Miss Sally's Letter

"Miss Sally's Letter" is a charming short story by Lucy Maud Montgomery, celebrated for her vivid storytelling and character development. The narrative revolves around a heartfelt letter written by Miss Sally, revealing her thoughts and emotions about love, life, and the passage of time. Through rich descriptions and poignant reflections, Montgomery explores themes of nostalgia and the enduring nature of relationships. The story captures her signature style of blending humor with tenderness, offering readers a glimpse into the intricacies of human connections and the impact of written words.

• Short story

								
Miss Sally peered sharply at Willard Stanley, first through her
gold-rimmed glasses and then over them. Willard continued to look very
innocent. Joyce got up abruptly and went out of the room.

"So you have bought that queer little house with the absurd name?"
said Miss Sally.

"You surely don't call Eden an absurd name," protested Willard.

"I do--for a house. Particularly such a house as that. Eden! There are
no Edens on earth. And what are you going to do with it?"

"Live in it."

"Alone?"

Miss Sally looked at him suspiciously.

"No. The truth is, Miss Sally, I am hoping to be married in the fall
and I want to fix up Eden for my bride."

"Oh!" Miss Sally drew a long breath, partly it seemed of relief and
partly of triumph, and looked at Joyce, who had returned, with an
expression that said, "I told you so"; but Joyce, whose eyes were cast
down, did not see it.

"And," went on Willard calmly, "I want you to help me fix it up, Miss
Sally. I don't know much about such things and you know everything.
You will be able to tell me just what to do to make Eden habitable."

Miss Sally looked as pleased as she ever allowed herself to look over
anything a man suggested. It was the delight of her heart to plan and
decorate and contrive. Her own house was a model of comfort and good
taste, and Miss Sally was quite ready for new worlds to conquer.
Instantly Eden assumed importance in her eyes. She might be sorry for
the misguided bride who was rashly going to trust her life's keeping
to a man, but she would see, at least, that the poor thing should have
a decent place to begin her martyrdom in.

"I'll be pleased to help you all I can," she said graciously.

Miss Sally could speak very graciously when she chose, even to men.
You would not have thought she hated them, but she did. In all
sincerity, too. Also, she had brought her niece up to hate and
distrust them. Or, she had tried to do so. But at times Miss Sally was
troubled with an uncomfortable suspicion that Joyce did not hate and
distrust men quite as thoroughly as she ought. The suspicion had
recurred several times this summer since Willard Stanley had come to
take charge of the biological station at the harbour. Miss Sally did
not distrust Willard on his own account. She merely distrusted him on
principle and on Joyce's account. Nevertheless, she was rather nice to
him. Miss Sally, dear, trim, dainty Miss Sally, with her snow-white
curls and her big girlish black eyes, couldn't help being nice, even
to a man.

Willard had come a great deal to Miss Sally's. If it were Joyce he
were after Miss Sally blocked his schemes with much enjoyment. He
never saw Joyce alone--that Miss Sally knew of, at least--and he did
not make much apparent headway. But now all danger was removed, Miss
Sally thought. He was going to be married to somebody else, and Joyce
was safe.

"Thank you," said Willard. "I'll come up tomorrow afternoon, and you
and I will take a prowl about Eden and see what must be done. I'm ever
so much obliged, Miss Sally."

"I wonder who he is going to marry," said Miss Sally, careless of
grammar, after he had gone. "Poor, poor girl!"

"I don't see why you should pity her," said Joyce, not looking up from
her embroidery. There was just the merest tremor in her voice. Miss
Sally looked at her sharply.

"I pity any woman who is foolish enough to marry," she said solemnly.
"No man is to be trusted, Joyce--no man. They are all ready to break a
trusting woman's heart for the sport of it. Never you allow any man
the chance to break yours, Joyce. I shall never consent to your
marrying anybody, so mind you don't take any such notion into your
head. There oughtn't to be any danger, for I have instilled correct
ideas on this subject into you from childhood. But girls are such
fools. I know, because I was one myself once."

"Of course, I would never marry without your consent, Aunt Sally,"
said Joyce, smiling faintly but affectionately at her aunt. Joyce
loved Miss Sally with her whole heart. Everybody did who knew her.
There never was a more lovable creature than this pretty little old
maid who hated the men so bitterly.

"That's a good girl," said Miss Sally approvingly. "I own that I have
been a little afraid that this Willard Stanley was coming here to see
you. But my mind is set at rest on that point now, and I shall help
him fix up his doll house with a clear conscience. Eden, indeed!"

Miss Sally sniffed and tripped out of the room to hunt up a furniture
catalogue. Joyce sighed and let her embroidery slip to the floor.

"Oh, I'm afraid Willard's plan won't succeed," she murmured. "I'm
afraid Aunt Sally will never consent to our marriage. And I can't and
won't marry him unless she does, for she would never forgive me and I
couldn't bear that. I wonder what makes her so bitter against men. She
is so sweet and loving, it seems simply unnatural that she should have
such a feeling so deeply rooted in her. Oh, what will she say when she
finds out--dear little Aunt Sally? I couldn't bear to have her angry
with me."

The next day Willard came up from the harbour and took Miss Sally down
to see Eden. Eden was a tiny, cornery, gabled grey house just across
the road and down a long, twisted windy lane, skirting the edge of a
beech wood. Nobody had lived in it for four years, and it had a
neglected, out-at-elbow appearance.

"It's rather a box of a place, isn't it?" said Willard slowly. "I'm
afraid she will think so. But it is all I can afford just now. I
dream of giving her a palace some day, of course. But we'll have to
begin humbly. Do you think anything can be made of it?"

Miss Sally was busily engaged in sizing up the possibilities of the
place.

"It is pretty small," she said meditatively. "And the yard is small
too--and there are far too many trees and shrubs all messed up
together. They must be thinned out--and that paling taken down. I
think a good deal can be done with it. As for the house--well, let us
see the inside."

Willard unlocked the door and showed Miss Sally over the place. Miss
Sally poked and pried and sniffed and wrinkled her forehead, and
finally stood on the stairs and delivered her ultimatum.

"This house can be done up very nicely. Paint and paper will work
wonders. But I wouldn't paint it outside. Leave it that pretty silver
weather-grey and plant vines to run over it. Oh, we'll see what we can
do. Of course it is small--a kitchen, a dining room, a living room,
and two bedrooms. You won't want anything stuffy. You can do the
painting yourself, and I'll help you hang the paper. How much money
can you spend on it?"

Willard named the sum. It was not a large one.

"But I think it will do," mused Miss Sally. "We'll make it do.

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