Emily's Husband Page #3

"Emily's Husband" is a poignant novella by Lucy Maud Montgomery that explores the complexities of love, identity, and the evolving nature of relationships. Centered on the character of Emily, the story delves into her marriage and the challenges she faces as she navigates her husband's expectations and her own desires. Through Montgomery's signature lyrical prose, the narrative reflects on personal growth and the nuances of companionship, ultimately highlighting the importance of understanding and compromise in a loving partnership.

• Short story

								


Amelia began to talk rapidly in low tones. Emily heard nothing
further. She got up and went blindly back into her room with such
agony tearing at her heartstrings that she dully wondered why she
could not shriek aloud.

Stephen--her husband--dying! In the burning anguish of that moment her
own soul was as an open book before her. The love she had buried rose
from the deeps of her being in an awful, accusing resurrection.

Out of her stupor and pain a purpose formed itself clearly. She must
go to Stephen--she must beg and win his forgiveness before it was too
late. She dared not go down to John and ask him to take her to her
husband. He might refuse. The Phillipses had been known to do even
harder things than that. At the best there would be a storm of protest
and objection on her brother's and sister's part, and Emily felt that
she could not encounter that in her present mood. It would drive her
mad.

She lit a lamp and dressed herself noiselessly, but with feverish
haste. Then she listened. The house was very still. Amelia and John
had gone to bed. She wrapped herself in a heavy woollen shawl hanging
in the hall and crept downstairs. With numbed fingers she fumbled at
the key of the hall door, turned it and slipped out into the night.

The storm seemed to reach out and clutch her and swallow her up. She
went through the garden, where the flowers already were crushed to
earth; she crossed the long field beyond, where the rain cut her face
like a whip and the wind almost twisted her in its grasp like a broken
reed. Somehow or other, more by blind instinct than anything else, she
found the path that led through commons and woods and waste valleys to
her lost home.

In after years that frenzied walk through the storm and blackness
seemed as an unbroken nightmare to Emily Fair's recollection. Often
she fell. Once as she did so a jagged, dead limb of fir struck her
forehead and cut in it a gash that marked her for life. As she
struggled to her feet and found her way again the blood trickled down
over her face.

"Oh God, don't let him die before I get to him--don't--don't--don't!"
she prayed desperately with more of defiance than entreaty in her
voice. Then, realizing this, she cried out in horror. Surely some
fearsome punishment would come upon her for her wickedness--she would
find her husband lying dead.

When Emily opened the kitchen door of the Fair homestead Almira
Sentner cried out in her alarm, who or what was this creature with the
white face and wild eyes, with her torn and dripping garments and
dishevelled, wind-writhen hair and the big drops of blood slowly
trickling from her brow?

The next moment she recognized Emily and her face hardened. This
woman, Stephen's sister-in-law, had always hated Emily Fair.

"What do you want here?" she said harshly.

"Where is my husband?" asked Emily.

"You can't see him," said Mrs. Sentner defiantly. "The doctors won't
allow anyone in the room but those he's used to. Strangers excite
him."

The insolence and cruelty of her speech fell on unheeding ears. Emily,
understanding only that her husband yet lived, turned to the hall
door.

"Stand back!" she said in a voice that was little more than a
thrilling whisper, but which yet had in it something that cowed Almira
Sentner's malice. Sullenly she stood aside and Emily went unhindered
up the stairs to the room where the sick man lay.

The two doctors in attendance were there, together with the trained
nurse from the city. Emily pushed them aside and fell on her knees by
the bed. One of the doctors made a hasty motion as if to draw her
back, but the other checked him.

"It doesn't matter now," he said significantly.

Stephen Fair turned his languid, unshorn head on the pillow. His dull,
fevered eyes met Emily's. He had not recognized anyone all day, but he
knew his wife.

"Emily!" he whispered.

Emily drew his head close to her face and kissed his lips
passionately.

"Stephen, I've come back to you. Forgive me--forgive me--say that you
forgive me."

"It's all right, my girl," he said feebly.

She buried her face in the pillow beside his with a sob.

In the wan, grey light of the autumn dawn the old doctor came to the
bedside and lifted Emily to her feet. She had not stirred the whole
night. Now she raised her white face with dumb pleading in her eyes.
The doctor glanced at the sleeping form on the bed.

"Your husband will live, Mrs. Fair," he said gently. "I think your
coming saved him. His joy turned the ebbing tide in favour of life."

"Thank God!" said Emily.

And for the first time in her life her beautiful voice trembled.
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