BANNS of Marriage

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume LXXXIII, Issue 19858, 4 June 1927, Page 20 (Supplement)

BANNS of Marriage

Complete Story

By

Ursula Bloom

The soft rays of the springtime sunset filtered through the branches of the old apple tree and lit up the Rectory library. All round the red-papered walls were the Rector’s books, his greatest friends and treasures. Bent over th« large tapestry-covered table was a girl of some seventen summers, and the last lingering rays of the sun tinged with a ruggy gold the hair that framed her pretty face. It was Ruth’s duty every Saturday evening to inscribe in the penny exercise book provided for that purpose by the old Rector, his text for the following day’s sermon, the public notices, and the banns, of marriage. The Rector was getting old; he had had an eventful life and an anxious one. Six children had made his financial resources always more or less slender. and now, left a widower in his declining years, he lapsed into a state of semi-childishness. Dorothea, the eldest girl, had done her best for him. but nowadays her efforts were chiefly confined to mending, making, and housekeeping, on a very slender purse, for her father and the younger ones. Dorothea had fallen blissfully in love with Tony Golders, and was, as Ruth would say, “up to her cars in it.” Why Tony and Thea did not get married, Ruth could not imagine. Tony was rich, Tony was elegible, and he loved Thea devotedly. But Tony was also shy, and Dorothea, although her heart yearned for him. was not the girl to encourage him and help him over the difficult business of “popping the question.” Ruth found herself biting her pen. her brows meeting in a troubled frown, ns she pondered on the somewhat hopeless love affair of Tony and Thea. “Of course, she said to herself, “the end of it will be that he’ll drown himself in one pond, and Thea will drown herself in another.” The old apple tree nodded its head and agreed with her. From the paper beneath her hands stared her father’s text for the morrow. The public notices followed —mothers’ meeting on Wednesday, choir practice on Friday, and the services for the following Sunday. Next came the banns of marriage. Ruth took the crumpled piece of paper brought that evening by a perspiring and nervous young farm worker, and Tried to make head or tail of it. Thomas Huntingdon and Betsy Higgins, of the parish of Alminster—first time of asking. The sun came in again, dazzling her soft grey eyes. Once more the provocative little mouth bit at the Rectory pen. If only the names were those of Thea and Tony! Hnw absurd it would be hearing them read out. Yet they would undoubtedly have to be read out if they were going to be married, unless, of course, Tony bought a license. Carefully her hand went over the exercise book: “I publish the bans of marriage . . . .” A demon leapt up within her. She must for the sheer fun of the thing see what it would really look like. The india-rubber was at hand. It was a mere moment’s work, and the result glared up at her: — “I publish the banns of marriage of Anthony Edwin Gelders. bachelor, of the parish of Norton, and of Dorothea Hillary Grey, spinster, of this parish. This is for the first time of asking.” The aggravating part of it all was that it looked perfectly natural. There

I’ was nothing in the least out of the ordinary in the simple form—nothing to make it look any more imposing than j if she had written Thomas Huntingdon and Betsy Higgins. Ruth put her head on one side and I chuckled. Then she took up the indiarubber to erase the names. It was at that moment there broke out below a terrible hubbub —the agitated lowing cf cattle, the hoarse vocabulary of an indignant herdsman, and the domentations of the old Rector. “It's those wretched cows,” said Ruth, furiously. ‘ ‘ That fool of a boy . ! has driven them in at the front gate again, and they’re romping on the tennis court. I’ll ginger him up.” She raced across the hall and out of the house just in time to see four large cows, with tails waving and heads in the air. ambling across the smooth green of the tennis court, while the Rector wrung his hands in despair and 1 an agitated boy chased at their heels. It was a quarter of an hour before pence reigned again. Ruth and her father were inspecting the damage done (which was about as bad as could i reasonably be expected), when Tony and Thea came in at the gate. Thea, looking tired and weary, had her arm linked in Tony’s. The latter was carrying a variety of parcels of odd shapes and sizes, and looking down into ‘ Thea’s face as he talked. Neither was very interested in the damage done by the cows, their only interest being in each other! ! “Yes, I know,” said Thea. “They I always do it. It’s one of the things I that are bound to happen, like Christ- . j mas Day. and pancakes on Shrove . Tuesday. Come along Tony. I’m fhirsty. Let’s get some lemonade in the diningroom.” Tony followed her in, and sat down beside her on the Jacobean settle. “Awful fuss Ruth makes.” said Thea, after a long drink. “She’s such an excitable child. Goes off at a tan gent about everything and works Dad ; | into a terrible stew.” “Of course, the truth about Dad.” . said Tony, with conviction, “is that, , ; lo put it mildly, he’s getting past his ■: job.” “Poor old darling,” said Thea. “It’s j awful, but you are quite right.” ■| “A good thing he has got you and : I Ruth to hack him up.” said Tony. On Sunday morning all was hurry and bustle. Ruth was busy marshalling the younger children ready for church. Thea was occupied with the food department. Finally, at the very last moment, the procession filed into * the Rectory pew. Ruth holding the twins each by a hand, whilst Georgie ’ j and Meg preceded them. Thea. her I ■ hand resting on Tony’s arm, had eyes ■ | for no one else in the world. I | Lightheartedly they stopped into the Rectory pew. with happy faces sang 11 the opening hymn, and then listened to their father as he absent-mindedly read ‘ the exhortation. f It was whilst Ruth sang the Te Deum that her eye rested for one moment on the penny exercise book tucked under the Testament on the lectern, i [ and an awful numbing fear gripped at 1 ’her heartstrings as she remembered. t j “ Vouchsafe, O Lord ...” sank Thea | and Tony, their heads almost touching ’ ! as they shared the same blue-bound ’ Prayer Book. But Ruth’s lips did not i ■ move; she only glared fiercely and long . I at that penny exercise book. I There was no hope of rescuing it. i ‘ Her father would never heed, and > i would read it out —he always did. He

■as so absent-minded that he would icver realise he was giving out his owi? daughter’s banns of marriage.

How would it fall on Thea and Tony? The village would be figog; the younger ones would probably snigger, and the elders would confer in furtive whispers. It was going to be a crisis with a vengeance. The To Deum was over and her : father marched down and took up his : stand, oblivious of what was about to ; happen. For one awful moment Ruth ; felt almost sick. She heard the murmuring voice as though in a dream. Then suddenly it ceased, the lesson was over, and the old Rector opened the penny exorcise book. Beads of perspiration appeared on Ruth’s forehead as she heard him begin. She was too dazed to hear what ihe read out. She cn-y saw Tony half • rise to his feet, scarlet to the roots of • his ginger hair, and marked the iinper- ; turbablo calm of the old Rector, who i had, as she expressed it to herself, I “put his feet into it right up to the j knees.” Thea had turned white and • clung to Tony. “Take mo out,” she I said. “I .. . I’m going to faint.” | She never remembered how she got ! out. She only knew that when they | got to the door she felt her knees give i way, and that Tony lifted her in his ! strong young arms. When she re- • membered again she was lying on the i grass of the shadowy churchyard, with ■ Tony kneeling by her, chafing her i hands. “Hold up, Thea,” he was saying; “never say die. It’s a. deuce of a mess, but for Heaven’s sake don’t take it like this.” She began to cry. Turning, she clung to him, hiding her face in his tweed jacket. He let her cry for a moment or two. smoothing back her hair, and trying to soothe her, catching only here and there a word of what she was sobbing out. “Ruth must have done it —her idea of a joke, I suppose.” A little linnet in the hawthorn tree began to sing. Tony raised Thea’s head. “Darling, be sensible. I don’t see I that it matters very much. After all, would you hate to marry me?” She sobbed something almost unintelligible. “Then what is all the fuss about? What ever is the matter? You know I’ve loved you more than anyone else in the world for months and months.” “Tony!” Her hands tightened their hold on his coat. “You are not j saying this because you think you’ve I got to?” “Because I’ve .... well, I’m hanged-” said Tony. .“My dear, I’ve been trying to tell you for weeks, only I’ve never bad the courage to come up to the scratch. Now somebody else has done it for ns. I withdraw all I said last night—Dad is not too old for his job.” Thea kissed him. “It’s all right, then?” whispered Tony. “They go up for the second time of asking next Sunday?” The linnet fluttered away to the nest of his heart’s desire, and for a wonderful moment there was silence in the churchyard. Then Thea spoke. She was a happy Thea again.

“I never thought of it. Tony. However shall I get a trousseau made in time?”