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Section 25 of 1916, First Chapters Collection. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Bryce By.

1916, First Chapters Collection by Varius. Section 25, Anne's Wedding by Isla M. Mullins. Wedding finery, girls, wedding finery, cried Anne Carter, tripping up the front steps with a lightness that told of supple, much-used muscles in her tall, well-rounded figure, and with sparkling eyes that proclaimed unmistakably sudden climax and womanly happiness.

Her sisters, May and Jean, May and Jean as she'd come to call the two inseparable girls sprang at once from the step where they sat talking and cried, Stop, Anne, and tell us about it. The radiant girl fluttered aloft a letter bearing English stamping and addressed in a bold, even handwriting, which the other girls had no trouble in identifying, while

the dancing feet paused long enough for her to turn and cry again. Wedding finery, I must get at it. I have never let myself think about it even, for fear would just run away with me and I would forget to eat, then vanish into thin air before the time really came, and a playfully tragic shadow dominated the sparkling grey-blue eyes for an instant,

only to release them again to the highlights of joy. Oh, girls, hurry! We must begin this minute. Where's mother? She flew on then through the broad hallway with all the impetuosity of a child of ten,

this young maiden of twenty-two with a gleaming ring on the engagement finger, and maychantly dreams swaying her thoughts full four years, for Anne Carter and Donald Thornton had really loved each other since she was fifteen and he seventeen, but it had taken them several years to find it out, which was all the better for both, and then there had been four years more during which Donald had been working his way up in his father's business, an international

one, including England and America and its activities. I don't want father to have to support me, don't you know, when I marry, he had said to Anne. Of course the home is waiting for us, and father longing to have you there, but, well, when I set up an establishment, even if father is there, I don't want him to meet the bills.

And so Anne had waited patiently until Donald had made good in the business world and was able to do his part in maintaining the ancestral home of his English mother, with titled antecedents, inadequate style and dignity. This had been much more easily and quickly accomplished because all the youth's training had been with reference to the business he was to assume.

This training had included two years in a little Alabama town at a college near his American grandparents, for his father had been of the South and he wished the boy to know and love it. There is a strongest bond between the two, and love and loyalty to his father had spurred the young man onto rapid grasp of the business almost as urgently as the sweet call across

the water from the Southern girl to whom he had plighted his faith. Now word had come from him that a date must be set as early as possible for the marriage. Anne found mother without difficulty, but this tale belongs to a period when mothers were always easily found. Her serene face, full of the home repose of two decades ago, bent above a bit of sewing

in her own room and was instantly lifted, smiling and ready at Anne's step. One revealing glance between the two, and throwing her lithe figure at mother's feet like the little girl of years before, Anne hid the beaming face in her lap and handed up the letter for mother to read. Somehow there are no words for her message now, and there had never been any secrets

between this daughter of the heart and mother instead who lived under the same roof as members of what had come to be playfully known as the Blossom Shot family. It was in a sense a composite family, but the varying elements were so homogeneous that the pretty title fitted admirably. Mr. Carter, a widower with two girls, 9 and 11, and May, had married Mrs. Gray, a widow

with one small girl, Jean, of 8, who had, just before the marriage, been healed by skillful surgeons of congenital blindness. Mrs. Gray and little Jean, named Eugene for her father, had supported themselves for years before on Mrs. Gray's old home place next door to the Carters by packing and setting to Northern Market's flowers from their anvil garden, and they had then first termed

the old home the Blossom Shop. The place was finally devastated by fire, and an accident to an old truck as their household things were hurriedly moved had revealed a lost will which restored to Jean the fortunate denied her father and brought her into contact with the unknown northern relatives of her father, to whom she and her mother became greatly attached in spite of strong previous

prejudice on both sides. Then the marriage followed which united mother and child with their dearest friends, the Carters. Anne's letter from Donald was at last read by mother and daughter together. The young cheek pressed close against the older one, and it revealed the fact that some

jolly good things had come along unexpectedly in the business and made immediate plans possible for Donald, and wouldn't Anne please hurry those mysterious preparations brides seemed to have to make and set a day in early spring? It was then just at the close of the Christmas holiday time, a brief space in which to prepare a young southern girl who thought little about fashions, to present herself in the midst

of an old English family and claim a place among them. No wonder she had fluttered bewilderingly when the long looked-for moment really came and it was only the mother instead who could have so quickly turned her thought into orderly, though still joyful lines. The entire trousseau was not planned on the spot, as was first threatened, but there was

a going over of many things between the two which was a profitable and very precious preliminary. The holiday time meant that May was at home from a Midwest university where she was taking a course in modern language. For this great university stamping and finishing of the thorough schooling which she had taken in the home college, Jean Carter Gray, the Carter had been inserted when the families

combined. Her inseparable companion had not gone with her, for she was taking a year rest before entering a New England college, that her education might be topped off, she would have said, in the native land of her forefathers. Dr. Merton, Uncle Doctor as the girls had come to call him, and his wife, Jean's Aunt

Martha, were there as they always were for Christmas, and last but not least, in some respects, was Merton Gray Carter, the young son of the house, a sturdy boy, some eight years old. He could make more noise than all the rest put together, he would have said himself, and he certainly was not to be left out in any reckoning.

So there was a big family council possible, and Aunt at once decided there must be tea at the Blossom Shop. This material Blossom Shop, which had been built on the site of Mrs. Carter's old home, was a picturesque, low building of East Indian architecture, whose sloping roof dropped from its high apex and deep graceful curves to cover generously the broad veranda all around

its side, with an upward tilt of the roof again at the quaint pillars. Within there was a wide fireplace for chilly days, the broad chimney on the inner wall for being highly ornamental. The rafters were exposed, the walls were sealed with beautiful southern pine, and diva window ledges were filled with growing indoor plants, while marichal and neal roses covered the

exterior with rhinous bloom and fragrance. The whole family, including Uncle Doctor and Aunt Martha, had given great interest and study to the planning of the building, intended as a playhouse for the growing children, with tennis court and croquet grounds in the rear, and the result was a beautiful and artistic building within and without, which they all loved.

It was always the place for joyful events, especially surprise revelations, so when May and Jean plied in again with questions, she only put a finger to her lips and gaily announced, Tea in the Blossom Shop Girls, which might mean anything delightful and mysterious. Then she went next for Mamisou and the old colored nurse who had been mother to her and May for a number of years before their father had married Mrs. Grey and engaged her to come

and wait upon the table at tea instead of the young colored maid who usually performed that service. It's for something very special, Mamisou, cried the girl with delighted insinuation, and Mamisou was more flattered to be wanted there than had she been bitten to a feast to the highest of the land.

Bring Uncle Sam too, Anne called back as she started away from the cabin to the house again. He can pour the water, she added, knowing that he must have some part in it. Uncle Sam, an old servant of Mrs. Carter, was Mamisou's husband of late years, and the two were devoted to all the children of the combined families. Their light, their joy, all they knew of earthly hope and expectation was bound up in Demchelin.

As Mr. Carter came in from business, tall, somewhat commanding, with a reserve of the older fatherhood upon him, he too was met by Anne with tea in the blossom shop, father. By eyes which would not seize their sparkle, though lips were very demure, made the father search his daughter's face keenly, while his heart gave a quick startled throb. The thought of Anne's going so far away to make her home was an ever-present regret.

He asked no question at the end, but she, with quick response of tears for something in his face, threw her arms round his neck. That was all between the two, but it told him the news and volumes besides. With the blazing log on the hearth, lighting up the sealed walls, exposing arching rafters, beautifully carved interior chimney and growing window plants and vines, the simplest tea

in the blossom shop was always a pretty affair, and this time the table was made gay with quickly improvised favors. Full rolls of Christmas green tissue, ribbon-tied and white, each with a clear label marked Secret. Well, said Uncle Doctor, who can you with a secret hanging fire like that?

And he set an example which the rest immediately followed, by opening his roll at once to find a small dainty card upon which was written in Anne's clear hand. You are cordially invited to attend the wedding of Anne Carter and Donald Thornton on May 18. Really, the Mertens, including Merton Gray, were the only ones to be greatly surprised,

though Anne's father looked up with a gentle objecting shake of the head over the early date set. Merton Gray said promptly, with boyish indignation, Who says so? I don't believe it.

Is it true, Mother? Well, son, she smiled back with determined cheer, I don't think any of us are quite prepared to believe it, but a letter that came this afternoon said some very decisive things. Anne shan't go away across the ocean to live if she does get married.

I'm going to run off with her myself before Donald comes for her, said Merton Gray, and bragging childish futility against the inevitable. Everybody laughed, and Anne said, Oh, I'll tell you what will happen, Merton Gray. I'm going to pack you in one of my trunks and run off with you.

A very pleasing prospect that Merton Gray would like nothing better than such a lark, and in his imagination holes were already in the top of the trunk for him to breathe through, but he looked up at Mother and then at Father and his bright face was uncertain, then at Anne again, and he did want to be with her always. There was a special bond between him and Anne.

She had saved his life, somehow, he had in mind, though she always said with a shadow in her eyes, No, I almost lost it for you by leaving you in your carriage to run downhill into the creek. It was Donald's big dog Rex that saved you.

Just how that was did not matter much, but Merton Gray knew that Anne had always loved him in a way she did no one else. He did not dream, however, that she had whispered to herself over him many and many a time, My first baby, vaguely knowing that through him she came into womanhood after a terrible travail of anguish and remorse for heedless neglect when he had been left to her care,

and only a merciful providence prevented his rolling down the wooded slope back of their home into the swift running creek after spring rains. Uncle Doctor had a special tie with Anne too, on account of her badness as a child, both agreed, in accordance with the theory that like attracts like, the Doctor always added. He sat now, looking earnestly at the girl, as though he could not or not believe that

she was so soon to be married and leave them, while Mammy Sue, waiting on a table in a freshly starched dress and white apron and spotless head handkerchief, crumpled suddenly so she could hardly stand, and Uncle Sam, moving around feebly but proudly to pour the water, shook his head mournfully. Aunt Martha, quick to see that the little announcement party was in a fair way to fall

into gloom, came to the rescue by exclaiming, Another blossom shop wedding! It is eight years since ours took place here. And the Doctor, reminded of that happy event, the crowning one in his life after years of fruitless longing for Miss Martha Grey, the seemingly unattainable New England spinster,

put selfishness out of the way and made Mary in a fashion of which he only was capable. When supper was over, Aunt went to the kitchen and told the news of her coming marriage to the housemaid and the cook and the cook's daughter, Kahapa, a colored girl who had grown up with the girls and whom Aunt Martha had educated in a Southern college for colored girls.

She was now teaching in the town, but was always at the carters' help in any way she could out of school hours. Aunt knew they were all very interested to hear what had been going on in the blossom shop and she could not deny them the pleasure of sharing her glad expectations. So she told them all, and the hilarity with which it was received here fully made up for

any lack of enthusiasm from the family. Oh, Miss Sain, is you really going to be married? And go way off across the ocean? added another. I tell you that's fine.

I bet there won't be another girl in this town who does that. This last was from the cook, who had no idea what going across the ocean meant, but it was something few folks did that she ever heard about, and of course it was something grand. Kahapa did not speak, but her eyes, like big black beads, danced with the inspiration of

a sudden hope. She was of the genuine Negro type, black as coal, but slender figure, alert, resourceful, and with a remarkable gift for mimicry. When Anne left, she followed into the hall and whispered, Let me go along as ladies made.

Sure enough, returned Anne, stopping. But what about the teaching? I'll learn more and teach better, someday, said Kahapa, promptly. We'll see, laughed Anne as she went on, and, thinking it over as she went, she decided that it would be fine, sure enough.

Kahapa was so sensible and so gentle and really refined with their schooling, but it was not a matter that held her thought just then with any seriousness. Next day, Saturday, she was in a pantry a moment hunting a tea cake, an old girlish habit. The pantry had an open window on the rear porch, and she heard Kahapa's voice in eloquent

discourse to somebody. Peeping out, she saw it was the housemaid who was listener. You just ought to see Miss Anne's bow, she was saying. He don't look any more like the young fellows round here than a thoroughbred horse does like some rack of bones belonging to poor white trash.

She's quality, sure enough. I knew that when I used to see him playing tennis and croquet over there in the blossom shop yard, and he was so straight and looked so high, his head always up and then so gentlemanly to Miss Anne, though they did fuss something terrible after a while. Sometimes they'd act just like they didn't know the other was on the earth, but just

the same I knew they were watching each other out the corners of their eyes. Then they made a trip across the ocean together. The doctor and Miss Martha took Miss Anne, and he went along at the same time to see And they went to his house and saw his mother's portrait hanging over the mantle in a velvet dress and laces fine as cobwebs round her throat and hands, just like life.

And Miss Anne says it does seem like she's there all the time. Mr. Donald and his father love her so. After all that, I just knew they was as sure to marry as tomorrow was to come. When he came back the next year to go to school again, they both seemed so grown up, and Miss Anne was singing to him something beautiful, for you know she's one of those primer donors

at singing, and he called on her in the parlor, and they was mighty good friends I tell you, but Miss Anne says they wasn't thinking about being engaged long after he went home the last time. I don't know what they was thinking about then. It beats me, for he was handsome as a picture by this time, and Miss Anne was growing pretty

and pretty every day. The this here love business, there ain't no telling about. Anne listened in smiling fascination to this account of her love affair, and the glowing descriptions of Donald especially held her to the spot while tea cakes were forgotten. Cahaba's graphic tongue then turned to the present, and she began strutting about the

porch. I tell you, me and Miss Anne are going to be big folks. We won't be speaking to niggers like you when we come home on visits. Why, Miss Anne will be having a cloth of gold dress, and will be trimmed in diamonds all around the bottom, and the low neck, and the teeny short sleeves, which will show those

lovely arms of hers. Then of course, she'll be having a white satin, and will be embroidered in silver, not just tinsel, but real silver, and beautiful pearls as big as butter beans. Then oh, how we'll train, while she swept across the porch with an imaginary train of prodigious length following her.

And I will be putting them all on her, for I'm to go with her as her lady's maid. Then she'll have one of them crowns made of gold and diamonds on her head. You see, in England there are kings and queens, and folks like Miss Anne. She's through a quality, wears crowns every day. With the advantage of education, she could impress her untutored hero to the nth degree.

Anne, listening, was convulsed by this time, and she exclaimed inwardly, Oh, Cahaba, no amount of schooling can tone down your imagination. Then she slipped away to laugh over it with her mother, Aunt Martha, May, and Jean. With the listening made, taking in and passing on every word from Cahaba, Anne became queen of the household indeed, treated with wonderful deaf friends by servants, and with tender

holding clothes from her loved ones, who were so soon to lose her. End of Section 25, Chapter 1 of Anne's Wedding by Isla M. Mullins