Books: Kilmeny of the Orchard
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Lucy Maud Montgomery >> Kilmeny of the Orchard
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As he crossed the pasture field before the spruce wood he came
upon Neil Gordon, building a longer fence. Neil did not look up
as Eric passed, but sullenly went on driving poles. Before this
Eric had pitied Neil; now he was conscious of feeling sympathy
with him. Had Neil suffered as he was suffering? Eric had
entered into a new fellowship whereof the passport was pain.
The orchard was very silent and dreamy in the thick, deep tinted
sunshine of the September afternoon, a sunshine which seemed to
possess the power of extracting the very essence of all the
odours which summer has stored up in wood and field. There were
few flowers now; most of the lilies, which had queened it so
bravely along the central path a few days before, were withered.
The grass had become ragged and sere and unkempt. But in the
corners the torches of the goldenrod were kindling and a few
misty purple asters nodded here and there. The orchard kept its
own strange attractiveness, as some women with youth long passed
still preserve an atmosphere of remembered beauty and innate,
indestructible charm.
Eric walked drearily and carelessly about it, and finally sat
down on a half fallen fence panel in the shadow of the
overhanging spruce boughs. There he gave himself up to a
reverie, poignant and bitter sweet, in which he lived over again
everything that had passed in the orchard since his first meeting
there with Kilmeny.
So deep was his abstraction that he was conscious of nothing
around him. He did not hear stealthy footsteps behind him in the
dim spruce wood. He did not even see Kilmeny as she came slowly
around the curve of the wild cherry lane.
Kilmeny had sought the old orchard for the healing of her
heartbreak, if healing were possible for her. She had no fear of
encountering Eric there at that time of day, for she did not know
that it was the district custom to close the school for a
funeral. She would never have gone to it in the evening, but she
longed for it continually; it, and her memories, were all that
was left her now.
Years seemed to have passed over the girl in those few days. She
had drunk of pain and broken bread with sorrow. Her face was
pale and strained, with bluish, transparent shadows under her
large wistful eyes, out of which the dream and laughter of
girlhood had gone, but into which had come the potent charm of
grief and patience. Thomas Gordon had shaken his head bodingly
when he had looked at her that morning at the breakfast table.
"She won't stand it," he thought. "She isn't long for this
world. Maybe it is all for the best, poor lass. But I wish that
young Master had never set foot in the Connors orchard, or in
this house. Margaret, Margaret, it's hard that your child should
have to be paying the reckoning of a sin that was sinned before
her birth."
Kilmeny walked through the lane slowly and absently like a woman
in a dream. When she came to the gap in the fence where the lane
ran into the orchard she lifted her wan, drooping face and saw
Eric, sitting in the shadow of the wood at the other side of the
orchard with his bowed head in his hands. She stopped quickly
and the blood rushed wildly over her face.
The next moment it ebbed, leaving her white as marble. Horror
filled her eyes,--blank, deadly horror, as the livid shadow of a
cloud might fill two blue pools.
Behind Eric Neil Gordon was standing tense, crouched, murderous.
Even at that distance Kilmeny saw the look on his face, saw what
he held in his hand, and realized in one agonized flash of
comprehension what it meant.
All this photographed itself in her brain in an instant. She
knew that by the time she could run across the orchard to warn
Eric by a touch it would be too late. Yet she must warn him--she
MUST--she MUST! A mighty surge of desire seemed to rise up
within her and overwhelm her like a wave of the sea,--a surge
that swept everything before it in an irresistible flood. As
Neil Gordon swiftly and vindictively, with the face of a demon,
lifted the axe he held in his hand, Kilmeny sprang forward
through the gap.
"ERIC, ERIC, LOOK BEHIND YOU--LOOK BEHIND YOU!"
Eric started up, confused, bewildered, as the voice came
shrieking across the orchard. He did not in the least realize
that it was Kilmeny who had called to him, but he instinctively
obeyed the command.
He wheeled around and saw Neil Gordon, who was looking, not at
him, but past him at Kilmeny. The Italian boy's face was ashen
and his eyes were filled with terror and incredulity, as if he
had been checked in his murderous purpose by some supernatural
interposition. The axe, lying at his feet where he had dropped
it in his unutterable consternation on hearing Kilmeny's cry told
the whole tale. But before Eric could utter a word Neil turned,
with a cry more like that of an animal than a human being, and
fled like a hunted creature into the shadow of the spruce wood.
A moment later Kilmeny, her lovely face dewed with tears and
sunned over with smiles, flung herself on Eric's breast.
"Oh, Eric, I can speak,--I can speak! Oh, it is so wonderful!
Eric, I love you--I love you!"
CHAPTER XVIII. NEIL GORDON SOLVES HIS OWN PROBLEM
"It is a miracle!" said Thomas Gordon in an awed tone.
It was the first time he had spoken since Eric and Kilmeny had
rushed in, hand in hand, like two children intoxicated with joy
and wonder, and gasped out their story together to him and Janet.
"Oh, no, it is very wonderful, but it is not a miracle," said
Eric. "David told me it might happen. I had no hope that it
would. He could explain it all to you if he were here."
Thomas Gordon shook his head. "I doubt if he could, Master--he,
or any one else. It is near enough to a miracle for me. Let us
thank God reverently and humbly that he has seen fit to remove
his curse from the innocent. Your doctors may explain it as they
like, lad, but I'm thinking they won't get much nearer to it than
that. It is awesome, that is what it is. Janet, woman, I feel
as if I were in a dream. Can Kilmeny really speak?"
"Indeed I can, Uncle," said Kilmeny, with a rapturous glance at
Eric. "Oh, I don't know how it came to me--I felt that I MUST
speak--and I did. And it is so easy now--it seems to me as if I
could always have done it."
She spoke naturally and easily. The only difficulty which she
seemed to experience was in the proper modulation of her voice.
Occasionally she pitched it too high--again, too low. But it was
evident that she would soon acquire perfect control of it. It
was a beautiful voice--very clear and soft and musical.
"Oh, I am so glad that the first word I said was your name,
dearest," she murmured to Eric.
"What about Neil?" asked Thomas Gordon gravely, rousing himself
with an effort from his abstraction of wonder. "What are we to
do with him when he returns? In one way this is a sad business."
Eric had almost forgotten about Neil in his overwhelming
amazement and joy. The realization of his escape from sudden and
violent death had not yet had any opportunity to take possession
of his thoughts.
"We must forgive him, Mr. Gordon. I know how I should feel
towards a man who took Kilmeny from me. It was an evil impulse
to which he gave way in his suffering--and think of the good
which has resulted from it."
"That is true, Master, but it does not alter the terrible fact
that the boy had murder in his heart,--that he would have killed
you. An over-ruling Providence has saved him from the actual
commission of the crime and brought good out of evil; but he is
guilty in thought and purpose. And we have cared for him and
instructed him as our own--with all his faults we have loved him!
It is a hard thing, and I do not see what we are to do. We
cannot act as if nothing had happened. We can never trust him
again."
But Neil Gordon solved the problem himself. When Eric returned
that night he found old Robert Williamson in the pantry regaling
himself with a lunch of bread and cheese after a trip to the
station. Timothy sat on the dresser in black velvet state and
gravely addressed himself to the disposal of various tid-bits
that came his way.
"Good night, Master. Glad to see you're looking more like
yourself. I told the wife it was only a lover's quarrel most
like. She's been worrying about you; but she didn't like to ask
you what was the trouble. She ain't one of them unfortunate
folks who can't be happy athout they're everlasting poking their
noses into other people's business. But what kind of a rumpus
was kicked up at the Gordon place, to-night, Master?"
Eric looked amazed. What could Robert Williamson have heard so
soon?
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"Why, us folks at the station knew there must have been a to-do
of some kind when Neil Gordon went off on the harvest excursion
the way he did."
"Neil gone! On the harvest excursion!" exclaimed Eric.
"Yes, sir. You know this was the night the excursion train left.
They cross on the boat to-night--special trip. There was a dozen
or so fellows from hereabouts went. We was all standing around
chatting when Lincoln Frame drove up full speed and Neil jumped
out of his rig. Just bolted into the office, got his ticket and
out again, and on to the train without a word to any one, and as
black looking as the Old Scratch himself. We was all too
surprised to speak till he was gone. Lincoln couldn't give us
much information. He said Neil had rushed up to their place
about dark, looking as if the constable was after him, and
offered to sell that black filly of his to Lincoln for sixty
dollars if Lincoln would drive him to the station in time to
catch the excursion train. The filly was Neil's own, and Lincoln
had been wanting to buy her but Neil would never hear to it
afore. Lincoln jumped at the chance. Neil had brought the filly
with him, and Lincoln hitched right up and took him to the
station. Neil hadn't no luggage of any kind and wouldn't open
his mouth the whole way up, Lincoln says. We concluded him and
old Thomas must have had a row. D'ye know anything about it? Or
was you so wrapped up in sweethearting that you didn't hear or
see nothing else?"
Eric reflected rapidly. He was greatly relieved to find that
Neil had gone. He would never return and this was best for all
concerned. Old Robert must be told a part of the truth at least,
since it would soon become known that Kilmeny could speak.
"There was some trouble at the Gordon place to-night, Mr.
Williamson," he said quietly. "Neil Gordon behaved rather badly
and frightened Kilmeny terribly,--so terribly that a very
surprising thing has happened. She has found herself able to
speak, and can speak perfectly."
Old Robert laid down the piece of cheese he was conveying to his
mouth on the point of a knife and stared at Eric in blank
amazement.
"God bless my soul, Master, what an extraordinary thing!" he
ejaculated. "Are you in earnest? Or are you trying to see how
much of a fool you can make of the old man?"
"No, Mr. Williamson, I assure you it is no more than the simple
truth. Dr. Baker told me that a shock might cure her,--and it
has. As for Neil, he has gone, no doubt for good, and I think it
well that he has."
Not caring to discuss the matter further, Eric left the kitchen.
But as he mounted the stairs to his room he heard old Robert
muttering, like a man in hopeless bewilderment,
"Well, I never heard anything like this in all my born
days--never--never. Timothy, did YOU ever hear the like? Them
Gordons are an unaccountable lot and no mistake. They couldn't
act like other people if they tried. I must wake mother up and
tell her about this, or I'll never be able to sleep."
CHAPTER XIX. VICTOR FROM VANQUISHED ISSUES
Now that everything was settled Eric wished to give up teaching
and go back to his own place. True, he had "signed papers" to
teach the school for a year; but he knew that the trustees would
let him off if he procured a suitable substitute. He resolved to
teach until the fall vacation, which came in October, and then
go. Kilmeny had promised that their marriage should take place
in the following spring. Eric had pleaded for an earlier date,
but Kilmeny was sweetly resolute, and Thomas and Janet agreed
with her.
"There are so many things that I must learn yet before I shall be
ready to be married," Kilmeny had said. "And I want to get
accustomed to seeing people. I feel a little frightened yet
whenever I see any one I don't know, although I don't think I
show it. I am going to church with Uncle and Aunt after this,
and to the Missionary Society meetings. And Uncle Thomas says
that he will send me to a boarding school in town this winter if
you think it advisable."
Eric vetoed this promptly. The idea of Kilmeny in a boarding
school was something that could not be thought about without
laughter.
"I can't see why she can't learn all she needs to learn after she
is married to me, just as well as before," he grumbled to her
uncle and aunt.
"But we want to keep her with us for another winter yet,"
explained Thomas Gordon patiently. "We are going to miss her
terrible when she does go, Master. She has never been away from
us for a day--she is all the brightness there is in our lives.
It is very kind of you to say that she can come home whenever she
likes, but there will be a great difference. She will belong to
your world and not to ours. That is for the best--and we
wouldn't have it otherwise. But let us keep her as our own for
this one winter yet."
Eric yielded with the best grace he could muster. After all, he
reflected, Lindsay was not so far from Queenslea, and there were
such things as boats and trains.
"Have you told your father about all this yet?" asked Janet
anxiously.
No, he had not. But he went home and wrote a full account of his
summer to old Mr. Marshall that night.
Mr. Marshall, Senior, answered the letter in person. A few days
later, Eric, coming home from school, found his father sitting in
Mrs. Williamson's prim, fleckless parlour. Nothing was said
about Eric's letter, however, until after tea. When they found
themselves alone, Mr. Marshall said abruptly,
"Eric, what about this girl? I hope you haven't gone and made a
fool of yourself. It sounds remarkably like it. A girl that has
been dumb all her life--a girl with no right to her father's
name--a country girl brought up in a place like Lindsay! Your
wife will have to fill your mother's place,--and your mother was
a pearl among women. Do you think this girl is worthy of it? It
isn't possible! You've been led away by a pretty face and dairy
maid freshness. I expected some trouble out of this freak of
yours coming over here to teach school."
"Wait until you see Kilmeny, father," said Eric, smiling.
"Humph! That's just exactly what David Baker said. I went
straight to him when I got your letter, for I knew that there was
some connection between it and that mysterious visit of his over
here, concerning which I never could drag a word out of him by
hook or crook. And all HE said was, 'Wait until you see Kilmeny
Gordon, sir.' Well, I WILL wait till I see her, but I shall look
at her with the eyes of sixty-five, mind you, not the eyes of
twenty-four. And if she isn't what your wife ought to be, sir,
you give her up or paddle your own canoe. I shall not aid or
abet you in making a fool of yourself and spoiling your life."
Eric bit his lip, but only said quietly,
"Come with me, father. We will go to see her now."
They went around by way of the main road and the Gordon lane.
Kilmeny was not in when they reached the house.
"She is up in the old orchard, Master," said Janet. "She loves
that place so much she spends all her spare time there. She
likes to go there to study."
They sat down and talked awhile with Thomas and Janet. When they
left, Mr. Marshall said,
"I like those people. If Thomas Gordon had been a man like
Robert Williamson I shouldn't have waited to see your Kilmeny.
But they are all right--rugged and grim, but of good stock and
pith--native refinement and strong character. But I must say
candidly that I hope your young lady hasn't got her aunt's
mouth."
"Kilmeny's mouth is like a love-song made incarnate in sweet
flesh," said Eric enthusiastically.
"Humph!" said Mr. Marshall. "Well," he added more tolerantly, a
moment later, "I was a poet, too, for six months in my life when
I was courting your mother."
Kilmeny was reading on the bench under the lilac trees when they
reached the orchard. She stood up and came shyly forward to meet
them, guessing who the tall, white-haired old gentleman with Eric
must be. As she approached Eric saw with a thrill of exultation
that she had never looked lovelier. She wore a dress of her
favourite blue, simply and quaintly made, as all her gowns were,
revealing the perfect lines of her lithe, slender figure. Her
glossy black hair was wound about her head in a braided coronet,
against which a spray of wild asters shone like pale purple
stars. Her face was flushed delicately with excitement. She
looked like a young princess, crowned with a ruddy splash of
sunlight that fell through the old trees.
"Father, this is Kilmeny," said Eric proudly.
Kilmeny held out her hand with a shyly murmured greeting. Mr.
Marshall took it and held it in his, looking so steadily and
piercingly into her face that even her frank gaze wavered before
the intensity of his keen old eyes. Then he drew her to him and
kissed her gravely and gently on her white forehead.
"My dear," he said, "I am glad and proud that you have consented
to be my son's wife--and my very dear and honoured daughter."
Eric turned abruptly away to hide his emotion and on his face was
a light as of one who sees a great glory widening and deepening
down the vista of his future.
THE END.
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