The Complete Works of L M Montgomery, page 709
“I wouldn’t,” said the doctor recklessly. “Now, don’t cry and don’t worry. Take off your hat — you can go to the spare room across the hall, if you like. Jim has gone upstairs to lie down; he has a bad headache and says he doesn’t want any tea. So I was going to get up a bachelor’s snack for myself. My housekeeper is away. She heard, at church that her mother was ill and went over to Marwood.”
When Mary Isabel came back from the spare room, a little calmer but with traces of tears on her pink cheeks, the doctor had as good a tea-table spread as any woman could have had. Mary Isabel thought it was fortunate that the little errand boy, Tommy Brewster, was there, or she certainly would have been dreadfully embarrassed, now that the flame of her anger had blown out. But later on, when tea was over and she and the doctor were left alone, she did not feel embarrassed after all. Instead, she felt delightfully happy and at home. Dr. Hamilton put one so at ease.
She told him all about Tom’s letter and her subsequent revolt. Dr. Hamilton never once made the mistake of smiling. He listened and approved and sympathized.
“So I’m determined I won’t go back,” concluded Mary Isabel, “unless she asks me to — and Louisa will never do that. Ella will be glad enough to have me for a while; she has five children and can’t get any help.”
The doctor shrugged his shoulders. He thought of Mary Isabel as unofficial drudge to Ella Kemble and her family. Then he looked at the little silvery figure by the window.
“I think I can suggest a better plan,” he said gently and tenderly. “Suppose you stay here — as my wife. I’ve always wanted to ask you that but I feared it was no use because I knew Louisa would oppose it and I did not think you would consent if she did not. I think,” the doctor leaned forward and took Mary Isabel’s fluttering hand in his, “I think we can be very happy here, dear.”
Mary Isabel flushed crimson and her heart beat wildly. She knew now that she loved Dr. Hamilton — and Tom would have liked it — yes, Tom would. She remembered how Tom hated the thought of his sisters being old maids.
“I — think — so — too,” she faltered shyly.
“Then,” said the doctor briskly, “what is the matter with our being married right here and now?”
“Married!”
“Yes, of course. Here we are in a state where no licence is required, a minister in the house, and you all dressed in the most beautiful wedding silk imaginable. You must see, if you just look at it calmly, how much better it will be than going up to Mrs. Kemble’s and thereby publishing your difference with Louisa to all the village. I’ll give you fifteen minutes to get used to the idea and then I’ll call Jim down.”
Mary Isabel put her hands to her face.
“You — you’re like a whirlwind,” she gasped. “You take away my breath.”
“Think it over,” said the doctor in a businesslike voice.
Mary Isabel thought — thought very hard for a few moments.
What would Tom have said?
Was it probable that Tom would have approved of such marrying in haste?
Mary Isabel came to the decision that he would have preferred it to having family jars bruited abroad. Moreover, Mary Isabel had never liked Ella Kemble very much. Going to her was only one degree better than going back to Louisa.
At last Mary Isabel took her hands down from her face. “Well?” said the doctor persuasively as she did so.
“I will consent on one condition,” said Mary Isabel firmly. “And that is, that you will let me send word over to Louisa that I am going to be married and that she may come and see the ceremony if she will. Louisa has behaved very unkindly in this matter, but after all she is my sister — and she has been good to me in some ways — and I am not going to give her a chance to say that I got married in this — this headlong-fashion and never let her know.”
“Tommy can take the word over,” said the doctor.
Mary Isabel went to the doctor’s desk and wrote a very brief note.
Dear Louisa:
I am going to be married to Dr. Hamilton right away. I’ve seen him often at the shore this summer. I would like you to be present at the ceremony if you choose.
Mary Isabel.
Tommy ran across the field with the note.
It had now ceased raining and the clouds were breaking. Mary Isabel thought that a good omen. She and the doctor watched Tommy from the window. They saw Louisa come to the door, take the note, and shut the door in Tommy’s face. Ten minutes later she reappeared, habited in her mackintosh, with her second-best bonnet on.
“She’s — coming,” said Mary Isabel, trembling.
The doctor put his arm protectingly about the little lady.
Mary Isabel tossed her head. “Oh, I’m not — I’m only excited. I shall never be afraid of Louisa again.”
Louisa came grimly over the field, up the verandah steps, and into the room without knocking.
“Mary Isabel,” she said, glaring at her sister and ignoring the doctor entirely, “did you mean what you said in that letter?”
“Yes, I did,” said Mary Isabel firmly.
“You are going to be married to that man in this shameless, indecent haste?”
“Yes.”
“And nothing I can say will have the least effect on you?”
“Not the slightest.”
“Then,” said Louisa, more grimly than ever, “all I ask of you is to come home and be married from under your father’s roof. Do have that much respect for your parents’ memory, at least.”
“Of course I will,” cried Mary Isabel impulsively, softening at once. “Of course we will — won’t we?” she asked, turning prettily to the doctor.
“Just as you say,” he answered gallantly.
Louisa snorted. “I’ll go home and air the parlour,” she said. “It’s lucky I baked that fruitcake Monday. You can come when you’re ready.”
She stalked home across the field. In a few minutes the doctor and Mary Isabel followed, and behind them came the young minister, carrying his blue book under his arm, and trying hard and not altogether successfully to look grave.
The Twins and a Wedding
Sometimes Johnny and I wonder what would really have happened if we had never started for Cousin Pamelia’s wedding. I think that Ted would have come back some time; but Johnny says he doesn’t believe he ever would, and Johnny ought to know, because Johnny’s a boy. Anyhow, he couldn’t have come back for four years. However, we did start for the wedding and so things came out all right, and Ted said we were a pair of twin special Providences.
Johnny and I fully expected to go to Cousin Pamelia’s wedding because we had always been such chums with her. And she did write to Mother to be sure and bring us, but Father and Mother didn’t want to be bothered with us. That is the plain truth of the matter. They are good parents, as parents go in this world; I don’t think we could have picked out much better, all things considered; but Johnny and I have always known that they never want to take us with them anywhere if they can get out of it. Uncle Fred says that it is no wonder, since we are a pair of holy terrors for getting into mischief and keeping everybody in hot water. But I think we are pretty good, considering all the temptations we have to be otherwise. And, of course, twins have just twice as many as ordinary children.
Anyway, Father and Mother said we would have to stay home with Hannah Jane. This decision came upon us, as Johnny says, like a bolt from the blue. At first we couldn’t believe they were not joking. Why, we felt that we simply had to go to Pamelia’s wedding. We had never been to a wedding in our lives and we were just aching to see what it would be like. Besides, we had written a marriage ode to Pamelia and we wanted to present it to her. Johnny was to recite it, and he had been practising it out behind the carriage house for a week. I wrote the most of it. I can write poetry as slick as anything. Johnny helped me hunt out the rhymes. That is the hardest thing about writing poetry, it is so difficult to find rhymes. Johnny would find me a rhyme and then I would write a line to suit it, and we got on swimmingly.
When we realized that Father and Mother meant what they said we were just too miserable to live. When I went to bed that night I simply pulled the clothes over my face and howled quietly. I couldn’t help it when I thought of Pamelia’s white silk dress and tulle veil and flower girls and all the rest. Johnny said it was the wedding dinner he thought about. Boys are like that, you know.
Father and Mother went away on the early morning train, telling us to be good twins and not bother Hannah Jane. It would have been more to the point if they had told Hannah Jane not to bother us. She worries more about our bringing up than Mother does.
I was sitting on the front doorstep after they had gone when Johnny came around the corner, looking so mysterious and determined that I knew he had thought of something splendid.
“Sue,” said Johnny impressively, “if you have any real sporting blood in you now is the time to show it. If you’ve enough grit we’ll get to Pamelia’s wedding after all.”
“How?” I said as soon as I was able to say anything.
“We’ll just go. We’ll take the ten o’clock train. It will get to Marsden by eleven-thirty and that’ll be in plenty of time. The wedding isn’t until twelve.”
“But we’ve never been on the train alone, and we’ve never been to Marsden at all!” I gasped.
“Oh, of course, if you’re going to hatch up all sorts of difficulties!” said Johnny scornfully. “I thought you had more spunk!”
“Oh, I have, Johnny,” I said eagerly. “I’m all spunk. And I’ll do anything you’ll do. But won’t Father and Mother be perfectly savage?”
“Of course. But we’ll be there and they can’t send us home again, so we’ll see the wedding. We’ll be punished afterwards all right, but we’ll have had the fun, don’t you see?”
I saw. I went right upstairs to dress, trusting everything blindly to Johnny. I put on my best pale blue shirred silk hat and my blue organdie dress and my high-heeled slippers. Johnny whistled when he saw me, but he never said a word; there are times when Johnny is a duck.
We slipped away when Hannah Jane was feeding the hens.
“I’ll buy the tickets,” explained Johnny. “I’ve got enough money left out of my last month’s allowance because I didn’t waste it all on candy as you did. You’ll have to pay me back when you get your next month’s jink, remember. I’ll ask the conductor to tell us when we get to Marsden. Uncle Fred’s house isn’t far from the station, and we’ll be sure to know it by all the cherry trees round it.”
It sounded easy, and it was easy. We had a jolly ride, and finally the conductor came along and said, “Here’s your jumping-off place, kiddies.”
Johnny didn’t like being called a kiddy, but I saw the conductor’s eye resting admiringly on my blue silk hat and I forgave him.
Marsden was a pretty little village, and away up the road we saw Uncle Fred’s place, for it was fairly smothered in cherry trees all white with lovely bloom. We started for it as fast as we could go, for we knew we had no time to lose. It is perfectly dreadful trying to hurry when you have on high-heeled shoes, but I said nothing and just tore along, for I knew Johnny would have no sympathy for me. We finally reached the house and turned in at the open gate of the lawn. I thought everything looked very peaceful and quiet for a wedding to be under way and I had a sickening idea that it was too late and it was all over.
“Nonsense!” said Johnny, cross as a bear, because he was really afraid of it too. “I suppose everybody is inside the house. No, there are two people over there by that bench. Let us go and ask them if this is the right place, because if it isn’t we have no time to lose.”
We ran across the lawn to the two people. One of them was a young lady, the very prettiest young lady I had ever seen. She was tall and stately, just like the heroine in a book, and she had lovely curly brown hair and big blue eyes and the most dazzling complexion. But she looked very cross and disdainful and I knew the minute I saw her that she had been quarrelling with the young man. He was standing in front of her and he was as handsome as a prince. But he looked angry too. Altogether, you never saw a crosser-looking couple. Just as we came up we heard the young lady say, “What you ask is ridiculous and impossible, Ted. I can’t get married at two days’ notice and I don’t mean to be.”
And he said, “Very well, Una, I am sorry you think so. You would not think so if you really cared anything for me. It is just as well I have found out you don’t. I am going away in two days’ time and I shall not return in a hurry, Una.”
“I do not care if you never return,” she said.
That was a fib and well I knew it. But the young man didn’t — men are so stupid at times. He swung around on one foot without replying and he would have gone in another second if he had not nearly fallen over Johnny and me.
“Please, sir,” said Johnny respectfully, but hurriedly. “We’re looking for Mr. Frederick Murray’s place. Is this it?”
“No,” said the young man a little gruffly. “This is Mrs. Franklin’s place. Frederick Murray lives at Marsden, ten miles away.”
My heart gave a jump and then stopped beating. I know it did, although Johnny says it is impossible.
“Isn’t this Marsden?” cried Johnny chokily.
“No, this is Harrowsdeane,” said the young man, a little more mildly.
I couldn’t help it. I was tired and warm and so disappointed. I sat right down on the rustic seat behind me and burst into tears, as the story-books say.
“Oh, don’t cry, dearie,” said the young lady in a very different voice from the one she had used before. She sat down beside me and put her arms around me. “We’ll take you over to Marsden if you’ve got off at the wrong station.”
“But it will be too late,” I sobbed wildly. “The wedding is to be at twelve — and it’s nearly that now — and oh, Johnny, I do think you might try to comfort me!”
For Johnny had stuck his hands in his pockets and turned his back squarely on me. I thought it so unkind of him. I didn’t know then that it was because he was afraid he was going to cry right there before everybody, and I felt deserted by all the world.
“Tell me all about it,” said the young lady.
So I told her as well as I could all about the wedding and how wild we were to see it and why we were running away to it.
“And now it’s all no use,” I wailed. “And we’ll be punished when they find out just the same. I wouldn’t mind being punished if we hadn’t missed the wedding. We’ve never seen a wedding — and Pamelia was to wear a white silk dress — and have flower girls — and oh, my heart is just broken. I shall never get over this — never — if I live to be as old as Methuselah.”
“What can we do for them?” said the young lady, looking up at the young man and smiling a little. She seemed to have forgotten that they had just quarrelled. “I can’t bear to see children disappointed. I remember my own childhood too well.”
“I really don’t know what we can do,” said the young man, smiling back, “unless we get married right here and now for their sakes. If it is a wedding they want to see and nothing else will do them, that is the only idea I can suggest.”
“Nonsense!” said the young lady. But she said it as if she would rather like to be persuaded it wasn’t nonsense.
I looked up at her. “Oh, if you have any notion of being married I wish you would right off,” I said eagerly. “Any wedding would do just as well as Pamelia’s. Please do.”
The young lady laughed.
“One might just as well be married at two hours’ notice as two days’,” she said.
“Una,” said the young man, bending towards her, “will you marry me here and now? Don’t send me away alone to the other side of the world, Una.”
“What on earth would Auntie say?” said Una helplessly.
“Mrs. Franklin wouldn’t object if you told her you were going to be married in a balloon.”
“I don’t see how we could arrange — oh, Ted, it’s absurd.”
“’Tisn’t. It’s highly sensible. I’ll go straight to town on my wheel for the licence and ring and I’ll be back in an hour. You can be ready by that time.”
For a moment Una hesitated. Then she said suddenly to me, “What is your name, dearie?”
“Sue Murray,” I said, “and this is my brother, Johnny. We’re twins. We’ve been twins for ten years.”
“Well, Sue, I’m going to let you decide for me. This gentleman here, whose name is Theodore Prentice, has to start for Japan in two days and will have to remain there for four years. He received his orders only yesterday. He wants me to marry him and go with him. Now, I shall leave it to you to consent or refuse for me. Shall I marry him or shall I not?”
“Marry him, of course,” said I promptly. Johnny says she knew I would say that when she left it to me.
“Very well,” said Una calmly. “Ted, you may go for the necessaries. Sue, you must be my bridesmaid and Johnny shall be best man. Come, we’ll go into the house and break the news to Auntie.”
I never felt so interested and excited in my life. It seemed too good to be true. Una and I went into the house and there we found the sweetest, pinkest, plumpest old lady asleep in an easy-chair. Una wakened her and said, “Auntie, I’m going to be married to Mr. Prentice in an hour’s time.”
That was a most wonderful old lady! All she said was, “Dear me!” You’d have thought Una had simply told her she was going out for a walk.
“Ted has gone for licence and ring and minister,” Una went on. “We shall be married out under the cherry trees and I’ll wear my new white organdie. We shall leave for Japan in two days. These children are Sue and Johnny Murray who have come out to see a wedding — any wedding. Ted and I are getting married just to please them.”
“Dear me!” said the old lady again. “This is rather sudden. Still — if you must. Well, I’ll go and see what there is in the house to eat.”
