Four Winds Page #4

"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

								

environs. Finally one day he met her, coming up a path which led to a
spring down in a firry hollow. She was carrying two heavy pails of
water and Alan asked permission to help her.

He half expected a repulse, for the tall, grim old woman had a rather
stern and forbidding look, but after gazing at him a moment in a
somewhat scrutinizing manner she said briefly, "You may, if you like."

Alan took the pails and followed her, the path not being wide enough
for two. She strode on before him at a rapid, vigorous pace until they
came out into the yard by the house. Alan felt his heart beating
foolishly. Would he see Lynde Oliver? Would--

"You may carry the water there," the old woman said, pointing to a
little outhouse near the pines. "I'm washing--the spring water is
softer than the well water. Thank you"--as Alan set the pails down on
a bench--"I'm not so young as I was and bringing the water so far
tires me. Lynde always brings it for me when she's home."

She stood before him in the narrow doorway, blocking his exit, and
looked at him with keen, deep-set dark eyes. In spite of her withered
aspect and wrinkled face, she was not an uncomely old woman and there
was about her a dignity of carriage and manner that pleased Alan. It
did not occur to him to wonder why it should please him. If he had
hunted that feeling down he might have been surprised to discover that
it had its origin in a curious gratification over the thought that the
woman who lived with Lynde had a certain refinement about her. He
preferred her unsmiling dourness to vulgar garrulity.

"Are you the young minister up at Rexton?" she asked bluntly.

"Yes."

"I thought so. Lynde said she had seen you on the shore once.
Well"--she cast an uncertain glance over her shoulder at the
house--"I'm much obliged to you."

Alan had an idea that that was not what she had thought of saying, but
as she had turned aside and was busying herself with the pails, there
seemed nothing for him to do but to go.

"Wait a moment." She faced him again, and if Alan had been a vain man
he might have thought that admiration looked from her piercing eyes.
"What do you think of us? I suppose they've told you tales of us up
there?"--with a scornful gesture of her hand in the direction of
Rexton. "Do you believe them?"

"I believe no ill of anyone until I have absolute proof of it," said
Alan, smiling--he was quite unconscious what a winning smile he had,
which was the best of it--"and I never put faith in gossip. Of course
you are gossipped about--you know that."

"Yes, I know it"--grimly--"and I don't care what they say about the
Captain and me. We are a queer pair--just as queer as they make us
out. You can believe what you like about us, but don't you believe a
word they say against Lynde. She's sweet and good and beautiful. It's
not her fault that she never went to church--it's her father's. Don't
you hold that against her."

The fierce yet repressed energy of her tone prevented Alan from
feeling any amusement over her simple defence of Lynde. Moreover, it
sounded unreasonably sweet in his ears.

"I won't," he promised, "but I don't suppose it would matter much to
Miss Oliver if I did. She did not strike me as a young lady who would
worry very much about other people's opinions."

If his object were to prolong the conversation about Lynde, he was
disappointed, for the old woman had turned abruptly to her work again
and, though Alan lingered for a few moments longer, she took no
further notice of him. But when he had gone she peered stealthily
after him from the door until he was lost to sight among the pines.

"A well-looking man," she muttered. "I wish Lynde had been home. I
didn't dare ask him to the house for I knew Anthony was in one of his
moods. But it's time something was done. She's woman grown and this is
no life for her. And there's nobody to do anything but me and I'm not
able, even if I knew what to do. I wonder why she hates men so.
Perhaps it's because she never knew any that were real gentlemen. This
man is--but then he's a minister and that makes a wide gulf between
them in another way. I've seen the love of man and woman bridge some
wider gulfs though. But it can't with Lynde, I'm fearing. She's so
bitter at the mere speaking of love and marriage. I can't think why.
I'm sure her mother and Anthony were happy together, and that was all
she's ever seen of marriage. But I thought when she told me of meeting
this young man on the shore there was something in her look I'd never
noticed before--as if she'd found something in herself she'd never
known was there. But she'll never make friends with him and I can't.
If the Captain wasn't so queer--"

She stopped abruptly, for a tall lithe figure was coming up from the
shore. Lynde waved her hand as she drew near.

"Oh, Emily, I've had such a splendid sail. It was glorious. Bad Emily,
you've been carrying water. Didn't I tell you never to do that when I
was away?"

"I didn't have to do it. That young minister up at Rexton met me and
brought it up. He's nice, Lynde."

Lynde's brow darkened. She turned and walked away to the house without
a word.

On his way home that night Alan met Isabel King on the main shore
road. She carried an armful of pine boughs and said she wanted the
needles for a cushion. Yet the thought came into Alan's mind that she
was spying on him and, although he tried to dismiss it as unworthy, it
continued to lurk there.

For a week he avoided the shore, but there came a day when its
inexplicable lure drew him to it again irresistibly. It was a warm,
windy evening and the air was sweet and resinous, the lake misty and
blue. There was no sign of life about Four Winds and the shore seemed
as lonely and virgin as if human foot had never trodden it. The
Captain's yacht was gone from the little harbour where it was
generally anchored and, though every flutter of wind in the scrub firs
made Alan's heart beat expectantly, he saw nothing of Lynde Oliver. He
was on the point of turning homeward, with an unreasoning sense of
disappointment, when one of Lynde's dogs broke down through the hedge
of spruces, barking loudly.

Alan looked for Lynde to follow, but she did not, and he speedily saw
that there was something unusual about the dog's behaviour. The animal
circled around him, still barking excitedly, then ran off for a short
distance, stopped, barked again, and returned, repeating the
manoeuvre. It was plain that he wanted Alan to follow him, and it
occurred to the young minister that the dog's mistress must be in
danger of some kind. Instantly he set off after him; and the dog, with
a final sharp bark of satisfaction, sprang up the low bank into the
spruces.

Alan followed him across the peninsula and then along the further
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