Tiny
curls had been left to frame her forehead and temples.
“Oh, it’s breathtaking you are, Mrs. Kelly,”
she said, in her strongly accented voice. “Breathtaking. Wait until
Mr. Kelly sees you!” Obviously she was unenlightened as to Andrew’s
condition and Catherine said nothing, staring at her reflection and
wondering if the creature looking back at her was indeed
herself.
“Here, dearie, let me button that,” Sarah
said, putting the finishing touches on Catherine’s gown. Catherine
thanked the woman, paid her, and when she’d gone, slipped on her
shoes and found a lacy, cream-colored shawl to guard against the
cold. The clock downstairs had already chimed half past three.
Catherine hurried down to find Ephraim waiting; he’d offered to
drive her to Delia’s house, where the wedding was to take
place.
“Miss Catherine,” he said, very straight and
dignified, “I may be overstepping my place, but I’ve got to say you
sure do look pretty this evening.”
“Why, thank you, Ephraim,” she said,
laughing, feeling suddenly younger and lighter of heart than she
had in a long time. “Thank goodness it’s not raining. Shall we
go?”
It was, in fact, a beautiful afternoon. The
air was cold but not uncomfortably so. Ephraim used the covered
carriage, making her feel almost like Cinderella going to the ball.
Already carriages lined the street where Delia and her family
lived. As Ephraim helped her step down, he said, “I believe the
drivers are going to get together in the servants’ quarters off the
kitchen, Miss Catherine. You can send word to me when you’re ready
to leave.”
“Yes, I will, Ephraim. Thank you.”
She entered the house, greeted several people
who stood in the foyer, and went upstairs to Delia’s room. Delia
had sent everyone away and was sitting on the floor amid a welter
of hoop, petticoats, and fervid tears.
Amazed, Catherine rushed to kneel beside her
friend.
“Delia, what is it?”
“Oh, Catherine, what am I going to do? I’m so
afraid!”
“What are you afraid of?”
“The war! I’m afraid of the war. I know it’s
not patriotic, but I can’t help it. I hate it! What if something
happens to Marcus? Papa heard the other day about Andrew; and
Catherine, I’m so sorry, but what if something like that happens to
Marcus? What if he’s killed? I can’t stand it. I can’t marry him,
or anybody, until the war is over.”
Catherine arranged her skirts and sat down
cross-legged beside her friend. Delia blew her nose loudly into a
handkerchief.
“Stop that,” Catherine scolded. “You’re going
to ruin your face. Now let’s just think a minute.”
The door opened and a woman peered timidly
in. “Oh, thank goodness you’re here, Catherine. Do talk some sense
into Delia. We’ve invited over a hundred people to this wedding.
Why, even the governor is—”
“Go away, please, Mama.”
The door closed. Catherine sat for a moment
without saying anything. She met Delia’s eyes and reached out to
take her hand.
“Delia, what happened to Andrew was dreadful.
He’ll never be the same, and neither will I. A year ago I would
have thought I couldn’t stand something like this happening,
either. And I really haven’t been very brave about it. But somehow
you just…stand things. You pray, and trust God that somehow He can
make good things happen out of all the bad. And there’ll always be
bad things. Not just war. Sickness, accidents…Delia, none of us has
any guarantees about anything.”
Delia listened but kept shaking her head.
“You’re a strong person, Catherine. I’m not.”
“That’s nonsense. You’re as strong as you
want to be.”
“I can’t live without Marcus. At least Andrew
is still alive.”
Catherine took her friend’s arm and got to
her feet, giving a gentle pull.
“Then what are you waiting for, if you can’t
live without him? Marry him, for
curls had been left to frame her forehead and temples.
“Oh, it’s breathtaking you are, Mrs. Kelly,”
she said, in her strongly accented voice. “Breathtaking. Wait until
Mr. Kelly sees you!” Obviously she was unenlightened as to Andrew’s
condition and Catherine said nothing, staring at her reflection and
wondering if the creature looking back at her was indeed
herself.
“Here, dearie, let me button that,” Sarah
said, putting the finishing touches on Catherine’s gown. Catherine
thanked the woman, paid her, and when she’d gone, slipped on her
shoes and found a lacy, cream-colored shawl to guard against the
cold. The clock downstairs had already chimed half past three.
Catherine hurried down to find Ephraim waiting; he’d offered to
drive her to Delia’s house, where the wedding was to take
place.
“Miss Catherine,” he said, very straight and
dignified, “I may be overstepping my place, but I’ve got to say you
sure do look pretty this evening.”
“Why, thank you, Ephraim,” she said,
laughing, feeling suddenly younger and lighter of heart than she
had in a long time. “Thank goodness it’s not raining. Shall we
go?”
It was, in fact, a beautiful afternoon. The
air was cold but not uncomfortably so. Ephraim used the covered
carriage, making her feel almost like Cinderella going to the ball.
Already carriages lined the street where Delia and her family
lived. As Ephraim helped her step down, he said, “I believe the
drivers are going to get together in the servants’ quarters off the
kitchen, Miss Catherine. You can send word to me when you’re ready
to leave.”
“Yes, I will, Ephraim. Thank you.”
She entered the house, greeted several people
who stood in the foyer, and went upstairs to Delia’s room. Delia
had sent everyone away and was sitting on the floor amid a welter
of hoop, petticoats, and fervid tears.
Amazed, Catherine rushed to kneel beside her
friend.
“Delia, what is it?”
“Oh, Catherine, what am I going to do? I’m so
afraid!”
“What are you afraid of?”
“The war! I’m afraid of the war. I know it’s
not patriotic, but I can’t help it. I hate it! What if something
happens to Marcus? Papa heard the other day about Andrew; and
Catherine, I’m so sorry, but what if something like that happens to
Marcus? What if he’s killed? I can’t stand it. I can’t marry him,
or anybody, until the war is over.”
Catherine arranged her skirts and sat down
cross-legged beside her friend. Delia blew her nose loudly into a
handkerchief.
“Stop that,” Catherine scolded. “You’re going
to ruin your face. Now let’s just think a minute.”
The door opened and a woman peered timidly
in. “Oh, thank goodness you’re here, Catherine. Do talk some sense
into Delia. We’ve invited over a hundred people to this wedding.
Why, even the governor is—”
“Go away, please, Mama.”
The door closed. Catherine sat for a moment
without saying anything. She met Delia’s eyes and reached out to
take her hand.
“Delia, what happened to Andrew was dreadful.
He’ll never be the same, and neither will I. A year ago I would
have thought I couldn’t stand something like this happening,
either. And I really haven’t been very brave about it. But somehow
you just…stand things. You pray, and trust God that somehow He can
make good things happen out of all the bad. And there’ll always be
bad things. Not just war. Sickness, accidents…Delia, none of us has
any guarantees about anything.”
Delia listened but kept shaking her head.
“You’re a strong person, Catherine. I’m not.”
“That’s nonsense. You’re as strong as you
want to be.”
“I can’t live without Marcus. At least Andrew
is still alive.”
Catherine took her friend’s arm and got to
her feet, giving a gentle pull.
“Then what are you waiting for, if you can’t
live without him? Marry him, for
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