Emily Climbs (31 page)

W
ould
she go to New York with Miss Royal? That was the question Emily had now to answer. Or rather, the question Aunt Elizabeth must answer. For on Aunt Elizabeth’s answer, as Emily felt, everything depended. And she had no real hope that Aunt Elizabeth would let her go. Emily might look longingly towards those pleasant, far-off, green pastures pictured by Miss Royal, but she was quite sure she could never browse in them. The Murray pride – and prejudice – would be an impassable barrier.

Emily said nothing to Aunt Ruth about Miss Royal’s offer. It was Aunt Elizabeth’s due to hear it first. She kept her dazzling secret until the next week-end, when Miss Royal came to New Moon, very gracious and pleasant, and the wee-est bit patronising, to ask Aunt Elizabeth to let Emily go with her.

Aunt Elizabeth listened in silence – a disapproving silence, as Emily felt.

“The Murray women have never had to work out for their living,” she said coldly.

“It isn’t exactly what you would call ‘working out,’ dear Miss Murray,” said Miss Royal, with the courteous patience
one must Ilse to a lady whose viewpoint was that of an outlived generation. “Thousands of women are going into business and professional life, everywhere.”

“I suppose it’s all right for them if they don’t get married,” said Aunt Elizabeth.

Miss Royal flushed slightly. She knew that in Blair Water and Shrewsbury she was regarded as an old maid, and therefore a failure, no matter what her income and her standing might be in New York. But she kept her temper and tried another line of attack.

“Emily has an unusual gift for writing,” she said. “I think she can do something really worth while if she gets a chance. She ought to have her chance, Miss Murray. You know there isn’t any chance for that kind of work here.”

“Emily has made ninety dollars this past year with her pen,” said Aunt Elizabeth.

“Heaven grant me patience!” thought Miss Royal. Said Miss Royal,

“Yes, and ten years from now she may be making a few hundreds; whereas, if she comes with me, in ten years’ time her income would probably be as many thousands.”

“I’ll have to think it over,” said Aunt Elizabeth.

Emily felt surprised that Aunt Elizabeth had even consented to think it over. She had expected absolute refusal.

“She’ll come round to it,” whispered Miss Royal, when she went away. “I’m going to get you, darling Emily B. I know the Murrays of old. They always had an eye to the main chance. Aunty will let you come.”

“I’m afraid not,” said Emily ruefully.

When Miss Royal had gone Aunt Elizabeth looked at Emily.

“Would you like to go, Emily?”

“Yes – I think so – if you don’t mind,” faltered Emily. She was very pale – she did not plead or coax. But she had no hope – none.

Aunt Elizabeth took a week to think it over. She called in Ruth and Wallace and Oliver to help her. Ruth said dubiously,

“I suppose we ought to let her go. It’s a splendid chance for her. It’s not as if she were going alone – I’d never agree to that. Janet will look after her.”

“She’s too young – she’s too young,” said Uncle Oliver.

“It seems a good chance for her – Janet Royal has done well, they say,” said Uncle Wallace.

Aunt Elizabeth even wrote to Great-aunt Nancy. The answer came back in Aunt Nancy’s quavering hand:

“Suppose you let Emily decide for herself,” suggested Aunt Nancy.

Aunt Elizabeth folded up Aunt Nancy’s letter and called Emily into the parlour.

“If you wish to go with Miss Royal you may,” she said. “I feel it would not be right for me to hinder you. We shall miss you – we would rather have you with us for a few years yet. I know nothing about New York. I am told it is a wicked city. But you have been brought up carefully. I leave the decision in your own hands. Laura, what are you crying about?”

Emily felt as if she wanted to cry herself. To her amazement she felt something that was
not
delight or pleasure. It was one thing to long after forbidden pastures. It seemed to be quite another thing when the bars were flung down and you were told to enter if you would.

Emily did not immediately rush to her room and write a joyous letter to Miss Royal – who was visiting friends in Charlottetown. Instead she went out into the garden and
thought very hard – all that afternoon and all Sunday. During the week in Shrewsbury she was quiet and thoughtful, conscious that Aunt Ruth was watching her closely. For some reason Aunt Ruth did not discuss the matter with her. Perhaps she was thinking of Andrew. Or perhaps it was an understood thing among the Murrays that Emily’s decision was to be entirely uninfluenced.

Emily couldn’t understand why she didn’t write Miss Royal at once. Of course she could go. Wouldn’t it be terribly foolish not to? She would never have such a chance again. It
was
such a splendid chance – everything made easy – the Alpine Path no more than a smooth and gentle slope – success certain and brilliant and quick. Why, then, did she have to keep telling herself all this – why was she driven to seek Mr. Carpenter’s advice the next week-end? And Mr. Carpenter would not help her much. He was rheumatic and cranky.

“Don’t tell me the cats have been hunting again,” he groaned.

“No. I haven’t any manuscripts this time,” said Emily with a faint smile. “I’ve come for advice of a different kind.”

She told him of her perplexity.

“It’s such a splendid chance,” she concluded.

“Of course it’s a splendid chance – to go and be Yankeefied,” grunted Mr. Carpenter.

“I wouldn’t get Yankeefied,” said Emily resentfully. “Miss Royal has been twenty years in New York and she isn’t Yankeefied.”

“Isn’t she? I don’t mean by Yankeefied what you think I do,” retorted Mr. Carpenter. “I’m not referring to the silly girls who go up to ‘the States’ to work and come back in six months with an accent that would raise blisters on your skin. Janet Royal
is
Yankeefied – her outlook and atmosphere and style
are all U.S. And I’m not condemning them – they’re all right But – she isn’t a Canadian any longer – and that’s what I wanted you to be – pure Canadian through and through, doing something as far as in you lay for the literature of your own country, keeping your Canadian tang and flavour. But of course there’s not many dollars in that sort of thing yet.”

“There’s no chance to do
anything
here,” argued Emily.

“No – no more than there was in Haworth Parsonage,” growled Mr. Carpenter.

“I’m not a Charlotte Brontë,” protested Emily. “She had genius – it can stand alone. I have only talent – it needs help – and – and – guidance.”

“In short, pull,” said Mr. Carpenter.

“So you think I oughtn’t to go,” said Emily anxiously.

“Go if you want to. To be quickly famous we must all stoop a little. Oh, go – go – I’m telling you. I’m too old to argue – go in peace. You’d be a fool not to – only – fools do sometimes attain. There’s a special Providence for them, no doubt.”

Emily went away from the little house in the hollow with her eyes rather black. She met Old Kelly on her way up the hill and he pulled his plump nag and red chariot to a standstill and beckoned to her.

“Gurrl dear, here’s some peppermints for you. And now, ain’t it high time – eh – now, you know –” Old Kelly winked at her.

“Oh, I’m going to be an old maid, Mr. Kelly,” smiled Emily.

Old Kelly shook his head as he gathered up his reins.

“Shure an nothing like that will ever be happening to you. You’re one av the folks God really loves – only don’t be taking one av the Prastes now – never one av the Prastes, gurrl dear.”

“Mr. Kelly,” said Emily suddenly. “I’ve been offered a splendid chance – to go to New York and take a place on the staff of a magazine. I can’t make up my mind. What do you think I’d better do?”

As she spoke she thought of the horror of Aunt Elizabeth at the idea of a Murray asking Old Jock Kelly’s advice. She herself was a little ashamed of doing it.

Old Kelly shook his head again.

“What do the b’ys around here be thinking av? But what does the ould lady say?”

“Aunt Elizabeth says I can do as I like.”

“Then I guess we’ll be laying it at that,” said Old Kelly – and drove off without another word. Plainly there was no help to be had in Old Kelly.

“Why should I want help?” thought Emily desperately. “What has got into me that I can’t make up my own mind? Why can’t I
say
I’ll go? It doesn’t seem to me now that I
want
to go – I only feel I
ought
to want to go.”

She wished that Dean were home. But Dean had not got back from his winter in Los Angeles. And somehow she could not talk the matter over with Teddy. Nothing had come of that wonderful moment in the old John house – nothing except a certain constraint that had almost spoiled their old comradeship. Outwardly they were as good friends as ever; but something was gone – and nothing seemed to be taking its place. She would not admit to herself that she was afraid to ask Teddy. Suppose he told her to go? That would hurt unbearably – because it would show that he didn’t care whether she went or stayed. But Emily would not glance at this at all.

“Of course I’ll go,” she said aloud to herself. Perhaps the spoken word would settle things. “What would I do next year
if I didn’t? Aunt Elizabeth will certainly never let me go anywhere else alone. Ilse will be away – and Perry – Teddy too, likely. He says he’s bound to go and do something to earn money for his art study. I
must
go.”

She said it fiercely as if arguing against some invisible opponent. When she reached home in the twilight, no one was there and she went restlessly all over the house. What charm and dignity and fineness the old rooms had, with their candles and their ladder-backed chairs and their braided rugs! How dear and entreating was her own little room with its diamond paper and its guardian angel, its fat black rose-jar and its funny, kinky window pane! Would Miss Royal’s flat be half so wonderful?

“Of course I’ll go,” she said again – feeling that if she could only have left off the “of course” the thing
would
have been settled.

She went out into the garden, lying in the remote, passionless beauty of early spring moonlight, and walked up and down its paths. From afar came the whistle of the Shrewsbury train – like a call from the alluring world beyond – a world full of interest, charm, drama. She paused by the old lichened sun-dial and traced the motto on its border, “So goes Time by.” Time did go by – swiftly, mercilessly, even at New Moon, unspoiled as it was by any haste or rush of modernity. Should she not take the current when it offered? The white June lilies waved in the faint breeze – she could almost see her old friend the Wind Woman bending over them to tilt their waxen chins. Would the Wind Woman come to her in the crowded city streets? Could she be like Kipling’s cat there?

“And I wonder if I’ll ever have the flash in New York,” she thought wistfully.

How beautiful was this old garden which Cousin Jimmy loved! How beautiful was old New Moon farm! Its beauty had a subtly romantic quality all its own. There was enchantment in the curve of the dark-red, dew-wet road beyond – remote, spiritual allurement in the Three Princesses – magic in the orchard – a hint of intriguing devilment in the fir wood. How could she leave this old house that had sheltered and loved her – never tell me houses do not love! – the graves of her kin by the Blair Water pond, the wide fields and haunted woods where her childhood dreams had been dreamed? All at once she knew she could not leave them – she knew she had never really wanted to leave them.
That
was why she had gone about desperately asking advice of impossible outsiders. She had really been hoping they would tell her not to go. That was why she had wished so wildly that Dean were home – he would certainly have told her not to go.

“I belong to New Moon – I stay among my own people,” she said.

There was no doubt about this decision – she did not want any one to help her to it. A deep, inner contentment possessed her as she went up the walk and into the old house which no longer looked reproachfully at her. She found Elizabeth and Laura and Cousin Jimmy in the kitchen full of its candle magic.

“I am not going to New York, Aunt Elizabeth,” she said. “I am going to stay here at New Moon with you.”

Aunt Laura gave a little cry of joy. Cousin Jimmy said, “Hurrah!” Aunt Elizabeth knitted a round of her stocking before she said anything. Then –

“I thought a Murray would,” she said.

Emily went straight to Ashburn Monday evening. Miss Royal had returned and greeted her warmly.

“I hope you’ve come to tell me that Miss Murray
has decided to be reasonable and let you come with me, honey-sweet.”

“She told me I could decide for myself.”

Miss Royal clapped her hands.

“Oh, goody, goody! Then it’s all settled.”

Emily was pale, but her eyes were black with earnestness and intense feeling.

“Yes, it’s settled – I’m not going,” she said. “I thank you with all my heart, Miss Royal, but I can’t go.”

Miss Royal stared at her – realised in a moment that it was not the slightest Ilse to plead or argue – but began to plead and argue all the same.

“Emily – you can’t mean it? Why can’t you come?”

“I can’t leave New Moon – I love it too much – it means too much to me.”

“I thought you wanted to come with me, Emily,” said Miss Royal reproachfully.

“I did. And part of me wants to yet. But away down under that another part of me will not go. Don’t think me foolish and ungrateful, Miss Royal.”

“Of course I don’t think you’re ungrateful,” said Miss Royal, helplessly, “but I do – yes, I do think you are awfully foolish. You are simply throwing away your chances of a career. What can you ever do here that is worth while, child? You’ve no idea of the difficulties in your path. You can’t get material here – there’s no atmosphere – no –”

“I’ll create my own atmosphere,” said Emily, with a trifle of spirit. After all, she thought, Miss Royal’s viewpoint was just the same as Mrs. Alec Sawyer’s, and her manner
was
patronising. “And as for material – people
live
here just the same as anywhere else – suffer and enjoy and sin and aspire just as they do in New York.”