“The things in this house are nice,” said Cuddles, as she rubbed at the spoons. “I wonder why. They’re not really so handsome but they’re nice.”
“They’re loved, that’s why,” said Pat softly. “They’ve been loved and cared for for years. I love everything in this house terribly, Cuddles.”
“I believe you love them too much, Pat. I love them, too, but you seem to worship them.”
“I can’t help it. Silver Bush means everything to me and it seems to mean more every year of my life. I do want this Christmas to go off well . . . everything just right . . . all the folks enjoying themselves. Judy, do you think six mince pies will be enough? It would be disgraceful if we didn’t have enough of everything.”
“Loads and lashings,” assured Judy. “Mrs. Tom Robinson do be thinking we’re tarrible extravagant. ‘A fat kitchen makes a lean will,’ she did be sighing to me the other day whin she was in, borrying the quilt clamps off av me. ‘Oh, oh,’ sez I, ‘we’re not like the Birtwhistles at the bridge,’ sez I. ‘After they do be having a bit av company,’ sez I, ‘not a dab av butter will be et in that house till all the extry bills are made up,’ sez I. She tuk it wid her chin up but she was faling it all right. Ould Mrs. Birtwhistle was her mother’s cousin. Oh, oh, I’m knowing too much about all the folks in these parts for inny av thim to be giving me digs in me own kitchen. A lean will indade! Plaze the Good Man Above it’ll be a long time afore there’s inny nade to talk av wills at Silver Bush.”
“But Aunt Edith says we do live too high at Silver Bush,” said Cuddles. “She says we really ought to be more frugal.”
“Frugal! I hate that word,” said Pat. “It sounds so . . . so porridgy. I do hope Joe will get home in time. We must give a party for him if he does, some night between Christmas and New Year’s. I love to give parties. It’s so nice to see people coming to Silver Bush in pretty dresses, all smiling and happy. I hope everybody will have a good appetite Christmas Day. I love to feed hungry people.”
“Oh, oh, and what are women for if it’s not to fade the world?” said Judy complacently. “Sure and it do be giving me pleasure just to see a cat lapping his milk. It’s glad I am you girls do be having the rale Silver Bush notions av hospitality. I’m minding the fuss yer Aunt Jessie did be making once bekase company came unixpicted like and she had nothing to give thim to ate. Niver was Silver Bush in inny such predicament I’m telling ye.”
“There ain’t so much fun here as at the Jebbs’ though,” said Tillytuck, who was sandpapering an axe-handle in his corner and thought Judy needed taking down a bit. “They were always quarrelling there. Two would start and then all the rest would join in. It was interesting. You folks here never quarrel. I never saw such a harmonious family.”
“I should think we wouldn’t quarrel,” said Pat indignantly. “It would be terrible to have quarrels at Silver Bush. I hope we never, never will have.”
“You’ll be a fortunate family then,” said Tillytuck. “There ain’t many families but have a ruction once in a while.”
“I think I would die if any of us quarrelled,” said Pat. “We leave that to people like the Binnies.”
Hope died hard in the matter of Joe but the days passed without any word of him or his ship. It was over three years since Joe had been home and Pat always knew, when she surprised a certain look in mother’s eyes, that she was longing for her sailor boy. It would shadow mother’s Christmas a bit if Joe didn’t get home in time for it.
Pat had hoped for a fine Christmas day, clear and crisp, with a crackle of frost and unspoiled fields of snow and caps of lovely white fur on the posts down the lane: but she felt dubious as she took her last look from the kitchen door late on Christmas Eve. She and Judy had stayed up to make the stuffing for “the birds” but Judy was now folding weary hands for slumber in the kitchen chamber and Tillytuck had gone to sleep, perchance to snore, in the granary loft. A snarling, quarrelsome wind was fighting with the white birches and wailing around the barns. It did not sound like a fine day on the morrow but one must hope for the best, as Judy said. Pat shut out the chill of the winter night and paused a moment in the warm old kitchen to gloat over things in general. Everything she loved best was safe under her roof. The house seemed breathing softly and contentedly in its sleep. Life was very sweet.
Pat’s hopes for a fine day were vain. Christmas morning dawned on a dreadful combination of fog and rain. Rain by itself, Pat always thought, was an honest thing . . . fog lovely and eerie . . . but together they were horrible. Tillytuck agreed with her.
“It’s fogging, Judy,” he said dolefully when he came in for breakfast. “Fogging hard. I can put up with a rainy day but I can’t come these half-and-halfs, like a woman who never knows her own mind. No, sir.”
“Oh, oh, and I’m not knowing what’s to be done, wid people tramping all over me clane floor in dirty boots,” said Judy viciously.
“We’ll just have to do as they do in Nova Scotia, Judy.”
Judy bit.
“Oh, oh, and what is it they do in Novy Scoshy, if a body may ask?”
“They do the best they can,” said Tillytuck solemnly, as he went out with the milking pails. Tillytuck mostly did the milking now. Judy had surrendered the chore unwillingly. She was afraid, when Long Alec insisted on it, that he thought she was growing too old for it. And she never could be brought to believe that Tillytuck stripped the cows properly. Besides, wasn’t he ruining the young barn cats by milking into their mouths? That was no way to be training cats. Ye wudn’t be catching Gintleman Tom or Bold-and-Bad or Squedunk at inny such capers.
After breakfast the blue and gold and purple and silver parcels were distributed and every one was pleased. Pat had been afraid Sid might not like the rather gorgeous silk pyjamas she had got him but Sid did.
“They’re the very niftiest pyjamas I ever saw in my life,” vowed Cuddles.
“And where have you seen so many pyjamas, miss?” demanded Long Alec, thinking to “get a rise” out of Cuddles.
“On the bargain counters,” retorted Cuddles . . . and the laugh was on dad. It did not take much to make the Silver Bush people laugh. Laughter came easily to them.
“Isn’t she the cliver one,” said Judy . . . and then stiffened in horror.
Tillytuck was proudly uncovering his Christmas present for “the missus.” A Jerusalem cherry! A pretty thing, to be sure, with its glossy green leaves and ruby red fruit, and mother was delighted with it. But Judy beat a sudden retreat to the kitchen, followed by Pat.
“Judy, what is the matter? You’re never going to be sick to-day!”
“Patsy darlint, it’s well if there’s nothing worse than me being sick happens here this blissed day. Were ye seeing what that Tillytuck did be giving to yer mother? A Jerusalem cherry no less! Sure and didn’t I come all out wid gooseflesh whin I saw it.”
“But what about it, Judy? It’s a pretty thing. I thought it lovely of Tillytuck to remember mother.”
“Oh, oh, don’t ye be knowing a Jerusalem cherry brings bad luck? There was one brought into this house thirty years ago and yer Uncle Tom slipped on the stairs and bruk three ribs that very night. I’m telling ye. Patsy darlint, can’t ye be contriving to set the thing outside somewhere till the dinner be over at laste?”
Pat shook her head.
“We couldn’t do that. It would offend Tillytuck. Anyway, I know mother wouldn’t hear of it. You mustn’t be superstitious, Judy. A pretty thing like a Jerusalem cherry can’t bring bad luck.”
“I’m hoping ye’re right, Patsy, but we’ll be seeing what we’ll see. ‘Fogging, Judy,’ sez he. No wonder it do be fogging, and him wid that Jerusalem thing in his granary that blissed minute! But wid all there is to see to I’m not to stand bithering here.”
“I’m going to see about the spare room right off so that it will be all in order if any one comes early,” said Pat briskly. “May I have that new hooked rug you’ve got stored away in the attic to lay by the bed . . . the one
with the great soft, plushy roses?”
“Av coorse. I mint it for yer hope chist but the way ye’re snubbing the min right and lift there’ll be lashings av time for that. Put plinty av blankets on the bed, Patsy darlint. If the Bay Shore aunts come they may be staying all night. Style widout comfort is not the way av Silver Bush. Yer Aunt Helen at Glenwood now . . . ye do be knowing yersilf what style she puts on . . . silk spreads and liddle lace and ribbing cushions . . . but I’ve always been hearing that people who slipt there vowed they were cold in bed. The minister slipt there one night and so cold he was he started prowling for a blanket in the night and fell down the back stairs. That was be way av being a disgrace. I’m telling ye.”
Cuddles had already made the spare room bed and was infuriated because Pat insisted on making it over again.
“You’ll be as bad as Aunt Edith before you’re thirty, Pat. She imagines nobody can do anything right but herself. And Judy’s no better, no matter what she thinks. She’s been teaching me to make gravy for weeks but now when I want to make it to-day she won’t let me. You all make me weary.”
“Don’t be cross, Cuddles. You made the bed as nicely as any one could but the extra blankets have to be put on. Cuddles, do you know I love to make up beds and think of all the tired people who will lie in them. I couldn’t bear it if any one should be cold in bed in Silver Bush. Will you get some of the silver polish and do the mirrors? I want them to shine like diamonds . . . especially the one in the hall.”
The hall mirror was one that had been brought out from France by Great-great-grandmother, Marie Bonnet. It was a long, softly gleaming thing in a ruddy copper frame and Pat loved it. Cuddles had an affection for it, too, because she thought she looked nicer in it than in any other mirror at Silver Bush.
“Sure and it was always the flattering one,” said Judy, as Cuddles rubbed at the frame. “Minny’s the pretty face that’s looked into it.”
“I wonder,” said Pat dreamily . . . passing carelessly through the hall just to make sure Cuddles was doing the polishing right . . . “if one came here some moonlit night one couldn’t see all the shadowy faces that once looked into it looking out again.”
“Oh, oh, ye’d nade the enchanted mirror of Castle McDermott for that,” chuckled Judy. “That looking glass wasn’t like other looking glasses. There did be a curse on it. I was always afraid av it. Be times it did be saming like a frind and thin again like an inimy. And I was always wanting to look in it, in spite av me fear, jist to be seeing if innything looked out av it.”
“And did anything ever, Judy?”
“Niver a bit av it, girl dear. The looking glass wasn’t for common folks like mesilf. Niver did I be seeing innything worse than me own frickled face. But there did be thim that did.”
“What did they see, Judy?”
“Oh, oh, there’s no time for that now. It’s me raisin gravy I must be seeing to this blissed minute.”
Pat shut the hall door and set her back against it resolutely.
“Judy, not one step do you stir from this hall till you’ve told us what was seen in the McDermott mirror, if there’s no raisin gravy made this Christmas.”
“Oh, oh,” . . . Judy surrendered . . . “It’s mebbe as well to tell it whin Tillytuck can’t be claiming to have stipped out av the glass. Did ye be hearing him the other avening whin I was telling av the dance one Saturday night in South Glin that they kipt up too late . . . past the stroke av twilve . . . and the Bad Man Below intered? Sez me Tillytuck solemnly, ‘I rimimber it only too well. I was at that dance.’ ‘Indade,’ sez I, sarcastic-like, ‘ye must be an aged man, Tillytuck, for the dance was all av eighty years ago.’ But he carried it off wid a grin. Ye can’t shame that man. But I can’t be rimimbering all the tales av the looking glass now. There was a Kathleen McDermott once who was no better than she shud be an me fine lady whips out one night to meet her gintleman lover and run away wid him. But me grand gintleman was killed on his way to her and Kathleen hurried back home thinking no one wud know. But the doors were closed agin her. The McDermott had looked in the glass and seen it all. Bridget McDermott saw her soldier husband dying in India the night he was killed. But nobody iver knew what Nora McDermott saw for the pore liddle soul dropped the lamp she was holding and her dress caught fire and she was dead in two hours.”
“Oh!” Cuddles shivered deliciously. “Why did they keep such a terrible thing in the castle?”
“Sure, it belonged there,” said Judy mysteriously. “Ye wudn’t have thim move it. And it was be way av being frindly as often as not. Eileen McDermott knew her man was alive, shipwrecked on a South Say island, whin iveryone else was sure for a whole winter that he was drowned. She saw him in the glass. And the McDermott av me own time saw a minuet danced in it one night and niver was inny the worse av it. And now I’m getting back to me kitchen. I’ve wasted enough time palavering wid ye.”
“Half the fun of making preparations for anything is in talking things over,” reflected Cuddles, giving the mirror a final whisk. It held no ghosts. But Cuddles felt secretly satisfied with what she saw in it.
6
Eventually everything was in readiness. The table beautifully set . . . Pat made Cuddles take off the tablecloth three times before it was smooth enough to suit her . . . the house full of delicious odours, everybody dressed up except Judy.
“I’m not putting on me dress-up dress till me dinner is out of the way. I’m not wanting spots on it. Whin the last dish is washed I’ll slip up and put it on in time for supper. They’ll see me in all my grandeur thin. Yer table do be looking lovely, Patsy, but I’m thinking it wud look better if that cherry thing didn’t be sitting in the middle av it.”
“I thought it would please Tillytuck. He’s sensitive, you know. And if it is going to bring us bad luck it will anyhow, so what matter where it sits?”
“Sez she, laughing in her slave at the foolish ould woman. Oh, oh, we’ll be seing, Patsy. Joe hasn’t come after all and I’ve me own opinion as to what previnted him.”
Pat looked about happily. Everything was just right. She must run and tie Sid’s neck-tie for him. She loved to do that . . . nobody else at Silver Bush could suit him. What matter if a cold rain were falling outside? Here it was snug and warm, the smiling rooms full of Christmas magic. Then the old brass knocker on the front door began to go tap-a-tap. The first guests had arrived . . . Uncle Brian and Aunt Jessie, who hadn’t been asked at all but had just decided to run down in the free and easy clan fashion and bring rich old Cousin Nicholas Gardiner from New Brunswick, who was visiting them and wanted to see his relatives at Silver Bush. Pat, as she let them in, cast one wild glance through the dining room door to see if three more places could be crowded into the table without spoiling it and knew they couldn’t. The Jerusalem cherry had begun its dire work.
Soon everybody had come . . . Frank and Winnie, Aunt Hazel and Uncle Robert Madison and all the little Madisons, the two stately Great-aunts, Frances and Honor from the Bay Shore farm, Uncle Tom and Aunt Barbara and Aunt Edith . . . the latter looking as disapproving as usual.
“Raisin gravy,” she sniffed, as she went upstairs. “Judy Plum made that on purpose. She knows I can’t eat raisin gravy. It always gives me dyspepsia.”
But nobody seemed to have dyspepsia at that Christmas table. At first all went very well. A dear, gentle lady, with golden-brown eyes and silvery hair, sat at the head and her smile made every one feel welcome. Pat had elected to help Judy wait on the table but every one else sat down. The children sat at a special table in the Little Parlour as was the custom of the caste, and the cocktail course passed off without a hitch . . . three extra cocktails having been hurriedly concocted by Cuddles who, however, forgot to put a maraschino cherry on them. Of course Aunt Edith got one of the cherryless ones and blamed Judy Plum for it, and Great-aunt Frances got another and felt slighted. Old Cousin Nicholas got the third and didn’t care. He never et the durn things anyhow. Uncle Tom ate his, although Aunt Edith remin
ded him that maraschino cherries were apt to give old people indigestion. “I’m not so aged yet,” said Uncle Tom stiffly. Uncle Tom did look surprisingly young, as Pat and Judy were quick to note. The once flowing, wavy black beard, which had been growing smaller all summer, was by now clipped to quite a smart little point and he had got gold-rimmed eyeglasses in place of the old spectacles. Pat thought of those California letters but put the thought resolutely away. Nothing must mar this Christmas dinner . . . though Winnie was telling a story that would have been much better left untold. Judy almost froze in her tracks with horror as Winnie’s clear voice drifted out to the kitchen.
“It was just after Frank and I were married, you know. I hadn’t really got settled down. Unexpected company came to supper one night and I sent Frank off to the store to get some sliced ham for an emergency dish. I thought it seemed rather pink when I was arranging it on the plate . . . so nicely, with curly little parsley sprays. It did look artistic. Frank helped everybody and then took a bite himself. He laid down his fork and looked at me. I knew something was awfully wrong but what? I stopped pouring the tea and snatched up a mouthful of ham. What do you think?” Winnie looked impishly around the table. “That ham was raw!”
Shouts of laughter filled the dining room. Under cover of the noise Pat dashed out to the kitchen where she and Judy had a silent rage. They had laughed themselves when Winnie had first told the tale at Silver Bush. But to tell it to all the world was a very different thing.
“Oh, oh, the disgrace av having Edith and Mrs. Brian hear av it!” moaned Judy. “But niver be hard on her, Patsy. I do be knowing too well what loosened her tongue. And were ye noticing that Cuddles put the slim grane chair out av the liddle parlour for yer Uncle Brian and it cracked in one leg? Ivery time I’ve seen the crack widening a bit and the Good Man Above only knows if it’ll last out the male. And here’s Tillytuck sulking bekase he slipped on the floor and fell on his dog. He’s been vowing I spilled a liddle gravy right in his corner, the great clumsy. But it’s time to be taking in the soup.”
The Complete Works of L M Montgomery Page 340