Mrs. March's Revenge Page #2

"Mrs. March's Revenge" is a novel by Lucy Maud Montgomery that explores the themes of resilience, identity, and the complexities of human relationships. The story follows Mrs. March, a woman grappling with her past and navigating her present life, as she confronts societal expectations and personal desires. With Montgomery's signature lyrical prose, the novel delves into the intricacies of love, loss, and self-discovery, all set against a richly drawn backdrop of early 20th-century Canada. Through Mrs. March's journey, readers are invited to reflect on the power of revenge and the quest for personal fulfillment.

• Short story

								

burst out crying then and there, and ran away and hid. It was very
silly of me, but I couldn't help it. That stings me yet. If I was ever
to get a chance to pay Lou Carroll out for that, I'd take it without
any compunction."

"Oh, but that is unchristian!" protested Mrs. Stapp feebly.

"Perhaps so, but it's the way I feel. Old Parson Jones used to say
that people were marbled good and bad pretty even, but that in
everybody there were one or two streaks just pure wicked. I guess Lou
Carroll is my wicked streak. I haven't seen or heard of her for
years--ever since she married that worthless Dency Baxter and went
away. She may be dead for all I know. I don't expect ever to have a
chance to pay her out. But mark what I say, Theodosia, if I ever have,
I will."

Mrs. March snipped off her thread, as if she challenged the world.
Mrs. Stapp felt uncomfortable over the unusual display of feeling she
had evoked, and hastened to change the subject.

In three weeks' time Mrs. March was established in her new home, and
the "old Carroll house" blossomed out into renewed splendour.
Theodosia Stapp, who had dropped in to see it, was in a rapture of
admiration.

"You have a lovely home now, Anna. I used to think it fine enough in
the Carrolls' time, but it wasn't as grand as this. And that reminds
me, I have something to tell you, but I don't want you to get as
excited as you did the last time I mentioned her name. You remember
the last day I was to see you we were talking of Lou Carroll? Well,
next day I was downtown in a store, and who should sail in but Mrs.
Joel Kent, from Oriental. You know Mrs. Joel--Sarah Chapple that was?
She and her man keep a little hotel up at Oriental. They're not very
well off. She is a cousin of old Mrs. Carroll, but, lawful heart, the
Carrolls didn't used to make much of the relationship! Well, Mrs. Joel
and I had a chat. She told me all her troubles--she always has lots of
them. Sarah was always of a grumbling turn, and she had a brand-new
stock of them this time. What do you think, Anna March? Lou
Carroll--or Mrs. Baxter, I suppose I should say--is up there at Joel
Kent's at Oriental, dying of consumption; leastwise, Mrs. Joel says
she is."

"Lou Carroll dying at Oriental!" cried Mrs. March.

"Yes. She came there from goodness knows where, about a month
ago--might as well have dropped from the clouds, Mrs. Joel says, for
all she expected of it. Her husband is dead, and I guess he led her a
life of it when he was alive, and she's as poor as second skimmings.
She was aiming to come here, Mrs. Joel says, but when she got to
Oriental she wasn't fit to stir a step further, and the Kents had to
keep her. I gather from what Mrs. Joel said that she's rather touched
in her mind too, and has an awful hankering to get home here--to this
very house. She appears to have the idea that it is hers, and all
just the same as it used to be. I guess she is a sight of trouble, and
Mrs. Joel ain't the woman to like that. But there! She has to work
most awful hard, and I suppose a sick person doesn't come handy in a
hotel. I guess you've got your revenge, Anna, without lifting a finger
to get it. Think of Lou Carroll coming to that!"

The next day was cold and raw. The ragged, bare trees in the old
Carroll grounds shook and writhed in the gusts of wind. Now and then a
drifting scud of rain dashed across the windows. Mrs. March looked out
with a shiver, and turned thankfully to her own cosy fireside again.

Presently she thought she heard a low knock at the front door, and
went to see. As she opened it a savage swirl of damp wind rushed in,
and the shrinking figure leaning against one of the fluted columns of
the Grecian porch seemed to cower before its fury. It was a woman who
stood there, a woman whose emaciated face wore a piteous expression,
as she lifted it to Mrs. March.

"You don't know me, of course," she said, with a feeble attempt at
dignity. "I am Mrs. Baxter. I--I used to live here long ago. I thought
I'd walk over today and see my old home."

A fit of coughing interrupted her words, and she trembled like a leaf.

"Gracious me!" exclaimed Mrs. March blankly. "You don't mean to tell
me that you have walked over from Oriental today--and you a sick
woman! For pity's sake, come in, quick. And if you're not wet to the
skin!"

She fairly pulled her visitor into the hall, and led her to the
sitting-room.

"Sit down. Take this big easy-chair right up to the fire--so. Let me
take your bonnet and shawl. I must run right out to tell Hannah to get
you a hot drink."

"You are very kind," whispered the other. "I don't know you, but you
look like a woman I used to know when I was a girl. She was a Mrs.
Bennett, and she had a daughter, Anna. Do you know what became of her?
I forget. I forget everything now."

"My name is March," said Mrs. March briefly, ignoring the question. "I
don't suppose you ever heard it before."

She wrapped her own warm shawl about the other woman's thin shoulders.
Then she hastened to the kitchen and soon returned, carrying a tray of
food and a steaming hot drink. She wheeled a small table up to her
visitor's side and said, very kindly,

"Now, take a bite, my dear, and this raspberry vinegar will warm you
right up. It is a dreadful day for you to be out. Why on earth didn't
Joel Kent drive you over?"

"They didn't know I was coming," whispered Mrs. Baxter anxiously.
"I--I ran away. Sarah wouldn't have let me come if she had known. But
I wanted to come so much. It is so nice to be home again."

Mrs. March watched her guest as she ate and drank. It was plain enough
that her mind, or rather her memory, was affected. She did not
realize that this was no longer her home. At moments she seemed to
fancy herself back in the past again. Once or twice she called Mrs.
March "Mother."

Presently a sharp knock was heard at the hall door. Mrs. March excused
herself and went out. In the porch stood Theodosia Stapp and a woman
whom Mrs. March did not at first glance recognize--a tall,
aggressive-looking person, whose sharp black eyes darted in past Mrs.
March and searched every corner of the hall before anyone had time to
speak.

"Lawful heart!" puffed Mrs. Stapp, as she stepped in out of the biting
wind. "I'm right out of breath. Mrs. March, allow me to introduce Mrs.
Kent. We're looking for Mrs. Baxter. She has run away, and we thought
perhaps she came here. Did she?"

"She is in my sitting-room now," said Mrs. March quietly.

"Didn't I say so?" demanded Mrs. Kent, turning to Mrs. Stapp. She
spoke in a sharp, high-pitched tone that grated on Mrs. March's
nerves. "Doesn't she beat all! She slipped away this morning when I
was busy in the kitchen. And to think of her walking six miles over
here in this wind! I dunno how she did it. I don't believe she's half
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