So they sat down to their first meal in the little house together. And after sending the Indian back to the fort with a message, they went out in the starlight together to begin their wedding journey.
Chapter 17
Dedication
Billy made good time in spite of the fact he’d been out all day on parish work. They reached the stopping place about nine o’clock, and the news that the missionary was going to be married spread like wildfire among the men and out to the neighboring shacks. In no time a small crowd collected about the place, peering out of the starlit darkness.
Hazel retired to the forlorn chamber where she’d spent the night before and rummaged in her trunk for bridal apparel. In a few minutes she emerged into the long dining room where the table had been hastily cleared and moved aside and the boarders were now seated on chairs in long rows, watching the proceedings curiously.
She was dressed in a simple white muslin, touched here and there with exquisite hand embroidery and tiny cobwebby edges of real lace. The missionary caught his breath as he saw her come out to him, and the rough faces of the men softened as they watched her.
The white-haired bishop rose to meet her and welcomed her in his fatherly way, and the woman who kept the stopping place followed in Hazel’s wake, hastily wiping her hands on her apron and throwing it behind her as she entered. She’d been preparing an impromptu supper out of any materials at hand, but she couldn’t miss the ceremony even if the coffee burned. Weddings didn’t come her way every day.
In the doorway, his stolid face shining in the glare of many candles, stood the Indian from the fort. He’d followed silently behind the couple to witness the proceedings and knew he’d be forgiven at the fort when he told his news. The missionary was well beloved—and the missionary was going to be married!
What would the Four Hundred of her own select New York circle say if they could see Hazel Radcliffe standing serenely in her simple gown with her unadorned golden hair, in the midst of that motley group of men with only three women in the background to keep her company, giving herself away to a man who had dedicated his life to work in the desert?
But Hazel’s happy heart was unaware of the incongruity of her surroundings, and she answered with a clear ring to her voice, “I will,” as the bishop asked her the questions. She was coming gladly to her new home.
John Brownleigh put her own ring, the ring she had given him, on her hand in token of his loyalty and love for her, the ring that for a whole year lay next to his heart and comforted its loneliness because she had given it. And now he gave it back because she had given it to him herself.
Graciously she placed her small hand in the rough awkward ones of the men who came to offer her congratulations, half stumbling over their own feet in their wonder at her beauty. They felt as if an angel from heaven had suddenly dropped down to walk their daily path in their sight.
She cheerfully swallowed the stale cake and muddy coffee the landlady produced and afterward, as she was being helped back into her riding dress, gave her a lilac wool dress from her trunk that the woman admired. From that moment the landlady of the stopping place was a new creature. Missions and missionaries were nothing to her through the years, but she believed in them forever after and donned her new lilac gown in token of her faith in Christianity. Thus Hazel won her first convert, who afterward proved her faithfulness in time of great trial and showed that even a lilac gown may be an instrument of good.
Together they rode out into the starlight again, with the bishop’s blessing on them and the cheers of the men still sounding in their ears.
“I wish Mother could have known,” said the bridegroom as he drew his bride close within his arm and gazed at her nestling by his side.
“Oh, I think she does!” said Hazel, dropping a thankful, weary head against his shoulder.
Then the missionary leaned over and gave his wife a long, tender kiss. Raising his head and lifting his eyes to the starlit sky, he said reverently, “Oh, my Father, I thank Thee for this wonderful gift. Make me worthy of her. Help her never regret she’s come to me.”
Hazel slipped her hand into his free one, laid her lips upon his fingers and prayed quietly by herself in gladness. So they rode out to their camp beneath God’s sky.
Three days later an Indian on the way to the fort turned aside with a message for Hazel—a telegram. It read:
Arrived safe. Married Burley to once so I could see to him. Do come home right away. Burley says come and live with us. Answer right away. I can’t enjoy my new home worrying about you.
Yours respectful,
Amelia Ellen Stout Burley
With laughter and tears Hazel read the telegram whose price must have cost the frugal New England conscience a twinge and after a moment’s thought wrote an answer to send back by the messenger.
Dear Amelia Ellen,
Love and congratulations for you both. I was married to John Brownleigh the night you left. Come out and see us when your husband gets well, and perhaps we’ll visit you when we come East. I am very happy.
Hazel Radcliffe Brownleigh
When good Amelia Ellen read that telegram she wiped her spectacles a second time and read it over to see she’d made no mistake. Then she set her toil-worn hands on her hips and surveyed the prone but happy Burley in dazed astonishment.
“Fer the land sake! Now did you ever? Fer the land! Was that what she was up to all the time? I thought she was wonderful set to go and wonderful set to stay, but I never sensed that was up. Ef I’d ‘a’ knowed, I suppose I’d ‘a’ stayed another day. Why didn’t she tell me, I wonder! Well, fer the land sake!”
And Peter Burley murmured contentedly, “Wal, I’m mighty glad you never knowed, Amelia Ellen!”
GRACE LIVINGSTON HILL (1865–1947) is known as the pioneer of Christian romance. Grace wrote over one hundred faith-inspired books during her lifetime. When her first husband died, leaving her with two daughters to raise, writing became a way to make a living, but she always recognized storytelling as a way to share her faith in God. She has touched countless lives through the years and continues to touch lives today. Her books feature moving stories, delightful characters, and love in its purest form.
Grace Livingston Hill, The Man of the Desert
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