Chapter XVII
I DO NOT RETURN ALONE
Many people, I presume, long to fly from New York during a late Juneand early July hot spell. But nobody who does not possess a new placein the country, still unfurnished, with a garden crying for hisattention and a brook wandering amid the pines, can possibly realizehow the dust and heat of town affected me in the next ten days. Itaffected me the more because I saw how pale Stella was, how tiredwhen the evenings came. With her woman's conscientiousness, she wasstruggling to do two weeks' work in one before leaving the dictionary.She even toiled several evenings, denying herself to me, while I wandereddisconsolate along Broadway, or worked over my manuscripts at theclub, surrounded by siphons of soda. At the luncheon hour and betweenfive and six we shopped madly, getting a stair carpet, dining-roomchairs (a present from her to herself and me, as she put it--fineChippendale reproductions), a few rugs--as many as we could afford--andother necessary furnishings, including stuff for curtains. For the southroom the curtains were gay Japanese silk from an Oriental store, tobalance the Hiroshiges, and while we were buying them she slipped awayfrom me and presently returned, the proud possessor of two small ivoryelephants.
"Look, somebody has sent us another present!" she laughed. "Folks areso good to us! These are to stand on the twin mantels, under the prints."
"From whom are they?" I asked.
"Your best friend and my worst enemy," she answered.
For three days after she left the office of the dictionary I saw littleof her. "There are some things you can't buy for me--or with me," shesmiled. Then we went down together to the City Hall for our license,sneaking in after hours, thanks to the kindly offices of a classmate ofmine, the city editor of a newspaper. The clerk beamed upon us like amunicipal Cupid.
That last evening she left me, to pack her trunks, and I went backto the club, and found there a letter from the magazine where I hadsubmitted my story. It was a letter of acceptance! Misfortunes arenot the only things which never come singly. I danced for joy. If thestores had been open I should have rushed out then and there and boughtthe mahogany secretary we had seen a few days before and wistfullypassed by. Fortunately, they were not open.
In the morning my cab stopped in front of the old house near WashingtonSquare, and Stella came forth with a friend, a sober little personwho appeared greatly impressed with her responsibilities, and bore thetotally inappropriate name of Marguerite.
"Dear, dear!" she said, "I've never attended a bride before. It'svery trying. And it's very mean of you, Mr. Upton, to take Stella fromus, and leave me with a new and stupid co-worker. How do you expect thedictionary to come out?"
"I don't," said I, "nor do I care if it doesn't. There are too manywords in the world already."
Bill Chadwick, another classmate of mine, came up from downtown, and metus at the church door. The rector was a friend and fellow alumnus ofours. It was like a tiny family party, suddenly and solemnly hushed bythe organ as we stood before the altar, and in the warm dimness of thegreat vacant church Stella and I were made man and wife. The four of uswent out to the cab again, and Bill insisted on a wedding breakfast atSherry's.
"Good Lord!" he said, "you two gumshoe into an engagement, and getmarried without so much as a reporter in the church, and then expect tomake a getaway like a pair of safe breakers! No, sir, you come with me,and get one real civilized meal before you go back to your farm fodder."
Bill had the solemn little bridesmaid laughing before the luncheon wasover, but the last we saw of them they were waving us good-bye frombehind the grating as we went down the platform to our train, and thepoor girl was mopping her eyes.
"Isn't the best man supposed to fall in love with the bridesmaid?" Iasked. "At least I hope he'll dry her tears."
"Good gracious, yes!" cried Stella. "I never thought of that. Youdon't know what we've done! Marguerite is a dear girl and an excellentcross-indexer, but she's no wife for your gay friend William. You'dbest send him a telegram of warning."
"Never!" said I. "Bill has cruised so long in Petticoat Bay as ablockade runner that I hope she shoots him full of holes and boardshim in triumph. Besides, _everybody_ ought to get married."
Stella's eyes looked up at mine, deep and happy below their twinkle,and we boarded the train.
The train started, it left New York behind, it ran into the suburbs,then into the country, and at last the hills began to mount beside thetrack, and a cooler, fresher air to come in through the windows. Stillher eyes smiled into mine, but she said little, save now and then tolean forward and whisper, "Is it true, John, is it true?"
So we came to Bentford station, in the early dusk of evening, and theair was good as we alighted, and the silence. Suddenly Buster appeared,undulating with joyous yelps along the platform, and sprang at Stella'sface. He almost ignored me.
Peter was waiting with the buggy. We sat him between us and drove home.
"Home--your home, our home," I whispered, pressing her hand behindPeter's back.
"Sold a lot o' peas and things," said Peter. "I got 'em all down inthe book. Gee, I drove over 'most every day, an' I'm goin' to be onthe ball team in the village, an' I wanter join the Boy Scouts, but mawon't let me 'less you say it's all right, an' ain't it?"
"We'll think it over, Peter," said I.
Stella was bouncing up and down on the seat with excitement as thebuggy rattled over the bridge. Lamplight was streaming from Twin Fires.On the kitchen porch stood Mrs. Pillig, dressed in her best, and Mrs.Bert and Bert. As we climbed from the buggy, Bert raised his hand,and a shower of rice descended upon us. Stella ran up the path, andMrs. Bert's ample arms closed about her. Both women were half laughing,half crying, when I got there with the grips.
"Ain't that jest like the sex?" said Bert, with a jerk of histhumb--"so durn glad they gotter cry about it!"
"You shet up," said Mrs. Bert. "For all _you_ know, I'm pityin' thepoor child!"
Mrs. Pillig had an ample dinner ready for us, with vegetables and saladfresh from the garden, and, as a crowning glory, a magnificent lemon pie.
"This is much better than anything at Sherry's," cried Stella, beamingupon her.
We sat a long while looking at each other across the small table, andthen we wandered out into the dewy evening and our feet took us into thepines, where in the darkness we stopped by a now sacred spot and heldeach other close in silence. Then we went back into the south room.
"Oh, if the curtain stuff would only hurry up and come!" cried my wife.
"You must learn patience--Mrs. Upton," said I, while we both laughedsillily over the title, as others have done before us, no doubt.Presently Mrs. Pillig's anxious face appeared at the door. She seemeddesirous of speaking, and doubtful how to begin.
"What is it, Mrs. Pillig?" I asked.
"Well, sir," she said, hesitantly, "I suppose now you are married youwon't need me, after all." She paused. "I rented my house," she added.
"Need you!" I cried. "Why now I shall need you more than ever!"
She smiled faintly, still looking dubious. Stella went over to her."What he means is, that I'm a poor goose who doesn't know any moreabout keeping house than Buster does about astronomy," she laughed."Of course you'll stay, Mrs. Pillig, and teach me."
"Thank you, Miss--I mean Missus," said Mrs. Pillig, backing out.
"Be careful," I warned. "If you let Mrs. Pillig think you're so verygreen, she'll begin to boss you."
"That _would_ be a new sensation," laughed Stella. "I like newsensations as much as Peter Pan did. Oh, it's a new sensation havinga home like this, and living in the country, and smelling good, cool airand--and having _you_."
She was suddenly beside me on the settle. We heard Mrs. Pillig going upto bed. The house was still. Outside the choral song of night insectssounded drowsily. Buster came softly in and plopped down on the rug. Wewere alone in Twin Fires, together, and she would not rise to go up theroad to Bert's. She would never go! So we sat a long, long while--andthe rest shall be silence.