The Beloved Stranger (5 page)

The pink bridesmaids were halfway up the middle aisle now, the green at the formal distance behind, the violet just entering past the first rank of seats with the blue waiting behind. Their faces wore the set smile of robots endeavoring to do their best to keep the step. There was no evidence so far that either the wedding party or the audience had discovered anything unusual about this wedding or unexpected about the bride. She suddenly gasped at the thought of the gigantic fraud that she was about to perpetrate. Had she a right to do this? But it was too late to think about that now.

Sherrill’s eyes went back to the bridegroom standing there waiting, his immaculate back as straight and conventional as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred a half hour before. She remembered with a stab of pain the powder that he had brushed from his left lapel. Was there any trace of it left? She had a sudden sick faint feeling as if she would like to lay her head down and close her eyes. She reeled just a tiny bit, and the young man by her side shifted his arms, putting the right one unobtrusively about her so that he could better steady her, and putting his left hand across to support her elbow. She cast him a brief little flicker of a smile of gratitude, but her eyes went swiftly back to the slow procession that was advancing up the aisle, so slow it seemed to her like the march of the centuries.

The bride was standing in the doorway now, just behind the yellow-clad maid of honor, her hand lying on the arm of the distant cousin, her train adjusted perfectly; no sign on the face of the maid of honor that she had noticed it was the wrong bride whom she had just prepared for her appearance. They didn’t know it yet! Nobody knew what was about to happen except herself! The thought was overwhelming!

Suddenly her eyes were caught by the little figure in gray down in the front seat. Aunt Pat! Poor Aunt Pat! What would she think? And after all her kindness, and the money she had spent to make this wedding a perfect one of its kind! She must do something about Aunt Pat at once!

Her trembling fingers sought the catch of her handbag and brought out pencil and paper. The young man by her side watched her curiously, sympathetically. Who was this lovely girl? What had stirred her so deeply? Had she perhaps cared for the bridegroom herself, and not felt able to face the audience during the ceremony? Or was the bride her sister, dearly beloved, whom she could not bear to part from? They truly resembled one another, gold hair, blue eyes; at least he was pretty sure this one’s eyes were blue, as much as he could judge by the brief glimpse he had had of them here in the dimness of the gallery.

She was looking about for someplace to lay her paper, and there was none, because the gallery rail was completely smothered in palms.

“Here!” he said softly, sensing her need, and drew out a broad, smooth leather notebook from his pocket, holding it firmly before her, his other arm still about her.

So Sherrill wrote rapidly, with tense, trembling fingers:

Dear Aunt Pat:

I’m not getting married tonight. Please be a good sport, and don’t let them suspect you didn’t know. Please, dearest.

Sherrill

The young man beside her had to hold the notebook very firmly. He couldn’t exactly help seeing the hastily scrawled words, though he tried not to—he really did. He was an honorable young man. But he was also by this time very much in sympathy with this unknown lovely girl. However, he treated the whole affair in the most matter-of-fact way.

“You want that delivered?” he whispered.

“Oh, would you be so good?”

“Which one? The little old lady in gray right down here?”

“Oh, how did you know?” Sherrill met his sympathetic gaze in passing wonder.

“I saw you looking down at her,” he answered with a boyish grin. “You want her to read it before she leaves the church?”

“Oh yes, please! Could you do it, do you think?”

“Of course,” he answered with confidence. “Do you happen to know if there is a door at the foot of these stairs opening into the church?”

“Yes, there is,” said Sherrill.

“Well, there’s no one else in the seat all across to the side aisle. I don’t know why I couldn’t slide in there without being noticed while the prayer is going on.”

“Oh, could you do that?” said Sherrill with great relief in her eyes, and looking down quickly toward the front seat that stretched a vacant length across to the flower-garlanded aisle. “Would you mind? It would be wonderful! But there’s a ribbon across the seat.”

He grinned again socially.

“It would take more than a ribbon to keep me out of a seat I wanted to get into. Are you all right if I leave you for a minute?”

“Of course!” said Sherrill, drawing herself up and trying to look self-sufficient. “Oh, I can never thank you enough!”

“Forget it!” said the young man. “Well, I’d better hurry down and reconnoiter.
Sure
you’re all right?”

“Sure.” She smiled tremulously.

He was gone, and Sherrill realized that she felt utterly inadequate without him. But suddenly she knew that the procession had arrived at the altar and disposed itself in conventional array. Startled, she looked down upon them. Did nobody know yet? She should have been watching Carter’s face. But of course he would have had his back to her. She could not have told what he was feeling from just his back, could she?

She moved a little farther and could see his face now between the next two palms, and it was white as death, white and frightened! Did she imagine it? No, she felt sure. He had swung half reluctantly around into his place beside Arla, but he lifted his hand to his mouth as if to steady his lips, and she could see that his hand trembled. Didn’t the audience see that? They would. They could not help it. But they would likely lay it to the traditional nervousness all bridegrooms were supposed to feel. Still,
Carter!
He was always so utterly confident, so at his ease anywhere. How could they credit him with ordinary nervousness?

But the ceremony was proceeding now,
her
bridegroom, Carter McArthur, getting married to
another
girl, and there she was above him, unseen, watching.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together in the sight of God and in the presence of this company to join together this man and this woman in the bonds of holy matrimony—”

Chapter 3

A
great wrench came to Sherrill’s heart as she looked down and realized that but for a trifling accident, she would even now be standing down there in that white dress and that veil getting married! If she had not tried to go through those two rooms without being seen, if she had not planned to go and show herself to Mary—poor Mary, who was lying on her bed even now thinking she was forgotten—if just such a little trifle as that had not been, she would be down there with Carter now, blissfully happy, being bound to him forever on this earth as long as they both should live. So irrevocable!

For an instant as she thought of it, her heart contracted. Why did she do this awful thing, this thing which would separate her forever from the man she loved so dearly? She could have slipped back into her room unseen; the other girl would have gone away, afraid to do anything else; and she could have gone to the church, and nobody would ever have been the wiser. She would have been Mrs. McArthur. Then what could Arla Prentiss do? Even if she had taken her life, few would have ever heard of it.

But she, Sherrill Cameron, even if she were Sherrill McArthur, would never have been happy. She knew that, even as she looked down into the white face of the staring, stony-eyed bridegroom. For between her and any possibility of joy there would always have come that look on his face when he had kissed the other girl and told her he would always love her best. She never could have laughed down nor forgotten that look. How many other girls had he said that to? she wondered. Was Arla, too, deceived about it? She evidently thought that she, Sherrill, was her only rival. But there might have been others, too. Oh, if one couldn’t trust a man, what was the joy of marriage? If one were not the only one enthroned in a man’s heart, why bind oneself to his footsteps for life? Sherrill had old-fashioned simple ideas and standards of love and marriage. But Sherrill was wondering if she would ever be able to trust
any
living man again, since Carter, who had always seemed such a paragon of perfection, had proved himself so false and weak! No, she could never have married him, not after seeing him with Arla. Oh, were all men like that?

And there he was getting married to the other girl, and not doing a thing about it! She was sure he knew now, and he was making no protest.

And then suddenly she saw her own heart and knew that somewhere back in her mind she had been harboring the hope that he would do something. That he would somehow—she didn’t know how, for it wasn’t reasonable—find a way to stop this marriage and explain all the wrong, and that joy would find its way through sorrow! But he wasn’t doing a thing! He didn’t dare do a thing! Fear, stark and ugly, was written upon his face. He
knew
himself to be guilty. He was standing there before the assembled multitude, the “dearly beloved” of the service, and not one of them knew a thing about what was happening but himself, and he knew, and he
wasn’t doing a thing!
He
didn’t dare!

And then, just down below her in the front seat, a little motion attracted her eyes. A white ribbon lifted, and a figure slid beneath. A young man in a blue serge suit with a pleasant face had glided so quietly into the seat beside the little gray lady with the white laces that nobody around her seemed to have even noticed. He was handing her a folded paper and whispering unobtrusively a word in her ear. Aunt Pat had her note now, and in a moment she would know the truth! How would Aunt Pat take it? She was perfectly capable of rising in her delicate little might and putting a stop to the service. How awful it would be for everybody if she did that! Perhaps the note ought to have been held up until the service was over.

Then even with the thought came that frightful challenge. Was it only last night at the rehearsal that they had joked over it?

“Therefore if any man can show just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now declare it, or else hereafter forever hold his peace.”

Her eyes were fastened on Aunt Pat in terror! What if Aunt Pat should arise and say she knew a just cause! Oh, why had she sent that note down so soon? If she could only recall it!

But Aunt Pat was sitting serenely with the note in her hand, reading it, and a look of satisfaction was on her lips, the kind a nice house cat might wear when she had just successfully evaded detection in licking the creamy frosting from a huge cake. Actually, Aunt Pat was looking up with a smile on her strong old face and a twinkle in her bright old eyes. It was almost as if she were
pleased
! The young man in the blue serge who had delivered the note was nowhere in sight, and yet she couldn’t remember seeing him slip out again, though the white ribbon was swaying a little as if it had recently been stirred.

That deathly stillness settled down over the audience, an audible stillness, even above the voice of the organ undertone; and Sherrill, puzzling over Aunt Pat, turned fascinated eyes toward her former lover. How was he standing this challenge? Whichever girl he thought was standing beside him, surely he could not take this calmly. Oh, if she might only look in his face and see his innocence written there! Yet she knew that could never be!

But she was not prepared for the haggard look she saw on his face, a terror such as a criminal at bay might wear when about to face an angry mob who desired to hang him. The look in his eyes was awful! All their lively brilliancy gone! Only fear, uncertainty, a holding of the breath to listen! His hands were working nervously. She felt almost a contemptuous pity for him, and then a wrenching of the heart again. Her lover, to have come to such a place as that! Almost she groaned aloud, and looked toward the radiant bride, for radiant she really seemed to be, carrying out her part perfectly. Sherrill had felt she could do it. She was clever, and she had an overwhelming love!

And yet in spite of her horror over what was happening, somehow as she looked down there it seemed to be her own self that was standing there in that white satin gown and veil about to take sweet solemn vows upon her. What had she done to put her bright hopes out of her life forever! Oh, hadn’t she been too hasty? Might there not have been some other explanation than the only obvious one? Ought she perhaps to have gone in and confronted those two in each other’s arms?

Then suddenly the girl down there before the altar spoke, and her voice was clear and ringing. The great church full of people held their breath again to catch every syllable:

“I, Arla, take thee, Carter—”

Sherrill felt her breath coming in slow gasps, felt as if someone were stifling her. She strained her ears to hear, on through that long paragraph that she had learned so carefully by heart, her lips moving unconsciously to form the words before she heard them. And Arla was speaking them well, clearly, with a triumphant ring to them, like a call to the lover she had lost. Could he fail to understand and answer? Sherrill pressed her hands hard upon her aching heart and tried to take deep breaths to keep her senses from swimming off away from her.

Again she had a feeling as if that girl down there was herself; yet she was here looking on!

And now it was the bridegroom’s turn!

Sherrill closed her eyes and focused every sense upon the words. Would he respond? Would he do something, or would he let it go on? For now he surely knew!

His voice was low, husky; she could scarcely hear the words above the tender music that she herself had planned to accompany the vow they were plighting. Afterward she fancied it must have been by some fine inner sense rather than the hearing of her ears that she knew what he was saying, for he spoke like one who was afraid!