105 
Joining of the Two

Stirling Blakeley and Amanda Rutherford were married on October 24, 1923.

Catharine was Amanda’s maid of honor, Betsy her bridesmaid. Catharine’s plumpness had just begun to show, but her large frame and the loose cut of the dresses they made for the occasion hid her condition from all but those who knew. The radiance on her face, however, was indication enough that she was very happy, following in her mother’s footsteps, in her new life as the wife of a naval officer.

Rune Blakeley stood proudly next to his son as Stirling’s best man, with Terrill Langham beside him.

Martha sat in a place of honor next to Jocelyn. Betsy and Sister Hope, along with Hugh and Edlyn Wildecott-Browne, filled out one side of the front row in the Milverscombe church. Agatha Blakeley, her brother and sister from Exeter, and Rune’s sister and her family from Bristol occupied the front row on the other side of the aisle. Almost from the first strains of music from the organ, Jocelyn, Martha, and Hope began to cry. All eyes turned to see Amanda in a lovely cream-colored satin dress beginning to come toward them.

Amanda had asked Gifford, as her closest male relative, to walk her down the aisle and formally give her away. As Amanda slowly came forward on his arm, the expression on her countenance was neither so expansive nor exuberant as shone on her sister’s beaming face. Rather her smile spoke of quiet peace, gratitude, and contentment. If a hint of sadness could yet be detected as a reminder of the pain she had endured growing into readiness for this day, she would have said it was a good sadness from which she would not shrink in order to become all that God would have her be. And in its own way, its presence somehow made her yet more beautiful.

As they went, happy faces turned toward them, all eyes upon Amanda, the girl many of them had known as a tempestuous child, watched leave home as an independent youth, and then seen return as a young lady who was quickly growing into a woman of dignity and virtue just like her mother. Among the guests, to Amanda’s surprise and pleasure, she saw Gwendolen Powell and her husband, and Hubert Powell with his second wife. She gave a slight nod and extra smile as she passed them.

Stiffly Gifford did his best to retain his inexpressive poise as they walked. But even he could not help the edges of his mouth twitching upward occasionally in that most foreign of movements with which his facial muscles were unfamiliar—reflecting back the bright faces of Amanda’s and Stirling’s many friends with the hint of a smile.

“Dearly beloved,” began Timothy a few moments later with a great smile on his face, “we are gathered together this day to unite this man and this woman in holy matrimony. . . .”

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A huge reception was held that afternoon at Heathersleigh Hall. Nearly everyone in town was present. There was more food and drink than any three communities of such size could have consumed in a day, accompanied by much laughter and talk and well-wishing, which even occasionally brought from the cousin once removed of the bride a moment or two of unguarded chuckle and reply.

In late afternoon the bride and groom departed in the Rutherford Peugeot for Torquay. From there they traveled through Oxford, where Stirling showed Amanda the sights of his university years and introduced her to a few friends and professors who remained.

They spent several days in the Midlands, then returned to London, and thence followed Betsy and Hope back to Switzerland for the remainder of their honeymoon.

They spent two weeks at the chalet. Many of the villagers remembered Amanda, and by the end of their stay, Stirling was a favorite throughout the entire village of Wengen. He and Herr Buchmann hit it off in particular, with the latter almost promising to visit the newlyweds in England the following summer.

After three weeks away, they returned to Devon and took up residence in Heathersleigh Cottage.

Sarah remained at the Hall to wait on Jocelyn when she came; Wenda remained in the employ of Gifford and Martha. In his early seventies and though slowing considerably, Hector continued to occupy his room and do what he could to keep up the grounds. He was especially happy now that several of Jocelyn’s favorite horses had been returned to his care.

Gifford managed under the circumstances to do his best to preserve that long-standing British tradition of the stiff upper lip. The entire household treated him as if he were master of the place. He occasionally muttered and fussed, but was generally civil and accepted the ministrations of the houseful of women with grudging acknowledgment. Hector addressed him as “my lord.” He did nothing to discourage the appellation, and occasionally could be seen briefly afterward drawing himself up a little straighter in the back and carrying himself with heightened dignity.

On most mornings, Jocelyn, Martha, Sarah, Wenda, and Hector, along with Gifford when he was not in London, ate breakfast together, after which Gifford departed for the village and the bank.

“Good morning, Mr. Rutherford!” and other such greetings could be heard addressing him as he made his way through the streets of Milverscombe almost as frequently as they had followed his son. Gifford always nodded, rarely smiled, even more rarely returned the greetings. But the hard shell surrounding the seed of life in his heart was being slowly chipped away by the generous and forgiving natures of the simple folk with whom he now must conduct his business.