XXV
An Avonlea Scandal
One blithe June morning, a fortnight after Uncle Abe's storm, Anne cameslowly through the Green Gables yard from the garden, carrying in herhands two blighted stalks of white narcissus.
"Look, Marilla," she said sorrowfully, holding up the flowers before theeyes of a grim lady, with her hair coifed in a green gingham apron, whowas going into the house with a plucked chicken, "these are the onlybuds the storm spared . . . and even they are imperfect. I'm so sorry. . . I wanted some for Matthew's grave. He was always so fond of Junelilies."
"I kind of miss them myself," admitted Marilla, "though it doesn't seemright to lament over them when so many worse things have happened. . .all the crops destroyed as well as the fruit."
"But people have sown their oats over again," said Anne comfortingly,"and Mr. Harrison says he thinks if we have a good summer they will comeout all right though late. And my annuals are all coming up again . . .but oh, nothing can replace the June lilies. Poor little Hester Graywill have none either. I went all the way back to her garden last nightbut there wasn't one. I'm sure she'll miss them."
"I don't think it's right for you to say such things, Anne, I reallydon't," said Marilla severely. "Hester Gray has been dead for thirtyyears and her spirit is in heaven . . . I hope."
"Yes, but I believe she loves and remembers her garden here still," saidAnne. "I'm sure no matter how long I'd lived in heaven I'd like to lookdown and see somebody putting flowers on my grave. If I had had a gardenhere like Hester Gray's it would take me more than thirty years, even inheaven, to forget being homesick for it by spells."
"Well, don't let the twins hear you talking like that," was Marilla'sfeeble protest, as she carried her chicken into the house.
Anne pinned her narcissi on her hair and went to the lane gate, whereshe stood for awhile sunning herself in the June brightness beforegoing in to attend to her Saturday morning duties. The world was growinglovely again; old Mother Nature was doing her best to remove the tracesof the storm, and, though she was not to succeed fully for many a moon,she was really accomplishing wonders.
"I wish I could just be idle all day today," Anne told a bluebird, whowas singing and swinging on a willow bough, "but a schoolma'am, who isalso helping to bring up twins, can't indulge in laziness, birdie. Howsweet you are singing, little bird. You are just putting the feelings ofmy heart into song ever so much better than I could myself. Why, who iscoming?"
An express wagon was jolting up the lane, with two people on the frontseat and a big trunk behind. When it drew near Anne recognized thedriver as the son of the station agent at Bright River; but hiscompanion was a stranger . . . a scrap of a woman who sprang nimbly downat the gate almost before the horse came to a standstill. She was a verypretty little person, evidently nearer fifty than forty, but with rosycheeks, sparkling black eyes, and shining black hair, surmounted bya wonderful beflowered and beplumed bonnet. In spite of having driveneight miles over a dusty road she was as neat as if she had just steppedout of the proverbial bandbox.
"Is this where Mr. James A. Harrison lives?" she inquired briskly.
"No, Mr. Harrison lives over there," said Anne, quite lost inastonishment.
"Well, I DID think this place seemed too tidy . . . MUCH too tidy forJames A. to be living here, unless he has greatly changed since I knewhim," chirped the little lady. "Is it true that James A. is going to bemarried to some woman living in this settlement?"
"No, oh no," cried Anne, flushing so guiltily that the stranger lookedcuriously at her, as if she half suspected her of matrimonial designs onMr. Harrison.
"But I saw it in an Island paper," persisted the Fair Unknown. "A friendsent a marked copy to me . . . friends are always so ready to do suchthings. James A.'s name was written in over 'new citizen.'"
"Oh, that note was only meant as a joke," gasped Anne. "Mr. Harrison hasno intention of marrying ANYBODY. I assure you he hasn't."
"I'm very glad to hear it," said the rosy lady, climbing nimbly back toher seat in the wagon, "because he happens to be married already. _I_am his wife. Oh, you may well look surprised. I suppose he has beenmasquerading as a bachelor and breaking hearts right and left. Well,well, James A.," nodding vigorously over the fields at the long whitehouse, "your fun is over. I am here . . . though I wouldn't have botheredcoming if I hadn't thought you were up to some mischief. I suppose,"turning to Anne, "that parrot of his is as profane as ever?"
"His parrot . . . is dead . . . I THINK," gasped poor Anne, who couldn'thave felt sure of her own name at that precise moment.
"Dead! Everything will be all right then," cried the rosy ladyjubilantly. "I can manage James A. if that bird is out of the way."
With which cryptic utterance she went joyfully on her way and Anne flewto the kitchen door to meet Marilla.
"Anne, who was that woman?"
"Marilla," said Anne solemnly, but with dancing eyes, "do I look as if Iwere crazy?"
"Not more so than usual," said Marilla, with no thought of beingsarcastic.
"Well then, do you think I am awake?"
"Anne, what nonsense has got into you? Who was that woman, I say?"
"Marilla, if I'm not crazy and not asleep she can't be such stuff asdreams are made of . . . she must be real. Anyway, I'm sure I couldn'thave imagined such a bonnet. She says she is Mr. Harrison's wife,Marilla."
Marilla stared in her turn.
"His wife! Anne Shirley! Then what has he been passing himself off as anunmarried man for?"
"I don't suppose he did, really," said Anne, trying to be just. "Henever said he wasn't married. People simply took it for granted. OhMarilla, what will Mrs. Lynde say to this?"
They found out what Mrs. Lynde had to say when she came up that evening.Mrs. Lynde wasn't surprised! Mrs. Lynde had always expected somethingof the sort! Mrs. Lynde had always known there was SOMETHING about Mr.Harrison!
"To think of his deserting his wife!" she said indignantly. "It's likesomething you'd read of in the States, but who would expect such a thingto happen right here in Avonlea?"
"But we don't know that he deserted her," protested Anne, determined tobelieve her friend innocent till he was proved guilty. "We don't knowthe rights of it at all."
"Well, we soon will. I'm going straight over there," said Mrs. Lynde,who had never learned that there was such a word as delicacy in thedictionary. "I'm not supposed to know anything about her arrival, andMr. Harrison was to bring some medicine for Thomas from Carmody today,so that will be a good excuse. I'll find out the whole story and come inand tell you on the way back."
Mrs. Lynde rushed in where Anne had feared to tread. Nothing would haveinduced the latter to go over to the Harrison place; but she had hernatural and proper share of curiosity and she felt secretly glad thatMrs. Lynde was going to solve the mystery. She and Marilla waitedexpectantly for that good lady's return, but waited in vain. Mrs. Lyndedid not revisit Green Gables that night. Davy, arriving home at nineo'clock from the Boulter place, explained why.
"I met Mrs. Lynde and some strange woman in the Hollow," he said, "andgracious, how they were talking both at once! Mrs. Lynde said to tellyou she was sorry it was too late to call tonight. Anne, I'm awfulhungry. We had tea at Milty's at four and I think Mrs. Boulter is realmean. She didn't give us any preserves or cake . . . and even the breadwas skurce."
"Davy, when you go visiting you must never criticize anything you aregiven to eat," said Anne solemnly. "It is very bad manners."
"All right . . . I'll only think it," said Davy cheerfully. "Do give afellow some supper, Anne."
Anne looked at Marilla, who followed her into the pantry and shut thedoor cautiously.
"You can give him some jam on his bread, I know what tea at LeviBoulter's is apt to be."
Davy took his slice of bread and jam with a sigh.
"It's a kind of disappointing world after all," he remarked. "Milty hasa cat that takes fits . . . she's took a fit regular every day for threeweeks. Milty
says it's awful fun to watch her. I went down today onpurpose to see her have one but the mean old thing wouldn't take a fitand just kept healthy as healthy, though Milty and me hung round allthe afternoon and waited. But never mind" . . . Davy brightened up as theinsidious comfort of the plum jam stole into his soul . . . "maybe I'llsee her in one sometime yet. It doesn't seem likely she'd stop havingthem all at once when she's been so in the habit of it, does it? Thisjam is awful nice."
Davy had no sorrows that plum jam could not cure.
Sunday proved so rainy that there was no stirring abroad; but by Mondayeverybody had heard some version of the Harrison story. The schoolbuzzed with it and Davy came home, full of information.
"Marilla, Mr. Harrison has a new wife . . . well, not ezackly new, butthey've stopped being married for quite a spell, Milty says. I alwayss'posed people had to keep on being married once they'd begun, but Miltysays no, there's ways of stopping if you can't agree. Milty says one wayis just to start off and leave your wife, and that's what Mr. Harrisondid. Milty says Mr. Harrison left his wife because she throwed things athim . . . HARD things . . . and Arty Sloane says it was because shewouldn't let him smoke, and Ned Clay says it was 'cause she never let upscolding him. I wouldn't leave MY wife for anything like that. I'd justput my foot down and say, 'Mrs. Davy, you've just got to do what'llplease ME 'cause I'm a MAN.' THAT'D settle her pretty quick I guess. ButAnnetta Clay says SHE left HIM because he wouldn't scrape his boots atthe door and she doesn't blame her. I'm going right over to Mr.Harrison's this minute to see what she's like."
Davy soon returned, somewhat cast down.
"Mrs. Harrison was away . . . she's gone to Carmody with Mrs. Rachel Lyndeto get new paper for the parlor. And Mr. Harrison said to tell Anne togo over and see him 'cause he wants to have a talk with her. And say,the floor is scrubbed, and Mr. Harrison is shaved, though there wasn'tany preaching yesterday."
The Harrison kitchen wore a very unfamiliar look to Anne. The floor wasindeed scrubbed to a wonderful pitch of purity and so was every articleof furniture in the room; the stove was polished until she could see herface in it; the walls were whitewashed and the window panes sparkledin the sunlight. By the table sat Mr. Harrison in his working clothes,which on Friday had been noted for sundry rents and tatters but whichwere now neatly patched and brushed. He was sprucely shaved and whatlittle hair he had was carefully trimmed.
"Sit down, Anne, sit down," said Mr. Harrison in a tone but two degreesremoved from that which Avonlea people used at funerals. "Emily'sgone over to Carmody with Rachel Lynde . . . she's struck up a lifelongfriendship already with Rachel Lynde. Beats all how contrary womenare. Well, Anne, my easy times are over . . . all over. It's neatness andtidiness for me for the rest of my natural life, I suppose."
Mr. Harrison did his best to speak dolefully, but an irrepressibletwinkle in his eye betrayed him.
"Mr. Harrison, you are glad your wife is come back," cried Anne, shakingher finger at him. "You needn't pretend you're not, because I can see itplainly."
Mr. Harrison relaxed into a sheepish smile.
"Well . . . well . . . I'm getting used to it," he conceded. "I can't sayI was sorry to see Emily. A man really needs some protection in acommunity like this, where he can't play a game of checkers with aneighbor without being accused of wanting to marry that neighbor'ssister and having it put in the paper."
"Nobody would have supposed you went to see Isabella Andrews if youhadn't pretended to be unmarried," said Anne severely.
"I didn't pretend I was. If anybody'd have asked me if I was married I'dhave said I was. But they just took it for granted. I wasn't anxious totalk about the matter . . . I was feeling too sore over it. It would havebeen nuts for Mrs. Rachel Lynde if she had known my wife had left me,wouldn't it now?"
"But some people say that you left her."
"She started it, Anne, she started it. I'm going to tell you the wholestory, for I don't want you to think worse of me than I deserve . . . norof Emily neither. But let's go out on the veranda. Everything is sofearful neat in here that it kind of makes me homesick. I suppose I'llget used to it after awhile but it eases me up to look at the yard.Emily hasn't had time to tidy it up yet."
As soon as they were comfortably seated on the veranda Mr. Harrisonbegan his tale of woe.
"I lived in Scottsford, New Brunswick, before I came here, Anne. Mysister kept house for me and she suited me fine; she was just reasonablytidy and she let me alone and spoiled me . . . so Emily says. But threeyears ago she died. Before she died she worried a lot about what wasto become of me and finally she got me to promise I'd get married. Sheadvised me to take Emily Scott because Emily had money of her own andwas a pattern housekeeper. I said, says I, 'Emily Scott wouldn't look atme.' 'You ask her and see,' says my sister; and just to ease her mind Ipromised her I would . . . and I did. And Emily said she'd have me. Neverwas so surprised in my life, Anne . . . a smart pretty little woman likeher and an old fellow like me. I tell you I thought at first I was inluck. Well, we were married and took a little wedding trip to St. Johnfor a fortnight and then we went home. We got home at ten o'clock atnight, and I give you my word, Anne, that in half an hour that woman wasat work housecleaning. Oh, I know you're thinking my house needed it . . .you've got a very expressive face, Anne; your thoughts just come outon it like print . . . but it didn't, not that bad. It had got prettymixed up while I was keeping bachelor's hall, I admit, but I'd got awoman to come in and clean it up before I was married and there'd beenconsiderable painting and fixing done. I tell you if you took Emily intoa brand new white marble palace she'd be into the scrubbing as soon asshe could get an old dress on. Well, she cleaned house till one o'clockthat night and at four she was up and at it again. And she kept on thatway . . . far's I could see she never stopped. It was scour and sweep anddust everlasting, except on Sundays, and then she was just longing forMonday to begin again. But it was her way of amusing herself and Icould have reconciled myself to it if she'd left me alone. But thatshe wouldn't do. She'd set out to make me over but she hadn't caught meyoung enough. I wasn't allowed to come into the house unless I changedmy boots for slippers at the door. I darsn't smoke a pipe for my lifeunless I went to the barn. And I didn't use good enough grammar. Emily'dbeen a schoolteacher in her early life and she'd never got over it. Thenshe hated to see me eating with my knife. Well, there it was, pick andnag everlasting. But I s'pose, Anne, to be fair, _I_ was cantankeroustoo. I didn't try to improve as I might have done . . . I just got crankyand disagreeable when she found fault. I told her one day she hadn'tcomplained of my grammar when I proposed to her. It wasn't an overlytactful thing to say. A woman would forgive a man for beating her soonerthan for hinting she was too much pleased to get him. Well, we bickeredalong like that and it wasn't exactly pleasant, but we might have gotused to each other after a spell if it hadn't been for Ginger. Gingerwas the rock we split on at last. Emily didn't like parrots and shecouldn't stand Ginger's profane habits of speech. I was attached to thebird for my brother the sailor's sake. My brother the sailor was a petof mine when we were little tads and he'd sent Ginger to me when he wasdying. I didn't see any sense in getting worked up over his swearing.There's nothing I hate worse'n profanity in a human being, but in aparrot, that's just repeating what it's heard with no more understandingof it than I'd have of Chinese, allowances might be made. But Emilycouldn't see it that way. Women ain't logical. She tried to break Gingerof swearing but she hadn't any better success than she had in trying tomake me stop saying 'I seen' and 'them things.' Seemed as if the moreshe tried the worse Ginger got, same as me.
"Well, things went on like this, both of us getting raspier, till theCLIMAX came. Emily invited our minister and his wife to tea, and anotherminister and HIS wife that was visiting them. I'd promised to put Gingeraway in some safe place where nobody would hear him . . . Emily wouldn'ttouch his cage with a ten-foot pole . . . and I meant to do it, for Ididn't want the ministers to hear anything unpleasant in my house. Butit slipped my
mind . . . Emily was worrying me so much about clean collarsand grammar that it wasn't any wonder . . . and I never thought of thatpoor parrot till we sat down to tea. Just as minister number one was inthe very middle of saying grace, Ginger, who was on the veranda outsidethe dining room window, lifted up HIS voice. The gobbler had come intoview in the yard and the sight of a gobbler always had an unwholesomeeffect on Ginger. He surpassed himself that time. You can smile, Anne,and I don't deny I've chuckled some over it since myself, but at thetime I felt almost as much mortified as Emily. I went out and carriedGinger to the barn. I can't say I enjoyed the meal. I knew by the lookof Emily that there was trouble brewing for Ginger and James A. When thefolks went away I started for the cow pasture and on the way I did somethinking. I felt sorry for Emily and kind of fancied I hadn't been sothoughtful of her as I might; and besides, I wondered if the ministerswould think that Ginger had learned his vocabulary from me. The longand short of it was, I decided that Ginger would have to be mercifullydisposed of and when I'd druv the cows home I went in to tell Emilyso. But there was no Emily and there was a letter on the table . . . justaccording to the rule in story books. Emily writ that I'd have to choosebetween her and Ginger; she'd gone back to her own house and there shewould stay till I went and told her I'd got rid of that parrot.
"I was all riled up, Anne, and I said she might stay till doomsday ifshe waited for that; and I stuck to it. I packed up her belongings andsent them after her. It made an awful lot of talk . . . Scottsford waspretty near as bad as Avonlea for gossip . . . and everybody sympathizedwith Emily. It kept me all cross and cantankerous and I saw I'd have toget out or I'd never have any peace. I concluded I'd come to the Island.I'd been here when I was a boy and I liked it; but Emily had always saidshe wouldn't live in a place where folks were scared to walk out afterdark for fear they'd fall off the edge. So, just to be contrary, I movedover here. And that's all there is to it. I hadn't ever heard a wordfrom or about Emily till I come home from the back field Saturday andfound her scrubbing the floor but with the first decent dinner I'd hadsince she left me all ready on the table. She told me to eat it firstand then we'd talk . . . by which I concluded that Emily had learned somelessons about getting along with a man. So she's here and she's going tostay . . . seeing that Ginger's dead and the Island's some bigger than shethought. There's Mrs. Lynde and her now. No, don't go, Anne. Stay andget acquainted with Emily. She took quite a notion to you Saturday . . .wanted to know who that handsome redhaired girl was at the next house."
Mrs. Harrison welcomed Anne radiantly and insisted on her staying totea.
"James A. has been telling me all about you and how kind you've been,making cakes and things for him," she said. "I want to get acquaintedwith all my new neighbors just as soon as possible. Mrs. Lynde is alovely woman, isn't she? So friendly."
When Anne went home in the sweet June dusk, Mrs. Harrison went with heracross the fields where the fireflies were lighting their starry lamps.
"I suppose," said Mrs. Harrison confidentially, "that James A. has toldyou our story?"
"Yes."
"Then I needn't tell it, for James A. is a just man and he would tellthe truth. The blame was far from being all on his side. I can see thatnow. I wasn't back in my own house an hour before I wished I hadn't beenso hasty but I wouldn't give in. I see now that I expected too much ofa man. And I was real foolish to mind his bad grammar. It doesn't matterif a man does use bad grammar so long as he is a good provider anddoesn't go poking round the pantry to see how much sugar you've usedin a week. I feel that James A. and I are going to be real happy now.I wish I knew who 'Observer' is, so that I could thank him. I owe him areal debt of gratitude."
Anne kept her own counsel and Mrs. Harrison never knew that hergratitude found its way to its object. Anne felt rather bewilderedover the far-reaching consequences of those foolish "notes." They hadreconciled a man to his wife and made the reputation of a prophet.
Mrs. Lynde was in the Green Gables kitchen. She had been telling thewhole story to Marilla.
"Well, and how do you like Mrs. Harrison?" she asked Anne.
"Very much. I think she's a real nice little woman."
"That's exactly what she is," said Mrs. Rachel with emphasis, "and asI've just been sayin' to Marilla, I think we ought all to overlook Mr.Harrison's peculiarities for her sake and try to make her feel at homehere, that's what. Well, I must get back. Thomas'll be wearying for me.I get out a little since Eliza came and he's seemed a lot better thesepast few days, but I never like to be long away from him. I hear GilbertBlythe has resigned from White Sands. He'll be off to college in thefall, I suppose."
Mrs. Rachel looked sharply at Anne, but Anne was bending over a sleepyDavy nodding on the sofa and nothing was to be read in her face. Shecarried Davy away, her oval girlish cheek pressed against his curlyyellow head. As they went up the stairs Davy flung a tired arm aboutAnne's neck and gave her a warm hug and a sticky kiss.
"You're awful nice, Anne. Milty Boulter wrote on his slate today andshowed it to Jennie Sloane,
"'Roses red and vi'lets blue, Sugar's sweet, and so are you"
and that 'spresses my feelings for you ezackly, Anne."
Anne of Avonlea Page 25
