Four Winds Page #2

"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

								

short in astonishment. The second surprise and mystery of the evening
confronted him.

A little distance away a girl was standing--a girl who turned a
startled face at his unexpected appearance. Alan Douglas had thought
he knew all the girls in Rexton, but this lithe, glorious creature was
a stranger to him. She stood with her hand on the head of a huge,
tawny collie dog; another dog was sitting on his haunches beside her.

She was tall, with a great braid of shining chestnut hair, showing
ruddy burnished tints where the sunlight struck it, hanging over her
shoulder. The plain dark dress she wore emphasized the grace and
strength of her supple form. Her face was oval and pale, with straight
black brows and a finely cut crimson mouth--a face whose beauty bore
the indefinable stamp of race and breeding mingled with a wild
sweetness, as of a flower growing in some lonely and inaccessible
place. None of the Rexton girls looked like that. Who, in the name of
all that was amazing, could she be?

As the thought crossed Alan's mind the girl turned, with an air of
indifference that might have seemed slightly overdone to a calmer
observer than was the young minister at that moment and, with a
gesture of command to her dogs, walked quickly away into the scrub
spruces. She was so tall that her uncovered head was visible over them
as she followed some winding footpath, and Alan stood like a man
rooted to the ground until he saw her enter the grey house. Then he
went homeward in a maze, all thought of sermons, doctrinal or
otherwise, for the moment knocked out of his head.

She is the most beautiful woman I ever saw, he thought. How is it
possible that I have lived in Rexton for six months and never heard of
her or of that house? Well, I daresay there's some simple explanation
of it all. The place may have been unoccupied until lately--probably
it is the summer residence of people who have only recently come to
it. I'll ask Mrs. Danby. She'll know if anybody will. That good woman
knows everything about everybody in Rexton for three generations back.

Alan found Isabel King with his housekeeper when he got home. His
greeting was tinged with a slight constraint. He was not a vain man,
but he could not help knowing that Isabel looked upon him with a
favour that had in it much more than professional interest. Isabel
herself showed it with sufficient distinctness. Moreover, he felt a
certain personal dislike of her and of her hard, insistent beauty,
which seemed harder and more insistent than ever contrasted with his
recollection of the girl of the lake shore.

Isabel had a trick of coming to the manse on plausible errands to Mrs.
Danby and lingering until it was so dark that Alan was in courtesy
bound to see her home. The ruse was a little too patent and amused
Alan, although he carefully hid his amusement and treated Isabel with
the fine unvarying deference which his mother had engrained into him
for womanhood--a deference that flattered Isabel even while it annoyed
her with the sense of a barrier which she could not break down or
pass. She was the daughter of the richest man in Rexton and inclined
to give herself airs on that account, but Alan's gentle indifference
always brought home to her an unwelcome feeling of inferiority.

"You've been tiring yourself out again tramping that lake shore, I
suppose," said Mrs. Danby, who had kept house for three bachelor
ministers and consequently felt entitled to hector them in a somewhat
maternal fashion.

"Not tiring myself--resting and refreshing myself rather," smiled
Alan. "I was tired when I went out but now I feel like a strong man
rejoicing to run a race. By the way, Mrs. Danby, who lives in that
quaint old house away down at the very shore? I never knew of its
existence before."

Alan's "by the way" was not quite so indifferent as he tried to make
it. Isabel King, leaning back posingly among the cushions of the
lounge, sat quickly up as he asked his question.

"Dear me, you don't mean to say you've never heard of Captain
Anthony--Captain Anthony Oliver?" said Mrs. Danby. "He lives down
there at Four Winds, as they call it--he and his daughter and an old
cousin."

Isabel King bent forward, her brown eyes on Alan's face.

"Did you see Lynde Oliver?" she asked with suppressed eagerness.

Alan ignored the question--perhaps he did not hear it.

"Have they lived there long?" he asked.

"For eighteen years," said Mrs. Danby placidly. "It's funny you
haven't heard them mentioned. But people don't talk much about the
Captain now--he's an old story--and of course they never go anywhere,
not even to church. The Captain is a rank infidel and they say his
daughter is just as bad. To be sure, nobody knows much about her, but
it stands to reason that a girl who's had her bringing up must be odd,
to say no worse of her. It's not really her fault, I suppose--her
wicked old scalawag of a father is to blame for it. She's never
darkened a church or school door in her life and they say she's always
been a regular tomboy--running wild outdoors with dogs, and fishing
and shooting like a man. Nobody ever goes there--the Captain doesn't
want visitors. He must have done something dreadful in his time, if it
was only known, when he's so set on living like a hermit away down on
that jumping-off place. Did you see any of them?"

"I saw Miss Oliver, I suppose," said Alan briefly. "At least I met a
young lady on the shore. But where did these people come from? Surely
more is known of them than this."

"Precious little. The truth is, Mr. Douglas, folks don't think the
Olivers respectable and don't want to have anything to do with them.
Eighteen years ago Captain Anthony came from goodness knows where,
bought the Four Winds point, and built that house. He said he'd been a
sailor all his life and couldn't live away from the water. He brought
his wife and child and an old cousin of his with him. This Lynde
wasn't more than two years old then. People went to call but they
never saw any of the women and the Captain let them see they weren't
wanted. Some of the men who'd been working round the place saw his
wife and said she was sickly but real handsome and like a lady, but
she never seemed to want to see anyone or be seen herself. There was
a story that the Captain had been a smuggler and that if he was caught
he'd be sent to prison. Oh, there were all sorts of yarns, mostly
coming from the men who worked there, for nobody else ever got inside
the house. Well, four years ago his wife disappeared--it wasn't known
how or when. She just wasn't ever seen again, that's all. Whether she
died or was murdered or went away nobody ever knew. There was some
talk of an investigation but nothing came of it. As for the girl,
she's always lived there with her father. She must be a perfect
heathen. He never goes anywhere, but there used to be talk of
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