XXII

Ridiculous to feel positively lightheaded with high spirits when one is in the middle thirties⁠—Maggie couldn’t understand it. Yet that was how she did feel. She wanted to go bounding up into the sky, like a balloon, to sing, shout at the top of her lungs, laugh, not just a little, but loud, with her head back and her mouth wide open. What had gotten into her? She hadn’t felt like this for heaven knew how many years. It was the spring, perhaps. Just the first beginning of spring, the soft boundless sky, the flowing wakening air, the sudden, sweet warmth of the sun, the smell of everything, that made her want to laugh and cry at the same time, not gently or sentimentally, but as hard as she could. Spring is not gentle or sentimental, for all its pretty pink and white cloak of blossoming boughs. The wet, new green in the woods, intense in the sunlight, is as fierce as a sword-thrust, flowers in the grass are as awful as stars in the sky. Spring is terrible and divine, tearing the earth wide open, tearing the children of earth.

She really wanted to go to the wedding in Wilmington⁠—not because Victor was going to be an usher, but just because she was bursting for some fun. She hadn’t anything fit to wear, but never mind⁠—her black silk covered her, and nobody would be looking at her, anyway.

But after she put it on, it looked so poky and old-lady that she cut some geraniums as bright as wet, scarlet paint, and a velvet leaf, to put in her belt. She didn’t care if it was silly, and her cape would cover them up on the train. And whisking around, getting tea and bread and butter and cottage-cheese, for they didn’t need much supper with a wedding reception to look forward to, she sang a song she hadn’t thought of for ever so long.

“ ‘I feel, I feel, I feel,
I feel like a morning star!
I feel, I feel, I feel,
I feel like a morning star!
Shoo fly! Don’t bother me!
Shoo fly! Don’t bother me⁠—’ ”

Squeak, squeak, squeak, went the pump-handle, out gushed the water. Clash! went the kettle cover. Maggie took a few dance steps on the kitchen floor.

“ ‘Shoo fly! Don’t bother me!’

“Ma-ay! Plenty of extra hot water, if you want any! Get-tout, kitty, or I’ll step on you!

“ ‘Shoo fly! Don’t bother me!’
For I belong to Company G!’ ”

“Maggie! I’ve ripped under my arm!” That was Lily’s wail.

“Wait a minute⁠—I’ll come and sew you up.

“ ‘Shoo fly! Don’t bother me!
Shoo fly⁠—’ ”

May was a picture in dark red, so much handwork that it made your eyes ache to think of it, and with Mamma’s garnet necklace. In the soft afternoon light you couldn’t see the fine lines that had come around her mouth and eyes. Lily was in snuff color, with dark blue velvet bows. It was her best dress. She hadn’t worn it for months, and it had become ever so much too tight. She couldn’t take a long breath, she couldn’t lift her arms. Her nose was pink, and tears stood in her eyes.

“Goodness, Lily! This silk gives with every stitch I take. Stop breathing⁠—turn around to the light⁠—turn round. Oh, Lily! I do believe you’ve got a big spot on the front⁠—”

“I just can’t go,” Lily quavered.

“Let me think⁠—” And she tried to frown and think about poor fat Lily, but she began to smile, to hum:

“ ‘I feel, I feel, I feel⁠—’

Look⁠—you can take Mamma’s lace shawl, it’ll hide everything if you’re just a little bit careful.”

They had put on their best bustles that had been Christmas presents from Aunt Priscilla. For every day May wore a homemade horsehair pad, and Maggie and Lily rolls of soft paper. These best ones were so large and elaborate that they made the sisters feel fashionable but apprehensive. Lily’s was forever getting to one side, and when it came to sitting down gracefully, they all had their bad moments.

They walked down the lane to the station, holding their skirts well up out of the spring mud. Their party slippers, and Cousin Jennie Blodgett’s Christmas present gloves still folded in yellow tissue paper, were in bags that swung from their arms, and white zephyr nubias covered their careful coiffures.

“Mercy, this mud is awful⁠—go slowly, girls, we have heaps of time.”

“Lily, did you⁠—look out, don’t catch your cloud on those twigs. Wait a minute⁠—hold still, I’ll get it off⁠—there! Did you remember to put kitty out?”

“Just imagine how the bride must be feeling by now⁠—look, that little patch of grass is ever so green!”

“ ‘Shoo fly! Don’t bother me!
Shoo fly! Don’t bother me!’ ”

“What’s got into you, Maggie? Hold your skirt up higher in the back.”

“Oh, girls, smell that spring smell!”

And, as they stepped out of the Wilmington station, the big warm drops began to fall, making dark stars on the pavement. Great, warm, wet splashes of spring rain, falling on her face. Maggie was happy enough to cry.

“We’ll take a cab.”

“Have you enough with you?”

“Yes, it’s all right. We can’t walk in the rain in our silks, and with our hair and everything.”

They changed into their slippers and pulled on their white gloves, rumbling up Market Street.

“Look⁠—it’s raining hard now.”

“May, how much do you think I ought to fee the driver?”

“Girls! Look at the line of carriages, if you please! Did you ever?”

“Ten cents is plenty.”

“I know, but it’s so wet, and he looked sort of shabby.”

“See, they have a red carpet out⁠—I’m glad we changed into our slippers, they won’t get a bit wet.”

Maggie shoved some money into the driver’s hand and hurried after the others. May need never know how much it was, and anyway it was her own egg-money. He looked so forlorn, and his nose was so red, with a little drop trembling from it. She wanted everyone to be happy tonight.

And then the church, and Victor. Lily pretended it was his wedding, and the idea melted her into tears. Where was her handkerchief? She must have brought one⁠—

“Maggie⁠—”

“Yessum.”

“I can’t find my handkerchief⁠—”

People smiled at each other with knowing little nods. They understood all about it, whatever it was. The organ warbled high and tremulous. Silk rustled past as the ushers towed lady after lady up the aisle.

“What, May?”

“The lilies are too sweet⁠—they make me feel faint.”

“Victor looks nice, doesn’t he? His coat’s just a teeny bit too big, but don’t ever tell him so.”

“There go the Hollys⁠—I should think she’d be just about dead with that sealskin sacque on a night like this, but let’s be stylish or die. I guess they must have driven in, they weren’t on the train.”

“They’re late⁠—the bride is, I mean. I wonder if anything could have happened.”

The organ rumbled so that Maggie couldn’t hear the rain, but she could feel it falling on her heart, life-giving and warm.

“Here they come!”

The organ agreed. Ta dardy da! Ta dardy da! The river of white silk and lace, pink sashes, and black coats, the river of life, flowed up the aisle.

The Hollys gave them a lift to the reception; and, as Mrs. Holly wanted to stop at her sister’s on the way, just for half a second, they were half an hour late. And then in the room where they took off their wraps Maggie saw a line of white petticoat showing under Lily’s skirt, and had to stop for that.

“Walk off, Lily⁠—nobody’s going to notice⁠—walk off a little way⁠—here, back up.”

“Ouch, Maggie!”

“Oh, did I run it into you? You’re all right now. Come on, girls!”

For two pins she’d slide down the banisters! Clatter, scream, a little thread of “Il Bacio” as they pushed slowly past the orchestra under the stairs. May talked to her sisters vivaciously, as if she had just been introduced to them, but her eyes wandered anxiously.

“What a lovely wedding!”

“Doesn’t the bride look sweet?”

What a lovely wedding! Doesn’t the bride look sweet? What a lovely wedding! Doesn’t the bride look sweet?

May had a man now, and was shrieking at him through the racket. Maggie and Lily were carried on by the tide.

“See, Lily, how nice our present looks.”

They hadn’t been able to afford anything new. There were the pair of high-shouldered dark blue vases with the gold polka-dots and white stomachers painted with seaweed and shells, that had stood on the dining-room mantelpiece practically forever. How surprised they must be at their new surroundings, a blue velvet case of pearl-handled fish knives on one side, pink cake-plates with gold stippling on the other, and an onyx clock with a bronze Minerva behind them. It seemed almost disloyal to go away and leave them there⁠—such old friends.

Lily found a nice little corner where she was hidden away and didn’t have to bother about her bustle or her petticoat or keeping her shawl just so. When the colored waiter thrust the plate into her hands, she tried to explain that she had already had one supper, but he hurried away without paying any attention. So she ate the broiled oysters and chicken salad lingeringly, shedding a sentimental tear now and then when the violin, close by her ear, grew extra piercing.

Maggie was just going to dive in after her when Mrs. Craig backed her against a palm.

“Oh, Miss Campion! Well! I haven’t seen you, since dear knows when⁠—how are you? Wasn’t it a pretty wedding? And dear little Annie made such a sweet bride, didn’t she? Have you had your supper? I thought the mayonnaise was sort of poor, didn’t you? But then I’m fussy about mayonnaise, I guess, at least so they always tell me⁠—and then there’s always so much celery in caterer’s chicken salad⁠—more of everything than chicken. I said to Mr. Craig, I guess the chicken this salad was made of had a mother that mooed and had horns and four legs⁠—look! That dress with the orange trimmings⁠—someone ought to tell her how she looks, really it would be kinder. Fat people ought to be careful what they wear.”

So they ought, thought Maggie, looking at Mrs. Craig’s round little body almost bursting out of its rose-colored silk. Just like a watermelon, and those jet buttons were the watermelon seeds.

“ ‘I feel, I feel, I feel,
I feel like a morning star⁠—’ ”

Oh, she must get that out of her head.

“Frank! Coo-hoo! Frank! You’ve met my husband, haven’t you, Miss Campion? Frank, I could eat another plate of ice-cream if I was sufficiently urged, couldn’t you, Miss Campion? Couldn’t you? Frank! Miss Campion says she couldn’t. Just one, dear. Just one. Frank! Unless you want one yourself! Have you seen the presents? Well, to tell you the honest truth I was surprised they weren’t handsomer⁠—oh, stop that waiter⁠—waiter! Try this punch, I think there’s champagne in it⁠—”

Maggie moved her head away from the palm sticking into the back of her neck. Mercy, how the woman buzzed!

“ ‘Shoo fly! Don’t bother me!’ ”

“I was looking at the presents with Edward Post and his wife, and he was saying that the worst of getting married⁠—”

The glass of punch leapt on Maggie’s plate.

“Edward⁠—?”

“Edward Post. Didn’t you know him when he lived with the Allens, years ago, before he went to South America? You must have, they lived so near you. Why, yes, seems to me I’ve heard he was quite a beau of yours, haven’t I? Didn’t you see him and his wife this evening?”

Maggie set down her chattering glass and plate on the corner of the mantelpiece. She was shivering all over. Mrs. Craig’s face floated towards her, burst into splinters of brightness and blackness. She heard her own voice say, high and unfamiliar, an affected society voice:

“No, I didn’t see him. In fact, I hadn’t heard he was married.”

And she laughed nervously, politely, leaning against the wall to keep from falling.

“Oh, yes, indeed, very much so, he has been for two years. In fact he married a distant connection of Mr. Craig’s⁠—too bad you didn’t meet her, but they left very early. Of course, they don’t live here, but he comes on sometimes on business, I understand⁠—not that Mr. Craig and myself see much of them; just between you and me I think success has turned his head a little. She had a very pretty dress on, a pink corded silk, not exactly pink, more peach⁠—look! Will you look at Mr. Craig! He’s lost me completely⁠—look at that hopeless expression. See, he doesn’t see us at all! Frank! Oh, Frank, honey⁠—I’ll just have to chase after him⁠—”

Maggie went upstairs to the bedroom, empty except for heaps of cloaks, drifts of nubias, foothills of storm-boots, and huddled in a dark corner. Her geraniums fell from her belt and lay on the floor beside her, as red as a pool of blood. She felt as if she were bleeding to death. She had never really said goodbye in her heart to Edward. But now she knew that the footsteps she had listened to for so long would never reach her.

“ ‘Goodnight, ladies! I’m going to leave you now!’ ”

“I don’t feel a bit sleepy. Didn’t Victor look wonderful? I don’t think it’s prejudice, I think he really was far and away the best looking usher, don’t you? Just imagine the way we’ll be feeling when he’s the bridegroom!”

“Is he coming home or spending the night in town? Well, I’ll leave out some sponge-cake and milk anyway. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

“Lily, did you see to kitty?”

“Someone stood all over my slippers⁠—look, one bow’s lost!”

“Goodnight, I guess I am sleepy after all. Oh, I brought home some wedding-cake to dream on⁠—want some, May? Maggie! Want some wedding-cake to dream on?”