The Revolt of Mary Isabel Page #2

"The Revolt of Mary Isabel" is a short story by Lucy Maud Montgomery that explores themes of individuality, freedom, and the struggles of a young girl against societal expectations. The narrative centers around Mary Isabel, a girl who feels stifled by the conventional norms imposed on her by her family and community. As she navigates her feelings of rebellion and desires for autonomy, the story delves into the conflicts between personal aspirations and the roles assigned to women in her era. Montgomery's characteristic lyrical prose highlights the emotional depth of Mary Isabel's journey toward self-discovery and empowerment.

• Short story

								

conscience would not let him say anything complimentary. So they left
her out of the question and talked about the sea and the boats and
poetry and flowers and similar non-combustible subjects.

       *       *       *       *       *

These clandestine meetings had been going on for two months, ever
since the day they had just happened to meet below the firs. It never
occurred to Mary Isabel that the doctor meant anything but friendship;
and if it had occurred to the doctor, he did not think there would be
much use in saying so. Mary Isabel was too hopelessly under Louisa's
thumb. She might keep tryst below the firs occasionally--so long as
Louisa didn't know--but to no farther lengths would she dare go.
Besides, the doctor wasn't quite sure that he really wanted anything
more. Mary Isabel was a sweet little woman, but Dr. Hamilton had been
a bachelor so long that it would be very difficult for him to get out
of the habit; so difficult that it was hardly worth while trying when
such an obstacle as Louisa Irving's tyranny loomed in the way. So he
never tried to make love to Mary Isabel, though he probably would have
if he had thought it of any use. This does not sound very romantic, of
course, but when a man is fifty, romance, while it may be present in
the fruit, is assuredly absent in blossom.

"I suppose you won't be going to the induction of my nephew Thursday
week?" said the doctor in the course of the conversation.

"No. Louisa will not permit it. I had hoped," said Mary Isabel with a
sigh, as she braided some silvery shore-grasses nervously together,
"that when old Mr. Moody went away she would go back to the church
here. And I think she would if--if--"

"If Jim hadn't come in Mr. Moody's place," finished the doctor with
his jolly laugh.

Mary Isabel coloured prettily. "It is not because he is your nephew,
doctor. It is because--because--"

"Because he is the nephew of my brother who was on the other side in
that ancient church fracas? Bless you, I understand. What a good hater
your sister is! Such a tenacity in holding bitterness from one
generation to another commands admiration of a certain sort. As for
Jim, he's a nice little chap, and he is coming to live with me until
the manse is repaired."

"I am sure you will find that pleasant," said Mary Isabel primly.

She wondered if the young minister's advent would make any difference
in regard to these shore-meetings; then decided quickly that it would
not; then more quickly still that it wouldn't matter if it did.

"He will be company," admitted the doctor, who liked company and found
the shore road rather lonesome. "I had a letter from him today saying
that he'd come home with me from the induction. By the way, they're
tearing down the old post office today. And that reminds me--by Jove,
I'd all but forgotten. I promised to go up and see Mollie Marr this
evening; Mollie's nerves are on the rampage again. I must rush."

With a wave of his hand the doctor hurried off. Mary Isabel lingered
for some time longer, leaning against the fence, looking dreamily out
to sea. The doctor was a very pleasant companion. If only Louisa would
allow neighbourliness! Mary Isabel felt a faint, impotent resentment.
She had never had anything other girls had: friends, dresses, beaus,
and it was all Louisa's fault--Louisa who was going to make her wear a
bonnet for the rest of her life. The more Mary Isabel thought of that
bonnet the more she hated it.

That evening Warren Marr rode down to the shore cottage on horseback
and handed Mary Isabel a letter; a strange, scrumpled, soiled, yellow
letter. When Mary Isabel saw the handwriting on the envelope she
trembled and turned as deadly pale as if she had seen a ghost:

"Here's a letter for you," said Warren, grinning. "It's been a long
time on the way--nigh fifteen years. Guess the news'll be rather
stale. We found it behind the old partition when we tore it down
today."

"It is my brother Tom's writing," said Mary Isabel faintly. She went
into the room trembling, holding the letter tightly in her clasped
hands. Louisa had gone up to the village on an errand; Mary Isabel
almost wished she were home; she hardly felt equal to the task of
opening Tom's letter alone. Tom had been dead for ten years and this
letter gave her an uncanny sensation; as of a message from the
spirit-land.

Fifteen years, ago Thomas Irving had gone to California and five years
later he had died there. Mary Isabel, who had idolized her brother,
almost grieved herself to death at the time.

Finally she opened the letter with ice-cold fingers. It had been
written soon after Tom reached California. The first two pages were
filled with descriptions of the country and his "job."

On the third Tom began abruptly:

    Look here, Mary Isabel, you are not to let Louisa boss you
    about as she was doing when I was at home. I was going to
    speak to you about it before I came away, but I forgot. Lou is
    a fine girl, but she is too domineering, and the more you give
    in to her the worse it makes her. You're far too easy-going
    for your own welfare, Mary Isabel, and for your own sake I
    Wish you had more spunk. Don't let Louisa live your life for
    you; just you live it yourself. Never mind if there is some
    friction at first; Lou will give in when she finds she has to,
    and you'll both be the better for it, I want you to be real
    happy, Mary Isabel, but you won't be if you don't assert your
    independence. Giving in the way you do is bad for both you and
    Louisa. It will make her a tyrant and you a poor-spirited
    creature of no account in the world. Just brace up and stand
    firm.

When she had read the letter through Mary Isabel took it to her own
room and locked it in her bureau drawer. Then she sat by her window,
looking out into a sea-sunset, and thought it over. Coming in the
strange way it had, the letter seemed a message from the dead, and
Mary Isabel had a superstitious conviction that she must obey it. She
had always had a great respect for Tom's opinion. He was right--oh,
she felt that he was right. What a pity she had not received the
letter long ago, before the shackles of habit had become so firmly
riveted. But it was not too late yet. She would rebel at last
and--how had Tom phrased it--oh, yes, assert her independence. She
owed it to Tom; It had been his wish--and he was dead--and she would
do her best to fulfil it.

"I shan't get a bonnet," thought Mary Isabel determinedly. "Tom
wouldn't have liked me in a bonnet. From this out I'm just going to do
exactly as Tom would have liked me to do, no matter how afraid I am of
Louisa. And, oh, I am horribly afraid of her."

Mary Isabel was every whit as much afraid the next morning after
breakfast but she did not look it, by reason of the flush on her
cheeks and the glint in her brown eyes. She had put Tom's letter in
								Rate this book:0.0 / 0 votes