And anyway, Diana couldn’t justify rowing in her new blue dress. Miss Adams had worked a marvel with the powdery blue fabric, so that even if Diana still would have preferred the pink, she could hold her head up high in this present frock. Perfect pintucks ran from neck to waist in an intricate, repeating pattern of varied widths. The elbow sleeves really were becoming. A row of buttons, shining mother-of-pearl, ran down the bodice, and just the right amount of lace peeked out at her collar: not enough to be ostentatious, but enough to inspire a thrill of envy in any girl who looked Diana’s way.
“I can be quite proud sometimes,” Diana reflected as she stood beside her mother, waiting in polite silence while Mrs. Barry conversed with the ladies of her sewing circle. “I suppose it’s a fault in me. But as long as I never act proud, or allow my pride to lead me into bad deeds, there simply can’t be any real harm in it.”
The sewing circle’s chatter drifted about her. It was all featureless, inconsequential—monotonous as the droning of bees among lavender. She gazed out across Harmon Andrews’s field, and the picnic itself, to see Orchard Slope across the sparkling expanse of the pond. The last of the blossoms had fallen from the apple trees. Now the hill was blanketed in lush green, the branches of the old orchard so thick and profuse that Diana could not make out the foot-path through the trees. The white house stood out distinctly, though, its gabled roof peeking up over the billowing waves of green. The house—her home—seemed curiously far away. For the first time in her life, Diana felt separated from all that she once knew, held apart by a great chasm, though she couldn’t say just what had caused that rift, or how deep it ran.
“Does this mean I’m growing up after all?” she wondered. She did feel somehow older than she had the day before, in her smart new dress with fashionable sleeves, surrounded by elegant and soft-spoken women. “But surely it’s still too soon for me to feel like a real, grown girl. I’m still little; there’s no denying that. Maybe Mother has been right all along to plan for my future.” The thought neither cheered nor encouraged her.
Diana caught sight of a flash of copper-red across the picnic grounds, near the refreshment table. She squinted through the bright afternoon sun and… yes! There was Anne Shirley, her braids swinging as she leaned over the table to inspect the offerings. She was trailed by tall, thin Marilla and Mrs. Rachel Lynde, considerably shorter and stouter but of the same dignified age. Whatever Mrs. Lynde lacked in height, she made up for with the grandness of her hat. Dusky violet with a wide, arcing brim and a spray of tall pheasant feathers, the hat’s style wasn’t precisely out of place at a picnic. But it did seem determined to be the very finest hat on display that day in Avonlea.
Diana fidgeted, glancing nervously around her mother’s circle. Not a one of those women paid her any mind… nor had they for an awfully long time, except to compliment her looks and her new dress when she and her mother had first appeared. Would they miss her if she simply vanished from the circle? Would her mother call out shrilly to summon her back, and thereby embarrass Diana beyond what any mortal soul could bear, especially in the presence of Pyes?
Diana ached to run over and play with Anne; they had been separated for two whole days, and Diana felt sure she simply couldn’t tolerate that cruelty any longer.
“I’ll just have to take the risk,” she told herself sensibly. And then, scalp prickling and spine tingling in dreadful anticipation, she edged slowly out of the sewing circle, step by careful step, until she was far enough away that she could turn on her heel and march briskly across the field. She would have run as if her feet were winged, but she feared to draw attention to herself.
She reached the shade-covered table just as Anne straightened with a plate of chocolate cake in her hands.
“Oh!” Anne said in surprise at finding Diana there before her. Then all the startlement left her eyes, replaced at once by a dreamy haze of bliss. “Oh, Diana, I’m so glad you’re here. And I’m so glad there’s chocolate cake. I have always wanted to try it, but haven’t had the opportunity until now. I wanted to avoid any other sweets until after I’d tried the ice cream, because I’ve longed for ice cream for so many years, and what if it couldn’t live up to the bliss of chocolate cake or lemon pie? I might never recover from the disappointment. But Mrs. Lynde said the ice cream must chill in the Andrews’s springhouse until three o’clock, so I suppose it is better in the end to sample the chocolate cake now, in case some of these boys eat up all of it and then I don’t get to try any.
“Oh, but your new dress! It’s perfectly lovely, Diana!”
Diana held out her skirt so that Anne might appreciate the garment in its full glory. “I do wish it was pink, but Mother wouldn’t hear of it.”
“No, no—pink would look splendid on you, for you have the right coloring to wear any color at all. But this dress couldn’t be anything but blue… soft, flowery, feather-light blue. I can see that now. Oh, Marilla,” –turning to that same lady— “may Diana and I go off alone to talk and play together? You know it has been such a tragically long time since we have walked arm-in-arm and confided in one another.”
Marilla’s already thin lips thinned even further. She seemed to be holding back a sigh, or restraining herself from rolling her eyes. “Tragically long, indeed,” she said drily. “But yes, you may go and play together. Mind you don’t get chocolate cake crumbs on your new white pinafore, Anne. The stain will never come out. And hello, Diana,” Marilla added pointedly.
Diana’s smile was timid. “Hello, Miss Cuthbert, Mrs. Lynde. You both look well.”
“Such a well-behaved child,” Mrs. Rachel Lynde said to Marilla, as if Diana weren’t there at all. “Rebecca Barry did right in raising her daughter, I can vouch for that.” (Mrs. Lynde had brought up ten children, all the way to adulthood, and seldom passed up a chance to share her distinguished opinions on the rearing of children.)
“Run along, if you’re going to,” Marilla said.
Anne linked her arm with Diana’s, balancing her plate of cake carefully in the other hand. They scampered off toward the big willow tree. The brass band had finished its final song, and was vacating that prime estate to the applause of the picnic-goers. Diana and Anne hid themselves on the far side of the willow’s trunk and sank down to sit among its gnarled old roots.
Anne wasted no more time; she bit into a huge forkful of cake, then closed her eyes in blissful silence. When she had swallowed it, she said, “Diana, it’s better than I ever imagined any cake could be. Marilla makes plum cake, of course, for there are plenty of plums and plum preserves at Green Gables. And I like plums just fine, I’m sure, but nothing… nothing can compare to chocolate. I don’t know how I can look favorably on a bowl of preserves again. And I fear the ice cream is already spoiled for me, but I shall have to endure the disappointment anyhow. Do you want some of my cake? I wouldn’t share with anyone else, but I would give you anything, Diana.”
Diana helped herself to a corner of the cake. It was delicious. “Is Marilla really well?” she asked. “She seemed sort of… subdued. As if something was troubling her.”
Anne’s narrow, freckled face drooped into a solemn frown. “Marilla and I have had a perfectly terrible time. I felt sure she would send me back to the asylum. And worse, she forbade me to come to the picnic, too! I might actually have died of grief if it had truly come to that.”
“What happened?”
“She thought I had taken her amethyst brooch… a very precious heirloom. I didn’t take it, though I did play with it a little… pinned it on and pretended I was a rich, beautiful lady. I shouldn’t have done even that. It was wicked; I see that now. But I didn’t take it. Marilla refused to believe me, though, and she swore she would keep me locked in my room until I confessed to the crime.”
“Oh dear!” Diana’s heart had actually sped up and was now pounding quite alarmingly. That was how suspensefully Anne wove the tale. “Whatever did you do, Anne?”
“I confessed. What else could I do? I
made up an extremely romantic and dramatic story about how I carried myself away with imaginings, and dropped the brooch in the Lake of Shining Waters, where it could never be found again. I thought that would be the end of the matter, but Marilla was so cross I thought steam might actually come out of her ears. She utterly forbade me to come to the picnic, and oh, Diana, my heart was so terribly broken.
“But this afternoon, Marilla found her brooch; it had snagged on her shawl and was simply overlooked. Marilla confessed to me how she had wronged me. She told me it was wicked to make up a story, but fate had backed me into a corner, Diana… I had to do it. I apologized to Marilla, too, and was very contrite, but I don’t mind telling you that I still don’t think I was entirely in the wrong. You won’t tell anyone, will you? No, of course you won’t… good, sweet Diana!
“So that’s why Marilla seems so strange, I suppose. The fragile bonds between us have been sorely tried. She proved herself fair in the end, though. I think she’s an awfully good old lady, with a very kind heart, once you find it.”
“That explains why your eyes are red,” Diana said. “You must have cried terribly over it… poor Anne!”
“Are my eyes very red? I hope I don’t look miserable. Because really, I have never been happier in all my life. This is such a beautiful day, and Marilla made a sponge cake for our contribution to the picnic fare and it looks better than anybody else’s cake, except for this chocolate one here, and I would hate for anyone to think I were unhappy.”
“You needn’t worry,” Diana reassured her friend. “It’s not very noticeable, and anyway, it looks sort of becoming on you. You told me you couldn’t wear pink with your red hair, but your eyes look all right in pink.”
Both girls laughed over that, and finished off the chocolate cake in good humor.
“Mother was furious with me, too,” Diana said, licking crumbs from her fingers. She recounted the story of their fight over the dress, taking far less time to tell it than Anne had taken over her quarrel with Marilla.
“I feel dreadful, that I should have been the cause of any trouble for you,” Anne said mournfully.
“Not a bit of it! Mother and I are always arguing. Father says we’re like cats and dogs now. He doesn’t know what has come between us, and I guess I don’t either, except that I don’t like the way she bosses me. I know she’s my mother, and mothers have a duty to boss, but it seems she could be a little kinder now and then, if she made up her mind to.”
“Your dress is glorious, though,” Anne said. Those buttons are so dainty. How they shine! You look just like a pearl, and I look like a muddy old pebble beside you.”
“No, you don’t.”
Diana climbed to her feet, then pulled Anne up, too. She looked Anne up and down, assessing her with a critical but fair eye. Anne wore a simple cotton dress, midnight-blue checked with white, and a spotlessly clean pinafore that was glowingly bright in the summer sun. The neck of her pinafore was accented by a row of simple but remarkably neat and pretty ruffles. A straw boater, with a deep-blue ribbon for a band, kept the sun from propagating more freckles on her eager, hopeful face. Her braids were tied with blue ribbons, too. If her look was rather simple and rustic, it was also tremendously becoming. There was no showiness in Anne… Diana sensed that perhaps there never would be, even when they were grown-up ladies in long skirts with their hair worn high. Yet there was still something fantastically attractive about the girl. Other girls might have to work for admiration… dress for it, style themselves, choose their manners and elocution with care. Anne Shirley compelled admiration, as if it were hers by nature, by right. She had no need of fancy dresses or affected ways.
“You look just perfect,” Diana said honestly. “I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”
“Oh, look!” Anne said, craning her head to stare past Diana’s shoulder toward the Andrews’s home. Her braids swung wildly. “They’re bringing the ice cream down! Diana, I’m trembling. I feel as if my life is about to change forever. From this moment on, I cannot ever be the same Anne I was before. What should we do?”
“Let’s go stand in line,” Diana suggested.
The girls eagerly joined the queue, watching with wide-eyed anticipation as Mr. Harmon Andrews and his hired boy carried the big jug up from the distant springhouse. It swayed heavily between them, promising a bountiful reward. As Diana watched the ice cream advance, her mouth watered and she almost began to tremble in anticipation herself, though she had tasted ice cream many times before.
“Who’s this?” a girl all but sneered near Diana’s shoulder.
Diana’s joy sank into the pit of her stomach. There was no mistaking that voice. She didn’t need to turn around to know that Gertie Pye was directly behind her, almost certainly with her impish little sister Josie in tow. Diana stifled a sigh and tried to fix a friendly smile to her face before she greeted the Pye girls.
Gertie was older than Diana and Anne by two years, but she wasn’t especially tall for thirteen. She had chestnut-brown hair that hung in neat, rag-curled ringlets down to her shoulders, and a round, dimpled face that had too mocking an expression to ever look pretty or sweet. She stood, as usual, with fists braced on her hips. Beside her, ten-year-old Josie twirled one of her golden curls around a finger and gazed up at Diana with an impudent expression.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Gertie demanded of Diana.
“This is Anne Shirley of Green Gables,” Diana said primly, with a small thrill in her middle. It was exciting to be the keeper of such exclusive knowledge. “She is new to Avonlea.”
“Diana and I are bosom friends,” Anne added.
“You’re what?” Gertie’s dimples deepened; she seemed to be on the verge of shrieking with laughter, but she controlled herself at the last moment. A stony expression, narrow-eyed and chilly, replaced her merriment. “Is that a new dress, Diana Barry?”
“Yes. Do you like it?” Diana looked down at her pintucks and buttons to hide the flush of triumph on her cheeks. So Gertie Pye was envious. The day was surpassing all of Diana’s expectations.
“We got new dresses, too,” Gertie said, declining to offer her opinion. As if on cue, she and Josie both twirled in place so their skirts flared. The smaller girl’s dress was of pale lavender, but Gertie’s was blushing pink.
“Of course Gertie Pye got a pink dress,” Diana thought, her pleasure and pride both temporarily extinguished. “But I really don’t think theirs are as fine as mine. They have old-fashioned sleeves, for one thing, and not a hint of lace.”
Anne sniffed, lifting her chin with an air of lofty judgment. Her gray eyes swept the Pye girls from head to foot, quite pointedly. “Diana’s dress is the nicest I’ve ever seen.”
Gertie cut Anne with an especially sour look, but Anne seemed to take no notice at all. She held herself with an air of regal poise, of perfect calm, and Gertie’s nasty looks withered and faded, as if stricken by a blight.
“If you’re living at Green Gables,” Gertie said to Anne, “then you’ll be in Avonlea School when the summer’s over. If you’re to go to school at all, that is.”
“Of course I’m to go to school!”
Diana heard a queer shiver in her friend’s voice, and she suspected that Anne in fact had no idea whether she would attend school or not. Diana suspected, too, that despite Anne’s grand declarations about the importance of ice cream, what she truly longed for was to go to school.
“Mr. Phillips is to be our teacher again next school year,” Gertie said. “He’s simply awful, isn’t he, Josie?”
Josie Pye nodded. “He’s terrible mean and cross all the time. He’ll switch your hand if you get your sums wrong.”
Diana glanced at Anne, noting how pale her friend’s cheeks had gone. “I’ve never seen Mr. Phillips whip anybody,” Diana said. “You shouldn’t tell falsehoods, Josie Pye!”
Gertie stepped into the breach, defending her little sister. “It’s not a falsehood, and you know it, Diana Barry! Mr. Phi
llips growls at all the students and doesn’t have any patience at all. If you miss your spelling he’ll stand you up in front of the whole class, where everybody will stare and stare at you. You know it’s true, Diana.”
“Grumbling and standing up in front of the class isn’t the same as whipping,” Diana insisted.
“He whipped Moody last year, on a day when you were out sick with a cold. Moody was so hurt that he cried over it, right in front of everybody.”
“Moody was probably acting out. He deserved it!”
Gertie shook her head, smiling. “Moody never acts out. He’s a model student. He only spelled one word wrong on his test, and Mr. Phillips came down on him something awful, because Mr. Phillips can’t be predicted.”
Poor Anne was trembling again, but not on account of the ice cream. She stared at Gertie Pye, horror plain to read in her pink-tinged eyes.
“Why don’t you spell ‘predicted,’” Diana said saucily, “and if you get it wrong, we’ll have Mr. Phillips over to whip you. Don’t listen to a thing she says, Anne… either one of them. By and by, you’ll learn all about Pyes.”
“I’m not afraid,” Anne said. She had marshalled her fear and now stood proud and defiant before the Pye girls’ insidious glee. “I have every confidence that I will meet all of Mr. Phillips’s expectations, and learn well enough to please any teacher.”
“Any normal teacher, maybe,” Gertie muttered, turning away with a cruel little laugh. Then she spun back abruptly, as if recalling something important. “Diana, did you hear? Gilbert Blythe will be back in school this autumn.”
“Oh!” Diana exclaimed in delight, then immediately wished she had not. Ever since she had taken notice of boys—which was a new development, to be sure—she had thought none of them were nearly as handsome as Gilbert. But she felt a queer, fluttery instinct of secrecy on that count. No one must ever know what she thought of Gilbert… ever. Diana couldn’t tell just what kind of danger might develop if anyone were to suspect. Death by some vague (but still quite ominous) shame seemed likely. And Gertie Pye would be the very last person in all the world whom Diana could trust with such a delicate, crucial confidence.
Diana of Orchard Slope Page 5