Anne was home—home! What a wonderful word!—in time to see Spring out, and welcome Summer in. After a few weeks she felt well enough to take over some of her old household duties, to cuddle Shirley and play with the twins; to help Jem learn his letters and read poems to Walter. The day she baked her first pie was a grand day at Ingleside indeed. After a few more weeks she was laughing and going about as she always had—and a few more, and she was able to walk over to the House of Dreams, which she did one warm-golden dusk, when the clouds were purple ships carrying dreams across the sky.
She had had a letter from Leslie only several days ago—Leslie wanted the House of Dreams rented—she hated to see it empty as much as Anne, and the extra income could go to pay Persis and Owen's fees at the English school in Japan.
Anne wandered in her old, twilight-lit garden and pondered. She was lonely—oh, just a touch of loneliness—in her vigor for life and gladness at her renewed strength she wanted to share joy with everyone around her! She missed Leslie, and Miss Cornelia was gone to Halifax for the month to be with her niece. If only Leslie were back—it would be so nice to have a friend so near!
"I must make sure that the tenets of this dear place are friends of mine," she said, laying her hand against the porch rail of the House of Dreams.
The June roses were out—full blown—and the scent of honeysuckle over the garden wall was sweet. The babbling of her beloved little brook was the only sound other than the buzzing of happy, fat, busy bumblebees in the wisteria.
"And they must be friends with you, too," Anne told her garden, and the watchful little house.
She had already made several inquiries among members of the Ladies Aid—Mrs. Alec Douglas was being surprisingly helpful in passing the news along—Anne had never known Kitty Alec to be so solicitous before! She had also posted a notice in Carter Flagg's store—but no one had 'phoned or written to say they would take it. And Four Winds was so out of the way for tourists. No one else needed a house this time of year—Anne despaired of finding anyone at all. And she had promised Leslie!
"I shall have to put a notice in one of the Charlottetown papers, I suppose," she mused, smiling. "'One house, for rent, not so very big but utterly dear and darling. A garden that is the last refuge for fairies in this day and age, and a garret full of secrets and sweet, forgotten ghosts. Only kindred spirits need apply.'"
"A letter for you, Anne," The doctor handed the envelope to his wife, "A circular for Susan—a magazine for me—and a letter for Jem! Who could have written to the boy?"
"It's from Little Fred," Anne smiled. "They are becoming pen-pals. It is so kind of Fred to take Jem under his wing the way he does—the child idolizes him so. Why, just the other day I had a letter from Diana and she said—oh, oh! Gilbert!"
That was not what Diana had said at all, but Anne's grasp on that conversation was completely gone. Instead she was focused on the letter in her hand.
"It's an inquiry—a family wants to rent the House of Dreams for the rest of the summer—just when I was giving up hope of finding anyone at all—their name is Seawynd. Isn't that a perfectly lovely name for someone living at the House of Dreams? With the sea wind ever coming up off the harbor! They have three children—I do so love to have children in that house. It delights in children—I know it does. Oh, Gilbert, I shall write to them straightaway and tell them they can take it."
"Shouldn't you interview them first?" Gilbert wondered. "What if they aren't the kindred folks you expect, Anne?"
"I am sure they will be," Anne said staunchly. "With a name like Seawynd, how could they not? Besides, Gilbert, the wife writes me that her name is 'Geraldine'—it's a sign—you remember how perfectly elegant I thought that name was so long ago! They have a baby no bigger than Shirley—and her name is Fairy! Only a true kindred spirit would honor the Queen of the Fairies that way."
"I see your mind is made up," laughed the doctor. "And no one knows that House or loves it like you, Anne. And if you feel so strongly about it—well, you'd better write to them, and tell them they may come."
Anne did just that, and the Seawynds wrote that they would come right away. Anne spent the next week in preparation. She aired the house and changed the bed linens—worked in the garden, planting and pruning—until her hands were chapped and red. She polished the floors with beeswax and rubbed the old furniture with a soft cloth until it shone. She even washed the window panes, the better to let the light in. There was no cleaner, softer light than at the House of Dreams—not even at Ingleside.
She and Susan concocted a welcoming dinner to bring over the first day—the family would still be unpacking and it was the neighborly thing to do to make sure their stomachs didn't rumble while doing so. A fried chicken—no one fried chicken like Susan—a basket of fresh, flaky biscuits—and a tangy cherry pie. The doctor looked worriedly at the cherry pie until Susan assured him its sister was waiting in the pantry, for his own supper.
Even the children were excited. The Seawynds wrote that they had two other children beside the baby—one girl, Theodora, who would be a good playmate for Jem and Walter—and a boy, Reginald, who was just the twins' age. They were eager to impress their new playmates—for surely the children of Ingleside and the House of Dreams would be playmates! Walter and Jem assembled bouquets of Ingleside poppies for Theodora—who, her mother wrote, preferred to be called Theo—to keep in her room, and the twins agreed to give up some of their toys for Reggie.
While they worked, Anne conjured in her head the picture of what the Seawynds' would be like. Geraldine would be the tall, fair, elegant woman she had written about in the Story Club—surely Mark Seawynd was the dashing hero she had always expected a Geraldine to end with! Theodora would be an imp of a girl—like Anne herself had been—but with raven curls and delicate table manners—Reggie a poetic, black-browed boy like Walter. It would do Walter good to have another dreamy soul about, to share his secrets with. And the baby would be velvety and sweet, as all babies are. Anne thought about them, living in her House of Dreams—loving it as much as she did—and sang while she scrubbed.
Finally the house was spic and span and moving day arrived! Anne knew she must wait before she visited—it would be impolite to spring herself on then after such a long, hot journey! But she could not resist sitting out on the porch and waiting. Perhaps she would catch their buggy come around the bend!
Carter Flagg came by, on his old nag—then one of the Douglas girls and Elliot boys walked past arm-in-arm, sweethearting. And then—Anne's ears pricked along with her thumbs—there was a clop-clop in the distance and the sound of buggy wheels turning on the rutted road. They were coming—here they were!
They flew by in such a blur and cloud of dust that Anne only had time to raise her hand. She was not even sure they had seen her. She wasn't sure she had seen them! Perhaps—perhaps she hadn't seen correctly. For the people in that buggy did not look like her idea of the Seawynds, not at all.
Mark Seawynd had been driving—she supposed—and she hadn't been able to see much of his face beyond the white whiskers that covered most of it. She saw the rest of him, though—not much was concealed beneath his overalls. He had taken off his shirt for the hot journey, and his chest was covered with the same white whiskers that peeked up over the bib. Anne had not expected him to be so—old.
Geraldine's face she had not seen—since she was turned toward the children in the back, who were ordinary, dirty-faced children, scowling at each other. The woman—Geraldine—had not raven hair, but dishwater blonde. There was no lofty alabaster brow—in fact, it was a rather short, swarthy one. She was a corpulent person—so big that her bosoms almost smothered the baby that she clutched against her chest.
Anne was almost certain that Theodora—or perhaps it was Reginald—had made a face at her before they rounded the bed.
"Why, they can't live at the House of Dreams!" she said, aghast.
Then her conscience admonished her. She had always been vain—but there was more to a person than how he looked. Why, Mr. Seawynd could still be the heroic man she thought him to be—they all could still be the people she thought them to be! Anne's dejected face betrayed her doubt, but another thought made hope spring anew in her heart.
"And maybe it wasn't even them!" she decided. "I will sit here until the stars come out—perhaps another buggy will come by soon, with the real Seawynds in it—a lovely black buggy drawn by four white horses—each with a plume on its brow…"
In the morning, Anne set off determinedly to make the new residents of the House of Dreams'—whoever they might be—acquaintances, and carried the lunch she and Susan had made in front of her like a shield. She was gone for the best part of the morning—she set off looking grim but hopeful—and came back looking utterly defeated.
"Oh, Susan, it's worse than I thought," she sighed. "Geraldine goes by 'Gerrie.' She couldn't eat the chicken we made because they are vegetarians—and they couldn't eat the pie because they are all prone to indigestion. Mr. Seawynd threw the pie out to the pigs—yes! They are keeping pigs in the House of Dreams garden—but as pets. Oh, and their name isn't Seawynd at all, not really—I mean, it is, but it's pronounced 'Sowen.'"
Susan was alarmed about the pie but more upset about the state of Mrs. Dr. dear's dress. "What has happened to your voile?"
"That would be Theodora," sighed Anne. "She wanted to write my name, to show off her letters, and she upset a bottle of ink on my lap. And I only got this dress last week—the doctor hasn't even seen it yet!"
"I hope she was scolded," said Susan indignantly.
"She was—Mrs. Seawynd spanked her—right in front of me—Theodora howled—and Reginald felt bad for his sister and bit his mother on the arm. Which led to the whole thing all over again. And the children both have a croupy cough—when I mentionedI could bring them one of Gilbert's tonics, Mr. Seawynd explained to me that they are Christian Scientist—not Methodist, even!—and they don't believe in taking medicine for illnesses."
"Good heavens!" Susan was wide-eyed. She tried to compose her features into an optimistic smile. "But they like the house at least?"
"They like it—or they are pretending to," said Anne wearily. "Mrs. 'Sowen' mentioned the ceilings were low—and that the hallway was rather narrow."
"It would be, for her," Susan muttered under her breath. She too had seen the rotund persona in the buggy yesterday.
"They did not appreciate the brook—they thought it would attract mosquitos—and I swore it wouldn't—and while I was swearing it wouldn't, Susan, once came down and bit me on the arm—the first mosquito I have ever seen at the House of Dreams! Mr. Seawynd gave a great 'hah!' and I felt a fool. And Mrs. Seawynd has great plans for the garden, Susan. She wants to have a bed of—dahlias."
"No!"
"Yes," nodded Anne. "The baby is very sweet, though. It is the one nice thing that can be said of them. Only her name really isn't 'Fairy,' that's only a nickname—her real name is some uncommon name Mrs. Seawynd picked up in a romance novel: Farrah. And that is where she got Theodora and Reginald's names as well. Oh, Susan!" Anne was close to tears, "These people are to be our neighbors for the next two months!"
"I am glad Mrs. Ford is not here to see it," said Susan grimly. "But we shall tuck up and manage, Mrs. Dr. dear. And at least they are not heathens, but Christians—of a sort."