Anne of Ingleside - L. M. Montgomery [114]
Nan went slowly up the walk to the marigold bed. The GLOOMY HOUSE was gone for ever. But the Lady with the Mysterious Eyes remained. Surely she was real… she must be? What had Susan really said about her so long ago?
‘Laws-a-mercy, ye nearly scared the liver out of me!’ said a rather mumbly though friendly voice.
Nan looked at the figure that had suddenly risen up from beside the marigold bed. Who was it? It could not be… Nan refused to believe that this was Thomasine Fair. It would be just too terrible.
‘Why,’ thought Nan, heart-sick with disappointment, ‘she… she’s old!’
Thomasine Fair, if Thomasine Fair it was… and she knew now it was Thomasine Fair… was certainly old. And fat! She looked like the feather bed with the string tied round its middle to which angular Susan was always comparing stout ladies. She was barefooted, wore a green dress that had faded yellowish, and a man’s old felt hat on her sparse, sandy-grey hair. Her face was round as an O, ruddy and wrinkled, with a snub nose. Her eyes were a faded blue, surrounded by great, jolly-looking crows-feet.
Oh, my Lady… my charming, wicked Lady of the Mysterious Eyes, where are you? What has become of you? You did exist!
‘Well, now, and what nice little girl are you?’ asked Thomasine Fair.
Nan clutched after her manners.
‘I’m… I’m Nan Blythe. I came up to bring you this.’
Thomasine pounced on the parcel joyfully.
‘Well, if I ain’t glad to get my specs back,’ she said. ‘I’ve missed ’em turrible for reading that almanac on Sundays. And you’re one of the Blythe girls? What pretty hair you’ve got! I’ve always wanted to see some of you. I’ve heered your ma was bringing you up scientific. Do you like it?’
‘Like… what?’ Oh, wicked, charming Lady, you did not read the almanac on Sundays. Nor did you talk of ‘ma’s.’
‘Why, bein’ brought up scientific.’
‘I like the way I’m being brought up,’ said Nan, trying to smile and barely succeeding.
‘Well, your ma is a real, fine woman. She’s holding her own. I declare the first time I saw her at Libby Taylor’s funeral I thought she was a bride, she looked so happy. I always think when I see your ma come into a room that everyone perks up as if they expected something to happen. The new fashions set her, too. Most of us just ain’t made to wear ’em. But come in and set awhile… I’m glad to see someone… it gets kinder lonesome by spells. I can’t afford a telephone. Flowers is company… did ye ever see finer merry-gold?… and I’ve got a cat.’
Nan wanted to flee to the uttermost parts of the earth, but she felt it would never do to hurt the old lady’s feelings by refusing to go in. Thomasine, her petticoat showing below her skirt, led the way up the sagging steps into a room which was evidently kitchen and living-room combined. It was scrupulously clean and gay with thrifty house plants. The air was full of the pleasant fragrance of newly cooked bread.
‘Set here,’ said Thomasine kindly, pushing forward a rocker with a gay patched cushion. ‘I’ll move that callow lily out of your way. Wait till I get my lower plate in. I look funny with it out, don’t I? But it hurts me a mite. There, I’ll talk clearer now.’
A spotted cat, uttering all kinds of fancy meows, came forward to greet them. Oh, for the greyhounds of a vanished dream!
‘That cat’s a fine ratter,’ said Thomasine. ‘This place is overrun with rats. But it keeps the rain out, and I got sick of living round with relations. Couldn’t call my soul my own. Ordered round as if I was dirt. Jim’s wife was the worst. Complained because I was making faces at the moon one night. Well, what if I was? Did it hurt the moon? Sez I, “I ain’t going to be a pin-cushion any longer.” So I come here on my own, and here I’ll stay as long as I have the use of my legs. Now, what’ll you have? Can I make you an onion sandwich?’
‘No… no, thank you.’
‘They’re fine when you have a cold. I’ve been having one… notice how hoarse I am? But I just tie a piece of red flannel with turpentine and goose-grease on it round my throat