Years of Grace · Part II · IV · Chapter 2 4 4 (2/2)

Uncle Stephen, red-faced and white-headed, arm in arm with her father, was singing loudest of all and a little off key. It made Jane feel just a little chokey to look at them. All Harvard men, she thought, everyone except Freddy. Even Mr. Bert Lancaster. Freddy went to Yale. He was singing, though, very generously. The words were lovely, thought Jane, just as lovely as the air.

The song over, Stephen’s father raised his champagne glass.

“A toast to the bride!” he cried. Everyone drank it, cheering. When it was over Stephen crashed his goblet to the floor. Applause greeted the gallant gesture. Jane saw her mother, however, noting with gratitude that it was only a caterer’s class.

“I must go up,” said Jane. Stephen squeezed her hand.

“I’ll go with you,” said Isabel. Hand in hand they ran up the stairs. Minnie was waiting in Jane’s bedroom. The packed suitcase was lying on the bed.

“Stephen’s magnificent,” laughed Isabel, as she unhooked the wedding dress. Jane was removing the veil.

“I don’t believe the Rough Riders will ever see action,” said Isabel. “Robin says it will be a short war.”

“Alden thinks,” said Jane doubtfully, “that it will last forever. He says the Spanish fleet may bombard Boston.”

“That’s nonsense,” said Isabel promptly.

Jane stepped out of her wedding dress.

“Sit down,” said Minnie gruffly. “I’ll take off your slippers and stockings.” Jane sank down on the chair overlooking the willow tree. She had never been waited on like that before.

“Mr. Carver says,” said Jane, “that lots of Bostonians have taken their securities out of the Bay State Trust Company and put them in banks in Worcester.”

“They’re crazy,” said Isabel. Someone downstairs had ineptly started the orchestra on “Dollie Grey.” Everyone was singing it.

“Papa thinks they are,” said Jane. Minnie handed her her waist and skirt. Isabel busied herself with hooks once more. Mrs. Ward appeared in the doorway.

“Nearly ready, Jane?” she asked.

Jane picked up her hat from the bed. It was a pretty hat, with a wreath of bachelor’s buttons around it.

“In a minute,” said Jane, facing the mirror again. “It was a lovely wedding, Mamma.”

“I thought so,” said Mrs. Ward a little tremulously. Jane heard tears in her voice. Jane was determined to fight off sentiment.

“Mamma,” she said quickly, “I’ll be back in a week.”

That simple statement didn’t seem to make things any better.

“Jane dear,” said Mrs. Ward, “I can’t bear it⁠—”

Mr. Ward appeared in the doorway.

“Mrs. Carver, your husband is waiting for you,” he said. Jane was very grateful for his twinkle.

“It won’t be the last time he’ll wait for me!” she laughed. She caught up her coat and kissed Isabel.

“I’ll take down the suitcase,” said Isabel. She left the room. Mrs. Ward took Jane in her arms.

“My child⁠—” she began, with emotion. Jane stopped her with a kiss.

“Goodbye, Minnie,” she said lightly. At the door her father slipped his arm around her. She stood looking up at him. Her⁠—father. Jane was suddenly overcome with a sense of what she was doing. She was leaving home⁠—forever.

“Papa,” she said brokenly, “Papa, you’ve always⁠—” She couldn’t say it.

Mr. Ward patted her back.

“Good luck, kid,” he said huskily. She gave him a tremendous hug.

“Don’t forget to throw your bouquet,” said Mrs. Ward solemnly, through her tears. Jane snatched it up from the bed.

Stephen was waiting in the upper hall. Jane took his arm. There was no time to speak to him. Everyone was pressing around the foot of the staircase. Alden was leading the band. As Stephen appeared it struck up “Hail, the Conquering Hero Comes.”

“Oh, good Lord!” muttered Stephen disgustedly. “That’s just like Alden!” They started down the stairs. From the first landing Jane pitched her bouquet straight into the virgin arms of Silly, the only maiden present. Stephen gripped her elbow. A shower of rice and confetti rose from the little crowd below. They dashed madly down and through the press of people. The front door was open, Robin standing guard. The mild May air was very refreshing, after the crowded rooms. Jane took a great breath of it as they rushed down the steps, past the crowd by the awning. The wedding guests came running after them. Rice still flew. Jane gained the shelter of the waiting brougham. Stephen flung himself after her and banged the door. The brougham started smartly into motion. Jane was looking out of the little back window at Isabel and Robin and Rosalie and Freddy, on the curb. Silly suddenly appeared to wave the lilies of the valley with one long, thin arm, above their heads. The brougham turned into Erie Street.

“Jane!” said Stephen, and suddenly his arms were around her. “Jane,” he said again, very solemnly, “we’re⁠—married.” Jane felt again that frightful fear of sentiment. Couldn’t⁠—couldn’t people take weddings⁠—calmly? She smiled, a little shakily, into Stephen’s eyes. Suddenly his arms grew strong and strangely urgent. He pulled her to him roughly, abruptly.

“Stephen!” cried Jane, in consternation. His eyes were smiling, excitedly, straight into her own. Jane fell a sudden prey to panic. “Stephen,” she said quickly⁠—“don’t⁠—please⁠—don’t!”

His face changed then, perplexedly. It grew strangely wistful.

“I⁠—I won’t, Jane,” he said very gently. His arms relaxed their hold.

Jane felt suddenly contrite. And somehow⁠—inadequate. She felt she was failing Stephen. Stephen, whom she had married, who would have only a week with her, who was going to war. Deliberately she put her arms around him.

“Stephen, truly I love you,” she said. Stephen’s lips met hers. Dear Stephen! She did love him. She would love him. She had married him. That point was settled. The brougham rolled on up Erie Street.