Anne's House of Dreams

by L. M. Montgomery

  CHAPTER 36

  BEAUTY FOR ASHES

  "Any news from Green Gables, Anne?"

  "Nothing very especial," replied Anne, folding up Marilla's letter."Jake Donnell has been there shingling the roof. He is a full-fledgedcarpenter now, so it seems he has had his own way in regard to thechoice of a life-work. You remember his mother wanted him to be acollege professor. I shall never forget the day she came to the schooland rated me for failing to call him St. Clair."

  "Does anyone ever call him that now?"

  "Evidently not. It seems that he has completely lived it down. Evenhis mother has succumbed. I always thought that a boy with Jake's chinand mouth would get his own way in the end. Diana writes me that Dorahas a beau. Just think of it--that child!"

  "Dora is seventeen," said Gilbert. "Charlie Sloane and I were both madabout you when you were seventeen, Anne."

  "Really, Gilbert, we must be getting on in years," said Anne, with ahalf-rueful smile, "when children who were six when we thoughtourselves grown up are old enough now to have beaux. Dora's is RalphAndrews--Jane's brother. I remember him as a little, round, fat,white-headed fellow who was always at the foot of his class. But Iunderstand he is quite a fine-looking young man now."

  "Dora will probably marry young. She's of the same type as Charlottathe Fourth--she'll never miss her first chance for fear she might notget another."

  "Well; if she marries Ralph I hope he will be a little moreup-and-coming than his brother Billy," mused Anne.

  "For instance," said Gilbert, laughing, "let us hope he will be able topropose on his own account. Anne, would you have married Billy if hehad asked you himself, instead of getting Jane to do it for him?"

  "I might have." Anne went off into a shriek of laughter over therecollection of her first proposal. "The shock of the whole thingmight have hypnotized me into some such rash and foolish act. Let usbe thankful he did it by proxy."

  "I had a letter from George Moore yesterday," said Leslie, from thecorner where she was reading.

  "Oh, how is he?" asked Anne interestedly, yet with an unreal feelingthat she was inquiring about some one whom she did not know.

  "He is well, but he finds it very hard to adapt himself to all thechanges in his old home and friends. He is going to sea again in thespring. It's in his blood, he says, and he longs for it. But he toldme something that made me glad for him, poor fellow. Before he sailedon the Four Sisters he was engaged to a girl at home. He did not tellme anything about her in Montreal, because he said he supposed shewould have forgotten him and married someone else long ago, and withhim, you see, his engagement and love was still a thing of the present.It was pretty hard on him, but when he got home he found she had nevermarried and still cared for him. They are to be married this fall.I'm going to ask him to bring her over here for a little trip; he sayshe wants to come and see the place where he lived so many years withoutknowing it."

  "What a nice little romance," said Anne, whose love for the romanticwas immortal. "And to think," she added with a sigh of self-reproach,"that if I had had my way George Moore would never have come up fromthe grave in which his identity was buried. How I did fight againstGilbert's suggestion! Well, I am punished: I shall never be able tohave a different opinion from Gilbert's again! If I try to have, hewill squelch me by casting George Moore's case up to me!"

  "As if even that would squelch a woman!" mocked Gilbert. "At least donot become my echo, Anne. A little opposition gives spice to life. Ido not want a wife like John MacAllister's over the harbor. No matterwhat he says, she at once remarks in that drab, lifeless little voiceof hers, 'That is very true, John, dear me!'"

  Anne and Leslie laughed. Anne's laughter was silver and Leslie'sgolden, and the combination of the two was as satisfactory as a perfectchord in music.

  Susan, coming in on the heels of the laughter, echoed it with aresounding sigh.

  "Why, Susan, what is the matter?" asked Gilbert.

  "There's nothing wrong with little Jem, is there, Susan?" cried Anne,starting up in alarm.

  "No, no, calm yourself, Mrs. Doctor, dear. Something has happened,though. Dear me, everything has gone catawampus with me this week. Ispoiled the bread, as you know too well--and I scorched the doctor'sbest shirt bosom--and I broke your big platter. And now, on the top ofall this, comes word that my sister Matilda has broken her leg andwants me to go and stay with her for a spell."

  "Oh, I'm very sorry--sorry that your sister has met with such anaccident, I mean," exclaimed Anne.

  "Ah, well, man was made to mourn, Mrs. Doctor, dear. That sounds as ifit ought to be in the Bible, but they tell me a person named Burnswrote it. And there is no doubt that we are born to trouble as thesparks fly upward. As for Matilda, I do not know what to think of her.None of our family ever broke their legs before. But whatever she hasdone she is still my sister, and I feel that it is my duty to go andwait on her, if you can spare me for a few weeks, Mrs. Doctor, dear."

  "Of course, Susan, of course. I can get someone to help me while youare gone."

  "If you cannot I will not go, Mrs. Doctor, dear, Matilda's leg to thecontrary notwithstanding. I will not have you worried, and thatblessed child upset in consequence, for any number of legs."

  "Oh, you must go to your sister at once, Susan. I can get a girl fromthe cove, who will do for a time."

  "Anne, will you let me come and stay with you while Susan is away?"exclaimed Leslie. "Do! I'd love to--and it would be an act of charityon your part. I'm so horribly lonely over there in that big barn of ahouse. There's so little to do--and at night I'm worse thanlonely--I'm frightened and nervous in spite of locked doors. There wasa tramp around two days ago."

  Anne joyfully agreed, and next day Leslie was installed as an inmate ofthe little house of dreams. Miss Cornelia warmly approved of thearrangement.

  "It seems Providential," she told Anne in confidence. "I'm sorry forMatilda Clow, but since she had to break her leg it couldn't havehappened at a better time. Leslie will be here while Owen Ford is inFour Winds, and those old cats up at the Glen won't get the chance tomeow, as they would if she was living over there alone and Owen goingto see her. They are doing enough of it as it is, because she doesn'tput on mourning. I said to one of them, 'If you mean she should put onmourning for George Moore, it seems to me more like his resurrectionthan his funeral; and if it's Dick you mean, I confess _I_ can't seethe propriety of going into weeds for a man who died thirteen years agoand good riddance then!' And when old Louisa Baldwin remarked to methat she thought it very strange that Leslie should never havesuspected it wasn't her own husband _I_ said, 'YOU never suspected itwasn't Dick Moore, and you were next-door neighbor to him all his life,and by nature you're ten times as suspicious as Leslie.' But you can'tstop some people's tongues, Anne, dearie, and I'm real thankful Lesliewill be under your roof while Owen is courting her."

  Owen Ford came to the little house one August evening when Leslie andAnne were absorbed in worshipping the baby. He paused at the open doorof the living room, unseen by the two within, gazing with greedy eyesat the beautiful picture. Leslie sat on the floor with the baby in herlap, making ecstatic dabs at his fat little hands as he fluttered themin the air.

  "Oh, you dear, beautiful, beloved baby," she mumbled, catching one weehand and covering it with kisses.

  "Isn't him ze darlingest itty sing," crooned Anne, hanging over the armof her chair adoringly. "Dem itty wee pads are ze very tweetesthandies in ze whole big world, isn't dey, you darling itty man."

  Anne, in the months before Little Jem's coming, had pored diligentlyover several wise volumes, and pinned her faith to one in especial,"Sir Oracle on the Care and Training of Children." Sir Oracle imploredparents by all they held sacred never to talk "baby talk" to theirchildren. Infants should invariably be addressed in classical languagefrom the moment of their birth. So should they learn to speak Englishundefiled from their earliest utterance. "How," demanded Sir Oracle,"can a m
other reasonably expect her child to learn correct speech, whenshe continually accustoms its impressionable gray matter to such absurdexpressions and distortions of our noble tongue as thoughtless mothersinflict every day on the helpless creatures committed to their care?Can a child who is constantly called 'tweet itty wee singie' everattain to any proper conception of his own being and possibilities anddestiny?"

  Anne was vastly impressed with this, and informed Gilbert that shemeant to make it an inflexible rule never, under any circumstances, totalk "baby talk" to her children. Gilbert agreed with her, and theymade a solemn compact on the subject--a compact which Anne shamelesslyviolated the very first moment Little Jem was laid in her arms. "Oh,the darling itty wee sing!" she had exclaimed. And she had continuedto violate it ever since. When Gilbert teased her she laughed SirOracle to scorn.

  "He never had any children of his own, Gilbert--I am positive he hadn'tor he would never have written such rubbish. You just can't helptalking baby talk to a baby. It comes natural--and it's RIGHT. Itwould be inhuman to talk to those tiny, soft, velvety little creaturesas we do to great big boys and girls. Babies want love and cuddlingand all the sweet baby talk they can get, and Little Jem is going tohave it, bless his dear itty heartums."

  "But you're the worst I ever heard, Anne," protested Gilbert, who, notbeing a mother but only a father, was not wholly convinced yet that SirOracle was wrong. "I never heard anything like the way you talk tothat child."

  "Very likely you never did. Go away--go away. Didn't I bring up threepairs of Hammond twins before I was eleven? You and Sir Oracle arenothing but cold-blooded theorists. Gilbert, JUST look at him! He'ssmiling at me--he knows what we're talking about. And oo dest agweeswif evy word muzzer says, don't oo, angel-lover?"

  Gilbert put his arm about them. "Oh you mothers!" he said. "Youmothers! God knew what He was about when He made you."

  So Little Jem was talked to and loved and cuddled; and he throve asbecame a child of the house of dreams. Leslie was quite as foolishover him as Anne was. When their work was done and Gilbert was out ofthe way, they gave themselves over to shameless orgies of love-makingand ecstasies of adoration, such as that in which Owen Ford hadsurprised them.

  Leslie was the first to become aware of him. Even in the twilightAnne could see the sudden whiteness that swept over her beautiful face,blotting out the crimson of lip and cheeks.

  Owen came forward, eagerly, blind for a moment to Anne.

  "Leslie!" he said, holding out his hand. It was the first time he hadever called her by her name; but the hand Leslie gave him was cold; andshe was very quiet all the evening, while Anne and Gilbert and Owenlaughed and talked together. Before his call ended she excused herselfand went upstairs. Owen's gay spirits flagged and he went away soonafter with a downcast air.

  Gilbert looked at Anne.

  "Anne, what are you up to? There's something going on that I don'tunderstand. The whole air here tonight has been charged withelectricity. Leslie sits like the muse of tragedy; Owen Ford jokes andlaughs on the surface, and watches Leslie with the eyes of his soul.You seem all the time to be bursting with some suppressed excitement.Own up. What secret have you been keeping from your deceived husband?"

  "Don't be a goose, Gilbert," was Anne's conjugal reply. "As forLeslie, she is absurd and I'm going up to tell her so."

  Anne found Leslie at the dormer window of her room. The little placewas filled with the rhythmic thunder of the sea. Leslie sat withlocked hands in the misty moonshine--a beautiful, accusing presence.

  "Anne," she said in a low, reproachful voice, "did you know Owen Fordwas coming to Four Winds?"

  "I did," said Anne brazenly.

  "Oh, you should have told me, Anne," Leslie cried passionately. "If Ihad known I would have gone away--I wouldn't have stayed here to meethim. You should have told me. It wasn't fair of you, Anne--oh, itwasn't fair!"

  Leslie's lips were trembling and her whole form was tense with emotion.But Anne laughed heartlessly. She bent over and kissed Leslie'supturned reproachful face.

  "Leslie, you are an adorable goose. Owen Ford didn't rush from thePacific to the Atlantic from a burning desire to see ME. Neither do Ibelieve that he was inspired by any wild and frenzied passion for MissCornelia. Take off your tragic airs, my dear friend, and fold them upand put them away in lavender. You'll never need them again. Thereare some people who can see through a grindstone when there is a holein it, even if you cannot. I am not a prophetess, but I shall ventureon a prediction. The bitterness of life is over for you. After thisyou are going to have the joys and hopes--and I daresay the sorrows,too--of a happy woman. The omen of the shadow of Venus did come truefor you, Leslie. The year in which you saw it brought your life's bestgift for you--your love for Owen Ford. Now, go right to bed and have agood sleep."

  Leslie obeyed orders in so far that she went to bed: but it may bequestioned if she slept much. I do not think she dared to dreamwakingly; life had been so hard for this poor Leslie, the path on whichshe had had to walk had been so strait, that she could not whisper toher own heart the hopes that might wait on the future. But she watchedthe great revolving light bestarring the short hours of the summernight, and her eyes grew soft and bright and young once more. Nor,when Owen Ford came next day, to ask her to go with him to the shore,did she say him nay.