Anne of Windy Poplars - L. M. Montgomery [79]
9
Tower Room
Windy Willows
April 20
POOR DEAR GILBERT,
‘I said of laughter, It is mad; and of mirth, What doeth it?’ I’m afraid I’ll turn grey young. I’m afraid I’ll end up in the poorhouse. I’m afraid none of my pupils will pass their finals. Mr Hamilton’s dog barked at me Saturday night, and I’m afraid I’ll have hydrophobia. I’m afraid my umbrella will turn inside out when I keep a tryst with Katherine tonight. I’m afraid Katherine likes me so much now that she can’t always like me as much. I’m afraid my hair isn’t auburn after all. I’m afraid I’ll have a mole on the end of my nose when I’m fifty. I’m afraid my school is a fire-trap. I’m afraid I’ll find a mouse in my bed tonight. I’m afraid you got engaged to me just because I was always around. I’m afraid I’ll soon be picking at the counterpane.
No, dearest, I’m not crazy – not yet. It’s only that Cousin Ernestine Bugle is catching.
I know now why Rebecca Dew has always called her ‘Miss Much-afraid’. The poor soul has borrowed so much trouble she must be hopelessly in debt to Fate.
There are so many Bugles in the world, not many quite so far gone in Buglism as Cousin Ernestine, perhaps; but so many kill-joys, afraid to enjoy today because of what tomorrow will bring.
Gilbert darling, don’t let’s ever be afraid of things. It’s such dreadful slavery. Let’s be daring and adventurous and expectant. Let’s dance to meet life and all it can bring to us, even if it brings scads of trouble and typhoid and twins!
Today has been a day dropped out of June into April. The snow is all gone, and the fawn meadows and golden hills just sing of spring. I know I heard Pan piping in the little green hollow in my maple bush, and my Storm King was bannered with the airiest of purple hazes. We’ve had a great deal of rain lately, and I’ve loved sitting in my tower in the still, wet hours of the spring twilights. But tonight is a gusty, hurrying night. Even the clouds racing over the sky are in a hurry, and the moonlight that gushes out between them is in a hurry to flood the world.
Suppose, Gilbert, we were walking hand-in-hand down one of the long roads in Avonlea tonight!
Gilbert, I’m afraid I’m scandalously in love with you. You don’t think it’s irreverent, do you? But then, you’re not a minister.
10
‘I’m so different,’ sighed Hazel.
It was really dreadful to be so different from other people, and yet rather wonderful, too, as if you were a being strayed from another star. Hazel would not have been one of the common herd for anything, no matter what she suffered by reason of her differentness.
‘Everybody is different,’ said Anne amusedly.
‘You are smiling.’ Hazel clasped a pair of very white, very dimpled hands and gazed adoringly at Anne. She emphasized at least one word in every sentence she uttered. ‘You have such a fascinating smile – such a haunting smile. I knew the moment I first saw you that you would understand everything. We are on the same plane. Sometimes I think I must be psychic, Miss Shirley. I always know so instinctively the moment I meet anyone whether I’m going to like them or not. I felt at once that you were sympathetic, that you would understand. It’s so sweet to be understood. Nobody understands me, Miss Shirley – nobody. But when I saw you some inner voice whispered to me, “She will understand. With her you can be your real self.” Oh, Miss Shirley, let’s be real! Let’s always be real! Oh, Miss Shirley, do you love me the leastest, tiniest bit?’
‘I think you’re a dear,’ said Anne, laughing a little and ruffling Hazel’s golden curls with her slender fingers. It was quite easy to be fond of Hazel.
Hazel had been pouring out her soul to Anne in the tower room, from which they could see a young moon hanging over the harbour and the twilight of a late May evening filling the crimson cups of the tulips below the windows.
‘Don’t let’s have any light yet,’ Hazel had begged, and Anne had responded,