This outburst of her new dignity--this initial assertion of her womanhood--had come almost as unexpectedly to herself as to her aunt.She had scarcely known it was in herself to do such a thing.Certain restrictions had been chafing her for a long time: she had not dreamed that they could so readily be set aside, that she had only to stamp her foot violently down on another foot and the other foot would be jerked out of the way.In the flush of elation, she thought of what had just taken place as her Declaration of Independence.She kept on celebrating it in a sort of intoxication at her own audacity:
"I have thrown off the yoke of the Old Dynasty! Glory for the thirteen colonies! A Revolution in half an hour! I'm the mother of a new country!
Washington, salute me!"
Then, with perhaps somewhat the feeling of a pullet that has whipped a hen in a barnyard and that after an interval will run all the way across the barnyard to attack again and see whether the victory is complete, she rose and went across the garden, bent on trying the virtue of a final peck.
"But you haven't congratulated me, Aunt Jessica! You have turned your back on the bride elect--you with all your fine manners! She presents herself once more to your notice the future Mrs.Joseph Holden, Junior, to be married one month from last night!" And unexpectedly standing in front of Mrs.Falconer, Amy made one of her low bows which she had practised in the minuet.But catching the sight of the face of her aunt, she cried remorsefully:
"Oh, I have been so rude to you, Aunt Jessica! Forgive me!" There was something of the new sense of womanhood in her voice and of the sisterhood in suffering which womanhood alone can bring.
But Mrs.Falconer had not heard Amy's last exclamation.
"What do you mean?" she asked with quick tremulous eagerness.She had regained her firmness of demeanour, which alone should have turned back any expression of sympathy before it could have been offered.
"That I am to become Mrs.Joseph Holden--a month from last night," repeated Amy bewitchingly.
"You are serious?"
"I am serious!"
Mrs.Falconer did not take Amy's word: she searched her face and eyes with one swift scrutiny that was like a merciless white flame of truth, scorching away all sham, all play, all unreality.Then she dropped her head quickly, so that her own face remained hidden, and silently plied her work.But how the very earth about the rake, how the little roots and clods, seemed to come to life and leap joyously into the air! All at once she dropped everything and came over and took Amy's hand and kissed her cheek.Her lovely eyes were glowing; her face looked as though it had upon it the rosy shadow of the peach trees not far away.
"I do congratulate you," she said sweetly, but with the reserve which Amy's accession to womanhood and the entire conversation of the morning made an unalterable barrier to her."You have not needed advice: you have chosen wisely.You shall have a beautiful wedding.I will make your dress myself.
The like of it will never have been seen in the wilderness.You shall have all the finest linen in the weaving-room.Only a month! How shall we ever get ready!--if we stand idling here! Oh, the work, the work!" she cried and turned to hers with a dismissing smile--unable to trust herself to say more.
