Spring's Gentle Promise (14 page)

“But they’ve found a new teacher to replace me,” Matilda’s voice interrupted my thoughts, “and I’ve found a new school— so everything has turned out just fine.”

At that point another interruption, and a welcome one—the Turleys arrived. Mary gave a squeal at the sight of Matilda and ran to meet her, her arms outstretched. They hugged and cried and hugged some more. I didn’t mind. After all, Mary and I could look forward to a whole life together, beginning today. I just stood back and watched the goings-on.

Then I realized that I should be welcoming Mr. Turley. I had never seen him at church before, except of course for his wife’s funeral. I shook his hand and smiled, not knowing exactly what to say. He gave a lopsided grin in return, looking a trifle uneasy. By then the girls had settled down, and Mary came over to me and slipped a warm little hand into mine. I whispered “Good morning, sweetheart,” into her ear and made her blush prettily. It was time for the service, so we all moved inside the church doors and found places to sit.

The service seemed unusually long. It was probably a very good sermon—Uncle Nat’s always were. But for some reason I had a hard time concentrating on it. When I took a peek at the pocket watch I had gotten from Uncle Nat and Aunt Lou, I was astounded to discover it was even earlier than usual when the service was dismissed! Then I again felt Mary slip her hand in mine for just a moment, and I squeezed it gently in return. It was our little message to each other that it wouldn’t be long until we’d be standing before the minister pledging our vows of love and commitment—and also that we were anxious for that moment.

Mary slipped away to Aunt Lou’s as soon as she could, and I paced about checking to see that everything was in readiness. There certainly was no need—a lovely bouquet from Aunt Lou’s garden graced the altar, and candles had been lit on either side. I straightened my tie—again—and smoothed back a wayward lock of hair.

At last Sally Grayson took her place at the organ and Uncle Nat stepped to the front of the church. That was my cue to join him. I gave Avery a bit of elbow and wiped my hands again on a handkerchief Aunt Lou had provided. I moved awkwardly forward down the aisle that looked as long as our farm lane. Boy, was I nervous. I tried to swallow but there was nothing there. Eventually Uncle Nat’s reassuring smile came into focus, and I turned beside him along with Avery, cleared my throat and waited, trying hard to avoid all those eyes looking right at me.

Lilli came down the aisle next. She looked just fine. I’m guessing Avery noticed, too, for even in my mental fog I thought he was watching her progress rather carefully.

And then there was Mary, poised at the door on the arm of her father, ready to take those few steps that would bring her down that aisle to me.

Her dress was simple but very appealing, and suited Mary perfectly. Her veil fell forward over her face, partly concealing her smile and her bright colored hair. But I could see her shining eyes, and they told me all I wanted to know.

“Dearly Beloved . . .” Uncle Nat’s firm voice was an anchor for my whirling emotions. The ceremony was a short one—but I meant every word of the promises I made to Mary before God and many witnesses. From her expression and the directness of her answers, I knew she meant the promises to me as well.

“For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health . . .” The words rang in my ears long after they were spoken.

But the words that really caught my attention were “to love and to cherish—till death us do part.”

I had heard much about love. And I felt I understood it. I had no doubt in my mind about my love for Mary. But did I know what it meant to
cherish
her? Not much had been said in my presence about cherishing. I determined to do some looking into the meaning of that word at my first opportunity.

When the vows had been spoken, Uncle Nat indicated that I was to slip the wedding band on Mary’s finger. And almost before I knew it he was pronouncing us man and wife. I lifted Mary’s veil then to give her the expected kiss and could see fully the shine in her eyes and the flush to her cheeks. She was beautiful, my bride!

Uncle Nat presented us to the congregation. “Mr. and Mrs. Joshua Jones!” What a ring those words had! Mary and I looked at each other, and I felt an astonishment and excitement I’d never experienced before. I wished I could stop and kiss her again, but we had to go outside so folks could hug us and kiss us and give us their congratulations and throw rice and take pictures and all those usual things. I went through the whole thing in a daze. What a shame, too, because I wanted to always be able to look back with clear memories on this incredibly important day in my life.

We were finally ushered back into the church basement for the dinner. Guess folks were fairly hungry by then. For some reason I still hadn’t felt hunger pangs. I went through all of the motions of eating, though, so Avery wouldn’t rib me about being “lovesick.”

Our friends gave little speeches and the Squire twins sang “Bless This House” and Matilda sang a lovely song based on a scripture text from the story of Ruth. Little Sarah played a piano piece. Lou said she’d worked hard on it all week. There were a few jokes here and there, and I guess they were funny—I mean, folks all laughed. All in all, the afternoon passed in fine style. Then we had gifts to open. In spite of the short wedding notice, the congregation did themselves proud. We got some real lovely things. Mary was thrilled over the linens, quilts, tea towels and such for our home, and that made me happy also.

At last people began to drift off to their homes, and finally it was just the family members who were left. I took off my suit coat and began to pack the gifts away in the car and help with the cleanup. Mary, still excited and happy, was also looking a bit tired.

We finally got everything cleared away or stacked in a corner. Then we slipped over to Aunt Lou’s for a cup of hot tea and some slices of pumpkin bread. Mary took the opportunity to change from her wedding gown back into her Sunday dress, still looking like the pretty bride she was.

Mr. Turley excused himself as soon as Lilli and he had finished the light lunch. As he kissed Mary goodbye, he held her close. I saw tears in his eyes as he turned to go, and I wondered what it would be like to raise a daughter you loved so much only to give her over into the keeping of another man—particularly when her father had so recently lost his wife. I felt a pang of sympathy for Pa Turley. I followed him out to his team.

“Thank you, sir,” I said sincerely, “for all you have done to make your daughter the beautiful person she is. I will love her always, I promise you.”

Then we moved toward each other and I have never had such a bear hug. It suddenly hit me—
I have a pa! I mean, a real pa!
I hadn’t had one of my own since I had been a small boy. I stepped back and looked at this man who now was a part of my life. I couldn’t express all I was feeling. Instead I said, rather hoarsely, “How about comin’ for supper—Wednesday night?”

He nodded his head and climbed into his wagon. “And Lilli, too, of course,” I called after him. I watched him go until he turned the corner, and then I hurried in to tell Mary of my invitation to her pa—
our pa
—before I forgot.

It was late by the time we got home. We unpacked the car of the gifts and things Mary hadn’t wanted to leave in town—things like her ma’s silver tea service. We also had Mary’s suitcases, although many of her belongings still waited in her downstairs bedroom, not having been moved back to her home after her accident.

There would be no honeymoon—at least not at the present. I was sorry about that. Mary and I had talked it over, and she had assured me she didn’t mind. But still I felt she was a bit cheated out of what she rightfully deserved.

“After harvest,” I’d promised her.

“Josh,” she insisted, “the important thing is that we will be together, not
where
we will be together.” I loved her even more for that.

As we carried Mary’s personal things into the house, it became apparent that we menfolk, in all our hurrying and scurrying on short notice to prepare for the wedding, had given no thought to the room arrangements.

“Where should I put these?” Mary asked innocently.

“I—I—in—in my room, I guess,” I began, but even as I said the words I knew that wouldn’t work. I had the smallest room in the house. My tiny closet was already crowded with my few things. Mary’s would never fit there too.

Grandpa cleared his throat. “The master bedroom,” he said. “I’ll git my things right outta there,” and he moved to do just that.

“Oh, no,” insisted Mary. “I wouldn’t think of putting you out of your room, Grandpa.”

A debate ensued, but Mary prevailed. It was finally decided that Mary and I would use Lou’s old room. It was much roomier than mine and had a much larger closet. I carried Mary’s things up to the room, and while she unpacked I busied myself making the evening coffee.

Mary was soon back down and took over in the kitchen. “Boy, is it ever good to have you back!” I teased.

“So you just wanted a cook!” she teased right back.

I looked around at Grandpa and Uncle Charlie. They both wore a very satisfied expression, and I figured that bringing Mary permanently into our family was about the smartest move I had ever made.

C
HAPTER
15
Beginnings

W
ITH THE WEATHER TURNED for the better, our household back in order and my wife nearby, I got back to the haying again. Mary immediately took over her kitchen. My, how she did scrub and clean. I’m embarrassed to admit we menfolk had let things get even worse than I had realized.

She organized the rest of the house too—like moving the rest of my belongings from my old room to our new one, straightening the pantry, properly patching my worn overalls, sorting out the canning jars in the cellar and all sorts of other tasks. Every time I came in she was busy with something, though she often stopped to give me a hug and a kiss.

On Wednesday night the Turleys came for supper. Mary did herself proud, but then I guess her pa and Lilli were used to Mary’s good cooking. I had to remind myself that Mary had likely cooked Pa Turley more meals than she had cooked for me.

Mary made life totally different for me when she was there. I could hardly wait to get in from the field at night—and I’d always enjoyed field work. I looked toward the house a dozen times a day just to see if I could catch a glimpse of her. And she often slipped out with a drink of cold water or fresh buttermilk. She even came to the barn when I was milking and laughed as I squirted milk to the farm cat, chatting about her day, her plans for the house or garden while I did my chores.

Of course Grandpa and Uncle Charlie were awfully glad to have her back as well. Uncle Charlie seemed to walk a little jauntier, and Grandpa took to chuckling a good deal more. Though I was quite willing to share Mary’s return with them, I marveled at the fact that she was really mine—just mine—in a very unique and special way. Every day the word “marriage” took on a new meaning for me, and I thanked God over and over for her and that He had thought of such a wonderful plan.

Friday night after all the chores had been done, the supper dishes washed and back in the cupboard, and we were gathered around the kitchen table enjoying various activities, I suddenly remembered my resolve to look up the word
cherish
.

My dictionary was up in my old room, I thought. But when I climbed the stairs to get it, I found that Mary had moved my few books as well. I went to Lou’s room—I had to get that change made in my mind, to stop thinking of that room as Lou’s—it was mine now, mine and Mary’s. After rummaging around for a bit I found the dictionary. I flipped through the pages and came to the word.

“Cherish—to hold dear, to treat with tenderness, to nurse, nourish, nurture, foster, support, cultivate.”

Wow! I read it again—and again.
I had promised before God
to do all that!
I marveled. It had seemed to me that my loving Mary was sort of beyond my control. I mean, who could help but love Mary? But “cherish”—that was different. Most of the words in the definition were words of choice, of action—not feeling.

I knelt beside our bed with the dictionary open before me, and I went over each word in the list one at a time, promising God in a new way that with His help I would fulfill my promise to Him and to Mary. I even did some thinking on just how I might keep the promises. I prayed that God would help me to be a sensitive and open husband for Mary.

When I had finished my rather lengthy prayer, I heard a stirring at the door. It was Mary.

“I—I’m sorry, Josh. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I—I—”

But I held my hand out to her.

“I want to show you something,” I said, indicating the open book before me.

I rose to my feet and sat down on our bed. Mary crossed the room and sat beside me.

“Do you know what ‘cherish’ means?”

“Cherish?”

“Yeah. What we promised to do for each other last Sunday.”

“Oh!” Mary exclaimed, her eyebrows lifting.

I traced the dictionary meaning of cherish while Mary read the words for herself. When she finished, her eyes met mine. We just looked at each other for a few minutes and then Mary spoke.

“Rather scary.”

She was so serious, so solemn, that I began to laugh. I laid the dictionary on the bed beside me and reached for her. She snuggled into my arms and put her head against my shoulder, but I gently turned her face so that I could look directly into her eyes.

“Mary Jones,” I said, enjoying the sound of her new name, “before God and with you as my witness, I promise to love you, to hold you dear, to treat you with tenderness, to nurse you, nourish you, nurture you, foster you, support you and cultivate your individuality—till death us do part.”

I had needed to refer to the dictionary beside me a few times during my little speech, but I meant each word in a new way. When I finished there were tears in Mary’s eyes.

“Oh, Josh,” she murmured softly, “I love you so much.”