The older woman's steel blue eyes softened, then filled. "Maybe I've missed it and maybe I ain't," she said, huskily. "Maybe this life is only a discipline to fit us for somethin' better that's comin'. Anyway, if we keep on goin' and doin' the best we can as we go, I believe God will make it right for us later on."
The morning of Rosemary's wedding dawned clear and cool. It was Autumn and yet the sweetness of Summer still lingered in the air. Scarlet banners trailed upon the maples and golden leaves rained from the birches, shimmering as they fell. Amethystine haze lay upon the valley, shot through with silver gleams from the river that murmured toward the sea with the sound of far waters asleep.
Purple lights laid enchantment upon the distant hills, where the Tapestry-Maker had stored her threads—great skeins of crimson and golden green, russet and flaming orange, to be woven into the warp and woof of September by some magic of starlight and dawn. Lost rainbows and forgotten sunsets had mysteriously come back, to lie for a moment upon hill or river, and then to disappear.
Making Ready
Noon had been chosen for the ceremony, in the little church at the foot of the Hill of the Muses, for, as Alden had said, with a laugh, "even though it was private, it might as well be fashionable." Aunt Matilda was up at dawn, putting new lace into the neck and sleeves of her best brown alpaca, as tremulous and anxious as though she herself were to be the bride.
Rosemary had packed her few belongings the day before, in the little old-fashioned trunk that had been her mother's. As she dressed, Aunt Matilda sat on the bed, pathetically eager to help in some way, though it might be only to pin up a stray lock or tie a shoe.
Rosemary shook out the dull ashen masses of her hair with a sigh. As she put it up, Alden's big betrothal diamond blazed star-like upon her rough, red hand. She contemplated it ruefully—it seemed so out of place—then brightened at the memory of the promise Mrs. Marsh had made so long ago.
"She'll teach me how to take care of my hands," said Rosemary, half to herself, "so they'll look like hers."