Anne's House of Dreams - Lucy Maud Montgomery (ebook reader macos .txt) š
- Author: Lucy Maud Montgomery
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āLord, dearie, everybody in Four Winds knows poor Leslieās story. Itās no secretāthe OUTSIDE, that is. Nobody knows the INSIDE but Leslie herself, and she doesnāt take folks into her confidence. Iām about the best friend she has on earth, I reckon, and sheās never uttered a word of complaint to me. Have you ever seen Dick Moore?ā
āNo.ā
āWell, I may as well begin at the beginning and tell you everything straight through, so youāll understand it. As I said, Leslieās father was Frank West. He was clever and shiftlessājust like a man. Oh, he had heaps of brainsāand much good they did him! He started to go to college, and he went for two years, and then his health broke down. The Wests were all inclined to be consumptive. So Frank came home and started farming. He married Rose Elliott from over harbor. Rose was reckoned the beauty of Four WindsāLeslie takes her looks from her mother, but she has ten times the spirit and go that Rose had, and a far better figure. Now you know, Anne, I always take the ground that us women ought to stand by each other. Weāve got enough to endure at the hands of the men, the Lord knows, so I hold we hadnāt ought to clapper-claw one another, and it isnāt often youāll find me running down another woman. But I never had much use for Rose Elliott. She was spoiled to begin with, believe ME, and she was nothing but a lazy, selfish, whining creature. Frank was no hand to work, so they were poor as Jobās turkey. Poor! They lived on potatoes and point, believe ME. They had two childrenāLeslie and Kenneth. Leslie had her motherās looks and her fatherās brains, and something she didnāt get from either of them. She took after her Grandmother Westāa splendid old lady. She was the brightest, friendliest, merriest thing when she was a child, Anne. Everybody liked her. She was her fatherās favorite and she was awful fond of him. They were `chums,ā as she used to say. She couldnāt see any of his faultsāand he WAS a taking sort of man in some ways.
āWell, when Leslie was twelve years old, the first dreadful thing happened. She worshipped little Kennethāhe was four years younger than her, and he WAS a dear little chap. And he was killed one dayāfell off a big load of hay just as it was going into the barn, and the wheel went right over his little body and crushed the life out of it. And mind you, Anne, Leslie saw it. She was looking down from the loft. She gave one screechāthe hired man said he never heard such a sound in all his lifeāhe said it would ring in his ears till Gabrielās trump drove it out. But she never screeched or cried again about it. She jumped from the loft onto the load and from the load to the floor, and caught up the little bleeding, warm, dead body, Anneāthey had to tear it from her before she would let it go. They sent for meāI canāt talk of it.ā
Miss Cornelia wiped the tears from her kindly brown eyes and sewed in bitter silence for a few minutes.
āWell,ā she resumed, āit was all overāthey buried little Kenneth in that graveyard over the harbor, and after a while Leslie went back to her school and her studies. She never mentioned Kennethās nameāIāve never heard it cross her lips from that day to this. I reckon that old hurt still aches and burns at times; but she was only a child and time is real kind to children, Anne, dearie. After a while she began to laugh againāshe had the prettiest laugh. You donāt often hear it now.ā
āI heard it once the other night,ā said Anne. āIt IS a beautiful laugh.ā
āFrank West began to go down after Kennethās death. He wasnāt strong and it was a shock to him, because he was real fond of the child, though, as Iāve said, Leslie was his favorite. He got mopy and melancholy, and couldnāt or wouldnāt work. And one day, when Leslie was fourteen years of age, he hanged himselfāand in the parlor, too, mind you, Anne, right in the middle of the parlor from the lamp hook in the ceiling. Wasnāt that like a man? It was the anniversary of his wedding day, too. Nice, tasty time to pick for it, wasnāt it? And, of course, that poor Leslie had to be the one to find him. She went into the parlor that morning, singing, with some fresh flowers for the vases, and there she saw her father hanging from the ceiling, his face as black as a coal. It was something awful, believe ME!ā
āOh, how horrible!ā said Anne, shuddering. āThe poor, poor child!ā
āLeslie didnāt cry at her fatherās funeral any more then she had cried at Kennethās. Rose whooped and howled for two, however, and Leslie had all she could do trying to calm and comfort her mother. I was disgusted with Rose and so was everyone else, but Leslie never got out of patience. She loved her mother. Leslie is clannishāher own could never do wrong in her eyes. Well, they buried Frank West beside Kenneth, and Rose put up a great big monument to him. It was bigger than his character, believe ME! Anyhow, it was bigger than Rose could afford, for the farm was mortgaged for more than its value. But not long after Leslieās old grandmother West died and she left Leslie a little moneyāenough to give her a year at Queenās Academy. Leslie had made up her mind to pass for a teacher if she could, and then earn enough to put herself through Redmond College. That had been her fatherās pet schemeāhe wanted her to have what he had lost. Leslie was full of ambition and her head was chock full of brains. She went to Queenās, and she took two yearsā work in one year and got her First; and when she came home she got the Glen school. She was so happy and hopeful and full of life and eagerness. When I think of what she was then and what she is now, I sayādrat the men!ā
Miss Cornelia snipped her thread off as viciously as if, Nero-like, she was severing the neck of mankind by the stroke.
āDick Moore came into her life that summer. His father, Abner Moore, kept store at the Glen, but Dick had a sea-going streak in him from his mother; he used to sail in summer and clerk in his fatherās store in winter. He was a big, handsome fellow, with a little ugly soul. He was always wanting something till he got it, and then he stopped wanting itājust like a man. Oh, he didnāt growl at the weather when it was fine, and he was mostly real pleasant and agreeable when everything went right. But he drank a good deal, and there were some nasty stories told of him and a girl down at the fishing village. He wasnāt fit for Leslie to wipe her feet on, thatās the long and short of it. And he was a Methodist! But he was clean mad about herābecause of her good looks in the first place, and because she wouldnāt have anything to say to him in the second. He vowed heād have herāand he got her!ā
āHow did he bring it about?ā
āOh, it was an iniquitous thing! Iāll never forgive Rose West. You see, dearie, Abner Moore held the mortgage on the West farm, and the interest was overdue some years, and Dick just went and told Mrs. West that if Leslie wouldnāt marry him heād get his father to foreclose the mortgage. Rose carried on terribleāfainted and wept, and pleaded with Leslie not to let her be turned out of her home. She said it would break her heart to leave the home sheād come to as a bride. I wouldnāt have blamed her for feeling dreadful bad over itābut you wouldnāt have thought sheād be so selfish as to sacrifice her own flesh and blood because of it, would you? Well, she was.
And Leslie gave ināshe loved her mother so much she would have done anything to save her pain. She married Dick Moore. None of us knew why at the time. It wasnāt till long afterward that I found out how her mother had worried her into it. I was sure there was something wrong, though, because I knew how she had snubbed him time and again, and it wasnāt like Leslie to turn faceāabout like that. Besides, I knew that Dick Moore wasnāt the kind of man Leslie could ever fancy, in spite of his good looks and dashing ways. Of course, there was no wedding, but Rose asked me to go and see them married. I went, but I was sorry I did. Iād seen Leslieās face at her brotherās funeral and at her fatherās funeralāand now it seemed to me I was seeing it at her own funeral. But Rose was smiling as a basket of chips, believe ME!
āLeslie and Dick settled down on the West placeāRose couldnāt bear to part with her dear daughter!āand lived there for the winter. In the spring Rose took pneumonia and diedāa year too late! Leslie was heartbroken enough over it. Isnāt it terrible the way some unworthy folks are loved, while others that deserve it far more, youād think, never get much affection? As for Dick, heād had enough of quiet married lifeājust like a man. He was for up and off. He went over to Nova Scotia to visit his relationsāhis father had come from Nova Scotiaāand he wrote back to Leslie that his cousin, George Moore, was going on a voyage to Havana and he was going too. The name of the vessel was the Four Sisters and they were to be gone about nine weeks.
āIt must have been a relief to Leslie. But she never said anything. From the day of her marriage she was just what she is nowācold and proud, and keeping everyone but me at a distance. I wonāt BE kept at a distance, believe ME! Iāve just stuck to Leslie as close as I knew how in spite of everything.ā
āShe told me you were the best friend she had,ā said Anne.
āDid she?ā exclaimed Miss Cornelia delightedly. āWell, Iām real thankful to hear it. Sometimes Iāve wondered if she really did want me around at allāshe never let me think so. You must have thawed her out more than you think, or she wouldnāt have said that much itself to you. Oh, that poor, heartbroken girl! I never see Dick Moore but I want to run a knife clean through him.ā
Miss Cornelia wiped her eyes again and having relieved her feelings by her bloodthirsty wish, took up her tale.
āWell, Leslie was left over there alone. Dick had put in the crop before he went, and old Abner looked after it. The summer went by and the Four Sisters didnāt come back. The Nova Scotia Moores investigated, and found she had got to Havana and discharged her cargo and took on another and left for home; and that was all they ever found out about her. By degrees people began to talk of Dick Moore as one that was dead. Almost everyone believed that he was, though no one felt certain, for men have turned up here at the harbor after theyād been gone for years. Leslie never thought he was deadāand she was right. A thousand pities too! The next summer Captain Jim was in Havanaāthat was before he gave up the sea, of course. He thought heād
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