2Rilla Blythe married Kenneth Ford, as planned, one week before Christmas, in the parlour of Ingleside. All of her friends and family were there – and his. Aunt Leslie was lovely as ever in a deep violet silk – her 'clothes were purple and gold' as always. She and Mrs. Dr. Blythe held hands through the service and shared secret, happy smiles. Rilla had an inordinate number of bridesmaids – Una and Nan, Persis and three of her friends from Junior Reds, and a thin, pale, but happy Di was maid of honor. Faith would have stood up for her, too, if she had not become Mrs. Blythe before Rilla became Mrs. Ford. All the same she looked lovely on Jem's arm in her green chiffon.
Rilla came down the stairs in her wedding dress – lovingly wrought by Mrs. Dr. Blythe and Miss Cornelia – a shining, shimmering, living dress that seemed made of starlight instead of silk. Her mother's veil was draped over her lovely red-brown curls, and there was a flash of Aunt Marilla's purple gem at her throat. Rilla held a cluster of narcissus in arms as strong and lovely as if they had been made of marble.
Kenneth felt his breath catch as he watched her – they all did. But Ken was rather hard put to keep his face composed – here was his woman, here was the girl he loved. She would be by his side for all the living they had ahead of them to do. Those darling hands would hold their children and tuck them in at night. Here was what he had been fighting for. He remembered an old verse that he had learned in Sunday school: She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life. And he would do for her the same.
Jerry married them – it was his first wedding, and he would never forget it. It was rather odd, Rilla thought, to see Jerry in his robes in the forefront and Mr. Meredith in his plain clothes in the background. If he had done a less thorough job Rilla would have felt for ever that she wasn't properly married – but Jerry did a fine job, so she felt, as she told Kenneth Ford that she would love and honor him, as properly married as one might be. Nan looked on and beamed with pride.
The parlor was hung with holly and ivy and boughs of Rainbow Valley spruce that gave off a wonderful scent. They at their wedding feast by candlelight, and it was as witching and happy a dinner as had ever been. No one noticed the food, despite all of Susan and Rilla's careful planning. It was quite a simple little ceremony and dinner, and Betty Mead, bridesmaid, whispered to Rita Crawford, ditto, that she had expected more pomp and circumstance from dear Rilla – but somehow, this little family dinner seemed to suit her more than any other kind of celebration could have.
It began to snow after the wedding-cake was cut, and the world became a silent soft white. They all gathered around the fire – Kenneth Ford's hand was resting on the veiled head of his little wife as she sat by his feet. "Of all the brides that have ever walked down the stairs of this house, my Rilla must be the loveliest."
"I don't know if there has ever been another bride here," mused Miss Cornelia, resplendent in blue crepe. "Fred Morgan married his wife in Vancouver and then brought her here, and before that, this house was owned by three sisters – all spinsters. They lived here until they died, and the Morgans bought it. Their father built it. Rilla is the first bride of Ingleside. Unless there were some goings-on that I was not aware of."
Miss Cornelia's tone implied that if there were any goings-on, anywhere in the world, she would know about them.
"Marilla once told me," said Anne Blythe, eyes aglow, "That a house really wasn't a home until there was a birth, death, and marriage in it. All the children but for Jem were born here, and – and there have been deaths here. And now, because of you two," Anne looked at the beautiful bride and her groom, "This house is finally a home."
The thought of this place being anything but a home! It was the very essence of home.
"To the first bride of Ingleside," said the doctor, raising his glass. "To my little Rilla and her Ken."
"To Rilla and Ken," they all echoed, and the walls of Ingleside embraced back the happy noise.
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Rilla did not let Susan cloak her in a big, wool shawl for the walk to the House of Dreams. Nor would she allow anyone to wrap a coat around her shoulders. Susan was scandalized – she would catch her death! – but Mother, dear Mother, understood.
"It is impossible to be a bride and wear anything woolen," she laughed. "It's only cross-lots, darling – and you won't be too cold if you run!"
Rilla, shivering, from both happiness and cold, did just that, with her cluster of narcissus in one hand and Kenneth's own hand in the other. They turned back to wave at the folks on the verandah, who were clapping and cheering and waving back. Some may have been dashing tears away – tears of fond memories, tears for the too swift passage of time.
"Wasn't Rilla just yesterday a baby?" asked Dr. Blythe, quite bewildered, to his wife.
"Wasn't Kenneth?" asked Leslie Moore, to her husband.
Rilla and Kenneth did not dawdle in the fir wood as they might have on any other night. It was really too cold, and Rilla's gossamer dress did not keep the goosebumps on her arms from showing. Whether those were from the cold or from the fact that the House of Dreams had just come into view – ah, that Rilla was not entirely sure of.
The little house that had held so much living was all lighted up. There was a candle in every window, lit by the group of young people who had slipped away during the dinner and come back laughing, full of secrets. There was a fire in the old hearth, as well. The door to the house was unlocked, and the whistle and twirl of snow and wind in the eaves seemed to be saying to them to come in, come in! The little white house had the air of a house that has already done much living – but still has more to do. Kenneth took his wife again by the hand.
"Welcome home," he whispered, and hand in hand they stepped over the threshold of their house of dreams.
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The last line is from Anne's House of Dreams. I reused it here, because I thought it was appropriate.
