Anne of Windy Poplars - L. M. Montgomery [98]
‘You must choose between them, Dovie.’
‘That’s just what Jarvis said,’ wept Dovie. ‘Oh, he was so stern. I never saw him like that before. And I can’t, I can’t li-i-i-ve without him, Anne.’
‘Then live with him, my dear girl. And don’t call it eloping. Just coming into Summerside and being married among his friends isn’t eloping.’
‘Father will call it so,’ said Dovie, swallowing a sob. ‘But I’m going to take your advice, Anne. I’m sure you wouldn’t advise me to take any step that was wrong. I’ll tell Jarvis to go ahead and get the licence, and I’ll come to his sister’s the night Father is in Charlottetown.’
Jarvis told Anne triumphantly that Dovie had yielded at last.
‘I’m to meet her at the end of the lane next Tuesday night – she won’t have me go down to the house for fear Aunt Maggie might see me – and we’ll just step up to Julia’s and be married in a brace of shakes. All my folks will be there, so it will make the poor darling quite comfortable. Franklin Westcott said I should never get his daughter. I’ll show him he was mistaken.’
7
Tuesday was a gloomy day in late November. Occasional cold, gusty showers drifted over the hills. The world seemed a dreary, outlived place, seen through a grey drizzle.
‘Poor Dovie hasn’t a very nice day for her wedding,’ thought Anne. ‘Suppose… suppose’ – she quaked and shivered – ‘suppose it doesn’t turn out well after all. It will be my fault. Dovie would never have agreed to it if I hadn’t advised her to. And suppose Franklin Westcott never forgives her… Anne Shirley, stop this! The weather is all that’s the matter with you.’
By night the rain had ceased, but the air was cold and raw, and the sky lowering. Anne was in her tower room, correcting school papers, with Dusty Miller coiled up under her stove. There came a thunderous knock at the front door.
Anne ran down, and Rebecca Dew poked an alarmed head out of her bedroom door. Anne motioned her back.
‘It’s someone at the front door!’ said Rebecca hollowly.
‘It’s all right, Rebecca dear. At least I’m afraid it’s all wrong. But, anyway, it’s only Jarvis Morrow. I saw him from the side tower window, and I know he wants to see me.’
‘Jarvis Morrow!’ Rebecca went back and shut her door. ‘This is the last straw.’
‘Jarvis, whatever is the matter?’
‘Dovie hasn’t come!’ said Jarvis wildly. ‘We’ve waited hours. The minister’s there… and my friends… and Julia has supper ready… and Dovie hasn’t come. I waited for her at the end of the lane till I was half crazy. I didn’t dare go down to the house, because I didn’t know what had happened. That old brute of a Franklin Westcott may have come back. Aunt Maggie may have locked her up. But I’ve got to know. Anne, you must go to Elmcroft and find out why she hasn’t come.’
‘Me?’ said Anne incredulously and ungrammatically.
‘Yes, you. There’s no one else I can trust; no one else who knows. Oh, Anne, don’t fail me now! You’ve backed us up right along. Dovie says you are the only real friend she has. It isn’t late – only nine. Do go!’
‘And be chewed up by the bulldog?’ said Anne sarcastically.
‘That old dog!’ said Jarvis contemptuously. ‘He wouldn’t say boo to a tramp. You don’t suppose I was afraid of the dog, do you? Besides, he’s always shut up at night. I simply don’t want to make any trouble for Dovie at home if they’ve found out. Anne, please!’
‘I suppose I’m in for it,’ said Anne, with a shrug of despair.
Jarvis drove her to the long lane of Elmcroft, but she would not let him come farther.
‘As you say, it might complicate matters for Dovie in case her father has come home.’
Anne hurried down the long tree-bordered lane. The moon occasionally broke through the windy clouds, but for the most part it was gruesomely dark, and she was not a little dubious about the dog.
There