Four Winds Page #8

"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

								

miss her womanhood? Alan's hands clenched involuntarily at the
unuttered question.

On his way home that evening he again met Isabel King. She turned and
walked back with him but she made no reference to Four Winds or its
inhabitants. If Alan had troubled himself to look, he would have seen
a malicious glow in her baleful brown eyes. But the only eyes which
had any meaning for him just then were the grey ones of Lynde Oliver.

       *       *       *       *       *

During Alan's next three visits to Four Winds he saw nothing of Lynde,
either in the house or out of it. This surprised and worried him.
There was no apparent difference in Captain Anthony, who continued to
be suave and friendly. Alan always enjoyed his conversations with the
Captain, who was witty, incisive, and pungent; yet he disliked the man
himself more at every visit. If he had been compelled to define his
impression, he would have said the Captain was a charming scoundrel.

But it occurred to him that Emily was disturbed about something.
Sometimes he caught her glance, full of perplexity and--it almost
seemed--distrust. She looked as if she felt hostile towards him. But
Alan dismissed the idea as absurd. She had been friendly from the
first and he had done nothing to excite her disapproval. Lynde's
mysterious absence was a far more perplexing problem. She had not gone
away, for when Alan asked the Captain concerning her, he responded
indifferently that she was out walking. Alan caught a glint of
amusement in the older man's eyes as he spoke. He could have sworn it
was malicious amusement.

One evening he went to Four Winds around the shore. As he turned the
headland of the cove, he saw Lynde and her dogs not a hundred feet
away. The moment she saw him she darted up the bank and disappeared
among the firs.

Alan was thunderstruck. There was no room for doubt that she meant to
avoid him. He walked up to the house in a tumult of mingled feelings
which he did not even then understand. He only realized that he felt
bitterly hurt and grieved--puzzled as well. What did it all mean?

He met Emily in the yard of Four Winds on her way to the spring and
stopped her resolutely.

"Miss Oliver," he said bluntly, "is Miss Lynde angry with me? And
why?"

Emily looked at him piercingly.

"Have you no idea why?" she asked shortly.

"None in the world."

She looked at him through and through a moment longer. Then, seeming
satisfied with her scrutiny, she picked up her pail.

"Come down to the spring with me," she said.

As soon as they were out of sight of the house, Emily began abruptly.

"If you don't know why Lynde is acting so, I can't tell you, for I
don't know either. I don't even know if she is angry. I only thought
perhaps she was--that you had done or said something to vex
her--plaguing her to go to church maybe. But if you didn't, it may not
be anger at all. I don't understand that girl. She's been different
ever since her mother died. She used to tell me everything before
that. You must go and ask her right out yourself what is wrong. But
maybe I can tell you something. Did you write her a letter a
fortnight ago?"

"A letter? No."

"Well, she got one then. I thought it came from you--I didn't know who
else would be writing to her. A boy brought it and gave it to her at
the door. She's been acting strange ever since. She cries at
night--something Lynde never did before except when her mother died.
And in daytime she roams the shore and woods like one possessed. You
must find out what was in that letter, Mr. Douglas."

"Have you any idea who the boy was?" Alan asked, feeling somewhat
relieved. The mystery was clearing up, he thought. No doubt it was the
old story of some cowardly anonymous letter. His thoughts flew
involuntarily to Isabel King.

Emily shook her head.

"No. He was just a half-grown fellow with reddish hair and he limped a
little."

"Oh, that is the postmaster's son," said Alan disappointedly. "That
puts us further off the scent than ever. The letter was probably
dropped in the box at the office and there will consequently be no way
of tracing the writer."

"Well, I can't tell you anything more," said Emily. "You'll have to
ask Lynde for the truth."

This Alan was determined to do whenever he should meet her. He did not
go to the house with Emily but wandered about the shore, watching for
Lynde and not seeing her. At length he went home, a prey to stormy
emotions. He realized at last that he loved Lynde Oliver. He wondered
how he could have been so long blind to it. He knew that he must have
loved her ever since he had first seen her. The discovery amazed but
did not shock him. There was no reason why he should not love
her--should not woo and win her for his wife if she cared for him. She
was good and sweet and true. Anything of doubt in her antecedents
could not touch her. Probably the world would look upon Captain
Anthony as a somewhat undesirable father-in-law for a minister, but
that aspect of the question did not disturb Alan. As for the trouble
of the letter, he felt sure he would easily be able to clear it away.
Probably some malicious busybody had become aware of his frequent
calls at Four Winds and chose to interfere in his private affairs
thus. For the first time it occurred to him that there had been a
certain lack of cordiality among his people of late. If it were really
so, doubtless this was the reason. At any other time this would have
been of moment to him. But now his thoughts were too wholly taken up
with Lynde and the estrangement on her part to attach much importance
to anything else. What she thought mattered incalculably more to Alan
than what all the people in Rexton put together thought. He had the
right, like any other man, to woo the woman of his choice and he would
certainly brook no outside interference in the matter.

After a sleepless night he went back to Four Winds in the morning.
Lynde would not expect him at that time and he would have more chance
of finding her. The result justified his idea, for he met her by the
spring.

Alan felt shocked at the change in her appearance. She looked as if
years of suffering had passed over her. Her lips were pallid, and
hollow circles under her eyes made them appear unnaturally large. He
had last left the girl in the bloom of her youth; he found her again a
woman on whom life had laid its heavy hand.

A burning flood of colour swept over her face as they met, then
receded as quickly, leaving her whiter than before. Without any waste
of words, Alan plunged abruptly into the subject.

"Miss Oliver, why have you avoided me so of late? Have I done anything
to offend you?"

"No." She spoke as if the word hurt her, her eyes persistently cast
down.

"Then what is the trouble?"

There was no answer. She gave an unvoluntary glance around as if
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