The Blythes Are Quoted (53 page)

“She has gone,” she said solemnly. “Died as easy as a child going to sleep.”

Everyone tried not to look relieved. Kathie roused John with a nudge. Dr. Parsons got up briskly ... then tried not to look too brisk.

“Well, she had lived her life” ... “Such a life!” he added mentally. “If you like I’ll stop in at the undertaker’s on my way back and ask him to come out. I suppose you’ll want things done as ... as ... simply as possible?”

He had just saved himself from saying “cheaply.” What a break that would have been! Enough to ruin his career. But would Blythe or Parker ever have thought of offering to send the undertaker? Not they. It was the little things like that that counted. In ten years’ time he would have most of their practices.

“Thank you,” said Kathie gravely.

“That’s mighty kind of you,” said John. To his own surprise John was thinking he would miss Aunt Ursula. No one could put on a patch like she could. But then she had sewed all her life. She could do nothing else. Queer where all the money she made had gone to.

The doctor went out. The rain had ceased for good and the moon occasionally broke through the windy clouds. He had lost his evening with Zoe but there was tomorrow night ... if some fool woman didn’t up and have a baby. He thought of Zoe in her ripe beauty ... and then he thought of old Ursula Anderson upstairs in her grey flannel nightdress. She was dead.

But then, had she ever been alive?

“Didn’t I say she couldn’t die till the tide went out?” said Uncle Alec triumphantly. “You young folks don’t know everything.”

A filmy western sky of smoky red

Blossoming into stars above a sea

Of soft mysterious dim silver spread

Beyond the long grey dunes’ serenity,

Where the salt grasses and sea poppies press

Together in a wild sweet loneliness.

Seven slim poplars on the windy hill

Talk some lost language of an elder day,

Taught by the green folk that inhabit still

The daisied field and secret friendly way,

Forever keeping in their solitudes

The magic ritual of our northern woods.

The darkness woos us like a perfumed flower

To reedy meadow pool and wise old trees,

To beds of spices in a garden bower

And the spruce valley’s dear austerities,

I know their lure of dusk but evermore

I turn to the enchantment of the shore.

The idle ships dream-like at anchor ride

Beside the piers where wavelets lap and croon,

One ghostly sail slips outward with the tide

That swells to meet the pale imperial moon.

Oh fading ship, between the dark and light

I send my heart and hope with you tonight.

Walter Blythe

RILLA FORD
:- “He speaks of the enchantment of the shore. Yet I think he really loved the woods better. How many twilights we spent together! And then the horror! But I always feel that his heart and hope are still with me, though that dreadful memory of the day the news of his death came at times overwhelms me. And now Gilbert has joined the air force and I have to wait again! ... How Walter writing poetry used to annoy poor Susan! When I think of Walter it almost seems wicked to have been glad that Ken came back. But what would I have done if he hadn’t! I could never have been as brave as Una.”

Oh, we will walk with spring today,

With fair and laughing Lady May,

In all sweet carelessness among

The gods who ruled when earth was young:

On secret trails of spell and rune

Where wondrous things might happen soon,

Some hidden pixy whisper low

A wise Lost Word of Long Ago

Or naked foot of dryad press

Her path of haunted loveliness.

Oh, we will walk and hear and see

Enchantment, magic, mystery,

Some hilly field of sun and grass

Where tantalizing shadows pass,

Some lonely tree in cobweb bloom

Woven upon no earthly loom,

Some gay, unconquered brook that sings

Legends of old forgotten springs,

Some necromantic pines that teach

The lore of a diviner speech.

Oh, we will walk with spring today

Along a scented blossom way,

In friendly mossy hollows sip

A sacramental fellowship,

And tryst with winds that seem in truth

To blow from out the Land of Youth,

Oh, we will be as glad as song

And happy as our quest is long,

With hearts that laugh because in Spring

One can believe in anything.

Walter Blythe

DR. BLYTHE
:- “Yes, one
can
believe in anything in spring, thank God. I remember in the old days, Anne, I used to believe in spring that I could win you, in spite of everything.”

JEM BLYTHE
:- “Great snakes, dad o’ mine, you don’t mean to tell me that there was ever any question about
that
!”

DR. BLYTHE
:- “Ah, you young fry don’t know as much about your mother’s youth and mine as you think. I had a hard time to get her, I can tell you that.”

SUSAN
:- “Even in spring it seems quite impossible to believe there could ever have been any question about
that
. If
I
was a girl and a man like Dr. Blythe as much as looked at me ...”
Shakes her head and thinks what a queer world it is.

DR. BLYTHE
:- “Why, there were years Anne wouldn’t even speak to me.”

ANNE
:- “The line should be ‘in youth one can believe in anything.’”
(sighs.)

DR. BLYTHE
:- “I agree with you. But ... we lost our son, Anne, as did many others, but we have our memories of him and souls cannot die. We can still walk with Walter in the spring.”

To my door came grief one day

In the dawnlight ashen grey,

All unwelcome entered in,

Took the seat where Joy had been

At my hearthstone when the glow

Of my fire had faded low,

In Love’s own accustomed place

Grief sat with me face to face.

In the noonday’s ministry

Grief was ever near to me,

In the mournful eventide

Grief was closely at my side,

Shrinking from her sullen woe

Much I longed to see her go.

Music lost its tender grace

When I looked on her grim face,

Flowers no more were sweet to me,

Sunshine lost its witchery,

Laughter hid itself in fear

Of that Presence dour and drear,

Little dreams in pale dismay

Made all haste to steal away.

Reft of what had made me glad,

Grief alone was all I had,

Then I took her to my breast,

Cherished her as welcome guest,

Fairer every day she grew,

More beloved, kind and true ...

Thus it was that Grief to me

Friend and comrade came to be.

Broke at last a bitter day

When my dear Grief went away;

On a silver-dappled dawn

I awoke and found her gone;

Oh, the emptiness and smart

That she left within my heart!

Vain my lonely, ceaseless plea,

“Faithless Grief, come back to me!”

Anne Blythe

ANNE
,
sighing:
- “I wrote that years ago, as an echo of Matthew’s death. Since then I have learned that some griefs are more faithful.”

UNA MEREDITH
:- “Ah, indeed yes.”

SUSAN BAKER
,
coming in from the garden:
-”I wonder what they are all so sober about. I suppose they are thinking of Walter’s death. I’ve always suspected that Una was in love with him. Well, I am going to make some muffins for supper ... that ought to cheer them up.”

This is a haunted room,

This quiet firelit place,

Where glimmering mirrors bloom

With many a misty face.

Here a young lover still

Dreams his wild heart away

In splendid anguish till

The cruel gleam of day.

The little Spanish bride,

Lonely beyond belief,

Homesick until she died,

Comes in her alien grief.

A miser counts his gold

With furtive anxious breath,

A prisoner as of old,

Not even freed by death.

And she who hated so

Hates still, a fugitive

Unhappy guest of woe,

Who cannot yet forgive.

There are no happy ghosts ...

The happy dead lie still;

Only they come, the hosts,

Who did or suffered ill.

Old scandals lurk and creep,

Old lies and mockeries,

Secrets that poisoned sleep,

And ancient cruelties.

Oh, who would think this room,

This pleasant firelit place,

Where rosy shadows bloom

Was such a haunted place?

Anne Blythe

SUSAN
:- “I remember hearing that story of the Spanish bride when I was a girl. A sea captain brought her home and she died of homesickness. People said she ‘walked.’ Do you think it possible, doctor?”

DR. BLYTHE
:- “Do
you
believe in ghosts, Susan?”

SUSAN
:- “No, indeed ... but ... but ...”

JEM BLYTHE
:- “But you’re afraid of them all the same.”

SUSAN
,
indignantly:
- “I am
not
!”

ANNE
:- “It’s odd that every other person you meet has seen one.”

JEM
:- “Or imagined they did. Who was the old miser, mums?”

SUSAN
:- “I’ll bet it was old Sam Flagg on the Lowbridge Road. Wasn’t it, Mrs. Dr. dear? He’d skin a flea for its hide and tallow.”

ANNE
:- “I never heard of him. Except for the Spanish bride, everything else was imaginary.
Do
get that into your heads.”

FAITH BLYTHE
:- “We
do
understand. And your poem is true of almost every room on earth that has been much lived in ...”

Susette was not actually engaged to Harvey Brooks but she knew that when she came back from her visit to Glenellyn she would be. When Harvey had gone as far as to invite her to Glenellyn to meet his mother and Aunt Clara and his Great-aunt Ruth and several other relatives it meant only one thing, that he had at last made up his mind to marry her. It would not have occurred to Harvey that there was any other mind to be made up.

And indeed, there wasn’t. Susette had long since decided to say “yes” when he said “will you?” What else could a little known sub-editor of a small provincial paper really do when Harvey Brooks condescended to her? To accept Harvey meant accepting wealth, social position, a beautiful home ... and ... and ... and Harvey. Susette made an impatient grimace as she pulled her smart green hat over the golden bronze of her hair. “You are the most unreasonable creature I know,” she said. “Harvey is a catch, not only for what he has but for what he
is
. He’s ... he’s impeccable. Handsome, well-groomed, well-behaved, successful. What more do you ask, Susette King? You, who ran around a farm at Glen St. Mary bare-footed till you were twelve and now, at twenty-eight, are trying to delude yourself and the world into the belief that you have a career? You ought simply to be dying of joy to think that Harvey Brooks ...
the
Harvey Brooks who was always supposed to be too busy making money out of black foxes ever to find time to make love but who would have been expected to choose a countess if he did ... has taken it into his head to fall in love with you, to the horror of his clan.”

Still, she liked Harvey very well. She loved what he could offer her, and she was going to marry him. There was no doubt in her mind about that as she ran down to Glenellyn that afternoon in her own little car. Nevertheless, she was a trifle nervous. It was a bit of an ordeal to be appraised by Harvey’s family, who thought so very highly of themselves. And the minute she saw Glenellyn she hated it.

Mrs. Brooks condescended and Aunt Clara kissed her. Susette had not expected that. It seemed to include her too quickly ... and too inescapably ... in the family. The rest of the house party ... almost all of them relations of Harvey ... shook hands dutifully and almost pleasantly. On the whole, in spite of Aunt Clara’s kiss, she felt that they did not quite approve of her.