I Walked in Arden Part 36

Deep Harbor lay in a smoky haze below us, and the lake beyond s.h.i.+mmered blue and silver in the July sun. The yellow road went straight down the hill toward the town. Across the distant fields the steam of a pa.s.sing train trailed across the tops of the trees. I watched Helen's grey eyes staring at each familiar detail of her home--for the whole lay spread at our feet. The grey deepened and turned a little misty at last.

"Forgive me, Ted," she said, clinging tightly to me, "but it hurts a little to go, even with you." I kissed her wet eyes and said nothing. "I love you, Ted. I love you," and she sobbed in my arms.

We ate our luncheon in the clearing by the wood. It was too hot for a camp fire, and, as the sandwiches had melted, Leonidas de la Patte Jaune ate more than we did. Helen was back in her usual mood of high content.

Her laugh, at some clumsy antic of Leonidas or some word of mine, rang again and again through the solitude of our hiding place. The coming of dusk and the mosquitoes drove us out at last.

"Another whole day of perfect happiness, Ted," she confided, leaning across to me from her saddle.

Only Mrs. Claybourne was displeased; we were late for dinner.

And then the great day came. I had thrown one last defiance in Miss Hershey's teeth by selecting Knowlton to be my best man. In spite of the grin he grinned when I asked him, I saw that secretly he was pleased--perhaps a little moved. He came round to my rooms early in the morning to lend me aid and comfort, although the wedding was not to be until two o'clock.

"Keep a stiff upper lip, Ted," was his greeting, as he unpacked a breakfast of sorts from various pockets. He would not hear of my going out for breakfast. "Shall I make some coffee?" he asked, as he took my alcohol lamp apart. "Here's a cantaloupe, just off the ice," and he banged a melon down on the table. "Got a knife?"

I sat up in my pyjamas and surveyed his preparations.

"I'm not an invalid, Knowlton," I protested, as he tried to make a slice of toast over a gas jet. "I don't know what you conceive the functions of a best man to be, but I did not ask for cooking to be included in the specifications. In fact, I'm not certain that even Shaefer's wouldn't manage breakfast better."

"Go to h.e.l.l, Ted. I learned to cook before you were born," was his rejoinder.

"That puts me under no obligation to eat it," I retorted, "especially as I wasn't present."

"Shave and shut up," he replied, unmoved. Another slice of bread was suspended over the gas jet. I made my toilet leisurely and, at the end, ate a slice of his asphyxiated toast. The coffee was excellent, thanks to the ingeniousness of the machine that made it. So was the cantaloupe--but Knowlton had not made that, either.

"Knowlton," I said, with breakfast over, "when you make toast for me, you try my friends.h.i.+p far."

"You're an ungrateful hound. I've got your railroad tickets to New York.

Transportation for two." He emphasized the latter statement. "By No.

46--the 5.02 P. M., Eastern standard time." Deep Harbor used both Eastern and Western time.

"Keep the tickets until I want them. One thing more. Do you expect me to sit here until two o'clock talking to you?"

Knowlton's ancient grin crinkled his eyes. "A little jumpy, aren't we?

Well, I don't blame you. Listen to today's _Eagle_--it will soothe you.

'A marriage is to be solemnized this afternoon, at two o'clock at St.

Asaph's Episcopal Church, Myrtle Boulevard, between Helen, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Claybourne of Myrtle Boulevard, and Edward Jevons, of London, England. The social prominence of the young people--Mr.

Claybourne is one of the most prominent business men of our lake city, the president of the Claybourne Manufacturing Company, of Twelfth Street, and Mr. Jevons, the prospective groom, is favourably known for his connection with the Deep Harbor Manufacturing Company, lately acquired by a New York corporation--lends unusual interest to this affair. The Rev. Mr. Osborough will officiate. Decorations by Deering. A reception to a few intimate friends will follow at the Claybourne residence. Catering by Podalsky and Rodenheim.'"

I threw a book at Knowlton, which he skilfully dodged.

"That's nothing to what Miss Barnes, who does the social notes for the _Eagle_, will say tomorrow. You will be worth at least three quarters of a column--not front-page stuff, of course, but the feature story under 'Society,' opposite the woman's page," he continued, ignoring my threats.

At twelve I insisted upon going out to lunch. Knowlton stuck with me. In the grill room of the Otooska House--a lonesome spot, thronged only at night--we had a steak, with which Knowlton drank a gla.s.s of milk.

"I'm sorry, Knowlton," I said over cigarettes, "that you won't accept my father's offer and try your luck in England."

"I appreciate that, Ted. But I guess I belong over here. I'm going to take my bonus money and set up for myself as a consultant in New York. A man better stick to what he knows. If I went to London, I'd have to learn all over again. It's different with you--you are going home. I'm going to stay here."

A little before two, one of Deep Harbor's most elaborate "hacks"

deposited Knowlton and me at the awning-covered approach to the portal of St. Asaph's. I remember that there were a few curious onlookers standing on the pavement outside, and inside, there seemed to be music and a lot of vegetation. Beyond these blurred impressions I can recollect nothing until I was aware that Helen was coming down the aisle on her father's arm. It flashed across me that Mrs. Claybourne must be weeping somewhere near. Helen looked at me steadily through her veil, a deep and wonderful grey in her eyes as she came on, and I know I wanted to cry out, "Oh, d.a.m.n this ceremony--let's bolt for the station, dearest." We did as we had been instructed--just what, I don't know, but the Reverend Mr. Osborough's voice got under way promptly. It was in the air above me, I felt. Helen wore a wreath of orange blossoms--not unusual for a bride, of course--but I loathed their scent, as I had ever since the day of my small-boyhood when a flower girl under Charing Cross station in London had thrust some beneath my nose.

The questions were beginning, and I made an effort to pull myself together. What was my cue? I heard Osborough whispering something under his breath. I had missed the first response, and he was prompting me.

Would Knowlton grin? I couldn't look around. I stumbled through my lines, and Knowlton came forward with the ring. Helen was letter-perfect; not once did she fluff her lines or miss a bit of stage business. I admired her for it. We had to kneel--side by side. I saw the ring on her finger--it must be nearly over. We got up again--"Now!" I thought. No, Osborough was off again. What was this about? A sermon specially for our benefit--we were kneeling before the altar. I blinked at the candles to avoid looking at Osborough. I had hold of Helen's hand. I felt her press mine gently. "She's kept her head--I knew she would!" I thought in an ecstasy of delight over her self-control.

"Probably knows everything that's happening." Ah, the benediction at last--obviously the finale; that isn't the right technical word. We were standing up--Helen had thrown back her veil.

"Kiss me quick, Ted, before any one else gets to me," I heard her say. I obeyed with great speed. Osborough was next, then Knowlton--things were growing confused again, and I'm not sure of my facts. There was a fearful uproar from the organ, and we were very near it. We started back down the aisle, Helen on my arm. Women peered into our faces. I felt that there were a great many persons treading on our heels--bridesmaids, some of them, and Knowlton mixed up with them. I wanted to look around, but a strange woman was glaring at me from a pew near at hand. What had become of my hat? It mysteriously appeared again at the door--out of the void a hand pa.s.sed it to me. Helen and I were wafted into a carriage--I am certain our own legs had nothing to do with it--rice and confetti fell into our laps--and the horses started with a jerk.

"Ted, we're married," Helen said, and laid her cheek against mine. I closed my eyes and held her hand tightly. Some things are hard to realize. There was a clamour in my brain, and I couldn't think. The carriage stopped. The Claybourne house was not over a few hundred yards from the church.

Knowlton helped us out. "How the devil did you get here ahead of us?" I asked in terrified surprise. His grin returned. It was rea.s.suring, like finding a link with home when lost in a strange place. The unseen force took us up the steps and into the house--more flowers and greens. We were made to stand by the drawing-room doors, Knowlton close behind me.

Mr. and Mrs. Claybourne were next, and there were embraces; Mr.

Claybourne shook my hand and clapped me on the back. Then floods of people--Uncle Peter and his wife, with bridesmaids and ushers. The ushers kissed Helen, and I had to kiss the bridesmaids. One got kissed twice, and there was a great deal of laughter at my expense. They were difficult to tell apart. In the background several women were weeping.

After it did not seem possible I could kiss another girl--for all and sundry followed the bridesmaids, while Helen was kept busy by the male half of Deep Harbor--we sat down to what was called a breakfast.

There was a large bride's cake and champagne, to say nothing of Uncle Peter's speech. It was a funny speech: that is to say, each word he uttered was received with roars of laughter. I don't, myself, remember it. Plate after plate of various foods were put in front of us by swarthy foreign waiters, and whisked away again before I got around to eat. I wasn't hungry. In the midst of a particularly noisy demonstration I became aware that I was being called on for a speech.

"Get up, Ted," Helen whispered. I got up, and my teeth chattered, but no words flowed through them. Knowlton handed me a gla.s.s of champagne, with a grin floating across it. I said something; great applause and laughter. This was encouraging, considering I hadn't any idea what I had said. I went on--more applause. I pulled Helen to her feet, and we drank from the same gla.s.s of champagne as a climax. Tremendous. .h.i.t! We sat down.

Helen went upstairs to change to a travelling frock. From the top of the stairs she tossed her bridal bouquet to the bridesmaids. They tore it apart like a pack of hounds making a kill. Knowlton led me away to another room to dress, as a policeman might help a blind man across Piccadilly Circus. Mysteriously to me, I found my own dressing bag there and all my things laid out. Knowlton sat on the bed and grinned at me as I struggled into the other clothes.

"Pretty good for a somnambulist," he conceded when I had done.

"Knowlton," I said, trying my best to make my true feelings carry, "I don't know what I should have done without you today."

"I don't either," he grinned. "It was my toast at breakfast that gave you the strength for the ordeal."

He produced a packet of papers. "Now you are coming out of your trance nicely, I'll give you these," he went on. "This envelope, which is green, contains your railroad tickets; this blue one, your steamer tickets; the white one, the checks for your baggage. Get that?"

He opened my coat and put them in the inside pocket and b.u.t.toned me up again, like a child. "If you find your mind gone on the train, just tell the conductor to search you."

At the door of the room I had a final word with Mr. Claybourne. Then the three of us went downstairs. In a few minutes Helen appeared. She looked more beautiful in her tailor-made travelling dress than in her bridal array. My head swam again when I went to her. We were surrounded by a babel of voices, and Miss Hershey led in Mrs. Claybourne. Every one was going to the station to see us off. Leonidas was howling dismally outside from the centre of a large crate which was to be his prison as far as New York. On this one point Helen was adamant. She would not go to England without Leonidas.

The preliminary farewells began, and even Jane, the maid, joined the chorus of feminine weepers. The Claybournes, Helen, and I got into one carriage; Knowlton, with an a.s.sortment of bridesmaids, followed in another. More rice and confetti, not to speak of old shoes tied to the carriage by white ribbons. We were not to be spared a single torture.

The crowd at the station were delighted with our arrival. Leonidas and his cage gave the final touch. Some merry wag, blast his eyes, had tied a large bow of white ribbon to Leonidas' collar. There was no time to remove it, for the New York train thundered in from the further West, and the ivory flashes of a Pullman porter took over our care. We left in a bedlam, Mr. Claybourne's face looking rather solemnly at us, Mrs.

Claybourne, quite overcome, on Miss Hershey's shoulder, and Knowlton's grin frozen half way. Helen and I waved as long as they were in sight, then turned around in our seats and faced each other....

Two days later the Cunarder backed out from her dock and our voyage began. Helen and I stood on the top deck, where we could see the tugs turn the s.h.i.+p around. The fantastic skyline of Manhattan loomed over us.

"Lady Grey Eyes, I love you," I whispered, as our boat went slowly down stream. "Are you glad?"

"My darling!" floated from her lips, no more than a breath. I had to lean close to her to hear. "I'm so happy, Ted!"