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  Elly too was caught up in the general prewedding excitement and anticipation, but Johanna had always been especially sweet to her little sister Elly, her pet. There was enough difference in their ages that there had never been any competitive rivalry between them as had existed between Cissy and Johanna, Cissy and Elly. When she realized that Johanna would actually be leaving them, going off to live with Ross far away, Elly felt very sad. And she was quite fond of the tall, gentle man who, Johanna had explained, was going to be her “brother.” Having them both leave together would be hard for Elly to take.

  The entrance of Rebecca soon sent the two younger girls scuttling to get dressed. “Hurry now. I’ll be in later to tie your sashes,” she told them. “And do your hair, Cissy.” Cissy was the only one of the three who did not have natural curls.

  When they had left, Rebecca turned to Johanna. “Come, Johanna, it’s time,” she said briskly. Her daughter’s glowing eyes and radiant face brought sudden, unexpected tears stinging into Rebecca’s eyes. To hide them, she quickly turned her back, went over to the armoire, making a pretense of smoothing the shimmering folds of the wedding dress.

  When Johanna was bathed, her hair brushed, braided, and wound into a coronet, with four ringlets on either side, bunched and tied with white ribbon, Johanna stood in front of the mirror while her mother buttoned the twenty tiny buttons down the back of her bodice.

  Where was Ross? Johanna wondered. Was he getting himself into a white shirt, uncomfortably submitting to the requisite fastening of a high, stiffly starched collar, a silk cravat, getting some last-minute advice from Dr. Murrison, who was to stand up with him at today’s ceremony? Dear Ross, she thought with a tender sympathy—it will only be for a few hours. One can withstand anything for a few hours. And then—a lifetime of happiness together.

  Johanna was so preoccupied by her own happy thoughts that she missed the expression on her mother’s face reflected in the mirror as she stood behind her. Rebecca looked at her with a mingling of sadness and hopelessness. If only…If only…were the errant thoughts flowing restlessly through her mind.

  But Johanna was unaware of such maternal regrets. Her heart was singing. At last! At last, all her dreams were coming true.

  “Now the skirt, Johanna,” her mother said, and the silk overskirt slid over her taffeta petticoat with a delightful whispering swish.

  Throughout the morning, the aunties had arrived one by one, peeking their bonneted heads in the bedroom door, whispering, “Could I be of any help?” Only Aunt Honey’s offer was accepted, as she had brought the bridal bouquet Johanna was to carry, lilies of the valley, picked fresh that very morning from Aunt Honey’s garden, then encircled in a paper lace ruffle and tied with satin ribbons.

  Cissy came in next, looking very grown-up in her maid of honor gown, gazing at herself in the mirror as she moved her head back and forth to make her new garnet earrings swing. Next Liddy and Elly were admitted, looking like two spring flower fairies in their pastel dresses, wreaths of fresh flowers on their heads. Finally Johanna was ready, just as there came a discreet knock on the door, and her father stood on the threshold.

  When Johanna turned to greet him, she was caught off guard by what she saw in her father’s eyes as he gazed upon her in her bridal gown. For perhaps the first time in her life, she grasped the intensity of his love. Mingled there also was something she could not quite discern. It was a moment filled with a depth of emotion she had never plumbed. Her instinct was to lighten it. Affecting a coyness she had often mimed on other occasions to amuse him, Johanna put her forefinger under her chin and curtsied, asking, “How do I look?”

  Tennant cleared his throat, said huskily, “Beautiful, my dear.” They had survived the emotional moment, and Johanna moved swiftly across the room and placed her hand on his arm. He patted her hand and asked, “Ready?” She nodded and together they went into the hall to the top of the stairway, then slowly descended the steps. At the bottom, they turned to enter the parlor, where the preacher and Johanna’s bridegroom waited.

  The familiar parlor had been transformed into a bower of fragrant loveliness. All the aunties had contributed the choicest flowers from their individual gardens, and arranged them in milk glass vases on the mantelpiece and in baskets fanning out from the fireplace.

  For Johanna, who was seeing it all with starry eyes, the room shimmered with light from hundreds of candles, although actually there were only two four-branched candelabra behind Reverend Moresby, creating an angelic haloed aura around his head. Then her gaze met Ross’s, and her breath was taken away by the impact. All nervousness left her. Never before in her life had she felt so calm, so confident, so sure, as she did going forward to take his outstretched hand.

  All past tragedies were forgotten in that one triumphant moment. Having one’s dream come true was a very satisfactory state of affairs.

  As her father took her hand and placed it in Ross’s extended one, Johanna felt the symbolism of the act, which signified a transfer of responsibility, protection, and caring between the two men. Up to this moment Tennant had been her “cover.” From this day forward it would be Ross’s duty to love, honor, and cherish her.

  Johanna was fully aware that in the exchange of vows, she was not only giving herself into Ross’s care but promising to hold him in esteem, give him reverence and obedience, “as long as you both shall live.” It was the most solemn, sacred pledge she had ever taken, and she intended to carry it out with all her mind, soul, spirit.

  She held her breath as the minister intoned the closing admonition of the marriage ritual. “The sacrifices you will be called upon to make, only love can make easy—perfect love can make them joy.” Sacrifices? she thought, glancing up at Ross’s serious profile. All she could think of was the joy.

  A smile played at the corners of her mouth. Of course she promised to “love, honor, and obey.” She pushed back the lace mitt on her third finger, left hand, so that Ross could slip on her wedding band. Then she heard the thrilling words before the benediction. “I now pronounce you man and wife.”

  A long moment of quiet followed that pronouncement, then suddenly it was broken by a rush of voices. Hugs, kisses, and congratulations followed as the assembled family crowded around the couple.

  Soon after the ceremony, other guests began arriving for the reception. The Shelby parlor had been too small to accommodate all their acquaintances and friends for the actual ceremony. In a daze of pure happiness, Johanna took her place beside Ross and her parents to greet them.

  As the guests came through the receiving line, Johanna read in their glances—although they were all too polite to say anything—a startling message. It was the same look that had puzzled her when she saw it in her father’s eyes earlier. Now she understood it clearly. Pity! She could almost hear the whispers of some of the wedding guests, the comments. “Imagine! A pretty, popular, accomplished young woman throwing herself away to marry a penniless doctor and go live in a remote mountain community.”

  Even as it made her furious, she felt a slight chill slide through her veins.

  If she had not been so completely in love with Ross Davison, it might have caused her deep anger. Or worse still, fear. But just then she felt his hand clasp hers in a reassuring squeeze. Looking up at him, she saw in his eyes all that mattered—unabashed, unconditional, unswerving love.

  Auntie Bee, young in heart and a romantic, had offered her home for the newlyweds to stay in for the three days before they left for their home in the mountains. She and her husband, Radford, were leaving right after Johanna’s wedding for a long-planned visit to her husband’s ninety-four-year-old mother in Pennfield. Therefore their house would be empty and thus provide the young couple privacy for a short “honeymoon.”

  In a flurry of rice and rose petals, Johanna and Ross, hand in hand, left the reception in the buggy lent by Dr. Murrison, drove the short distance to the Breckenridge house. Auntie Bee’s housekeeper of many years, Tulie, met them at the door.
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  “Evenin’, Miss Johanna. Evenin’, Doctor,” she greeted them, her wrinkled brown face creased in a wide, toothless smile.

  Tulie had known Johanna since she was a little girl, so the curtsey was in deference to Johanna’s husband the doctor and her new status as a “married lady.”

  “Miss Bee and me got the guest room all ready,” she told them. “And Miss Bee thought you-all would like to eat your supper on de balcony oberlookin’ de garden.”

  “That sounds lovely, Tulie.” Johanna smiled and, still holding Ross’s hand, followed the old woman up the winding stairway to the second floor.

  At the top, Tulie turned as if to be sure they were behind her, then waddled down the corridor to the end and opened a door, gesturing them to enter. They stepped inside the spacious, high-ceilinged room scented with lilac and rose potpourri, and the door clicked shut behind them, signaling Tulie’s quiet departure.

  Johanna had been in and out of her aunt’s house dozens of times, she realized, but she had never been in the guest room. She looked around with pleasure. Everything—colors, fabrics, and furnishings—was in exquisite taste. In the white-paneled fireplace, a fire had been laid, ready for the touch of a match should the evening turn cool. A golden maple tester bed was covered by Auntie Bee’s prize Double Wedding Ring quilt.

  Johanna walked over and opened the French windows to the balcony, where a round table covered with white linen cloth and set with sparkling crystal goblets and fine china awaited them. To one side was a wheeled cart on which were placed several silver-domed serving dishes and a coffee urn.

  “Come look, Ross,” she called.

  He followed her out and stood behind her.

  “Isn’t it perfect?” she said.

  He slipped his arms around her waist, leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Yes, perfect,” he whispered.

  Johanna turned in his arms. Ross’s hands smoothed over her ringleted curls, causing Johanna’s ornamented hair combs to drop with a plink to the polished floor, loosening masses of lustrous hair to tumble onto her shoulders. She lifted her face for his kiss. This was the kiss they had waited for, the kiss that expressed a love they both knew would be forever.

  At Holly Grove, in the master bedroom, Rebecca stood at her window looking out into the moon-drenched night. A tumult of emotions had kept her awake. This was her daughter’s wedding night. Oh, Johanna! Dear child, foolish child. Rebecca closed her eyes, twisted her hands together, and leaned her forehead against the glass.

  Her heart was full of pain, yet hope mingled with anxiety, resignation with prayer. Could she have done anything more to prevent this marriage? That thought still anguished Rebecca’s mind. Was the premonition she felt just imagination gone wild? Didn’t Paul exhort his followers to bring vain imagination into captivity? She must not borrow trouble but hope the best for a marriage that, in her opinion, was doomed to bring unhappiness to her beloved daughter.

  She heard a stirring in the bed behind her, then Tennant’s concerned voice. “My dear, is anything wrong?”

  She half turned toward him, shook her head. “No, nothing. Just couldn’t sleep.”

  How could she tell him how her thoughts of the past had rushed over her, overwhelming her with echoes of another love—someone whom she had weighed and found wanting, contrasted to him? In Tennant Shelby she had seen what she wanted in life. Tennant had never known that Rebecca had made so difficult a choice. She had already met Tennant when this other young man entered her life, and love—spontaneous, impulsive, unexpected—had flamed up between them. But she had let him go. His last words, flung at her in anger, still haunted…

  Rebecca shuddered, drew her shawl closer about her shoulders. There are two tragedies in life, the old Arabic proverb says. One is not getting what you wish for—the other is getting it.

  Tennant’s voice came again. “Come to bed, love. You must be exhausted. It’s been quite a day…”

  Part Two

  Chapter Eleven

  A second-day reception was held at Holly Grove for friends of the family who had not been invited the day of the ceremony. A glowing Johanna, in a dress of red-and-white dotted swiss, its eyelet-ruffled neckline edged with narrow red velvet ribbons, stood beside her new husband and her parents to receive guests. Her pride was apparent as she introduced Ross to those who had not yet met him. She was all smiles, sweetness, and gaiety.

  Rebecca observing her, thought with mild irony, Of course, now that you’ve got what you wanted, my girl, butter would melt in your mouth. Let’s hope that it doesn’t turn to sour cream.

  The aunties were in full force, darting here and there, seeing that the refreshment table and punch bowl were kept replenished, buzzing like happy bees, murmuring among themselves, nodding and smiling as they gazed fondly at the newlyweds.

  Ross, never all that at ease at social occasions, was glad when it was over. While Johanna, her sisters, and relatives gathered to ooh and aah over the many wedding gifts, Ross sought the respite of the side porch.

  It was approaching evening and the breeze was cool, refreshing on his hot cheeks. He had been acutely aware of the curiously speculative looks of the Shelbys’ friends who were meeting him for the first time. He could guess some of the comments being made, such as “What can a girl like Johanna see in him?” or “What can the Shelbys be thinking of to let their daughter marry him?” Perhaps he was oversensitive. However, even as strongly as he loved Johanna, he’d had moments of deep uncertainty himself. He had been brought up to respect his elders, to listen to their advice, heed their warnings, which had often been right. He hoped, for Johanna’s sake, he had not allowed good judgment to be swayed by his emotion. He hoped he could make her happy—even though he wasn’t sure just how.

  Early the morning of the third day after the wedding, Ross and Johanna started out from Hillsboro for the mountains. The farewells to her parents and sisters were blessedly brief. Happy and excited as she was to begin her new life with the husband she adored, Johanna did not trust herself to say good-bye without tears. Leaving her childhood home was hard enough. Leaving her parents, knowing that the hurt and disappointment she had caused them had not completely healed, was even harder.

  Saying good-bye to Cissy, who had already assumed her coveted role as the oldest Shelby daughter at home, amused Johanna more than it saddened her. However, when it came to Elly, the dam of tears broke. The little girl hugged Johanna tight around her waist, wailing, “Don’t go, Johanna, or take me with you!”

  Kissing the child’s wet cheeks, Johanna cuddled her, saying in a choked whisper, “You can come visit me, honey, if Mama will let you! But I have to go with Ross now.” Finally she had to almost pry the little girl’s fingers away from her clinging hold. Rebecca stepped forward and took Elly by the shoulders.

  “That will do, Elly. Shame for being such a crybaby. Johanna is married now and must go with her husband.” Almost the same words Johanna had used, but they sounded so different in her mother’s voice. Startled at the hard edge to Rebecca’s usually melodious voice, for a moment Johanna looked at her mother. But her expression was composed, controlled. Johanna started to say something. Something foolish, like “Mama, do you love me?” But the words caught in her throat. She felt Ross’s hand on her arm.

  “Come, Johanna,” he said gently. “We must get started if we want to get there before dark.”

  With another kiss and hug for Elly, Johanna put her hand through Ross’s arm and turned to go.

  To her surprise, at the last minute Cissy came running down the porch steps after them. “Wait, Johanna, wait!” she called. Johanna turned and Cissy flung herself into her arms. “Oh Johanna, we’re going to miss you.” Johanna could feel Cissy’s tears against her cheek. Surprised at this show of emotion from the sister who usually kept her distance, Johanna hugged her hard and whispered back, “Take care of Elly. Be sweet to her, won’t you?”

  Cissy nodded. Then they heard their mother’s voice. “Come, Cissy. Don’t delay them.
They must be on their way.”

  They would be riding on the two horses that were the McMillan’s wedding gift to them. Some of Johanna’s belongings had already been sent ahead to the cabin where they were to live in Millscreek Gap. Later Johanna’s trunk and other belongings would follow in a wagon.

  “Come, Johanna,” Ross said again.

  The sisters’ embrace loosened. For one long minute they looked into each other’s eyes. Johanna wished she had taken time to become closer to Cissy, tried to understand her better. But now it was too late. Her real parting with family had come.

  “Good-bye,” she said over the hard lump in her throat.

  Ross handed her up into her sidesaddle and tightened the straps of her small traveling bag behind her, then mounted his own horse. With one last look and wave to the group standing on the veranda, Johanna turned her horse’s head and followed Ross down the drive. They rode side by side but were silent as they passed through town. Johanna was dealing with a myriad of emotions that had suddenly rushed up inside her. Ross was sensitive enough to understand that she was saying good-bye to what she was leaving behind.

  At the town limits, they took the narrow, rutted road that led through the dense woods and upward into the mountains. It was nearly a day’s journey to reach Ross’s homeland. Johanna had never seen the sky so blue. A rising mist shimmered with the golden sunlight. The farther they got up into the hills, the sweeter the air, which was fragrant with the mingled scents of wild honeysuckle, sunbaked pine needles on the trail, ferns, spicy spruce. All along the paths and deep into the forest that flanked them on both sides, were masses of mauve and purple rhododendron, orangey azalea, and delicate pink mountain laurel, more beautiful in their random profusion than the arranged bouquets in church.