Anne's House of Dreams (27 page)

‘Marilla, he
has
hair – look at that fine little down all over his head. Anyway, nurse says his eyes will be hazel and his forehead is exactly like Gilbert’s.’

‘And he has the nicest little ears, Mrs Doctor, dear,’ said Susan. ‘The first thing I did was to look at his ears. Hair is deceitful and noses and eyes change, and you cannot tell what is going to come of them, but ears is ears from start to finish, and you always know where you are with them. Just look at their shape – and they are set right back against his precious head. You will never need to be ashamed of his ears, Mrs Doctor, dear.’

Anne’s convalescence was rapid and happy. Folks came and worshipped the baby, as people have bowed before the kingship of the new-born since long before the Wise Men of the East knelt in homage to the Royal Babe of the Bethlehem manger. Leslie, slowly finding herself amid the new conditions of her life, hovered over it, like a beautiful, golden-crowned Madonna. Miss Cornelia nursed it as knackily as could any mother in Israel. Captain Jim held the small creature in his big brown hands and gazed tenderly at it, with eyes that saw the children who had never been born to him.

‘What are you going to call him?’ asked Miss Cornelia.

‘Anne has settled his name,’ answered Gilbert.

‘James Matthew – after the two finest gentlemen I’ve ever known – not even saving your presence,’ laid Anne with a saucy glance at Gilbert.

Gilbert smiled.

‘I never knew Matthew very well; he was so shy we boys couldn’t get acquainted with him – but I quite agree with you that Captain Jim is one of the rarest and finest souls God ever clothed in clay. He is so delighted over the fact that we have given his name to our small lad. It seems he has no other namesake.’

‘Well, James Matthew is a name that will wear well and not fade in the washing,’ said Miss Cornelia. ‘I’m glad you didn’t load him down with some high-falutin, romantic name that he’d be ashamed of when he gets to be a grandfather. Mrs William Drew at the Glen has called her baby Bertie Shakespeare. Quite a combination, isn’t it? And I’m glad you haven’t had much trouble picking on a name. Some folks have an awful time. When the Stanley Flaggs’ first boy was born there was so much rivalry as to who the child should be named for, that the poor little soul had to go for two years without a name. Then a brother came along and there it was – “Big Baby” and “Little Baby”. Finally they called Big Baby Peter and Little Baby Isaac, after the two grandfathers, and had them both christened together. And each tried to see if it couldn’t howl the other down. You know that Highland Scotch family of MacNabs back of the Glen? They’ve got twelve boys and the oldest and the youngest are both called Neil – Big Neil and Little Neil in the same family. Well, I s’pose they ran out of names.’

‘I have read somewhere,’ laughed Anne, ‘that the first child is a poem but the tenth is very prosy prose. Perhaps Mrs MacNab thought that the twelfth was merely an old tale re-told.’

‘Well, there’s something to be said for large families,’ said Miss Cornelia, with a sigh. ‘I was an only child for eight years and I did long for a brother and sister. Mother told me to pray for one – and pray I did, believe
me
. Well, one day Aunt Nellie came to me and said, “Cornelia, there is a little brother for you upstairs in your ma’s room. You can go up and see him.” I was so excited and delighted I just flew upstairs. And old Mrs Flagg lifted up the baby for me to see. Lord, Anne, dearie, I never was so disappointed in my life. You see, I’d been praying for
a brother two years older than myself
.’

‘How long did it take you to get over your disappointment?’ asked Anne, amid her laughter.

‘Well, I had a spite at Providence for a good spell, and for weeks I wouldn’t even look at the baby. Nobody knew why, for I never told. Then he began to get real cute, and held out his wee hands to me, and I began to get fond of him. But I didn’t get really reconciled to him until one day a school chum came to see him and said she thought he was awful small for his age. I just got boiling mad, and I sailed right into her, and told her she didn’t know a nice baby when she saw one, and ours was the nicest baby in the world. And after that I just worshipped him. Mother died before he was three years old and I was sister and mother to him both. Poor little lad, he was never strong, and he died when he wasn’t much over twenty. Seems to me I’d have given anything on earth, Anne, dearie, if he’d only lived.’

Miss Cornelia sighed. Gilbert had gone down and Leslie, who had been crooning over the small James Matthew in the dormer window, laid him asleep in his basket and went her way. As soon as she was safely out of earshot Miss Cornelia bent forward and said in a conspirator’s whisper:

‘Anne, dearie, I’d a letter from Owen Ford yesterday. He’s in Vancouver just now, but he wants to know if I can board him for a month later on.
You
know what that means. Well, I hope we’re doing right.’

‘We’ve nothing to do with it – we couldn’t prevent him from coming to Four Winds if he wanted to,’ said Anne quickly. She did not like the feeling of match making Miss Cornelia’s whispers gave her; and then she weakly succumbed herself.

‘Don’t let Leslie know he is coming until he is here,’ she said. ‘If she found out I feel sure she would go away at once. She intends to go in the fall anyhow – she told me so the other day. She is going to Montreal to take up nursing and make what she can of her life.’

‘Oh, well, Anne, dearie,’ said Miss Cornelia, nodding sagely, ‘that is all as it may be. You and I have done our part and we must leave the rest to Higher Hands.’

When Anne came downstairs again the Island, as well as all Canada, was in the throes of a campaign preceding a general election. Gilbert, who was an ardent Conservative, found himself caught in the vortex, being much in demand for speech-making at the various county rallies. Miss Cornelia did not approve of his mixing up in politics and told Anne so.

‘Dr Dave never did it. Dr Blythe will find he is making a mistake, believe
me
. Politics is something no decent man should meddle with.’

‘Is the government of the country to be left solely to the rogues then?’ asked Anne.

‘Yes – so long as it’s Conservative rogues,’ said Miss Cornelia, marching off with the honours of war. ‘Men and politicians are all tarred with the same brush. The Grits have it laid on thicker than the Conservatives, that’s all –
considerably
thicker. But Grit or Tory, my advice to Dr Blythe is to steer clear of politics. First thing you know, he’ll be running an election himself, and going off to Ottawa for half the year and leaving his practice to go to the dogs.’

‘Ah, well, let’s not borrow trouble,’ said Anne. ‘The rate of interest is too high. Instead, let’s look at Little Jem. It should be spelled with a G. Isn’t he perfectly beautiful? Just see the dimples in his elbows. We’ll bring him up to be a good Conservative, you and I, Miss Cornelia.’

‘Bring him up to be a good man,’ said Miss Cornelia. ‘They’re scarce and valuable; though, mind you, I wouldn’t like to see him a Grit. As for the election, you and I may be thankful we don’t live over harbour. The air there is blue these days. Every Elliott and Crawford and MacAllister is on the war-path, loaded for bear. This side is peaceful and calm, seeing there’s so few men. Captain Jim’s a Grit, but it’s my opinion he’s ashamed of it, for he never talks politics. There isn’t any earthly doubt that the Conservatives will be returned with a big majority again.’

Miss Cornelia was mistaken. On the morning after the election Captain Jim dropped in at the little house to tell the news. So virulent is the microbe of party politics, even in a peaceable old man, that Captain Jim’s cheeks were flushed and his eyes were flashing with all his old-time fire.

‘Mistress Blythe, the Liberals are in with a sweeping majority. After eighteen years of Tory mismanagement this down-trodden country is going to have a chance at last.’

‘I never heard you make such a bitter partisan speech before, Captain Jim. I didn’t think you had so much political venom in you,’ laughed Anne, who was not much excited over the tidings. Little Jem had said ‘Wow-ga’ that morning. What were principalities and powers, the rise and fall of dynasties, the overthrow of Grit or Tory, compared with that miraculous occurrence?

‘It’s been accumulating for a long while,’ said Captain Jim, with a deprecating smile. ‘I thought I was only a moderate Grit, but when the news came that we were in I found out how Gritty I really was.’

‘You know the doctor and I are Conservatives.’

‘Ah, well, it’s the only bad thing I know of either of you, Mistress Blythe. Cornelia is a Tory, too. I called in on my way from the Glen to tell her the news.’

‘Didn’t you know you took your life in your hands?’

‘Yes, but I couldn’t resist the temptation.’

‘How did she take it?’

‘Comparatively calm, Mistress Blythe, comparatively calm. She says, says she, “Well, Providence sends seasons of humiliation to a country, same as to individuals. You Grits have been cold and hungry for many a year. Make haste to get warmed and fed, for you won’t be in long.” “Well, now, Cornelia,” I says, “mebbe Providence thinks Canada needs a real long spell of humiliation.” Ah, Susan, have
you
heard the news? The Liberals are in.’

Susan had just come in from the kitchen, attended by the odour of delectable dishes which always seemed to hover around her.

‘Now, are they?’ she said, with beautiful unconcern. ‘Well, I never could see but that my bread rose just as light when Grits were in as when they were not. And if any party, Mrs Doctor, dear, will make it rain before the week is out, and save our kitchen garden from entire ruination, that is the party Susan will vote for. In the meantime, will you just step out and give me your opinion on the meat for dinner? I am fearing that it is very tough, and I think that we had better change our butcher as well as our Government.’

One evening, a week later, Anne walked down to the Point, to see if she could get some fresh fish from Captain Jim, leaving Little Jem for the first time. It was quite a tragedy. Suppose he cried? Suppose Susan did not know just exactly what to do for him? Susan was calm and serene.

‘I have had as much experience with him as you, Mrs Doctor, dear, have I not?’

‘Yes, with him – but not with other babies. Why, I looked after three pairs of twins when I was a child, Susan. When they cried I gave them peppermint or castor oil quite coolly. It’s quite curious now to recall how lightly I took all those babies and their woes.’

‘Oh, well, if Little Jem cries, I will just clap a hot-water bag on his little stomach,’ said Susan.

‘Not too hot, you know,’ said Anne anxiously. Oh, was it really wise to go?

‘Do not you fret, Mrs Doctor, dear. Susan is not the woman to burn a wee man. Bless him, he has no notion of crying.’

Anne tore herself away finally and enjoyed her walk to the Point after all, through the long shadows of the sun-setting. Captain Jim was not in the living-room of the lighthouse, but another man was – a handsome, middle-aged man, with a strong, clean-shaven chin, who was unknown to Anne. Nevertheless, when she sat down he began to talk to her with all the assurance of an old acquaintance. There was nothing amiss in what he said or the way he said it, but Anne rather resented such a cool taking-for-granted in a complete stranger. Her replies were frosty, and as few as decency required. Nothing daunted, her companion talked on for several minutes, then excused himself and went away. Anne could have sworn there was a twinkle in his eye, and it annoyed her. Who was the creature? There was something vaguely familiar about him, but she was certain she had never seen him before.

‘Captain Jim, who was that who just went out?’ she asked, as Captain Jim came in.

‘Marshall Elliott,’ answered the captain.

‘Marshall Elliott!’ cried Anne. ‘Oh, Captain Jim – it wasn’t – yes, it
was
his voice – oh, Captain Jim, I didn’t know him – and I was quite insulting to him!
Why
didn’t he tell me? He must have seen I didn’t know him.’

‘He wouldn’t say a word about it – he’d just enjoy the joke. Don’t worry over snubbing him – he’ll think it fun. Yes, Marshall’s shaved off his beard at last and cut his hair. His party is in, you know. I didn’t know him myself first time I saw him. He was up in Carter Flagg’s store at the Glen the night after election day, along with a crowd of others, waiting for the news. About twelve the phone came through – the Liberals were in. Marshall just got up and walked out – he didn’t cheer or shout – he left the others to do that, and they nearly lifted the roof off Carter’s store, I reckon. Of course, all the Tories were over in Raymond Russell’s store. Not much cheering
there
. Marshall went straight down the street to the side door of Augustus Palmer’s barber shop. Augustus was in bed asleep, but Marshall hammered on the door until he got up and come down, wanting to know what all the racket was about.

‘ “Come into your shop and do the best job you ever did in your life, Gus,” said Marshall. “The Liberals are in and you’re going to barber a good Grit before the sun rises.”

‘Gus was mad as hops – partly because he’d been dragged out of bed, but more because he’s a Tory. He vowed he wouldn’t shave any man after twelve at night.

‘ “You’ll do what I want you to do, sonny,” said Marshall, “or I’ll jest turn you over my knee and give you one of those spankings your mother forgot.”

‘He’d have done it, too, and Gus knew it, for Marshall is as strong as an ox and Gus is only a midget of a man. So he gave in and towed Marshall into the shop and went to work. “Now,” says he, “I’ll barber you up, but if you say one word to me about the Grits getting in while I’m doing it, I’ll cut your throat with this razor,” says he. You wouldn’t have thought mild Gus could be so bloodthirsty, would you? Shows what party politics will do for a man. Marshall kept quiet and got his hair and beard disposed of and went home. When his old housekeeper heard him come upstairs she peeked out of her bedroom door to see whether ’twas him or the hired boy. And when she saw a strange man striding down the hall with a candle in his hand she screamed blue murder and fainted dead away. They had to send for the doctor before they could bring her to, and it was several days before she could look at Marshall without shaking all over.’