After Many Years

by Carolyn Strom Collins

  Later on, she discovered another and more serious debit item. In a fortnight it transpired that Mrs. Burnham was deeply offended because she had not been asked to the party. That it was strictly a young people’s party and that no elderly people were invited did not matter. Mrs. Burnham’s sensitive nature was terribly hurt, and she told sundry neighbours that she would never feel the same to Ellen Churchill again. She came no more for friendly evening calls and was frostily polite when they met elsewhere. Mrs. Churchill was very blue about it. She missed Mildred terribly, though she thought she was absurdly unreasonable. But she was repaid on the evening she came upon Alden and Stella, loitering along arm in arm in the leafy by-road east of the village which Lancaster folks called Lover’s Lane. Mrs. Churchill perked right up. She had not been able to find out if her party had produced any lasting results. Now it was evident things were going all right. Alden was caught, but what about Stella? Mrs. Churchill knew that her niece was not the sort of girl to fall ripely into any young man’s outstretched hand. She had a spice of her father’s contrariness, which in her worked out in a charming independence.

  Stella came to see her aunt the next evening and they sat on the verandah steps. Beside Stella the big “bridal wreath” shrub banked up on its June-tide whiteness, making a beautiful background for the girl. Stella was a pale, slender thing, shy but intensely sweet. She had large, purplish-grey eyes, with very black lashes and brows, and when she was excited a wild-rose hue spread over her cheeks. She was not considered pretty but nobody ever forgot her face.

  “I was very sorry to see you strolling in Lover’s Lane with Alden Churchill yesterday evening, Stella,” said Mrs. Churchill severely.

  Stella turned a startled face towards her aunt.

  “Why?”

  “He isn’t the right kind of beau for you at all, Stella.”

  “He is your nephew, Aunt Ellen, and I thought you were so fond of him.”

  “He’s my nephew by marriage, and I like him well enough. But he’s not good enough for you, Stella. He has no family behind him. Why, his mother’s grandfather hanged himself; and her father made his money hawking a medicine he concocted himself around the country. The Churchills all felt dreadful bad when George Churchill married her—and the Churchills themselves weren’t strong on family. I have to admit that, though I did marry one myself. But that’s not the worst. Alden’s awfully fickle, Stella. No girl can hold him long. Lots have tried and they all failed. I don’t want to see you left like that the minute his fancy veers. Now, just take your aunty’s advice, darling, and have nothing to do with him. You know how fond and proud of you I am.”

  “I know you’ve always been awfully good to me, Aunt Ellen,” said Stella slowly, “but I think you’re mistaken about Alden.”

  “No fear. I’ve known him for thirty years and you’ve known him for two weeks. Which of us is most likely to understand him? He’ll act as if he was mad about you for a few months and then he’ll drop you. You can’t hold him—you’re not his type. He likes the bouncing, jolly girls, like the Base Line teacher, for example.”

  “O, well, I must be going home,” said Stella vaguely. “Father will be lonesome.”

  When she had gone, Mrs. Churchill chuckled again.

  “Now, if I know anything of human nature, Miss Stella has gone off, vowing she’ll show meddling old aunts that she can hold Alden, and that no Base Line schoolma’am shall ever get her claws on him. That little toss of her head and that flush on her cheeks told me that. I can read these young geese like a book.”

  When it became a matter of common gossip that Alden Churchill was “going with” Stella Chase, Mrs. Churchill looked out of her door one night with a sigh.

  “The wind is east and I wish I could stay home to-night and nurse my rheumatism but I must go a-matchmaking. It’s high time I tried my hand on Mary. She’ll be the hardest nut to crack. But I know how to tackle her. Everyone has a weak point and I found Mary’s out long ago.”

  The Churchill farm was a mile and a half from Lancaster, and Mrs. Churchill was very tired when she got there. Mrs. Mary Churchill did not welcome her too effusively either—she never did. The two sisters-in-law had never cared much for each other. But Aunt Ellen did not worry over Mary’s coolness. She sat down in a rocker and took out her filet, while Mary sat opposite to her in a stiff-backed chair, folded her long thin hands, and gazed steadily at her. Mary Churchill was tall and thin and austere. She had a prominent chin and a long, compressed mouth. She never wasted words and she never gossiped. So Ellen found it somewhat difficult to work up to her subject naturally, but she managed it through the medium of the new minster, whom Mary did not like.

  “He is not a spiritual man,” said Mary coldly. “He believes the kingdom of heaven can be taken by brains. It cannot.”

  “He’s a very clever young fellow,” said Ellen, rocking placidly. “His sermons are remarkable.”

  “I heard but one and do not wish to hear more. My soul sought food and was given a lecture.”

  “O, well, Mary, you know other people don’t think and feel as you do. Mr. Paxton is a fine young man. He has quite a notion of my niece Stella Chase, too. I’m hoping it will be a match.”

  “Do you mean a marriage?” asked Mary.

  Ellen shrugged her plump shoulders.

  “Now, Mary, you understand what I mean well enough. And it would be just the thing. Stella is especially fitted to be a minister’s wife. By the way, I hear that Alden is going with her a bit. You ought to put a stop to that, Mary.”

  “Why?” asked Mary, without the flicker of an eyelid.

  “Because it isn’t a bit of use,” responded Ellen energetically. “He could never get her in this world. Her father doesn’t think anyone is good enough for her—except a minster or doctor or something like that. He’d show a plain farmer to the door in a moment. You’d better tell Alden to give up all notion of Stella Chase, Mary. He’ll find himself thrown over before long and made a laughing stock of, if he doesn’t. Look at all the girls that have flirted with him and then dropped him. If that goes on much longer he’ll never get a decent wife. No nice girl wants shop-worn goods.”

  “No girl ever dropped my son,” said Mary, compressing her thin lips. “It was always the other way about. My son could marry any woman he chose. Any woman, Ellen Churchill.”

  “O?” said Ellen’s tongue. Her tone said, “of course I am too polite to contradict you but you have not changed my opinion,” Mary Churchill understood the tone and her white, shrivelled face warmed a little. Ellen went away soon after, very well satisfied with the interview.

  “Of course, one can’t count on Mary,” she reflected, “but if I know anything of human nature I’ve worried her a little. She doesn’t like the idea of folks thinking Alden is the jilted one. I s’pose she’s busy turning up Bible verses now to solve the problem. Lord, how my shoulders ache! East winds were invented by the old Nick. But I feel I’ve done Alden and Stella a good turn to-night. There’s only Richard to manipulate now. I wonder if he has the slightest idea that Stella and Alden are going together. Not likely. Stella would never dare take Alden to the house, of course. I’ll tackle Richard next week.”

  Mrs. Churchill tackled him, according to programme. He was sitting in his little library reading, but he put his book aside when his sister-in-law came in. He was always courteous to her and they got on surprisingly well. He was a small, thin man, with an unkempt shock of grey hair and little twinkling, deep-set eyes.

  Ellen sat down but said she could not stay long—she had just run up to borrow Stella’s recipe for snow pudding.

  “I’ll sit a minute to cool off. It’s dreadful hot to-night. Likely there’ll be a thunderstorm. Mercy, that cat is bigger than ever!”

  Richard Chase had a familiar in the shape of a huge black cat. It always sat on the arm of his chair while he read. When he put his book away it climbed o
ver into his lap. He stroked it tenderly.

  “Lucifer gives the world assurance of a cat,” he said. “Don’t you, Lucifer? Look at your Aunt Ellen, Lucifer. Observe the baleful glances she is casting upon you, from the orbs created to express only kindness and affection.”

  “Don’t you call me that beast’s Aunt Ellen,” protested Mrs. Churchill sharply. “A joke’s a joke, but that is carrying things too far.”

  “Wouldn’t you rather be Lucifer’s aunt than Neddy Churchill’s aunt?” queried Richard Chase plaintively.

  “Neddy Churchill is a glutton and a wine-bibber, isn’t he? You’ve often given me a catalogue of his crimes. Wouldn’t you rather be aunt to a fine, up-standing cat like Lucifer with a blameless record where whiskey and tabbies are concerned?”

  “Poor Ned is a human being,” retorted Mrs. Churchill. “I can’t abide cats. It’s the only fault I have to find with Alden Churchill. He’s got the strangest liking for cats, too. Lord knows where he got it—his mother and father loathed them as I do.”

  “What a sensible young man he must be,” said Richard Chase ironically.

  “Sensible! Well, he’s sensible enough—except in the matter of cats and evolution—another thing he didn’t inherit from his mother!”

  “Do you know, Ellen,” said Richard Chase solemnly, “I have a secret leaning towards evolution myself.”

  “So you’ve told me for the last thirty years,” retorted Mrs. Churchill. “Well, believe what you like, Richard. Thank God nobody could ever make me believe that I was descended from a monkey.”

  “You don’t look it, I confess, you comely woman,” said Richard Chase. “I see no simian resemblances in your rosy, comfortable, eminently respectable physiognomy. Still, your great-grandmother a million times removed swung herself from branch to branch by her tail. Science proves that, Ellen, like it or leave it.”

  “I’ll leave it then. I’m not going to argue with you on that or any point. I’ve got my own religion and no ape ancestors figure in it. By the way, Richard, Stella doesn’t look as well this summer as I’d like to see her.”

  “She always feels the hot weather a good deal. She’ll pick up when it’s cooler.”

  “I hope so. Loretta picked up every summer but the last, Richard, don’t forget that. Stella has her mother’s constitution. She’s far from strong. It’s just as well she isn’t likely to marry.”

  “Why isn’t she likely to marry? I asked from curiosity, Ellen, rank curiosity. The processes of feminine thought are intensely interesting to me. From what premises or data do you draw the conclusion, in your own delightful, off-hand way, that Stella is not likely to marry?”

  “Well, Richard, to put it plainly, she isn’t the kind of girl that is popular with the men. She’s a dear, sweet, good girl but she doesn’t take with them.”

  “She has had admirers. I have spent much of my substance in the purchase and maintenance of shotguns and bulldogs.”

  “They admired your money bags, I fancy. They were easily discouraged, too. Just one broadside of sarcasm from you and off they went. If they had really wanted Stella they wouldn’t have wilted for that—any more than for your imaginary bulldogs. No, Richard, we might as well admit that Stella isn’t the girl to win desirable beaus, especially when she’s getting on in years. Loretta wasn’t, you know. She never had a beau till you came along.”

  “But wasn’t I worth waiting for? Surely Loretta was a wise young woman. You would not have me give my daughter to any Tom, Dick, or Harry, would you? My Star, who, despite your somewhat disparaging remarks, is fit to shine in the palaces of kings?”

  “We have no kings in this country,” said Mrs. Churchill, getting up. “I’m not saying Stella isn’t a lovely girl. I’m only saying the men are not likely to see it, and considering her constitution, I think it is decidedly a good thing. A good thing for you, too. You could never get on without her; you’d be as helpless as a baby. Well, I’m off. I know you are dying to get back to that book of yours.”

  “Admirable, clear-sighted woman! What a treasure you are for a sister-in-law! I admit it: I am dying. But no other but yourself would have been perspicacious enough to see it or amiable enough to save my life by acting upon it. Good-evening, pearl-of-in-laws.”

  “Of course, there’s never any knowing what effect anything you’ve said has had on him,” mused Mrs. Churchill as she went down the street. “But if I know anything of human nature, he didn’t like the idea of Stella not being popular with the men any too well, in spite of the fact that their grandfathers were monkeys. I think he’d like to show me! Well, I’ve done all I can—I’ve interested Alden and Stella in each other and I’ve made Mary and Richard rather anxious for the match than otherwise. And now I’ll just sit tight and watch how things go.”

  Two evenings later Stella came up to see her Aunt Ellen. It was a hot, smoky evening, so they sat on the verandah steps again. Stella seemed absent-minded and quiet. Presently she said abruptly, looking the while at a crystal-white star hanging over the Lombardy at the gate.

  “Aunt Ellen, I want to tell you something.”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “I am engaged to Alden Churchill,” said Stella desperately. “We’ve been engaged ever since last Christmas. We’ve kept it secret just because it was so sweet to have such a secret. But we are going to be married next month.”

  Mrs. Churchill dropped her crochet and looked at Stella, who still continued to stare at the star. So she did not see the expression on her aunt’s face. She went on, a little more easily.

  “Alden and I met at a party in Clancy last September. We—we loved each other from the very first moment. He said he had always dreamed of me – had always been looking for me. He said to himself, ‘There is my wife,’ when he saw me come in at the door. And I felt just the same. O, we are so happy, Aunt Ellen. The only cloud on our happiness has been your attitude about the matter.”

  “Bless me!” said Mrs. Churchill feebly.

  “Won’t you try to approve, Aunt Ellen? You’ve been like a mother to me. I’ll feel so badly if I have to marry against your wish.”

  There was a sound of tears in Stella’s voice. Mrs. Churchill picked her filet up blindly.

  “Why, I don’t care, child. I like Alden—he’s a splendid fellow—only he has had the reputation of being a flirt….”

  “But he isn’t! He was just looking for the right one. Don’t you see, Aunty? And he couldn’t find her.”

  “How will your father regard it?”

  “O, father is greatly pleased. He has known it all along. He took to Alden from the start. They used to argue for hours about evolution. Father said he always meant to let me marry as soon as the right one came along. I feel dreadfully about leaving him, but Cousin Delia Chase is coming to keep house for him and father likes her very much.”

  “And Alden’s mother?”

  “She is quite willing, too. When Alden told her last Christmas that we were engaged, she went to the Bible and the first verse she turned up was, ‘A man shall leave father and mother and cleave unto his wife.’ She said it was perfectly clear to her then what she ought to do and she consented at once. So you see everyone is pleased; and won’t you give us your good wishes, too, Aunty.”

  “O, of course,” said Mrs. Churchill rather vaguely. There was not much heartiness in her voice and Stella went away a little disappointed. After she had gone Mrs. Churchill took stock of the preceding weeks.

  She had burdened her conscience with innumerable fibs; she had confirmed her rheumatism; she had ruined her parlor carpet, destroyed two treasured heirlooms and spoiled her dining room ceiling; she had alienated the affections of her dearest friend, perhaps forever; she had given Richard Chase something to tease her about the rest of her life; she had put a weapon into Mary Churchill’s merciless hand, which, if she, Mrs. Churchill, knew anything about human nature, Mary w
ould not fail to use upon occasion; she had got in wrong with Alden and Stella and could only get out by a confession too humiliating to make. And all for what? To bring about a marriage between two people who were already engaged.

  “I have had enough of matchmaking,” said Mrs. Churchill firmly.

  Editors’ note: “The Matchmaker,” illustrated by O’Carter, was published in Canadian Home Journal in September 1919. It was listed in the “Unverified Ledger Titles” section of the 1986 bibliography and was found by Carolyn Strom Collins and Donna Campbell. It is available to view online in the Ryrie-Campbell Collection.

  Montgomery reworked this story slightly for Chapters 15–17 of Anne of Ingleside, published in 1939. In those chapters, Anne herself is “the matchmaker” with identical results.

  The “filet crochet” (or “filet”) that Aunt Ellen had with her constantly is worked in a grid of small open squares resembling a net (or “filet” in French). A design is plotted on graph paper and worked by filling in the squares of the design with extra crochet stitches.

  Aunt Ellen’s prized antique “Bristol glass candlesticks” that were “broken to smithereens” at her party had come from Bristol, England, where deep cobalt-blue glass items had been made for over one hundred years.

  This story appeared about the same time that the first film version of Anne of Green Gables was released. It was a black-and-white silent film, starring Mary Miles Minter and directed by W. D. Taylor. The film has been lost but still photographs exist, some of which were published in an L. C. Page edition of Anne of Green Gables.