CHAPTER IV
CRAIG-ELLACHIE
In spite of the high rapture of her sacrifice Christina found lifedistinctly dull when Sandy and Neil went off to Toronto leaving herbehind. She felt as if she had been away on a long romantic journeysince Allister's return; a journey that gave glimpses of wonderfulcountries still to be travelled, and then she had suddenly been droppedback into Orchard Glen and forbidden to travel any more.
And here she was milking and churning and feeding the hens andcompanying with Uncle in the barn yard. Of course Uncle Neil was theexcellent company he had always been, full of song and story, andChristina could not find an opportunity to mourn over her lot even ifshe had been so minded. She was not the sort to wear a martyr's robe.She would play the part, but she refused to make up for it. So shewent about her daily tasks, singing as blithely as that Spring morningwhen Allister opened the gate into a larger life for her, the gatewhich she had voluntarily shut, with herself inside. She bore herdisappointment jauntily, walking erect as Eastern girls carry theirburdens on their heads, growing straight and graceful in the effort.
And then she was too busy to fret. There was Grandpa who needed morehelp every morning with his dressing, and every evening with theHindmost Hymn. There was her mother, whose tasks must now grow lightereach year, there was Jimmie to be helped with his lessons on Saturdays,there was a Sunday school class with two of the bad Martin children init, and there was Mary's trousseau to help prepare against the weddingat Christmastime. For the courtship of MacGillivray's man hadproceeded at a furious pace and through Ellen had been engaged for fiveyears, Mary was to be the first to marry. And so, Christina's handswere very full, and John would often say to her, after an unusuallybusy day, or when a letter came from Sandy bewailing her lot:
"Just wait, Christine. In another year who knows what will happen?"And Christina's heart was content.
As Mary had to keep up her teaching until the Christmas holidays, andher evenings were mostly spent with the young man who drove over fromPort Stewart quite a remarkable number of times a week, there was muchto do in the preparation of her clothes. Ellen had stopped her ownembroidering, to wait until Bruce was through college, and she took todoing towels and table-napkins and doilies for Mary.
"I can't help thinking that it's a dreadful waste for you to getmarried," declared Christina, one Saturday afternoon as they all sewedfuriously in the big roomy kitchen. "You're just throwing away ateacher's certificate. My! If I had Greenwood school I'd never getmarried!" And Mary and Ellen laughed and looked at each otherknowingly from their respective heights far above Christina's head.
She tried to keep up her studies by following Jimmie's course, andstayed home on Friday nights from the Temperance meeting to help himwith his lessons.
One evening they had a long hunt through "The Lady of the Lake" for aline about the Harebell which Jimmie must quote in an essay. They weresitting around the long kitchen table, all except Mary who was outdriving in the moonlight. Ellen was at one end writing to Bruce asusual, John at the other, reading the daily paper, Mrs. Lindsay wasknitting, and Uncle Neil was strumming out fragments of old songs onhis violin, his stockinged feet comfortable on the damper of the stove.
Even Uncle Neil's memory could not produce the Harebell, and Jimmiewent rummaging through the book impatiently.
"Gavin Grant would tell me if he was here," Jimmie said. "He knows allthis stuff off by heart."
"And plenty more," put in Uncle Neil to the tune of "Oh wert thou inthe cauld blast?" "Gavin's mind is well stored. Mr. Sinclair says hereads Carlyle in the evenings with the Grant girls. I wonder if youcould match that anywhere in this country?"
Christina felt self-accusing, remembering her superior feeling inGavin's awkward presence. He had been very busy with the harvest andshe had not seen him except at church for a long time. He had neverattempted to walk home with her again, and she could not help wonderingwhether it was because he was shy, or because he did not care.Womanlike she would have given a good deal to know.
"I wish you would run over to Craig-Ellachie with that jar of blackcurrants I promised the Grant Girls, Christina," said her mother.
"That's the seventeenth time you've been reminded of that," said Jimmiechidingly.
"I think John'll have to hitch up the team and take that jar over inthe hay wagon," said Uncle Neil, "Christine doesn't seem to be able tomanage it."
"She's shy about going to see Gavin," said John, looking at her withtwinkling eyes over his paper. For John alone knew her guilty secret.She hastily promised to take the jar the very next day, and managed toget the conversation back to the Harebell, which in time showed its shyself and was set down in the essay.
It was nearly a week before Christina managed to get away on herdifficult errand. She did not want to go, certainly, but she wasafraid of attracting more comment from John and Uncle Neil by staying.
It was a golden September day when she went up over the hills with abasket of apples from their best tree, and the special jar of hermother's black currant jelly. The air was motionless, the sky aperfect soft unclouded blue, the hills were amber, the hollowsamethyst. The branches of the orchard trees behind the village housessagged, heavy with their harvest, and gay as orchards gotten up for agarden party, all hung with fairy lantern globes of yellow and red.The gardens were filled with ripened corn and great golden pumpkins.The wild asters along the fences glowed softly purple.
Christina stepped over the warm yellow stubble singing, and climbed thehill to the old berry patch, where the briars grew more riotously everyyear. Gavin's cows were straying through the green and yellow tangleon his side of the fence and a bell rang musically through the stillaisles. The Wizard of Autumn had been up here on the hills with hispaints and had touched the sumachs along the fences till they lookedlike trees of flame. And he had been working on a bit of woodbine thatnow draped the old rail fence as with a scarlet curtain. A blue jayflashed through the golden silence waking the echoes with his noisylaughter and the flickers high up in the dead stumps called jeeringlyto each other.
Christina came out of the Slash into the yellow sunshine of Gavin'sfields, and as she did so, she suddenly dropped down behind theraspberry bushes that fringed the fence, quite in a panic. For a loudmusical voice arose from the field just beyond the brow of the hill,Gavin was ploughing the back meadow and singing, and the song madeChristina's heart heat hotly:
"Will ye gang to the Hielan's, Leezie Lindsay? Will ye gang to the Hielan's wi' me?"
Hidden by the hill, and the screening bushes, she slipped away and tooka devious course down the valley. But there was a lump in her throatas she went.
She ran past a clump of cedars and came out into view ofCraig-Ellachie. The Grant Girls had given their home this name becauseof its association with their clan's history, but Nature had encouragedthem, for behind the house, set back against the dark pine woods, rosea hill crowned by a towering rock. The cosy old white-washed house wasset in the centre of a saucer-like valley. It was the original loghouse in which their parents had lived and had been added to here andthere till it was beautifully picturesque just as the home of the GrantGirls should be.
But visitors to Craig-Ellachie never saw anything else after theirfirst glimpse of the garden.
Every one wondered how it was that the Grant Girls' garden shouldoutbloom all others, and that nobody else ever had any hope of firstprize at the Fall fairs. One said it was the sheltered location of theplace, others the low elevation, still others that it was the southernslope that made the Craig-Ellachie garden unfold the earliest crocus inSpring and hold safely the latest aster in Autumn. But wise folk, likeChristina's mother, always held that it was the tender care of thethree gardeners and the sunlight of their presence that made theirflowers the wonder of the countryside.
Christina drew a breath of delight as it came into view. Dahlias andasters, rows and rows of them, clumps of feathery cosmos, hedges offlaming gladioli, dazzling
golden glow and a dozen others she did notrecognise made a glorious array. And the blooms were not confined tothe garden proper that was spread out on the south side of the house.They overflowed into the vegetable garden at the back, and spreadaround the lawn at the front. They strayed away along the fences andcompletely hedged the orchard. They even encroached upon the barnyard;the manure heap was screened from view by a wall of sunflowers andgolden glow and a rainbow avenue of late phlox led down to the pig-pens.
Christina entered by the barnyard and came up through the kitchengarden where rows of cauliflower and cabbage and tomatoes alternatedwith pansies and mignonette and scarlet salvia. Every bed of onionswas fringed with sweet alyssum, and rows of beets were flanked withrosemary and lavender. She opened the little wire gate that led intothe garden proper and walked up under a long arched canopy of climbingroses and sweet peas that seemed, like the Grant Girls, to take no heedof the passing of time but bloomed on as though it were June. As shedisappeared into its green shade her eye caught a movement in one ofthe brown fields behind the barn. The two younger sisters were theredigging potatoes.
There had been a day when the Grant Girls did all the work of field andfarmyard, and their hands were hard and their backs bent. But sinceGavin had grown to man's estate their lives had been easier. Indeedthey were never done telling tales of how Gavie had forbidden theirgoing into the fields. They boasted of his high handed airs, forhadn't he even chased Janet out of the barnyard, with the pitchfork,mind you, when she was determined to help him in with the hay. Ehindeed he was a thrawn lad, and nobody could manage oor Gavie!
And now that they had fallen upon easier days and Gavin's strong armshad taken up the heavier work, they had resumed many of the older tasksthat long ago most farm women had gladly handed over to factory ormill. No cheese factory or creamery received a drop of milk or creamfrom Craig-Ellachie; and the Grant Girls still spun their own wool fromtheir own sheep, and knit it into good stout socks for themselves andGavin, and cousin Hughie Reid, and his big family of boys.
So this afternoon, Auntie Elspie, the eldest of the three, was sittingat the open kitchen door in the sunshine spinning. The soft Septemberbreeze swayed her white apron and pink-dotted calico dress. Behind herthe wide, low-ceiled old kitchen fairly glittered in its cleanliness.The high dresser with its blue plates, and the old chairs and tablewere varnished till they shone like mirrors. And the kitchen stove,used only in winter, for the wood-shed was the summer kitchen, blazedas it never had on a winter night, for on it stood a great blue pitcherfilled with flaming gladioli.
Around Auntie Elspie were arranged the household pets, all sleeping inthe sunshine; Auntie Flora's cat and two kittens, Auntie Janet'sspaniel, and Gavin's fox terrier and two collies. The four dogs set upa loud clamour at the sight of the visitor, and went gambolling downthe walk to meet her. At the sound the two workers in the field pausedto look, and stood gazing until Christina disappeared indoors.
Auntie Elspie dropped her thread and came hurrying down the steps,saying in mild reproach, "Hoots, toots, what a noise!" And then inglad welcome, "Eh, eh, and it's little Christina! Eh, now, and wasn'tit jist grand o' ye to come away over here--well--well--well--well!"
Mrs. Lindsay was the Grant Girls' oldest and dearest friend, and avisit from any of her family was an occasion of great rejoicing.
"Eh, well, well!" Auntie Elspie was patting Christina on the back, andtaking off her hat in exuberant hospitality, mingling her words ofwelcome with admonitions to the riotous dogs which were bounding aboutmaking a joyous din.
"Eh, well, now, and your poor mother, she would be well! Hut, tut,Wallace! Bruce! Yon's no way to act. And wee Mary'll be gettingmarried--Princie! Did ye ever see the like o' that? They're jist thatglad to see ye. Wallace! Down, sir, down! Jist wait till Gavie gitshome, Bruce, then ye'll mind! And Sandy's away to the college too.Well, well, you Lindsays were all great for the books--come away in,hinny, come away. Down with ye, down!"
They went into the house, the dogs still bounding joyously about, forthey knew that a guest at Craig-Ellachie was a great and glad event andthat they must express their joy in a fitting manner.
Auntie Elspie was tall and thin and stooped. Her thin fair hair,almost white, was combed up in the fashion that had obtained when shewas a girl. She wore a voluminous old dress of some ancient pattern of"print," that had been quite fashionable some twenty years earlier, butshe was also clothed in the gay garment of youth which the Grant Girlsalways wore.
She managed to eject the joyous, scrambling quartette from the kitchenand led the visitor through the dusk of the parlour where AuntieFlora's organ stood with Gavin's fiddle on top of it, on into the gloomof the spare room, heaping welcomes upon her all the way, and askingafter everything on the Lindsay farm from Grandpa's rheumatism toChristina's black kitten.
When Christina's hat was laid upon the high white crest of thebillowing feather bed, and her hair smoothed before the little mirroron the dresser, Auntie Elspie led her away beyond the parlour into aclose, hushed room, where the mother had lain an invalid for manyyears, and which was kept sacred to her memory. Here the Grant Girlshoarded all their mother's treasures: the photographs in oval frames onthe wall, the high old dresser and the big sea chest filled withkeepsakes, tenderly associated with her life; the Paisley shawl shewore to church, the sea shells she had brought from the old country,even the old china tea set that had been her one wedding gift.
Christina was placed in an old rocker, while Auntie Elspie displayedall the treasures as a girl shows her jewels to a companion, andChristina knew she was being shown a great honour, for only specialfriends were ever taken into Mother's Room.
The last jewel to be exhibited was the mother's photograph in an oldleather case, velvet lined.
"Folks say that after a person dies, the picture begins to fade,"Auntie Elspie said, wiping the shining surface tenderly. "But mother'spicture is as bright as the day it was taken."
Christina looked at the strong, kindly face, with the white cap and thelittle knitted shawl and felt her heart contract at the yearning in theolder woman's voice. Elspie was still a girl, longing for the touch ofher mother's hand, though that mother had been gone twenty-five years.
"Perhaps it's because you keep her memory so bright, that the picturenever fades," said Christina gently, and Auntie Elspie kissed her forsheer gratitude.
When they came out into the sunshine of the kitchen again the other twosisters were there to add their welcome. They had hurried in to seewho their visitor was and were overwhelmed with joy to find it was MaryLindsay's girl.
"I told you it was little Christina, Flora," cried Auntie Janettriumphantly; "Flora said it was one o' the McKenzie girls!" And Floraadmitted herself beaten.
The two were in their farming costumes, old bits of past grandeur, apurple velvet skirt for Janet and a sacque of ancient brocaded silk onFlora, both accompanied by Gavin's cast off boots and wide straw hats.But the wearers received Christina in her trim blue skirt and whiteblouse, of the latest Algonquin style, with a high bred unconsciousnessof clothes.
"Oh, I'm that glad you've come," cried Janet, shaking herfifteen-year-old ringlets from her big hat, "you've given us an excusefor a rest. We were jist doin' a bit of _gardenin'_. Weren't we,Flora?" she asked.
Auntie Flora's eyes twinkled, "Oh, yes, yes, jist _gardenin'_!" shedeclared, and the three Aunties burst out laughing, and Auntie Janetspread out her earth soiled hands with a comical gesture.
"We've been diggin' the potaties!" she whispered, her eyes dancing."But if Gavie caught us at it, we'd catch it! So we jist keep tellin'him we've been _gardenin'_ an' he never suspects, an' he can't see usfrom where he's ploughin'!"
"An' we'll be finished in another day if he doesn't find out!" criedAuntie Flora exultingly.
"Aye, but jist wait, you'll get yer pay for yer pranks when he doesfind out," admonished Auntie Elspie, like an indulgent motherthreatening her mischievous children with a father
's punishment."Gavie jist won't let us put foot into the fields!" she added proudly.But the two younger ones laughed recklessly. They would be up sideswith Gavie yet, for all his high-handed, bossy ways!
They washed their hands, changed their shoes and put away their bighats, and all three bustled about getting tea. Christina would havepreferred to slip away before Gavin came in, but she well knew that nohuman being had ever come to Craig-Ellachie and left again withoutsitting down to eat, and knew it was no use to protest.
So she went out into the garden to help Flora gather a bouquet for thetable, and her hostess broke off armfuls of every sort of flowers sheadmired, making a great sheaf to carry home to her mother. They putthe glorious mass into a shining tin pail to await her departure. ThenChristina ran about the kitchen and pantry, helping set the best bluedishes on the table, and they all laughed and joked and had such atime, as though all four had just turned nineteen last May.
"Did ye hear that Elspie has a fellow, Christina?" called Auntie Florafrom the cellar whither she had gone to fetch the cream.
"No," cried Christina, overcome with laughter, "she didn't tell me."
"She's just a wee bit shy about it yet," said Auntie Janet. "But whenshe gets over it, you'll see them together in church."
"It's Piper Lauchie McDonald!" cried Auntie Flora, coming up to thesurface again; "he's been comin' here pretendin' he wanted to teachGavie the pipes, but we can see it's Elspie he's got in his eye."
Auntie Elspie's eyes were dancing. "They're both that jealous o' me,there's no livin' with them," she confided.
They all joined Christina in a gale of laughter, none gayer than Elspieherself.
Tea was all ready now, a perfect banquet set out with the blue dishes,on the best white and blue tablecloth, with a tremendous glory ofasters and dahlias in a bronze jug in the middle of the table.
When everything was ready, Auntie Janet ran to the foot of the frontlawn and called a long clear "Hoo-hoo!" and from far away in the fieldsa faint halloo answered.
"Gavie's coming," the three cried together joyously, and Auntie Elspiehurried out to the wood-shed to place the blue china teapot on thestove to warm.
"He won't be long, he always knows there's company when the dogs barkand he'll hurry in."
While they waited Auntie Flora took Christina into the parlour to showher a new song-book Gavin had brought home the Saturday previous.
Christina's fascinated gaze went around the wonderful framed wreaths onthe wall, one made of cotton-batting flowers, another of colouredfeathers and the most interesting one fashioned of flowers made fromhair. Auntie Flora went over each blossom tenderly. This rose at thetop was made of mother's hair. Wasn't her hair beautiful and soft andshining? Nobody in the family had hair like mother's. And the onejust beside it of darker grey, was father's. Father's hair was richand beautiful too. The dark brown one was Janet's and the fair oneElspie's.
"And ye can tell whose is the mouse-coloured one," said Auntie Janetteasingly.
"Aye," said Auntie Flora. "They're never done talkin' about mymouse-coloured hair; but they'll soon have to stop because it's gettin'white!" she added gaily.
And the next flower that beautiful brown, was made from Duncan's, theonly brother who died when he was in his first year in college. He wasto have been a minister. Mother had saved his curls from the time hewas just a wee laddie. Duncan had died twenty years ago but hissisters could not yet speak of him without tears.
Then they brightened when Flora pointed out the next and the last--thatshiny black bit, it couldn't be anybody's but Gavie's; hair as black asthat. Did Christina mind what beautiful curly hair he had when theygot him first? And such a time as they had getting him to let it growlong enough to get a piece for the wreath. It was just getting niceonce, but the boys teased him about it at school, and what did he dobut get the shears one night and cut it all off that close that henearly cut the skin, and a sight the rascal was, with bare whitepatches all over his black head!
But Janet saved what was cut and they managed to make this littleflower and put it in the wreath next to Duncan's. Gavie was just suchanother boy as Duncan was, and the Lord had been good indeed to givehim to them in their old age.
Gavin did not appear quite so soon as expected. He came up slowly fromthe barn, and spent a very long time over the little wash-bench at thewood-shed door. At last he came in, fondling the dogs that keptcircling about him, and shook hands with Christina very hurriedly, asthough he had been in great haste all the time.
They sat down to the table immediately, and for a while the rapture ofhaving Christina sitting at his right hand almost overcame him and hehad very little to say. But he shared the Aunties' spirit ofhospitality, Christina was his guest and he soon found courage to waiton her and see she was well served. Auntie Elspie, sitting oppositehim with the tea-pot and the cups and saucers, understood, and did allshe could to make things easy for him. Though the three Aunties lovedGavin with equal devotion, Auntie Elspie had been more of a mother tohim. She read her boy and had long ago guessed at his devotion toChristina. She was sure of it now and was very happy. With theoptimism of youth she saw nothing but success ahead for Gavin and wasoverjoyed that he had chosen so wisely and well--one of Mary Lindsay'sgirls. What better could happen?
As for Christina, she was feeling strangely at home and yet in entirelynew surroundings. Gavin Grant at the head of his own table dispensinghospitality to his guest was a different person from the shy boy sheknew. Here he was a man with an air of authority, strong and yet kindand gentle.
He soon forgot his embarrassment in the joy of her presence. They grewvery merry over Auntie Elspie's beau again, Gavin taking great creditto himself for having arranged the match.
"She'll be goin' off with him one o' these days," prophesied AuntieJanet, "and indeed, we'll all leave ye, if you don't mind and let uswork out in the field when we like," she threatened.
"Indeed you ought to let the girls help you with that field ofpotatoes, Gavie," said Auntie Elspie. "He won't let one of us do ahand's turn beyond the house, Christina," she complained, turning toher guest. "Did ye ever hear the like?"
A telegraphic message flashed across the table between Auntie Flora andAuntie Janet which Gavin did not see.
"We jist have no life with him at all," said Auntie Flora, "he's thatthrawn."
"I think I'll jist have to take him in hand, myself," said the livelyAuntie Janet.
"I can manage them all but Auntie Janet," Gavin said brazenly. "Ididn't start early enough with her. I brought up the other two better.But I'll get her broken in, in time."
The three Aunties went off into loud gay laughter that echoed far outover the bright garden. They declared he was quite beyond them, andhow did Christina suppose they ever put up with such a rascal?
They lingered long at the table and after the gay supper was overChristina was loath to go; she was having such a good time. So she didnot need much coaxing to prevail upon her to stay till the cows weremilked. They could surely do without her for once. It was Fridaynight and Jimmie would help Uncle Neil and the girls, she admitted. Soshe ran out to the barn with a pail, though Gavin was determined sheshould not milk, and she helped with the separator, doing everythingwith her usual swiftness, and the Aunties looked on in amazement andadmiration.
The short Autumn evening had descended in a soft purple haze and agreat round golden moon was riding up over Craig-Ellachie whenChristina put on her hat and declared reluctantly that she must leave.She was ladened with gifts: a jar of tomato relish, a huge cake ofmaple sugar, a bottle of a new kind of liniment for Grandpa, and suchan armful of dahlias and phlox and asters and gladioli as Christina hadnever seen in her life.
The Aunties and Gavin all came with her as far as the pasture barswhere the tall ghosts of the corn stood whispering in the twilight.The two younger sisters were for going all the way with her over thehills, but Auntie Elspie, with her deeper insight, interfered.
"G
avie'll go and carry the flowers for you, Christina," she said."We'll have to be gettin' away back, girls." And the girls, beingyoung themselves, understood, and bade Christina good-night, with manyadmonitions to come back again and warnings to Gavie to take good careof her. Gavin put the bottle of liniment in one pocket and the catsupin another, the relish and the maple sugar in a third and bundling thebouquet under his arm in a fashion that made Auntie Flora scream withdismay, walked by Christina's side across the dim pasture field, withthe golden and purple sunset ahead of them and the silver moonlightbehind coming down over Craig-Ellachie. The night was warm and stilland the endless song of the grass, the swan song of all that was leftof Summer, filled the air.
Christina felt perfectly happy and care-free. A career seemed afar-off, nebulous thing that one need not fret over. It was verypleasant to be walking up over the hills in the moonlight and sunsetwith Gavin at her side carrying flowers for her. She felt it would bebeautiful to be able to always stroll around this way with the scent ofrosemary heavy in the air, and never to bother to look forward to acollege course. They chatted away happily and she told him about theirsearch for the Harebell, telling him that Uncle Neil said he wouldknow, and he quoted long stanzas from "The Lady of the Lake," and"Marmion." And they discussed the new song-book he had bought andquarrelled over their favourite Scotch song. And he did not confessthat his was the one she had heard him singing that afternoon as heploughed the back field.
They crossed the end of the Slash, where Gavin had to help her throughthe tangle of bushes. And did she remember how she had given him herberries that day, he asked.
Christina laughed, but Gavin was sober. "It was a beautiful thing todo," he said, "and now you have done it again for Sandy."
"No, no," said Christina, "it was nothing; I could not be happy to goand let Sandy stay."
"But you will go some day?" added Gavin, his voice sunk to a tremulouswhisper.
"Yes, perhaps next Fall, Allister and John both say, if the crops turnout well next summer. But it's a long way to look ahead."
They had come down to the level again, along the back lane and up tothe little gate that led in from the barnyard.
Gavin put the flowers into her arms and handed her the many gifts.
"Won't you come in, Gavin?" she asked. "There might be a letter fromSandy."
"Thank you," he said gratefully. "No, I must not be going in to-night,Christine. Thank you for your visit. You made my Aunties very happy.And you have made me very happy, too," he added in a whisper. He sawthe look of embarrassment on her face and instantly stopped. Gavin wasa true gentleman at heart and guessed when he was bordering onforbidden ground. He walked away and Christina went slowly up the path.
Perhaps, after all, there was something in the saying that homekeepinghearts are happiest, she reflected. It did not seem quite so dreary tolook forward to always living in Orchard Glen.
In Orchard Glen Page 4
