CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
THE FIRST WEDDING
The June roses over the porch were awake bright and early on that
morning, rejoicing with all their hearts in the cloudless sunshine, like
friendly little neighbors, as they were. Quite flushed with excitement were
their ruddy faces, as they swung in the wind, whispering to one another
what they had seen, for some peeped in at the dining room windows where
the feast was spread, some climbed up to nod and smile at the sisters as they
dressed the bride, others waved a welcome to those who came and went on
various errands in garden, porch, and hall, and all, from the rosiest full-
blown flower to the palest baby bud, offered their tribute of beauty and
fragrance to the gentle mistress who had loved and tended them so long.
Meg looked very like a rose herself, for all that was best and sweetest in
heart and soul seemed to bloom into her face that day, making it fair and
tender, with a charm more beautiful than beauty. Neither silk, lace, nor
orange flowers would she have. “I don’t want a fashionable wedding, but
only those about me whom I love, and to them I wish to look and be my
familiar self.”
So she made her wedding gown herself, sewing into it the tender hopes
and innocent romances of a girlish heart. Her sisters braided up her pretty
hair, and the only ornaments she wore were the lilies of the valley, which
‘her John’ liked best of all the flowers that grew.
“You do look just like our own dear Meg, only so very sweet and lovely
that I should hug you if it wouldn’t crumple your dress,” cried Amy,
surveying her with delight when all was done.
“Then I am satisfied. But please hug and kiss me, everyone, and don’t
mind my dress. I want a great many crumples of this sort put into it today,”
and Meg opened her arms to her sisters, who clung about her with April
faces for a minute, feeling that the new love had not changed the old.
“Now I’m going to tie John’s cravat for him, and then to stay a few
minutes with Father quietly in the study,” and Meg ran down to perform
these little ceremonies, and then to follow her mother wherever she went,
conscious that in spite of the smiles on the motherly face, there was a secret
sorrow hid in the motherly heart at the flight of the first bird from the nest.
As the younger girls stand together, giving the last touches to their simple
toilet, it may be a good time to tell of a few changes which three years have
wrought in their appearance, for all are looking their best just now.
Jo’s angles are much softened, she has learned to carry herself with ease,
if not grace. The curly crop has lengthened into a thick coil, more becoming
to the small head atop of the tall figure. There is a fresh color in her brown
cheeks, a soft shine in her eyes, and only gentle words fall from her sharp
tongue today.
Beth has grown slender, pale, and more quiet than ever. The beautiful,
kind eyes are larger, and in them lies an expression that saddens one,
although it is not sad itself. It is the shadow of pain which touches the
young face with such pathetic patience, but Beth seldom complains and
always speaks hopefully of ‘being better soon’.
Amy is with truth considered ‘the flower of the family’, for at sixteen she
has the air and bearing of a full-grown woman, not beautiful, but possessed
of that indescribable charm called grace. One saw it in the lines of her
figure, the make and motion of her hands, the flow of her dress, the droop
of her hair, unconscious yet harmonious, and as attractive to many as beauty
itself. Amy’s nose still afflicted her, for it never would grow Grecian, so did
her mouth, being too wide, and having a decided chin. These offending
features gave character to her whole face, but she never could see it, and
consoled herself with her wonderfully fair complexion, keen blue eyes, and
curls more golden and abundant than ever.
All three wore suits of thin silver gray (their best gowns for the summer),
with blush roses in hair and bosom, and all three looked just what they
were, fresh-faced, happy-hearted girls, pausing a moment in their busy lives
to read with wistful eyes the sweetest chapter in the romance of
womanhood.
There were to be no ceremonious performances, everything was to be as
natural and homelike as possible, so when Aunt March arrived, she was
scandalized to see the bride come running to welcome and lead her in, to
find the bridegroom fastening up a garland that had fallen down, and to
catch a glimpse of the paternal minister marching upstairs with a grave
countenance and a wine bottle under each arm.
“Upon my word, here’s a state of things!” cried the old lady, taking the
seat of honor prepared for her, and settling the folds of her lavender moire
with a great rustle. “You oughtn’t to be seen till the last minute, child.”
“I’m not a show, Aunty, and no one is coming to stare at me, to criticize
my dress, or count the cost of my luncheon. I’m too happy to care what
anyone says or thinks, and I’m going to have my little wedding just as I like
it. John, dear, here’s your hammer.” And away went Meg to help ‘that man’
in his highly improper employment.
Mr. Brooke didn’t even say, “Thank you,” but as he stooped for the
unromantic tool, he kissed his little bride behind the folding door, with a
look that made Aunt March whisk out her pocket handkerchief with a
sudden dew in her sharp old eyes.
A crash, a cry, and a laugh from Laurie, accompanied by the indecorous
exclamation, “Jupiter Ammon! Jo’s upset the cake again!” caused a
momentary flurry, which was hardly over when a flock of cousins arrived,
and ‘the party came in’, as Beth used to say when a child.
“Don’t let that young giant come near me, he worries me worse than
mosquitoes,” whispered the old lady to Amy, as the rooms filled and
Laurie’s black head towered above the rest.
“He has promised to be very good today, and he can be perfectly elegant
if he likes,” returned Amy, and gliding away to warn Hercules to beware of
the dragon, which warning caused him to haunt the old lady with a devotion
that nearly distracted her.
There was no bridal procession, but a sudden silence fell upon the room
as Mr. March and the young couple took their places under the green arch.
Mother and sisters gathered close, as if loath to give Meg up. The fatherly
voice broke more than once, which only seemed to make the service more
beautiful and solemn. The bridegroom’s hand trembled visibly, and no one
heard his replies. But Meg looked straight up in her husband’s eyes, and
said, “I will!” with such tender trust in her own face and voice that her
mother’s heart rejoiced and Aunt March sniffed audibly.
Jo did not cry, though she was very near it once, and was only saved from
a demonstration by the consciousness that Laurie was staring fixedly at her,
with a comical mixture of merriment and emotion in his wicked black eyes.
Beth kept her face hidden on her mother’s shoulder, but Amy stood like a
graceful statue, with a most becoming ray of sunshine touching her white
forehead and the flower in her hair.
It wasn’t at all the thing, I’m afraid, but the minute she was fairly
married, Meg cried, “The first kiss for Marmee!” and turning, gave it with
her heart on her lips. During the next fifteen minutes she looked more like a
rose than ever, for everyone availed themselves of their privileges to the
fullest extent, from Mr. Laurence to old Hannah, who, adorned with a
headdress fearfully and wonderfully made, fell upon her in the hall, crying
with a sob and a chuckle, “Bless you, deary, a hundred times! The cake ain’t
hurt a mite, and everything looks lovely.”
Everybody cleared up after that, and said something brilliant, or tried to,
which did just as well, for laughter is ready when hearts are light. There was
no display of gifts, for they were already in the little house, nor was there an
elaborate breakfast, but a plentiful lunch of cake and fruit, dressed with
flowers. Mr. Laurence and Aunt March shrugged and smiled at one another
when water, lemonade, and coffee were found to be to only sorts of nectar
which the three Hebes carried round. No one said anything, till Laurie, who
insisted on serving the bride, appeared before her, with a loaded salver in
his hand and a puzzled expression on his face.
“Has Jo smashed all the bottles by accident?” he whispered, “or am I
merely laboring under a delusion that I saw some lying about loose this
morning?”
“No, your grandfather kindly offered us his best, and Aunt March
actually sent some, but Father put away a little for Beth, and dispatched the
rest to the Soldier’s Home. You know he thinks that wine should be used
only in illness, and Mother says that neither she nor her daughters will ever
offer it to any young man under her roof.”
Meg spoke seriously and expected to see Laurie frown or laugh, but he
did neither, for after a quick look at her, he said, in his impetuous way, “I
like that! For I’ve seen enough harm done to wish other women would think
as you do.”
“You are not made wise by experience, I hope?” and there was an
anxious accent in Meg’s voice.
“No. I give you my word for it. Don’t think too well of me, either, this is
not one of my temptations. Being brought up where wine is as common as
water and almost as harmless, I don’t care for it, but when a pretty girl
offers it, one doesn’t like to refuse, you see.”
“But you will, for the sake of others, if not for your own. Come, Laurie,
promise, and give me one more reason to call this the happiest day of my
life.”
A demand so sudden and so serious made the young man hesitate a
moment, for ridicule is often harder to bear than self-denial. Meg knew that
if he gave the promise he would keep it at all costs, and feeling her power,
used it as a woman may for her friend’s good. She did not speak, but she
looked up at him with a face made very eloquent by happiness, and a smile
which said, “No one can refuse me anything today.”
Laurie certainly could not, and with an answering smile, he gave her his
hand, saying heartily, “I promise, Mrs. Brooke!”
“I thank you, very, very much.”
“And I drink ‘long life to your resolution’, Teddy,” cried Jo, baptizing
him with a splash of lemonade, as she waved her glass and beamed
approvingly upon him.
So the toast was drunk, the pledge made and loyally kept in spite of many
temptations, for with instinctive wisdom, the girls seized a happy moment
to do their friend a service, for which he thanked them all his life.
After lunch, people strolled about, by twos and threes, through the house
and garden, enjoying the sunshine without and within. Meg and John
happened to be standing together in the middle of the grass plot, when
Laurie was seized with an inspiration which put the finishing touch to this
unfashionable wedding.
“All the married people take hands and dance round the new-made
husband and wife, as the Germans do, while we bachelors and spinsters
prance in couples outside!” cried Laurie, promenading down the path with
Amy, with such infectious spirit and skill that everyone else followed their
example without a murmur. Mr. and Mrs. March, Aunt and Uncle Carrol
began it, others rapidly joined in, even Sallie Moffat, after a moment’s
hesitation, threw her train over her arm and whisked Ned into the ring. But
the crowning joke was Mr. Laurence and Aunt March, for when the stately
old gentleman chasseed solemnly up to the old lady, she just tucked her
cane under her arm, and hopped briskly away to join hands with the rest and
dance about the bridal pair, while the young folks pervaded the garden like
butterflies on a midsummer day.
Want of breath brought the impromptu ball to a close, and then people
began to go.
“I wish you well, my dear, I heartily wish you well, but I think you’ll be
sorry for it,” said Aunt March to Meg, adding to the bridegroom, as he led
her to the carriage, “You’ve got a treasure, young man, see that you deserve
it.”
“That is the prettiest wedding I’ve been to for an age, Ned, and I don’t
see why, for there wasn’t a bit of style about it,” observed Mrs. Moffat to
her husband, as they drove away.
“Laurie, my lad, if you ever want to indulge in this sort of thing, get one
of those little girls to help you, and I shall be perfectly satisfied,” said Mr.
Laurence, settling himself in his easy chair to rest after the excitement of
the morning.
“I’ll do my best to gratify you, Sir,” was Laurie’s unusually dutiful reply,
as he carefully unpinned the posy Jo had put in his buttonhole.
The little house was not far away, and the only bridal journey Meg had
was the quiet walk with John from the old home to the new. When she came
down, looking like a pretty Quakeress in her dove-colored suit and straw
bonnet tied with white, they all gathered about her to say ‘good-by’, as
tenderly as if she had been going to make the grand tour.
“Don’t feel that I am separated from you, Marmee dear, or that I love you
any the less for loving John so much,” she said, clinging to her mother, with
full eyes for a moment. “I shall come every day, Father, and expect to keep
my old place in all your hearts, though I am married. Beth is going to be
with me a great deal, and the other girls will drop in now and then to laugh
at my housekeeping struggles. Thank you all for my happy wedding day.
Good-by, good-by!”
They stood watching her, with faces full of love and hope and tender
pride as she walked away, leaning on her husband’s arm, with her hands full
of flowers and the June sunshine brightening her happy face—and so Meg’s
married life began.
