Pat of Silver Bush (15 page)

To hear Silver Bush called funny! Pat simply couldn’t stand it. She slapped Norma’s pink-and-white face … slapped it hard.

THEN there was what Judy called a tommyshaw. Norma screamed and burst into tears. Mother was horrified … dad was shocked … or pretended to be. Judy came in and frog-marched Pat to the kitchen.

“A nice show ye’ve made av yerself!”

“I don’t care … I don’t care … I WON’T let her make fun of Silver Bush,” sobbed Pat. “I’m glad I slapped her. You can scold me all you like. I’m GLAD.”

“The timper av her!” said Judy. And then went up to her room and sat on her blue chest and laughed till she cried.

“Oh, oh, didn’t me fine Miss Norma get her comeuppance for onct, wid her airs and graces and her slams about the house her father was brought up in!”

Pat was not allowed to have dinner in the dining room. For punishment she must eat in the kitchen. To be punished because she had stood up for Silver Bush. It was too much.

“I’d RATHER eat here with you, Judy, any time,” she sobbed. “But it’s my FEELINGS that are hurt.”

There was balm in Gilead. Aunt Helen was so shocked at Pat’s behaviour that there was no question of inviting her to Summerside. Winnie went with her. Pat made her peace with the family … none of whom cared much for the spoiled Norma … and she and Sid and Judy picked the bones of the sacrificial turkeys before they went to bed, while Judy told them all about Norma’s grandmother on the mother’s side.

“Oh, oh, it’s the quare one she was and the foolish things she wud be saying. Her poor husband was long in dying and she did be after grudging him ivery breath he drew. ‘If he lives too long I’ll niver get another man,’ she sez to me, time and time again, mournful like. And nather she did. He hung on till he spiled her chances and it wasn’t Judy Plum that was sorry for her, I’m telling ye.”

The Shadow of Fear

No sooner had Winnie gone than winter came in a day. Pat’s round window was thick furred with snow; the Whispering Lane was filled with huge drifts through which dad and Uncle Tom shovelled a fascinating narrow path until they met at the gate. The piles of stones in the Old Part of the orchard were marble pyramids. The Hill of the Mist shone like silver. The hill field was a dazzling white sheet. Even the stony field was beautiful. Pat remembered that the Secret Field must be lovely, with Wood Queen and Fern Princess standing guard.

The graveyard was filled almost to the level of the paling.

“Sure and aven Wild Dick wud find it hard to get out av that,” said Judy, busy providing comforts for cold little creatures … cats and dogs and chickens and children.

Pat liked a big storm. Especially did she love to snuggle in warm, fluffy blankets and defy the great, dark, wintry night outside her cosy room, hugging her hot water bottle. A hot water bottle was such a nice thing. You kneaded your toes in it; when your feet were warm as warm could be you held it close in your arms: and finally you put it against the cold spot in your back. And the first thing you knew it was morning and the sun was shining through the drift … and the hot water bag was unpleasantly like a clammy dead rat just behind you.

It was rather nice, too, to have one’s room all to oneself; still, she missed Winnie terribly … the blue laughter of her eyes … the silver music of her voice.

“Just two more weeks and Winnie’ll be home,” she counted exultantly.

It was in school that she heard it. Of course it was May Binnie who told her.

“So your Aunt Helen is going to adopt Winnie.”

Pat stared at her.

“She isn’t.”

May giggled.

“Fancy your not knowing. Of course she is. It’s a great thing for Winnie, ma says. And it might have been you if you hadn’t slapped Norma’s face.”

Pat stood staring at May. Something had fallen over her spirit like the cold grey light that swept over the world before a snow squall in November. She was too chilled to resent the fact that Sid must have told May about her slapping Norma. There was no room for any but the one terrible thought. It was only afternoon recess but Pat rushed to the porch, snatched her hat and coat, and started home, stumbling wildly along the deep-rutted, drifted road. Oh, to get home to mother … mother now, not Judy. Judy did for little griefs but for this, only mother … to tell her this ghastly thing was not true … that nobody had ever thought of such a thing as Winnie going to live with Aunt Helen.

“Oh, oh, and what’s bringing ye home so early?” cried Judy, as Pat stumbled, half-frozen, into the kitchen. “Ye’ve niver walked all that way in thim roads … and yer Uncle Tom was going for ye all in his fine new pung.”

“Where’s mother?” gasped Pat.

“Mother, is it? Sure yer dad and her is gone over to the Bay Shore. They phoned over that yer Aunt Frances was down with pewmony. Whativer is it that’s the matter wid the child?”

But for the first time Pat had nothing to say to Judy. The question she had to ask could not be asked of Judy. Judy, rather huffed, let her alone, and Pat ranged the deserted house like a restless ghost. Oh, how empty it was! Nobody there … neither mother nor father nor Cuddles. Nor Winnie! And perhaps Winnie would never be back. Suppose her laugh would never be heard again at Silver Bush!

“Something’s been happening in school,” reflected Judy uneasily. “I’m hoping she didn’t get into a ruckus wid her lady tacher. I niver cud be knowing what the trustees mint be hiring ould Arthur Saint’s girl for a tacher, wid her hair the colour av a rid brick.”

Pat could eat no supper. Bedtime came and still father and mother were not back. Pat cried herself to sleep. But she awoke in the night … sat up … remembered sickeningly. Everything was quiet. The wind had gone down and Silver Bush was cracking in the frost. Through her window she could see the faint light of stars over the dark fir trees that grew along the dyke between the Silver Bush and Swallowfield pastures. Pat found just then that things always seem worse in the dark. She felt she could not live another minute without knowing the truth.

Resolutely she got out of bed and lighted her candle. Resolutely the small white figure marched down the silent hall, past Joe’s room and the Poet’s room to father’s and mother’s room. Yes, they were home, sound asleep. A fragrant adorable Cuddles was curled up in her little crib but for the first time Pat did not gloat over her.

Long Alec and his tired wife, just fallen soundly asleep after a cold drive over vile roads, were wakened to see a desperate little face bending over them.

“Child, what’s the matter? Are you sick?”

“Oh, dad, Aunt Helen isn’t going to adopt Winnie? She isn’t, is she, dad?”

“Look here, Pat.” Dad was stern. “Have you come here and wakened your mother and me just to ask that?”

“Oh, dad, I HAD to know.”

Mother understandingly put a slender hand on Pat’s shaking arm.

“Darling, she’s not going to adopt her … but she may keep her for awhile and send her to school. It would really be a great thing for Winnie.”

“Do you mean … Winnie wouldn’t come back HERE?”

“It isn’t settled yet. Aunt Helen only threw out a hint. Of course Winnie’ll be home OFTEN… .”

The following week of dark, tortured days was the hardest Pat had ever known in her life. She could not eat and the sight of Winnie’s vacant place at meals reduced her to tears. Her family found it rather hard to make excuses for what they thought was her unreasonable behaviour.

“Just humour her a liddle,” pleaded Judy. “She’s that worked up and miserable she doesn’t know which ind of her is up. A bird cudn’t be living on what she ates.”

“You spoil her, Judy,” said Long Alec severely. He was out of patience with Pat’s moping.

“Iverybody do be the better for a bit av sp’iling now and thin,” said Judy loyally. But she tried to bring Pat into a more reasonable frame of mind.

“Don’t ye want Winnie to get an eddication?”

“She could get an education at home,” sobbed Pat.

“Not much av a one. Oh, oh, I’d have ye know the Gardiners don’t be like the Binnies. ‘We’re not going to eddicate Suzanne,’ sez me Madam Binnie. ‘Soon as she’d get through Quane’s she’d marry and the money’d be wasted.’ No, no, me jewel, the Gardiners are a differunt brade av cats. Winnie’s thirteen. Sure and she’ll soon be wanting to study for her intrance and who’s ould Arthur Saint’s daughter for that I’m asking ye? Ye’ll niver convince me she knows a word av the Lating and French.”

“English is good enough for anybody,” protested Pat.

“Ye’ll find it isn’t good enough for Quane’s,” retorted Judy. “Winnie’d be able to go to the Summerside schools and yer Aunt Helen cud do more for her than yer dad iver can, wid his one small farm and the five av ye ating it up. Now, stop fretting, me jewel, and come and cut rags for me while I do a bit av hooking.”

Then came the letter from Aunt Helen for dad. Pat, her hands locked behind her so that no one should see them trembling, stood mutely by while Long Alec deliberately tried on two pairs of spectacles, scrutinised the stamp, remarked that Helen had always been a pretty writer, hunted up a knife to slit the envelope … took out the letter. Outside in the yard somebody was laughing. How dared anybody laugh at such a moment?

“Helen says Brian is bringing Winnie home Saturday,” he announced casually. “So I guess she’s given up the notion of keeping her. I always thought she would. So that’s that.”

“Oh, I MUST be flying,” thought Pat as she ran to tell Judy. Judy admitted satisfaction.

“It do be just as well I’m thinking. Helen was always a bit of a crank. And I’m not thinking it’s a wise-like thing to break up a family inny sooner than nade be.”

“Isn’t a family one of the loveliest things in the world, Judy?” cried Pat. “And oh, look at Gentleman Tom. Isn’t he sitting cute?”

“Oh, oh, it’s the different looking girl ye are from the morning. Iverything plazes ye tonight, aven the way a poor cat arranges his hams,” chuckled Judy, who was overjoyed to see her darling happy again.

Pat ran out in the twilight to tell the good news to the silver bush and the leafless maples. She looked with eyes of love at the old, snow-roofed house drawing its cloak of trees around it in the still mild winter evening. Even in winter Silver Bush was lovely because of what it sheltered and hoped for.

Then she ran back in and up to the garret to set a light for Jingle. Jingle had been her only comfort during the past dreadful week. Even Sid hadn’t seemed to worry much whether Winnie came home or not. He hoped she would, of course, but he didn’t lose sleep over it. Jingle had always assured Pat she would. Who, he thought, wouldn’t come back to Silver Bush if she could? So now he came to share in Pat’s joy. The two of them waded back along Jordan to Happiness; it was buried in snow but the Haunted Spring was still running freshly, hung about with jewels. How lovely the silvery world was … how lovely the white hills of snow! They did not get home till nearly eight and Judy scolded.

“I’m not having ye roaming off wid any Jingle if ye can’t be home and to bed at the proper time.”

“What is the proper time for going to bed, Judy?” laughed Pat. Every word was a laugh with Pat tonight. And oh, how good supper tasted!

“Sure now and ye’re asking a question that’s niver been answered,” chuckled Judy.

Saturday came with more March wind and snow. Oh, it shouldn’t storm the day Winnie was coming home. Perhaps Uncle Brian wouldn’t bring her if it stormed. But in the late afternoon the sun came out below the storm cloud and made a dazzling fair world. The rooms of Silver Bush were all filled with a golden light from the clearing western sky. All the gardens and yards and orchards were pranked out with the exquisite shadows of leafless trees.

And then they came, right out of the heart of the wild winter sunset. Winnie was very glad Aunt Helen had decided not to keep her.

“She said I laughed too much and it got on her nerves,” Winnie told Pat. “Besides, I put pepper in the potatoes instead of salt the day her maid was away … oh, by mistake of course. That settled it. She said I had the makings of a sloppy housekeeper.”

“Silver Bush is GLAD to hear you laugh,” whispered Pat, hugging her savagely.

The storm came up again in the night. Pat woke up and heard it … remembered that everything was all right and sank happily to sleep again. What difference now how much it stormed? All her dear ones were near her, safe under the same kindly roof. Dad and mother and little Cuddles … Joe and Sidney … Judy in her own eyrie, with her black Gentleman Tom curled up at her feet … Thursday and Snicklefritz behind the kitchen stove. And Winnie was home … home to stay!

Elizabeth Happens

“I smell spring!” Pat cried rapturously, sniffing the air one day … the day she discovered the first tiny feathery green sprays of caraway along the borders of the Whispering Lane. That same night the frogs had begun to sing in the Field of the Pool. She and Jingle heard them when they were coming home in the “dim” from Happiness.

“I love frogs,” said Pat.

Jingle wasn’t sure he liked frogs. Their music was so sad and silver and far away it always made him think of his mother.

Never, Pat reflected, looking back over her long life of almost nine years, had there been such a lovely spring. Never had the long, rolling fields around Silver Bush been so green: never had the gay trills of song in the maple by the well been so sweet: never had there been such wonderful evenings full of the scent of lilacs: and never had there been anything so beautiful as the young wild cherry tree in Happiness or the little wild plum that hung over the fence in the Secret Field. She and Sid went back to pay a call on their field one Sunday afternoon, to see how it had got through the winter. It was always spring there before it was spring anywhere else. Their spruces tossed them an airy welcome and the wild plum was another lovely secret to be shared.

Everything was so CLEAN in spring, Pat thought. No weeds … no long grass … no fallen leaves. And all over the house the wholesome smell of newly-cleaned rooms. For Judy and mother had been papering and scrubbing and washing and ironing and polishing for weeks. Pat and Winnie helped them in the evenings after school. It was lovely to make Silver Bush as beautiful as it could be made.