Anne Of The Glen
Chapter 1. The Morgan House
The October evening sky canopied overhead was gathering up banks of iron-grey cloud, great darkening drifts that billowed against the pale gold sunset like the sails of a Spanish fleet of yore. The sea breezes that usually raced the waves across the harbour were subdued, and the Four Winds air had stilled and lay heavy with the promise of storm. Gilded beams pierced through the heavens, casting a strange unearthly light wherever they touched, and far away the bell of the little white church clanged mournfully across the sea, a sorrowful tolling that echoed the emptiness in Anne's home-loving heart.
It was certainly a scene made to order for the mood of at least one of the Blythes occupying Marshall Elliott's smartly polished buggy as they drove from the Point to the Glen. The Elliott's obedient little brown mare, harnessed up front, was the animal tasked with delivering Young Dr. Blythe and wife to their new home, and she undertook her duties solemnly. On an ordinary day this journey would have relaxed the Doctor and delighted the wife, for the road to the Glen was a beautiful route in any weather - showing off field on one side and foam on the other - but the two travellers did not notice much during their slow and silent wend. Even the aerial sunset display… magnificent streaks of scarlet and flame that were now being painted across the horizon, crimsoning the tips of the storm clouds, were not sufficient to distract them. The pair were lost in the mists of memory, both of them calling back to the bountiful first years of marriage they had so happily spent under the sheltering, guardian eaves of the little House of Dreams.
Anne, her large eyes laced with unshed tears, had a head and heart full of rose-gold memories, too sacred to speak aloud. It was in that little cottage so beloved that she had chartered new territories of life; learning, by a hitherto unknown degree, the meanings of ecstatic happiness and the lessons of harshest pain - a pain that tested even the strongest of faiths to its limits. It was to the House of Dreams that she had come as a maiden bride; there that she had started on her sweetly winding path of wifedom. Together, she and Gilbert had welcomed old friends and family and made the acquaintance of characters destined to become true kindred spirits. Side by side they had sowed and harvested, toiled and rested, loved and lost, laughed and wept. Why, the little sanctuary had shared everything with them - and now, she must leave it behind! At that moment, she felt it unendurable. Anne was not one for whom the practical outweighed the emotional.
Nor was she alone in her myriad remembrances. Gilbert, too, was thinking thoughts both fond and full. To him, also, had come the warmest pleasures and most driving pain, but his abiding thoughts were of the blessings bestowed upon them in that which he had referred to, in days gone by, as their "beacon in a naughty world". For Gilbert, the little cottage had been the haven that had enfolded the realization of his lifelong dream, the winning of Anne. And for that gift, all his future recall concerning the House of Dreams would be forever touched by sweetness. He looked over at his wife, seeing her lost on a sea of sentiment, and gently brought her back to shore.
"Come, Anne-o-mine, let us look to the future. I know how you feel, I admit I feel it myself - that little house was a beautiful domicile for us, and the happiest start to our married life as we could have asked for. But now we are entering a new chapter, our next 'bend in the road', as you used to say, and I'm sure that there is happiness lurking round that corner for us too."
"Oh Gilbert, I know." Said Anne, twisting the little handkerchief she held in her hands. "We haven't lost any of our happiness but we have lost our home. That place meant more to me than anywhere – you know it - even more than Green Gables – because it was mine, mine and yours, our first place. I feel foolish and pettish but I wish we could stay there forever!"
"But don't you think that our new house will soon be consecrated by the life we lead, Anne?" Gilbert asked soberly of her.
"Oh I'm sure it probably will", admitted Anne reluctantly, "But at this moment in time it's gravest fault is that it's not my little House of Dreams and never can be, and for that I despise it to it's very beams!"
Gilbert laughed and drew her close to him. "Come, let's see what our small son thinks of his new living quarters. It is to be hoped that he is a bit more of an optimist in this debate than his lovely mother!"
The buggy pulled up at the front gate of their new home. Anne looked up at it as Gilbert attended to the horse; it seemed so vast after her little shore cottage! The neat front lawn seemed to stretch endlessly in it's quest to meet the verandah, and the wall surrounding the grounds grew into the distance where it was lost in a hardwood forest. Oh, it was beautiful alright, but it seemed so alien and independent! "It's so big and un-cosy. I know I won't be able to make it wear the charm of my Little House of Dreams" thought Anne miserably.
Anne was evidently in the minority with her tragic musings. Leslie and Little Jem, having gone on ahead in the Blythe buggy with sundry 'household gods', were already exploring his new home, and laughter, both infant and maiden, rang through the airy house. Gilbert had already headed straight for the big old south facing room that was to be his new office, and Susan Baker, who had been there since the evening before, seemed very much a woman who was in seventh heaven. She was already in control, ordering the two Glen boys who had been hired for the afternoon to cart the furniture to their new positions in life.
"You! Young Adam Carson! Please take the best care you can muster with that big blue mixing bowl. Mrs. Doctor Blythe fetched that from Avonlea when she came to settle here, and I won't stand by and have you smash it to smithereens simply because you've got the same clumsy streak as your father. Do you not remember, Leslie dear," said the honest woman, as she began to empty a basket of kitchen linen, "The saga of the ill-fated wedding cake made by Mrs. Charlie Carson ten years ago for the Elder Clow's youngest's marriage? Dorcas had a way with cakes that drove other woman to jealous distraction and the Elder Clow had fixed on her to make his daughter's cake. Well, heart and soul went into the making of that cake and everybody had to admit it was the finest confection they had ever seen, even Mrs. Martin Wallace who usually carried off the honours most years at the Lowbridge Fair. It was white with silver icing, trimmed with marzipan red roses, each one hand fashioned. Oh, the cake was smart enough, the mistake Mrs. Charlie made was to entrust her ham-fisted husband to deliver it to the wedding venue. He was no more than five feet away from setting it down as the centre piece when his two left feet chose that very moment to perform a jig and over he went, landing flat out, with the cake launching off into the air coming to land on two bridesmaids and Mrs. Douglas Hampton who had come over special from Ontario. They managed to salvage the top tier but the rest of it wasn't fit for the hounds. Of course, Elder Clow was furious and refused to pay at first, and most people thought he was within a right, but it was pointed out to him that the Carsons were poor and Emmy needed her cake money to supplement the pisen wage that Charlie never can seem to bring home. Elder Clow paid her a third for her troubles, for the cake was three tiers high but he never gave Charlie a single odd job after that."
Susan ended her inadvertent lecture, apparently having satisfied herself that the moral of the story had been broadcast clearly enough for even the son of the wrong-doer to take full heed and proceed with the desired caution.
"And you, little Tommy Crawford, please do not attempt to go anywhere with that Grandfather clock under your own steam. The likelihood is that it will end up on you, and you in it, than in its rightful place, and I am not keen on having you tell me the time on the hour every hour instead of the chime from now until the hereafter."
Duly chastened for a crime not yet committed, the said Master Tom waited patiently by the cart for the return of the genetically hampered Adam Carson.
Anne walked up the front steps through the open door into the hall, which had a finely carved set of stairs on its right and several solid looking wooden doors leading from it. Further down the stairway hall was another door which led into a spacious kitchen, stone-tiled and well closeted. It set itself apart from other Glen St. Mary kitchens by merit of owning two generously proportioned pantries and a cellar about which Susan could be more than confident in her boasts. Gilbert's office lay across the back hall from this and was as roomy, cool and high ceilinged as a respectable Doctor could wish for. A smart dining room was situated off the hall, and opposite, a big, light and airy den that immediately called out in welcome to entrants. Square in the middle of one wall was an open fireplace with a hearth that seemed to have been made for china dogs, and at one end of the room, an alcove that was just asking to be filled with good books. At the other end, a beautiful bay window framed perfectly the large garden, pale green and golden brown in its October cloak.
Upstairs the house continued to hold it's own. At the first landing was a beautiful half-crescent window with a deep wooden seat big enough for two. The glass was stained with rich reds and yellows, an ornamental quirk of Mr. Morgan's, through which the last of the sunset poured, suddenly golden, as if in defiance of the storm ahead. " Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes," quoth Anne to herself. The beauty of it called out to an impulse in her soul.
The bedrooms, of which there were five - plus a smaller 'up-steps' one over the kitchen that was to be Susan's domain - were all of pleasantly intriguing design. The four larger ones were bright, friendly rooms, spacious while not yet perfectly square; some quirked by a recess, some charactered by alcove, while the smaller one was a cosy L-shape which would be perfect for two small beds. As Gilbert had promised, up further stairs and crowning the house, was a large garret with a window that looked all the way down to the lighthouse on the cliffs. Off the garret was a further small room that lent itself to myriad uses.
Anne walked to the large round window in the shadowy, low-beamed garret and gazed down at the lighthouse and her old life. The promised storm had not kept to its earlier threat and had rolled some way out to sea, although light raindrops were just beginning to spatter the panes. The sun had set behind the storm clouds, and the sky was now just flat and sullen, darkening as it bided for night. Twilight and the delicious Four Winds dusk so beloved by her heart would not display that evening. The dim weather reminded her of her mood, and Anne was at risk of luxuriating in fresh misery when Leslie and little Jem found her, bring the wife and mother back to reality and lighter thoughts. Her baby reached out his chubby little arms to her and Anne gathered him up and pressed his soft, round cheek to hers.
"It is a lovely house, Anne" said Leslie, coming to her friend and clasping her waist gently. "We've been through it just now and there's not one room to dislike! It has such a friendly, welcoming feel about it, as though it wants you here."
"It does have a warmth about it," admitted Anne. "I think that houses must soak up the souls of past inhabitants, and the Morgan's were such a jolly, friendly couple. And I believe that their two girls were such pretty, laughing, merry things, so Miss Cornelia has told me. Just as my little House of Dreams was steeped in the personalities of previous inhabitants, I feel that these walls would talk only of pleasant people also, if talk they could. Ow – w – w – just the thought of that darling little place!"
"Now then, dearest," coaxed Leslie, cuddling her friend a little closer. "Let us look only forward, to happy things. There is so much to do here, and I'm sure you will enjoy nesting again once you start in."
"I will." Said Anne resolutely. "You are right. I've cried my cry and now I am going to dig in to unpacking. I was just being overly 'melancollitt' as Rebecca Dew used to say. I am so glad that you are here with us though, Leslie; your very presence makes the gap between old and new so much more comfortable to bear. I feel as though as long as dear friends are around, nothing much can change for the worse and that life will presently show me it's rosier side again. Let us set to darling, I crave to see familiar comforts around me, and then maybe I will feel a little less homesick!"