Anne of Ingleside - L. M. Montgomery [71]
Suppose a long arm reached out of a grave and dragged you down!
Nan turned. She knew now that, bargain or no bargain, she could never walk through that graveyard by night. The grisliest groan suddenly sounded quite close to her. It was only Mrs Ben Baker’s old cow, which she pastured on the road, getting up from behind a clump of spruces. But Nan did not wait to see what it was. In a spasm of uncontrollable panic she tore down the hill, through the village and up the road to Ingleside. Outside of the gate she dashed headlong through what Rilla called a ‘pud-muddle’. But there was home, with the soft, glowing lights in the windows, and a moment later she stumbled into Susan’s kitchen, mud-spattered, with wet, bleeding feet.
‘Good grief!’ said Susan blankly.
‘I couldn’t walk through the graveyard, Susan… I couldn’t,’ gasped Nan.
Susan asked no questions at first. She picked the chilled, distraught Nan up and peeled her wet, pink feet. She undressed her and put on her nightgown and carried her to bed. Then she went down to get a ‘bite’ for her. No matter what the child had been up to she couldn’t be let go to bed on an empty stomach.
Nan ate her supper and sipped her glass of hot milk. How lovely it was to be back in the warm, lighted room, safe in her nice warm bed! But she would not tell Susan one thing about it. ‘It’s a secret between me and God, Susan.’ Susan went to bed, vowing she would be a happy woman when Mrs Doctor dear was up and about again.
‘They’re getting beyond me,’ sighed Susan helplessly.
Mother would certainly die now. Nan woke up with that terrible conviction in her mind. She had not kept her bargain and she could not expect God would. Life was very dreadful for Nan that following week. She could take no pleasure in anything, not even in watching Susan spin in the garret… something she had always found so fascinating. She would never be able to laugh again. It wouldn’t matter what she did. She gave her sawdust dog, off which Ken Ford had pulled the ears and which she loved even better than old Teddy… Nan always loved old things… to Shirley because Shirley had always wanted it, and she gave her prized house made of shells, which Captain Malachi had brought her all the way from the West Indies, to Rilla, hoping that it would satisfy God; but she feared it would not. And when her grey kitten, which she had given to Amy Taylor because Amy wanted it, came back home and persisted in coming back home, Nan knew God was not satisfied. Nothing could do for Him but walking through the graveyard; and poor haunted Nan knew now she could never do that. She was a coward and a sneak. Only sneaks, Jem had said once, tried to get out of bargains.
28
Anne was allowed to sit up in bed. She was nearly well again after being ill. She would soon be able to keep her house again… read her books… lie easily on her pillows… eat everything she wanted… sit by her fireplace… look to her garden… see her friends… listen to the juicy bits of gossip… welcome the days shining like jewels on the necklace of the year… be again a part of the colourful pageantry of life.
She had had such a nice dinner… Susan’s stuffed leg of lamb had been done to a turn. It was delightful to feel hungry again. She looked about her room at all the things she loved. She must get new curtains for it, something between spring green and pale gold; and certainly those new cupboards for towels must be put in the bathroom. Then she looked out of the window. There