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The Indifference of Juliet, a fiction by Grace Smith Richmond |
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Chapter 10. On A Threshold |
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_ CHAPTER X. ON A THRESHOLD When it was all over Judith Dearborn went upstairs with Juliet to help her dress for her going away. The maid-of-honour looked about the blue-and-white room with thoughtful eyes. "This is certainly the dearest room I ever saw," she said. "Oh, Juliet, do you think you really will be happy here?" "What do you think about it, dear?" asked Juliet. "Oh--I--well, really--I never imagined that a little old house like this could be made so awfully attractive. But, Juliet--you--you must be very, very fond of Anthony to give up so many things. How well he looked to-day. Seems to me he's grown gloriously in every way since he--since his family came into so many misfortunes." Juliet smiled, but answered nothing. "And you're so different, too. Never in my life would I have imagined you having a wedding like this--and yet it's been absolutely the prettiest one I ever saw. That's a sweet gown to go away in--but it's the simplest thing you ever wore, I'm sure. Juliet, where are you going?" "We are going to drive through the Berkshires in a cart." "Juliet Marcy!" "'Robeson,'" corrected Juliet with a little laugh, but in a tone which it was a pity Anthony could not hear. "Don't forget that. I'm so proud of the name. And I think a drive through the Berkshires will be a perfectly ideal trip." Judith Dearborn was not assisting the bride at all. Instead she was sitting in a chair, staring at Juliet with much the same abstraction of manner observable in the best man throughout the day. "Of course you didn't need to live this way," observed Miss Dearborn at length. "You could have afforded to live much more expensively." "No, I couldn't," said Juliet with a flash in her eyes, though she smiled; "I couldn't have afforded to do one thing that would hurt Tony's pride. Why, Judith--he's a 'Robeson of Kentucky.'" "Well, he looks it," admitted Judith. "And you're a Marcy of Massachusetts. The two go well together. Juliet, do you know--somehow--I thought it was a fearful sacrifice you were making, even for such a man as Anthony--but--this blue-and-white room----" "Ah, this blue-and-white room----" repeated Juliet. Then she came over and dropped on her knees by her friend in her impulsive way and put both arms around her. The plain little going-away gown touched folds with the one whose elegance was equalled only by its cost. Anthony Robeson's wife looked straight up into the eyes of her maid-of-honour and whispered: "Judith, don't put Wayne--and--your blue-and-white room off too long. You will not be any happier to wait--if you love him." * * * * * Drawn up close to the door stood the cart. Beside it waited Anthony. Around the cart crowded twenty people. When Juliet came through them to say good-bye the son of the Bishop murmured: "Er--Mrs. Robeson----" "Yes, Mr. Farnham----" said Juliet promptly, her delicate flush answering the name, as it had answered it many times that day. "When are you going to be at home to your friends?" "The fifteenth day of October," said Juliet. "And from then on, every day in the week, every week in the year. Come and see us--everybody. But don't expect any formal invitations." "I'll be down," declared the Bishop's son. "I'll be down once a week." "Please don't stay long after we are gone," requested Anthony, putting his bride into the cart and springing in beside her. He gathered up the reins. "Good-bye," he called. "Take this next train home. It goes in an hour. Lock the door, Carey, and hang the key up in plain sight by the window there. We live in the country now, and that's the way we do. Good-bye--good-bye!" Then he drove rapidly away down the road. "And that pair," said the son of the Bishop gravely, looking after them and speaking to the company in general, "married, so to speak, in a hay-wagon, and going for a wedding trip in a wheel-barrow through the Berkshires, is Juliet Marcy and Anthony Robeson." "No, my son," said the Bishop slowly--and everybody always listened when the Bishop spoke: "It is Anthony and Juliet Robeson--and that makes all the difference. I think two happier young people I never married. And may God be with them." The best man said that he and the maid-of-honour would walk the half-mile to the station. The son of the Bishop and the sister of the best man had already taken this course without saying anything about it. Nearly everybody murmured something about it being a lovely evening and a glorious sunset and a charming road, and, pairing off advisedly, adopted the same plan. The Bishop and Mrs. Bishop, Mrs. Dingley and Mr. Marcy decided on being driven over to the station in a light surrey provided for this anticipated emergency. The best man and the maid-of-honour succeeded in dropping behind the rest of the pedestrians. Their friends were used to that, and let them mercifully alone. "Mighty pretty affair," observed Carey in a melancholy tone. "Yes--in its way," admitted Judith Dearborn with apparent reluctance. "Cosy house." "Very." "Tony seemed happy." "Ecstatic." Judith's inflection was peculiar. "Nobody would have suspected Juliet of feeling blue about living off here." "She doesn't seem to." "What's made the difference?" "Anthony Robeson, probably." "Must seem pretty good to him to have her care like that." "I presume so." "It isn't everybody that could inspire such an--affection--in such a girl." "No, indeed." Carey looked intensely gloomy. The two walked on in silence, Miss Dearborn studying the sunset, Carey studying Miss Dearborn. Suddenly he spoke again. "Judith, do all our plans for the future seem as desirable to you as they did this morning?" "Which ones?" "Apartment in the locality we've picked out--life in the style the locality calls for--and wait for it all until I'm gray----" with a burst of tremendous energy. "Good heavens, darling, what's the use? Why--if I could have you and a little home like that----" He bit his lip hard. The maid-of-honour walked on, her head turned still farther away than before. They were nearing the station. Just ahead lay a turn in the road--the last turn. The rest of the party, with a shout back at this dilatory pair, disappeared around it. From the distance came the long, shrill whistle of the approaching train. The maid-of-honour glanced behind: there was not a soul in sight; ahead: and saw nothing to alarm a girl with an impulse in her heart. At a point where great masses of reddening sumac hid a little dip in the road from everything earthly she stopped suddenly, and turning, put out both hands. She looked up into a face which warmed on the instant into a half-incredulous joy and said very gently: "You may." * * * * * The sun had been gone only two hours, and the soft early autumn darkness had but lately settled down upon the silent little house, waiting alone for its owners to come back some October day, when a cart, driven slowly, rolled along the road. In front of the house it stopped. "Where are we?" asked Juliet's voice. "This is a private house. I thought we--Why, Tony--do you see?--We've come around in a circle instead of going on to that little inn you spoke of. This is--home!" "Is it?" said Anthony's voice in a tone of great surprise. "So it is!" He leaped out and came around to Juliet's side. "What a fluke!" But the happy laugh in his voice betrayed him. "Anthony Robeson," cried Juliet softly, "you need not pretend to be surprised. You meant to do it." "Did I?" He reached out both arms to take her down. "Perhaps I did. Do you mind--Mrs. Robeson? Shall we go on?" Juliet looked down at him. "No, I don't think I mind," she said. He swung her down, and they went slowly up the walk. "Somehow," said Anthony Robeson, looking up at the house, lying as if asleep in the September night, "when I thought of taking you to that little public inn, and then remembered that we might have this instead--We can go on with our wedding journey to-morrow, dear-but--to-night----" He led her silently upon the porch. He found the key, where in jest he had bade his best man put it, and unlocked the door and threw it open. He stepped first upon the threshold, and, turning, held out his arms. "Come," he said, smiling in the darkness. _ |
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