III
The Day!
For perfection of weather, only one other day in Nathan’s experience had surpassed it, the high noon in Siberia when he had seen a splash of vivid scarlet against sharp cobalt and golden brown.
I made a trip up to the church around noon for some detail, when the florists had called their work complete. I stood by the door for a moment and felt prayful with the beauty and portent of it. The chancel had been almost smothered in fine palms. There were banks and vases of cut flowers on the altar. Wreaths were draped about the reading desk, chancel rail and choir stall, and a rope of flowers cast across the center aisle instead of white ribbon, reserving the first six pews for relatives and special guests.
Anticipating her daughter’s departure by a few minutes, at a quarter to four Mrs. Theddon entered her car with old Amos Ruggles, who was to give the bride away, and who never looked more vacuous or pop-eyed in his life. Arriving at the church, she entered on the head usher’s arm and then to the door came the motors of the bridal party.
Vestibule and center aisle were cleared of guests when the bridal party arrived. Doors to street and church were closed. At five minutes to four, the bride and her maids assembled. An electric word came to Nathan and myself, waiting in a side room behind the chancel, that Madelaine and her party had arrived. The organist was on the alert for the opening of the great doors at the far end of the center aisle. The ceremony was a matter of minutes.
It is popularly accepted that a groom a few moments before his marriage must be flustrated, senseless and speechless, a comic object generally and only acceptable because if he failed to put in appearance the wedding machine might have a minor cog missing somewhere, causing it to rasp horribly. As a matter of fact, most grooms are quite cool and collected,—at least outwardly. They may misplace a few little things of minor importance, such as hats, railroad tickets or sense of humor. But on the whole, they really know a surprising lot of what it’s all about and why they are there and what the outcome of the entire fuss may aggregate. Nathan was no exception.
He had not seen Madelaine that morning; he had breakfasted and lunched with me and we had reached the church at about three-forty-five. I was agreeably surprised at sight of him in his wedding clothes,—black cutaway, gray trousers, white waistcoat, gray suède gloves. It came to me with a smash that my little freckled-faced friend of the Foxboro schoolyard had flowered into a handsome man. Not the Gordon-Ruggles, matinee-idol type of handsomeness, but the rugged individuality of the male who has his fundamentals established, who has found himself and carries the whole struggle on firm features.
“Well, Bill, old man,” he said, as we waited for the great signal, “it’s come! The day and the hour we talked about one night down the Green River in the old red scow. Remember?”
“Yes, Nat,” I returned. “How can either of us forget?”
“There is a God, Bill. And He is good. We talked about Him too, if I recall correctly.”
“At least I’ve never doubted,” said I, “that He’s on the side of the chap who tries to do the best he can.”
Those were the last words I ever spoke to my lifelong friend as a single man. At that moment word came that Madelaine was ready.
Into the chancel he went behind the rector and I followed. Outside the communion rail he stood facing that great church of faces, manner grave but easy, a man in perfect control of himself.
Neither of us chanced to be looking at the end of the mid aisle when the sexton opened the big doors. A sudden peal of music from the high organ over our heads announced that Nathan’s Woman Beautiful was advancing to become his wife.
The wedding was on!
The ushers came first, walking two and two with the train of bridesmaids behind. A vast, motionless hush fell over that church as the wedding party moved toward the chancel and the bride came into view. Several women had their handkerchiefs ready to enjoy themselves. They did. At the profusion of autumnal flowers, the afternoon sunlight flooding richly through the huge stained-glass window high on the left, Madelaine advancing behind her maids on the arm of old “Am” Ruggles,—a choke came in my own throat, I’ll admit, and I teetered on the verge of making an ass of myself and spoiling my make-up generally.
Madelaine was wonderfully gowned, with a sweeping train. From her dusky coiffure fell a long tulle veil. She carried a mammoth bouquet of American Beauty roses. Her face was flushed. She was happy in that moment; it radiated from her.
She slipped her hand from old “Am’s” arm and the music suddenly died away. The church was very quiet. A pause.
“In the name of God, Amen!”
There was no blur in Nathan’s mind now, no wonder what another girl was doing, no wandering memories. He was paying attention. Oh, very much he was paying attention.
Old Amos waited beside Madelaine during the preliminary exhortation. Then Madelaine gave her maid of honor her bouquet and when the rector demanded, “Who giveth this woman away?” old Amos allowed he gaveth this woman away with an “I do!” which suggested he had kept the words locked in his system for weeks, for months, and the relief of letting them explode at last was almost sleep-producing. Then he turned, and his saucer eyes demanded, “Now, bless my soul! Whereabouts do I find myself, anyhow?” And finding himself at a wedding and the observed of all observers, he spatted his way to a pew seat and sat down and twirled his thumbs and looked wise as a serpent and harmless as a dove. And the wedding went on.
Nathan was married again. The ceremony was finished. The blessing was spoken. And the man was glad, glad.
With her left hand on the arm of her new husband, Madelaine turned with him to leave the altar. At that instant the great organ was given its leash. Thunderously above us all, it pealed into a ringing march of triumph. The very church arches shook with the delirium of it. The little flower girls who had brought up the rear of the procession now turned and were prompted forward. And down the aisle my friend and the woman who loved him moved forward to happiness on a carpet of flowers.
Millions of unborn men and women are yet to be married and given in marriage. But no wedding ceremony will ever pass off with such velvet perfection and infinite smoothness.
In the vestibule Nathan received hat, gloves and stick. The Theddon motor was waiting. In a moment the pair were seated therein and it had eased away from the Chestnut Street curbing.
Alone in the limousine, as it purred down South Main Street toward Long Hill and the wedding reception, Madelaine was the first to speak.
“Well, laddie, I’m yours,” she said simply. “And I’m so happy that it’s my turn to dream now. And I pray the dear Lord I never awake.”
Nathan’s great talon claw stole out and completely obliterated her right hand.
“You’ll never awaken if I can help it, dear,” he said huskily. “And I have a quaint idea that I can.”
Yet there was more happiness in store for them that afternoon.