XXIII
Miss Lavendar's Romance
"I think I'll take a walk through to Echo Lodge this evening," said Anne,
one Friday afternoon in December.
"It looks like snow," said Marilla dubiously.
"I'll be there before the snow comes and I mean to stay all night.
Diana can't go because she has company, and I'm sure Miss Lavendar will
be looking for me tonight. It's a whole fortnight since I was there."
Anne had paid many a visit to Echo Lodge since that October day.
Sometimes she and Diana drove around by the road; sometimes they
walked through the woods. When Diana could not go Anne went alone.
Between her and Miss Lavendar had sprung up one of those fervent,
helpful friendships possible only between a woman who has kept the
freshness of youth in her heart and soul, and a girl whose
imagination and intuition supplied the place of experience.
Anne had at last discovered a real "kindred spirit," while into
the little lady's lonely, sequestered life of dreams Anne and Diana
came with the wholesome joy and exhilaration of the outer existence,
which Miss Lavendar, "the world forgetting, by the world forgot,"
had long ceased to share; they brought an atmosphere of youth
and reality to the little stone house. Charlotta the Fourth
always greeted them with her very widest smile. . .and Charlotta's
smiles WERE fearfully wide. . .loving them for the sake of her
adored mistress as well as for their own. Never had there been
such "high jinks" held in the little stone house as were held there
that beautiful, late-lingering autumn, when November seemed October
over again, and even December aped the sunshine and hazes of summer.
But on this particular day it seemed as if December had remembered
that it was time for winter and had turned suddenly dull and
brooding, with a windless hush predictive of coming snow.
Nevertheless, Anne keenly enjoyed her walk through the great gray
maze of the beechlands; though alone she never found it lonely; her
imagination peopled her path with merry companions, and with these
she carried on a gay, pretended conversation that was wittier and
more fascinating than conversations are apt to be in real life,
where people sometimes fail most lamentably to talk up to the
requirements. In a "make believe" assembly of choice spirits
everybody says just the thing you want her to say and so gives you
the chance to say just what YOU want to say. Attended by this
invisible company, Anne traversed the woods and arrived at the fir
lane just as broad, feathery flakes began to flutter down softly.
At the first bend she came upon Miss Lavendar, standing under a
big, broad-branching fir. She wore a gown of warm, rich red, and
her head and shoulders were wrapped in a silvery gray silk shawl.
"You look like the queen of the fir wood fairies," called Anne merrily.
"I thought you would come tonight, Anne," said Miss Lavendar,
running forward. "And I'm doubly glad, for Charlotta the Fourth
is away. Her mother is sick and she had to go home for the night.
I should have been very lonely if you hadn't come. . .even the
dreams and the echoes wouldn't have been enough company. Oh, Anne,
how pretty you are," she added suddenly, looking up at the tall,
slim girl with the soft rose-flush of walking on her face. "How
pretty and how young! It's so delightful to be seventeen, isn't it?
I do envy you," concluded Miss Lavendar candidly.
"But you are only seventeen at heart," smiled Anne.
"No, I'm old. . .or rather middle-aged, which is far worse,"
sighed Miss Lavendar. "Sometimes I can pretend I'm not, but at
other times I realize it. And I can't reconcile myself to it as
most women seem to. I'm just as rebellious as I was when I
discovered my first gray hair. Now, Anne, don't look as if you
were trying to understand. Seventeen CAN'T understand. I'm going
to pretend right away that I am seventeen too, and I can do it, now
that you're here. You always bring youth in your hand like a gift.
We're going to have a jolly evening. Tea first. . .what do you
want for tea? We'll have whatever you like. Do think of something
nice and indigestible."
There were sounds of riot and mirth in the little stone house
that night. What with cooking and feasting and making candy and
laughing and "pretending," it is quite true that Miss Lavendar and
Anne comported themselves in a fashion entirely unsuited to the
dignity of a spinster of forty-five and a sedate schoolma'am.
Then, when they were tired, they sat down on the rug before the
grate in the parlor, lighted only by the soft fireshine and
perfumed deliciously by Miss Lavendar's open rose-jar on the mantel.
The wind had risen and was sighing and wailing around the eaves and
the snow was thudding softly against the windows, as if a hundred
storm sprites were tapping for entrance.
"I'm so glad you're here, Anne," said Miss Lavendar, nibbling at
her candy. "If you weren't I should be blue. . .very blue. . .
almost navy blue. Dreams and make-believes are all very well in
the daytime and the sunshine, but when dark and storm come they
fail to satisfy. One wants real things then. But you don't know
this. . .seventeen never knows it. At seventeen dreams DO satisfy
because you think the realities are waiting for you further on.
When I was seventeen, Anne, I didn't think forty-five would find me
a white-haired little old maid with nothing but dreams to fill my life."
"But you aren't an old maid," said Anne, smiling into Miss Lavendar's
wistful woodbrown eyes. "Old maids are BORN. . .they don't BECOME."
"Some are born old maids, some achieve old maidenhood, and some have
old maidenhood thrust upon them," parodied Miss Lavendar whimsically.
"You are one of those who have achieved it then," laughed Anne,
"and you've done it so beautifully that if every old maid were
like you they would come into the fashion, I think."
"I always like to do things as well as possible," said Miss
Lavendar meditatively, "and since an old maid I had to be I was
determined to be a very nice one. People say I'm odd; but it's
just because I follow my own way of being an old maid and refuse to
copy the traditional pattern. Anne, did anyone ever tell you
anything about Stephen Irving and me?"
"Yes," said Anne candidly, "I've heard that you and he were engaged once."
"So we were. . .twenty-five years ago. . .a lifetime ago. And we
were to have been married the next spring. I had my wedding
dress made, although nobody but mother and Stephen ever knew THAT.
We'd been engaged in a way almost all our lives, you might say.
When Stephen was a little boy his mother would bring him here when
she came to see my mother; and the second time he ever came. . .
he was nine and I was six. . .he told me out in the garden that
he had pretty well made up his mind to marry me when he grew up.
I remember that I said `Thank you'; and when he was gone I told
mother very gravely that there was a great weight off my mind,
because I wasn't frightened any more about having to be an old
maid. How poor mother laughed!"
"And what went wrong?" asked Anne breathlessly.
"We had just a stupid, silly, commonplace quarrel. So commonplace
that, if you'll believe me, I don't even remember just how it began.
I hardly know who was the more to blame for it. Stephen did really
begin it, but I suppose I provoked him by some foolishness of mine.
He had a rival or two, you see. I was vain and coquettish and liked
to tease him a little. He was a very high-strung, sensitive fellow.
Well, we parted in a temper on both sides. But I thought it would all
come right; and it would have if Stephen hadn't come back too soon.
Anne, my dear, I'm sorry to say". . .Miss Lavendar dropped her voice
as if she were about to confess a predilection for murdering people,
"that I am a dreadfully sulky person. Oh, you needn't smile,. . .
it's only too true. I DO sulk; and Stephen came back before I had
finished sulking. I wouldn't listen to him and I wouldn't forgive him;
and so he went away for good. He was too proud to come again. And
then I sulked because he didn't come. I might have sent for him
perhaps, but I couldn't humble myself to do that. I was just as
proud as he was. . .pride and sulkiness make a very bad combination,
Anne. But I could never care for anybody else and I didn't want to.
I knew I would rather be an old maid for a thousand years than marry
anybody who wasn't Stephen Irving. Well, it all seems like a dream now,
of course. How sympathetic you look, Anne. . .as sympathetic as only
seventeen can look. But don't overdo it. I'm really a very happy,
contented little person in spite of my broken heart. My heart did break,
if ever a heart did, when I realized that Stephen Irving was not coming back.
But, Anne, a broken heart in real life isn't half as dreadful as it is
in books. It's a good deal like a bad tooth. . .though you won't
think THAT a very romantic simile. It takes spells of aching and
gives you a sleepless night now and then, but between times it lets
you enjoy life and dreams and echoes and peanut candy as if there
were nothing the matter with it. And now you're looking disappointed.
You don't think I'm half as interesting a person as you did five minutes
ago when you believed I was always the prey of a tragic memory bravely
hidden beneath external smiles. That's the worst. . .or the best. . .
of real life, Anne. It WON'T let you be miserable. It keeps on trying
to make you comfortable. . .and succeeding...even when you're determined
to be unhappy and romantic. Isn't this candy scrumptious? I've eaten
far more than is good for me already but I'm going to keep recklessly on."
After a little silence Miss Lavendar said abruptly,
"It gave me a shock to hear about Stephen's son that first day you
were here, Anne. I've never been able to mention him to you since,
but I've wanted to know all about him. What sort of a boy is he?"
"He is the dearest, sweetest child I ever knew, Miss Lavendar. . .
and he pretends things too, just as you and I do."
"I'd like to see him," said Miss Lavendar softly, as if talking to herself.
"I wonder if he looks anything like the little dream-boy who lives here
with me. . .MY little dream-boy."
"If you would like to see Paul I'll bring him through with me sometime,"
said Anne.
"I would like it. . .but not too soon. I want to get used to the thought.
There might be more pain than pleasure in it. . .if he looked too much
like Stephen. . .or if he didn't look enough like him. In a month's time
you may bring him."
Accordingly, a month later Anne and Paul walked through the woods
to the stone house, and met Miss Lavendar in the lane. She had
not been expecting them just then and she turned very pale.
"So this is Stephen's boy," she said in a low tone, taking Paul's
hand and looking at him as he stood, beautiful and boyish, in his
smart little fur coat and cap. "He. . .he is very like his father."
"Everybody says I'm a chip off the old block," remarked Paul,
quite at his ease.
Anne, who had been watching the little scene, drew a relieved breath.
She saw that Miss Lavendar and Paul had "taken" to each other, and
that there would be no constraint or stiffness. Miss Lavendar
was a very sensible person, in spite of her dreams and romance,
and after that first little betrayal she tucked her feelings
out of sight and entertained Paul as brightly and naturally
as if he were anybody's son who had come to see her.
They all had a jolly afternoon together and such a feast of fat
things by way of supper as would have made old Mrs. Irving hold up
her hands in horror, believing that Paul's digestion would be
ruined for ever.
"Come again, laddie," said Miss Lavendar, shaking hands with him
at parting.
"You may kiss me if you like," said Paul gravely.
Miss Lavendar stooped and kissed him.
"How did you know I wanted to?" she whispered.
"Because you looked at me just as my little mother used to do
when she wanted to kiss me. As a rule, I don't like to be kissed.
Boys don't. You know, Miss Lewis. But I think I rather like to
have you kiss me. And of course I'll come to see you again.
I think I'd like to have you for a particular friend of mine,
if you don't object."
"I. . .I don't think I shall object," said Miss Lavendar.
She turned and went in very quickly; but a moment later she
was waving a gay and smiling good-bye to them from the window.
"I like Miss Lavendar," announced Paul, as they walked through the
beech woods. "I like the way she looked at me, and I like her
stone house, and I like Charlotta the Fourth. I wish Grandma
Irving had a Charlotta the Fourth instead of a Mary Joe. I feel
sure Charlotta the Fourth wouldn't think I was wrong in my upper
story when I told her what I think about things. Wasn't that a
splendid tea we had, teacher? Grandma says a boy shouldn't be
thinking about what he gets to eat, but he can't help it sometimes
when he is real hungry. YOU know, teacher. I don't think Miss
Lavendar would make a boy eat porridge for breakfast if he didn't
like it. She'd get things for him he did like. But of course". . .
Paul was nothing if not fair-minded. . ."that mightn't be very good
for him. It's very nice for a change though, teacher. YOU know."
