The Tramps' Wedding

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Title:     The Tramps' Wedding
Author: Agnes Blake Poor [More Titles by Poor]

"They know no country, own no lord.
Their home the camp, their law the sword."

"Who is it?" asked Mrs. Reed, as her husband entered her sitting-room; with some curiosity, pardonable in view of the fact that a stranger had for some time been holding an interview with him in his study.

"Why," replied the Reverend Richard Reed, looking mildly absent, as was his custom when interrupted of a Saturday morning, "it is a Mr. Perley Pickens--the man, you know, who has taken the Maynard place for the summer."

"Indeed! what did he want?" cried the lady, interested at once. The Maynard house was the great house of the place, and the Maynard family the magnates of the First Parish, and the whole town of Rutland. Their going abroad for a year or two had been felt as a public loss, and when, somewhat to the general surprise, it transpired that their house was let, it was at once surmised that it could only be to "nice" people, though the new occupants had never been heard of, and were rarely seen.

"Oh, his daughter is to be married, and he wants the ceremony to take place in our church."

"You don't say so? and he wants you to marry them?"

"Certainly."

"Why, we haven't had a wedding in the church for quite a while! It will be very nice, won't it?"

"Yes, my dear; but excuse me, I am in a hurry just now. Mr. Pickens is waiting. He wants you to give him a few addresses. I gave him the sexton's----"

"It will be a good thing for poor Langford," said Mrs. Reed, benevolently.

"Yes--" drawled the Reverend Richard, still abstractedly, "very good; and he wants a Boston caterer, and a florist. I know nothing about such things, and I told him I'd ask you, though I did not believe you did, either."

"Oh, yes, I do! Mrs. Maynard always has Rossi, and as for a florist, they must have John Wicks, at the corner here. He's just set up, and it will be such a chance for him."

"Do you think he will do? Mr. Pickens said that expense was no object--that everything must be in style, as he phrased it."

"Oh, he'll do! Anyone will do, at this season. Why, they could decorate the church, and house too, from their own place; but I shan't suggest that."

"Very well, my dear--but I am keeping Mr. Pickens waiting."

"I'll go and speak to him myself," said the lady, excitedly; and she tripped into the study, where the guest was sitting, with his hat on his knees; a tall, narrow-shouldered man, with a shifty eye. Somehow the sight of him was disappointing, she could hardly tell why, for he rose to greet her very politely, and thanked her effusively.

"My wife will be most grateful, I am sure--most grateful for your kindness. It will save her so much trouble."

"Here are the addresses you want," said Mrs. Reed, hastily scratching them off at her husband's desk, "and if Mrs. Pickens wants any others, I shall be happy to be of use to her."

"Thank you! thank you! You see, she's a stranger here, and doesn't know anything about it."

"You have not been in this part of the country before?"

"No--oh, no, I come from Clarinda, Iowa. At least, I always register from there, though I haven't any house there now; and my present wife was a Missouri woman, though she's never lived in the State much. I had to be in Boston on business this summer, so thought I'd take a place outside, and Mr. Bowles, the real estate agent, said this was the handsomest going, and the country first-rate; but my wife's a little disappointed."

"I suppose, if she has travelled so much, she has seen a great deal of fine scenery--but this is generally thought a pretty place."

"Yes, certainly--very rustic, though, ain't it?"

"I suppose so," said his hearer, a little puzzled, while for the first time her husband looked up, alert and amused. "I will call on Mrs. Pickens," she hastened to say, "if she would like to see me."

"Yes, certainly; delighted, I'm sure; yes, she'd be delighted to see you, and so would Miss Minnie, too."

"What a very queer man!" thought Mrs. Reed. But she only smiled sweetly, and made a little move, as if the interview were fairly over. Her visitor, however, did not seem inclined to depart, and after a moment's silence began again.

"And there's another thing; if you would be so very kind as to recommend--I mean, introduce--we know so few people here, and Miss Minnie wants everything very stylish; perhaps you know some nice young men who would like to be ushers; I believe that is what they are called. It would be a good thing for them to be seen at; everything in first-class style, you know."

The Reverend Richard, whose attention was now thoroughly aroused, beamed full on the speaker a guileless smile, while his wife thoughtfully murmured, "Let me see; do you expect a great many people?"

"Oh, no, we don't know many round here; but if you and your family, and the ushers and their families, would come to the house, it would make quite a nice little company. As to the church--anyone that liked--it would be worth seeing."

"I can find some ushers," said Mrs. Reed, still musing; "two at least; that will be enough, I should think."

"And then," murmured Mr. Pickens, as if checking off a mental list, "there is a young man to go with the bridegroom, I believe. I never had one, but Miss Minnie says it's the fashion."

"Oh, yes, a 'best man!'" explained his hostess, "but--the bridegroom usually selects one of his intimate friends for that."

"I don't believe Mr. MacJacobs has any friends; round here, that is. He came from Tobyhanna, Pennsylvania, but he's never been there since he was a boy. He's been in New Orleans, and then in Europe, as travelling agent for MacVickar & Company. I suppose you've heard of them."

"I dare say I can find a best man."

"Thank you. You are very kind; yes, very kind indeed, I'm sure."

"I presume," interposed the host, in bland accents, "you wish to give away the bride yourself?"

"Yes!" said Mr. Pickens, starting; "oh, yes, I suppose I can, if there's not too much to do. Should I have to say anything?"

"Scarcely," replied the clergyman, reassuringly. "I ask a question to which you are supposed to reply, but a nod will be quite sufficient. The bridegroom is generally audible, and sometimes the bride, but I have never heard a sound proceed from the bride's father."

"Very good--very good; it will be very pleasant to join in your service, I am sure. Many thanks to you for your kind advice. I will now take my leave," and after a jerking bow or two he departed, with a sort of fluttering, bird-like step. The pastor laughed, but his wife looked sober.

"Our friend is as amusing a specimen as I ever encountered," he began.

"Amusing! I call him disgusting, with his 'Miss Minnie 'and 'take his leave.' He can't be a gentleman; there is something very suspicious about the whole affair."

"Indeed! and what do you suspect?"

"I don't believe there's a wedding at all. Perhaps he's an impostor who wants to get in here to steal."

"Do you miss anything?"

"No," said the lady, after a peep into her dining-room. "I can't say I do. But he may come back on this pretended wedding business. Are you sure that he really is Mr. Perley Pickens?"

"Why, yes. I have never spoken to him before, but I have seen him at the post-office, opening his box, and again at the station. I cannot be mistaken in that walk of his."

"Well, he may be the head of a gang of thieves, and have taken the house and got up this scheme of a wedding for some end of his own."

"Such as what?"

"Why, to cheat somebody, somehow. I am sure you will never get a wedding fee for it; and he may not pay any of the bills, and the people may bother us."

"He gave me the name of his Boston bankers, May & Maxwell, to whom he said I could refer the tradespeople, if they wished it, 'being a stranger here himself,' as he justly remarked. But whom, my dear, do you expect to provide for ushers or best man?"

"Oh, for ushers, the Crocker boys will do. They will be glad of something to amuse them in vacation."

"Are they not rather young? Fred can hardly be eighteen yet."

"Well! he is six feet and over. One needn't tell his age; and as for best man, I think William Winchester wouldn't mind it--to oblige me."

"But why, my love, since you are so distrustful, are you so anxious to be of use in this matter?"

"Why!" echoed his wife, triumphantly; "it's the best way to encourage them to go on, and then, don't you see? if they have any dishonest designs, they'll be the sooner exposed; and then--I do want to see what the end of it all will be--don't you?"

In pursuance of these ideas, Mrs. Reed, next afternoon, put on her best bonnet, and went to call on the ladies of the Pickens family. The gardens and shrubberies of the Maynard house, always beautiful, yet showed already the want of the master's eye. The servant who opened the door was of an inferior grade, and the drawing-room, stripped of Mrs. Maynard's personal belongings, looked bare and cold. Mrs. Reed sat and sighed for her old friend full quarter of an hour, before a pale, slim, pretty girl, much dressed, and with carefully crimped locks, came in with, "It's very kind in you to call. Aunt Delia's awfully sorry to keep you waiting, but she'll be down directly."

"I am very glad to see you," said Mrs. Reed, looking with some attention at the probable bride-elect.

"Aunt Delia was sitting in her dressing-sack. She generally does, day-times. It's so much trouble to dress, she thinks. Now I think it's something to do; there isn't much else, here."

"This is a lovely place. I always admire it afresh every time I come here."

"It's lonesome; but then, it's pleasant enough for a little while. I never care to stay long in any one place. I've lived in about a hundred since I can recollect; and I wouldn't take a house in any one of 'em for a gift, if I had to live in it."

"Perhaps you may feel differently when you have a house of your own."

"Well, that's one of the things Mr. MacJacobs and I quarrel about. I want to board, and he wants to take a flat. I tell him I'll do that, if he'll get one where we can dine at the table d'hote. That's about as easy as boarding. As like as not, when we get settled, he'll have to go off somewhere else; but if he is willing to pay for it himself, why, let him! Here's Aunt Delia," she suddenly added, as a fresh rustle announced the entrance of a stout lady, also very handsomely attired, and carrying a large fan, which she waved to and fro, slowly but steadily, gazing silently over it at her visitor, whom Minnie introduced with some explanation, after which she remarked that it was "awfully hot."

"It is warm; but I have not found it unpleasant. I really enjoyed my walk here."

"Did you walk?" asked her hostess, with more interest.

"Oh, yes; it is not more than a mile here from the church; and the parsonage is but a step farther."

"A mile!"

"I am very glad," said Mrs. Reed, well trained, as became her position, in the art of filling gaps in talk, and striking out on new lines, "to find you at home, and Miss--I beg your pardon, but I have not heard your niece's name. Mr. Reed thought she was your daughter."

"Oh, Minnie isn't my niece!" exclaimed the hostess, laughing, as if roused to some sense of amusement, which Minnie shared; "she's an adopted daughter of Mr. Webb's second wife!"

"My name's Minnie Webb, though pa never approved of it, and when he married again, we thought it would be easier to say Aunt Delia, to distinguish her from ma, you know."

Mrs. Reed paused before these complicated relationships, and skilfully executed another tack; "I hope you find it pleasant here."

"It's a pretty place here, but it's awful dull," said Mrs. Pickens, "and it's so much trouble; I never kept house before. I've always boarded, and mostly in hotels."

"I am afraid it may seem quiet here to a stranger," said Mrs. Reed, apologetically. "You see when anyone takes a house here for the summer, people are rather slow to call; they suppose that you have your own friends visiting you, and that you don't care to make new acquaintances for so short a time. I am sorry I have not been able to call before. I was not sure that you went to our church."

"I don't go much to church; it is so much trouble. But Minnie says yours is the prettiest for a wedding," said Mrs. Pickens, smiling so aimlessly that it was impossible to suppose any rudeness intended. Mrs. Reed could only try to draw out the more responsive Minnie. "Is there anything else that I can do to help you about the wedding?"

"Why, yes--only, you've been so kind. I most hate to ask you for anything more."

"Don't mention it!"

"Well, then, if you could think of any girl that would do for a bridesmaid."

"A bridesmaid?"

"Oh, yes, there ought to be one bridesmaid; a pretty one I should want, of course, and just about my size. You see, I have her dress all ready, for when I ordered my own gown in Paris, Madame Valerie showed me the proper bridesmaid's gown to go with it, and it looked so nice I told her I would take it. I thought, if the worst came to the worst, I could wear it myself; but it would be a shame not to have it show at the wedding. Of course," said Minnie, impressively, "I mean to give the young lady the dress--for her own, to keep!"

Mrs. Reed, at last, was struck fairly speechless, and her resources failed. "Suppose," said the bride, in coaxing tones, "you just step up and look at the gowns; if it would not be too much trouble."

The sight of the dresses was a mighty argument. At any rate, people with such garments could be planning no vulgar burglary. It might be a Gunpowder Treason, or an Assassination Plot, and that was romantic and dignified, while at the same time it was a duty to keep it under observation.

"I think," said Mrs. Reed, slowly, "I know a girl--a very pretty one--who would just fit this dress."

"What's her name?"

"Muriel Blake."

"Oh, how sweet! I wish it was mine! Who is she?"

"She--she teaches school--but they're of very good family. She's very pretty--but they're not at all well off. She's a very sweet girl." Mrs. Reed balanced her phrases carefully, not knowing whether it would be better to present her young friend in the light of a candidate for pity or admiration. But Minnie smiled, and said she had no doubt it would do, and that Mrs. Reed was very good; and even Mrs. Pickens wound herself up to remark that it was very kind in her to take so much trouble.

Mrs. Reed hastened home overwhelmed with business. The Crocker boys were easily persuaded to take the parts assigned them, and even her elegant and experienced friend, William Winchester, though he made a favour of his services, gave them at last, "wholly to oblige her."

"Any bridesmaids?" asked Reggie Crocker.

"She wants me to ask Muriel Blake."

"What, the little beauty of a school teacher! Well, there will be sport!" cried his brother, and even William Winchester asked with some interest, if she supposed Miss Blake would consent. "I think so," said Mrs. Reed; but her hopes were faint as she bent her way to the little house where Mrs. Blake, an invalid widow with scarce a penny, scraped out a livelihood by taking the public-school teachers to board, while her Muriel did half the housework, and taught, herself, in a primary school, having neither time nor talents to fit herself for a higher grade. Never was there a girl who better exemplified the old simile of the clinging vine than she; only no support had ever offered itself for her to cling to, and she had none of that instinctive skill which so many creepers show in striking out for, and appropriating, an eligible one. Mrs. Blake, a gentlewoman born and bred, gave at first a most decided refusal to her daughter's appearance in the character proposed. But Mrs. Reed, warming as she met with obstacles, pressed her point hard. She said a great deal more in favour of the respectability of the Pickenses than she could assert from her own knowledge, dwelt with compassion on their loneliness, and touched, though lightly, on the favour to herself; both ladies knowing but too well that the claims to gratitude were past counting. Mrs. Blake faltered, perhaps moved somewhat by a wistful look, which through all doubts and excuses, would rise in her daughter's eyes. As for Muriel's own little childish objections, they were swept away by her patroness like so many cobwebs. There was a gown ready and waiting for her, and Mrs. Reed would arrange about her absence from school.

"But, if I am bridesmaid, I ought to make her a present," she said at last, "and I am afraid----"

"That need not matter," said her mother, loftily, "I will give her one of my India China plates. That will be present enough for anybody; and I have several left."

This, Mrs. Reed correctly augured, was the preface to surrender; and she walked Muriel off to call on Miss Webb, before any more objections should arise.

"Well!" cried that young lady at the first sight of her bridesmaid, "Well! I beg your pardon, but you are--" and even Mrs. Pickens regarded the young girl with languid admiration. Muriel Blake's golden curls, and azure eyes, and roseate bloom flashed on the eye much as does a cardinal flower in a wayside brook. No one could help noticing her charms; but no one had ever gone farther than to notice them, and they were about as useful in her daily duties as diamonds on the handle of a dustpan. Minnie looked at her rather doubtfully for a moment; but her good humour returned during the pleasing task of arraying the girl in her costume, and she even insisted on Miss Blake's assuming the bridal dress herself.

"Well, I'm sure! What a bride you would make! You aren't engaged, are you?"

"No."

"You ought to travel. You'd be sure to meet someone. Well, we'll take it off. I'm glad I'm going to wear it, and not you. You look quite stunning enough in the other."

"It is lovely--too handsome for me."

"I had a complete outfit made in Paris this spring, though I wasn't engaged then; but I guessed I should be before the things went out of fashion."

"You knew Mr. MacJacobs very well then?"

"No--oh, no. I'd never seen him. Ma was anxious I should marry a foreign gentleman."

"Does your mother live abroad?"

"Yes--that is, she's not my real mother. I never knew who my real father and mother were. Ma wanted to adopt a little girl, and, she took me from the Orphan Asylum at Detroit, because I had such lovely curls. They were as light as yours, then, but they've grown dark, since. Is there anything you put on yours to keep the colour?"

"No--nothing."

"Well, pa was very angry when he found out what ma had done. He didn't want to adopt a child; but ma said she would, and she could, because she had money of her own. But he was always real kind to me. They were both very nice, only they would quarrel. Well, when I was sixteen, ma said she would take me abroad to finish my education. We'd travelled so much, I never had much chance to go to school. Pa said it was nonsense, but she would go. But I didn't go to school there, either. We went to Germany to look at one we'd heard of, and there a German gentleman, Baron Von Krugenstern, proposed to me. He thought I was going to be awfully rich. But when he found out how things really were, and that ma had the money, he changed about and proposed to her. They are so fond of money, those foreigners, you know!"

"Did your father die while you were abroad?"

"Oh, dear, no! He wasn't dead! He was over here, all right. But ma got a divorce from him without any trouble. She and I and the Baron came over and went to Dakota, and it was all arranged, and they were married in six weeks. She got it for cruelty. I could testify I'd seen him throw things at her. She used to throw them back again, but no one asked me about that. Well, pa never heard about it till it was all over, and then he was awfully mad; but I guess he didn't mind much, for he soon married Aunt Delia, and they always got along very pleasantly. I made them a visit after they were married, and then I went abroad with ma and the Baron. But pa told me if I wasn't happy there, I could come back any time."

"Were you happy there?"

"No, I can't say I was. They lived in an awfully skimpy way, in a flat, three flights up, and no elevator. Baron Von Krugenstern didn't like ma's having brought me, till pa died, and that made a change. Pa left half his money to Aunt Delia, and the other half to me. Now, don't you call that noble of him?"

Muriel assented.

"As soon as they found that out, the whole family were awfully polite to me; they wanted me to marry his younger brother, Baron Stanislaus. But I wrote to Aunt Delia; she'd married Uncle Perley by that time, and come to Europe for a wedding tour. They were in Paris; and Uncle Perley was very kind, and sent back word for me to come to them, and I set off all alone; all the Von Krugensterns thought it was perfectly dreadful. I bought my trousseau in Paris, for I hadn't quite decided I wouldn't have Baron Stanislaus, after all. But Uncle Perley advised me strongly against it; he said American husbands were a great deal the best, and I conclude he was right. And then, on the voyage home, we met Mr. MacJacobs."

"I suppose you are very glad you came away?"

"Oh, yes, I am quite satisfied--quite. Baron Stanislaus was six feet three and a half inches high; but I don't think height goes for so much in a man; do you?"

Muriel looked at the little nomad with some wonder, but without the reprobation which might have been expected from a young person carefully brought up under the teachings of the Reverend Richard Reed. She rather regarded Minnie in the aspect of--to quote the hymn familiar to her childhood--"a gypsy baby, taught to roam, and steal her daily bread;" and no matter how carefully guarded the infant mind, the experiences of the gypsy will kindle a flame of interest. She, too, like Mrs. Reed, felt eager to see the end of the story.

The wedding preparations went on apace. The tradesmen worked briskly, for they had received information, on the application of some of the doubting among them to Messrs. May & Maxwell, that Mr. Pickens's credit was good for a million at least, not counting the very handsome banking accounts of his two ladies. Miss Webb made all the arrangements for her bridal, as Mr. MacJacobs could not come till the evening before.

"I only hope he'll come at all," carelessly suggested William Winchester, one evening at the Parsonage.

"Why! do you think there is any danger of his giving it up?" cried Mrs. Reed, in consternation.

"I rather begin to think that there is no such person. MacJacobs! What a name! Can it possibly be real?"

"The name has a goodly ring of wealth about it," said the parson. "Scotch and Hebrew! 'tis a rich combination, indeed! Still, if it were as you suggest, it is a comfort to know that the remedy is at hand. You have done so much for them, Emma, my dear, that you cannot fail them now. They will ask you to find some nice young man for a bridegroom, rather than have the whole thing fall through, and I hope William is prepared to see it in the proper light, and offer his services 'purely to oblige you.'"

"I shall have an answer ready," said William, coolly, "I shall say that I am already bespoken."

"And can you produce the proof? It will have to be a pretty convincing one."

"Perhaps in such an emergency I might find a very convincing one," said William, with a glance at Muriel, who had been looking confused, and who now coloured deeply. It was more with displeasure than distress; but then it was, for the first time, that she struck him as being something more than a merely pretty girl.

MacJacobs, came, punctual to his time, a small but sprightly individual, with plenty to say as a proof of his existence. He brought neat, if not over-expensive, scarf-pins for his gentlemen attendants, and a bracelet in corresponding style for Miss Blake. The wedding went off to general admiration. The church was full, and if the company at the house was scanty, there was no scarcity in the banquet. And when the feast was over, and Mrs. MacJacobs, on the carriage-step, turned to take her last farewell; while Muriel's handkerchief was ready in her hand, and the Crocker boys were fumbling among the rice in their pockets, and William Winchester himself was feeling in his for the old shoe--"I am sure," she said, "it has gone off beautifully, and I shall never, never forget your kindness, as long as I live! I did so want to have a pretty wedding--such as I've read about!"

If these last words roused dismal forebodings in the minds of the bridal train, to be verified by a perusal of the next day's Boston papers, they were forgiven as soon as they were uttered; for the light patter of Minnie's voice died away in a quaver of genuine feeling; and a shower of real tears threw for once a veil of sweetness over her little inexpressive face.

[The end]
Agnes Blake Poor's short story: Tramps' Wedding

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