Chapter XXI: Congratulations

TOMINA did not stay very long at home, for Gerald Norman wrote to her on behalf of his mother, begging her to come and pay them a visit.

She went, and brought her own bright atmosphere with her. Gerald and she went out together every afternoon whilst Mrs. Norman rested. That was the only time they had together, besides an odd hour or so in the evening. Mrs. Norman demanded as much time and attention from Tomina as from her son. But Tomina was able to send Gerald out when she stayed in. And though very difficult to persuade at first, he eventually gave way. She was too delighted to see his brisker and brighter ways to be sorry for herself.

She would not allow anybody to pity her.

"It is very good for us that our time together should be so curtailed," she told him when he and she were walking along the sea front together, "because it makes it doubly sweet and precious."

She had been listening to Gerald's "long and sensible" talk, and had successfully contested each objection he brought forward against their speedy marriage.

"I am going to share and share alike with you. Of course I do not wish to force myself upon you, but I know that you are bent on sacrificing yourself for the rest of your life, and that I am going to prevent."

And at last, Gerald put his misgivings and objections in the background and began wholeheartedly to plan out their future.

"One thing I am determined," said he; "that if you marry me, we shall go right away together for our honeymoon. For a fortnight at least, I must leave my mother. But how to do it is a puzzle."

"We must get some nice friend to come and stay with her. Have you no relation who would do it, Gerald?"

"No; we are singularly bereft in that way. I have some girl cousins, but they are all in Canada."

And then Tomina brightened up.

"I believe I know a girl who might come. I happened to hear from her only yesterday. She was companion to an old lady living near Damerton, a Mrs. Cuthbert. I took her place whilst she went home for a holiday. She has just left Mrs. Cuthbert; the old lady never keeps anybody very long. She is a nice girl and a thorough lady. Shall I write and ask her?"

"After we have broken it to my mother. And now let us settle the day. Why should we wait, Tomina? We have known each other for so long; and it is weary waiting."

"You need not wait any longer, Gerald. I am ready."

Tomina spoke very softly.

Gerald and she had stopped and were leaning against a bit of old wall overlooking the blue sea. Nobody was about. He put his hand upon hers caressingly.

"Sweetheart, I am taking your all and giving nothing. But, God helping me, I will make you happy. My love is deep enough and strong enough to do it, I believe, in spite of our sad circumstances."

"I haven't the shadow of a fear for our future," said Tomina, throwing back her head and gazing with bright glowing eyes over the white surly billows that were rolling in on the sandy beach. "If we had married each other a few years ago, Gerald, it would have been different. I think I should have been intolerant of any sickness or difficulties or strain. Then I had nothing but gaiety to live for. But now, if waves do roll over us like the sea is breaking over those rocks, we are part of the Rock itself, we shan't be moved!"

Then she broke into a laugh.

"I expect I sound an awful prig sometimes, don't I? But I almost glory in burden carrying now. It makes me feel like my dear Saint Christoforos, only he was so strong that it would take a good deal to make him feel. I expect—" here her eyes grew dreamy and wistful—"that was the reason the Christ Child appeared—to make him feel his weakness, nobody else in the world could—I want to test my powers of endurance, Gerald!"

Then she looked up at him in dismay.

"What am I saying? I am making out that your dear mother is going to be my heavy burden, and she won't be—she won't be! She and I are very gay and happy together. I let my tongue run away with me."

"I love to hear it," said Gerald, smiling down upon her. "We will have no pretence between us, Tomina dear. An invalid is bound to test our patience. I have proved it, though it is and always will be to me a service of love. And I know there will be many difficult days to get through. But I will not let the burden press heavily on you; that I can prevent."

They talked on, and, before they returned to the house, they had settled their wedding-day. It was to be very quiet, and Tomina said she would ask her stepmother to refrain from telling any one when it would be.

"I think I should like to ask Doreen to it. I am getting fond of her, and I should like you to know her, Gerald."

"But I do know her," said Gerald, rather sternly. "She has spoiled the life of my best chum. Have you not met Maurice Holme?"

"Yes. Tell me his side of the story, will you? I have heard Doreen's."

"It's a case of a woman's impulse getting the better of her. Holme's present wife is a shady sort, as you must know. She made a dead set at him at Gosport, where our regiment was quartered. She and a married sister made up a plot together, and they brought about a situation, perfectly innocent in itself, but compromising in the eyes of convention. The girl thought she would frighten him into marrying her, but he simply applied for leave and cut her entirely. Then he became engaged to your sister-in-law, and this girl turned up the day before the wedding, and wrote a private note to Miss Forrester. She had been quietly biding her time. What she wrote, I'm sure I don't know, but she was believed, and Holme was allowed no chance of explanation. The marriage was broken off."

"But he married his present wife," cried Tomina; "that showed he must have been guilty."

"Not by any means. He married her because he was reckless and desperate. He acted on impulse, as Miss Forrester did; I dare say his present wife threatened him with breach of promise. He had been ass enough to write her letters. If ever a man's life has been ruined, his has, and it need not have been. A woman can be desperately cruel sometimes. There could have been no mercy in her composition."

Tomina looked very grave.

"She is a desperately unhappy woman herself. I pray she may not bring unhappiness to Tom. If only they had never met!"

Gerald shrugged his shoulders.

"I have no pity for her. Poor Holme is another matter. He has established his wife at the Court, as you know, but he is seldom there. She won't follow him in the Service. She loves her comfort too well, and I believe is filling the house with a lot of her London friends."

"Then you don't want Doreen at our wedding?"

"My darling, have her by all means, if you like."

"You must remember she was told the very worst, and she felt as if he had been deceiving her all through!"

"A woman has no right to lose all faith in a man at the first trumped-up story she hears! Would you have done so?"

"If I had heard something unpleasant about you? No, I should not have believed it. But then we have known each other for years. I am sure of you. I know your character. You see, Doreen had no time to investigate. She was going to marry at once. She could not put it off. It either had to be one thing or the other; and she felt it would be too great a risk."

Gerald said no more.

But Tomina received the following letter from Doreen in answer to her news and invitation:—

"MY DEAREST LITTLE SISTER,

"I do offer you my heartfelt congratulations. I always felt that you would not remain single for long. I know Colonel Norman slightly, and should say he was worthy of a woman's trust. Dear Tomina, don't be vexed if I do not appear at your wedding. I do hate all marriage ceremonies. They are so irrevocable, links forged for all time, and forged so often in such a light-hearted, irresponsible fashion! I have nothing to say against yours. I do not think you would marry unless your heart and soul were in it, and I am sure, from what I know of him, that he would not! You will bring any one happiness, dear, for you carry about with you such a fund of sunshine. We less fortunate mortals have to depend much on summer days to keep us content. The summer days are mine at present. Gardening engrosses me from early dawn to late at night; but, oh, the exquisiteness of bud and flower, and all the sweet scents that nature gives us so abundantly!

"Your affectionate sister,

"DOREEN.

"I heard from Tom yesterday. He is very well."

And so a week or two later, Tomina was saying good-bye to all her friends at Honeycombe. She kept up her van to the very last day. She had formally given it over to Joe, who was enchanted to be sole proprietor of it. He gave general satisfaction to the passengers, though the lamentations were loud at Tomina's coming departure. Their great distress when she told them her wedding was to be in town, made Tomina alter all her plans at the last moment.

She wired to her stepmother and to Gerald that she would like to be married in Little Honeycombe church. Could they manage it for her?

Lady Gavin groaned and wrote a letter of five pages, explaining why it must be in town. Then, in a P.S., she added,—

"But, of course, you always get your way, so I will come."

And Gerald wired—

"As in either place I must have special licence, certainly have it at
Honeycombe."

And now on a lovely June morning Tomina, starting with a heavy van-load for the last time, was able to tell her passengers the good news. There was great jubilation when they heard it.

"We hardly never has weddin's nowadays! 'Twill cheer us up wonderful."

"Yes, 'twould be heart-breakin' to see you go off just a single maid by yoursel' to marry such a way off from us all."

"'Tisn't as if there be folks in town who would give you so hearty a set-off as we should, as have known you all this time."

"No, if good wishes bring luck, you'll have more luck from Little Honeycombe than from Lunnon, that be quite positive certain."

"Oh, my dears," said Tomina, laughing merrily, though there were tears in her eyes, "how good you all are to your carrier! I meant to have crept quietly into some dim empty church in a quiet old square in London, where nobody would have seen me, but now, I suppose, I shall have all your eyes upon me, and one will say that my veil was crooked, and one that the tip of my nose was red, and one that my voice was shaky, and you'll all be disappointed with my looks and behaviour! But you won't be disappointed in the looks of my bridegroom. I dare you to criticise so much as the heel of his boot!"

There was a regular cackle of laughter at this.

"Hark to her! Isn't that the way with us women? Our men be more than perfec' when they courts us! My dear, you'll live to sing a different song after a year or two. Men do disappoint, like a blue cotton gown, first time in wash!"

"Yes, sure enough; they don't come through wash-tubs satisfactory. Much rubbin' always does for 'em!"

"Best not rub 'em."

This last remark was from a Mrs. Trent, a very silent woman.

Tomina hastened to turn the subject to other safer topics than that of husbands. As old Mrs. Crabbe said: "Some of us married women don't know how to vally our privileges!"

When the return from market came, there was a good deal of mysterious bustle on the part of Mrs. Judd.

Tomina heard a whispered inquiry—

"Have 'ee got it, Mrs. Judd? Plenty o' it? We will all be wantin' to buy a bit. Is that bit of a bag all 'ee can get?"

"Hush, now, there be four bags. Mrs. Tubbs, I'll trouble you not to put your feet on that one. There now!" There was a stifled exclamation: "Oh! You orkward woman, you!"

Tomina looked back into the corner.

"What is happening?"

"'Tis one of Mrs. Judd's parcels. Nothin' partikler; it be burst!"

"A bag of rice, isn't it? What a pity!"

The van had not started, so Tomina helped to gather up some of the scattered grain. She could not understand the whispered nods and mysterious smiles amongst the women.

"We shall go short in rice puddings if we don't save it," said Tomina, gaily.

And then she caught the murmur and understood—

"Bless her 'art, 'tis she what will be goin' short o' luck!"

But Tomina knew when it was tactful to be silent, and she was now.

She was quite sorry when that last market day came to a close. One of the passengers suggested that she should drive to church in the van, but Tomina said that, as it was only across the road, it would be hardly worth while.

There were great discussions as to who would give her away, and for the next few days the topic of Tomina's coming wedding was more than meat and drink to the villagers.

She herself was very busy. She went up to town for the inside of a week to do her necessary shopping. But a big trousseau was out of place for her, she said. She would only need the simplest clothes, and not many of them, as she preferred getting them as she wanted them. Lady Gavin was scandalised at the whole affair, but was as wax in Tomina's hands.

And at last, the eve of the wedding came. Gerald was put up at the Hall; his best man, a Mr. Russell, was put up at the Rectory, and Tomina and her stepmother shared the cottage.

In the afternoon of that day, Tracy St. Vincent rode over. He brought an exquisite old silver wrought jug, as a wedding present, with him. "It's one of the antique things that were in the house when I took it over," he explained. "I've been awfully bowled over by this engagement of yours, but I won't be such a cad as to refuse you my congratulations. And I suppose Norman is more your sort than I am. I don't think I shall ever marry. Shall do the heavy squire to the end of my life. With you and Mrs. Francis both married women, there'll be nobody that I care to talk to. Are you going to settle down here?"

"I am afraid not," Tomina said, after thanking him warmly for his present. "We have decided just to move about as Mrs. Norman likes. She is a great invalid, and rather restless. For the present we shall live at Torquay, and then later we think of going up to Edinburgh. Mrs. Norman has some distant relatives there. Perhaps we may go abroad in the autumn."

"Then you'll be lost to us. It's just like my luck."

He would not be comforted. But Mrs. Merton told Tomina that he was gradually taking his place in the country, and his very honesty and sincerity of purpose would win favour amongst his neighbours.

Harry came to tea that same afternoon. He was enchanted at being chosen as sole attendant to the bride. He was not too big to fling himself into Tomina's lap when Lady Gavin had gone out of the room.

"Tommie, I do love you!" he exclaimed. "You won't go away for ever, will you?"

"I hope not, Harry. But you have a happy home now, haven't you?"

"Yes."

His face assumed a dubious expression.

"I can't never say to the Doctor or Mrs. Merton, 'Let's have some fun!' I could to you, couldn't I?"

"Yes, indeed you could."

Then Tomina bent her head and kissed his rosy face.

"Oh, my Harry, will you always remember through life what you have taught me!"

"To play cricket?" questioned Harry, eagerly.

"No, to love God, and to believe in His close presence."

Harry was instantly sobered. He twisted his restless fingers in and out of a long chain hanging from Tomina's neck.

"Do you know, Tommie, I've been worrying lately—just to myself, you know, when I'm in bed, because I have always loved God, and loved Jesus Christ, but I can't truthfully say I love the Holy Ghost. Do you think it's awfully wicked of me? We've been hearing about the Trinity at school; our master gives us a talk at prayer-time. I don't seem to know Him, and when I was small, I used to think a ghost a frightful thing. It's another name for spirit, our master says. I asked him."

"Dear Harry, don't worry yourself. Ask God in your prayers to show you how to love Him, and if you love God, you must love Him. They are One."

"Yes, I'm so glad. You don't think it's wicked of me. And, Tommie, you're quite sure you like Colonel Norman well enough to be your husband?"

"Quite sure," Tomina responded.

"I only remember when he got us down from the tree you weren't very pleased with him!"

Tomina laughed.

"I was in fault then, Harry. Colonel Norman is much too good for me!"

"Nobody couldn't be that—not the King himself," asserted Harry, with all the eagerness and loyalty of his boy's heart. "I shall feel like a king myself when I carry your nosegay up the church, or is it your dress, or your gloves, or your Prayer-book, or is it all of them?"

Tomina informed him on this point.

When he had left her, she wandered out herself into the back garden. She felt she must be alone.

It was a sweet still evening; her spring flowers and sweet-briar hedge comforted her with their fresh scent. A cloud, slight at first, but rather depressing, seemed to hover over her. And then suddenly a step which she had learned to love sounded behind her, and Gerald took her hands in his, and, stooping, kissed her.

"I felt I must have a moment with you alone to-night. Am I selfish?"

"No. You come when I want you, Gerald. Suppose I am a failure? Suppose I have overrated my good qualities and underrated my bad ones? I am wondering if I may not prove an additional burden to you. I am not perfect. I never shall be. I may get cross and irritable and impatient. Then your mother will suffer and so will you. I am such a groper—such a beginner in some things!"

"My darling, I want you to be your impulsive wayward enchanting little self, not a cold stone statue of virtue and of perfection. I quite expect you to be often cross, and I shall be even more so, but love isn't bowled over by human infirmities."

"No," said Tomina, and she put her arms softly round his neck, "love understands; and we all of us sometimes drop the things we are carrying. I shall not be a perfect carrier, I know."

Then they sat together on the rustic seat.

The peace of that evening remained for ever stamped upon their souls. When they parted, Tomina's cloud had disappeared. She awaited her wedding without a shadow of misgiving for the future.