The Complete Works of L M Montgomery

by L. M. Montgomery

  “I never thought Teddy would turn me down cold like that,” he growled. “I suppose he feels himself too big to have Stovepipe Town for groomsman.”

  Then Emily did her dreadful thing — before she realized what she was saying, in her impatient annoyance with Perry for casting such aspersions on Teddy the words leaped out quite involuntarily.

  “You goose. It wasn’t Teddy at all. Do you think Ilse would have you as groomsman — when she hoped for years you would be the groom?”

  The moment she had spoken she stood aghast, sick with shame and remorse. What had she done? Betrayed friendship — violated confidence — a shameful, unpardonable thing. Could she, Emily Byrd Starr of New Moon, have done this?

  Perry was standing by the dial staring at her dumbfounded.

  “Emily, you don’t mean that. Ilse never thought of me that way, did she?”

  Emily miserably realized that the spoken word could not be recalled and that the mess she had made of things couldn’t be mended by any fibs.

  “She did — at one time. Of course she got over it long ago.”

  “Me! Why, Emily, she always seemed to despise me — always ragging me about something — I never could please her — you remember.”

  “Oh, I remember,” said Emily wearily. “She thought so much of you, she hated to see you fall below her standard. If she hadn’t — liked you — do you suppose she would have cared what grammar you used or what etiquette you smashed? I should never have told you this, Perry. I shall be ashamed of it all my life. You must never let her suspect you know.”

  “Of course not. Anyhow, she’s forgotten it long ago.”

  “Oh — yes. But you can understand why it wouldn’t be especially agreeable for her to have you as best man at her wedding. I hated to have you think Teddy such a snob. And now, you won’t mind, will you, Perry, if I ask you to go? I’m very tired — and I’ve so much to do the next two weeks.”

  “You ought to be in bed, that’s a fact,” agreed Perry. “I’m a beast to be keeping you up. But when I come here it seems so much like old times I never want to go. What a set of shavers we were! And now Ilse and Teddy are going to be married. We’re getting on a bit.”

  “Next thing you’ll be a staid old married man yourself, Perry,” said Emily, trying to smile. “I’ve been hearing things.”

  “Not on your life! I’ve given up that idea for good. Not that I’m pining after you yet in particular — only nobody has any flavour after you. I’ve tried. I’m doomed to die a bachelor. They tell me it’s an easy death. But I’ve got a few ambitions by the tail and I’m not kicking about life. Bye-bye, dear. I’ll see you at the wedding. It’s in the afternoon, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” Emily wondered she could speak so calmly of it. “Three o’clock — then supper — and a motor drive to Shrewsbury to catch the evening boat. Perry, Perry, I wish I hadn’t told you that about Ilse. It was mean — mean — as we used to say at school — I never thought I could do such a thing.”

  “Now, don’t go worrying over that. I’m as tickled as a dog with two tails to think Ilse ever thought that much of me, at any time. Don’t you think I’ve sense enough to know what a compliment it was? And don’t you think I understand what bricks you two girls always were to me and how much I owe you for letting me be your friend? I’ve never had any illusions about Stovepipe Town or the real difference between us. I wasn’t such a fool as not to understand that. I’ve climbed a bit — I mean to climb higher — but you and Ilse were born to it. And you never let me feel the difference as some girls did. I shan’t forget Rhoda Stuart’s dirty little slurs. So you don’t think I’d be such a cur now as to go strutting because I’ve found out Ilse once had a bit of a fancy for me — or that I’d ever let her think I knew? I’ve left that much of Stovepipe Town behind, anyhow — even if I still have to think what fork I’ll pick up first. Emily — do you remember the night your Aunt Ruth caught me kissing you?”*

  *See Emily Climbs.

  “I should think I do.”

  “The only time I ever did kiss you,” said Perry non-sentimentally. “And it wasn’t much of a shot, was it? When I think of the old lady standing there in her nightgown with the candle!”

  Perry went off laughing and Emily went to her room.

  “Emily-in-the-glass,” she said almost gaily, “I can look you squarely in the eyes again. I’m not ashamed any longer. He did love me.”

  She stood there smiling for a little space. And then the smile faded.

  “Oh, if I had only got that letter!” she whispered piteously.

  Chapter XXV

  I

  Only two weeks till the wedding. Emily found out how long two weeks can be, in spite of the fact that every waking moment was crowded with doings, domestic and social. The affair was much talked of everywhere. Emily set her teeth and went through with it. Ilse was here — there — everywhere. Doing nothing — saying much.

  “About as composed as a flea,” growled Dr. Burnley.

  “Ilse has got to be such a restless creature,” complained Aunt Elizabeth. “She seems to be frightened people wouldn’t know she was alive if she sat still a moment.”

  “I’ve got forty-nine remedies for seasickness,” said Ilse. “If Aunt Kate Mitchell gets here I’ll have fifty. Isn’t it delightful to have thoughtful relatives, Emily?”

  They were alone in Ilse’s room. It was the evening Teddy was expected. Ilse had tried on half a dozen different dresses and tossed them aside scornfully.

  “Emily, what will I wear? Decide for me.”

  “Not I. Besides — what difference does it make what you put on?”

  “True — too true. Teddy never notices what I have on. I like a man who does notice and tells me of it. I like a man who likes me better in silk than in gingham.”

  Emily looked out of the window into a tangled garden where the moonlight was an untroubled silver sea bearing softly on its breast a fleet of poppies. “I meant that Teddy — won’t think of your dress — only of you.”

  “Emily, why do you persist in talking as if you thought Teddy and I were madly in love with each other? Is it that Victorian complex of yours?”

  “For heaven’s sake, shut up about things Victorian!” Emily exclaimed with unusual, un-Murray-like violence. “I’m tired of it. You call every nice, simple, natural emotion Victorian. The whole world to-day seems to be steeped in a scorn for things Victorian. Do they know what they’re talking of? But I like sane, decent things — if that is Victorian.”

  “Emily, Emily, do you suppose Aunt Elizabeth would think it either a sane or decent thing to be madly in love?”

  Both girls laughed and the sudden tension relaxed.

  “You’re not off, Emily?”

  “Of course I am. Do you think I’d play gooseberry at such a time as this?”

  “There you go again. Do you think I want to be shut up alone a whole evening with undiluted Teddy. We’ll have a scene every few minutes over something. Of course scenes are lovely. They brighten up life so. I’ve just got to have a scene once a week. You know I always did enjoy a good fight. Remember how you and I used to scrap? You haven’t been a bit of good at a row lately. Even Teddy is only half-hearted in a set-to. Perry, now — he could fight. Think what gorgeous rows Perry and I would have had. Our quarrels would have been splendid. Nothing petty — or quarrelsome — about them. And how we would have loved each other between them! O-hone-a-rie!”

  “Are you hankering after Perry Miller yet?” demanded Emily fiercely.

  “No, dear infant. And neither am I crazy about Teddy. After all, ours is only second-hand love on both sides, you know. Cold soup warmed over. Don’t worry. I’ll be good for him. I’ll keep him up to the notch in everything much better than if I thought him a little lower than the angels. It doesn’t do to think a man is perfection because he naturally thinks so, too, and when he finds some one who agrees with him he is inclined to rest on his oars. It riles me up a bit when every one seems to think I�
��m so amazingly lucky to ‘get’ Teddy for a husband. Comes Aunt Ida Mitchell—’You are getting a perfectly wonderful husband, Ilse’ — comes Bridget Mooney from Stovepipe Town scrubbing the floor—’Gosh but you’re gettin’ a swell man, Miss’—’Sisters under their skins,’ you perceive. Teddy is well enough — especially since he found out he isn’t the only man in the world. He has learned sense somewhere. I’d like to know what girl taught it to him. Oh, there was one. He told me something about the affair — not much but enough. She used to snub him terribly — and then after she had led him on to think she cared she turned him down cold. Never even answered the letter in which he told her he loved her. I hate that girl, Emily — isn’t it odd?”

  “Don’t hate her,” said Emily, wearily. “Perhaps she didn’t know what she was doing.”

  “I hate her for using Teddy like that. Though it did him heaps of good. Why do I hate her, Emily? Employ your renowned skill in psychological analysis and expound to me that mystery.”

  “You hate her — because — to borrow a certain crude expression we’ve often heard — you’re ‘taking her leavings.’”

  “You demon! I suppose it’s so. How ugly some things are when you ferret them out! I’ve been flattering myself that it was a noble hatred because she made Teddy suffer. After all, the Victorians were right in covering lots of things up. Ugly things should be hidden. Now, go home if go you must and I’ll try to look like some one about to receive a blessing.”

  II

  Lorne Halsey came with Teddy — the great Halsey whom Emily liked very much in spite of his gargoyleishness. A comical looking fellow with vital, mocking eyes, who seemed to look upon everything in general and Frederick Kent’s wedding in particular as a huge joke. Somehow, this attitude made things a little easier for Emily. She was very brilliant and gay in the evenings they all spent together. She was terribly afraid of silence in Teddy’s presence. “Never be silent with the person you love and distrust,” Mr. Carpenter had said once. “Silence betrays.”

  Teddy was very friendly, but his gaze always omitted Emily. Once, when they all walked in the old, overgrown, willow-bordered lawn of the Burnley place, Ilse stumbled on the happy idea of pick-out your favourite star.

  “Mine is Sirius. Lorne?”

  “Antares of the Scorpion — the red star of the south,” said Halsey.

  “Bellatrix of Orion,” said Emily quickly. She had never thought about Bellatrix before, but she dared not hesitate a moment before Teddy.

  “I have no especial favourite — there is only one star I hate. Vega of the Lyre,” said Teddy quietly. His voice was charged with a significance which instantly made every one uncomfortable though neither Halsey nor Ilse knew why. No more was said about stars. But Emily watched alone till they faded out one by one in the dawn.

  III

  Three nights before the wedding-day Blair Water and Derry Pond were much scandalized because Ilse Burnley had been seen driving with Perry Miller in his new run-about at some ungodly hour. Ilse coolly admitted it when Emily reproached her.

  “Of course I did. I had had such a dull, bored evening with Teddy. We began it well with a quarrel over my blue Chow. Teddy said I cared more for it than I did for him. I said of course I did. It infuriated him, though he didn’t believe it. Teddy, manlike, really believes I’m dying about him.

  “‘A dog that never chased a cat in its life,’ he sneered.

  “Then we both sulked the rest of the evening. He went home at eleven without kissing me. I resolved I’d do something foolish and beautiful for the last time, so I sneaked down the lane for a lovely, lonely walk down to the dunes. Perry came along in his car and I just changed my mind and went for a little moonlit spin with him. I wasn’t married yet. Don’t be after looking at me so. We only stayed out till one and we were really very good and proper. I only wondered once — just what would happen if I suddenly said, ‘Perry, darling, you’re the only man I’ve ever really cared a hang for. Why can’t we get married?’ I wonder if when I’m eighty I’ll wish I’d said it.”

  “You told me you had quite got over caring for Perry.’

  “But did you believe me? Emily, thank God you’re not a Burnley.”

  Emily reflected bitterly that it was not much better being a Murray. If it had not been for her Murray pride she would have gone to Teddy the night he called her — and she would have been tomorrow’s bride — not Ilse.

  To-morrow. It was to-morrow — the morrow when she would have to stand near Teddy and hear him vowing lifelong devotion to another woman. All was in readiness. A wedding-supper that pleased even Dr. Burnley, who had decreed that there should be “a good, old-fashioned wedding-supper — none of your modern dabs of this and that. The bride and groom mayn’t want much maybe, but the rest of us still have stomachs. And this is the first wedding for years. We’ve been getting pretty much like heaven in one respect anyhow — neither marrying nor giving in marriage. I want a spread. And tell Laura for heaven’s sake not to yowl at the wedding.”

  So Aunts Elizabeth and Laura saw to it that for the first time in twenty years the Burnley house had a thorough cleaning from top to bottom. Dr. Burnley thanked God forcibly several times that he would only have to go through this once, but nobody paid any attention to him. Elizabeth and Laura had new satin dresses made. It was such a long time since they had had any excuse for new satin dresses.

  Aunt Elizabeth made the wedding-cakes and saw to the hams and chickens. Laura made creams and jellies and salads and Emily carried them over to the Burnley Place, wondering at times if she wouldn’t soon wake up — before — before —

  “I’ll be glad when all this fuss is over,” growled Cousin Jimmy. “Emily’s working herself to death — look at the eyes of her!”

  IV

  “Stay with me to-night, Emily,” entreated Ilse. “I swear I won’t talk you to death and I won’t cry either. Though I admit if I could just be snuffed out to-night like a candle I wouldn’t mind. Jean Askew was Milly Hyslop’s bridesmaid and she spent the night before her wedding with her and they both cried all night. Fancy such an orgy of tears. Milly cried because she was going to be married — and I suppose Jean must have been crying because she wasn’t. Thank heaven, Emily, you and I were never the miauling kind. We’ll be more likely to fight than cry, won’t we? I wonder if Mrs. Kent will come to-morrow? I don’t suppose so. Teddy says she never mentions his marriage. Though he says she seem oddly changed — gentler — calmer — more like other women. Emily, do you realize that by this time to-morrow I’ll be Ilse Kent?”

  Yes, Emily realized that.

  They said nothing more. But two hours later when wakeful Emily had supposed the motionless Ilse was sound asleep Ilse suddenly sat up in bed and grabbed Emily’s hand in the darkness.

  “Emily — if one could only go to sleep unmarried — and wake up married — how nice it would be.”

  V

  It was dawn — the dawn of Ilse’s wedding-day. Ilse was sleeping when Emily slipped out of bed and went to the window. Dawn. A cluster of dark pines in a trance of calm down by the Blair Water. The air tremulous with elfin music; the wind winnowing the dunes; dancing amber waves on the harbour; the eastern sky abloom; the lighthouse at the harbour pearl-white against the ethereal sky; beyond all the blue field of the sea with its foam blossoms and behind that golden haze that swathed the hill of the Tansy Patch, Teddy — wakeful — waiting — welcoming the day that gave him his heart’s desire. Emily’s soul was washed empty of every wish or hope or desire except that the day were over.

  “It is,” she thought, “comforting when a thing becomes irrevocable.”

  “Emily — Emily.”

  Emily turned from the window.

  “It’s a lovely day, Ilse. The sun will shine on you. Ilse — what is the matter? Ilse — you’re crying!”

  “I can’t — help it,” sniffed Ilse. “It seems to be the proper, inescapable caper after all. I beg Milly’s pardon. But — I’m so beastly afraid. I
t’s an infernal sensation. Do you think it would do any good if I threw myself on the floor and screamed?”

  “What are you afraid of?” said Emily, a little impatiently.

  “Oh,” — Ilse sprang defiantly out of bed—”afraid I’ll stick my tongue out at the minister. What else?”

  VI

  What a morning! It always seemed a sort of nightmare recollection to Emily. Guests of the clan came early — Emily welcomed them until she felt that the smile must be frozen on her face. There were endless wedding-gifts to unwrap and arrange. Ilse, before she dressed, came to look them over indifferently.

  “Who sent in that afternoon tea-set?” she asked.

  “Perry,” said Emily. She had helped him choose it. A dainty service in a quaint old-fashioned rose design. A card with Perry’s black forcible handwriting. “To Ilse with the best wishes of her old friend Perry.”

  Ilse deliberately picked up piece after piece and dashed it in fragments on the floor before the transfixed Emily could stop her.

  “Ilse! Have you gone crazy?”

  “There! What a glorious smash! Sweep up the fragments, Emily. That was just as good as screaming on the floor. Better. I can go through with it now.”

  Emily disposed of the fragments just in time — Mrs. Clarinda Mitchell came billowing in, in pale-blue muslin and cherry-hued scarf. A sonsy, smiling, good-hearted cousin-by-marriage. Interested in everything. Who gave this? — Who had sent that?

  “She’ll be such a sweet bride, I’m sure,” gushed Mrs. Clarinda. “And Teddy Kent is such a splendid fellow. It’s really an ideal marriage, isn’t it? One of those you read about! I love weddings like this. I thank my stars I didn’t lose my interest in youthful things when I lost my youth. I’ve lots of sentiment in me yet — and I’m not afraid to show it. And did Ilse’s wedding stockings really cost fourteen dollars?”