CHAPTER 17
A FOUR WINDS WINTER
Winter set in vigorously after New Year's. Big, white drifts heapedthemselves about the little house, and palms of frost covered itswindows. The harbor ice grew harder and thicker, until the Four Windspeople began their usual winter travelling over it. The safe ways were"bushed" by a benevolent Government, and night and day the gay tinkleof the sleigh-bells sounded on it. On moonlit nights Anne heard themin her house of dreams like fairy chimes. The gulf froze over, and theFour Winds light flashed no more. During the months when navigationwas closed Captain Jim's office was a sinecure.
"The First Mate and I will have nothing to do till spring except keepwarm and amuse ourselves. The last lighthouse keeper used always tomove up to the Glen in winter; but I'd rather stay at the Point. TheFirst Mate might get poisoned or chewed up by dogs at the Glen. It's amite lonely, to be sure, with neither the light nor the water forcompany, but if our friends come to see us often we'll weather itthrough."
Captain Jim had an ice boat, and many a wild, glorious spin Gilbert andAnne and Leslie had over the glib harbor ice with him. Anne and Leslietook long snowshoe tramps together, too, over the fields, or across theharbor after storms, or through the woods beyond the Glen. They werevery good comrades in their rambles and their fireside communings.Each had something to give the other--each felt life the richer forfriendly exchange of thought and friendly silence; each looked acrossthe white fields between their homes with a pleasant consciousness of afriend beyond. But, in spite of all this, Anne felt that there wasalways a barrier between Leslie and herself--a constraint that neverwholly vanished.
"I don't know why I can't get closer to her," Anne said one evening toCaptain Jim. "I like her so much--I admire her so much--I WANT to takeher right into my heart and creep right into hers. But I can nevercross the barrier."
"You've been too happy all your life, Mistress Blythe," said CaptainJim thoughtfully. "I reckon that's why you and Leslie can't get realclose together in your souls. The barrier between you is herexperience of sorrow and trouble. She ain't responsible for it and youain't; but it's there and neither of you can cross it."
"My childhood wasn't very happy before I came to Green Gables," saidAnne, gazing soberly out of the window at the still, sad, dead beautyof the leafless tree-shadows on the moonlit snow.
"Mebbe not--but it was just the usual unhappiness of a child who hasn'tanyone to look after it properly. There hasn't been any TRAGEDY inyour life, Mistress Blythe. And poor Leslie's has been almost ALLtragedy. She feels, I reckon, though mebbe she hardly knows she feelsit, that there's a vast deal in her life you can't enter norunderstand--and so she has to keep you back from it--hold you off, soto speak, from hurting her. You know if we've got anything about usthat hurts we shrink from anyone's touch on or near it. It holds goodwith our souls as well as our bodies, I reckon. Leslie's soul must benear raw--it's no wonder she hides it away."
"If that were really all, I wouldn't mind, Captain Jim. I wouldunderstand. But there are times--not always, but now and again--when Ialmost have to believe that Leslie doesn't--doesn't like me. SometimesI surprise a look in her eyes that seems to show resentment anddislike--it goes so quickly--but I've seen it, I'm sure of that. Andit hurts me, Captain Jim. I'm not used to being disliked--and I'vetried so hard to win Leslie's friendship."
"You have won it, Mistress Blythe. Don't you go cherishing any foolishnotion that Leslie don't like you. If she didn't she wouldn't haveanything to do with you, much less chumming with you as she does. Iknow Leslie Moore too well not to be sure of that."
"The first time I ever saw her, driving her geese down the hill on theday I came to Four Winds, she looked at me with the same expression,"persisted Anne. "I felt it, even in the midst of my admiration of herbeauty. She looked at me resentfully--she did, indeed, Captain Jim."
"The resentment must have been about something else, Mistress Blythe,and you jest come in for a share of it because you happened past.Leslie DOES take sullen spells now and again, poor girl. I can't blameher, when I know what she has to put up with. I don't know why it'spermitted. The doctor and I have talked a lot abut the origin of evil,but we haven't quite found out all about it yet. There's a vast ofonunderstandable things in life, ain't there, Mistress Blythe?Sometimes things seem to work out real proper-like, same as with youand the doctor. And then again they all seem to go catawampus.There's Leslie, so clever and beautiful you'd think she was meant for aqueen, and instead she's cooped up over there, robbed of almosteverything a woman'd value, with no prospect except waiting on DickMoore all her life. Though, mind you, Mistress Blythe, I daresay she'dchoose her life now, such as it is, rather than the life she lived withDick before he went away. THAT'S something a clumsy old sailor'stongue mustn't meddle with. But you've helped Leslie a lot--she's adifferent creature since you come to Four Winds. Us old friends seethe difference in her, as you can't. Miss Cornelia and me was talkingit over the other day, and it's one of the mighty few p'ints that wesee eye to eye on. So jest you throw overboard any idea of her notliking you."
Anne could hardly discard it completely, for there were undoubtedlytimes when she felt, with an instinct that was not to be combated byreason, that Leslie harbored a queer, indefinable resentment towardsher. At times, this secret consciousness marred the delight of theircomradeship; at others it was almost forgotten; but Anne always feltthe hidden thorn was there, and might prick her at any moment. Shefelt a cruel sting from it on the day when she told Leslie of what shehoped the spring would bring to the little house of dreams. Leslielooked at her with hard, bitter, unfriendly eyes.
"So you are to have THAT, too," she said in a choked voice. Andwithout another word she had turned and gone across the fieldshomeward. Anne was deeply hurt; for the moment she felt as if shecould never like Leslie again. But when Leslie came over a fewevenings later she was so pleasant, so friendly, so frank, and witty,and winsome, that Anne was charmed into forgiveness and forgetfulness.Only, she never mentioned her darling hope to Leslie again; nor didLeslie ever refer to it. But one evening, when late winter waslistening for the word of spring, she came over to the little house fora twilight chat; and when she went away she left a small, white box onthe table. Anne found it after she was gone and opened it wonderingly.In it was a tiny white dress of exquisite workmanship--delicateembroidery, wonderful tucking, sheer loveliness. Every stitch in itwas handwork; and the little frills of lace at neck and sleeves were ofreal Valenciennes. Lying on it was a card--"with Leslie's love."
"What hours of work she must have put on it," said Anne. "And thematerial must have cost more than she could really afford. It is verysweet of her."
But Leslie was brusque and curt when Anne thanked her, and again thelatter felt thrown back upon herself.
Leslie's gift was not alone in the little house. Miss Cornelia had,for the time being, given up sewing for unwanted, unwelcome eighthbabies, and fallen to sewing for a very much wanted first one, whosewelcome would leave nothing to be desired. Philippa Blake and DianaWright each sent a marvellous garment; and Mrs. Rachel Lynde sentseveral, in which good material and honest stitches took the place ofembroidery and frills. Anne herself made many, desecrated by no touchof machinery, spending over them the happiest hours of the happy winter.
Captain Jim was the most frequent guest of the little house, and nonewas more welcome. Every day Anne loved the simple-souled, true-heartedold sailor more and more. He was as refreshing as a sea breeze, asinteresting as some ancient chronicle. She was never tired oflistening to his stories, and his quaint remarks and comments were acontinual delight to her. Captain Jim was one of those rare andinteresting people who "never speak but they say something." The milkof human kindness and the wisdom of the serpent were mingled in hiscomposition in delightful proportions.
Nothing ever seemed to put Captain Jim out or depress him in any way.
"I've kind of contracted a habit of enj'ying thing
s," he remarked once,when Anne had commented on his invariable cheerfulness. "It's got sochronic that I believe I even enj'y the disagreeable things. It'sgreat fun thinking they can't last. 'Old rheumatiz,' says I, when itgrips me hard, 'you've GOT to stop aching sometime. The worse you arethe sooner you'll stop, mebbe. I'm bound to get the better of you inthe long run, whether in the body or out of the body.'"
One night, by the fireside at the light Anne saw Captain Jim's"life-book." He needed no coaxing to show it and proudly gave it toher to read.
"I writ it to leave to little Joe," he said. "I don't like the idea ofeverything I've done and seen being clean forgot after I've shipped formy last v'yage. Joe, he'll remember it, and tell the yarns to hischildren."
It was an old leather-bound book filled with the record of his voyagesand adventures. Anne thought what a treasure trove it would be to awriter. Every sentence was a nugget. In itself the book had noliterary merit; Captain Jim's charm of storytelling failed him when hecame to pen and ink; he could only jot roughly down the outline of hisfamous tales, and both spelling and grammar were sadly askew. But Annefelt that if anyone possessed of the gift could take that simple recordof a brave, adventurous life, reading between the bald lines the talesof dangers staunchly faced and duty manfully done, a wonderful storymight be made from it. Rich comedy and thrilling tragedy were bothlying hidden in Captain Jim's "life-book," waiting for the touch of themaster hand to waken the laughter and grief and horror of thousands.
Anne said something of this to Gilbert as they walked home.
"Why don't you try your hand at it yourself, Anne?"
Anne shook her head.
"No. I only wish I could. But it's not in the power of my gift. Youknow what my forte is, Gilbert--the fanciful, the fairylike, thepretty. To write Captain Jim's life-book as it should be written oneshould be a master of vigorous yet subtle style, a keen psychologist, aborn humorist and a born tragedian. A rare combination of gifts isneeded. Paul might do it if he were older. Anyhow, I'm going to askhim to come down next summer and meet Captain Jim."
"Come to this shore," wrote Anne to Paul. "I am afraid you cannot findhere Nora or the Golden Lady or the Twin Sailors; but you will find oneold sailor who can tell you wonderful stories."
Paul, however wrote back, saying regretfully that he could not comethat year. He was going abroad for two year's study.
"When I return I'll come to Four Winds, dear Teacher," he wrote.
"But meanwhile, Captain Jim is growing old," said Anne, sorrowfully,"and there is nobody to write his life-book."
Anne's House of Dreams Page 17
