For Jane this continued speculation had quite spoiled the wedding. Other things had spoiled it, too, of coui^se. The parties before it hadn't been so very gay. The ushers were all old men, for one tiling, not one under thirty-five. And for another, Mrs. Lester, who was usually so joUy and easy-going, had never succeeded in looking really happy about it. She never seemed to achieve with Mr. Bert Lancaster the comfortable maternal approach that she had with Freddy Waters and her son-in-law from Cleveland. Freddy Waters was in the wedding party. All the ushers but one were married. No, the parties hadn't been so very gay.
'Here's Muriel now!' cried Isabel cageriy. The bridesmaids all turned from the mirror. Here was Muriel indeed, a transfigured, preoccupied Muriel, trailing great lengths of stiff white satin, her cloudy hair hidden beneath tlie formal folds of her mother's lace wedding veil.
'Look out for my train!' was the first thing that Jane heard her say. She was speaking to the maid who was carrying it very carefully over the red velvet carpet.
Mrs. Lester and Edith and Edith's husband followed her into the dressing-room. Edith's husband was going to give Muriel away. Old Solomon Lester was too infirm, now, to make the trip firom New York to his granddaughter's wedding. Jane's mother and Isabel had thought his recent stroke a merciful intervention of Providence. It would be a relief, they said, to have one Lester wedding that was free firom the taint of the synagogue.
Mrs. Lester stood silently by Muriel's elbow, adjusting the wreath of orange blossoms that held the veil in place. Mrs. Lester was growing old, thought Jane. She had on a beautifiil gown of wine-colored silk, but her face looked very worn and tired.
The bridesmaids made an aisle so that Muriel could look in the mirror. She stood quite still and straight, smiling into the glass. Edith and Pvosalie and the maid began to arrange the long folds of the satin train. Muriel's gloved hands were clasped on a white vellum prayer book. The third finger of the left glove was sHt, so that Mr. Lancaster could sHp on her wedding ring.
Jane felt very solemn as she looked at her. She thought of aU the years that she had known Muriel. She couldn't remember the time, really, before she had known her. In a way this was worse than Isabel's wedding. Isabel had been twenty-three. Her big sister. And Jane had loved Robin. Muriel
^yas —just Muriel. A kid, really, like Jane hersel£ And yet she was getting married. To Mr. Bert Lancaster. It all seemed very sad and terribly irrevocable. It would be dreadful to be getting married, thought Jane.
Muriel turned from the mirror.
'See my pearls, girls,' she said brighdy. 'Aren't they lovely? Bert sent them this morning.'
Jane winked away her tears. The bridesmaids circled about the pearb with Htde cries of admiration.
*I must go,' said Isabel. She kissed Muriel and turned toward the curtain. Flora was just coming in. Jane caught a glimpse of Mr. Furness standing alone in the outer vestibule beyond. Isabel joined him.
'How lovely Flora looks!' said Isabel brighdy. 'What a beautiful day for a wedding 1' They turned toward the church door in the slanting sunshine. Jane wasn't deceived for a moment by Isabel's airy inconsequence. Jane knew that before Isabel sank decorously on her knees beside her mother in the third left-hand pew, she would whisper that Mrs. Furness hadn't come.
Edith was kissing Muriel, when Jane turned around.
'Come, Mother,' she said.
Mrs. Lester took Muriel in her arms. Mrs. Lester was frankly crying.
'Don't muss her veil!' cried Rosalie.
Mrs. Lester reUnquished her daughter. Rosalie rearranged Muriel's draperies. The Qeveland brother-in-law offered his arm.
'How's your nerve?' he asked cheerfully.
'Fine!' said Muriel. Her eyes were dancing behind the folds of white lace. Her cheeks were very pink.
'Gome, Mother,' said Edith again. They turned toward the church door.
Jane fell into line with Flora, They were to be the first pair of bridesmaids. The ushers were Uning up in the vestibule. The one in front of Jane was quite bald. He had one absurd long brown lock of hair, combed carefully over the thin place on top of his head. Flora nodded at it and nudged Jane's arm and giggled. The organ throbbed forth a solemn premonitory strain. The ushers began to move slowly through the inner door. The first notes of the Lohengrin wedding march swelled out over the heads of the congregation.
Jane and Flora walked very slowly, keeping their distance carefully firom the ushers in firont of them. Jane held her head very high and her shower bouquet very stiffly so her hands wouldn't tremble. The church looked very dark, after the afternoon sunshine, and the aisle very long indeed. Over the heads of the ushers Jane could see the green palms and the white Easter Hlies and the twinkling candles of the altar. They seemed very far away.
The pews were crowded with people, all rustling and moving and craning their necks to look at the wedding party as it went by. Jane suddenly remembered the Commencement procession in the Bryn Mawr chapel. She turned her head very slightly, half expecting to see Agnes's funny fireckled face under a black mortarboard at her side. But no. There was Flora's pure pale profile beneath the blue straw hat-brim. Her Hps were curved, just the least Httle bit, in a self-conscious smile. Her step was a trifle unsteady. Jane felt her own smile growing set and strained and her own knees wobbhng disconcertingly. It was hard to walk so slowly, with so many people staring.
Suddenly she noticed Mr. Bert Lancaster. He was standing with the best man at the left hand of old Dr. Winter, the clergyman, on the chancel steps. He looked very calm and handsome, just as he always did. Just as Jane had seen him
look at innumerable other weddings, that were not his own. The ushers were forming in two rows along the chancel steps. Jane and Flora passed them slowly, separated and took their places at the head of the line. Jane could see Muriel now. Her head was bowed under the white lace veil. At the chancel steps she raised it suddenly and smiled at Mr. Bert Lancaster. Mr. Lancaster wheeled to face the clergyman. Jane could see both their faces now, upturned toward the altar. They were so near her that it seemed indecent to look at them, at such a moment. Jane turned away her eyes.
The organ sobbed and throbbed and sank into silence. The voice of the clergyman could be distinctly heard.
'Dearly beloved brethren, we are m.et together in the sight of God and this company to join together this man and this woman in the holy estate of matrimony '
'This woman,' thought Jane. Muriel was a woman, of course, not a kid any longer. Muriel was twenty. Jane would be twenty, herself, next month. Flora was twenty-one. They were grown up, all of them. Capable of entering the holy estate of matrimony, if, and when, they chose. Mrs. Lester had hated this marriage. But she hadn't stopped it. She couldn't stop Muriel. Nevertheless, Jane knew that if Muriel had been her mother's child something would have been done. Still—Jane wondered. Muriel was — Muriel. Greek would have met Greek. Jane's mother, at any rate, Jane knew very well, would always prevent Jane from doing anything that she didn't think was wise. But who, Jane wondered, was the best judge of wisdom? Didn't you know yourself, really, better than any one, what you really wanted, what was the real right thing for you?
Andre —Jane knew, now, of course, that the family couldn't have let her marry him at seventeen. She couldn't even imagine, now, what their life would have been together,
what her life would have been without all those other experiences that had crowded into it since she had closed the door on that early romance. Bryn Mawr and all the things she had learned there. Agnes and Marion and, yes, ^'Iiss Thomas, with her flaming torch of enlightenment, and that gay, carefree life in Pembroke Hall. The beauty of the Bryn Mawr countryside. This last year, too, with its funny frivolities, its social amenities, its growing friendships with people that Jane knew, really, in her heart of hearts, were awfully unlike herself All those experiences were part of her, now. Inalienable. Not ever to be ignored, or belittled, or set lightly aside.
But, nevertheless, there was the memory of that incredible joy
of companionship that she had known with Andre. That identity of interest, that tremulous sense of intimacy, that glorious dawning of emotion.
The sound of Muriel's voice roused her from revery.
T, Muriel, take thee, Albert, for my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward *
'From this day forward' — solemn, irrevocable words. How could Muriel say them? Some marriages lasted for fifty years. How could any one say them? How could she have been so sure, so very sure, with Andre? She hadn't thought about the fifty years at all. Jane felt quite certain it was just because she had been seventeen. She hadn't reflected. She hadn't considered. She would never feel like that, thought Jane with a httle shiver, about any one ever again.
The ring was being slipped on Muriel's finger. Mr. Lancaster's firm voice rang out in those irrelevant words about his worldly goods. Jane had always considered them a blot on the wedding service. The clergyman was uttering his last solemn adjuration.
'Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.*
The organ was tuning up with the first shrill pipes of the Mendelssohn wedding march. Muriel, her veil thrown back from her lovely flushed face, had turned, on Mr. Lancaster's arm, to walk down the aisle. Rosalie and the best man had fallen in behind them. Jane and Flora turned smartly to move in their turn. The organ pealed joyously on. High up above their heads the chimes in the steeple were ringing. The march down the aisle was executed much more quickly. Jane kept recognizing the faces turned up to her, from the aisle seats of pews. She smiled and nodded gaily as she went. The recessional had taken on a very festal air. All sense of solemnity was lost.
Jane caught a glimpse of Stephen Carver, staring at her face from his seat beside Mr. Furness. She almost laughed, he looked so very serious. He smiled back, just as he passed from her field of vision. The church doors were open. The vestibule was a confusion of bridesmaids. Great crowds of people were pressing against the awning to sec the wedding party come out. Jane jumped into a waiting hansom with Flora. They must hurry over to the reception. Jane wanted, awfully, to give Muriel a great hug for luck. She wanted to stand in line and laugh and be gay and talk to all the people. Weddings were fun, always, if you could just forget the ceremony. Jane felt she had forgotten it. And Flora was chattering gaily about the bridesmaids' dresses. Flora was so glad they were blue. She was going to take out the yoke and turn hers into an evening gown. The cab drew up at Muriel's door. There was another crowd around this second awning. Jane and Flora ran quickly, hand in hand, up over the red carpet.
Muriel and Mr. Lancaster were standing, side by side, under a great bell of smilax. No one had come, yet, but the ushers and bridesmaids. Jane flung her arms around Muriel in a great rush of feeUng. Muriel looked perfectly lovely. Jane
almost kissed Mr. Lancaster in the strength of her enthusiasm. But not quite.
n
Jane woke next morning a little weary from the festivities of the wedding. The reception had ended in a buffet supper for the nearest friends of the family. Later there had been dancing. Mr. and Mrs. Albert Lancaster had left about half-past nine in the evening. It had all been over by ten.
Isabel and Robin had strolled down Huron Street with Mr. and Mrs. Ward and Jane. The April night was pleasantly warm. They had parted from Mr. Fumess and Flora under the awning.
*I really admire Mr. Furness,' Isabel had commented as soon as they were out of hearing, 'for the way he stuck it out all evening.*
*He had to — for Flora,* Mrs. Ward had said.
*Just the same,' said Isabel, *he behaved beautifully with Bert.*
*He always has,' said Mrs. W^ard; then added meditatively, 'and you must remember that Bert Lancaster's marriage may simplify things in the end.'
Jane had thought silently of Flora's mother. She had thought of her more than once during the party. She couldn't help wondering what Mrs. Furness was finding to do, all alone at home all evening with Folly, the pug, in that big brown-stone house. She wondered again, as she was dressing for breakfast.
Jane sauntered downstairs, hunmiing the first piping bars of the Mendelssohn wedding march. Muriel and Bert were well on their way to the Canadian Rockies, by now. As soon as she entered the dining-room, she saw that something dread-flil had happened.
Her father was standing at the window, his back to the
table, gazing out at the bright amber branches of the budding willow tree. Her mother was in her accustomed place behind the coffee urn, but her chair was pushed back, her napkin was on the table, and her eyes were fixed questioningly on her husband's motionless figure. Her face had a curiously shocked expression. Jane paused a moment, fearfully, on the threshold.
'What's — what's the matter?' she asked.
Her mother turned slowly to look at her. The colour had quite gone out of her face.
*Lily Fumess has killed herself,' she said.
'Wh — what?' said Jane. She couldn't take it in, just at first. She leaned a little helplessly against the door jamb.
'She killed herself last night — after supper,' said Mrs. Ward excitedly. 'She turned on the gas in the bathroom. Mr. Fumess found her there when he came home.'
Jane walked weakly over to the breakfast table and sat down in her chair.
^Killed herself?' she asked stupidly. 'Flora's mother is dead?^ It was the first death that Jane had ever known.
'They couldn't bring her 'round,' said Mrs. Ward. 'They had to break down the door. They worked over her for hours. They didn't give her up until long after midnight. Stephen Carver telephoned this morning.'
'How — perfectly — terrible!' said Jane, through stiff Ups. Words seemed dreadfully inadequate.
Mr. Ward turned suddenly from his contemplation of the willow tree.
'Eat some breakfast. Kid,' he said gently. He walked over to Jane and put his hand on her shoulder.
'What will Flora do?^ cried Jane. Her eyes filled suddenly with tears.
'Lily Furness should have thought of that,' said Mrs. Ward.
Jane's father looked at his wife very soberly.
*Will you give me a cup of coffee, Lizzie?' he said. He sat down quietly at his end of the table.
*I — I want to go over to Flora,' said Jane suddenly. 'She'll be all alone — with Muriel gone.' A sudden memory of whom Muriel had gone with froze the words on her hps.
'Eat your breakfast firjt, Kid,' said her father. Her mother handed him his coffee cup. 'Ring for Minnie, Lizzie,' he said.
Minnie came in very promptly with the steaming cereal. Her face looked shocked, too, but discreetly curious and very subtly, delicately pleased. Jane felt that Minnie was enjoying disaster. She choked down a few spoonfuls of oatmeal and bolted a cup of scalding coffee.
'I'm going, now,' she said. She rose as she spoke.
'Jane' — her mother's voice was just a little doubtful — 'I don't quite like your going over there, so soon — all alone '
'I want to go,* said Jane. *I want to be with Flora.*
'I think you had better wait,* said Mrs. Ward, 'until I can go with you.'
Jane stood irresolutely beside her chair.
'Let her go, Lizzie,' said Mr. W^ard. 'She may be able to do something for that poor child.'
Jane's mother's face was still a little doubtful, but she made no further objection as Jane turned toward the door.
'How Lily Furness could do this to Muriel 'Jane heard
her say, very solemnly. 'It will kill Mrs. Lester.'
'I think the honours are still Muriel's,' said Mr. Ward gravely. 'She did a good deal to Lily Furness first.'
Jane walked very slowly and soberly down Pine Street in the brilliant April sunshine. The grass plots were already green and there was an emerald mist on the plume-like
boughs of the elm trees. The streets were quite deserted, save for a milk wagon or two and an occasional bicycle. Jane saw the first robin, prospecting for worms, under Flora's budding lilac bushes.
The shades were all drawn down in t
he big brown-stone house. Halfway up the front steps, Jane stopped in dismay. She hadn't expected to see the great bow of purple silk and the huge bunch of violets on the doorbell. She didn't quite know whether to ring it or not. As she stood hesitantly in the vestibule, the door was opened silently. The Furnesses' elderly butler stood gravely on the threshold. His face looked very old and grey and tired and his eyes were sunken. Jane suddenly realized that he had been crying. As she stepped into the silent haU she felt her own eyes fill quickly with tears.
The house was very dark, because of the drawn window shades. A great vase of Easter liUes stood on the hall table. Their pure, penetrating perfume suddenly recalled the church chancel of yesterday.
'May — may I see Miss Flora?' asked Jane.
Suddenly she heard a mascuHne step behind the drawing-room portieres. The tall, sUm figure of Stephen Carver was fi*amed in their green folds. His eager young face looked strangely serious. His manner was curiously hushed and formal. Nevertheless, his eyes Ht up when he saw Jane.
'Jane!' he said softly. 'How like you to comel' He walked quickly over to her side.
'How is Flora?' asked Jane. 'Can I see her?'
'She's in her room,' said Stephen. 'I haven't seen her, myself, since — last night.'
*Is — is she — terribly broken up?' asked Jane.
Stephen nodded gravely.
'And Mr. Fumess?' questioned Jane. She hoped very much that she would not have to meet Mr. Fumess.
'He's with — Aunt Lily,' said Stephen. 'He's been there right along. I don't think he's slept at all.' There was a httle pause. *I just came over to answer the telephone,' said Stephen.
'Do you think,' said Jane hesitantly, 'that I could go upstairs?'
Years of Grace Page 14
