding her so sensible he stooped and kissed her forehead as the proper thing for him to do, while she, the poor little mistaken girl, threw herself into his arms and began to cry, she was so glad and happy.

Tom did not know exactly what he ought to do. It was a novel situation for him to be in, with a girl sobbing on his bosom, and his first impulse was to push her off; but when he remembered that she represented a million of dollars, he did what half the men in the world would have done in his place: he held her close and tried to quiet her, and told her he was not half good enough for her, and knew in his heart he was telling the truth, and felt within him that stirring of a resolve that she should never know he did not love her, and that he would make her happy, if he could.

And so they were betrothed without much billing and cooing, and Peterkin came in with Mary Jane and made a speech half-an-hour long to his future son-in-law, and settled just when they were to be married and what they were to do.

Christmas week was the time, and he vowed he'd give 'em a wedding which should take the starch entirely out of Gusty Browne, whose mother, Mrs.

Rossiter Browne, would think Gusty was never married at all when she saw what he could do. Greatly he lamented that Harold and Jerry could not be present. 'But they'll see it in the papers,' he said, 'for I'll have a four column notice, if I write it myself, and pay for it too! And when you meet 'em in Europe you can tell 'em what they missed.'