Prissy had written him a letter — he fished it out of his pocket and gave it to me to read. It was in Prissy’s prim, pretty little writing, sure enough, and it just said that his attentions were “unwelcome,” and would he be “kind enough to refrain from offering them.” Not much wonder the poor man went to see Lizzie Pye!
“Stephen, I’m surprised at you for thinking that Prissy Strong wrote that letter,” I said.
“It’s in her handwriting,” he said stubbornly.
“Of course it is. ‘The hand is the hand of Esau, but the voice is the voice of Jacob,’” I said, though I wasn’t sure whether the quotation was exactly appropriate. “Emmeline composed that letter and made Prissy copy it out. I know that as well as if I’d seen her do it, and you ought to have known it, too.”
“If I thought that I’d show Emmeline I could get Prissy in spite of her,” said Stephen savagely. “But if Prissy doesn’t want me I’m not going to force my attentions on her.”
Well, we talked it over a bit, and in the end I agreed to sound Prissy, and find out what she really thought about it. I didn’t think it would be hard to do; and it wasn’t. I went over the very next day because I saw Emmeline driving off to the store. I found Prissy alone, sewing carpet rags. Emmeline kept her constantly at that — because Prissy hated it I suppose. Prissy was crying when I went in, and in a few minutes I had the whole story.
Prissy wanted to get married — and she wanted to get married to Stephen — and Emmeline wouldn’t let her.
“Prissy Strong,” I said in exasperation, “you haven’t the spirit of a mouse! Why on earth did you write him such a letter?”
“Why, Emmeline made me,” said Prissy, as if there couldn’t be any appeal from that; and I knew there couldn’t — for Prissy. I also knew that if Stephen wanted to see Prissy again Emmeline must know nothing of it, and I told him so when he came down the next evening — to borrow a hoe, he said. It was a long way to come for a hoe.
“Then what am I to do?” he said. “It wouldn’t be any use to write, for it would likely fall into Emmeline’s hands. She won’t let Prissy go anywhere alone after this, and how am I to know when the old cat is away?”
“Please don’t insult cats,” I said. “I’ll tell you what we’ll do. You can see the ventilator on our barn from your place, can’t you? You’d be able to make out a flag or something tied to it, wouldn’t you, through that spy-glass of yours?”
Stephen thought he could.
“Well, you take a squint at it every now and then,” I said. “Just as soon as Emmeline leaves Prissy alone I’ll hoist the signal.”
The chance didn’t come for a whole fortnight. Then, one evening, I saw Emmeline striding over the field below our house. As soon as she was out of sight I ran through the birch grove to Prissy.
“Yes, Em’line’s gone to sit up with Jane Lawson to-night,” said Prissy, all fluttered and trembling.
“Then you put on your muslin dress and fix your hair,” I said. “I’m going home to get Thomas to tie something to that ventilator.”
But do you think Thomas would do it? Not he. He said he owed something to his position as elder in the church. In the end I had to do it myself, though I don’t like climbing ladders. I tied Thomas’ long red woollen scarf to the ventilator, and prayed that Stephen would see it. He did, for in less than an hour he drove down our lane and put his horse in our barn. He was all spruced up, and as nervous and excited as a schoolboy. He went right over to Prissy, and I began to tuft my new comfort with a clear conscience. I shall never know why it suddenly came into my head to go up to the garret and make sure that the moths hadn’t got into my box of blankets; but I always believed that it was a special interposition of Providence. I went up and happened to look out of the east window; and there I saw Emmeline Strong coming home across our pond field.
I just flew down those garret stairs and out through the birches. I burst into the Strong kitchen, where Stephen and Prissy were sitting as cozy as you please.
“Stephen, come quick! Emmeline’s nearly here,” I cried.
Prissy looked out of the window and wrung her hands.
“Oh, she’s in the lane now,” she gasped. “He can’t get out of the house without her seeing him. Oh, Rosanna, what shall we do?”
I really don’t know what would have become of those two people if I hadn’t been in existence to find ideas for them.
“Take Stephen up to the garret and hide him there, Prissy,” I said firmly, “and take him quick.”
Prissy took him quick, but she had barely time to get back to the kitchen before Emmeline marched in — mad as a wet hen because somebody had been ahead of her offering to sit up with Jane Lawson, and so she lost the chance of poking and prying into things while Jane was asleep. The minute she clapped eyes on Prissy she suspected something. It wasn’t any wonder, for there was Prissy, all dressed up, with flushed cheeks and shining eyes. She was all in a quiver of excitement, and looked ten years younger.
“Priscilla Strong, you’ve been expecting Stephen Clark here this evening!” burst out Emmeline. “You wicked, deceitful, underhanded, ungrateful creature!”
And she went on storming at Prissy, who began to cry, and looked so weak and babyish that I was frightened she would betray the whole thing.
“This is between you and Prissy, Emmeline,” I struck in, “and I’m not going to interfere. But I want to get you to come over and show me how to tuft my comfort that new pattern you learned in Avonlea, and as it had better be done before dark I wish you’d come right away.”
“I s’pose I’ll go,” said Emmeline ungraciously, “but Priscilla shall come, too, for I see that she isn’t to be trusted out of my sight after this.”
I hoped Stephen would see us from the garret window and make good his escape. But I didn’t dare trust to chance, so when I got Emmeline safely to work on my comfort I excused myself and slipped out. Luckily my kitchen was on the off side of the house, but I was a nervous woman as I rushed across to the Strong place and dashed up Emmeline’s garret stairs to Stephen. It was fortunate I had come, for he didn’t know we had gone. Prissy had hidden him behind the loom and he didn’t dare move for fear Emmeline would hear him on that creaky floor. He was a sight with cobwebs.
I got him down and smuggled him into our barn, and he stayed there until it was dark and the Strong girls had gone home. Emmeline began to rage at Prissy the moment they were outside my door.
Then Stephen came in and we talked things over. He and Prissy had made good use of their time, short as it had been. Prissy had promised to marry him, and all that remained was to get the ceremony performed.
“And that will be no easy matter,” I warned him. “Now that Emmeline’s suspicions are aroused she’ll never let Prissy out of her sight until you’re married to another woman, if it’s years. I know Emmeline Strong. And I know Prissy. If it was any other girl in the world she’d run away, or manage it somehow, but Prissy never will. She’s too much in the habit of obeying Emmeline. You’ll have an obedient wife, Stephen — if you ever get her.”
Stephen looked as if he thought that wouldn’t be any drawback. Gossip said that Althea had been pretty bossy. I don’t know. Maybe it was so.
“Can’t you suggest something, Rosanna?” he implored. “You’ve helped us so far, and I’ll never forget it.”
“The only thing I can think of is for you to have the license ready, and speak to Mr. Leonard, and keep an eye on our ventilator,” I said. “I’ll watch here and signal whenever there’s an opening.”
Well, I watched and Stephen watched, and Mr. Leonard was in the plot, too. Prissy was always a favourite of his, and he would have been more than human, saint as he is, if he’d had any love for Emmeline, after the way she was always trying to brew up strife in the church.
But Emmeline was a match for us all. She never let Prissy out of her sight. Everywhere she went she toted Prissy, too. When a month had gone by, I was almost in despair. Mr. Leonard had to leave
for the Assembly in another week and Stephen’s neighbours were beginning to talk about him. They said that a man who spent all his time hanging around the yard with a spyglass, and trusting everything to a hired boy, couldn’t be altogether right in his mind.
I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw Emmeline driving away one day alone. As soon as she was out of sight I whisked over, and Anne Shirley and Diana Barry went with me.
They were visiting me that afternoon. Diana’s mother was my second cousin, and, as we visited back and forth frequently, I’d often seen Diana. But I’d never seen her chum, Anne Shirley, although I’d heard enough about her to drive anyone frantic with curiosity. So when she came home from Redmond College that summer I asked Diana to take pity on me and bring her over some afternoon.
I wasn’t disappointed in her. I considered her a beauty, though some people couldn’t see it. She had the most magnificent red hair and the biggest, shiningest eyes I ever saw in a girl’s head. As for her laugh, it made me feel young again to hear it. She and Diana both laughed enough that afternoon, for I told them, under solemn promise of secrecy, all about poor Prissy’s love affair. So nothing would do them but they must go over with me.
The appearance of the house amazed me. All the shutters were closed and the door locked. I knocked and knocked, but there was no answer. Then I walked around the house to the only window that hadn’t shutters — a tiny one upstairs. I knew it was the window in the closet off the room where the girls slept. I stopped under it and called Prissy. Before long Prissy came and opened it. She was so pale and woe-begone looking that I pitied her with all my heart.
“Prissy, where has Emmeline gone?” I asked.
“Down to Avonlea to see the Roger Pyes. They’re sick with measles, and Emmeline couldn’t take me because I’ve never had measles.”
Poor Prissy! She had never had anything a body ought to have.
“Then you just come and unfasten a shutter, and come right over to my house,” I said exultantly. “We’ll have Stephen and the minister here in no time.”
“I can’t — Em’line has locked me in here,” said Prissy woefully.
I was posed. No living mortal bigger than a baby could have got in or out of that closet window.
“Well,” I said finally, “I’ll put the signal up for Stephen anyhow, and we’ll see what can be done when he gets here.”
I didn’t know how I was ever to get the signal up on that ventilator, for it was one of the days I take dizzy spells; and if I took one up on the ladder there’d probably be a funeral instead of a wedding. But Anne Shirley said she’d put it up for me, and she did. I had never seen that girl before, and I’ve never seen her since, but it’s my opinion that there wasn’t much she couldn’t do if she made up her mind to do it.
Stephen wasn’t long in getting there and he brought the minister with him. Then we all, including Thomas — who was beginning to get interested in the affair in spite of himself — went over and held council of war beneath the closet window.
Thomas suggested breaking in doors and carrying Prissy off boldly, but I could see that Mr. Leonard looked very dubious over that, and even Stephen said he thought it could only be done as a last resort. I agreed with him. I knew Emmeline Strong would bring an action against him for housebreaking as likely as not. She’d be so furious she’d stick at nothing if we gave her any excuse. Then Anne Shirley, who couldn’t have been more excited if she was getting married herself, came to the rescue again.
“Couldn’t you put a ladder up to the closet window,” she said, “And Mr. Clark can go up it and they can be married there. Can’t they, Mr. Leonard?”
Mr. Leonard agreed that they could. He was always the most saintly looking man, but I know I saw a twinkle in his eye.
“Thomas, go over and bring our little ladder over here,” I said.
Thomas forgot he was an elder, and he brought the ladder as quick as it was possible for a fat man to do it. After all it was too short to reach the window, but there was no time to go for another. Stephen went up to the top of it, and he reached up and Prissy reached down, and they could just barely clasp hands so. I shall never forget the look of Prissy. The window was so small she could only get her head and one arm out of it. Besides, she was almost frightened to death.
Mr. Leonard stood at the foot of the ladder and married them. As a rule, he makes a very long and solemn thing of the marriage ceremony, but this time he cut out everything that wasn’t absolutely necessary; and it was well that he did, for just as he pronounced them man and wife, Emmeline drove into the lane.
She knew perfectly well what had happened when she saw the minister with his blue book in his hand. Never a word said she. She marched to the front door, unlocked it, and strode upstairs. I’ve always been convinced it was a mercy that closet window was so small, or I believe that she would have thrown Prissy out of it. As it was, she walked her downstairs by the arm and actually flung her at Stephen.
“There, take your wife,” she said, “and I’ll pack up every stitch she owns and send it after her; and I never want to see her or you again as long as I live.”
Then she turned to me and Thomas.
“As for you that have aided and abetted that weakminded fool in this, take yourselves out of my yard and never darken my door again.”
“Goodness, who wants to, you old spitfire?” said Thomas.
It wasn’t just the thing for him to say, perhaps, but we are all human, even elders.
The girls didn’t escape. Emmeline looked daggers at them.
“This will be something for you to carry back to Avonlea,” she said. “You gossips down there will have enough to talk about for a spell. That’s all you ever go out of Avonlea for — just to fetch and carry tales.”
Finally she finished up with the minister.
“I’m going to the Baptist church in Spencervale after this,” she said. Her tone and look said a hundred other things. She whirled into the house and slammed the door.
Mr. Leonard looked around on us with a pitying smile as Stephen put poor, half-fainting Prissy into the buggy.
“I am very sorry,” he said in that gently, saintly way of his, “for the Baptists.”
The Miracle at Carmody
Salome looked out of the kitchen window, and a pucker of distress appeared on her smooth forehead.
“Dear, dear, what has Lionel Hezekiah been doing now?” she murmured anxiously.
Involuntarily she reached out for her crutch; but it was a little beyond her reach, having fallen on the floor, and without it Salome could not move a step.
“Well, anyway, Judith is bringing him in as fast as she can,” she reflected. “He must have been up to something terrible this time; for she looks very cross, and she never walks like that unless she is angry clear through. Dear me, I am sometimes tempted to think that Judith and I made a mistake in adopting the child. I suppose two old maids don’t know much about bringing up a boy properly. But he is NOT a bad child, and it really seems to me that there must be some way of making him behave better if we only knew what it was.”
Salome’s monologue was cut short by the entrance of her sister Judith, holding Lionel Hezekiah by his chubby wrist with a determined grip.
Judith Marsh was ten years older than Salome, and the two women were as different in appearance as night and day. Salome, in spite of her thirty-five years, looked almost girlish. She was small and pink and flower-like, with little rings of pale golden hair clustering all over her head in a most unspinster-like fashion, and her eyes were big and blue, and mild as a dove’s. Her face was perhaps a weak one, but it was very sweet and appealing.
Judith Marsh was tall and dark, with a plain, tragic face and iron-gray hair. Her eyes were black and sombre, and every feature bespoke unyielding will and determination. Just now she looked, as Salome had said, “angry clear through,” and the baleful glances she cast on the small mortal she held would have withered a more hardened criminal than six happy-go-lucky years
had made of Lionel Hezekiah.
Lionel Hezekiah, whatever his shortcomings, did not look bad. Indeed, he was as engaging an urchin as ever beamed out on a jolly good world through a pair of big, velvet-brown eyes. He was chubby and firm-limbed, with a mop of beautiful golden curls, which were the despair of his heart and the pride and joy of Salome’s; and his round face was usually a lurking-place for dimples and smiles and sunshine.
But just now Lionel Hezekiah was under a blight; he had been caught red-handed in guilt, and was feeling much ashamed of himself. He hung his head and squirmed his toes under the mournful reproach in Salome’s eyes. When Salome looked at him like that, Lionel Hezekiah always felt that he was paying more for his fun than it was worth.
“What do you suppose I caught him doing this time?” demanded Judith.
“I — I don’t know,” faltered Salome.
“Firing — at — a — mark — on — the — henhouse — door — with — new-laid — eggs,” said Judith with measured distinctness. “He has broken every egg that was laid to-day except three. And as for the state of that henhouse door—”
Judith paused, with an indignant gesture meant to convey that the state of the henhouse door must be left to Salome’s imagination, since the English language was not capable of depicting it.
“O Lionel Hezekiah, why will you do such things?” said Salome miserably.
“I — didn’t know it was wrong,” said Lionel Hezekiah, bursting into prompt tears. “I — I thought it would be bully fun. Seems’s if everything what’s fun ‘s wrong.”
Salome’s heart was not proof against tears, as Lionel Hezekiah very well knew. She put her arm about the sobbing culprit, and drew him to her side.
“He didn’t know it was wrong,” she said defiantly to Judith.
“He’s got to be taught, then,” was Judith’s retort. “No, you needn’t try to beg him off, Salome. He shall go right to bed without supper, and stay there till to-morrow morning.”
The Complete Works of L M Montgomery Page 548
