May 17, 1914
Robert Calvert and Rose Dawson were married on a sunny afternoon in May. It was a small wedding, held in a nearby park, with only the Hills and Hutchisons in attendance. The minister, who ordinarily would have been too busy to perform a wedding at such short notice, had given in to Deborah’s pleas and married the couple.
Deborah had insisted upon taking Rose shopping in San Francisco the day before as soon as they escaped from Belinda’s fittings. They had wandered amongst the department stores and boutiques, Rose pushing Deborah’s wheelchair on the steeper streets. They had taken a car into the city, but it was much too congested to simply drive from place to place, so the two women made their way through each block before returning to the car.
Deborah had escorted Rose into a small, fashionable ladies’ clothing store and insisted upon buying her a small trousseau. Rose had protested, but Deborah had refused to listen, insisting that it was her wedding present. Rose had to admit that the delicate, pretty lingerie and night things were much nicer than her own shabby, well-worn undergarments, but she wasn’t sure what she would do with the things once she reached Alaska. They didn’t seem too practical for the wilderness.
Rose returned the favor by introducing Deborah to the comfortable undergarments she had first adopted almost two years earlier, brassieres. Deborah had long ago rejected corsets, finding the tight undergarments with their metal or bone stays intolerable for one who had to sit all day, but she had never tried these undergarments. Rose showed her how they were used, and Deborah admitted that they were a great improvement over the more popular corsets.
When they returned to the Hutchisons’ home, they found that Mrs. Hill—always a wonder with a needle—had nearly finished Rose’s gown, although she admitted to enlisting one of the maids to help her. Rose had tried the gown on while Belinda had pinned up the hems. It had looked wonderful, and Rose was glad that she had permitted the gown to be made. She had thought of buying an inexpensive dress somewhere, but had to admit that this was much nicer. It also made her best friend’s mother happy to be able to perform such a service. Belinda had always treated Rose as though she were her own daughter.
When Rose had arrived at Deborah’s home the following day at noon to dress, the gown and veil had been ready. Deborah had looked her over critically, then selected some jewelry from her own collection for Rose to wear—a simple pearl necklace and matching earrings that set off the gown to perfection. It looked much better than the Heart of the Ocean that Rose had worn at her wedding to Cal, far more understated and less gaudy. Secretly, Rose thought that the Heart of the Ocean only looked good when nothing else was worn with it.
The wedding was held in a local park at two o’clock. There were no fancy invitations, decorations, or crowds of guests. There was only the happy couple and the bride’s dearest friends, as well as the minister and the Hill’s butler, who played the wedding march on the violin.
It was a beautiful day, the wedding area decorated by nature’s beauty. Flowers bloomed in profusion, and the trees, fully leafed out but not yet the deep shade of green they would be in the summer, stood majestically around the corner of the park that had been roped off for the wedding. The sky was a brilliant shade of blue, and the sounds of children playing could be heard in the distance. Birds chirped in the trees overhead.
It was so different from Rose’s first wedding that there seemed to be little comparison. Gone were the crowds of back-biting, social-climbing guests, the organ music that echoed through the enormous church, and the groom smirking at her, his eyes telling her what was to come while all the time he looked like a perfect gentleman to the watching guests. In place of those things were a few friends, soft violin music, and a groom who watched her with love in his eyes.
Rose stood at the edge of the trees, watching, as Will pushed Deborah’s wheelchair up to where the minister and Robert waited. Deborah looked stunning in a peach silk gown, scattering flower petals over the ground as they made their way to the front. The Hills stood to the side, watching with smiles on their faces.
Rose took a deep breath as the butler began to play the wedding march. Holding her bouquet of daffodils, narcissi, and white lilies, she slowly made her way over the grass to where Robert was standing, waiting for her. Handing her bouquet to Deborah, she turned to face him, smiling.
As they repeated their vows, and the minister said the words that made them husband and wife, Rose thought briefly of the events that had brought them there that day, and then put the thoughts from her mind, ready to face the future and whatever it held.
Afterwards, the couple and their friends returned to the Hill’s home for a wedding dinner, inviting the minister, and, at the Calverts’ insistence, the servants, to join them. It was a pleasant reception, with music playing on Mr. Hill’s phonograph and a buffet set up in place of a formal meal. Deborah applauded when the newlyweds cut the wedding cake and insisted that they join herself and Will in the car to return to their hotel at ten o’clock. Robert and Rose paid little attention to their hosts, so wrapped up were they in each other, and, when they arrived at their hotel, had to be told three times that they were there before they looked up.
They bade their hosts good night, and Deborah slyly whispered advice to Rose on which nightgown to wear for her wedding night, assured that her own experience as a married woman far outdid anything that Rose could know. Rose didn’t bother to correct her, but did take her friend’s advice on which item from her trousseau to wear.
Their wedding night was special, far more than Rose had thought possible, and she was glad that they had waited. And when the couple fell asleep in each other’s arms late that night, Rose’s last fleeting thought before sleep claimed her was of how happy she was.