Anne of Ingleside (21 page)

It was Saturday, so there was no school. They could not stir outside… even though they loved to be out in the rain. This downpour was too much for them… and they had to be very quiet inside. But they had never felt happier. Dad, almost sleepless for a week, had flung himself on the spare-room bed for a long deep slumber… but not before he had sent a long-distance message to a green-gabled house in Avonlea where two old ladies had been trembling every time the telephone rang.

Susan, whose heart of late had not been in her desserts, concocted a glorious ‘orange shuffle’ for dinner, promised a jam roly-poly for supper, and baked a double batch of butterscotch cookies. Cock Robin chirped all over the place. The very chairs looked as if they wanted to dance. The flowers in the garden lifted up their faces bravely again as the dry earth welcomed the rain. And Nan, amid all her happiness, was trying to face the consequences of her bargain with God.

She had no thought of trying to back out of it, but she kept putting it off, hoping she would get a little more courage for it. The very thought of it ‘made her blood curdle’, as Amy Taylor was so fond of saying. Susan saw there was something the matter with the child and administered castor oil, with no visible improvement. Nan took the dose quietly, though she could not help thinking that Susan gave her castor oil much oftener since that earlier bargain. But what was castor oil compared to walking through the graveyard after dark? Nan simply did not see how she could ever do it. But she must.

Mother was still so weak that nobody was allowed to see her save for a brief peep. And then she looked so white and thin. Was it because she, Nan, was not keeping her bargain?

‘We must give her time,’ said Susan.

How could you give anyone time, Nan wondered. But
she
knew why Mother was not getting well faster. Nan set her little pearly teeth. Tomorrow was Saturday again, and tomorrow night she would do what she had promised to do.

It rained again all the next forenoon, and Nan could not help a feeling of relief. If it was going to be a rainy night, nobody, not even God, could expect her to go prowling about graveyards. By noon the rain had stopped, but there came a fog creeping up the harbour and over the Glen, surrounding Ingleside with its eerie magic. So still Nan hoped. If it was foggy she couldn’t go either. But at supper-time a wind sprang up and the dream-like landscape of the fog vanished.

‘There’ll be no moon tonight,’ said Susan.

‘Oh, Susan, can’t you
make
a moon,’ cried Nan despairingly. If she had to walk through the graveyard there
must
be a moon.

‘Bless the child, nobody can make moons,’ said Susan. ‘I only meant it was going to be cloudy and you could not see the moon. And what difference can it make to you whether there is a moon or not?’

That was just what Nan could not explain, and Susan was more worried than ever.
Something
must ail the child… she had been acting so strangely all the week. She did not eat half enough and she moped. Was she worrying about her mother. She needn’t… Mrs Doctor dear was coming on nicely.

Yes, but Nan knew that Mother would soon stop coming on nicely if she didn’t keep her bargain. At sunset the clouds rolled away and the moon rose. But such a strange moon… such a huge, blood-red moon. Nan had never seen such a moon. It terrified her. Almost would she have preferred the dark.

The twins went to bed at eight, and Nan had to wait until Di had gone to sleep. Di took her time about it. She was feeling too sad and disillusioned to sleep readily. Her chum, Elsie Palmer, had walked home from school with another girl and Di believed that life was practically ended for her. It was nine o’clock before Nan felt it safe to slip out of bed and dress with fingers that trembled so she could hardly cope with her buttons. Then she crept down and out of the side door while Susan set the bread in the kitchen and reflected comfortably that all under her charge were safe in bed except the poor Doctor, who had been summoned post-haste to a Harbour Mouth household where a baby had swallowed a tack.

Nan went out and down to Rainbow Valley. She must take the short cut through it and up the hill pasture. She knew that the sight of an Ingleside twin prowling along the road and through the village would cause wonderment and somebody would likely insist on bringing her home. How cold the early October night was! She had not thought about that and had not put on her jacket. Rainbow Valley by night was not the friendly haunt of daytime. The moon had shrunk to a reasonable size and was no longer red, but it cast sinister black shadows. Nan had always been rather frightened of shadows. Was that paddy feet in the darkness of the withered bracken by the brook?

Nan held up her head and stuck out her chin. ‘I’m not frightened,’ she said aloud valiantly. ‘It’s only my stomach feels a little queer. I’m being a
heroine
.’

The pleasant idea of being a heroine carried her halfway up the hill. Then a strange shadow fell over the world… a cloud was crossing the moon… and Nan thought of the Bird. Amy Taylor had once told her such a terrifying tale of a Great Black Bird that swooped down on you in the night and carried you off. Was it the Bird’s shadow that had crossed over her? But Mother had said there was no Big Black Bird. ‘I don’t believe Mother could tell me a lie… not
Mother
,’ said Nan… and went on until she reached the fence. Beyond was the road, and across it the graveyard. Nan stopped to get her breath.

Another cloud was over the moon. All around her lay a strange, dim, unknown land. ‘Oh, the world is too big!’ shivered Nan, crowding against the fence. If she were only back in Ingleside! But… ‘God is watching me,’ said the seven-year-old scrap… and climbed the fence.

She fell off on the other side, skinning her knee and tearing her dress. As she got to her feet a sharp weed stub pierced completely through her slipper and cut her foot. But she limped across the road to the graveyard gate.

The old graveyard lay in the shadow of the firs at its eastern end. On one side was the Methodist church, on the other the Presbyterian manse, now dark and silent during the minister’s absence. The moon broke out suddenly from the cloud and the graveyard was full of shadows, shadows that shifted and danced, shadows that would grasp at you if you trusted yourself among them. A newspaper someone had discarded blew along the road, like a dancing old witch, and though Nan knew it for what it was, it was all part and parcel of the uncanniness of the night. Swish, swish, went the night-wind in the firs. A long leaf on the willow by the gate suddenly flicked her cheek like the touch of an elfin hand. For a moment her heart stood still… yet she put her hand on the hook of the gate.

Suppose a long arm reached out of a grave and dragged you down!

Nan turned. She knew now that, bargain or no bargain, she
could
never walk through that graveyard by night. The grisliest groan suddenly sounded quite close to her. It was only Mrs Ben Baker’s old cow, which she pastured on the road, getting up from behind a clump of spruces. But Nan did not wait to see what it was. In a spasm of uncontrollable panic she tore down the hill, through the village and up the road to Ingleside. Outside of the gate she dashed headlong through what Rilla called a ‘pud-muddle’. But there was home, with the soft, glowing lights in the windows, and a moment later she stumbled into Susan’s kitchen, mud-spattered, with wet, bleeding feet.

‘Good grief!’ said Susan blankly.

‘I couldn’t walk through the graveyard, Susan… I couldn’t,’ gasped Nan.

Susan asked no questions at first. She picked the chilled, distraught Nan up and peeled her wet, pink feet. She undressed her and put on her nightgown and carried her to bed. Then she went down to get a ‘bite’ for her. No matter what the child had been up to she couldn’t be let go to bed on an empty stomach.

Nan ate her supper and sipped her glass of hot milk. How lovely it was to be back in the warm, lighted room, safe in her nice warm bed! But she would not tell Susan one thing about it. ‘It’s a secret between me and God, Susan.’ Susan went to bed, vowing she would be a happy woman when Mrs Doctor dear was up and about again.

‘They’re getting beyond
me
,’ sighed Susan helplessly.

Mother would certainly die now. Nan woke up with that terrible conviction in her mind. She had not kept her bargain and she could not expect God would. Life was very dreadful for Nan that following week. She could take no pleasure in anything, not even in watching Susan spin in the garret… something she had always found so fascinating. She would never be able to laugh again. It wouldn’t matter what she did. She gave her sawdust dog, off which Ken Ford had pulled the ears and which she loved even better than old Teddy… Nan always loved old things… to Shirley because Shirley had always wanted it, and she gave her prized house made of shells, which Captain Malachi had brought her all the way from the West Indies, to Rilla, hoping that it would satisfy God; but she feared it would not. And when her grey kitten, which she had given to Amy Taylor because Amy wanted it, came back home and persisted in coming back home, Nan knew God was not satisfied. Nothing could do for Him but walking through the graveyard; and poor haunted Nan knew now she could never do
that
. She was a coward and a sneak. Only sneaks, Jem had said once, tried to get out of bargains.

Anne was allowed to sit up in bed. She was nearly well again after being ill. She would soon be able to keep her house again… read her books… lie easily on her pillows… eat everything she wanted… sit by her fireplace… look to her garden… see her friends… listen to the juicy bits of gossip… welcome the days shining like jewels on the necklace of the year… be again a part of the colourful pageantry of life.

She had had such a nice dinner… Susan’s stuffed leg of lamb had been done to a turn. It was delightful to feel hungry again. She looked about her room at all the things she loved. She must get new curtains for it, something between spring green and pale gold; and certainly those new cupboards for towels must be put in the bathroom. Then she looked out of the window. There was some magic in the air. She could catch a blue glimpse of the harbour through the maples: the weeping birch on the lawn was a soft rain of falling gold; vast sky-gardens arched over an opulent land holding autumn in fee, a land of unbelievable colours, mellow light and lengthening shadows. Cock Robin was tilting crazily on a fir top; the children were laughing in the orchard as they picked apples. Laughter had come back to Ingleside. Life
is
something more than ‘delicately balanced organic chemistry’, she thought happily.

Into the room crept Nan, eyes and nose crimson from crying.

‘Mummy, I
have
to tell you… I can’t wait any longer. Mummy,
I’ve cheated God
.’

Anne thrilled again to the soft touch of a child’s little clinging hand… a child seeking help and comfort in its bitter little problems. She listened while Nan sobbed out the whole story and managed to keep a straight face. Anne always had contrived to keep a straight face when a straight face was indicated, no matter how crazily she might laugh it over with Gilbert afterwards. She knew Nan’s worry was real and dreadful to her; and she also realized that this small daughter’s theology needed attention.

‘Darling, you’re terribly mistaken about it all. God doesn’t make bargains. He
gives
… gives without asking from us in return, except love. When you ask Father or me for something you want
we
don’t make bargains with you… and God is ever and ever so much kinder than we are. And He knows so much better than we do what is good to give.’

‘And He won’t… He won’t make you die, Mummy, because I didn’t keep my promise?’

‘Certainly not, darling.’

‘Mummy, even if I was mistooken about God… oughtn’t I to keep my bargain when I made it? I
said
I would, you know. Daddy says we should always keep our promises. Won’t I be
disgraced for ever
if I don’t?’

‘When I get quite well, dear, I’ll go with you some night… and stay outside the gate… and I don’t think you’ll be a bit afraid to go through the graveyard then. That will relieve your poor little conscience, and you won’t make any more foolish bargains with God?’

‘No,’ promised Nan, with a rather regretful feeling that she was giving up something that, with all its drawbacks, had been pleasantly exciting. But the sparkle had come back to her eyes and a bit of the old ginger to her voice.

‘I’ll go and wash my face and then I’ll come back and kiss you, Mummy. And I’ll pick you all the snack-dragons I can find. It’s been
dreadful
without you, Mummy.’

‘Oh, Susan,’ said Anne, when Susan brought in her supper, ‘what a world it is! What a beautiful, interesting, wonderful world! Isn’t it, Susan?’

‘I will go so far,’ admitted Susan, recalling the beautiful row of pies she had just left in the pantry, ‘as to say that it is a very tolerable world.’

October was a very happy month at Ingleside that year, full of days when you just
had
to run and sing and whistle. Mother was about again, refusing to be treated as a convalescent any longer, making garden plans, laughing again… Jem always thought Mother had such a beautiful joyous laugh… answering innumerable questions. ‘Mummy, how far is it from here to the sunset?’… ‘Mummy, why can’t we gather up the spilled moonlight?’… ‘Mummy, do the souls of dead people
really
come back on Hallowe’en?’… ‘Mother, what causes the cause?’… ‘Mummy, wouldn’t you rather be killed by a rattlesnake than a tiger, because the tiger would mess you up and eat you?’… ‘Mummy, what is a cubby?’… ‘Mother, is a widow really a woman whose dreams have come true?… Wally Taylor said she was’… ‘Mummy, what do little birds do when it rains
hard
?’… ‘Mummy, are we
really
a too romantic family?’

The last from Jem, who had heard in school that Mrs Alec Davies had said so. Jem did not like Mrs Alec Davies because whenever she met him with Mother or Father she invariably dabbed her long forefinger at him and demanded, ‘Is Jemmy a good boy in school?’ Jemmy! Perhaps they
were
a bit romantic… I’m sure Susan thought so when she discovered the boardwalk to the barn lavishly decorated with splotches of crimson paint. ‘We
had
to have them for our sham battle, Susan,’ explained Jem. ‘They represent gobs of gore.’