Anne of Windy Poplars

by L. M. Montgomery

  6

  Jarvis Morrow walked home from the High School Commencement with Anne and told her his woes.

  'You'll have to run away with her, Jarvis. Everybody says so. As a rule I don't approve of elopements' (I said that like a teacher of forty years' experience, thought Anne, with an unseen grin), 'but there are exceptions to all rules.'

  'It takes two to make a bargain, Anne. I can't elope alone. Dovie is so frightened of her father I can't get her to agree. And it wouldn't be an elopement, really. She'd just come to my sister Julia's - Mrs Stevens, you know - some evening. I'd have the minister there, and we could be married respectably enough to please anybody, and go over to spend our honeymoon with Aunt Bertha in Kingsport. Simple as that. But I can't get Dovie to chance it. The poor darling has been giving in to her father's whims and crotchets so long she hasn't any will-power left.'

  'You'll simply have to make her do it, Jarvis.'

  'Great Peter, you don't suppose I haven't tried, do you, Anne? I've begged till I was black in the face. When she's with me she'll almost promise it, but the minute she's home again she sends me word she can't. It seems odd, Anne, but the poor child is really fond of her father, and she can't bear the thought of his never forgiving her.'

  'You must tell her she has to choose between her father and you.'

  'And suppose she chooses him?'

  'I don't think there's any danger of that.'

  'You can never tell,' said Jarvis gloomily. 'But something has to be decided soon. I can't go on like this for ever. I'm crazy about Dovie. Everybody in Summerside knows that. She's like a little red rose just out of reach. I must reach her, Anne.'

  'Poetry is a very good thing in its place, but it won't get you anywhere in this instance, Jarvis,' said Anne coolly. 'That sounds like a remark Rebecca Dew would make, but it's quite true. What you need in this affair is plain, hard common sense. Tell Dovie you're tired of shilly-shallying, and that she must take you or leave you. If she doesn't care enough for you to leave her father it's just as well for you to realize it.'

  Jarvis groaned. 'You haven't been under the thumb of Franklin Westcott all your life, Anne. You haven't any realization of what he's like. Well, I'll make a last and final effort. As you say, if Dovie really cares for me she'll come to me, and if she doesn't I might as well know the worst. I'm beginning to feel I've made myself rather ridiculous.'

  'If you're beginning to feel like that,' thought Anne, 'Dovie had better watch out.'

  Dovie herself slipped into Windy Willows a few evenings later to consult Anne.

  'What shall I do, Anne? What can I do? Jarvis wants me to elope - practically. Father is to be in Charlottetown one night next week attending a Masonic banquet, and it would be a good chance. Aunt Maggie would never suspect. Jarvis wants me to go to Mrs Stevens's and be married there.'

  'And why don't you, Dovie?'

  'Oh, Anne, do you really think I ought to?' Dovie lifted a sweet coaxing face. 'Please, please make up my mind for me! I'm just distracted.' Dovie's voice broke on a tearful note. 'Oh, Anne, you don't know Father. He just hates Jarvis - I can't imagine why, can you? How can anybody hate Jarvis? When he called on me the first time Father forbade him the house, and told him he'd set the dog on him if he ever came again - our big bull. You know they never let go once they take hold. And he'll never forgive me if I run away with Jarvis.'

  'You must choose between them, Dovie.'

  'That's just what Jarvis said,' wept Dovie. 'Oh, he was so stern. I never saw him like that before. And I can't, I can't li-i-i-ve without him, Anne.'

  'Then live with him, my dear girl. And don't call it eloping. Just coming into Summerside and being married among his friends isn't eloping.'

  'Father will call it so,' said Dovie, swallowing a sob. 'But I'm going to take your advice, Anne. I'm sure you wouldn't advise me to take any step that was wrong. I'll tell Jarvis to go ahead and get the licence, and I'll come to his sister's the night Father is in Charlottetown.'

  Jarvis told Anne triumphantly that Dovie had yielded at last.

  'I'm to meet her at the end of the lane next Tuesday night - she won't have me go down to the house for fear Aunt Maggie might see me - and we'll just step up to Julia's and be married in a brace of shakes. All my folks will be there, so it will make the poor darling quite comfortable. Franklin Westcott said I should never get his daughter. I'll show him he was mistaken.'

  7

  Tuesday was a gloomy day in late November. Occasional cold, gusty showers drifted over the hills. The world seemed a dreary, outlived place, seen through a grey drizzle.

  'Poor Dovie hasn't a very nice day for her wedding,' thought Anne. 'Suppose... suppose' - she quaked and shivered - 'suppose it doesn't turn out well after all. It will be my fault. Dovie would never have agreed to it if I hadn't advised her to. And suppose Franklin Westcott never forgives her... Anne Shirley, stop this! The weather is all that's the matter with you.'

  By night the rain had ceased, but the air was cold and raw, and the sky lowering. Anne was in her tower room, correcting school papers, with Dusty Miller coiled up under her stove. There came a thunderous knock at the front door.

  Anne ran down, and Rebecca Dew poked an alarmed head out of her bedroom door. Anne motioned her back.

  'It's someone at the front door!' said Rebecca hollowly.

  'It's all right, Rebecca dear. At least I'm afraid it's all wrong. But, anyway, it's only Jarvis Morrow. I saw him from the side tower window, and I know he wants to see me.'

  'Jarvis Morrow!' Rebecca went back and shut her door. 'This is the last straw.'

  'Jarvis, whatever is the matter?'

  'Dovie hasn't come!' said Jarvis wildly. 'We've waited hours. The minister's there... and my friends... and Julia has supper ready... and Dovie hasn't come. I waited for her at the end of the lane till I was half crazy. I didn't dare go down to the house, because I didn't know what had happened. That old brute of a Franklin Westcott may have come back. Aunt Maggie may have locked her up. But I've got to know. Anne, you must go to Elmcroft and find out why she hasn't come.'

  'Me?' said Anne incredulously and ungrammatically.

  'Yes, you. There's no one else I can trust; no one else who knows. Oh, Anne, don't fail me now! You've backed us up right along. Dovie says you are the only real friend she has. It isn't late - only nine. Do go!'

  'And be chewed up by the bulldog?' said Anne sarcastically.

  'That old dog!' said Jarvis contemptuously. 'He wouldn't say boo to a tramp. You don't suppose I was afraid of the dog, do you? Besides, he's always shut up at night. I simply don't want to make any trouble for Dovie at home if they've found out. Anne, please!'

  'I suppose I'm in for it,' said Anne, with a shrug of despair.

  Jarvis drove her to the long lane of Elmcroft, but she would not let him come farther.

  'As you say, it might complicate matters for Dovie in case her father has come home.'

  Anne hurried down the long tree-bordered lane. The moon occasionally broke through the windy clouds, but for the most part it was gruesomely dark, and she was not a little dubious about the dog.

  There seemed to be only one light in Elmcroft, shining from the kitchen window. Aunt Maggie herself opened the side-door to Anne. Aunt Maggie was a very old sister of Franklin Westcott's, a little bent, wrinkled old woman who had never been considered very bright mentally, though she was an excellent housekeeper.

  'Aunt Maggie, is Dovie home?'

  'Dovie's in bed,' said Aunt Maggie stolidly.

  'In bed? Is she sick?'

  'Not as I knows on. She seemed to be in a dither all day. After supper she says she was tired, and ups and goes to bed.'

  'I must see her for a moment, Aunt Maggie. I - I just want a little important information.'

  'Better go up to her room, then. It's the one on the right side as you go up.' Aunt Maggie gestured to the stairs and waddled out to the kitchen.

  Dovie sat up as Anne walked in, rather unceremoniously, a
fter a hurried rap. As could be seen by the light of a tiny candle, Dovie was in tears, but her tears only exasperated Anne.

  'Dovie Westcott, did you forget that you promised to marry Jarvis Morrow tonight - tonight?'

  'No... no,' whimpered Dovie. 'Oh, Anne, I'm so unhappy! I've put in such a dreadful day. You can never, never know what I've gone through.'

  'I know what poor Jarvis has gone through, waiting for two hours at that lane in the cold and drizzle,' said Anne mercilessly.

  'Is he - is he very angry, Anne?'

  'Just what you could notice' - bitingly.

  'Oh, Anne, I just got frightened. I never slept one wink last night. I couldn't go through with it - I couldn't! I... There's really something disgraceful about eloping, Anne. And I wouldn't get any nice presents... Well, not many, anyhow. I've always wanted to be m-m-arried in church... with lovely decorations... and a white veil and dress... and s-s-silver slippers!'

  'Dovie Westcott, get right out of that bed - at once and get dressed, and come with me.'

  'Anne, it's too late now.'

  'It isn't too late. And it's now or never. You must know that, Dovie, if you've a grain of sense. You must know Jarvis Morrow will never speak to you again if you make a fool of him like this.'

  'Oh, Anne, he'll forgive me when he knows.'

  'He won't. I know Jarvis Morrow. He isn't going to let you play indefinitely with his life. Dovie, do you want me to drag you bodily out of bed?'

  Dovie shuddered and sighed. 'I haven't any suitable dress.'

  'You've half a dozen pretty dresses. Put on your rose taffeta.'

  'And I haven't any trousseau. The Morrows will always cast that up to me.'

  'You can get one afterwards. Dovie, didn't you weigh all these things in the balance before?'

  'No... no... That's just the trouble. I only began to think of them last night. And Father... You don't know Father, Anne.'

  'Dovie, I'll give you just ten minutes to get dressed!'

  Dovie was dressed in the specified time.

  'This dress is g-g-getting too tight for me,' she sobbed as Anne hooked her up. 'If I get much fatter I don't suppose Jarvis will 1-1-love me. I wish I was tall and slim and pale like you, Anne. Oh, Anne, what if Aunt Maggie hears us?'

  'She won't. She's shut in the kitchen, and you know she's a little deaf. Here's your hat and coat, and I've tumbled a few things into this bag.'

  'Oh, my heart is fluttering so. Do I look terrible, Anne?'

  'You look lovely,' said Anne sincerely.

  Dovie's satin skin was rose and cream, and all her tears hadn't spoiled her eyes. But Jarvis couldn't see her eyes in the dark, and he was just a little annoyed with his adored fair one, and rather cool during the drive to town.

  'For heaven's sake, Dovie, don't look so scared over having to marry me,' he said impatiently, as she came down the stairs of the Stevens's house. 'And don't cry. It will make your nose swell. It's nearly ten o'clock, and we've got to catch the eleven o'clock train.'

  Dovie was quite all right as soon as she found herself irrevocably married to Jarvis. What Anne rather cattishly described in a letter to Gilbert as the 'honeymoon look' was already on her face.

  'Anne, darling, we owe it all to you. We'll never forget it, will we, Jarvis? And oh, Anne darling, will you do just one more thing for me? Please break the news to Father. He'll be home early tomorrow evening - and somebody has got to tell him. You can smooth him over if anybody cane. Please do your best to get him to forgive me.'

  Anne felt that she rather needed some smoothing over herself just then, but she also felt rather uneasily responsible for the outcome of the affair, so she gave the required promise.

  'Of course, he'll be terrible - simply terrible, Anne, but he can't kill you,' said Dovie comfortingly. Oh, Anne, you don't know, you can't realize, how safe I feel with Jarvis.'

  When Anne got home Rebecca Dew had reached the point where she had to satisfy her curiosity or go mad. She followed Anne to the tower room in her nightdress with a square of flannel wrapped round her head, and heard the whole story.

  'Well, I suppose this is what you might call "life",' she said sarcastically. 'But I'm real glad Franklin Westcott has got his come-uppance at last, and so will Mrs Captain MacComber be. But I don't envy you the job of breaking the news to him. He'll rage and utter vain things. If I was in your shoes, Miss Shirley, I wouldn't sleep one blessed wink tonight.'

  'I feel that it won't be a very pleasant experience,' agreed Anne ruefully.

  8

  Anne betook herself to Elmcroft the next evening, walking through the dreamlike landscape of a November fog with a sinking sensation pervading her being. It was not exactly a delightful errand. As Dovie had said, of course Franklin Westcott wouldn't kill her. Anne did not fear physical violence, though if all the tales told of him were true he might throw something at her. Would he gibber with rage? Anne had never seen a man gibbering with rage, and she imagined it must be a rather unpleasant sight. But he would likely exercise his noted gift for unpleasant sarcasm, and sarcasm in man or woman was the one weapon Anne dreaded. It always hurt her, raised blisters on her soul that smarted for months.

  'Aunt Jamesina used to say, "Never, if you can help it, be the bringer of ill news," ' reflected Anne. 'She was as wise in that as in everything else. Well, here I am.'

  Elmcroft was an old-fashioned house with towers at every corner and a bulbous cupola on the roof. And at the top of the flight of front steps sat the dog.

  '"They never let go once they take hold,"' remembered Anne. Should she try going round to the side-door? Then the thought that Franklin Westcott might be watching her from the window braced her up. Never would she give him the satisfaction of seeing that she was afraid of his dog. Resolutely, her head held high, she marched up the steps, past the dog, and rang the bell. The dog had not stirred. When Anne glanced at him over her shoulder he was apparently asleep.

  Franklin Westcott, it transpired, was not at home, but was expected every minute, as the Charlottetown train was due. Aunt Maggie conveyed Anne into what she called the 'liberry' and left her there. The dog had got up and followed them in. He came and arranged himself at Anne's feet.

  Anne found herself liking the 'liberry'. It was a cheerful, shabby room, with a fire glowing cosily in the grate and bear-skin rugs on the worn red carpet of the floor. Franklin Westcott evidently did himself well in regard to books and pipes.

  Presently she heard him come in. He hung up his hat and coat in the hall; he stood in the library doorway with a very decided scowl on his brow. Anne recalled that her impression of him the first time she had seen him was that of a rather gentlemanly pirate, and she experienced a repetition of it.

  'Oh, it's you, is it?' he said rather gruffly. 'Well, and what do you want?'

  He had not even offered to shake hands with her. Of the two Anne thought the dog had decidedly the better manners.

  'Mr Westcott, please hear me through patiently before -'

  'I am patient, very patient. Proceed!'

  Anne decided that there was no use beating about the bush with a man like Franklin Westcott.

  'I have come to tell you,' she said steadily, 'that Dovie has married Jarvis Morrow.'

  Then she waited for the earthquake. None came. Not a muscle of Franklin Westcott's lean brown face changed. He came in and sat down in the bandy-legged leather chair opposite Anne.

  'When?' he said.

  'Last night, at his sister's,' said Anne.

  Franklin Westcott looked at her for a moment out of yellowish-brown eyes deeply set under penthouses of grizzled eyebrows. Anne had a moment of wondering what he had looked like when he was a baby. Then he threw back his head and went into one of his spasms of soundless laughter.

  'You mustn't blame Dovie, Mr Westcott,' said Anne earnestly, recovering her powers of speech now that the awful revelation was over. 'It wasn't her fault -'

  'I'll bet it wasn't,' said Franklin Westcott.

  Was he tr
ying to be sarcastic?

  'No, it was all mine,' said Anne simply and bravely. 'I advised her to elo - to be married. I made her do it. So please forgive her, Mr Westcott.'

  Franklin Westcott coolly picked up a pipe and began to fill it. 'If you've managed to make Sibyl elope with Jarvis Morrow, Miss Shirley, you've accomplished more than I ever thought anybody could. I was beginning to be afraid she'd never have backbone enough to do it. And then I'd have had to back down, and, Lord, how we Westcotts hate backing down! You've saved my face, Miss Shirley, and I'm profoundly grateful to you.'

  There was a very loud silence while Franklin Westcott tamped his tobacco down and looked with an amused twinkle at Anne's face. Anne was so much at sea that she didn't know what to say.

  'I suppose,' he said, 'that you came here in fear and trembling to break the terrible news to me?'

  'Yes,' said Anne, a trifle shortly.

  Franklin Westcott chuckled soundlessly. 'You needn't have. You couldn't have brought me more welcome news. Why, I picked Jarvis Morrow out for Sibyl when they were kids. Soon as the other boys began taking notice of her I shooed them off. That gave Jarvis his first notion of her. He'd show the old man! But he was so popular with the girls that I could hardly believe the incredible luck when he did really take a genuine fancy to her. Then I laid out my plan of campaign. I knew the Morrows root and branch. You don't. They're a good family, but the men don't want things they can get easily. And they're determined to get a thing when they're told they can't. They always go by contraries. Jarvis's father broke three girls' hearts because their families threw them at his head. In Jarvis's case I knew exactly what would happen. Sibyl would fall head over heels in love with him, and he'd be tired of her in no time. I knew he wouldn't keep on wanting her if she was too easy to get. So I forbade him to come near the place and forbade Sibyl to have a word to say to him, and generally played the heavy parent to perfection. Talk about the charm of the uncaught! It's nothing to the charm of the uncatchable. It all worked out according to schedule, but I struck a snag in Sibyl's spinelessness. She's a nice child, but she is spineless. I've been thinking she'd never have the pluck to marry him in my teeth. Now if you've got your breath back, my dear young lady, unbosom yourself of the whole story.'