White Magic

"White Magic" is a collection of short stories by Lucy Maud Montgomery, known for her enchanting storytelling and vivid characters. The book explores themes of love, friendship, and the passage of time, often infused with a sense of wonder and magic. Each tale reflects Montgomery's ability to capture the beauty of everyday life while weaving in elements of the mystical and the extraordinary, showcasing her deep appreciation for nature and the human spirit. Through lyrical prose and memorable characters, Montgomery invites readers into a world where magic exists in the simplest moments.

• Short story

								
One September afternoon in the year of grace 1840 Avery and Janet
Sparhallow were picking apples in their Uncle Daniel Sparhallow's big
orchard. It was an afternoon of mellow sunshine; about them, beyond
the orchard, were old harvest fields, mellowly bright and serene, and
beyond the fields the sapphire curve of the St. Lawrence Gulf was
visible through the groves of spruce and birch. There was a soft
whisper of wind in the trees, and the pale purple asters that
feathered the orchard grass swayed gently towards each other. Janet
Sparhallow, who loved the outdoor world and its beauty, was, for the
time being at least, very happy, as her little brown face, with its
fine, satiny skin, plainly showed. Avery Sparhallow did not seem so
happy. She worked rather abstractedly and frowned oftener than she
smiled.

Avery Sparhallow was conceded to be a beauty, and had no rival in
Burnley Beach. She was very pretty, with the obvious, indisputable
prettiness of rich black hair, vivid, certain colour, and laughing,
brilliant eyes. Nobody ever called Janet a beauty, or even thought her
pretty. She was only seventeen--five years younger than Avery--and was
rather lanky and weedy, with a rope of straight dark-brown hair, long,
narrow, shining brown eyes and very black lashes, and a crooked,
clever little mouth. She had visitations of beauty when excited,
because then she flushed deeply, and colour made all the difference in
the world to her; but she had never happened to look in the glass when
excited, so that she had never seen herself beautiful; and hardly
anybody else had ever seen her so, because she was always too shy and
awkward and tongue-tied in company to feel excited over anything. Yet
very little could bring that transforming flush to her face: a wind
off the gulf, a sudden glimpse of blue upland, a flame-red poppy, a
baby's laugh, a certain footstep. As for Avery Sparhallow, she never
got excited over anything--not even her wedding dress, which had come
from Charlottetown that day, and was incomparably beyond anything that
had ever been seen in Burnley Beach before. For it was made of an
apple-green silk, sprayed over with tiny rosebuds, which had been
specially sent for to England, where Aunt Matilda Sparhallow had a
brother in the silk trade. Avery Sparhallow's wedding dress was making
far more of a sensation in Burnley Beach than her wedding itself was
making. For Randall Burnley had been dangling after her for three
years, and everybody knew that there was nobody for a Sparhallow to
marry except a Burnley and nobody for a Burnley to marry except a
Sparhallow.

"Only one silk dress--and I want a dozen," Avery had said scornfully.

"What would you do with a dozen silk dresses on a farm?" Janet asked
wonderingly.

"Oh--what indeed?" agreed Avery, with an impatient laugh.

"Randall will think just as much of you in drugget as in silk," said
Janet, meaning to comfort.

Again Avery laughed.

"That is true. Randall never notices what a woman has on. I like a man
who does notice--and tells me about it. I like a man who likes me
better in silk than in drugget. I will wear this rosebud silk when I'm
married, and it will be supposed to last me the rest of my life and be
worn on all state occasions, and in time become an heirloom like Aunt
Matilda's hideous blue satin. I want a new silk dress every month."

Janet paid little attention to this kind of raving. Avery had always
been more or less discontented. She would be contented enough after
she was married. Nobody could be discontented who was Randall
Burnley's wife. Janet was sure of that.

Janet liked picking apples; Avery did not like it; but Aunt Matilda
had decreed that the red apples should be picked that afternoon, and
Aunt Matilda's word was law at the Sparhallow farm, even for wilful
Avery. So they worked and talked as they worked--of Avery's wedding,
which was to be as soon as Bruce Gordon should arrive from Scotland.

"I wonder what Bruce will be like," said Avery. "It is eight years
since he went home to Scotland. He was sixteen then--he will be
twenty-four now. He went away a boy--he will come back a man."

"I don't remember much about him," said Janet. "I was only nine when
he went away. He used to tease me--I do remember that." There was a
little resentment in her voice. Janet had never liked being teased.
Avery laughed.

"You were so touchy, Janet. Touchy people always get teased. Bruce was
very handsome--and as nice as he was handsome. Those two years he was
here were the nicest, gayest time I ever had. I wish he had stayed in
Canada. But of course he wouldn't do that. His father was a rich man
and Bruce was ambitious. Oh, Janet, I wish I could live in the old
land. That would be life."

Janet had heard all this before and could not understand it. She had
no hankering for either Scotland or England. She loved the new land
and its wild, virgin beauty. She yearned to the future, never to the
past.

"I'm tired of Burnley Beach," Avery went on passionately, shaking
apples wildly off a laden bough by way of emphasis. "I know all the
people--what they are--what they can be. It's like reading a book for
the twentieth time. I know where I was born and who I'll marry--and
where I'll be buried. That's knowing too much. All my days will be
alike when I marry Randall. There will never be anything unexpected or
surprising about them. I tell you Janet," Avery seized another bough
and shook it with a vengeance, "I hate the very thought of it."

"The thought of--what?" said Janet in bewilderment.

"Of marrying Randall Burnley--or marrying anybody down here--and
settling down on a farm for life."

Then Avery sat down on the rung of her ladder and laughed at Janet's
face.

"You look stunned, Janet. Did you really think I wanted to marry
Randall?"

Janet was stunned, and she did think that. How could any girl not want
to marry Randall Burnley if she had the chance?

"Don't you love him?" she asked stupidly.

Avery bit into a nut-sweet apple.

"No," she said frankly. "Oh, I don't hate him, of course. I like him
well enough. I like him very well. But we'll quarrel all our lives."

"Then what are you marrying him for?" asked Janet.

"Why, I'm getting on--twenty-two--all the girls of my age are married
already. I won't be an old maid, and there's nobody but Randall.
Nobody good enough for a Sparhallow, that is. You wouldn't want me to
marry Ned Adams or John Buchanan, would you?"

"No," said Janet, who had her full share of the Sparhallow pride.

"Well, then, of course I must marry Randall. That's settled and
there's no use making faces over the notion. I'm not making faces, but
I'm tired of hearing you talk as if you thought I adored him and must
be in the seventh heaven because I was going to marry him, you
romantic child."

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