September is almost as popular as June for weddings nowadays.
Here's the story of a wedding that took place just before Christmas
in a country deep in it's first civil war.
"....The wedding took place in the yellow parlor in front of a
crackling hearth. The Dutch Reformed minister performed the ceremony and
everyone who was anyone for miles around attended. The room was packed with
patriot gentry, all turned out in their finest wigs and lace. The young men
present were almost universally in blue and buff.
Hamilton had gone to the expense of outfitting himself anew
before the trip north and today he looked resplendent in a crisp new uniform. The
epaulets of Lieutenant Colonel gleamed on his shoulders; his chest was crossed
by the green sash worn by the aides de camp of a commanding general. His hair
had been powdered, but not quite enough to extinguish a gingery glitter. Everyone
agreed; he looked overwhelmingly handsome.
“If Mama hadn’t had all these months to prepare, I’m afraid
my little sister would look like a hen pheasant beside that beautiful fellow.”
Angelica whispered waspishly to the only woman present she considered her peer,
tall blonde Arietta van Corlear. Diamond earrings flashed against creamy necks
as the belles approvingly surveyed the lithe figure of the groom.
Still, few others present would have agreed. For the
ceremony, Betsy had been transformed into a perfect, fashion plate angel. She
had submitted to wearing a wig (sent through enemy lines from Philadelphia),
which provided her with a tumble of snowy curls. Beneath this, her olive skin,
black eyes, and long dark lashes made a magnificent contrast. Mama had insisted
upon applying a delicate lamb’s wool brush of rouge to her high cheekbones,
which hollowed the Dutch fullness. Her dress was a cream-colored sacque trimmed
with lace and white satin bows.
When she entered the room upon the arm of her father, a
number of Hudson valley cousins suffered unanticipated pangs of regret. Was
this radiant bride really their own sweet, plain “Little Saint Bess”?
“They make a lovely couple.” Peggy sighed and slipped an arm
around the waist of her younger cousin, Eliza van Rensselaer. Peggy had earlier
confided to Miss van R. that she herself was secretly “a little in love with
that rascal Alexander.”
The hordes of tow-headed children were cautioned, and the
fire in Mrs. Schuyler’s eyes was sufficient to convince the most rambunctious
that she meant business.
At the conclusion of the ceremony, a plain gold band, an
heirloom from long ago Amsterdam, was slipped onto the bride’s delicate finger.
The old-fashioned lace veil that had belonged to Grandmother Angelica
Livingston Van Rensselaer was turned back, and Colonel Hamilton, in his blue
and buff uniform, gave his lovely blacked-eyed Betsy a worshipful kiss.
Mrs. Schuyler leaned on her husband’s arm. She, too, was
radiant. Within, the baby she carried stirred restlessly, awakened by the
triumphant emotion which coursed through her mother like the Hudson in full
flood. To see a beloved daughter handed properly from father to husband,
married in the midst of this sea of relations, was a supreme moment...."
A MASTER PASSION
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