Part 63 (1/2)

”Of course!” Joan had agreed to the quiet wedding idea, ”we must have it as Nancy wishes, but it must be perfect.”

So Joan sewed and designed--some of Patricia's gift was hers--and often her face fell into pensive lines as she worked, for she seemed to see Patricia as she used to sit, well into the night, planning and evolving the dainty garments that others were to wear.

”My turn!” Joan comforted herself with the thought; ”my turn now, dear Pat.”

And then the day came when Kenneth Raymond was to arrive. Mrs. Tweksbury could be safely left in New York. She was resigned to the wedding but deplored the necessity of being absent.

”I know something will go wrong,” she said to Kenneth; ”do be careful and make sure that you are really married, Ken! They are so sloppy in the South, and it would be quite like Doris Fletcher, if she couldn't get that candlestick preacher of hers, to let Dave Martin or any one else read the service. Doris never could put the emphasis of life where it belonged.”

Kenneth laughed merrily.

”Nancy and I will see to it, Aunt Emily,” he replied, ”that we are tied up close. Just use your time, until I bring her back, in thinking of the good days on ahead--when we'll have her always, you and I.”

Mrs. Tweksbury relaxed.

”She's a blessed child, Ken. She always was.”

Raymond arrived late one May afternoon. Joan was dressing for dinner, dressing slowly, tremblingly--she did not mean to go downstairs until dinner was served if she could avoid it.

She had worked late, worked until she was weary enough to plead an hour's rest, and now she stood by the window overlooking The Gap.

”I've got the world in my grip,” she thought, ”but the whirl makes me dizzy.”

Silver River was rus.h.i.+ng along rather noisily--there had been a big storm the night before and the water had not yet calmed down; the rocks shone in the last rays of the sun, and just then Joan looked up at The Rock!

There it was--The s.h.i.+p! Sails set and the western light full upon it.

For a moment Joan gazed, trying to remember the old superst.i.tion. Then her face grew tender.

”Whatever happens,” she murmured, ”it shall not happen to Nancy. I've spoiled enough of her plays--she shall not be hurt now.”

The thought held all the essentials of a prayer and it gave an uplift.

Then Joan turned to her toilet. Recalling Patricia's theory about the artistic helps to one's appearance, she worked fervently with her slim little body and delicate face.

A bit of fluffing and the lovely hair rose like an aura about the smiling face. The eyes did not seem too large when one smiled--so Joan practised a smile! The gowns, one by one, were laid out upon the bed and regarded religiously; finally, one was chosen that Patricia had loved.

”My lamb,” Joan recalled the words and look, ”a true artist knows her high marks. This gown is a revealment of my genius.”

It was a pale blue crepe, silver-touched and graceful; a long, heavy, silver cord held it at the waistline, and the loose, lacy sleeves made the slim arms look very lovely.

”If ever I needed bucking, Pat, dear, I need it now!” whispered Joan, and her eyes dimmed.

She heard the pleasant bustle below; the light laughter, the cheery calls. She heard Raymond's voice when he greeted Nancy--it startled her by its familiarity and its strangeness.

”He sounds as if he were in church,” mused Joan. She felt as the old do as they re-live their youth.

There was candlelight in the dining room when Joan entered. The family were all a.s.sembled, for Doris had sent for Joan only at the last moment.

”Ken, dear, this is Joan.”