The Complete Works of L M Montgomery

by L. M. Montgomery

  “Aunt Caroline Greenley.”

  “Carry Lea, are we both dreaming?” gasped Patty.

  With crimson cheeks Carry ripped the other breadths apart, and there were the other four bills. Then she slipped down in a little heap on the sofa cushions and began to cry — happy tears of relief and gladness.

  “We can pay the interest,” said Patty, dancing around the room, “and get yourself a nice new dress for the wedding.”

  “Indeed I won’t,” said Carry, sitting up and laughing through her tears. “I’ll make over this dress and wear it out of gratitude to the memory of dear Aunt Caroline.”

  Aunt Susanna’s Thanksgiving Dinner.

  “Here’s Aunt Susanna, girls,” said Laura who was sitting by the north window — nothing but north light does for Laura who is the artist of our talented family.

  Each of us has a little pet new-fledged talent which we are faithfully cultivating in the hope that it will amount to something and soar highly some day. But it is difficult to cultivate four talents on our tiny income. If Laura wasn’t such a good manager we never could do it.

  Laura’s words were a signal for Kate to hang up her violin and for me to push my pen and portfolio out of sight. Laura had hidden her brushes and water colors as she spoke. Only Margaret continued to bend serenely over her Latin grammar. Aunt Susanna frowns on musical and literary and artistic ambitions but she accords a faint approval to Margaret’s desire for an education. A college course, with a tangible diploma at the end, and a sensible pedagogic aspiration is something Aunt Susanna can understand when she tries hard. But she cannot understand messing with paints, fiddling, or scribbling, and she has only unmeasured contempt for messers, fiddlers, and scribblers. Time was when we had paid no attention to Aunt Susanna’s views on these points; but ever since she had, on one incautious day when she was in high good humor, dropped a pale, anemic little hint that she might send Margaret to college if she were a good girl we had been bending all our energies towards securing Aunt Susanna’s approval. It was not enough that Aunt Susanna should approve of Margaret; she must approve of the whole four of us or she would not help Margaret. That is Aunt Susanna’s way. Of late we had been growing a little discouraged. Aunt Susanna had recently read a magazine article which stated that the higher education of women was ruining our country and that a woman who was a B.A. couldn’t, in the very nature of things, ever be a housewifely, cookly creature. Consequently, Margaret’s chances looked a little foggy; but we hadn’t quite given up hope. A very little thing might sway Aunt Susanna one way or the other, so that we walked very softly and tried to mingle serpents’ wisdom and doves’ harmlessness in practical portions.

  When Aunt Susanna came in Laura was crocheting, Kate was sewing, and I was poring over a recipe book. That was not deception at all, since we did all these things frequently — much more frequently, in fact, than we painted or fiddled or wrote. But Aunt Susanna would never believe it. Nor did she believe it now.

  She threw back her lovely new sealskin cape, looked around the sitting-room and then smiled — a truly Aunt Susannian smile.

  “What a pity you forgot to wipe that smudge of paint off your nose, Laura,” she said sarcastically. “You don’t seem to get on very fast with your lace. How long is it since you began it? Over three months, isn’t it?”

  “This is the third piece of the same pattern I’ve done in three months, Aunt Susanna,” said Laura presently. Laura is an old duck. She never gets cross and snaps back. I do; and it’s so hard not to with Aunt Susanna sometimes. But I generally manage it for I’d do anything for Margaret. Laura did not tell Aunt Susanna that she sold her lace at the Women’s Exchange in town and made enough to buy her new hats. She makes enough out of her water colors to dress herself.

  Aunt Susanna took a second breath and started in again.

  “I notice your violin hasn’t quite as much dust on it as the rest of the things in this room, Kate. It’s a pity you stopped playing just as I came in. I don’t enjoy fiddling much but I’d prefer it to seeing anyone using a needle who isn’t accustomed to it.”

  Kate is really a most dainty needlewoman and does all the fine sewing in our family. She colored and said nothing — that being the highest pitch of virtue to which our Katie, like myself, can attain.

  “And there’s Margaret ruining her eyes over books,” went on Aunt Susanna severely. “Will you kindly tell me, Margaret Thorne, what good you ever expect Latin to do you?”

  “Well, you see, Aunt Susanna,” said Margaret gently — Magsie and Laura are birds of a feather—”I want to be a teacher if I can manage to get through, and I shall need Latin for that.”

  All the girls except me had now got their accustomed rap, but I knew better than to hope I should escape.

  “So you’re reading a recipe book, Agnes? Well, that’s better than poring over a novel. I’m afraid you haven’t been at it very long though. People generally don’t read recipes upside down — and besides, you didn’t quite cover up your portfolio. I see a corner of it sticking out. Was genius burning before I came in? It’s too bad if I quenched the flame.”

  “A cookery book isn’t such a novelty to me as you seem to think, Aunt Susanna,” I said, as meekly as it was possible for me. “Why I’m a real good cook—’if I do say it as hadn’t orter.’”

  I am, too.

  “Well, I’m glad to hear it,” said Aunt Susanna skeptically, “because that has to do with my errand her to-day. I’m in a peck of troubles. Firstly, Miranda Mary’s mother has had to go and get sick and Miranda Mary must go home to wait on her. Secondly, I’ve just had a telegram from my sister-in-law who has been ordered west for her health, and I’ll have to leave on to-night’s train to see her before she goes. I can’t get back until the noon train Thursday, and that is Thanksgiving, and I’ve invited Mr. and Mrs. Gilbert to dinner that day. They’ll come on the same train. I’m dreadfully worried. There doesn’t seem to be anything I can do except get on of you girls to go up to the Pinery Thursday morning and cook the dinner for us. Do you think you can manage it?”

  We all felt rather dismayed, and nobody volunteered with a rush. But as I had just boasted that I could cook it was plainly my duty to step into the breach, and I did it with fear and trembling.

  “I’ll go, Aunt Susanna,” I said.

  “And I’ll help you,” said Kate.

  “Well, I suppose I’ll have to try you,” said Aunt Susanna with the air of a woman determined to make the best of a bad business. “Here is the key of the kitchen door. You’ll find everything in the pantry, turkey and all. The mince pies are all ready made so you’ll only have to warm them up. I want dinner sharp at twelve for the train is due at 11:50. Mr. and Mrs. Gilbert are very particular and I do hope you will have things right. Oh, if I could only be home myself! Why will people get sick at such inconvenient times?”

  “Don’t worry, Aunt Susanna,” I said comfortingly. “Kate and I will have your Thanksgiving dinner ready for you in tiptop style.”

  “Well I’m sure I hope so. Don’t get to mooning over a story, Agnes. I’ll lock the library up and fortunately there are no fiddles at the Pinery. Above all, don’t let any of the McGinnises in. They’ll be sure to be prowling around when I’m not home. Don’t give that dog of theirs any scraps either. That is Miranda Mary’s one fault. She will feed that dog in spite of all I can do and I can’t walk out of my own back door without falling over him.”

  We promise to eschew the McGinnises and all their works, including the dog, and when Aunt Susanna had gone we looked at each other with mingled hope and fear.

  “Girls, this is the chance of your lives,” said Laura. “If you can only please Aunt Susanna with this dinner it will convince her that you are good cooks in spite of your nefarious bent for music and literature. I consider the illness of Miranda Mary’s mother a Providential interposition — that is, if she isn’t too sick.”

  “It’s all very well for you to be pleased, Lolla,” I said dolefully. �
��But I don’t feel jubilant over the prospect at all. Something will probably go wrong. And then there’s our own nice little Thanksgiving celebration we’ve planned, and pinched and economized for weeks to provide. That is half spoiled now.”

  “Oh, what is that compared to Margaret’s chance of going to college?” exclaimed Kate. “Cheer up, Aggie. You know we can cook. I feel that it is now or never with Aunt Susanna.”

  I cheered up accordingly. We are not given to pessimism which is fortunate. Ever since father died four years ago we have struggled on here, content to give up a good deal just to keep our home and be together. This little gray house — oh, how we do love it and its apple trees — is ours and we have, as aforesaid, a tiny income and our ambitions; not very big ambitions but big enough to give zest to our lives and hope to the future. We’ve been very happy as a rule. Aunt Susanna has a big house and lots of money but she isn’t as happy as we are. She nags us a good deal — just as she used to nag father — but we don’t mind it very much after all. Indeed, I sometimes suspect that we really like Aunt Susanna tremendously if she’d only leave us alone long enough to find it out.

  Thursday morning was an ideal Thanksgiving morning — bright, crisp and sparkling. There had been a white frost in the night, and the orchard and the white birch wood behind it looked like fairyland. We were all up early. None of us had slept well, and both Kate and I had had the most fearful dreams of spoiling Aunt Susanna’s Thanksgiving dinner.

  “Never mind, dreams always go by contraries, you know,” said Laura cheerfully. “You’d better go up to the Pinery early and get the fires on, for the house will be cold. Remember the McGinnises and the dog. Weigh the turkey so that you’ll know exactly how long to cook it. Put the pies in the oven in time to get piping hot — lukewarm mince pies are an abomination. Be sure—”

  “Laura, don’t confuse us with any more cautions,” I groaned, “or we shall get hopelessly fuddled. Come on, Kate, before she has time to.”

  It wasn’t very far up to the Pinery — just ten minutes’ walk, and such a delightful walk on that delightful morning. We went through the orchard and then through the white birch wood where the loveliness of the frosted boughs awed us. Beyond that there was a lane between ranks of young, balsamy, white-misted firs and then an open pasture field, sere and crispy. Just across it was the Pinery, a lovely old house with dormer windows in the roof, surrounded by pines that were dark and glorious against the silvery morning sky.

  The McGinnis dog was sitting on the back-door steps when we arrived. He wagged his tail ingratiatingly, but we ruthlessly pushed him off, went in and shut the door in his face. All the little McGinnises were sitting in a row on their fence, and they whooped derisively. The McGinnis manners are not those which appertain to the caste of Vere de Vere; but we rather like the urchins — there are eight of them — and we would probably have gone over to talk to them if we had not had the fear of Aunt Susanna before our eyes.

  We kindled the fires, weighed the turkey, put it in the oven and prepared the vegetables. Then we set the dining-room table and decorated it with Aunt Susanna’s potted ferns and dishes of lovely red apples. Everything went so smoothly that we soon forgot to be nervous. When the turkey was done, we took it out, set it on the back of the range to keep warm and put the mince pies in. The potatoes, cabbage and turnips were bubbling away cheerfully, and everything was going as merrily as a marriage bell. Then, all at once, things happened.

  In an evil hour we went to the yard window and looked out. We saw a quiet scene. The McGinnis dog was still sitting on his haunches by the steps, just as he had been sitting all the morning. Down in the McGinnis yard everything wore an unusually peaceful aspect. Only one McGinnis was in sight — Tony, aged eight, who was perched up on the edge of the well box, swinging his legs and singing at the top of his melodious Irish voice. All at once, just as we were looking at him, Tony went over backward and apparently tumbled head foremost down his father’s well.

  Kate and I screamed simultaneously. We tore across the kitchen, flung open the door, plunged down over Aunt Susanna’s yard, scrambled over the fence and flew to the well. Just as we reached it, Tony’s red head appeared as he climbed serenely out over the box. I don’t know whether I felt more relieved or furious. He had merely fallen on the blank guard inside the box: and there are times when I am tempted to think he fell on purpose because he saw Kate and me looking out at the window. At least he didn’t seem at all frightened, and grinned most impishly at us.

  Kate and I turned on our heels and marched back in as dignified a manner as was possible under the circumstances. Half way up Aunt Susanna’s yard we forgot dignity and broke into a run. We had left the door open and the McGinnis dog had disappeared.

  Never shall I forget the sight we saw or the smell we smelled when we burst into that kitchen. There on the floor was the McGinnis dog and what was left of Aunt Susanna’s Thanksgiving turkey. As for the smell, imagine a commingled odor of scorching turnips and burning mince pies, and you have it.

  The dog fled out with a guilty yelp. I groaned and snatched the turnips off. Kate threw open the oven door and dragged out the pies. Pies and turnips were ruined as irretrievably as the turkey.

  “Oh, what shall we do?” I cried miserably. I knew Margaret’s chance of college was gone forever.

  “Do!” Kate was superb. She didn’t lose her wits for a second. “We’ll go home and borrow the girls’ dinner. Quick — there’s just ten minutes before train time. Throw those pies and turnips into this basket — the turkey too — we’ll carry them with us to hide them.”

  I might not be able to evolve an idea like that on the spur of the moment, but I can at least act up to it when it is presented. Without a moment’s delay we shut the door and ran. As we went I saw the McGinnis dog licking his chops over in their yard. I have been ashamed ever since of my feelings toward that dog. They were murderous. Fortunately I had no time to indulge them.

  It is ten minutes walk from the Pinery to our house, but you can run it in five. Kate and I burst into the kitchen just as Laura and Margaret were sitting down to dinner. We had neither time nor breath for explanations. Without a word I grasped the turkey platter and the turnip tureen. Kate caught one hot mince pie from the oven and whisked a cold one out of the pantry.

  “We’ve — got — to have — them,” was all she said.

  I’ve always said that Laura and Magsie would rise to any occasion. They saw us carry their Thanksgiving dinner off under their very eyes and they never interfered by word or motion. They didn’t even worry us with questions. They realized that something desperate had happened and that the emergency called for deed not words.

  “Aggie,” gasped Kate behind me as we tore through the birch wood, “the border — of these pies — is crimped — differently — from Aunt Susanna’s.”

  “She — won’t know — the difference,” I panted. “Miranda — Mary — crimps them.”

  We got back to the Pinery just as the train whistle blew. We had ten minutes to transfer turkey and turnips to Aunt Susanna’s dishes, hide our own, air the kitchen, and get back our breath. We accomplished it. When Aunt Susanna and her guests came we were prepared for them: we were calm — outwardly — and the second mince pie was getting hot in the oven. It was ready by the time it was needed. Fortunately our turkey was the same size as Aunt Susanna’s, and Laura had cooked a double supply of turnips, intending to warm them up the next day. Still, all things considered, Kate and I didn’t enjoy that dinner much. We kept thinking of poor Laura and Magsie at home, dining off potatoes on Thanksgiving!

  But at least Aunt Susanna was satisfied. When Kate and I were washing the dishes she came out quite beamingly.

  “Well, my dears, I must admit that you made a very good job of the dinner, indeed. The turkey was done to perfection. As for the mince pies — well, of course Miranda Mary made them, but she must have had extra good luck with them, for they were excellent and heated to just the right degree. You didn�
��t give anything to the McGinnis dog, I hope?”

  “No, we didn’t give him anything,” said Kate.

  Aunt Susanna did not notice the emphasis.

  When we had finished the dishes we smuggled our platter and tureen out of the house and went home. Laura and Margaret were busy painting and studying and were just as sweet-tempered as if we hadn’t robbed them of their dinner. But we had to tell them the whole story before we even took off our hats.

  “There is a special Providence for children and idiots,” said Laura gently. We didn’t ask her whether she meant us or Tony McGinnis or both. There are some things better left in obscurity. I’d have probably said something much sharper than that if anybody had made off with my Thanksgiving turkey so unceremoniously.

  Aunt Susanna came down the next day and told Margaret that she would send her to college. Also she commissioned Laura to paint her a water-color for her dining-room and said she’d pay her five dollars for it.

  Kate and I were rather left out in the cold in this distribution of favors, but when you come to reflect that Laura and Magsie had really cooked that dinner, it was only just.

  Anyway, Aunt Susanna has never since insinuated that we can’t cook, and that is as much as we deserve.

  By Grace of Julius Caesar

  Melissa sent word on Monday evening that she thought we had better go round with the subscription list for cushioning the church pews on Tuesday. I sent back word that I thought we had better go on Thursday. I had no particular objection to Tuesday, but Melissa is rather fond of settling things without consulting anyone else, and I don’t believe in always letting her have her own way. Melissa is my cousin and we have always been good friends, and I am really very fond of her; but there’s no sense in lying down and letting yourself be walked over. We finally compromised on Wednesday.

  I always have a feeling of dread when I hear of any new church-project for which money will be needed, because I know perfectly well that Melissa and I will be sent round to collect for it. People say we seem to be able to get more than anybody else; and they appear to think that because Melissa is an unencumbered old maid, and I am an unencumbered widow, we can spare the time without any inconvenience to ourselves. Well, we have been canvassing for building funds, and socials, and suppers for years, but it is needed now; at least, I have had enough of it, and I should think Melissa has, too.