“So soon—oh Katy! and you so young!” was all Helen could say, as with quivering lip she kissed her sister’s hand raised to wipe her tears away.
“Yes, it is soon, and I am young: but Wilford is in such a hurry; he don’t care,” Katy replied, trying to comfort Helen, and begging of her not to cry so hard.
No, Wilford did not care how much he wrung the hearts of Katy’s family by taking her from them at once, and by dictating to a certain extent the way in which he would take her. There must be no invited guests, he said; no lookers-on, except such as chose to go to the church where the ceremony would be performed, and from which place he should go directly to the Boston train. It was his wish, too, that the matter should be kept as quiet as possible, and not be generally discussed in the neighborhood, as he disliked being a subject for gossip. And Mrs. Lennox, to whom this was said, promised compliance with everything, or if she ventured to object she found herself borne down by a stronger will than her own, and weakly yielded, her manner fully testifying to her delight at the honor conferred upon her by this high marriage of her child. Wilford knew just how pleased she was, and her obsequious manner annoyed him far more than Helen’s blunt straightforwardness, when, after supper was over, she told him how averse she was to his taking Katy so soon, adding still further that if it must be, she saw no harm in inviting a few of their neighbors. It was customary, it would be expected, she said, while Mrs. Lennox, emboldened by Helen’s boldness, chimed in, “at least your folks will come; I shall be glad to meet your mother.”
Wilford was very polite to them both; very good-humored, but he kept to his first position, and poor Mrs. Lennox saw fade into airy nothingness all her visions of roasted fowls and frosted cake trimmed with myrtle and flowers, with hosts of the Silverton people there to admire and partake of the marriage feast. It was too bad and so Aunt Betsy said, when, after Wilford had gone to Linwood, the family sat together around the kitchen stove, talking the matter over.
“Yes, it was too bad, when there was that white hen-turkey she could fat up so easy before June, and she knew how to make ’lection cake that would melt in your mouth, and was enough sight better than the black stuff they called weddin’ cake. She meant to try what she could do with Mr. Carmon.”
And next morning when he came again she did try, holding out as inducements why he should be married the night before starting for Boston, the “white hen-turkey, the ’lection cake, and the gay old times the young folks would have playing snap-and-catchem; or if they had a mind, they could dance a bit in the kitchen. She didn’t believe in it, to be sure—none of the Orthodox did; but as Wilford was a ’Piscopal, and that was a ’Piscopal quirk, it wouldn’t harm for once.”
Wilford tried not to show his disgust, and only Helen suspected how hard it was for him to keep down his utter contempt. She saw it in his eyes, which resembled two smouldering volcanoes as they rested upon Aunt Betsy during her harangue.
“Thank you, madam, for your good intentions, but I think we will dispense with the turkey and the cake,” was all he said, though he did smile at the old lady’s definition of dancing, which for once she might allow.
Even Morris, when appealed to, decided with Wilford against Mrs. Lennox and Aunt Betsy, knowing how unequal he was to the task which would devolve on him in case of a bridal party at the farm-house. In comparative silence he heard from Wilford of his engagement offering no objection when told how soon the marriage would take place, but congratulating him so quietly, that if Wilford had retained a feeling of jealousy, it would have disappeared; Morris was so seemingly indifferent to everything except Katy’s happiness. But Wilford did not observe closely, and failed to detect the hopeless look in Morris’s eyes, or the whiteness which settled about his mouth as he fulfilled the duties of host and sought to entertain his guest. Those were dark hours for Morris Grant, and he was glad when at the end of the second day Wilford’s visit expired, and he saw him driven from Linwood round to the farm-house, where he would say his parting words to Katy and then go back to New York.