The Blythes Are Quoted

by L. M. Montgomery

  “It’s over ... D’Arcy’s sewed up ... poor D’Arcy!”

  Marnie March, the maid of honour, thinking,

  “How lonesome it’s going to be without darling Evie! She’s always been so sweet to me. But I’ll have Elmer and that means all the world. I can’t understand how Evelyn could ever have preferred D’Arcy to him, but how thankful I am she did. I wish he wasn’t so rich ... people will say I’m marrying him for his money. Why, I’d jump at him if he hadn’t a cent in his pocket. D’Arcy’s a good egg. I think I’ll like him for a brother-in-law ... though I never could bear the way he laughs. He sounds so sneery. But I don’t think he means it. I wish Elmer could see me now. This periwinkle blue becomes me. Not so well as it does Diana Blythe, though. It needs hair of a different shade than mine. I wonder if she really is engaged to that Austin boy ... and if she loves him as I love Elmer. No, that is impossible.

  “Oh, it’s dreadful ... and wonderful ... and heavenly to love anyone as I love Elmer. We Marches care so horribly when we do care! Those awful weeks when I thought he was going to marry Evie! And to think I ever called him a magazine-ad man! Oh, I hope I won’t get any fatter! I’ll take nothing but orange juice for breakfast after this. That must make some difference. Yet those Blythe girls eat anything they like and they are always as slim as a reed. It must be predestination.

  “What a bombshell it would be if Elmer and I were getting married today, too, as he wanted. Of course it would never have done ... people would have talked their heads off ... it’s queer we can never do anything we really want to in this world for fear of what people will say! But anyway I wanted to catch my breath after finding myself engaged to him. We won’t have a fuss like this anyway ... I’m determined on that. Oh, how frightfully solemn the service is! ‘Until death do us part.’ We’ll mean it. Does that make me thrill! Oh, Elmer!”

  The groom, thinking,

  “Will she really come after the beastly way I’ve always treated her? From the time we were kids and they had that little cottage at the end of our farm at the Narrows. I was just a jealous young idiot! I suppose Mollie’s somewhere back there. God bless her! When I think what would have happened without her! She’s coming! And I have to stand here like a stick instead of rushing to meet her and clasping her in my arms! Harry looks cool as a cucumber. But then he isn’t marrying Evie. How beautiful Evie is! God help me to make her happy ... make me worthy of her ... I wish I’d been a better man ... it’s over ... she’s my wife ... my wife!”

  The bride, thinking,

  “Is this just some wonderful dream? Will I wake up presently and find I’ve got to marry Elmer? Oh, if anything were to happen yet to prevent it ... the minister dropping dead ... he doesn’t look very robust. And to think D’Arcy always loved me when I thought he hated me! And the way I treated him! Oh, just suppose Mollie hadn’t caught him!

  “Marnie looks so sweet. I hope she’ll be almost as happy a bride as I am. She couldn’t be quite so happy, of course ... nobody could.

  “How beautifully solemn this is! Oh, his voice saying ‘I will’ ... there, I hope everybody heard me. No bride in the world ever said it more gladly ... I am his wife.”

  The Reverend John Meredith, thinking,

  “I don’t know why it is but I have a feeling that these two people I’ve just married are perfectly happy. What a pity one has this feeling so seldom. Well, I only hope they’ll be as happy as Rosamond and I are.”

  Mary Hamilton, in a back seat, talking to her crony, Susan Baker,

  “Sure, Susan, me dear, and one great advantage av the back sate is ye can be seeing iverybody and iverything without getting a crick in your neck. Evie, bless her heart, did be wanting me to sit up front wid the guests. There niver was any false pride about her. But I know me place better than that.

  “There come the doctor and Mrs. Blythe. She do be looking like a girl for all her years.”

  “She’s a girl at heart,” sighed Susan, “but she’s never been the same woman since Walter’s death.”

  “Well, he died in a glorious cause. Me own niphew wint, too. It’s the proud and happy woman I am today, Susan Baker ...”

  “I’m not wondering at that, if all I’ve heard is true. But you can’t believe all you hear.”

  “No, nor one tinth av it. Well, I’ll be telling you the truth, Susan, if you promise me solemnly niver to breathe a word av it to a living soul. They told me that av you whin I began coming here ... how minny years ago?”

  “Never mind,” said Susan, who didn’t care to be reminded of her age. “Just get on with your story before they come.”

  “Well, Susan Baker, I’ve been seeing a miracle happen ... siveral av thim in fact.”

  “It’s a miracle to be seeing Evie marry D’Arcy Phillips,” conceded Susan. “Everyone has always thought they detested each other.”

  “Not iveryone, Susan ... not me. I always did be guessing the truth. As for the miracles, like iverything else they do be going by threes. Have ye iver noticed that?”

  “To be sure I have.”

  “Well, it’s little I was ixpecting innything like this two months ago, wid me pet going to marry the wrong man and Marnie breaking her heart about it and iverything so crisscross I couldn’t aven belave the Good Man himself could be straightening it out.”

  “So she was engaged to Elmer Owen? I heard it from several but no one seemed sure.”

  “Av coorse she was ... but you’ll niver breathe a word av this, Susan ...”

  “If Mrs. Dr. dear asks right out,” said Susan doubtfully.

  “Well, I wouldn’t mind her knowing ... it’d be better than her hearing a whole lot of gossip. And they tell me she’s one that can hold her tongue.”

  “No one tighter,” said Susan, “when anything important is at stake. She never told a soul about me and Whiskers-on-the-Moon.”

  “She mightn’t have, but it got out somehow.”

  “Oh well, you know what gossip is. And of course Whiskers couldn’t hold his tongue. He’s been accusing me ever since ...”

  “What could you ixpect av a man? Well, to get back to me story. There niver was innyone but Evie for D’Arcy and don’t let innyone tell ye different, Susan Baker.”

  “I won’t. But it is true they were always fighting from the time they were tads ...”

  “And didn’t ye be telling me that Rilla and Kenneth Ford used to fight like cat and dog when they were small?”

  “That was different,” said Susan hastily.

  “Not a mite av difference. Kids always do be fighting. They’ve been in love wid each ither iver since they grew up only they didn’t be knowing it. That’s some folks’ way av coorting. They wouldn’t be fighting if they didn’t be caring.

  “They begun it the first day they iver met, whin he was tin and she was siven and they were stopping at the Phillipses till the cottage was ready for thim. She flung a big gob av mud at him bekase he was took up wid a liddle cousin av his that did be making eyes at him.”

  “They begun it young in those days,” sighed Susan. “Maybe if my ma hadn’t said I must behave myself when the boys were round ... but it’s too late now ... and I’m content with my lot ... as long as I can work ...”

  “Sure and they didn’t begin inny younger then than now. But if ye kape on interrupting me, Susan Baker ...”

  “Go on. It’s only ... well, did ever any decent man ask you to marry him, Mary Hamilton?”

  “Millions av thim. At inny rate that’s what I always do be telling people who ask impertinent questions.”

  “I was brought up to tell the truth,” said Susan proudly.

  “Well, if ye don’t be wanting to hear me story ...”

  “Go on,” said Susan resignedly.

  “Well, he did be turning the hose on her in return for the gob. Oh, oh, the tithery-is we did be having wid both mothers scolding! And ivery summer the same whin we come to the Narrows. The way they did be fighting come to be a family joke. Thin her ma forbid her goin
g up to the Phillips ...”

  “Folks said she was too proud to associate with the country people, I remember,” interjected Susan.

  “There’s a sample av lies for ye. There ain’t a woman on this airth that’s got less pride than Mrs. March.”

  “Except Mrs. Dr. dear,” murmured Susan under her breath.

  “D’Arcy used to spile her mud pies ... just bekase he did be thinking she was more interested in thim than in him as I knew very well ... and her knocking over his sandcastles for the same rason ... though she didn’t know it herself, the darlint.

  “And no better whin they did be growing up ...”

  “Kenneth and Rilla had more sense then,” murmured Susan. But she had learned not to interrupt Mary ... and she wanted to hear the rights of the story before the bridal party arrived.

  “It was worse if innything ... with her mocking and twitting him and him sneering at her ... both av thim going white with jealousy whiniver ayther av thim looked at innybody ilse. The tantrums they’d be taking! They wouldn’t be spaking to ache ither for wakes. Iverybody thought they hated ache ither ... iverybody excipt ould Mollie Hamilton, cooking in the kitchen and fading thim up whin they crept in for a snack whin they was on fair terms.”

  “Just like Kenneth and Rilla,” thought Susan.

  “Didn’t I be seeing how it was? Ould Mollie Hamilton isn’t blind even yet, Susan Baker. Him crazy mad about her, and her up to her pretty eyes in love wid him and thinking she was the last girl he’d iver look at. But thinks I to mesilf, ‘They’re young and it’ll all come right in the ind,’ and in the manetime better a clane fight than the moonlighting and flirting and ‘petting,’ as they called it, that wint on wid the rest av the summer fry. Sure and I used to laugh at the spitting and snarling av thim so much that I didn’t be nading a dose av medicine once a year.”

  “Folks are made different,” reflected Susan Baker. “When any of the Ingleside children had a fight with the Fords or the Merediths I’d lie awake half the night, worrying over it. It was well the doctor and his wife had more sense. Mrs. Dr. dear used to say to me, ‘Children have been spatting like that all down through the ages.’ And I’m guessing she was right. Not that there was much of it in our crowd. But I remember how D’Arcy Phillips and Evelyn March used to fight. They tore up the turf when they went at it all right.”

  “But in the ind, Susan, me dear, it didn’t be inny laughing matter: for they did have a terrible quarrel, though I niver found out what it was about. And D’Arcy wint off to college widout thim making it up. He niver come home for two years and it’s worried I was, don’t be talking. For the time was passing and though he couldn’t go to the war bekase av his short sight there was always heaps av ither boys around. And D’Arcy sich a gr-r-and young man by this time wid thim smoke-grey eyes av his. Evie hild her head high and pretinded she didn’t care but it’s me that did be knowing. And the years did be slipping, and her frinds marrying off, and the world getting big and lonely.”

  “It’s well I know that sensation,” thought Susan. “I don’t know what would have become of me if I hadn’t got in with the Ingleside folks. The doctor likes to tease me about old Whiskers but now I’ve got over being mad at the old fool I can at least be saying there was one man wanted to marry me, whatever his reason was.”

  “Thin last winter she ups and goes to Montreal for a visit and comes home ingaged to Elmer Owen.”

  “Ah, now I’m going to hear the truth about that at last,” thought Susan triumphantly. “The yarns that have been going round would make you dizzy ... some saying she was and some she wasn’t ... and Mrs. Dr. dear telling me it wasn’t anybody’s business but their own. Maybe not ... but a body likes to know the truth.”

  “Ye could have knocked me down wid a feather,” said Mary. “For I did be knowing only too well that she didn’t love him. And it wasn’t for his money ayther, Susan Baker.

  “‘He’s my choice, Mollie,’ she sez grand-like ...”

  “As I’d have said if I’d taken Whiskers,” thought Susan.

  “‘Oh, oh, if ye have to choose him he’s not the right man for ye,’ sez I. ‘There’s no choosing wid the right man,’ sez I. ‘Ye jist belong ... like D’Arcy and yersilf,’ I’d have liked to add but I dassn’t.

  “Av coorse iveryone begun saying she was taking Elmer bekase he was a millionaire and talking av it as a wonderful match for her ... maybe ye heard some av the gossip, Susan Baker.”

  “Some of it,” said Susan cautiously, who had heard it and believed it. “But they always say that when a girl marries a man with money.”

  “I could have died with rage and spite, Susan Baker. I was all built up to hate me fine Elmer whin he come in June. But I couldn’t kape it up for he was a rale nice liddle chap in spite av his money ...”

  “Mrs. Dr. dear said he was one of the nicest men she had ever met and she thought Evelyn March was a very lucky girl.”

  “Ah, well, she weren’t to blame, not knowing. We all liked him ... aven Evie. Marnie hild off a bit at first ... ah, there’s the gr-r-and girl for ye, Susan Baker ...”

  “I always liked her what little I’ve seen of her,” admitted Susan, adding in thought, “She didn’t put on the airs Evelyn did.”

  “Evie is by way av being my fav’rite bekase I looked after her whin she was a baby and her mother so sick.”

  “Just like me and Shirley,” thought Susan.

  “So she’s always seemed like me own. But Marnie’s a swate thing and whin she took to moping it worried me, Susan Baker.”

  “When Shirley had the scarlet fever I was like to have gone clean out of my head,” said Susan. “But I always like to think I didn’t fail Mrs. Dr. dear for all that. Night after night, Mary Hamilton ...”

  “Marnie couldn’t bear the talk av the wedding ... and me thinking it was bekase she felt so bad over Evie’s going and maybe a bit sore at Elmer bekase he said, ‘Hello, gypsy,’ whin Evie introduced thim. ‘Hello, magazine-ad man,’ said Marnie. Sure and she was niver at a loss for an answer, whin people did be teasing her. It’s the blind thing I was, Susan Baker, but whin ye look back on things ye can see thim as ye couldn’t whin they was under yer nose.”

  “You never spoke a truer word in your life, Mary Hamilton,” agreed Susan, wondering if Mary would ever come to the point of her story.

  “Though I couldn’t be putting me finger on what was missing. Innyway, iverything was smooth as crame on top and they got all their plans made and Elmer wint back to Montreal. And after he was gone I wint into Marnie’s room to swape, thinking she was out, and there she was sitting, crying, Susan Baker ... crying so pretty ... no noise ... only just the big tears rolling down her nice liddle brown chakes.”

  “The way Mrs. Dr. dear cries,” thought Susan. “It’s the real way of crying. I remember when Shirley ... and Walter ...”

  “‘Darlint, what do be the matter?’ sez I in a bit av a panic. It was sich an uncommon thing to see Marnie cry. ‘Oh, nothing much,’ sez she, ‘only I’m in love with the man me sister is going to marry ... and I’m to be her maid of honour ... and I wish I was dead,’ sez she.

  “Was I tuk aback, Susan Baker!”

  “Like I was when Rilla brought the baby home in the soup tureen,”* thought Susan. “Will I ever be forgetting that day!”

  “Nothing,” continued Mary, “could I think av saying, only stupid-like, ‘There’s a lot av min in the world, me darlint. Why be getting in sich a pother over one?’

  “‘Bekase he’s the only one for me,’ sez me poor Marnie.”

  “Old maid as I am I could have told you she would say that,” said Susan.

  “‘But ye nadn’t worry,’ sez Marnie ... as if a body could help worrying. ‘Evelyn isn’t going to know this ... or aven suspict it. Oh, oh, Mollie,’ sez she, getting reckless like, ‘whin I first saw him I said, ‘Magazine-ad man,’ and now I could kiss his shoes! But no one’ll iver know it excipt you, Mollie, and if you iver tell I’ll slaughter you in cold
blood.’ So I shouldn’t be retelling you, Susan Baker, and me conscience ...”

  “Now, never mind your conscience, Mary Hamilton. Marnie was meaning her own class and anyhow everything has changed since then. She wouldn’t be minding now,” said Susan, rather guiltily but consoling herself that she would never breathe a word of it to a living soul.

  *See Rilla of Ingleside.

  “Tell, was it?” Mary Hamilton was too wrapped up in her tale to listen to Susan Baker’s interruptions. “If I could have done inny good be telling I’d have shouted it from the housetops. But I couldn’t, so I hild me tongue. And thin, on top of all that, comes me fine D’Arcy, raging mad, as I could very well be telling, but as cold as ice.

  “I did be hearing it all as they fought it out on the verandy. Not that I did be listening av purpose, Susan Baker, but whin people are as close to ye as they were to me ye can’t be hilping hearing what they do be saying.

  “Short and swate it was.

  “‘Are ye going to sell yersilf for money? I’ll not belave it till I hear it from yer own lips,’ sez he.

  “‘I’m going to marry Elmer Owen,’ sez Evelyn politely, ‘and I happen to love him, Mr. Phillips.’ ‘Ye lie,’ sez D’Arcy ... not over-polite now, was it, Susan Baker. And Evie sez, icier than himsilf and white wid rage, ‘Git out av me sight, D’Arcy Phillips, and stay out av it.’”

  “When the upper crust get quarrelling there isn’t much difference between us,” thought Susan. “That sounds just like something Whiskers-on-the-Moon might have said in one of his tantrums.”

  “‘I’ll take ye at yer word,’ sez D’Arcy. ‘I’m going to New York tonight’ ... he was interning there for a year, whativer that may mean ... ‘and ye’ll niver see me again, Evelyn March.’ Did ye iver be hearing the like?”