Anne's House of Dreams - L. M. Montgomery [57]
‘Oh, no, you’re not, Mistress Blythe – oh, no, you’re not,’ said Captain Jim meditatively. ‘I know how you feel jest now – but if you keep on living you’ll get glad again, and the first thing you know you’ll be dreaming again – thank the good Lord for it! If it wasn’t for our dreams they might as well bury us. How’d we stand living if it wasn’t for our dream of immortality? And that’s a dream that’s bound to come true, Mistress Blythe. You’ll see your little Joyce again some day.’
‘But she won’t be my baby,’ said Anne, with trembling lips. ‘Oh, she may be, as Longfellow says, “a fair maiden clothed with celestial grace” – but she’ll be a stranger to me.’
‘God will manage better’n that, I believe,’ said Captain Jim.
They were both silent for a little time. Then Captain Jim said very softly:
‘Mistress Blythe, may I tell you about lost Margaret?’
‘Of course,’ said Anne gently. She did not know who ‘lost Margaret’ was, but she felt that she was going to hear the romance of Captain Jim’s life.
‘I’ve often wanted to tell you about her,’ Captain Jim went on. ‘Do you know why, Mistress Blythe? It’s because I want somebody to remember and think of her some time after I’m gone. I can’t bear that her name should be forgotten by all living souls. And now nobody remembers lost Margaret but me.’
Then Captain Jim told the story – an old, old forgotten story, for it was over fifty years since Margaret had fallen asleep one day in her father’s dory and drifted – or so it was supposed, for nothing was ever certainly known as to her fate – out of the channel, beyond the bar, to perish in the black thunder-squall which had come up so suddenly that long-ago summer afternoon. But to Captain Jim those fifty years were but as yesterday when it is past.
‘I walked the shore for months after that,’ he said sadly, ‘looking to find her dear, sweet little body; but the sea never give her back to me. But I’ll find her some time, Mistress Blythe – I’ll find her some time. She’s waiting for me. I wish I could tell you jest how she looked, but I can’t. I’ve seen a fine, silvery mist hanging over the bar at sunrise that seemed like her – and then again I’ve seen a white birch in the woods back yander that made me think of her. She had pale brown hair and a little white, sweet face, and long slender fingers like yours, Mistress Blythe, only browner, for she was a shore girl. Sometimes I wake up in the night and hear the sea calling to me in the old way, and it seems as if lost Margaret called in it. And when there’s a storm and the waves are sobbing and moaning I hear her lamenting among them. And when they laugh on a gay day it’s her laugh – lost Margaret’s sweet, roguish little laugh. The sea took her from me, but some day I’ll find her Mistress Blythe. It can’t keep us apart for ever.’
‘I am glad you have told me about her,’ said Anne. ‘I have often wondered why you had lived all your life alone.’
‘I couldn’t ever care for anyone else. Lost Margaret took my heart with her – out there,’ said the old lover, who had been faithful for fifty years to his drowned sweetheart. ‘You won’t mind if I talk a good deal about her, will you, Mistress Blythe? It’s a pleasure to me – for all the pain went out of her memory years ago and left its blessing. I know you’ll never forget her, Mistress Blythe. And if the years, as I hope, bring other little folks to your home, I want you to promise me that you’ll tell them the story of lost Margaret, so that her name won’t be forgotten among humankind.’
21
BARRIERS SWEPT AWAY
‘Anne,’ said Leslie, breaking abruptly a short silence, ‘you don’t know how good it is to be sitting here with you again – working – and talking – and being silent together.’
They were sitting among the blue-eyed grasses on the bank of the brook in Anne’s garden. The water sparkled and crooned past them; the birches threw dappled shadows over them; roses bloomed along the walks. The sun was beginning to be low, and the air was full of woven music. There was