CHAPTER 38
RED ROSES
The garden of the little house was a haunt beloved of
bees and reddened by late roses that August. The
little house folk lived much in it, and were given to
taking picnic suppers in the grassy corner beyond the
brook and sitting about in it through the twilights
when great night moths sailed athwart the velvet gloom.
One evening Owen Ford found Leslie alone in it. Anne
and Gilbert were away, and Susan, who was expected back
that night, had not yet returned.
The northern sky was amber and pale green over the fir
tops. The air was cool, for August was nearing
September, and Leslie wore a crimson scarf over her
white dress. Together they wandered through the
little, friendly, flower-crowded paths in silence.
Owen must go soon. His holiday was nearly over.
Leslie found her heart beating wildly. She knew that
this beloved garden was to be the scene of the binding
words that must seal their as yet unworded
understanding.
" Some evenings a strange odor blows down the air of
this garden, like a phantom perfume," said Owen. "I
have never been able to discover from just what flower
it comes. It is elusive and haunting and wonderfully
sweet. I like to fancy it is the soul of Grandmother
Selwyn passing on a little visit to the old spot she
loved so well. There should be a lot of friendly
ghosts about this little old house."
"I have lived under its roof only a month," said
Leslie, "but I love it as I never loved the house over
there where I have lived all my life."
"This house was builded and consecrated by love," said
Owen. "Such houses, MUST exert an influence over those
who live in them. And this garden--it is over sixty
years old and the history of a thousand hopes and joys
is written in its blossoms. Some of those flowers were
actually set out by the schoolmaster's bride, and she
has been dead for thirty years. Yet they bloom on
every summer. Look at those red roses, Leslie--how
they queen it over everything else!"
"I love the red roses," said Leslie. "Anne likes the
pink ones best, and Gilbert likes the white. But I
want the crimson ones. They satisfy some craving in me
as no other flower does."
"These roses are very late--they bloom after all the
others have gone--and they hold all the warmth and soul
of the summer come to fruition," said Owen, plucking
some of the glowing, half-opened buds.
"The rose is the flower of love--the world has
acclaimed it so for centuries. The pink roses are
love hopeful and expectant--the white roses are love
dead or forsaken--but the red roses--ah, Leslie, what
are the red roses?"
"Love triumphant," said Leslie in a low voice.
"Yes--love triumphant and perfect. Leslie, you
know--you understand. I have loved you from the
first. And I KNOW you love me--I don't need to ask
you. But I want to hear you say it--my darling-- my
darling!"
Leslie said something in a very low and tremulous
voice. Their hands and lips met; it was life's
supreme moment for them and as they stood there in the
old garden, with its many years of love and delight and
sorrow and glory, he crowned her shining hair with the
red, red rose of a love triumphant.
Anne and Gilbert returned presently, accompanied by
Captain Jim. Anne lighted a few sticks of driftwood in
the fireplace, for love of the pixy flames, and they
sat around it for an hour of good fellowship.
"When I sit looking at a driftwood fire it's easy to
believe I'm young again," said Captain Jim.
"Can you read futures in the fire, Captain Jim?" asked
Owen.
Captain Jim looked at them all affectionately and then
back again at Leslie's vivid face and glowing eyes.
"I don't need the fire to read your futures," he said.
"I see happiness for all of you--all of you--for Leslie
and Mr. Ford--and the doctor here and Mistress
Blythe--and Little Jem--and children that ain't born
yet but will be. Happiness for you all--though, mind
you, I reckon you'll have your troubles and worries and
sorrows, too. They're bound to come--and no house,
whether it's a palace or a little house of dreams, can
bar 'em out. But they won't get the better of you if
you face 'em TOGETHER with love and trust. You can
weather any storm with them two for compass and
pilot."
The old man rose suddenly and placed one hand on
Leslie's head and one on Anne's.
"Two good, sweet women," he said. "True and faithful
and to be depended on. Your husbands will have honor
in the gates because of you--your children will rise up
and call you blessed in the years to come."
There was a strange solemnity about the little scene.
Anne and Leslie bowed as those receiving a
benediction. Gilbert suddenly brushed his hand over
his eyes; Owen Ford was rapt as one who can see
visions. All were silent for a space. The little
house of dreams added another poignant and
unforgettable moment to its store of memories.
"I must be going now," said Captain Jim slowly at
last. He took up his hat and looked lingeringly about
the room.
"Good night, all of you," he said, as he went out.
Anne, pierced by the unusual wistfulness of his
farewell, ran to the door after him.
"Come back soon, Captain Jim," she called, as he
passed through the little gate hung between the firs.
"Ay, ay," he called cheerily back to her. But Captain
Jim had sat by the old fireside of the house of dreams
for the last time.
Anne went slowly back to the others.
"It's so--so pitiful to think of him going all alone
down to that lonely Point," she said. "And there is
no one to welcome him there."
"Captain Jim is such good company for others that one
can't imagine him being anything but good company for
himself," said Owen. "But he must often be lonely.
There was a touch of the seer about him tonight--he
spoke as one to whom it had been given to speak. Well,
I must be going, too."
Anne and Gilbert discreetly melted away; but when Owen
had gone Anne returned, to find Leslie standing by the
hearth.
"Oh, Leslie--I know--and I'm so glad, dear," she said,
putting her arms about her.
"Anne, my happiness frightens me," whispered Leslie.
"It seems too great to be real--I'm afraid to speak of
it--to think of it. It seems to me that it must just
be another dream of this house of dreams and it will
vanish when I leave here."
"Well, you are not going to leave here--until Owen
takes you. You are going to stay with me until that
times comes. Do you think I'd let you go over to that
lonely, sad place again?"
"Thank you, dear. I meant to ask you if I might stay
with you. I didn't want to go back there--it would
seem like going back into the chill and dreariness of
the old life again. Anne, Anne, what a friend you've
been to me--`a good, sweet woman--true and faithful and
to be depended on'--Captain Jim summed you up."
"He said `women,' not `woman,'" smiled Anne. "Perhaps
Captain Jim sees us both through the rose-colored
spectacles of his love for us. But we can try to live
up to his belief in us, at least."
"Do you remember, Anne," said Leslie slowly, "that I
once said--that night we met on the shore--that I hated
my good looks? I did--then. It always seemed to me
that if I had been homely Dick would never have thought
of me. I hated my beauty because it had attracted him,
but now--oh, I'm glad that I have it. It's all I have
to offer Owen,--his artist soul delights in it. I feel
as if I do not come to him quite empty-handed."
"Owen loves your beauty, Leslie. Who would not? But
it's foolish of you to say or think that that is all
you bring him. HE will tell you that--I needn't. And
now I must lock up. I expected Susan back tonight, but
she has not come."
"Oh, yes, here I am, Mrs. Doctor, dear," said Susan,
entering unexpectedly from the kitchen, "and puffing
like a hen drawing rails at that! It's quite a walk
from the Glen down here."
"I'm glad to see you back, Susan. How is your
sister?"
"She is able to sit up, but of course she cannot walk
yet. However, she is very well able to get on without
me now, for her daughter has come home for her
vacation. And I am thankful to be back, Mrs. Doctor,
dear. Matilda's leg was broken and no mistake, but her
tongue was not. She would talk the legs off an iron
pot, that she would, Mrs. Doctor, dear, though I grieve
to say it of my own sister. She was always a great
talker and yet she was the first of our family to get
married. She really did not care much about marrying
James Clow, but she could not bear to disoblige him.
Not but what James is a good man--the only fault I have
to find with him is that he always starts in to say
grace with such an unearthly groan, Mrs. Doctor, dear.
It always frightens my appetite clear away. And
speaking of getting married, Mrs. Doctor, dear, is it
true that Cornelia Bryant is going to be married to
Marshall Elliott?"
"Yes, quite true, Susan."
"Well, Mrs. Doctor, dear, it does NOT seem to me fair.
Here is me, who never said a word against the men, and
I cannot get married nohow. And there is Cornelia
Bryant, who is never done abusing them, and all she has
to do is to reach out her hand and pick one up, as it
were. It is a very strange world, Mrs. Doctor, dear."
"There's another world, you know, Susan."
"Yes," said Susan with a heavy sigh, "but, Mrs.
Doctor, dear, there is neither marrying nor giving in
marriage there."
