Rilla of Ingleside by Lucy Maud Montgomery (the top 100 crime novels of all time .txt) 📕

“About ten o’clock Gertrude went to the ‘phone and happened to catch someone from over-harbour talking to Carter Flagg. Gertrude shamelessly listened in and got for her comforting what eavesdroppers are proverbially supposed to get—to wit, unpleasant hearing; the Union Government had ‘done nothing’ in the West.

“We looked at each other in dismay. If the Government had failed to carry the West, it was defeated.

“‘Canada is disgraced in the eyes of the world,’ said Gertrude bitterly.

“‘If everybody was like the Mark Crawfords over-harbour this would not have happened,’ groaned Susan. ‘they locked their Uncle up in the barn this morning and would not let him out until he promised to vote Union. That is what I call effective argument, Mrs. Dr. dear.’

“Gertrude and I couldn’t rest after all that. We walked the floor until our legs gave out and we had to sit down perforce. Mother knitted away as steadily as clockwork and pretended to be calm and serene—pretended so well that we were all deceived and envious until the next day, when I caught her ravelling out four inches of her sock. She had knit that far past where the heel should have begun!

“It was twelve before father came home. He stood in the doorway and looked at us and we looked at him. We did not dare ask him what the news was. Then he said that it was Laurier who had ‘done nothing’ in the West, and that the Union Government was in with a big majority. Gertrude clapped her hands. I wanted to laugh and cry, mother’s eyes flashed with their old-time starriness and Susan emitted a queer sound between a gasp and a whoop.

“This will not comfort the Kaiser much,’ she said.

“Then we went to bed, but were too excited to sleep. Really, as Susan said solemnly this morning, ‘Mrs. Dr. dear, I think politics are too strenuous for women.’”

31st December 1917 “Our fourth War Christmas is over. We are trying to gather up some courage wherewith to face another year of it. Germany has, for the most part, been victorious all summer. And now they say she has all her troops from the Russian front ready for a ‘big push’ in the spring. Sometimes it seems to me that we just cannot live through the winter waiting for that.

“I had a great batch of letters from overseas this week. Shirley is at the front now, too, and writes about it all as coolly and matter-of-factly as he used to write of football at Queen’s. Carl wrote that it had been raining for weeks and that nights in the trenches always made him think of the night of long ago when he did penance in the graveyard for running away from Henry Warren’s ghost. Carl’s letters are always full of jokes and bits of fun. They had a great rat-hunt the night before he wrote—spearing rats with their bayonets—and he got the best bag and won the prize. He has a tame rat that knows him and sleeps in his pocket at night. Rats don’t worry Carl as they do some people—he was always chummy with all little beasts. He says he is making a study of the habits of the trench rat and means to write a treatise on it some day that will make him famous.

“Ken wrote a short letter. His letters are all rather short now—and he doesn’t often slip in those dear little sudden sentences I love so much. Sometimes I think he has forgotten all about the night he was here to say goodbye—and then there will be just a line or a word that makes me think he remembers and always will remember. For instance to-day’s letter hadn’t a thing in it that mightn’t have been written to any girl, except that he signed himself ‘Your Kenneth,’ instead of ‘Yours, Kenneth,’ as he usually does. Now, did he leave that ‘s’ off intentionally or was it only carelessness? I shall lie awake half the night wondering. He is a captain now. I am glad and proud—and yet Captain Ford sounds so horribly far away and high up. Ken and Captain Ford seem like two different persons. I may be practically engaged to Ken—mother’s opinion on that point is my stay and bulwark—but I can’t be to Captain Ford!

“And Jem is a lieutenant now—won his promotion on the field. He sent me a snapshot, taken in his new uniform. He looked thin and old—old— my boy-brother Jem. I can’t forget mother’s face when I showed it to her. ‘That—my little Jem—the baby of the old House of Dreams?’ was all she said.

“There was a letter from Faith, too. She is doing V.A.D. work in England and writes hopefully and brightly. I think she is almost happy—she saw Jem on his last leave and she is so near him she could go to him, if he were wounded. That means so much to her. Oh, if I were only with her! But my work is here at home. I know Walter wouldn’t have wanted me to leave mother and in everything I try to ‘keep faith’ with him, even to the little details of daily life. Walter died for Canada—I must live for her. That is what he asked me to do.”

28th January 1918 “‘I shall anchor my storm-tossed soul to the British fleet and make a batch of bran biscuits,’ said Susan today to Cousin Sophia, who had come in with some weird tale of a new and all-conquering submarine, just launched by Germany. But Susan is a somewhat disgruntled woman at present, owing to the regulations regarding cookery. Her loyalty to the Union Government is being sorely tried. It surmounted the first strain gallantly. When the order about flour came Susan said, quite cheerfully, ‘I am an old dog to be learning new tricks, but I shall learn to make war bread if it will help defeat the Huns.’

“But the later suggestions went against Susan’s grain. Had it not been for father’s decree I think she would have snapped her fingers at Sir Robert Borden.

“‘Talk about trying to make bricks without straw, Mrs. Dr. dear! How am I to make a cake without butter or sugar? It cannot be done—not cake that is cake. Of course one can make a slab, Mrs. Dr. dear. And we cannot even camooflash it with a little icing! To think that I should have lived to see the day when a government at Ottawa should step into my kitchen and put me on rations!’

“Susan would give the last drop of her blood for her ‘king and country,’ but to surrender her beloved recipes is a very different and much more serious matter.

“I had letters from Nan and Di too—or rather notes. They are too busy to write letters, for exams are looming up. They will graduate in Arts this spring. I am evidently to be the dunce of the family. But somehow I never had any hankering for a college course, and even now it doesn’t appeal to me. I’m afraid I’m rather devoid of ambition. There is only one thing I really want to be—and I don’t know if I’ll be it or not. If not—I don’t want to be anything. But I shan’t write it down. It is all right to think it; but, as Cousin Sophia would say, it might be brazen to write it down.

“I will write it down. I won’t be cowed by the conventions and Cousin Sophia! I want to be Kenneth Ford’s wife! There now!

“I’ve just looked in the glass, and I hadn’t the sign of a blush on my face. I suppose I’m not a properly constructed damsel at all.

“I was down to see little Dog Monday today. He has grown quite stiff and rheumatic but there he sat, waiting for the train. He thumped his tail and looked pleadingly into my eyes. ‘When will Jem come?’ he seemed to say. Oh, Dog Monday, there is no answer to that question; and there is, as yet, no answer to the other which we are all constantly asking ‘What will happen when Germany strikes again on the western front—her one great, last blow for victory!”

1st March 1918 “‘What will spring bring?’ Gertrude said today. ‘I dread it as I never dreaded spring before. Do you suppose there will ever again come a time when life will be free from fear? For almost four years we have lain down with fear and risen up with it. It has been the unbidden guest at every meal, the unwelcome companion at every gathering.’

“‘Hindenburg says he will be in Paris on 1st April,’ sighed Cousin Sophia.

“‘Hindenburg!’ There is no power in pen and ink to express the contempt which Susan infused into that name. ‘Has he forgotten what day the first of April is?’

“‘Hindenburg has kept his word hitherto,’ said Gertrude, as gloomily as Cousin Sophia herself could have said it.

“‘Yes, fighting against the Russians and Rumanians,’ retorted Susan. ‘Wait you till he comes up against the British and French, not to speak of the Yankees, who are getting there as fast as they can and will no doubt give a good account of themselves.’

“‘You said just the same thing before Mons, Susan,’ I reminded her.

“‘Hindenburg says he will spend a million lives to break the Allied front,’ said Gertrude. ‘At such a price he must purchase some successes and how can we live through them, even if he is baffled in the end. These past two months when we have been crouching and waiting for the blow to fall have seemed as long as all the preceding months of the war put together. I work all day feverishly and waken at three o’clock at night to wonder if the iron legions have struck at last. It is then I see Hindenburg in Paris and Germany triumphant. I never see her so at any other time than that accursed hour.’

“Susan looked dubious over Gertrude’s adjective, but evidently concluded that the ‘a’ saved the situation.

“‘I wish it were possible to take some magic draught and go to sleep for the next three months—and then waken to find Armageddon over,’ said mother, almost impatiently.

“It is not often that mother slumps into a wish like that—or at least the verbal expression of it. Mother has changed a great deal since that terrible day in September when we knew that Walter would not come back; but she has always been brave and patient. Now it seemed as if even she had reached the limit of her endurance.

“Susan went over to mother and touched her shoulder.

“‘Do not you be frightened or downhearted, Mrs. Dr. dear,’ she said gently. ‘I felt somewhat that way myself last night, and I rose from my bed and lighted my lamp and opened my Bible; and what do you think was the first verse my eyes lighted upon? It was ‘And they shall fight against thee but they shall not prevail against thee, for I am with thee, saith the Lord of Hosts, to deliver thee.’ I am not gifted in the way of dreaming, as Miss Oliver is, but I knew then and there, Mrs. Dr. dear, that it was a manifest leading, and that Hindenburg will never see Paris. So I read no further but went back to my bed and I did not waken at three o’clock or at any other hour before morning.’

“I say