Maris (2 page)

Tilford's way had not been like that. He carried everything with a high hand, stated what he wanted, and expected her to concede. His kisses had been almost formal, like taking a bite of fruit he had just purchased. She had tried to ignore a vague disappointment. There had been no dreamed-of thrill of joy. Was that all that love meant? Perhaps there was no such thing as romance in this age of the world. Somehow, in spite of Tilford's haste to marry her, there was a coldness, a matter-of-factness about him that left no room for the ecstasy that she had always expected to feel if she ever fell in love.

Was she in love? Perhaps she was only taking love for granted and it wasn't love at all.

Suddenly she sprang up sharply.

"Oh, snap out of it!" she said angrily aloud to herself.

What were all these foolish thoughts, anyway, that she was allowing to wander through her mind? It was too late to consider such questions, even if there were any truth in them, which of course there wasn't. She was engaged to Tilford Thorpe and wearing the most gorgeous diamond on her engagement finger that any girl in their town ever owned. And downstairs in the library there were neat white boxes of already addressed wedding invitations, awaiting only their stamps before they were taken to the post office. Perhaps her sister Gwyneth was even now putting on hundreds of stamps, and she ought to hurry down and help.

And over across the hall in the guest room closet there were many lovely garments hanging that she would never have thought she could afford if she were not marrying Tilford Thorpe. Also, down on her mother's desk was a thick envelope containing estimates from the expensive caterer that Tilford had said was the only caterer in town who was fitted to handle an affair like their wedding supper in a satisfactory way. She had gasped when she caught a glimpse of the figures that were written on those heavy, expensive sheets. She had cringed as her brother Merrick leaned over her shoulder and read them aloud, fairly shouted them in an indignant tone so that the whole family could not help but hear. She recalled now with a sharp breath of pain the look of almost despair in her mother's eyes as she listened. She ought to get down as quick as possible and straighten that out. Surely they could plan some way that would not cost so much! Poor Father! All of this was going to be so hard on him. She hoped that when she was married she would be able to lift the financial burden from his shoulders a little.

But all these things going on, the whole machinery set in relentless order for her wedding, and she daring to spend an idle thought on whether this was really romance or not!

Those invitations had to be mailed tomorrow, the exact number of days before the wedding that fashion decreed there should be, though the heavens should fall. It was much too late to alter anything, even if she found out that she was not in love with her bridegroom. Even if she found out it was all a terrible mistake, she could not turn back now. Nothing short of a miracle could undo those inexorable plans. There was no time now to check things over; it was too late for that.

Well, forget it! She had enough to occupy her mind without letting it bring up questions like that, that ought to have been settled beyond a question long ago. But
when
? It had all been so sudden! If she had made a mistake, she would doubtless have plenty of time to regret it.

But of course this was all nonsense. Everything was all right. She was making a brilliant marriage, and everybody thought so. Simply
every
body. Even her mother hadn't demurred. Even her father had only said, "Are you perfectly sure he is what you want, little girl?" And then he had given her his blessing. Although as she thought of it now, it seemed as if it had been almost a sad-eyed blessing.

Oh, what gloomy thoughts! And she had been so carefree and happy before last night! It was just the effect of that awful family party with all the eulogies and injunctions that had depressed her. She simply must snap out of it.

She arose and began to dress rapidly, dashing cold water on her face, putting on a bright little rose-colored print dress that she knew was becoming. Likely Tilford would telephone her after lunch to go out for a few holes of golf, but she must be firm about it. She must stay at home and get those invitations stamped and do a lot of other things that she had put off from day to day.

She began to hum a jaunty little tune, just to keep up the illusion that she had no misgivings, and she gave a final pat to her pretty hair, trying to make her eyes sparkle as she gave herself a brief glance in the mirror. Yes, she was all right, and everything was going to be lovely of course. She would do wonderful things for Mother and Dad and the others when she was a married woman, with time and plenty of money to spend! That nonsense of being separated from them all was a ghost of the nighttime. Tilford had no such idea as that. Tilford was a splendid, dependable young man. He would be a good son-in-law and would always be wanting to make her happy. And after all, what was romance? Just a figment of a silly girl's imagining. When one grew up, one got to be sane and sensible and didn't yearn to be a Cinderella. After all, wasn't she marrying fortune, and wasn't she going to Europe for her honeymoon?

Maris had finished her dressing and had almost regained her ecstasy of yesterday over her happy lot in life when another memory of last night that she had almost forgotten suddenly came to the surface and cast a sinister shadow in her path. The wedding dress! How could she have forgotten so important a matter! And now what was she to do about it?

She dropped down in a chair by the door and stared at the wall with troubled eyes.

Her mother had wanted white organdy for her from the first. She had thought it so suitable for a girl with a quiet background and no great fortune.

"I know you are going to be a grand lady, dear," she had said wistfully, "but it seems so much better taste for you to dress simply and not try to appear that you are one before you really are."

And Maris had agreed quite happily. She had always liked white organdy herself.

So her mother had made the dress most exquisitely, for she could do wonderful work with her needle. And the beautiful Irish lace, which had been in the family for years, had seemed just perfect, as if it were made for the simple dress pattern they had selected. The dress was almost finished and even now was hanging under a white shroud from a long hook on the inside of the guest room closet door. Maris had taken a parting look at it last night before she went out with Tilford, noting with proudly happy eyes the exquisite finish, so professional, so perfect! No Paris import could possibly outshine this charming dress! And it was all done except for a few stitches! Just a few more inches of lace to appliqué and it would be done! Dear Mother! How she had worked over it. Sometimes when she must have been very tired. That last glimpse of her wedding gown had sent Maris on her way starry-eyed to the family gathering.

And then, one of the first things that happened after she got there was that Mrs. Thorpe took her aside, before she had fairly got her wrap laid on the bed, and asked rather imperiously, "And now, my dear, about your wedding gown. I was going to speak to you before, but I haven't really had the opportunity. What have you planned? Because I have a suggestion."

The color flew into Maris's cheeks, and she held her head proudly, "with the Mayberry tilt" as mischievous young Gwyneth would have said.

"My wedding dress is all ready, thank you. It was the first thing I planned." She said it very quietly but firmly. Her future mother-in-law eyed her thoughtfully.

"Well, you are forehanded," said Mrs. Thorpe pleasantly. "Most girls leave that until near the end. But, my dear, I'm wondering if you quite appreciate what a formal gown would be required for this wedding. Of course, whatever you pick out would be
charming
, but it could easily be used for some less formal affair. You see, I've found just the right garment for you, at a very exclusive little shop where I frequently deal, and I'm quite sure you'll like it. It is perfect for the occasion, and one that you would always be proud to remember having worn on the greatest occasion of your life. Of course, it was a bit expensive, and so I secured a special price on it. If you feel it is still too high, I shall be glad to pay the extra expense, for I do feel that for the honor of the family you should have it."

Maris's color had drained away at this, and her eyes had become a deeper blue as she lifted her chin a bit haughtily. She could imagine the steel in her father's eyes if he should hear of this offer to help pay for his daughter's wedding dress. She could imagine the hurt in her mother's eyes at the interference.

"I think you will be pleased with my dress," she said a bit haughtily.

"Perhaps," said the older woman, "but nevertheless, I would like you to see this dress of which I speak. I'm sure after you once see it, nothing else will seem the proper thing."

"Then I wouldn't want to see it," laughed Maris with a tinge of asperity beneath the laughter.

"Oh, now, my dear, you certainly aren't as narrow as that! But I must insist that you see it. I really feel very strongly about the matter, and of course I'll be glad to finance it."

Maris drew the Mayberry dignity about her.

"My father would not permit that of course," she said quietly.

"Well, of course, if he feels that way. But I didn't like to make suggestions without offering to pay for them. Then you'll see it tomorrow, won't you, Maris? I told the woman to hold it, that you would likely be in sometime in the morning. Of course, if you have to delay till afternoon, just phone her and say when you will be there. Here's the address, and the phone number."

She handed Maris the card.

Maris took it reluctantly, looked at it for a minute, struggled with her annoyance, and lifted a face on which she tried to hold a winning smile.

"I could
look
at it," she said pleasantly, "but it really wouldn't be worthwhile for the woman to take the time to show it to me, because I simply couldn't do anything about it. I have a wedding dress, and I like it very much."

"But you will see it because I ask you to," said the older woman with an underlying tone of authority in her voice. "I have spoken to Tilford about it, and he feels that you should see it. I ask it as a special favor."

More family arrivals just then prevented further talk and left Maris bending the little troublesome card back and forth in her fingers. She finally slipped the card into her small evening bag, and the thought of it was submerged in the dull monotony of the evening. But now it rose with all the imperiousness of the Thorpe family and seemed as binding upon her as if she had signed a contract to go and look at that dress. Tilford was in on it, too. Really, that wasn't fair! The bridegroom was not supposed to know anything about the bridal gown till he saw her in it for the first time as she came up the aisle. But perhaps Tilford's mother didn't realize that.

Well, what should she do? Just forget it? Could she get by? She had a feeling that perhaps it might be hard to explain to Tilford why she had ignored his mother's request. And over and above all she had a little shivery feeling that this matter of marriage was assuming a grave and sinister appearance. Those words--
formal affair
--that Mrs. Thorpe had used last night had made it seem that it wasn't just a matter between herself and Tilford, but as if she were about to marry the whole Thorpe clan and come under their authority. Was that so?

And what should she do? She didn't want to make a useless fuss about what might after all prove to be a trifling matter. Perhaps she had better go and look at the dress and say she had seen it but she still felt that her own would be more suitable. And yet, even to compromise so much seemed almost disloyal to the mother who had worked so hard and wrought such love into every stitch of that exquisite fairy dress.

She had been so sure until last night that all the Thorpes would admire and praise it. And now she had a feeling that they would look on it with scorn. And perhaps if she went to look at this other sophisticated dress, it might make her dissatisfied with her own lovely dress. Oh, how she hated the thought of all this interference.

Well, what should she do? Was it thinkable that she should tell her mother and that they should go down and look at that dress? Was it at all possible that the lovely organdy was not formal and stately enough for this wedding that the Thorpes seemed to think was their wedding and not hers?

Suddenly she sprang to her feet, opened the door, and listened a minute. She could hear a distant sound of dishes in the kitchen. A pang of conscience shot through her. Mother was washing dishes, and she ought to be downstairs helping. By this time, of course, Gwyneth should have gone to school. And Mother had dismissed the maid yesterday! She had pretended it was because Sally was inefficient, but Maris knew in her heart that her mother was trying to save money, just now when this wedding was going to be such an expense! And here she was lingering upstairs considering whether she wouldn't add more expense by buying another wedding dress at the most exclusive shop in the city! What utter nonsense! What ingratitude! Of course her lovely organdy was the right thing. It was as beautiful as a dream, and nobody, not even Mrs. Thorpe, could say it wasn't. And anyway, Tilford would have to take her as she was. If he didn't like her in her own wedding dress, he needn't marry her!

With her head held high, she tiptoed across the hall to lift the white cheesecloth covering and reassure herself by another glimpse of the dress that had seemed so wonderful to her just last night.

And there hung the dress in all its white cloudiness. Nothing could have been lovelier! Formal? Yes, its very simplicity gave it an air of distinction! There was something about it that even formality might not question.

Then suddenly she saw that the lace, which had been hanging from the sleeve last night, hung no longer. It was all delicately in place with tiny invisible stitches, exquisite and perfect. It was done!