Rilla of Ingleside

by L. M. Montgomery

  CHAPTER XXXII

  WORD FROM JEM

  4th August 1918

  "It is four years tonight since the dance at the lighthouse--four yearsof war. It seems like three times four. I was fifteen then. I amnineteen now. I expected that these past four years would be the mostdelightful years of my life and they have been years of war--years offear and grief and worry--but I humbly hope, of a little growth instrength and character as well.

  "Today I was going through the hall and I heard mother saying somethingto father about me. I didn't mean to listen--I couldn't help hearingher as I went along the hall and upstairs--so perhaps that is why Iheard what listeners are said never to hear--something good of myself.And because it was mother who said it I'm going to write it here in myjournal, for my comforting when days of discouragement come upon me, inwhich I feel that I am vain and selfish and weak and that there is nogood thing in me.

  "'Rilla has developed in a wonderful fashion these past four years. Sheused to be such an irresponsible young creature. She has changed into acapable, womanly girl and she is such a comfort to me. Nan and Di havegrown a little away from me--they have been so little at home--butRilla has grown closer and closer to me. We are chums. I don't see howI could have got through these terrible years without her, Gilbert.'

  "There, that is just what mother said--and I feel glad--and sorry--andproud--and humble! It's beautiful to have my mother think that aboutme--but I don't deserve it quite. I'm not as good and strong as allthat. There are heaps of times when I have felt cross and impatient andwoeful and despairing. It is mother and Susan who have been thisfamily's backbone. But I have helped a little, I believe, and I am soglad and thankful.

  "The war news has been good right along. The French and Americans arepushing the Germans back and back and back. Sometimes I am afraid it istoo good to last--after nearly four years of disasters one has afeeling that this constant success is unbelievable. We don't rejoicenoisily over it. Susan keeps the flag up but we go softly. The pricepaid has been too high for jubilation. We are just thankful that it hasnot been paid in vain.

  "No word has come from Jem. We hope--because we dare not do anythingelse. But there are hours when we all feel--though we never sayso--that such hoping is foolishness. These hours come more and morefrequently as the weeks go by. And we may never know. That is the mostterrible thought of all. I wonder how Faith is bearing it. To judgefrom her letters she has never for a moment given up hope, but she musthave had her dark hours of doubt like the rest of us."

  20th August 1918

  "The Canadians have been in action again and Mr. Meredith had acable today saying that Carl had been slightly wounded and is inthe hospital. It did not say where the wound was, which is unusual,and we all feel worried. There is news of a fresh victory everyday now."

  30th August 1918

  "The Merediths had a letter from Carl today. His wound was "only aslight one"--but it was in his right eye and the sight is gone forever!

  "'One eye is enough to watch bugs with,' Carl writes cheerfully. And weknow it might have been oh so much worse! If it had been both eyes! ButI cried all the afternoon after I saw Carl's letter. Those beautiful,fearless blue eyes of his!

  "There is one comfort--he will not have to go back to the front. He iscoming home as soon as he is out of the hospital--the first of our boysto return. When will the others come?

  "And there is one who will never come. At least we will not see him ifhe does. But, oh, I think he will be there--when our Canadian soldiersreturn there will be a shadow army with them--the army of the fallen.We will not see them--but they will be there!"

  1st September 1918

  "Mother and I went into Charlottetown yesterday to see the movingpicture, "Hearts of the World." I made an awful goose of myself--fatherwill never stop teasing me about it for the rest of my life. Butit all seemed so horribly real--and I was so intensely interestedthat I forgot everything but the scenes I saw enacted before myeyes. And then, quite near the last came a terribly exciting one.The heroine was struggling with a horrible German soldier who wastrying to drag her away. I knew she had a knife--I had seen her hideit, to have it in readiness--and I couldn't understand why she didn'tproduce it and finish the brute. I thought she must have forgotten it,and just at the tensest moment of the scene I lost my head altogether.I just stood right up on my feet in that crowded house and shrieked atthe top of my voice--'The knife is in your stocking--the knife is inyour stocking!'

  "I created a sensation!

  "The funny part was, that just as I said it, the girl did snatch outthe knife and stab the soldier with it!

  "Everybody in the house laughed. I came to my senses and fell back inmy seat, overcome with mortification. Mother was shaking with laughter.I could have shaken her. Why hadn't she pulled me down and choked mebefore I had made such an idiot of myself. She protests that therewasn't time.

  "Fortunately the house was dark, and I don't believe there was anybodythere who knew me. And I thought I was becoming sensible andself-controlled and womanly! It is plain I have some distance to go yetbefore I attain that devoutly desired consummation."

  20th September 1918

  "In the east Bulgaria has asked for peace, and in the west theBritish have smashed the Hindenburg line; and right here in GlenSt. Mary little Bruce Meredith has done something that I thinkwonderful--wonderful because of the love behind it. Mrs. Meredith washere tonight and told us about it--and mother and I cried, and Susangot up and clattered the things about the stove.

  "Bruce always loved Jem very devotedly, and the child has neverforgotten him in all these years. He has been as faithful in his way asDog Monday was in his. We have always told him that Jem would comeback. But it seems that he was in Carter Flagg's store last night andhe heard his Uncle Norman flatly declaring that Jem Blythe would nevercome back and that the Ingleside folk might as well give up hoping hewould. Bruce went home and cried himself to sleep. This morning hismother saw him going out of the yard, with a very sorrowful anddetermined look, carrying his pet kitten. She didn't think much moreabout it until later on he came in, with the most tragic little face,and told her, his little body shaking with sobs, that he had drownedStripey.

  "'Why did you do that?' Mrs. Meredith exclaimed.

  "'To bring Jem back,' sobbed Bruce. 'I thought if I sacrificed StripeyGod would send Jem back. So I drownded him--and, oh mother, it wasawful hard--but surely God will send Jem back now, 'cause Stripey wasthe dearest thing I had. I just told God I would give Him Stripey if Hewould send Jem back. And He will, won't He, mother?'

  "Mrs. Meredith didn't know what to say to the poor child. She justcould not tell him that perhaps his sacrifice wouldn't bring Jemback--that God didn't work that way. She told him that he mustn'texpect it right away--that perhaps it would be quite a long time yetbefore Jem came back.

  "But Bruce said, 'It oughtn't to take longer'n a week, mother. Oh,mother, Stripey was such a nice little cat. He purred so pretty. Don'tyou think God ought to like him enough to let us have Jem?"

  "Mr. Meredith is worried about the effect on Bruce's faith in God, andMrs. Meredith is worried about the effect on Bruce himself if his hopeisn't fulfilled. And I feel as if I must cry every time I think of it.It was so splendid--and sad--and beautiful. The dear devoted littlefellow! He worshipped that kitten. And if it all goes for nothing--asso many sacrifices seem to go for nothing--he will be brokenhearted,for he isn't old enough to understand that God doesn't answer ourprayers just as we hope--and doesn't make bargains with us when weyield something we love up to Him."

  24th September 1918

  "I have been kneeling at my window in the moonshine for a longtime, just thanking God over and over again. The joy of last nightand today has been so great that it seemed half pain--as if ourhearts weren't big enough to hold it.

  "Last night I was sitting here in my room at eleven o'clock writing aletter to Shirley. Every one else was in bed, except father, who wasout. I heard the telephone ring and I ran out to
the hall to answer it,before it should waken mother. It was long-distance calling, and when Ianswered it said 'This is the telegraph Company's office inCharlottetown. There is an overseas cable for Dr. Blythe.'

  "I thought of Shirley--my heart stood still--and then I heard himsaying, 'It's from Holland.'

  "The message was,

  'Just arrived. Escaped from Germany. Quite well. Writing. James Blythe.'

  "I didn't faint or fall or scream. I didn't feel glad or surprised. Ididn't feel anything. I felt numb, just as I did when I heard Walterhad enlisted. I hung up the receiver and turned round. Mother wasstanding in her doorway. She wore her old rose kimono, and her hair washanging down her back in a long thick braid, and her eyes were shining.She looked just like a young girl.

  "'There is word from Jem?' she said.

  "How did she know? I hadn't said a word at the phone except'Yes--yes--yes.' She says she doesn't know how she knew, but she didknow. She was awake and she heard the ring and she knew that there wasword from Jem.

  "'He's alive--he's well--he's in Holland,' I said.

  "Mother came out into the hall and said, 'I must get your father on the'phone and tell him. He is in the Upper Glen.'

  "She was very calm and quiet--not a bit like I would have expected herto be. But then I wasn't either. I went and woke up Gertrude and Susanand told them. Susan said 'Thank God,' firstly, and secondly she said'Did I not tell you Dog Monday knew?' and thirdly, 'I'll go down andmake a cup of tea'--and she stalked down in her nightdress to make it.She did make it--and made mother and Gertrude drink it--but I went backto my room and shut my door and locked it, and I knelt by my window andcried--just as Gertrude did when her great news came.

  "I think I know at last exactly what I shall feel like on theresurrection morning."

  4th October 1918

  "Today Jem's letter came. It has been in the house only six hours andit is almost read to pieces. The post-mistress told everybody in theGlen it had come, and everybody came up to hear the news.

  "Jem was badly wounded in the thigh--and he was picked up and taken toprison, so delirious with fever that he didn't know what was happeningto him or where he was. It was weeks before he came to his senses andwas able to write. Then he did write--but it never came. He wasn'ttreated at all badly at his camp--only the food was poor. He hadnothing to eat but a little black bread and boiled turnips and now andthen a little soup with black peas in it. And we sat down every one ofthose days to three good square luxurious meals! He wrote us as oftenas he could but he was afraid we were not getting his letters becauseno reply came. As soon as he was strong enough he tried to escape, butwas caught and brought back; a month later he and a comrade madeanother attempt and succeeded in reaching Holland.

  "Jem can't come home right away. He isn't quite so well as his cablesaid, for his wound has not healed properly and he has to go into ahospital in England for further treatment. But he says he will be allright eventually, and we know he is safe and will be back homesometime, and oh, the difference it makes in everything!

  "I had a letter from Jim Anderson today, too. He has married an Englishgirl, got his discharge, and is coming right home to Canada with hisbride. I don't know whether to be glad or sorry. It will depend on whatkind of a woman she is. I had a second letter also of a somewhatmysterious tenor. It is from a Charlottetown lawyer, asking me to go into see him at my earliest convenience in regard to a certain matterconnected with the estate of the 'late Mrs. Matilda Pitman.'

  "I read a notice of Mrs. Pitman's death--from heart failure--in theEnterprise a few weeks ago. I wonder if this summons has anything to dowith Jims."

  5th October 1918

  "I went into town this morning and had an interview with Mrs. Pitman'slawyer--a little thin, wispy man, who spoke of his late client withsuch a profound respect that it is evident that he as was much underher thumb as Robert and Amelia were. He drew up a new will for her ashort time before her death. She was worth thirty thousand dollars,the bulk of which was left to Amelia Chapley. But she left fivethousand to me in trust for Jims. The interest is to be used as Isee fit for his education, and the principal is to be paid over tohim on his twentieth birthday. Certainly Jims was born lucky. I savedhim from slow extinction at the hands of Mrs. Conover--Mary Vance savedhim from death by diptheritic croup--his star saved him when he felloff the train. And he tumbled not only into a clump of bracken, butright into this nice little legacy.

  "Evidently, as Mrs. Matilda Pitman said, and as I have always believed,he is no common child and he has no common destiny in store for him.

  "At all events he is provided for, and in such a fashion that JimAnderson can't squander his inheritance if he wanted to. Now, if thenew English stepmother is only a good sort I shall feel quite easyabout the future of my war-baby.

  "I wonder what Robert and Amelia think of it. I fancy they will naildown their windows when they leave home after this!"