Anne's House of Dreams by Lucy Maud Montgomery (crime books to read TXT) 📕

“And Persis Leigh was on board?” asked Anne.

“Yes—her and the captain’s wife. They’d had an awful passage— storm after storm—and their provisions give out, too. But there they were at last. When Persis Leigh stepped onto the old wharf John Selwyn took her in his arms—and folks stopped cheering and begun to cry. I cried myself, though ‘twas years, mind you, afore I’d admit it. Ain’t it funny how ashamed boys are of tears?”

“Was Persis Leigh beautiful?” asked Anne.

“Well, I don’t know that you’d call her beautiful exactly—I— don’t—know,” said Captain Jim slowly. “Somehow, you never got so far along as to wonder if she was handsome or not. It jest didn’t matter. There was something so sweet and winsome about her that you had to love her, that was all. But she was pleasant to look at—big, clear, hazel eyes and heaps of glossy brown hair, and an English skin. John and her were married at our house that night at early candlelighting; everybody from far and near was there to see it and we all brought them down here afterwards. Mistress Selwyn lighted the fire, and we went away and left them sitting here, jest as John had seen in that vision of his. A strange thing—a strange thing! But I’ve seen a turrible lot of strange things in my time.”

Captain Jim shook his head sagely.

“It’s a dear story,” said Anne, feeling that for once she had got enough romance to satisfy her. “How long did they live here?”

“Fifteen years. I ran off to sea soon after they were married, like the young scalawag I was. But every time I come back from a voyage I’d head for here, even before I went home, and tell Mistress Selwyn all about it. Fifteen happy years! They had a sort of talent for happiness, them two. Some folks are like that, if you’ve noticed. They COULDN’T be unhappy for long, no matter what happened. They quarrelled once or twice, for they was both high-sperrited. But Mistress Selwyn says to me once, says she, laughing in that pretty way of hers, `I felt dreadful when John and I quarrelled, but underneath it all I was very happy because I had such a nice husband to quarrel with and make it up with.’ Then they moved to Charlottetown, and Ned Russell bought this house and brought his bride here. They were a gay young pair, as I remember them. Miss Elizabeth Russell was Alec’s sister. She came to live with them a year or so later, and she was a creature of mirth, too. The walls of this house must be sorter SOAKED with laughing and good times. You’re the third bride I’ve seen come here, Mistress Blythe—and the handsomest.”

Captain Jim contrived to give his sunflower compliment the delicacy of a violet, and Anne wore it proudly. She was looking her best that night, with the bridal rose on her cheeks and the love-light in her eyes; even gruff old Doctor Dave gave her an approving glance, and told his wife, as they drove home together, that that red-headed wife of the boy’s was something of a beauty.

“I must be getting back to the light,” announced Captain Jim. “I’ve enj’yed this evening something tremenjus.”

” You must come often to see us,” said Anne.

“I wonder if you’d give that invitation if you knew how likely I’ll be to accept it,” Captain Jim remarked whimsically.

“Which is another way of saying you wonder if I mean it,” smiled Anne. “I do, `cross my heart,’ as we used to say at school.”

“Then I’ll come. You’re likely to be pestered with me at any hour. And I’ll be proud to have you drop down and visit me now and then, too. Gin’rally I haven’t anyone to talk to but the First Mate, bless his sociable heart. He’s a mighty good listener, and has forgot more’n any MacAllister of them all ever knew, but he isn’t much of a conversationalist. You’re young and I’m old, but our souls are about the same age, I reckon. We both belong to the race that knows Joseph, as Cornelia Bryant would say.”

“The race that knows Joseph?” puzzled Anne.

“Yes. Cornelia divides all the folks in the world into two kinds— the race that knows Joseph and the race that don’t. If a person sorter sees eye to eye with you, and has pretty much the same ideas about things, and the same taste in jokes—why, then he belongs to the race that knows Joseph.”

“Oh, I understand,” exclaimed Anne, light breaking in upon her.

“It’s what I used to call—and still call in quotation marks `kindred spirits.’”

“Jest so—jest so,” agreed Captain Jim. “We’re it, whatever IT is. When you come in tonight, Mistress Blythe, I says to myself, says I, `Yes, she’s of the race that knows Joseph.’ And mighty glad I was, for if it wasn’t so we couldn’t have had any real satisfaction in each other’s company. The race that knows Joseph is the salt of the airth, I reckon.”

The moon had just risen when Anne and Gilbert went to the door with their guests. Four Winds Harbor was beginning to be a thing of dream and glamour and enchantment—a spellbound haven where no tempest might ever ravin. The Lombardies down the lane, tall and sombre as the priestly forms of some mystic band, were tipped with silver.

“Always liked Lombardies,” said Captain Jim, waving a long arm at them. “They’re the trees of princesses. They’re out of fashion now. Folks complain that they die at the top and get ragged-looking. So they do—so they do, if you don’t risk your neck every spring climbing up a light ladder to trim them out. I always did it for Miss Elizabeth, so her Lombardies never got out-at-elbows. She was especially fond of them. She liked their dignity and stand-offishness. THEY don’t hobnob with every Tom, Dick and Harry. If it’s maples for company, Mistress Blythe, it’s Lombardies for society.”

“What a beautiful night,” said Mrs. Doctor Dave, as she climbed into the Doctor’s buggy.

“Most nights are beautiful,” said Captain Jim. “But I ‘low that moonlight over Four Winds makes me sorter wonder what’s left for heaven. The moon’s a great friend of mine, Mistress Blythe. I’ve loved her ever since I can remember. When I was a little chap of eight I fell asleep in the garden one evening and wasn’t missed. I woke up along in the night and I was most scared to death. What shadows and queer noises there was! I dursn’t move. Jest crouched there quaking, poor small mite. Seemed ‘sif there weren’t anyone in the world but meself and it was mighty big. Then all at once I saw the moon looking down at me through the apple boughs, jest like an old friend. I was comforted right off. Got up and walked to the house as brave as a lion, looking at her. Many’s the night I’ve watched her from the deck of my vessel, on seas far away from here. Why don’t you folks tell me to take in the slack of my jaw and go home?”

The laughter of the goodnights died away. Anne and Gilbert walked hand in hand around their garden. The brook that ran across the corner dimpled pellucidly in the shadows of the birches. The poppies along its banks were like shallow cups of moonlight. Flowers that had been planted by the hands of the schoolmaster’s bride flung their sweetness on the shadowy air, like the beauty and blessing of sacred yesterdays. Anne paused in the gloom to gather a spray.

“I love to smell flowers in the dark,” she said. “You get hold of their soul then. Oh, Gilbert, this little house is all I’ve dreamed it. And I’m so glad that we are not the first who have kept bridal tryst here!”