Emily's Quest (20 page)

“I hope everything will go off well. But I've got an uneasy feeling that trouble is coming – a presentiment, so to speak. Do you believe in signs? A big black cat ran right across the road in front of us down in the hollow. And right on that tree as we turned in at the lane was the fragment of an old election poster, ‘Blue Ruin,' in black letters three inches long staring us in the face.”

“That might mean bad luck for you, but hardly for Ilse.”

Aunt Isabella shook her head. She would
not
be comforted.

“They say the wedding dress is like nothing ever seen on Prince Edward Island.
Do
you think such extravagance proper, Miss Starr?”

“The expensive part of it was a present from Ilse's old great-aunts in Scotland, Mrs. Mitchell. And most of us are married only once.”

Whereupon Emily remembered that Aunt Isabella had been married three times and wondered if there wasn't something in black cat magic.

Aunt Isabella swept coldly off, and later on was heard to say that “that Starr girl is really intolerable since she got a book published. Thinks herself at liberty to insult any one.”

Emily, before she had time to thank the Fates for her freedom, fell into the clutches of more Mitchell relatives. This aunt did not approve of another aunt's gift of a pair of ornate Bohemian glass vases.

“Bessie Jane never had much sense. A foolish choice. The children will be sure to unhook the prisms and lose them.”

“What children?”

“Why, the children they will have, of course.”

“Miss Starr will put that in a book, Matilda,” warned her husband, chuckling. Then he chuckled again and whispered to Emily:

“Why aren't
you
the bride to-day? How come Ilse cut you out, hey?”

Emily was thankful when she was summoned upstairs to help Ilse dress. Though even here aunts and cousins kept bobbing in and out, saying distracting things.

“Emily, do you remember the day of our first summer together when we fought over the honour of playing bride in one of our dramatic stunts? Well, I feel as if I were just playing bride. This isn't real.”

Emily felt, too, as if it were not real. But soon – soon now – it would be all over and she could be blessedly alone. And Ilse when dressed was such an exquisite bride that she justified all the fuss of the wedding. How Teddy
must
love her!

“Doesn't she look just like a queen?” whispered Aunt Laura adoringly.

Emily having slipped into her own harebell blue kissed the flushed maiden face under the rose-point cap and pearls of its bridal veil.

“Ilse dear, don't think me hopelessly Victorian if I say I hope you'll be happy ‘ever after.'”

Ilse squeezed her hand, but laughed a little too loudly.

“I hope it isn't Queen Victoria Aunt Laura thinks I resemble,” she whispered. “And I have the most horrible suspicion that Aunt Janie Milburn is praying for me. Her face betrayed her when she came in to kiss me. It always makes me furious to suspect that people are praying for me. Now, Emily, do me one last favour. Herd everybody out of this room – everybody. I want to be alone, absolutely alone, for a few minutes.”

Somehow Emily managed it. The aunts and cousins fluttered downstairs. Dr. Burnley was waiting impatiently in the hall.

“Won't you soon be ready? Teddy and Halsey are waiting for the signal to go into the drawing-room.”

“Ilse wants a few minutes alone. Oh, Aunt Ida, I'm so glad you got here” – to a stout lady who was coming pantingly up the stairs. “We were afraid something had happened to prevent you.”

“Something did,” gasped Aunt Ida – who was really a second-cousin. In spite of her breathlessness Aunt Ida was happy. She always liked to be the first to tell a piece of news – especially unpleasant news. “And the doctor couldn't come at all – I had to get a taxi. That poor Perry Miller – you know him, don't you? Such a clever young chap – was killed in a motor collision about an hour ago.”

Emily stifled a shriek, with a frantic glance at Ilse's door. It was slightly ajar. Dr. Burnley was saying:

“Perry Miller killed! Good God, how horrible!”

“Well, as good as killed. He must be dead by this time – he was unconscious when they dragged him out of the wreck. They took him to the Charlottetown hospital and ‘phoned for Bill, who dashed right off, of course. It's a mercy Ilse isn't marrying a doctor. Have I time to take off my things before the ceremony?”

Emily, crushing her anguish over Perry, showed Aunt Ida to the spare room and returned to Dr. Burnley.

“Don't let Ilse know about this,” he cautioned needlessly. “It would spoil her wedding – she and Perry were old cronies. And hadn't you better hurry her up a little? It's past the time.”

Emily, with more of a nightmare feeling than ever, went down the hall and knocked on Ilse's door. There was no answer. She opened the door. On the floor in a forlorn heap lay the bridal veil and the priceless bouquet of orchids which must have cost Teddy more than any Murray or Burnley bride had ever paid before for her whole trousseau, but Ilse was nowhere to be seen. A window was open, the one over the kitchen stoop.

“What's the matter?” exclaimed Dr. Burnley impatiently coming up behind Emily. “Where's Ilse?”

“She's – gone,” said Emily stupidly.

“Gone – gone where?”

“To Perry Miller.” Emily knew it quite well. Ilse had heard Aunt Ida and –

“Damn!” said Dr. Burnley.

In a few moments the house was a scene of consternation and flabbergasted wedding guests, all exclaiming and asking questions. Dr. Burnley lost his head and turned himself loose, running through his whole repertoire of profanity, regardless of women-folks.

Even Aunt Elizabeth was paralysed. There was no precedent to go by. Juliet Murray, to be sure, had eloped. But she had got married. No clan bride had ever done anything like
this
. Emily alone retained some power of rational thought and action. It was she who found out from young Rob Mitchell how Ilse had gone. He had been parking his car in the barnyard when –

“I saw her spring out of that window with her train wrapped around her shoulders. She slid down the roof and jumped to the ground like a cat – tore out to the lane, jumped in Ken Mitchell's runabout and was off like the devil was after her. I thought she must have gone crazy.”

“She has – in a way. Rob, you must go after her. Wait – I'll get Dr. Burnley to go with you. I must stay here to see to things. Oh, be as quick as you can. It's only fourteen miles to Charlottetown. You can go and come in an hour. You
must
bring her back – I'll tell the guests to wait –”

“You'll not make much out of this mess, Emily,” prophesied Rob.

Even an hour like that passed. But Dr. Burnley and Rob returned alone. Ilse would not come – that was all there was to it. Perry Miller was not killed – was not even seriously injured – but Ilse would not come. She told her father that she was going to marry Perry Miller and nobody else.

The doctor was the centre of a little group of dismayed and tearful women in the upper hall. Aunt Elizabeth, Aunt Laura, Aunt Ruth, Emily.

“I suppose if her mother had lived this wouldn't have happened,” said the doctor dazedly. “I never dreamed she cared for Miller. I wish somebody had wrung Ida Mitchell's neck in time. Oh, cry – cry – yes, cry” – fiercely to poor Aunt Laura. “What good will yelping do? What a devil of a mess! Somebody's got to tell Kent – I suppose I must. And those distracted fools down there have to be fed. That's what half of them came for, anyway. Emily, you seem to be the only creature left in the world with a grain of sense. See to things, there's a good girl.”

Emily was not of an hysterical temperament, but for the second time in her life she was feeling that the only thing she could do would be to scream as loud and long as possible. Things had got to the point where only screaming would clear the air. But she got the guests marshalled to the tables. Excitement calmed down somewhat when they found they were not to be cheated out of everything. But the wedding-feast was hardly a success.

Even those who were hungry had an uneasy feeling that it wasn't the thing to eat heartily under such circumstances. Nobody enjoyed it except old Uncle Tom Mitchell, who frankly went to weddings for the spread and didn't care whether there was a ceremony or not. Brides might come and brides might
go but a square meal was a feed. So he ate steadily away, only pausing now and then to shake his head solemnly and ask, “What air the women coming to?”

Cousin Isabella was set up on presentiments for life, but nobody listened to her. Most of the guests were afraid to speak, for fear of saying the wrong thing. Uncle Oliver reflected that he had seen many funeral repasts that were more cheerful. The waitresses were hurried and flurried and made ludicrous mistakes. Mrs. Derwent, the young and pretty wife of the new minister, looked to be on the point of tears – nay, actually had tears in her eyes. Perhaps she had been building on the prospective wedding fee. Perhaps its loss meant no new hat for her. Emily, glancing at her as she passed a jelly, wanted to laugh – a desire as hysterical as her wish to scream. But no desire at all showed itself on her cold white face. Shrewsbury people said she was as disdainful and indifferent as always. Could
anything
really make that girl
feel
?.

And under it all she was keenly conscious of only one question. “Where was Teddy? What was he feeling – thinking – doing?” She hated Ilse for hurting him – shaming him. She did not see how
anything
could go on after
this
. It was one of those events which
must
stop time.

“What a day!” sobbed Aunt Laura as they walked home in the dusk. “What a disgrace! What a scandal!”

“Allan Burnley has only himself to blame,” said Aunt Elizabeth. “He has let Ilse do absolutely as she pleases all her life. She was never taught any self-control. All her life she had done exactly as she wanted to do whenever the whim took her. No sense of responsibility whatever.”

“But if she loved Perry Miller,” pleaded Laura.

“Why did she promise to marry Teddy Kent then? And treat him like this? No, you need make no excuses for Ilse. Fancy a Burnley going to Stovepipe Town for a husband!”

“Some one will have to see about sending the presents back,” moaned Laura. “I locked the door of the room where they were. One never knows – at such a time –”

Emily found herself alone in her room at last – too dazed, stricken, exhausted, to feel much of anything. A huge, round, striped ball unrolled itself on her bed and opened wide pink jaws.

“Daff,” said Emily wearily, “you're the only thing in the world that stays put.”

She had a nasty sleepless night with a brief dawn slumber. From which she wakened to a new world where everything had to be readjusted. And she felt too tired to care for readjustment.

I
lse did not look as if she wanted excuses made for her when two days later, she walked unannounced into Emily's room. She looked rosy, audacious, triumphant.

Emily stared at her.

“Well, I suppose the earthquake is over. What is left standing?”

“Ilse! How could you!”

Ilse pulled a notebook out of her handbag and pretended to consult it.

“I wrote down a list of the things you'd say. That was the first one. You've said it. The next is, ‘Aren't you ashamed of yourself?' I'm not, you know,” added Ilse impudently.

“I know you're not. That's why I don't ask it.”

“I'm not ashamed – and I'm not sorry. I'm only a little bit sorry that I'm
not
sorry. And I'm shamelessly happy. But I suppose I spoiled the party. No doubt the old meows are having the time of their lives. They've got their craws full for once.”

“How do you suppose Teddy is feeling?” asked Emily sternly.

“Is he feeling any worse than Dean did? There's an old proverb about glass houses.”

Emily crimsoned.

“I know – I used Dean badly – but I didn't –”

“Jilt him at the altar! True. But I didn't think about Teddy at all when I heard Aunt Ida say Perry was killed. I was quite mad. My one thought was to see Perry once before he died. I
had
to. And I found when I got there that, as Mark Twain said, the report of his death was greatly exaggerated. He wasn't even badly hurt – was sitting up in bed, his face all bruised and bandaged – looking like the devil. Want to hear what happened, Emily?”

Ilse dropped on the floor at Emily's feet – and looked coaxingly up into Emily's face.

“Honey, what's the use of disapproving a thing that was foreordained? That won't alter anything. I got a glimpse of Aunt Laura in the sitting-room as I sneaked upstairs. She was looking like something that had been left out overnight. But you have a streak in you that isn't Murray.
You
should understand. Don't waste your sympathy on Teddy. He doesn't love me – I've always known it. It's only his conceit that will suffer. Here – give him his sapphire for me, will you?” Ilse saw something in Emily's face she didn't like. “It can go to join Dean's emerald.”

“Teddy left for Montreal the day after – after –”

“After the wedding that wasn't,” finished Ilse. “Did you see him, Emily?”

“No.”

“Well, if he'd go and shoot big game in Africa for awhile he'd get over it very quickly. Emily, I'm going to marry
Perry – next year. It's all settled. I fell on his neck and kissed him as soon as I saw him. I let go my train and it streamed magnificently over the floor. I knew the nurse thought I had just got out of Dr. Percy's private asylum. But I turned her out of the room. And I told Perry I loved him and that I would never, never marry Teddy Kent no matter what happened – and then he asked me if I'd marry
him
– or I told him he must marry me – or neither of us asked – we just understood. I honestly don't remember which – and I don't care. Emily, if I were dead and Perry came and looked at me I'd live again. Of course I know he's always been after you – but he's going to love me as he never loved you. We were made for each other.”

“Perry was never really in love with me,” said Emily. “He liked me tremendously, that was all. He didn't know the difference – then.” She looked down into Ilse's radiant face – and all her old, old love for this perverse, adorable friend rushed to eyes and lips.

“Dearest, I hope you'll be happy– always.”

“How blessedly Victorian that sounds!” said Ilse contentedly. “Oh, I can be quiet now, Emily. For weeks I've been afraid that if I let myself be quiet for a moment I'd
bolt
. And I don't even mind if Aunt Janie is praying for me. I believe I rather hope she is.”

“What does your father say?”

“Oh, Dad.” Ilse shrugged her shoulders. “He's still in the clutches of his old ancestral temper. Won't speak to me. But he'll come round. He's really as much to blame as I am for what I've done. You know I've never asked any one in my life if I could do a thing. I just did it. Father never prevented me. At first because he hated me – then because he wanted to make up for hating me.”

“I think you'll have to ask Perry sometimes if you can do things.”

“I won't mind
that
. You'll be surprised to see what a dutiful wife I'll make. Of course I'm going right away – back to work. And in a year's time people will have forgotten – and Perry and I will be married quietly somewhere. No more rose-point veils and Oriental trains and clan weddings for me. Lord, what an escape! Ten minutes later I'd have been married to Teddy. Think what a scandal there'd have been then when Aunt Ida arrived. Because I'd have gone just the same, you know.”

That summer was a hard time for Emily. The very anguish of her suffering had filled life and now that it was over she realised its emptiness. Then too, to go anywhere meant martyrdom. Every one talking about the wedding, asking, wondering, surmising. But at last the wild gossip and clatter over Ilse's kididoes had finally died away and people found something else to talk about. Emily was left alone.

Alone? Ay, that was it. Always alone. Love – friendship gone forever. Nothing left but ambition. Emily settled herself resolutely down to work. Life ran again in its old accustomed grooves. Year after year the seasons walked by her door. Violet-sprinkled valleys of spring – blossom-script of summer – minstrel-firs of autumn – pale fires of the Milky Way on winter nights – soft, new-mooned skies of April – gnomish beauty of dark Lombardies against a moonrise – deep of sea calling to deep of wind – lonely yellow leaves falling in October dusks – woven moonlight in the orchard. Oh, there was beauty in life still – always would be. Immortal, indestructible beauty
beyond all the stain and blur of mortal passion. She had some very glorious hours of inspiration and achievement. But mere beauty which had once satisfied her soul could not wholly satisfy it now. New Moon was unchanged, undisturbed by the changes that came elsewhere. Mrs. Kent had gone to live with Teddy. The old Tansy Patch was sold to some Halifax man for a summer home. Perry went to Montreal one autumn and brought Ilse back with him. They were living happily in Charlottetown, where Emily often visited them, astutely evading the matrimonial traps Ilse was always setting for her. It was becoming an accepted thing in the clan that Emily would not marry.

“Another old maid at New Moon,” as Uncle Wallace said gracefully.

“And to think of all the men she might have had,” said Aunt Elizabeth bitterly. “Mr. Wallace – Aylmer Vincent – Andrew –”

“But if she didn't – love – them,” faltered Aunt Laura.

“Laura, you need not be indelicate.”

Old Kelly, who still went his rounds – “and will till the crack of doom,” declared Ilse – had quite given up teasing Emily about getting married, though he occasionally made regretful, cryptic allusions to “toad ointment.” There was none of his significant nods and winks. Instead, he always gravely asked her what book she did be working on now, and drove off shaking his spiky grey head. “What do the men be thinking of, anyway? Get up, my nag, get up.”

Some men were still thinking of Emily, it appeared. Andrew, now a brisk young widower, would have come at the beck of a finger Emily never lifted. Graham Mitchell, of Shrewsbury, unmistakably had intentions. Emily wouldn't
have him because he had a slight cast in one eye. At least, that was what the Murrays supposed. They could think of no other reason for her refusal of so good a match. Shrewsbury people declared that he figured in her next novel and that she had only been “leading him on” to “get material.” A reputed Klondike “millionaire” pursued her for a winter, but disappeared as briefly in the spring.

“Since she has published those books she thinks no one good enough for her,” said Blair Water folks.

Aunt Elizabeth did not regret the Klondike man – he was only a Derry Pond Butterworth, to begin with, and what were the Butterworths? Aunt Elizabeth always contrived to give the impression that Butterworths did not exist. They might imagine they did, but the Murrays knew better. But she did not see why Emily could not take Mooresby, of the firm of Mooresby and Parker, Charlottetown. Emily's explanation that Mr. Mooresby could never live down the fact that he had once had his picture in the papers as a Perkins' Food Baby struck Aunt Elizabeth as very inadequate. But Aunt Elizabeth at last admitted that she could not understand the younger generation.

Of Teddy Emily never heard, save from occasional items in newspapers which represented him as advancing steadily in his career. He was beginning to have an international reputation as a portrait painter. The old days of magazine illustrations were gone and Emily was never now confronted with her own face – or her own smile – or her own eyes – looking out at her from some casual page.

One winter Mrs. Kent died. Before her death she sent Emily a brief note – the only word Emily had ever had from her.

“I am dying. When I am dead, Emily, tell Teddy about the letter. I've tried to tell him, but I couldn't. I couldn't tell my son I had done
that
. Tell him for me.”

Emily smiled sadly as she put the letter away. It was too late to tell Teddy. He had long since ceased to care for her. And she – she would love him forever. And even though he knew it not, surely such love would hover around him all his life like an invisible benediction, not understood but dimly felt, guarding him from ill and keeping from him all things of harm and evil.

That same winter it was bruited abroad that Jim Butterworth of Derry Pond, had bought or was about to buy the Disappointed House. He meant, so rumour said, to haul it away, rebuild and enlarge it; and doubtless when this was done he would install therein as mistress a certain buxom, thrifty damsel of Derry Pond known as “Geordie Bridge's Mabel.” Emily heard the report with anguish. She slipped out that evening in the chill spring dusk and went up the dim overgrown path over the spruce hill to the front gate of the little house like an unquiet ghost. Surely it couldn't be true that Dean had sold it. The house belonged to the hill. One couldn't imagine the hill without it.

Once Emily had got Aunt Laura to see about bringing her own belongings from it – all but the gazing-ball. She could not bear to see that. It must be still hanging there, reflecting in its silver gloom by the dim light that fell through the slits of the shutters, the living-room just as it was when she and Dean had parted. Rumour said Dean had taken nothing from it. All he had put in it was still there.

The little house must be very cold. It was so long since there was a fire in it. How neglected – how lonely – how heartbroken it looked. No light in the window – grass growing thickly over the paths – rank weeds crowding around the long-unopened door.

Emily stretched out her arms as if she wanted to put them around the house. Daff rubbed against her ankles and purred pleadingly. He did not like damp, chilly prowls – the fireside at New Moon was better for a pussy not so young as he once was. Emily lifted the old cat and set him on the crumbling gatepost.

“Daff,” she said, “there is an old fireplace in that house – with the ashes of a dead fire in it – a fireplace where pussies should bask and children dream. And that will never happen now, Daff, for Mabel Geordie doesn't like open fireplaces – dirty, dusty things – a Quebec heater is so much warmer and more economical. Don't you wish – or
do
you! – Daff, that you and I had been born sensible creatures, alive to the superior advantages of Quebec heaters!”