Authors: Lucy Maud Montgomery
‘Speaking of Abner, do you remember the obituary his brother John wrote for
his
wife?’ asked Mrs Allan Milgrave. ‘It started out with, “God, for reasons best known to Himself, has been pleased to take my beautiful bride and leave my Cousin William’s ugly wife alive.” Shall I ever forget the fuss it made!’
‘How did such a thing ever come to be printed at all?’ asked Mrs Best.
‘Why, he was managing editor of the
Enterprise
then. He worshipped his wife… Bertha Morris, she was… and he hated Mrs William Cromwell because she hadn’t wanted him to marry Bertha. She thought Bertha too flighty.’
‘But she was pretty,’ said Elizabeth Kirk.
‘The prettiest thing I ever saw in my life,’ agreed Mrs Milgrave. ‘Good looks ran in the Morrises. But fickle… fickle as a breeze. Nobody ever knew how she came to stay in one mind long enough to marry John. They say her mother kept her up to the notch. Bertha was in love with Fred Reese, but he was notorious for flirting. “A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush,” Mrs Morris told her.’
‘I’ve heard that proverb all my life,’ said Myra Murray, ‘and I wonder if it’s true. Perhaps the birds in the bush could
sing
and the one in the hand couldn’t.’
Nobody knew just what to say, but Mrs Tom Chubb said it, anyhow.
‘You’re always so whimsical, Myra.’
‘Do you know what Mary Anna said to me the other day?’ said Mrs Donald. ‘She said, “Ma, what will I do if nobody ever asks me to marry him?” ’
‘
Us
old maids could answer that, couldn’t we?’ asked Celia Reese, giving Edith Bailey a nudge with her elbow. Celia disliked Edith because Edith was still rather pretty and not entirely out of the running.
‘Gertrude Cromwell
was
ugly,’ said Mrs Grant Clow. ‘She had a figure like a slat. But a great housekeeper. She washed every curtain she owned every month, and if Bertha washed hers once a year it was as much as ever. And her window shades were
always
crooked. Gertrude said it just gave her the shivers to drive past John Cromwell’s house. And yet John Cromwell worshipped Bertha, and William just put up with Gertrude. Men
are
strange. They say William overslept on his wedding morning and dressed in such a tearing hurry he got to the church with old shoes and odd socks on.’
‘Well, that was better than Oliver Random,’ giggled Mrs George Carr. ‘
He
forgot to have a wedding suit made, and his old Sunday suit was simply impossible. It had been
patched
. So he borrowed his brother’s best suit. It only fitted him here and there.’
‘And at least William and Gertrude did get married,’ said Mrs Simon. ‘Her sister Caroline
didn’t
. She and Ronny Drew quarrelled over what minister they’d have marry them and never got married at all. Ronny was so mad he went and married Edna Stone before he’d time to cool off. Caroline went to the wedding. She held her head high, but her face was like death.’
‘But she held her tongue, at least,’ said Sarah Taylor. ‘Philippa Abbey didn’t. When Jim Mowbray jilted her she went to his wedding and said the bitterest things out loud all through the ceremony. They were all Anglicans, of course,’ concluded Sarah Taylor, as if that accounted for any vagaries.
‘Did she really go to the reception afterwards wearing all the jewellery Jim had given her while they were engaged?’ asked Celia Reese.
‘No, she didn’t! I don’t know how such stories get around, I’m sure. You’d think some people never did anything but repeat gossip. I dare say Jim Mowbray lived to wish he’d stuck to Philippa. His wife kept him down good and solid… though he always had a riotous time in her absence.’
‘The only time I ever saw Jim Mowbray was the night the June bugs nearly stampeded the congregation at the anniversary service in Lowbridge,’ said Christine Crawford. ‘And what the June bugs left undone Jim Mowbray contributed. It was a hot night and they had all got the windows open. The June bugs poured in and blundered about in hundreds. They picked up eighty-seven dead bugs on the choir platform the next morning. Some of the women got hysterical when the bugs flew too near their faces. Just across the aisle from me the new minister’s wife was sitting… Mrs Peter Loring. She had on a big lace hat with willow plumes…’
‘She was always considered far too dressy and extravagant for a minister’s wife,’ interpolated Mrs Elder Baxter.
‘ “Watch me flick that bug off Mrs Preacher’s hat,” I heard Jim Mowbray whisper… he was sitting right behind her. He leaned forrard and aimed a blow at the bug… missed it, but side-swiped the hat and sent it skittering down the aisle clean to the communion railing. Jim almost had a conniption. When the minister saw his wife’s hat come sailing through the air he lost his place in his sermon, couldn’t find it again, and gave up in despair. The choir sang the last hymn, dabbing at June bugs all the time. Jim went down and brought the hat back to Mrs Loring. He expected a calling down, for she was said to be high-spirited. But she just stuck it on her pretty yellow head again and laughed at him. “If you hadn’t done that,” she said, “Peter would have gone on for another twenty minutes and we’d all have been stark staring mad.” Of course it was nice of her not to be angry, but people thought it wasn’t just the thing for her to say of her husband.’
‘But you must remember how she was born,’ said Martha Crothers.
‘Why,
how
?’
‘She was Bessy Talbot from up west. Her father’s house caught fire one night and in all the fuss and upheaval Bessy was born…
out in the garden
… under the stars.’
‘How romantic,’ said Myra Murray.
‘Romantic! I call it barely
respectable
.’
‘But think of being born under the stars,’ said Myra dreamily. ‘Why, she ought to have been a child of the stars… sparkling… beautiful… brave… true… with a twinkle in her eyes.’
‘She was all that,’ said Martha, ‘whether the stars were accountable for it or not. And a hard time she had in Lowbridge, where they thought a minister’s wife should be all prunes and prisms. Why, one of the elders caught her dancing around her baby’s cradle one day and he told her she ought not to rejoice over her son until she found out if he was
elected
or not.’
‘Talking of babies do you know what Mary Anna said the other day, “Ma,” she said, “do
queens
have babies?” ’
‘That must have been Alexander Wilson,’ said Mrs Allan. ‘A born crab if ever there was one. He wouldn’t allow his family to speak a word at meal-time, I’ve heard. As for laughing… there never was any done in
his
house.’
‘Think of a house without laughter!’ said Myra. ‘Why, it’s… sacrilegious.’
‘Alexander used to take spells, when he wouldn’t speak to his wife for three days at a time,’ continued Mrs Allan. ‘It was such a relief to her,’ she added.
‘Alexander Wilson was a good, honest business man at least,’ said Mrs Grant Clow stiffly. The said Alexander was her fourth cousin and the Wilsons were clannish. ‘He left her forty thousand dollars when he died.’
‘Such a pity he had to
leave
it,’ said Celia Reese.
‘His brother Jeffry didn’t leave a cent,’ said Mrs Clow. ‘He was the ne’er-do-well of that family I must admit. Goodness knows
he
did enough laughing. Spent everything he earned… hail-fellow-well-met with everyone… and died penniless. What did
he
get out of life with all his flinging about and laughing?’
‘Not much perhaps,’ said Myra, ‘but think of all he put into it. He was always
giving
… cheer, sympathy, friendliness, even money. He was rich in friends at least… and Alexander never had a friend in his life.’
‘Jeff’s friends didn’t bury him,’ retorted Mrs Allan. ‘Alexander had to do that… and put up a real fine tombstone too. It cost a hundred dollars.’
‘But when Jeff asked him for a loan of one hundred to pay for an operation that might have saved his life, didn’t Alexander refuse it?’ asked Celia Drew.
‘Come, come, we’re getting too uncharitable,’ protested Mrs Carr. ‘After all, we don’t live in a world of forget-me-nots and daisies, and everyone has some faults.’
‘Lem Anderson is marrying Dorothy Clark today,’ said Mrs Millison, thinking it was high time the conversation took on a more cheerful line. ‘And it isn’t a year since he swore he would blow out his brains if Jane Elliott wouldn’t marry him.’
‘Young men do say such odd things,’ said Mrs Chubb. ‘They’ve kept it very close… it never leaked out till three weeks ago that they were engaged. I was talking to his mother last week and she never hinted at a wedding so soon. I am not sure that I care much for a woman who can be such a Sphinx.’
‘
I
am surprised at Dorothy Clark taking him,’ said Agatha Drew. ‘I thought last spring that she and Frank Clow were going to make a match of it.’
‘
I
heard Dorothy said that Frank was the best match, but she really couldn’t abide the thought of seeing that nose sticking out over the sheet every morning when she woke up.’
Mrs Elder Baxter gave a spinsterish shudder and refused to join in the laughter.
‘You shouldn’t say such things before a young girl like Edith,’ said Celia, winking around the quilt.
‘Is Ada Clark engaged yet?’ asked Emma Pollock.
‘No, not exactly,’ said Mrs Millison. ‘Just hopeful. But she’ll land him yet. Those girls all have a knack of picking husbands. Her sister Pauline married the best farm over the harbour.’
‘Pauline is pretty, but she is as full of silly notions as ever,’ said Mrs Milgrave. ‘Sometimes I think she’ll never learn any sense.’
‘Oh, yes, she will,’ said Myra Murray. ‘Some day she will have children of her own and she will learn wisdom from them… as you and I did.’
‘Where are Lem and Dorothy going to live?’ asked Mrs Meade.
‘Oh, Lem has bought a farm at the Upper Glen. The old Carey place, you know, where poor Mrs Roger Carey murdered her husband.’
‘Murdered her husband!’
‘Oh, I’m not saying he didn’t deserve it, but everybody thought she went a little too far. Yes, weed-killer in his tea-cup… or was it his soup? Everybody knew it, but nothing was ever done about it. The spool, please, Celia.’
‘But do you mean to say, Mrs Millison, that she was never tried… or punished?’ gasped Mrs Campbell.
‘Well, nobody wanted to get a neighbour into a scrape like that. The Careys were well connected in the Upper Glen. Besides, she was driven to desperation. Of course, nobody approves of murder as a habit, but if ever a man deserved to be murdered Roger Carey did. She went to the States and married again. She’s been dead for years. Her second outlived her. It all happened when I was a girl. They used to say Roger Carey’s ghost
walked
.’
‘Surely nobody believes in ghosts in this enlightened age,’ said Mrs Baxter.
‘Why aren’t we to believe in ghosts?’ demanded Tillie MacAllister. ‘Ghosts are interesting. I
know
a man who was haunted by a ghost that always laughed at him… sneering like. It used to make him so mad. The scissors please, Mrs MacDougall.’
The little bride had to be asked for the scissors twice, and handed them over blushing deeply. She was not yet used to being called Mrs MacDougall.
‘The old Truax house over the harbour was haunted for years… raps and knocks all over the place… a most mysterious thing,’ said Christine Marsh.
‘All the Truaxes had bad stomachs,’ said Mrs Baxter.
‘Of course if you don’t believe in ghosts they can’t happen,’ said Mrs MacAllister sulkily. ‘But my sister worked in a house in Nova Scotia that was haunted by chuckles of laughter.’
‘What a jolly ghost!’ said Myra. ‘I shouldn’t mind that.’
‘Likely it was owls,’ said the determinedly sceptical Mrs Baxter.
‘
My
mother seen angels around her death-bed,’ said Agatha Drew with an air of plaintive triumph.
‘Angels ain’t ghosts,’ said Mrs Baxter.
‘Speaking of mothers, how is your Uncle Parker, Tillie?’ asked Mrs Chubb.
‘Very poorly by spells. We don’t know what is going to come of it. It’s holding us all up… about our winter clothes, I mean. But I said to my sister the other day when we were talking it over, “We’d better get black dresses, anyhow,” I said, “and then it’s no matter what happens.” ’
‘Do you know what Mary Anna said the other day? She said, “Ma, I’m going to stop asking God to make my hair curly. I’ve asked Him every night for a week and He hasn’t done a thing.” ’
‘I’ve been asking Him something for twenty years,’ bitterly said Mrs Bruce Duncan, who had not spoken before or lifted her dark eyes from the quilt. She was noted for her beautiful quilting… perhaps because she was never diverted by gossip from setting each stitch precisely where it should be.
A brief hush fell over the circle. They could all guess what she had asked for, but it was not a thing to be discussed at a quilting. Mrs Duncan did not speak again.
‘Is it true that May Flagg and Billy Carter have broken up and that he is going with one of the over-harbour MacDougalls?’ asked Martha Crothers, after a decent interval.
‘Yes. Nobody knows what happened though.’
‘It’s sad… what little things break off matches sometimes,’ said Candace Crawford. ‘Take Dick Pratt and Lillian MacAllister… he was just starting to propose to her at a picnic when his nose began to bleed. He had to go to the brook, and he met a strange girl there who lent him her handkerchief. He fell in love, and they were married in two weeks’ time.’
‘Did you hear what happened to Big Jim MacAllister last Saturday night in Milt Cooper’s store at the Harbour Head?’ asked Mrs Simon, thinking it time somebody introduced a more cheerful topic than ghosts and jiltings. ‘He had got into the habit of setting on the stove all summer. But Saturday night was cold and Milt had lit a fire. So when poor Big Jim sat down… well, he scorched his…’
Mrs Simon would not say what he had scorched, but she patted a portion of her anatomy silently.
‘His bottom,’ said Walter gravely, poking his head through the creeper screen. He honestly thought that Mrs Simon could not remember the right word.