Anne of Ingleside - L. M. Montgomery [56]
‘Your daughter was saying?’
‘Oh, yes. Seraphine said to me, “Mother, whatever else you have or don’t have, have a real, nice obitchery for father.” Her and her father were always real thick, though he poked a bit of fun at her now and then, just as he did at me. Now, won’t you, Mrs Blythe?’
‘I really don’t know a great deal about your husband. Mrs Mitchell.’
‘Oh, I can tell you all about him… if you don’t want to know the colour of his eyes. Do you know, Mrs Blythe, when Seraphine and me was talking things over after the funeral I couldn’t tell the colour of his eyes, after living with him thirty-five years. They was kind of soft and dreamy anyhow. He used to look so pleading with them when he was courting me. He had a real hard time to get me, Mrs Blythe. He was mad about me for years. I was full of bounce then and meant to pick and choose. My life story would be real thrilling if you ever get short of material, Mrs Blythe. Ah, well, them days are gone. I had more beaux than you could shake a stick at. But they kept coming and going… and Anthony just kept coming. He was kind of good-looking, too… such a nice, lean man. I never could abide pudgy men… and he was a cut or two above me… I’d be the last one to deny that. “It’ll be a step up for a Plummer if you marry a Mitchell,” Ma said… I was a Plummer, Mrs Blythe… John A. Plummer’s daughter. And he paid me such nice romantic compliments, Mrs Blythe. Once he told me I had the ethereal charm of moonlight. I knew it meant something else, though I don’t know yet what “ethereal” means. I’ve always been meaning to look it up in the dictionary, but I never get around to it. Well, anyway, in the end I passed my word of honour that I would be his bride. That is… I mean… I said I’d take him. My, but I wish you could have seen me in my wedding-dress, Mrs Blythe. They all said I was a picture. Slim as a trout, with hair yaller as gold, and such a complexion. Ah, time makes turrible changes in us. You haven’t come to that yet, Mrs Blythe. You’re real pretty still… and a highly eddicated woman into the bargain. Ah, well, we can’t all be clever, some of us have to do the cooking. That dress you’ve got on is real handsome, Mrs Blythe. You never wear black I notice… you’re right… you’ll have to wear it soon enough. Put if off till you have to, I say. Well, where was I?’
‘You were… trying to tell me something about Mr Mitchell.’
‘Oh, yes. Well, we were married. There was a big comet that night… I remember seeing it as we drove home. It’s a real pity you couldn’t have seen that comet, Mrs Blythe. It was simply pretty. I don’t suppose you could work it into the obitchery, could you?’
‘It… might be rather difficult…
‘Well,’ Mrs Mitchell surrendered the comet with a sigh, ‘you’ll have to do the best you can. He hadn’t a very exciting life. He got drunk once, he said he just wanted to see what it was like for once… he was always of an inquiring turn of mind. But, of course, you couldn’t put that in an obitchery. Nothing much else ever happened to him. Not to complain, but just to state facts, he was a bit shiftless and easy-going. He would sit for an hour looking into a hollyhock. My, but he was fond of flowers… hated to mow down the buttercups. No matter if the wheat crop failed as long as there was farewell-summers and golden-rod. And trees… that orchard of his… I always told him, joking like, that he cared far more for his trees than for me. And his farm… my, but he loved his bit of land. He seemed to think it was a human being. Many’s the time I’ve heard him say, “I think I’ll go out and have a little talk to my farm.”
‘When we got old I wanted him