The End of the Young Family Feud

"The End of the Young Family Feud" by Lucy Maud Montgomery is a captivating short story that explores themes of family conflict, reconciliation, and the bonds that unite us. Set in the picturesque landscape of Prince Edward Island, the narrative centers around the longstanding feud between two families, the Youngs and the Murrays. Through a series of misunderstandings and emotional revelations, the characters navigate the complexities of their relationships, ultimately leading to a poignant resolution that highlights the importance of forgiveness and understanding. Montgomery's signature lyrical prose and richly drawn characters invite readers to reflect on the power of love and community in overcoming strife.

• Short story

								
A week before Christmas, Aunt Jean wrote to Elizabeth, inviting her
and Alberta and me to eat our Christmas dinner at Monkshead. We
accepted with delight. Aunt Jean and Uncle Norman were delightful
people, and we knew we should have a jolly time at their house.
Besides, we wanted to see Monkshead, where Father had lived in his
boyhood, and the old Young homestead where he had been born and
brought up and where Uncle William still lived. Father never said much
about it, but we knew he loved it very dearly, and we had always
greatly desired to get at least a glimpse of what Alberta liked to
call "our ancestral halls."

Since Monkshead was only sixty miles away, and Uncle William lived
there as aforesaid, it may be pertinently asked what there was to
prevent us from visiting it and the homestead as often as we wished.
We answer promptly: the family feud.

Father and Uncle William were on bad terms, or rather on no terms at
all, and had been ever since we could remember. After Grandfather
Young's death there had been a wretched quarrel over the property.
Father always said that he had been as much to blame as Uncle William,
but Great-aunt Emily told us that Uncle William had been by far the
most to blame, and that he had behaved scandalously to Father.
Moreover, she said that Father had gone to him when cooling-down time
came, apologized for what he had said, and asked Uncle William to be
friends again; and that William, simply turned his back on Father and
walked into the house without saying a word, but, as Great-aunt Emily
said, with the Young temper sticking out of every kink and curve of
his figure. Great-aunt Emily is our aunt on Mother's side, and she
does not like any of the Youngs except Father and Uncle Norman.

This was why we had never visited Monkshead. We had never seen Uncle
William, and we always thought of him as a sort of ogre when we
thought of him at all. When we were children, our old nurse, Margaret
Hannah, used to frighten us into good behaviour by saying ominously,
"If you 'uns aint good your Uncle William'll cotch you."

What he would do to us when he "cotched" us she never specified,
probably reasoning that the unknown was always more terrible than the
known. My private opinion in those days was that he would boil us in
oil and pick our bones.

Uncle Norman and Aunt Jean had been living out west for years. Three
months before this Christmas they had come east, bought a house in
Monkshead, and settled there. They had been down to see us, and Father
and Mother and the boys had been up to see them, but we three girls
had not; so we were pleasantly excited at the thought of spending
Christmas there.

Christmas morning was fine, white as a pearl and clear as a diamond.
We had to go by the seven o'clock train, since there was no other
before eleven, and we reached Monkshead at eight-thirty.

When we stepped from the train the stationmaster asked us if we were
the three Miss Youngs. Alberta pleaded guilty, and he said, "Well,
here's a letter for you then."

We took the letter and went into the waiting room with sundry
misgivings. What had happened? Were Uncle Norman and Aunt Jean
quarantined for scarlet fever, or had burglars raided the pantry and
carried off the Christmas supplies? Elizabeth opened and read the
letter aloud. It was from Aunt Jean to the following effect:

    DEAR GIRLS: I am so sorry to disappoint you, but I cannot help
    it. Word has come from Streatham that my sister has met with a
    serious accident and is in a very critical condition. Your
    uncle and I must go to Streatham immediately and are leaving
    on the eight o'clock express. I know you have started before
    this, so there is no use in telegraphing. We want you to go
    right to the house and make yourself at home. You will find
    the key under the kitchen doorstep, and the dinner in the
    pantry all ready to cook. There are two mince pies on the
    third shelf, and the plum pudding only needs to be warmed up.
    You will find a little Christmas remembrance for each of you
    on the dining-room table. I hope you will make as merry as you
    possibly can and we will have you down again as soon as we
    come back.

                              Your hurried and affectionate,
                                               AUNT JEAN

We looked at each other somewhat dolefully. But, as Alberta pointed
out, we might as well make the best of it, since there was no way of
getting home before the five o'clock train. So we trailed out to the
stationmaster, and asked him limply if he could direct us to Mr.
Norman Young's house.

He was a rather grumpy individual, very busy with pencil and notebook
over some freight; but he favoured us with his attention long enough
to point with his pencil and say jerkily, "Young's? See that red house
on the hill? That's it."

The red house was about a quarter of a mile from the station, and we
saw it plainly. Accordingly, to the red house we betook ourselves. On
nearer view it proved to be a trim, handsome place, with nice grounds
and very fine old trees.

We found the key under the kitchen doorstep and went in. The fire was
black out, and somehow things wore a more cheerless look than I had
expected to find. I may as well admit that we marched into the dining
room first of all, to find our presents.

There were three parcels, two very small and one pretty big, lying on
the table, but when we came to look for names there were none.

"Evidently Aunt Jean, in her hurry and excitement, forgot to label
them," said Elizabeth. "Let us open them. We may be able to guess from
the contents which belongs to whom."

I must say we were surprised when we opened those parcels. "We had
known that Aunt Jean's gifts would be nice, but we had not expected
anything like this. There was a magnificent stone marten collar, a
dear little gold watch and pearl chatelaine, and a gold chain bracelet
set with turquoises.

"The collar must be for you, Elizabeth, because Mary and I have one
already, and Aunt Jean knows it," said Alberta; "the watch must be for
you, Mary, because I have one; and by the process of exhaustion the
bracelet must be for me. Well, they are all perfectly sweet."

Elizabeth put on her collar and paraded in front of the sideboard
mirror. It was so dusty she had to take her handkerchief and wipe it
before she could see herself properly. Everything in the room was
equally dusty. As for the lace curtains, they looked as if they hadn't
been washed for years, and one of them had a long ragged hole in it. I
couldn't help feeling secretly surprised, for Aunt Jean had the
reputation of being a perfect housekeeper. However, I didn't say
anything, and neither did the other girls. Mother had always impressed
upon us that it was the height of bad manners to criticize anything we
might not like in a house where we were guests.

"Well, let's see about dinner," said Alberta, practically, snapping

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