Spring's Gentle Promise (13 page)

But I had stopped listening to the actual words and was hearing the meaning loud and clear. Mary wasn’t angry with me because I had come. She was angry with me because I hadn’t come
sooner
.

I looked at her straight, slim back with the neatly tied apron, the gently sloped shoulders set in a plucky line, the head stubbornly lifted. It was enough to propel me forward silently, swiftly. I slipped my arms around her and buried my face in her hair. Tears came to my eyes, though I don’t really know why.

“Mary,” I whispered, “I came because I couldn’t stand being without you any longer. I was so upset about the weather I didn’t want to come and burden you with it all. But I—I can’t bear it without you. I—I want you to marry me—as soon as possible. I can’t stand being apart like this. Please, please forgive me for coming so late but—”

Mary turned in my arms. She was looking directly at me when I opened my eyes.

“Oh, Josh!” she cried. “Yes. Yes,” and her tears mingled with mine as she pressed her cheek against my face.

I don’t know how long I might have gone on holding her, kissing her, had not the coffeepot boiled over. With a little cry Mary jerked away from me and rescued the pot.

“Sit down,” she said, wiping her eyes with a corner of her apron and nodding toward a kitchen chair. She hurried to clean up the stove and pour the coffee.

She pulled her chair up next to mine and rested her chin in her hand. “Now, sir, you were saying—?” she teased.

I laughed right along with her. Then I sobered. “I—I guess I was asking you to marry me and not in the most orthodox way,” I admitted. “Not at all like I had planned. I’ve just gone and ruined the whole thing. I—I mean—I had these great ideas. I spent hours thinking about it. Selecting just the right words. Not just—just blurting it out.” I stopped and shook my head. “I’m—I’m sorry,” I whispered.

Mary reached out a hand and touched my cheek. “Sorry? Sorry for missing me? For loving me?”

“For spoiling what should be one of your most treasured memories. For blundering into something that should be very special.”

“Josh,” said Mary softly, her eyes filling with tears and her voice soft with emotion, “I have just been told that I am loved. I have been asked if I will share your life—for always. Josh, it doesn’t get any more special than that.”

A tear slid unchecked down Mary’s cheek. I reached out a finger and brushed it away.

“I don’t even have the ring,” I confessed.

“You’ll get it soon enough,” Mary defended me.

“I—I haven’t even spoken to your pa.”

“He’ll give his blessing.”

Then I took a deep breath. “That’s not all,” I admitted slowly as Mary waited. “I—I don’t want to wait,” I burst out. “Not till after harvest. Not a month. Not even a week if—”

Mary’s eyes flew wide open.

“I know it’s not fair. That it’s terribly selfish. But you won’t come home until we are married and I guess I couldn’t bear it even if you did—but honestly, Mary, I don’t want to wait any longer to get married. I know—I know it’s not reasonable, that a girl needs lots of time to make her dress and sew her pillowcases and—and do whatever else it is that girls do, but—”

“Sunday?” said Mary.

“We really don’t need a big fancy cake an’ all the trimmings, and we’ve got pillowcases, an’ you could wear that pretty blue—”

“Sunday?” said Mary again.

I frowned, not understanding.

“I think I could be ready by Sunday if you can,” Mary said calmly.

“Sunday? Which Sunday?”

“Next Sunday.”

“
Next
Sunday?”

“This is Tuesday,” said Mary, laughter in her voice. “That leaves us Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday. Then comes Sunday. I can be ready by Sunday.”

“By Sunday? Next Sunday?” I stammered.

“Are you trying to back out?” she teased.

“Of course not. I—I just supposed that you’d need—”

“You told me already that you planned to propose—remember? Well, there is no cake or dress ready—
yet
. But Lou said she would bake the cake, and I did find a piece of lovely material and I’m really quick with a sewing machine. Both Faye and Lilli will help. They promised. And as for the pillowcases, Josh—that is the
one
thing that
is
ready.”

Neither of us had paid any attention to the cups of coffee that now sat cool and unwanted before us. I pushed my cup farther away so I wouldn’t tip it over when I put my arms around Mary.

“Sunday,” I grinned. “Sure. Sunday.” Then my mind began to whirl. I had a few things that needed doing before Sunday, as well. How in the world would I get it all done in time? First thing in the morning I’d need to head out for that ring. Two rings, in fact. Then I’d—I’d—well, I’d talk to Uncle Nat and Aunt Lou, that’s what I’d do. They’d have a whole list of things I needed to attend to. I had no idea.

Mary stirred. “Pa?” she said.

“You said he’d sleep through a hurricane,” I reminded her.

“And so he would,” Mary smiled, ruffling my still-wet hair, “but not through the marriage of one of his daughters. You’d best try to get a comb through that hair while I go wake him,” and she kissed me on the nose and went off.

My head started working again. “Barney,” I muttered. “I didn’t care for Barney.” I looked about the kitchen for a slicker, not wishing to get a soaking again. Mitch might not have left anything else behind.

I spotted a slicker belonging to Mr. Turley and took the liberty of borrowing it just long enough to lead the horse in out of the rain and toss a bit of hay in the manger.

When I returned to the kitchen I managed to comb my hair and smooth some of the wrinkles out of Mitch’s worn shirt. There was nothing I could do about the short legs on my pants. Mitch wasn’t quite as tall as I was.

Mary and Mr. Turley arrived in the kitchen together a few minutes later. He still looked sleepy and confused, but Mary was radiant. She had changed her dress to the pretty blue one I had referred to earlier. Her hair was carefully pinned up, too. She gave me an encouraging smile, and I took a deep breath and began my little speech.

“Sir, I realize that this is an untimely hour, and I apologize for that—but I would—would like to ask for your daughter Mary’s hand in marriage, sir. I—I love Mary deeply and she has—has honored me by returning the love, sir, and—”

I guess Mr. Turley had heard enough or maybe he was just anxious to get back to bed. He reached out and shook my hand vigorously. “I’d be proud, Son,” he said huskily. “I’d be proud.” Then in a slightly choked voice, he added, “It woulda made her mama very happy.”

Mary slipped an arm about me and gave me a squeeze and then she ran off to waken Lilli and tell her the good news.

No one went back to bed that night, not even Mr. Turley. We stayed up until the sky began to lighten. The sun never did come out because of the clouds, but I didn’t mind them anymore. We talked the night away, making our plans for the coming wedding. Then with the daybreak I kissed Mary goodbye, borrowed Mr. Turley’s slicker again and mounted Barney for the trip back home.

I got home before Grandpa or Uncle Charlie had left their beds. Pixie was waiting for me, though, sniffing at the door, a confused look in her eyes.

I picked her up and held her close. “Pixie,” I told her, “I’m getting married. Not ‘sometime,’ but Sunday.
This
Sunday.” Then I threw all caution to the wind and bellowed for the whole house to hear. “I’m getting married! Sunday! This
next
Sunday. You hear!
I’m getting married!
”

C
HAPTER
14
Sunday’s Comin’!

I
SURE WAS RELIEVED when it stopped raining. I had lots of plans to make and traveling to do, and it would have been most miserable trying to do it all in the pouring rain.

As it was, the roads were rutted and muddy, so it was out of the question to use the motor car. Mostly I rode Chester, and the horse heard many declarations of love that week. Even if they weren’t meant for him.

I don’t know what I would ever have done without help from Uncle Nat and Aunt Lou. Even Grandpa and Uncle Charlie lent a hand—mostly doing up my chores while I ran about. They were ’most as excited as I was.

I asked Avery to be my best man. A lump came into my throat as I made my choice. I knew Willie would have been standing at my side had things turned out differently.

Mitch would have been my second choice—mostly for Mary’s sake, but Mitch sent back word that he wouldn’t be able to make it by Sunday, and he gave Mary and me his best wishes. So I went to call on Avery and he grinned from ear to ear as he accepted my invitation.

Mary picked Lilli to be her maid of honor, and she was pretty excited about it too.

True to her word, Aunt Lou made the cake. She also organized some of the church ladies who offered to serve a meal following the ceremony. Everyone seemed anxious to help out, and I knew that some of the reason was because Mary had lost her mama.

Even Sarah got involved. “Mama says I can serve the punch, Uncle Josh,” she informed me and I gave her a hug and told her I knew she’d do a great job.

On Thursday I made the long trip to get the rings since our little town did not have what I considered suitable for Mary. How I wished for better roads and the automobile, but Chester did the best he could. We were both tired when we got home that night; even so I cleaned up and headed for Mary’s house. I figured Chester had used his legs enough for one day, so I walked. It wasn’t that far to Mary’s if you cut across the pasture.

She looked a bit surprised when she opened the door to my knock.

“Expectin’ someone else?” I bantered.

“No, Josh,” she laughed, drawing me in. “But I wasn’t expectin’ you either. I thought you’d be far too busy to come callin’.”

“I was,” I teased. “I am—but I thought you might like to have this before Sunday.” I held out the little box that held her ring.

Mary gave a little gasp and reached out her hand. I pulled the box back. “Not so fast,” I told her. “You haven’t yet told me what a wonderful guy you’ll be marryin’ come Sunday.”

Mary glanced back at the table behind her. I could see bits and pieces of soft white material scattered over it.

“If you don’t stop pesterin’ me and be on your way, there won’t be a wedding,” she warned me. “No dress—no wedding.”

I turned to look more closely at the table, but Mary put a hand over my eyes.

“No peeking,” she commanded. “It’s not fair to see the dress before the ceremony.”

“Then come out to the veranda,” I suggested.

“For only a short time,” Mary insisted, pretending she wasn’t interested in the little box, as she allowed herself to be led to the veranda bench.

I seated Mary, then dropped to one knee in front of her. I reached for her hand and spoke softly, “Mary Turley, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife—Sunday next?” I added with a hint of a smile.

Mary reached out to ruffle my hair, then changed her mind and let her hand fall to my cheek. “That would make me the happiest girl in the world,” she said, her gentle smile saying even more than her words.

I caught her hand and kissed the palm—then opened the small box and removed the ring. Carefully I slipped it on Mary’s slender finger. “Oh, Josh,” she murmured, lifting the ring to study it and then brushing it against her lips, “it’s beautiful.”

She leaned forward to kiss me as I knelt before her.

“Now go finish that dress,” I prompted. “I don’t want any excuses come Sunday.”

But we lingered for a while, just talking about our plans and comparing progress. It was dark before I headed back across the fields for home. I whistled as I walked in the light from the moon. I had never been happier. I had just placed my ring on Mary’s finger, and Sunday promised to be the greatest day of my life.

We were to be married immediately following the Sunday morning service. Everything, as far as I knew, was in readiness. I would wear my wedding suit to church. Mary and Lilli would slip out and change at Lou’s just as soon as the service ended. Lou had things well in hand for our reception dinner with the help of the parishioners. Mary’s silver service had been polished to perfection and stood ready and waiting to serve the guests. I knew the silver pieces were far more than a teapot and coffeepot to Mary. They were a small symbol of her mother at our special occasion. I also knew that Mary would miss her mama even more intensely on her wedding day.

On Sunday I was up long before daylight, polishing and licking and patting for almost an hour. Something unheard of for me. Grandpa and Uncle Charlie didn’t even tease me. They themselves were far too busy licking and polishing.

At last we were ready to go. We had decided the road was dry enough to take the motor car. I’d attempted to polish it up the day before, though it still bore the dents and scars of the accident.

We climbed in, I started up the Ford, and we headed down our long farm lane. I wouldn’t be doing any speeding, even though I could hardly wait to get to town. Here and there along the road, mud holes waited for the unwary. And we sure didn’t want mud stains on our carefully groomed Sunday suits and shoes.

We were there lots early, and I paced back and forth as I waited for Mary and her family to arrive.

Matilda came, though her leg was still in a walking cast. “I wouldn’t have missed this day for the world!” she exclaimed and gave me one of her hurried, impulsive hugs. “I’m so happy for you, Josh,” she bubbled. “Happy for both of you.”

She welcomed Grandpa and Uncle Charlie with hugs as well. “Oh, I miss you,” she cried. “All of you. The summer has seemed so long.” There were tears in Matilda’s eyes. “But I have good news,” she hurried on. “I got the school I applied for near home.”

“Ya mean yer not comin’ back—?” began Grandpa.

“Oh, I couldn’t,” Matilda said softly. “I—I mean—I’m happy for Josh and Mary, but it wouldn’t be the same now. I—mean—it wouldn’t be fair to newlyweds to have someone—”

Grandpa nodded but I could see sadness in his eyes.

I had to admit that I hadn’t even thought of Matilda’s dilemma. But she was right. It would be better for Mary and me to get a good start on our own without an extra person around. It was going to be enough for us to share the house with Grandpa and Uncle Charlie. I would talk with Mary later about the new teacher, but as far as I was concerned it was just about time that one of the other neighbors took on boarding duty.