Four Winds Page #11

"Four Winds" by Lucy Maud Montgomery is a touching collection of stories that explore themes of love, nature, and the human experience. Set against the backdrop of the Canadian landscape, Montgomery's prose beautifully captures the joys and struggles of her characters, often reflecting on the passage of time and the impact of the seasons. With her signature lyrical style, the author weaves tales that evoke emotion and contemplation, inviting readers to appreciate the nuances of life’s journey. Each story highlights the connection between individuals and the world around them, making it a poignant read for fans of Montgomery's evocative storytelling.

• Short story

								


He never saw Lynde, for he never went to any part of the shore now;
yet he hungered constantly for the sight of her, the sound of her
voice, the glance of her luminous eyes. When he pictured her eating
her heart out in the solitude of Four Winds, he clenched his hands in
despair. As for the possibility of Harmon's return, Alan could never
face it for a moment. When it thrust its ugly presence into his
thoughts, he put it away desperately. The man was dead--or his fickle
fancy had veered elsewhere. Nothing else could explain his absence.
But they could never know, and the uncertainty would forever stand
between him and Lynde like a spectre. But he thought more of Lynde's
pain than his own. He would have elected to bear any suffering if by
so doing he could have freed her from the nightmare dread of Harmon's
returning to claim her. That dread had always hung over her and now it
must be intensified to agony by her love for another man. And he could
do nothing--nothing. He groaned aloud in his helplessness.

One evening in late November Alan flung aside his pen and yielded to
the impulse that urged him to the lake shore. He did not mean to seek
Lynde--he would go to a part of the shore where there would be no
likelihood of meeting her. But get away by himself he must. A November
storm was raging and there would be a certain satisfaction in
breasting its buffets and fighting his way through it. Besides, he
knew that Isabel King was in the house and he dreaded meeting her.
Since his conviction that she had written that letter to Lynde, he
could not tolerate the girl and it tasked his self-control to keep
from showing his contempt openly. Perhaps Isabel felt it beneath all
his outward courtesy. At least she did not seek his society as she had
formerly done.

It was the second day of the storm; a wild northeast gale was blowing
and cold rain and freezing sleet fell in frequent showers. Alan
shivered as he came out into its full fury on the lake shore. At first
he could not see the water through the driving mist. Then it cleared
away for a moment and he stopped short, aghast at the sight which met
his eyes.

Opposite him was a long low island known as Philip's Point, dwindling
down at its northeastern side to two long narrow bars of quicksand.
Alan's horrified eyes saw a small schooner sunk between the bars; her
hull was entirely under water and in the rigging clung one solitary
figure. So much he saw before the Point was blotted out in a renewed
downpour of sleet.

Without a moment's hesitation Alan turned and ran for Four Winds,
which was only about a quarter of a mile away around a headland. With
the Captain's assistance, something might be done. Other help could
not be obtained before darkness would fall and then it would be
impossible to do anything. He dashed up the steps of Four Winds and
met Emily, who had flung the door open. Behind her was Lynde's pale
face with its alarmed questioning eyes.

"Where is the Captain?" gasped Alan. "There's a vessel on Philip's
Point and one man at least on her."

"The Captain's away on a cruise," said Emily blankly. "He went three
days ago."

"Then nothing can be done," said Alan despairingly. "It will be dark
long before I can get to the village."

Lynde stepped out, tying a shawl around her head.

"Let us go around to the Point," she said. "Have you matches? No?
Emily, get some. We must light a bonfire at least. And bring Father's
glass."

"It is not a fit night for you to be out," said Alan anxiously. "You
are sheltered here--you don't feel it--but it's a fearful storm down
there."

"I am not afraid of the storm. It will not hurt me. Let us hurry. It
is growing dark already."

In silence they breasted their way to the shore and around the
headland. Arriving opposite Philip's Point, a lull in the sleet
permitted them to see the sunken schooner and the clinging figure.
Lynde waved her hand to him and they saw him wave back.

"It won't be necessary to light a fire now that he has seen us," said
Lynde. "Nothing can be done with village help till morning and that
man can never cling there so long. He will freeze to death, for it is
growing colder every minute. His only chance is to swim ashore if he
can swim. The danger will be when he comes near shore; the undertow of
the backwater on the quicksand will sweep him away and in his probably
exhausted condition he may not be able to make head against it."

"He knows that, doubtless, and that is why he hasn't attempted to swim
ashore before this," said Alan. "But I'll meet him in the backwater
and drag him in."

"You--you'll risk your own life," cried Lynde.

"There is a little risk certainly, but I don't think there is a great
one. Anyhow, the attempt must be made," said Alan quietly.

Suddenly Lynde's composure forsook her. She wrung her hands.

"I can't let you do it," she cried wildly. "You might be
drowned--there's every risk. You don't know the force of that
backwater. Alan, Alan, don't think of it."

She caught his arm in her white wet hands and looked into his face
with passionate pleading.

Emily, who had said nothing, now spoke harshly.

"Lynde is right, Mr. Douglas. You have no right to risk your life for
a stranger. My advice is to go to the village for help, and Lynde and
I will make a fire and watch here. That is all that can be expected of
you or us."

Alan paid no heed to Emily. Very tenderly he loosened Lynde's hold on
his arm and looked into her quivering face.

"You know it is my duty, Lynde," he said gently. "If anything can be
done for that poor man, I am the only one who can do it. I will come
back safe, please God. Be brave, dear."

Lynde, with a little moan of resignation, turned away. Old Emily
looked on with a face of grim disapproval as Alan waded out into the
surf that boiled and swirled around him in a mad whirl of foam. The
shower of sleet had again slackened, and the wreck half a mile away,
with its solitary figure, was dearly visible. Alan beckoned to the man
to jump overboard and swim ashore, enforcing his appeal by gestures
that commanded haste before the next shower should come. For a few
moments it seemed as if the seaman did not understand or lacked the
courage or power to obey. The next minute he had dropped from the
rigging on the crest of a mighty wave and was being borne onward to
the shore.

Speedily the backwater was reached and the man, sucked down by the
swirl of the wave, threw up his arms and disappeared. Alan dashed in,
groping, swimming; it seemed an eternity before his hand clutched the
drowning man and wrenched him from the undertow. And, with the seaman
in his arms, he staggered back through the foam and dropped his
burden on the sand at Lynde's feet. Alan was reeling from exhaustion
and chilled to the marrow, but he thought only of the man he had
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