CHAPTER II

A RAINY WEDDING DAY

On the morning of June fifteenth, Beldingsville was wakened by the
monotonous drip of rain. It was not a jolly spring shower, hurrying to
get through its chore of washing up. The skies were leaden, with no hint
of blue behind the sullen clouds. There were puddles in the streets, and
the garden flowers bowed low under their load of rain-drops. At six
o’clock Mrs. Chilton pattered into her niece’s room.

“Pollyanna, it really seems a shame. Here, after two weeks of almost
uninterrupted sunshine, you have a rainy wedding day.”

Pollyanna beamed at her. “Well, Auntie, I’m glad it’s cooler, anyway.
And if it rains today, it’s all the more likely to be pleasant while
we’re down at the shore.”

Aunt Polly was not to be consoled so easily. “I’d planned to have the
refreshments served on the lawn,” she sighed. “But that’s out of the
question now, even if it stops raining, for the ground is soaked.”

“Isn’t it lucky that you’ve got such a splendid big house,” exulted
Pollyanna. “Just think if you hadn’t any place to put the people.”

Aunt Polly still persistently clung to her grievance. “There’s something
depressing about a rainy wedding day. Perhaps it’s because of the
proverb, ‘Happy is the bride the sun shines on.’”

“I thought,” Pollyanna exclaimed, “that it was, ‘Happy is the bride the
rain falls on.’”

“That isn’t the way I remember it,” objected Aunt Polly, and then she
checked herself, smiling involuntarily in sympathy with Pollyanna’s
contagious laugh.

“It doesn’t make a bit of difference, Aunt Polly. I’m going to invent a
brand-new proverb on the spot, ‘Happy is the bride who marries Jimmy,
rain or shine!’”

In planning for her niece’s wedding, Mrs. Chilton had disregarded
Pollyanna’s plea for economy, and had not even deemed it necessary to
consult the girl’s preferences. If a member of the Harrington family was
to be married, certain things were obligatory, regardless of any other
consideration. She had gone on making her arrangements, and telling
herself that, after Pollyanna was gone, she herself could live on next
to nothing. “I shall have to sell the place anyway,” she reflected
bitterly. “I can’t keep it up on my income.” And then Pollyanna had come
to her with the announcement that Jimmy had planned to send her a
generous check every month, that Jimmy himself had suggested it.

“Pollyanna!” Mrs. Chilton had gasped. “But I can’t accept it from you.”

“But you _must_ take it, Aunt Polly,” Pollyanna insisted. “Think of all
I owe you, and what a joy it is to pay back a little bit. If you refuse,
Jimmy and I will be terribly upset,” she ended truthfully.

“But you can’t afford to give me any such amount—unless Jimmy’s doing
extraordinarily well.”

“He _is_ doing well, Aunt Polly, and this was all his own idea. So
please don’t make us both unhappy by objecting.”

In the end Aunt Polly had been forced to yield, and her capitulation had
been made easier by the reflection that now Pollyanna would have, in her
own home, a refuge from the summer heat of the great city, where the two
young folks were to start house-keeping. “She’s always been such an
outdoor child,” she thought tenderly. And then she felt the prick of
contrition under her happiness as she remembered her early opposition to
Pollyanna’s choice.

“It wasn’t that I had any objection to the boy himself,” she explained
to her accusing conscience, “but it stands to reason that a Harrington
couldn’t marry just anybody.”

The knowledge that grinding economy would not be necessary after June
fifteenth made no difference whatever in Mrs. Chilton’s plans. But, as
was natural, she went on with her preparations in quite a different
spirit. As she gave orders to a city caterer regarding the wedding cake,
and laid down the law to the local florist, she seemed more like her
former self than at any time since her husband’s death.

It was only to be expected that, in the community, which so long before
had learned the glad game, the rainy wedding day should be accepted as
part of the fun. As six o’clock approached, mud-splashed vehicles, drawn
by dripping horses, made their way along the muddy road which led to the
old Harrington homestead. Automobiles glided to Mrs. Chilton’s door, and
chauffeurs held umbrellas over the alighting guests. Others, who had
only their own feet to depend on, splashed along in overshoes and
rain-coats, their bobbing umbrellas giving the effect of a procession of
toad-stools, and left a trail of laughter along their way. If
Beldingsville had ever played the game, it was playing it that night.

Pollyanna had given in to her aunt in most things. She had submitted in
the matter of the wedding announcements. She had acquiesced, though not
without protest, in giving the order for a wedding cake that looked like
a frosted Eiffel Tower. She had yielded to Aunt Polly’s determination to
have a florist decorate the room, even while she had insisted that she
and Jimmy could do it perfectly well with flowers from the garden. But
in one thing Pollyanna had had her way. Her friends, regardless of their
social standing, had been invited to attend her wedding.

“You see it’s this way, Aunt Polly,” Pollyanna had explained, her face a
little anxious for fear that she might not make the matter quite clear,
“I’m perfectly willing to have nobody but the two families, but, if
we’re going to ask outsiders, I really must have Nellie Mahoney and Mrs.
Benton.”

Aunt Polly bit the pencil with which she was writing her list.
“Pollyanna, you are the queerest girl. I’m not saying a word against
either of them. Mrs. Benton is a very estimable person, I’ve no doubt,
and the Mahoney girl has been a devoted daughter; but to invite them on
an occasion like this——”

“Then we’ll have just the families,” interrupted Pollyanna brightly.
“And there won’t have to be so much wedding cake.”

This did not please Aunt Polly, either. “We must remember how such
things will impress other people. Now Mrs. Carew—I mean Mrs.
Pendleton—moves in the most exclusive society.”

“I know she does,” admitted Pollyanna. “But Aunt Ruth—Jimmy wants me to
practise calling her that, so I won’t stammer when the time comes—is
the very one who likes people for what they are themselves. Why, Sadie,
who is just like a daughter to her now, was a salesgirl, you know. I’d
really like to have Aunt Ruth meet Nellie Mahoney,” concluded Pollyanna.
“She’d appreciate what a fine girl she is, in spite of some little
peculiarities.”

“Bad grammar and excruciating taste in dress, for instance?” suggested
Aunt Polly grimly. And then when Pollyanna flushed, as if she personally
had been criticized, the older woman experienced a reaction which,
before she realized it, had carried her to the point of complete
surrender.

And so, on Pollyanna’s wedding night, the house was full of people, many
of whom would have forded rivers to be present, to say nothing of
splashing through brimming gutters. There were more wet rain-coats and
dripping umbrellas and muddy overshoes upstairs than had ever, in all
probability, been collected under one roof in Beldingsville since the
town was founded; but downstairs were light and laughter and happy
faces. It was generally understood that there were to be no tears at
Pollyanna’s wedding.

John Pendleton was to give the bride away, and the Rev. Paul Ford was to
perform the marriage ceremony, and to both men the occasion brought back
many tender memories. The minister recalled the little girl who with
such unconsciousness had opened his eyes to the importance of the
“rejoicing texts,” and had thereby saved his ministry from failure.
“Every parish needs a Pollyanna,” he had said a great many times, and it
would have been hard to find anyone in Beldingsville to disagree with
him.

As for John Pendleton, when he looked back on the morose, embittered man
who had shut the world out of his home and his heart alike, he found it
hard to believe that the John Pendleton to whose rescue Pollyanna had
come that far-off day, in Pendleton Woods, had really been himself. “I’d
have been grateful to one who’d merely saved my life,” thought the man
as he went up the stairs, for the little bride; “but Pollyanna made my
life worth while.”

She was waiting for him in her white dress, with the veil on which Aunt
Polly had insisted, and with a wreath of orange blossoms over her soft
hair. John Pendleton stood for a minute looking down on her, and such a
lump came up in his throat that he had to make several efforts to
swallow it before he could speak her name.

“Pollyanna, you’re the loveliest bride I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh, Uncle John!”

It was the first time she had ever called him that, and he felt the lump
again. So, instead of bothering to speak, he simply stooped and kissed
her.

“I’m afraid I don’t feel quite like a bride,” said Pollyanna, putting
her hand through his arm. “So many of them look as if they were scared,
you know, and I’m so happy that it almost chokes me. But, of course,”
ended Pollyanna, reasonably, an unmistakable sympathy blending with her
explanatory tone, “none of the others were marrying Jimmy.”

* * * * *

Pollyanna was rather astonished to find it so soon over. After the
months and months she had spent taking infinitesimal stitches on
innumerable garments,—for Aunt Polly had old-fashioned ideas regarding
a trousseau—after the hours of directing wedding announcements, and the
days given to setting the house in order, till there was not a remote
corner of the garret that was not absolutely spick and span, as if every
wedding guest would bring a search warrant, entitling him to make an
exhaustive examination of the premises, it was almost disconcerting to
have the minister, after two or three minutes, addressing her as Mrs.
Pendleton, and wishing her joy.

If there is anything in good wishes, no young couple ever started life
with a more complete equipment. In the anxious time that followed Aunt
Polly’s losses, Pollyanna had been cheered and strengthened by having
some of her friends tell her what she had meant to them, and, in her
hour of supreme happiness, their tributes filled her cup till it
overflowed.

A full heart is likely to relieve itself by tears, and Pollyanna might
have set a bad example by crying at her own wedding, if old Mrs.
Tibbetts had not created a diversion. Mrs. Tibbetts had become so deaf
that, when she once set out to say something, there was no stopping her.
The only thing possible was to listen till she had quite finished.

When she had kissed Pollyanna, Mrs. Tibbetts regarded Jimmy with almost
fierce attention. “I want to take a look at the young feller who thinks
he’s good enough for Pollyanna Whittier.”

“But I don’t, Mrs. Tibbetts, on my honor, I don’t,” pleaded Jimmy; but,
as the old lady could not hear him, his humility made no impression on
her.

With unabated severity she continued, “If you ever make this child
anything but happy, Mr. James Pendleton, I hope she’ll send for me. And
I’ll come, if you’re at the earth’s end, and murder you with my own
hands.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Tibbetts, I’ll appreciate it if you’ll do that very
thing.” Jimmy seized her hand, and shook it heartily, rather to her
surprise. And, the little episode relieved the tension and everybody
laughed. Even the people in the next room, who did not have the least
idea what it was all about, laughed as heartily as the others, swept
along by the irresistible current of gay spirits.

Even the weather gave in at last. When Pollyanna went upstairs to change
to her going-away dress, someone shouted a surprising discovery, “The
moon’s out.”

And so it was. The sombre clouds had vanished, and a big, benignant moon
extinguished all but the most daring stars. The wet leaves and dripping
blades of grass reflected the silver rays, while every pool in the muddy
roads seemed lined with mother-of-pearl. And the night air was fragrant
with a million delicate scents, breathed out by refreshed flowers.

The guests crowded out on the broad piazza to watch the young people
drive away in John Pendleton’s limousine, and a good many pairs of eyes
were blinking rapidly as they looked, and a number of people were
thankful that the comparative darkness made it possible for them to use
their handkerchiefs unobserved. As the car started away, Nancy rushed
forward, and threw after it an old shoe. It was one of Timothy’s and
Nancy had selected it on the principle that the larger the shoe, and the
shabbier, the more certain it was to bring good luck. It fell with a
splash into a puddle some little distance down the drive, and Nancy
turned to her husband and wept against his broad shoulder.

“Yes, I know and I’m glad fer her. But jest the same, she’ll never come
back to Beldingsville to live, and the town ain’t the same place without
her, it ain’t, it ain’t.”

But there were no tears in the interior of the limousine. Jimmy had
drawn Pollyanna to him, almost before the door slammed shut. “My own
girl,” he said.

In the circle of his arm Pollyanna sat very still.

“It means more to me than it can to other fellows,” Jimmy went on a
little unsteadily. “For most of my life, you see, I’ve had to put up
with makeshifts. No mother, an adopted father—though, Uncle John is a
prince, of course—and even a name that isn’t really mine. But at last
I’ve got something that’s my very own.”

Pollyanna nestled closer. “And so have I,” she said softly.

“I should think so. It isn’t that I belong to you, body and heart and
soul, and might and mind and strength, and all the rest of it. But I’m
yours because you made me, Pollyanna. You’ve given me everything. If it
wasn’t for you, I should probably be a second-rate farm-hand by now, if
not a tramp.”

Pollyanna sat up quickly. “I never heard anything so absurd,” she
declared with such emphasis, that, if her voice reached the chauffeur
through the glass, as it probably did, he must have thought this young
couple was getting an early start in family disagreement. “You were a
boy who was bound to make his way. Anybody with a grain of sense could
see that you were remarkable.”

They discussed the matter vehemently all the way to the station, and
Jimmy called Pollyanna a goose, and Pollyanna expressed the most
unflattering opinion of Jimmy’s intelligence. And then, as they waited
for the train, which was half an hour late, as trains in Beldingsville
were likely to be, Jimmy found a new reason for self-congratulation.
Everyone said married people must quarrel sooner or later, and now their
quarrel was behind them, so that they could look forward to undisturbed
domestic felicity for the rest of their lives.