In Blue Creek Cañon/Chapter 18
CHAPTER XVIII.
UNDER ORDERS.
It was less than two weeks after the Reverend Gabriel's call upon Louise, that Mr. Burnam came up from his office, one noon, with a letter in his hand.
"Well, daught," he called, as Allie ran out to meet him; "where's mamma? I have some news for her."
"News! What is it? Nothing very bad, I hope," she answered, as she seized his hand in both of hers, and hurried him towards the house.
"That depends," he said laughing. "Wait till we get into the house, and then I'll tell you."
"I don't believe it's much of anything," she declared scornfully. "If 'twas, you never could wait to tell us."
"We'll see about it," responded her father, as he entered the house.
But it was not until they were all seated about the lunch table that he would tell them his news. From the central office of the railway by which he had been employed for the past five years, a letter had come to him, that very morning, offering him the position of consulting engineer for the company, an advance which would bring him much honor and more salary. For a few moments there was a babel of congratulation and rejoicing; then Mrs. Burnam put an end to it all by asking quietly,—
"And when shall we have to leave here?"
"Leave?" And Allie turned to stare at her mother in consternation.
"Yes; of course we shall have to go away from Blue Creek very soon," answered her mother cheerfully; for, though at heart she was as sorry as Allie to leave her pleasant friends in the little camp, she was unwilling to let her one regret throw a shadow over her husband's happiness in his promotion.
"Leave Blue Creek, and the Everetts, and Marjorie, and all? Let's not go," urged Howard. "The old road isn't worth it, papa."
Mr. Burnam laughed.
"I'm sorry you don't think so, Howard," he answered; "but I'm afraid we must go. St. Paul isn't a bad place to live in; and we should have had to leave here this spring, anyway, for my present survey won't take me much longer. I'm to report for duty in two months," he added, turning to his wife once more. "Will that give you time to get ready?"
"Two weeks would do," she said promptly; "I haven't been your wife all these years for nothing. I'm sorry to go away from here, of course, for we've made pleasant friends; but I sha'n't be sorry to have a settled home. Besides, it's time the children were in some good school, if they're ever going to college."
"What do you think about it all, Charlie?" asked his uncle. "You haven't told us, yet."
"I'm about as much mixed up as Auntie is," he replied slowly, while he gave Allie's hand a consoling pinch, as it lay on the table, toying with her fork. "I don't want to leave the doctor, and the boys, and all, and this place has been immense fun; but, as long as I can be with you people, I don't mind much else, and, if we go to St. Paul, I can stay with you till I'm ready for college,—that is, if you'll keep me."
"We won't send you off just yet," returned his uncle. "Howard and Allie would have something to say about that, I fancy. Let me see; this is May, and I have to be ready by the first of July. We shall have to leave here the last week in June, so you must make the most of your time till then."
"Oh, dear!" sighed Allie, as she and the boys were starting for the Everetts', that afternoon, to tell the great news. "We never stayed so long in one place before, and I began to hope we'd live here always. We've had such good times, too, 'specially since Charlie came; and I don't want to leave all these people."
"’Tisn't all of them, though," responded Howard. "There aren't so many I care about, if we could take the Everetts and Fishers and Dr. Brownlee along with us."
"And the mountains, and Wang Kum, and our ponies," added Allie. "Janey says she'll go too. But it's no use to try to count up what we're leaving, or I shall just sit down and begin to cry."
"Better not," advised Howard practically; "it's no end dusty, and we can't spend time to brush you off. Besides, St. Paul is right on the way to everywhere, and we shall see people when they go East. Don't you go to being in the dumps, sis; 't won't mend matters to grumble, and we've moved before without its killing us."
But in spite of his advice to his sister, Howard was the most disconsolate member of the party, as they sat on the Everetts' front steps, talking of the separation in store for them.
"It's a perfect shame," lamented Marjorie, who had joined them there. "You belong to us, and oughtn't to go away. I had it all planned out, too. We were all going to grow up here together, and have ever so much fun. Allie and I would keep old maid's hall, and have you four boys board with us. Howard would be a civil engineer, and Charlie a doctor, and Grant have a store, and Ned be a minister; and we'd just have an elegant time."
"’Specially me!" remarked Ned, in a tone of supreme disgust. "I've no desire to step into Dr. Hornblower's shoes, when the old man finally gives up and goes over the range. Preaching isn't in my line; I'll help Charlie keep his apothecary shop, and sell patent medicines. But, honestly, with half of us gone, the rest will be dismally lonesome. We shall need Allie to keep us straight, and Howard to keep us stirred up."
"And Charlie for general all-overishness," added Marjorie. "Say, Howard, do you remember the day we put Vic into the empty barrel, and turned a bushel basket over him, 'cause he would follow us, every step we took?"
Howard chuckled at the recollection.
"Yes. How he did yell! But do you remember the time we shut Marjorie up in the office closet, Ned, and then went off and forgot her?"
"That must have been before I came," said Charlie. "How did she get out?"
"What a question! didn't you ever hear Marjorie squeal?" asked Grant scornfully. "But, I say, you lads, do you remember that day that Charlie Mac came, and we"—Grant paused abruptly.
"We what?" demanded Charlie.
"Oh, nothing." And Grant retired behind Marjorie, to blush unseen.
"What was it?" urged Charlie again. "Go on and tell, Grant."
"You hush up!" And Ned gave his brother a threatening glance.
"I'm going to tell, then, if you won't," said Allie laughing. "If we don't, Charlie will think it's something ever so much worse that 't is. All was, the boys didn't mean to like you anyway, and didn't want you to come. The day you came, they went down to the station, and hid around, waiting to get a look at you, to see what you were like. And the worst of it all was"—Allie paused mischievously, and then went on; "they found you weren't half so bad as they supposed you were going to be."
"If we could only go back again, and start there all over fresh!" sighed Marjorie.
"We couldn't have a bit better time than we have had," returned Charlie. "We've made the most of our chance, and we may as well be thankful for it. Oh, but didn't I feel shaky, that first morning, when the train stopped, and I had to get out! Allie looked about ten feet high and thirty years old, when I saw her standing on the platform; and I was sure I was going to be afraid of her. Wasn't, though," he concluded, giving her hair a friendly tweak.
"Besides, 'tisn't quite so bad as if we had to go right away," added Allie hopefully, as they rose to go home. "We have two months more; and there's time for ever so much to happen, between now and then."
But the two months hurried past them, and, before any one realized it, the Burnams were on the eve of their departure. As Marjorie had said when the subject was first mentioned, it was harder to stay than to go, for those left behind had to keep on in the same old routine, where they so keenly felt the loss of their friends who, on their side, were full of anticipations for the new places they would see, the new acquaintances they would make, while the bustle and excitement of packing kept them too busy to realize all that they were leaving behind them.
It had been decided that the Burnams were to go away from Blue Creek the last week in June, and, soon after this plan was arranged, Louise and Dr. Brownlee had announced their intention of being married on the twenty-fourth, in order that their friends might be present at the wedding, so the last few weeks had found the Everett household in as great excitement as were the Burnams. It was to be only a quiet church wedding, followed by a small reception. Louise had reduced Allie and Marjorie to a state of speechless delight, by asking them to be her bridesmaids; while the doctor had laughingly protested that Charlie and Ned should act as ushers, since they had been instrumental in bringing himself and Louise together. After a little discussion, this plan had been adopted, and the four young people were much impressed with their consequence, in taking part, for the first time, in so important a ceremony.
On the evening before the wedding, they all walked up together from their rehearsal in the chapel, and stopped for a little while on the Everetts' front steps, where they were joined by Howard and Grant.
"To-morrow, and the next day, and the next, and then it will all be over," said Marjorie pensively.
"I honestly haven't had time to think about it, this last week," said Allie. "We've been so topsyturvy and busy that I haven't thought of anything but packing and the wedding."
"No; we'll be the ones to do the thinking," said Ned, as he stretched himself out at his ease, on the railing to the little porch. "With Lou married, and you three going, there's nothing else left for us to do. I'm going to turn hermit, and move up the gulch."
"I wouldn't, before fall, if I were in your place," returned Howard, in a tone too low to catch the ears of the others.
"What's next fall?" asked Ned listlessly.
"Don't you give it away that I told you," said Howard, while he joined his friend on the rail; "but I happened to hear your father talking to my father, to-day; and it's all settled that you and Grant are coming to St. Paul, next winter, to board with us, and go to school. Hush up!" he added, as Ned gave a little exclamation of delight. "Don't tell the others, for I oughtn't to have said anything about it; but I couldn't hold in any longer."
For an hour more, they sat there; then Grant's voice broke the hush, as he put his head in at the open window of the parlor, where his sister and Dr. Brownlee were sitting in the moonlight.
"That's the seventh time you've said good night, Lou," he remarked, in a hollow tone; "and I should think the eighth 'most ought to do the business, unless you want to be dead sleepy, to-morrow night, while you're in the middle of being tied up."
The next evening found the chapel crowded. Every seat was occupied, and the side aisles were filled with the miners and their wives, who stood waiting to look on at the marriage of "our Miss Lou," for she was a favorite with them all. At length the murmur of voices died away, as Mr. Nelson took his place in the chancel, while the little organ pealed out the opening strains of the wedding march. A moment later, the doors swung open and the bridal party entered, Charlie and Ned leading the way, with Allie and Marjorie following them, while Mr. Everett and his daughter came after them. Louise was beautiful, in her simple white silk gown, although she looked a little pale and nervous, as she saw so many eyes turned upon her. Then she forgot it all, all the crowd and the excitement, and even the friends gathered about her, and her face grew radiant with her love, for Dr. Brownlee had met her at the head of the aisle, to lead her forward to the altar; and above the low notes of the organ, she heard the quiet, earnest voice, as it followed Mr. Nelson's through the familiar words,—
"I, Winthrop, take thee, Louise, to my wedded wife."
Their troths were plighted, the ring was slipped into place, and the blessing was pronounced. Then, as Winthrop Brownlee and his bride turned to face the congregation once more, the organ rang out in a triumphal march, and the bell in the little tower overhead burst into a merry peal. The sound rolled far up and down the valley, and the mountains echoed back the happy tidings; then the evening quiet once more descended upon Blue Creek Cañon.
L'ENVOI.
The last leaf ended, ere you lay
My book aside, and turn to rest,
Read here, old friends, between the lines,
My loving memories of your West.
The distance shortens to my eyes;
To-morrow's sun will sink to rest
Behind your hills. One day is all
That separates us, East and West.
Then hasten forth, my little book,
Speed on your way, nor pause to rest;
But, turning towards the setting sun,
My greetings bear from East to West.
"Tremont," Twenty-seventh May, 1892.