Four Winds Page #6

"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

								

Instead, Captain Anthony was a tall, well-built man of perhaps fifty.
His face, beneath its shock of iron-grey hair, was handsome but wore a
somewhat forbidding expression, and there was something in it, apart
from line or feature, which did not please Alan. He had no time to
analyze this impression, for Lynde said hurriedly, "Father, this is
Mr. Douglas. He has just done me a great service."

She briefly explained her accident; when she had finished, the Captain
turned to Alan and held out his hand, a frank smile replacing the
rather suspicious and contemptuous scowl which had previously
overshadowed it.

"I am much obliged to you, Mr. Douglas," he said cordially. "You must
come up to the house and let me thank you at leisure. As a rule I'm
not very partial to the cloth, as you may have heard. In this case it
is the man, not the minister, I invite."

The front door of Four Winds opened directly into a wide,
low-ceilinged living room, furnished with simplicity and good taste.
Leaving the two men there, Lynde and the old cousin vanished, and Alan
found himself talking freely with the Captain who could, as it
appeared, talk well on many subjects far removed from Four Winds. He
was evidently a clever, self-educated man, somewhat opinionated and
given to sarcasm; he never made any references to his own past life or
experiences, but Alan discovered him to be surprisingly well read in
politics and science. Sometimes in the pauses of the conversation Alan
found the older man looking at him in a furtive way he did not like,
but the Captain was such an improvement on what he had been led to
expect that he was not inclined to be over critical. At least, this
was what he honestly thought. He did not suspect that it was because
this man was Lynde's father that he wished to think as well as
possible of him.

Presently Lynde came in. She had changed her outdoor dress, stained
with moss and soil in her fall, for a soft clinging garment of some
pale yellow material, and her long, thick braid of hair hung over her
shoulder. She sat mutely down in a dim corner and took no part in the
conversation except to answer briefly the remarks which Alan addressed
to her. Emily came in and lighted the lamp on the table. She was as
grim and unsmiling as ever, yet she cast a look of satisfaction on
Alan as she passed out. One dog lay down at Lynde's feet, the other
sat on his haunches by her side and laid his head on her lap. Rexton
and its quiet round of parish duties seemed thousands of miles away
from Alan, and he wondered a little if this were not all a dream.

When he went away the Captain invited him back.

"If you like to come, that is," he said brusquely, "and always as the
man, not the priest, remember. I don't want you by and by to be slyly
slipping in the thin end of any professional wedges. You'll waste your
time if you do. Come as man to man and you'll be welcome, for I like
you--and it's few men I like. But don't try to talk religion to me."

"I never talk religion," said Alan emphatically. "I try to live it.
I'll not come to your house as a self-appointed missionary, sir, but I
shall certainly act and speak at all times as my conscience and my
reverence for my vocation demands. If I respect your beliefs, whatever
they may be, I shall expect you to respect mine, Captain Oliver."

"Oh, I won't insult your God," said the Captain with a faint sneer.

Alan went home in a tumult of contending feelings. He did not
altogether like Captain Anthony--that was very clear to him, and yet
there was something about the man that attracted him. Intellectually
he was a worthy foeman, and Alan had often longed for such since
coming to Rexton. He missed the keen, stimulating debates of his
college days and, now there seemed a chance of renewing them, he was
eager to grasp it. And Lynde--how beautiful she was! What though she
shared--as was not unlikely--in her father's lack of belief? She could
not be essentially irreligious--that were impossible in a true woman.
Might not this be his opportunity to help her--to lead her into dearer
light? Alan Douglas was a sincere man, with himself as well as with
others, yet there are some motives that lie, in their first inception,
too deep even for the probe of self-analysis. He had not as yet the
faintest suspicion as to the real source of his interest in Lynde
Oliver--in his sudden forceful desire to be of use and service to
her--to rescue her from spiritual peril as he had that day rescued her
from bodily danger.

She must have a lonely, unsatisfying life, he thought. It is my duty
to help her if I can.

It did not then occur to him that duty in this instance wore a much
more pleasing aspect than it had sometimes worn in his experience.

       *       *       *       *       *

Alan did not mean to be oversoon in going back to Four Winds, but
three days later a book came to him which Captain Anthony had
expressed a wish to see. It furnished an excuse for an earlier call.
After that he went often. He always found the Captain courteous and
affable, old Emily grimly cordial, Lynde sometimes remote and demure,
sometimes frankly friendly. Occasionally, when the Captain was away in
his yacht, he went for a walk with her and her dogs along the shore or
through the sweet-smelling pinelands up the lake. He found that she
loved books and was avid for more of them than she could obtain; he
was glad to take her several and discuss them with her. She liked
history and travels best. With novels she had no patience, she said
disdainfully. She seldom spoke of herself or her past life and Alan
fancied she avoided any personal reference. But once she said
abruptly, "Why do you never ask me to go to church? I've always been
afraid you would."

"Because I do not think it would do you any good to go if you didn't
want to," said Alan gravely. "Souls should not be rudely handled any
more than bodies."

She looked at him reflectively, her finger denting her chin in a
meditative fashion she had.

"You are not at all like Mr. Strong. He always scolded me, when he got
a chance, for not going to church. I would have hated him if it had
been worthwhile. I told him one day that I was nearer to God under
these pines than I could be in any building fashioned by human hands.
He was very much shocked. But I don't want you to misunderstand me.
Father does not go to church because he does not believe there is a
God. But I know there is. Mother taught me so. I have never gone to
church because Father would not allow me, and I could not go now in
Rexton where the people talk about me so. Oh, I know they do--you know
it, too--but I do not care for them. I know I'm not like other girls.
I would like to be but I can't be--I never can be--now."

There was some strange passion in her voice that Alan did not quite
understand--a bitterness and a revolt which he took to be against the
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