Chapter XV: The Wedding

Tom stayed a week at home--_home_ it truly was to both Lucy and him now, and he left it with regret. But the work he loved and had chosen called him away, and knowing Lucy would be tenderly cared for, he went back to Philadelphia, carrying a much lighter heart than when he first entered it three months before. The summer would be a busy one for him; and as the months sped he proved the truth of Mr. Keane's words, that it was only through much hard, plodding, uninteresting work, that he could ever hope to place his foot on the first step of the ladder. But he had a kind hand and an encouraging word always ready to help him on, and was happy in his apprenticeship.

Thanks to Aunt Hepsy's careful nursing, midsummer saw Lucy fully restored to health again. She had an easy and happy time of it now. There was no more trotting up and down, no more bending under heavy loads--it was only very light work her hands were permitted to do; and she would laugh and tell Aunt Hepsy she was making a fine lady of her altogether.

"You do what you're bid, an' say nothin', my dear," was always Aunt Hepsy's answer, with oh, what a difference in look and tone.

There was no restriction to her visiting now. She would spend days at the Red House, in company with her friend Minnie; who, in her turn, would come to Thankful Rest, and keep the house alive with her gay nonsense.

So the summer sped, harvest was ingathered again, and one sunny evening in September, Miss Goldthwaite came up to Thankful Rest on special business. Rumours were afloat that the parsonage was soon to lose Miss Carrie, but they had not yet been confirmed.

Miss Hepsy was in the garden, and gave the parson's sister a warm greeting.

"Is Lucy indoors?" Carrie asked, after they had chatted a moment.

"Yes; I heard her singing a minute ago," answered Aunt Hepsy. "Jes' go in and look for her, Miss Goldthwaite; I'll be in by-and-by."

"Perhaps I had better talk to you first, Miss Hepsy, as you have the power to grant or refuse what I want."

"I don't often say no to ye, Miss Carrie," said Aunt Hepsy with a dry smile.

"I know it; but this is a very serious request--in fact, I am afraid to make it."

"Out with it. I can but say no any way."

Miss Goldthwaite leaned on her parasol, and looked at Aunt Hepsy, smiling, and blushing slightly too.

"Perhaps you know I'm going to be married soon, Miss Hepsy?"

"I hear the folks sayin' so; but I paid no heed, guessin' ye'd come an' tell us afore it took place. Is't to be immediately?"

"At Christmas. But I'm going home to New York in three weeks."

"To get ready," nodded Miss Hepsy. "Well?"

"Can't you guess what I want, Miss Hepsy?"

Miss Hepsy stood a moment in wondering silence, and then said very slowly, "I guess it'll be Lucy ye want."

"Yes; I want her to go home with me, and remain till after my marriage. Frank will bring her back when he comes. Now it's out. Order me off the premises now, Miss Hepsy; I know you feel like it."

"This is September," said Aunt Hepsy very slowly; "October, November, December, January--perhaps nigh half a year. Well, Miss Goldthwaite, excuse me sayin' it, but the Lord'll need to help your husband; he'll not be able to help hisself, that's certain. Ye'd move the Peak, as I've said afore."

"Am I to take that as your permission, Miss Hepsy?"

"Hev ye spoke to Lucy?"

"Not yet; you had to be asked first. If you had said no, I should not have thought of mentioning it to Lucy at all."

"If Lucy wants to go, I'm willin'; but it'll be a queer house without her."

"Thank you, Miss Hepsy," said Carrie, and bent forward and kissed her. "I think you will not regret it. It will soon pass, and will do Lucy a world of good. She is growing up, you know, and wants to see something."

"P'raps you're right," said Aunt Hepsy. "Yes, go in now, Miss Goldthwaite; I want to think a bit."

Carrie went in, and kneeling down on the hearth beside Lucy, said abruptly, "I am going to be married at Christmas, Lucy, and want you for my bridesmaid. I am going home to New York in three weeks, and your aunt says I may take you with me. Will you come?"

Lucy's face flushed with pleasure, but she said quickly,--

"You are very kind, Carrie. I should like it dearly. But would it be right to leave my uncle and aunt?"

"If they say you may, Lucy. I have thought it well over before I mentioned it at all; and I'm sure you would enjoy yourself."

"I know that. May I have a day or two to think of it, Carrie?"

"As many as you like, so that you only come, dear. Now, I'm going off; I haven't a minute to spare.--By-the-by, Alice and Minnie will likely be at papa's, too, all December, so that is another inducement. Goodbye." She stooped and kissed Lucy, and ran out of the house.

Pretty soon Aunt Hepsy came in, looking very grave and sad. She took up her knitting, and for a bit neither spoke.

"Three months is a long time, Aunt Hepsy," said Lucy at last.

Aunt Hepsy never spoke.

Then Lucy rose and came to her, and laid her arm about her neck. "You don't want me to go, auntie, I know you don't."

"Go away; I didn't say I didn't," said Aunt Hepsy in her gruffest tones.

"Auntie, if you will only tell me you would rather I stayed, I won't go."

"Don't ask questions, child. I guess I'd never live through them three months. As well go away for ever almost."

"Then I won't go," said Lucy stoutly. "I'd dearly like to be at Carrie's wedding; but I can't leave you, auntie, for so long." And from that decision no persuasion could induce Lucy to depart--she was firm as a rock; but Aunt Hepsy made a little private arrangement of her own, which was to be kept a profound secret from the bride-elect.

Judge Keane travelled to New York the day before Christmas with a young lady under his care; and when the pair were ushered into Dr. Goldthwaite's drawing-room, the bride-elect saw, peeping out from among the rich furs which Aunt Hepsy had provided for her darling, a face she loved very dearly, and which could belong to nobody in the world but Lucy Hurst.

They were all together in the long drawing-room, waiting only the coming of the bride, ere the solemn ceremony could be performed. There was a large company, for the Goldthwaites had a wide circle of acquaintance. Conspicuous among them were the friends we know best--all the Keanes (save the invalid mother, who thought and prayed for them at home), and Tom and Lucy Hurst. It had been a surprise to Lucy to find him at New York. She had not expected to see him again till the summer-time. She looked very fair and sweet in her delicate white dress, but was utterly unconscious of the admiration she was creating; and of the close observation of a pair of dark earnest eyes, which had been the first gleam of comfort to her when her mother died.

By-and-by, old white-haired Dr. Goldthwaite came in with Carrie on his arm, and they took their places silently; and in a very few minutes Frank had uttered the irrevocable words, and the wedding was over. Then Mr. and Mrs. George Keane received abundant congratulations, and they adjourned to partake of breakfast. In the hall stood a quantity of baggage labelled "Mrs. Keane," which seemed very formidable, but was not much after all, considering the travellers were going to Europe. Yes; the young pair were to have a six months' tour before settling down at Pendlepoint, and some felt as if Carrie were going away for ever. She looked very grave and sad; and when she came down ready to go, broke down utterly bidding her mother good-bye.

"Now then, this will never do," said Judge Keane, with that comical smile of his. "George, get your wife into the carriage, or we shall have her rueing she ever promised to follow you."

Carrie smiled through her tears, and shook her finger at the judge. Then, as she turned to go, a light touch fell upon her arm, and a low voice whispered tremulously,--

"May God bless you all your life, Mrs. Keane."

It was Lucy, her great eyes shining with unspeakable love and tenderness.

"Never Mrs. Keane to you, Lucy, my pet," she whispered back. "Carrie always, and always. Write to me."

Then she was hurried out to the carriage, forgetting in the excitement of the moment that she possessed no address to give. The door closed upon them, the coachman sprang to the box, and the next moment they were gone. They had embarked together on the sea of life, and the voyage bade fair to be a happy and prosperous one.

"I don't like weddings," said Judge Keane discontentedly. "They are miserable, heart-breaking things at the best."

"Time was when you did not think so, judge," said the doctor, with a twinkle in his eye.--"Eh, little one?"

It was Lucy whom the doctor addressed, and she answered timidly, "It is very sad to give away those we love, as you have done to-day, sir."

"Wait till somebody wants to take you away, my lady," laughed the judge. "There'll be an earthquake at Thankful Rest."

"I never heard any one speak as you do, Judge Keane," said Lucy, with a dignity which dumfoundered Tom; and she moved away and sat down by Mrs. Goldthwaite, and began to talk to her about Carrie.

"What makes you look so sober, Tom Hurst?" queried Minnie Keane's voice at his elbow a few minutes later.

"Shall I tell you, Minnie?"

"You must," was the calm reply.

"It seems to me, then," he said very slowly, "that Lucy is growing up, and I don't like it. Do you?"

"I don't mind. Everybody grows up and marries, and goes to Europe, and dies after a bit; that's about what life amounts to--not much, is it?"

Tom laughed, he couldn't help it; but after a bit he answered gravely, "I am afraid to grow up myself, Minnie."

"Why?"

"Because a man has so much responsibility, so much to do for God: I don't think it will be very easy."

"Oh, I do!" answered Minnie. "Just do all you can, with all your might; that's what mamma says, and it's the easiest way."

"So it is," said Tom. "I shan't forget that, Minnie."

And neither he did.