“It was one thing Biddy forgot to tell me,” said Anne Clark. “She must be slipping. And is his bride willing to live here? I thought she hated the idea.”
“Oh, Valerie. Valerie isn’t coming,” said Francie. She had turned slightly pink, and she avoided Mrs. Clark’s eyes. “That’s all off; they aren’t going to be married. Glenn says—he wrote to me, you see—he says he decided it was all a mistake when he saw her here. Valerie would never settle down in Jefferson. She doesn’t like the Middle West. Can you imagine?”
“But you can’t! How ever could we get a wedding ready in twenty-two days!” They were all sitting in the living room, Glenn and Francie side by side on the couch, very straight and eager, holding hands tightly. Aunt Norah was scandalized. “Twenty-two days—and no engagement to speak of! Why, people will say you’re a couple of flibbertigibbets who don’t know your own mind. Or worse!” Aunt Norah blushed, herself.
Pop started to say something, but Francie said, “I’ve always wanted to be a June bride. Whenever I thought about it, I always had this feeling that it would be the most beautiful way, in June. At the beginning of summer. In tulle, sort of, with summer flowers.” She stopped and thought. “But that isn’t it, really. In the fall we’ll start giving shows once a week at the hospital, we’ve promised to. And if Mrs. Fredericks likes my sketches, the wall will be ready for the mural in September.” She turned for a second toward Glenn. Was this something one said in front of everybody? “And you see, Glenn doesn’t start his new job until the first of August and—”
“You’re sure you young people know your own mind,” said Pop. “You’re sure of that, aren’t you?”
Anne said, smiling, “You could have a lovely fall wedding, you know. Rose velvet and chrysanthemums and the October sun. And a lovely long summer of engagement. Parties, and showers, and wearing your ring. An engagement is nice, don’t underestimate it.”
Aunt Norah stood up decisively. “No.” Everyone turned to her. “No. Engagements can be too long. Too long, and too high strung, and too dangerous.” She paused, and there was deep June quiet in the room. “I say if Francie wants a June wedding, we’ll have a June wedding.”
“Oh, Aunt Norah.” Francie was up and across the room, hugging her, and Aunt Norah was sputtering about something, and everyone relaxed and laughed and the date was set.
“Of course it’s none of my business,” said Pop, “but it certainly happened suddenly with you two, didn’t it?”
“No, sir, it didn’t really,” said Glenn. He looked straight at Francie. “I guess I’ve loved Francie from the very beginning. I suppose I never thought anyone could marry Francie—she’d always be off for somewhere. And when I got off the train, she was there—”
“I went down that afternoon and waited and watched the clock in the station and listened for the train, and then I realized—oh, you know,” Francie finished shyly. Glenn is coming home to me, Glenn is coming home to me in Jefferson, she had found herself saying, and when he stepped down from the train, she thought she would never be able to breathe normally again. What Glenn had seen was Francie with shining eyes and a face so beautiful and eager that he had dropped his bag and walked over to her and there in the late hot afternoon in front of everybody he had held her tightly in his arms.
“Well, you know,” Francie finished. “I’ve always loved Glenn.” She suddenly twirled around on her heel, laughing. “Imagine! We’ve scooped Aunt Biddy!”
The wedding was splendid. It was the last day of June, and full summer buzzed and shone in Jefferson. Glenn was altogether a man, proud and serious. Pop gave the bride away, wonderfully grave; Aunt Norah and Anne sat close together. Aunt Biddy looked almost tender, and sniffled into her sacheted handkerchief. All Jefferson was there.
And Francie was beautiful.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1956 by Emily Hahn
Cover design by Mauricio Diaz
ISBN: 978-1-5040-2474-7
Distributed in 2015 by Open Road Distribution
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New York, NY 10014
www.openroadmedia.com
Emily Hahn, Francie Comes Home
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