The days flowed on by. I felt as if I were living two lives at times. One was my everyday life that I had always done. The other was in the old orchard with Eric. He was so interesting and entertaining to be with, and I greatly enjoyed my time there. I had experienced anything like the friendship he gave me. And it was sweet indeed.
Not that life was uninteresting at the farm. For things did happen there too. My favourite cow had given birth to a beautiful little red and white heifer. And Uncle Thomas gave the little one to me! I cared for it and loved feeding her. I named her Belle, for she was so pretty with long eyelashes and dainty little hooves. I liked to let her suckle on my thumb, and that did tickle!
Belle wasn't the only new life on the farm. Uncle Thomas' pig also had a litter of piglets, and what noisy little things they are! There were always the chickens and their chicks as well, and I liked watching the songbirds busy carrying food to their nests.
I also helped Aunt Janet start a new quilt. She let me pick out the pattern I wanted, and we worked together very amicably. But my thoughts were never on my work anymore. They were back in the orchard with Eric. I had also ravenously read the poetry book, several times in fact. The novel was… interesting. It talked a little bit about love, but it wasn't very important in the book. I was somehow glad about that, but couldn't begin to explain it if I had been asked.
Looking at the grandfather clock, I smiled, for it was time to meet Eric. I dashed to the old bench where we had been meeting every evening for the last three weeks, except for rainy days. And I was ever thankful that we did not have many of those lately. As sometimes happened, Eric was there before I was, and he invited me for a nice long ramble. I was glad to do this, for I loved the flowers and trees around. It satisfied something in my very soul, and he would talk about them too. Eric was so interesting to listen to, and I learned far more than I would have had I simply read about it.
I watched him carefully today but with a smile on my face. Evenings with him were never boring. I suppose I was finding out that I had been a bit lonely before, but had not realized it. But with Eric, I was never bored. Sometimes he'd bring a book and read it aloud to me. This I loved, for my Aunt and Uncle usually had little time to do so, and Neil disliked books. And Eric had a nice deep voice that was a pleasure to listen to. Sometimes we would just walk around and I would show him my favourite corners. He'd then tell me about his childhood. He also talked of his parents, his mother who had died, and his father, in whose footsteps he hoped to follow. His voice always held love and respect when he talked of his parents, and I liked that about him as well.
If we did not walk about, or read, or talk, then I would just play my violin for him. I could always play for a long time, and my music of late always had an extra note of joy and happiness in it. Eric always seemed enraptured and would lie down on the grass, sometimes with his eyes closed, and sometimes with his head turned to watch me.
I had grown used to this habit of him watching me. It didn't seem bad, like he was looking at my ugliness. I am sure he saw beyond that. In fact, he never seemed bothered one bit by my appearance, and I would soon forget my homliness. I thought Eric handsome. His brown hair was just the right shade, with a few sun bleached strands in it. His blue eyes danced with merriment at times, grew serious at others, but were always bright with interest. He was taller than Neil, and possibly Uncle Thomas as well. And I loved his warm rich laugh and ready grin.
One time, I asked him out of curiosity, "Are there many people like you in the world?"
He laughed in amusement, and replied, "Thousands of them!"
I tried to imagine thousands of Erics? I pondered that with a slight frown, then shook my head decisively. The thing was impossible. It could not be. I primly wrote, "I do not think so. I do not know much of the world, but I do not think there are many people like you in it."
Today was a lovely evening. The shadows were purple, and where the sun hit the orchard, it looked golden. The flowers seemed on fire, and I was glad to see them so brilliant If only I… but no. I would not think of that. It satisfied something inside me to see the beauty of the land. And Eric had in his hand a new book!
I sat with eagerness and waited for him to begin his story. It wasn't a terribly long one but as I listened, something inside me hurt. It was a beautiful story, about two lovers who loved each other passionately. I wasn't sure how to react to such a thing, for I had never heard anything like that before. So I sat quietly, but looked down at the grass, somehow not wishing to look at Eric as he read. I did not understand this love at all. Mother had told me it was a bad thing, but then it was portrayed in a way that I had never imagined. Love… this book told me that love was something to be attained, cherished…. and I felt like something was missing out of my life.
Now Eric asked me the question I was afraid he would. I hesitated to answer him, and for once wrote slowly and thoughtfully. But I was honest with him, for why would I be anything else? I replied, "Yes, I like it. But it hurt me, too. I did not know that a person could like anything that hurt her. I do not know why it hurt me. I felt as if I had lost something that I never had. That was a very silly feeling, was it not? But I did not understand the book very well, you see. It is about love and I do not know anything about love. Mother told me once that love is a curse, and that I must pray that it would never enter into my life. She said it very earnestly, and so I believed her. But your book teaches that it is a blessing. It says that it is the most splendid and wonderful thing in life. Which am I to believe?"
Eric was very serious as he answered, watching my face to make sure he hadn't alarmed me, "Love—real love—is never a curse, Kilmeny." He paused and tried to explain better, "There is a false love which is a curse. Perhaps your mother believed it was that which had entered her life and ruined it; and so she made the mistake. There is nothing in the world—or in heaven either, as I believe—so truly beautiful and wonderful and blessed as love."
I thought about this a moment. Perhaps he was right. After all, I believed Mother had truly loved Father at one point. She had told me something of that when she died. And Eric seemed so in ernest about what he was saying. And when he had spoken of his parents, they had seemed to love each other dearly before his mother died. Not for the first time lately, I began to question my own mother. Perhaps she was wrong about this. Perhaps she had, as Eric said, believed she had a false love. Curious now, I turned to Eric and asked him, "Have you ever loved?"
He shook his head, and looked me in the eye as he said, "No, but every one has an ideal of love whom he hopes to meet some day...'the ideal woman of a young man's dream.' I suppose I have mine, in some sealed, secret chamber of my heart."
Somehow bitterness entered into me, but I had to know. Just for my own curiosity's sake, mind you. "I suppose your ideal woman would be beautiful, like the woman in your book?"
He laughed softly and replied, "Oh, yes, I am sure I could never care for an ugly woman."
Now why was I so disappointed by this answer? I felt like a lovely dream of mine had been shattered at this statement. I would never feel love then at all. I wished he had never read that story to me. It had made me wish for something that would never be attained. I knew he was still talking but I did not listen much. I looked away from him as he talked and only watched the purple hills in the late evening sunshine. Then his voice pulled me back out of the dark place I had been. I suddenly realized that this book that he had read to me belonged to his mother. It had been one of her favourite books. I could understand that… she had loved. And if she had looked anything like Eric, she must have been very pretty.
He wanted to give me the book, and write my name in it as "Kilmeny of the Orchard". I flushed a bit at this, secretly pleased at the name. It was a pretty name like that. But I did not want that book. Eric proffered it to me, and seemed surprised when I shook my head. I could feel the heat rising on my face, but couldn't imagine why. "Won't you take the book, Kilmeny? Why not?"
I gave a sigh, but supposed he did deserve some sort of explanation. I thought carefully as I wrote slowly. I had never spoken of this thing to anyone before. But I felt it was time I should mention it to him… I owed him that much. And he was such a dear friend that was so accepting of me. At last I finished and showed him my slate, averting my eyes again, "Do not be offended with me. I shall not need anything to make me remember you because I can never forget you. But I would rather not take the book. I do not want to read it again. It is about love, and there is no use in my learning about love, even if it is all you say. Nobody will ever love me. I am too ugly."
He gave a sound of genuine surprise, but I refused to look at him. I knew what must be showing on my face: all my hurt and bitterness and pain over my own ugliness. I could live without a voice… that never hurt me as much as the other did.
Silence a moment, then his voice came to me with that same note of surprise, "Kilmeny, you don't really think yourself ugly, do you?"
What was it that he did not understand? Snatching my slate again, I tried to make him understand. I told him that I had known this for a very long time, and that it was Mother who told me. I still remember that day, when I had bounced down in that pretty new dress. And Mother had told me then that I was very ugly and that no one would like to look at me. I still remember feeling absolutely crushed about it. I knew it was probably silly, and that I should have been more worried about my voice than that. But I could not help the way I feel about it! I told Eric that this was the reason why I did not want to go out into the world and meet people. It had been bad enough with the egg peddler and his staring at me. I knew it was because he was so horrified at my ugliness, so to spare him, I had hidden after that when he came around.
Eric had a smile on his face to my puzzlement, and had a strange note in his voice as he asked me, "But, Kilmeny, do you think yourself ugly when you look in a mirror?"
Mirrors, I had heard of them, but had never seen one. But I told him, "I have never looked in a mirror. I never knew there was such a thing until after mother died, and I read about it in a book. Then I asked Aunt Janet and she said mother had broken all the looking glasses in the house when I was a baby. But I have seen my face reflected in the spoons, and in a little silver sugar bowl Aunt Janet has. And it is ugly, very ugly."
I was still ashamed as Eric dropped his head into the grass again where he'd been lying. The poor boy! I had hurt him too, hadn't I? I was wishing now that I had never brought this up. And all this over that foolish book! Why had he brought it in the first place, knowing that it could hurt me? But I had never known Eric to be malicious, so I think he hadn't realized that it could hurt me. It was his mother's book, after all. A treasure to him, a curse to me.
Finally Eric looked up at me and in a soft gentle voice, he told me, "I don't think you very ugly, Kilmeny."
Now that was a surprise to me. I protested immediately, "Oh, but you must! Even Neil does. I asked him one time if he thought me very ugly and he wouldn't look or answer me, so I knew it must be true." I gave him a careful look, then shook my head. I did not want to speak or think of this anymore. It was spoiling the evening. So I offered instead to play him some good bye music, and hoped he hadn't been vexed that I would not take his book.
But he only answered with that same friendly smile, "I am not vexed, and I think you will take it someday yet. After I have shown you something I want you to see. Never mind about your looks, Kilmeny. Beauty isn't everything."
Perhaps not, but I wanted to be sure our friendship wasn't ruined entirely. So I was quick to write, "Oh, it is a great deal. But you do like me, even though I am so ugly, don't you? You like me because of my beautiful music, don't you?"
Eric had a soft expression in his eyes, and there was a genuine note in his voice along with something I wasn't sure about, but it made me pleased anyway. Chuckling a little, he declared, "I like you very much, Kilmeny."
I was very happy he felt that way, and something inside me was satisfied about it. I couldn't begin to explain, but I knew that we would always be friends. So on that happy note, I picked up my violin and played for him. I played until he had gone into the darkening evening. I played on until I was certain he could not hear me anymore. Then I stood up myself and turned to home once more, my heart feeling lighter than before.
