Sandy written by Alice Hegan Rice

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11

"'Fore de Lawd, Mist' Sandy, ef you ain't fergit yer necktie!"

It was Aunt Melvy who burst in upon his reverie with these ominous
words. She had been expected to assist with the wedding breakfast, but
the events above-stairs had proved too alluring.

Sandy's hand flew to his neck. "It's at the farm," he cried in great
excitement, "wrapped in tissue-paper in the top drawer. Send Jim, or
Joe, or Nick--any of the darkies you can find!"

"Send nuthin'," muttered Aunt Melvy, shuffling down the stairs. "I's
gwine myself, ef I has to take de bridal kerridge."

Messengers were sent in hot haste, one to the farm and one to town,
while Jimmy Reed was detailed to canvass the guests and see if a white
four-in-hand might be procured.

"The nearest thing is Mr. Meech's," he reported on his fourth trip
up-stairs; "it's a white linen string-tie, but he doesn't want to take
it off."

"Faith, and he'll have to!" said Sandy, in great agitation. "Don't he
know that nobody will be looking at him?"

Annette appeared at a bedroom door, a whirl of roses and pink.

"What's the m-matter? Ruth will have a f-fit if you wait much longer,
and my hair is coming out of curl."

"Take it off him," whispered Sandy, recklessly, to Jimmy Reed; and
violence was prevented only by the timely arrival of Aunt Melvy with
the original wedding tie.

The bridal march had sounded many times, and the impatient guests were
becoming seriously concerned, when a handkerchief fluttered from the
landing and Sandy and Ruth came down the wide white steps together.

Mr. Meech cleared his throat and, with one hand nervously fidgeting
under his coattail, the other thrust into the bosom of his coat,
began:

"We are assembled here to-day to witness the greatest and most
time-hallowed institution known to man."

Sandy heard no more. The music, the guests, the flowers, even his
necktie, faded from his mind.

A sacred hush filled his soul, through which throbbed the vows he was
making before God and man. The little hand upon his arm trembled, and
his own closed upon it in instant sympathy and protection.

"In each of the ages gone," Mr. Meech was saying with increasing
eloquence, "man has wooed and won the sweet girl of his choice, and
then, with the wreath of fairest orange-blossoms encircling her pure
brow, while yet the blush of innocent love crimsoned her cheek, led
her away in trembling joy to the hymeneal altar, that their names,
their interests, their hearts, might all be made one, just as two rays
of light, two drops of dew, sometimes meet, to kiss--to part no more
forever."

Suddenly a loud shout sounded from the upper hall, followed by sounds
like the repeated fall of a heavy body. Mr. Meech paused, and all eyes
were turned in consternation toward the door. Then through the
stillness rang out a hallelujah from above.

"Praise de Lawd, de light's done come! De darkness, lak de thunder,
done roll away. I's saved at last, and my name is done written in de
Promised Land! Amen! Praise de Lawd! Amen!"

To part of the company at least the situation was clear. Aunt Melvy,
after seeking religion for nearly sixty years, had chosen this
inopportune time to "come th'u'."

She was with some difficulty removed to the wash-house, where she
continued her thanksgiving in undisturbed exultation.

Amid suppressed merriment, the marriage service was concluded, Mr.
Meech heroically foregoing his meteoric finale.

Clayton still holds dear the memory of that wedding: of the beautiful
bride and the happy groom, of the great feast that was served indoors
and out, and of the good fellowship and good cheer that made it a gala
day for the country around.

When it was over, Sandy and Ruth drove away in the old town surrey,
followed by such a shower of rice and flowers and blessings as had
never been known before. They started, discreetly enough, for the
railroad-station, but when they reached the river road Sandy drew
rein. Overhead the trees met in a long green arch, and along the
wayside white petals strewed the road. Below lay the river, dancing,
murmuring, beckoning.

"Let's not be going to the city to-day!" cried Sandy, impulsively.
"Let's be following the apple-blossoms wherever they lead."

"It's all the same wherever we are," said Ruth, in joyful freedom.

They turned into the road, and before them, through the trees, lay the
long stretch of smiling valley.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11