CHAPTER IX
I think if the person which remarked, "It is not always May," had saidApril he would have come nearer hitting it, for I think it is the mostbeautiful time of all. There's something in the very feelings at thistime of the year that makes you want to write pretty things, whetheryou know what you want to say or not. So I have got out my diary anddusted it off, it being laid away in the drawer ever since last fall,when I told about me getting Miss Wilburn's affairs so mixed upbecause there hasn't been anything happening.
One time not long ago I did get out my diary, for I got very excitedover the news that a _widow_ was here, and I sharpened seventeenpencils so as to be ready for her. But she had the misfortune tomarry, before I could get introduced to her, a man from her same citywhich had got on the train and followed her down here. She was alovely, high-heeled, fluffy-petticoated kind of a widow and I couldhave written _chapters_ out of her I know; because all the time shewas down here the ladies' sewing circle met three times a week andtalked so that father said he heard they had to pass around potashtablets instead of refreshments for the sake of their sore throats.
Mammy Lou made fun of me when I told her how disappointed I was overnot getting to meet such a pretty lady and write her experiences.
"Looks like you'd a knew better than to expect a widow to waste timea-cou'tin'," she told me with that proud look coming over her facethat always does when she begins to brag on herself. "_They_ don'tcou't; they marries! Thar ain't nobody able to dispute with _me_ overthe ways o' widows, for ain't I done been _six_ of them _myself_?"
This ain't exactly so, it's just five, for she never has got thatdivorce from Bill Williams yet; and she says now that she's going tospend the money that the divorce would cost in beautifying herself soshe can marry again. She says she wants to buy her a stylish set ofbangs and a pair of kid gloves to go with them, then she is going tolet the next man make her a present of the divorce for a bridal gift.
"And you needn't be settin' it down in that little dairy book o'yourn, neither, for your gran'chillen to be makin' spo't o' _me_ aboutafter I'm done dead an' gone."
I told her it was diary, not dairy, but she wouldn't listen to me.
"Go 'long with that stuck-up talk," she told me, "ain't I been knowin'about dairies all my life? An' I never even heered tell of a _di_-rytill I learned to my sorrow of that pesky little book that's alwaysgettin' lost and me havin' to find it." And I couldn't blame her verymuch for this, me being a great hand myself to get words mixed up inmy childhood, especially such words as epistle and apostle. I alwaysthought that ignorant people said "epistle" and smart ones "apostle."
But as I was saying, a sweetheart is the proper thing to get in thespring if you _can_ get one; but if you're too little for such a thinga kindred spirit is the next best thing a girl can have. A kindredspirit is a girl you lay awake till twelve o'clock of a night tellingsecrets to. Of course _men_ never tell secrets, but they often need akindred spirit, that is, a close friend, especially when they get sosick they think they're about to die they want the friend to run quickto their private office and burn up some letters in their desk that itwouldn't be healthy for them to let their wife know about, even ifthey were dead. So it is a convenient thing to have, male or female.
The first night I laid awake with mine I told her all about stuffingmy insteps to make them look aristocratic and kissing Lord Byron'spicture good night every night, which I _never_ would have done inthe daylight. At night things just seem to tell _themselves_, althoughyou are very sorry for it the next day. Men mostly propose at night; Iguess one excuse is that the girls form such beautiful opticalillusions under a pink lamp shade.
Well, I told her all I knew and she told me the story of her life,which is as follows: Her name is Jean Everett, her mother's name isMrs. Everett and her young lady aunt is named Miss Merle Arnold on hermother's side. They are down here to spend the summer and are boardingclose to our house. There is another boarder in the house for thesummer which is named Mr. St. John, and Jean says if they had namedhim Angel instead of just Saint it wouldn't be any too good for him.And, if I do say it myself, he is as beautiful as a mermaid. Mammy Lousays he's got a "consumpted look," but to other people it is theheight of poetry.
Jean is so full of poetical thoughts herself that her stomach is verymuch upset and nothing but chocolate candy will agree with her. Shehas promised the next time she stays all night with me she will tellme the one great secret of her life (as if I hadn't guessed it theminute she called Mr. St. John's name.) She hasn't got much appetiteand the smell of honeysuckle fills her with strange longings. She saysshe either wants to write a great book or live in a marble palace ormarry a duke, she can't tell exactly which. But the poor girl iscruelly misunderstood by her family, because her mother is giving herrhubarb to break it out on her.
Jean came over early this morning and said she just had to talk tosomebody about how spiritual Mr. St. John looked last night with hisfair hair and white vest on.
"He looked just like a _lily_, Ann," she said, with almost tears inher eyes, and me remembering Doctor Gordon didn't laugh at her. Then,before I could comfort her, she had dropped down by the iris bed andwas telling me the one great secret of her life, without waiting tostay all night and tell it in the moonlight.
"_Love_ him," she said, gathering up a handful of the purple irises,"love _him_? I'd _cook_ for that man."
I didn't hardly know what to say in answer to this secret, whichwasn't much of a secret to me; but she didn't wait for me to sayanything for she went on telling me what big pearl buttons the whitevest had on it and how Mr. St. John said "i-ther and ni-ther," and howbroken her heart was. She said she was the most sinful girl on earth,for she believed Mr. St. John was about to get struck on her AuntMerle, and here she was winning him away from her!
I asked her if he had ever said anything about loving her and she saidwhy, no; no well-behaved girl would let a man say such a thing to heruntil they had been acquainted at least a month, and they hadn't beenknowing each other but twenty-two days. I then asked her if he hadmade any sign that he would like to say things to her when the monthwas out, but she said that was just where the trouble came in. She_knew_ she could win his love if she once got a _chance_ at him; butno matter how early she got up of a morning to go and sit with him onthe porch before breakfast, which was a habit of his, he would justask her how far along she was in geography and if she didn't thinkalgebra was easier than arithmetic, and such insulting questions asthat. Then he would pace up and down the floor until her Aunt Merlecame out of the front door, acting like a _caged bridegroom_! Shesaid, oh, it would put her in her grave if she didn't get her mind offof it for a little while! Then she asked me if we were going to havestrawberries for dinner and said she would run over and ask her motherif she could stay.
This morning Jean asked me if I remembered what Hamlet in Shakespearesaid about _words_. I told her I had just got as far as _The Merchantof Venice_ and was getting ready to start on Hamlet when Miss Wilburnleft. She said well, he remarked "words, words, words," but he didn'tknow what he was talking about. She said he meant that there wasn'tanything in mere words, but he was badly fooled, for there was a heapin them.
I told her yes, there was something in words, for I had read of abeautiful Irish poet once that just couldn't think of a word that hewanted to finish up a song with. He studied over it for about threemonths, when all of a sudden one day his carriage upset and bumped hishead so hard that he thought of it.
Jean said that was a _beautiful_ story and she would be willing tohave her head bumped once for _every_ word, if she could just writepoetry that would touch one cold heart that she knew of.
I said well, how on earth did all this talk about words come up, andshe told me that all her future happiness depended upon the meaningof just one word. Then she went on to tell me that this morning shehad seen her Aunt Merle on the porch talking to Mr. St. John; so sheslipped around to the end of the porch like I showed her how to dowhen there was
anything interesting going on; and she had heard himtell Miss Merle that she mustn't "condemn the precipitation, butrather consider how he _could_ do otherwise." Then he had made use ofa word that she never heard of before in her life. It was_pro-pin-qui-ty_; and Miss Merle's face had turned as red as tomatoeswhen he said it. She said if it was a love word she was ready tocommit suicide of a broken heart, but if it was a _hateful_ word andthey were quarreling, then there was great hopes for her. We looked itup, but the dictionary man didn't explain it hardly a bit. Finally Itold Jean as it was spelled so much like _In-i-qui-ty_ maybe theymeant the same thing, and she went home feeling much easier in hermind.
I'm in such a writable mood to-night that I don't know what to beginon, and I reckon I'll know less about where to stop. Mammy Lou startedus at it, for her mind never runs on a thing except loving andmarrying. She asked me early this morning if we wasn't going to tryour fortunes to-day by looking down into a well at noon, this beingMay Day. Me, being of an affectionate nature, of course liked theidea, so I ran right over to tell Jean, who was simply carried away.She said it would be such a relief to her to see the face of herbeloved reflected in the well; but I told her that to see _any_ facewould mean that she was going to get a husband, which a girl ought tobe thankful for, and not get her heart set on any particular one.While we were planning about it Miss Merle came in and asked what itwas. When we told her she smiled and asked if she was too old andgrown-up to join in the game, but I told her no indeed, she didn't actat all like a grown person. I really think Miss Merle is veryfascinating. Even her name, Merle, sounds soft and sweet to me, likea right fresh marshmallow.
Now, naturally anybody would be excited to think that they were goingto see their husband's face at twelve o'clock in the bottom of a well,and it seemed to us that the time never would come. There is a veryold well down in our pasture close by the fence which ain't coveredover, and a lot of lilac bushes right around it in bloom, so youcouldn't well pick a prettier spot for your future husband's face.
Mammy Lou said we better all wear white sunbonnets, because theybecome you so, and Miss Merle looked awful pretty in hers, with herdark, curly hair.
I don't know how the news that we were going to do such a thing evergot spread, for we didn't tell hardly a soul--just mother and mammyand Mrs. Everett and the lady they board with and her marrieddaughter, which all promised that they wouldn't ever tell, butsomebody else found out about it, as you shall see.
We collected at the pasture gate at exactly a quarter to twelve andthe minute the first whistle blew we raced to the well, for we wereall anxious to see our husband if he was there. They said for me to gofirst as it was my well, but I said no, they must go first, becausethey were company, but Miss Merle said for me to look first, then sheand Jean would look at the same time, as their husbands wouldn't mindreflecting together, being that they were kin.
My heart was beating so that I was about to smother, but I pulled mybonnet down low over my eyes to shut out any view except what was inthe well, like mammy told us to do, and leaned 'way over and looked.
Now, up to this time, my diary, whenever I have mentioned Sir ReginaldI was kinder half joking, and never really thought he would come topass, as so many things in this life don't; but now I believe it's_so_. While I couldn't make out his face very well and don't knowwhether his eyes are blue or brown, and his nose Roman or not, stillthere was something glittering and shining in that well which I firmlybelieve was meant to be Sir Reginald de Beverley and his _coat ofmail_!
They were punching me and saying, "Ann, do you see anything?" till Icouldn't tell whether he smiled at me or not; but I remembered mymanners even on such a critical occasion, so I got up and let themlook.
They commenced pulling down their bonnets like I did and leaned overthe well. I was on the other side, facing the lilac bushes--and inless time than it takes me to write it, me being in a hurry and mypencil short, there was something happening that made me feel like Iwas in a fairy tale. I saw those lilac bushes move and the next thingI knew there was Mr. St. John. Not in a white vest, it's true, butlooking beautiful enough, even in the daylight. He motioned to me noteither to speak or move, though I couldn't have done either one, beingalmost paralyzed between seeing him and Sir Reginald at the sametime. He tipped up right easy and leaned over the well, opposite toMiss Merle.
When Jean saw his image in the well she gave one overjoyed scream andleaned farther over to see more.
"Oh, it's Mr. St. John," she called out to her Aunt Merle, her voicesounding very deep and hollow, but joyful. "It's _Mr._ St. John!_He's_ going to be my future husband!"
He and Miss Merle were about to kill themselves laughing, for MissMerle had seen him from the first; but when Jean looked up and saw himhe looked at her so sweet that you felt like you could forgive himanything he was to do, even the "i-ther and ni-ther."
"I'd like to accommodate you, Jean," he said, laughing and catchingher hand with an affectionate look, although he is usually very timidand dignified, "but the fact is--may I tell, Merle?" And the way _he_said "Merle" sounded like a whole _box_ of marshmallows.
Miss Merle smiled at him and then he told Jean if she would every_bit_ as soon have it that way, he would be her uncle instead of herfuture husband.
I was so afraid that she would faint or die right there in the pasturethat I told them I heard mother calling me and ran as hard as I couldtear.
She came over this afternoon to tell me all about it and was feelingstrong enough to eat a small basket of wild goose plums.
"Oh, it was a terrible shock at first," she said, stopping long enoughto spit out a seed, "but the _minute_ he said _uncle_ my love changed.Why, Ann, an uncle is an _old_ person, almost like a grandpa! Anyway,they've promised that I shall be in the wedding, dressed in a pair ofbeautiful white silk stockings."
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