Chapter Two
We all had wanted to have our confab in the orchard that evening, in honor of days gone by, but a light rain was falling and so we met in Aunt Janet's kitchen. It was, I suppose, a simple Prince Edward Island country kitchen, much like many others, but that night it was the dearest spot on earth to us. In order that our bodies as well as our souls might be refreshed, Cecily had offered to pop some corn for us, and Felix assisted her. Felicity and Peter sat together on the old blue chest, while the Story Girl, Dan, Sara Ray, and I all sat around the table.
There was so much to tell; so much to hear. Peter's new horse, Dan's hopes of a good harvest, the number of doilies Felicity had crocheted—the myriad of little things that no one ever remembers to put into letters.
As we sat there talking, I looked around at my old playmates, trying to see how much—if at all—they had changed. Felicity, it seemed, had changed very little. True, she was even more beautiful at nineteen than she had been at thirteen, but time had not made her any more interesting to converse with. Felicity was still dull, and it appeared that she always would be.
Peter, on the other hand, had probably changed the most of any of our group. After his father's return had released him from the obligation of making sure that his mother was provided for, he had devoted much of his time to his schooling, completing the Markdale school and three years at the High at Summerside, besides studying with the Carlisle minister for the last few summers. But being educated was not the only change in Peter. He was confident in who he was, and even if by some happenstance one knew that he had been a hired boy, it neither showed nor mattered.
Dan was still the skeptic he had always been, inserting pinpricks of sharp wit into the conversation whenever he felt that someone—often Felicity—needed taking down a peg. He and Peter appeared to have various theological arguments going in which Dan would come up with impossible conundrums and sit back and grin while Peter squirmed.
"Now, Reverend Craig, as one of your most stalwart parishioners, not to mention one of the most faithful contributors to your salary, I want to know—could God make a stone so big He couldn't move it Himself?" Dan was doing a take-off on some church elder or another, I assumed, since Felicity and Sara Ray were trying their best not to laugh and failing utterly.
"Well, then, Deacon King," Peter replied, stalling for time. I could see the wheels turning in his head. "You know, sir, if He did do such a thing, I think He'd have a few other problems on His hands. For one, why would He want a rock that large, and secondly, where would He put it?"
"You're the preacher, not me," Dan grinned. "You tell us."
"Oh, stop it, Dan," Cecily said as she brought the bowl of popcorn over to the table. "You're always making jokes about serious things. Besides, Peter hasn't gone to seminary yet. You always expect him to have all the answers to your questions, but I'd guess that even real preachers couldn't answer some of the ones you ask." Sweet, serious Cecily, I thought to myself—utterly humourless and yet utterly endearing. I tried to catch the Story Girl's eye to share my amusement, but she was idly staring at the wallpaper with a far-off expression on her face.
"I guess you're right, Sis," Dan said in a placating tone. "I'll ask him again after he finishes seminary, and if he still doesn't know, then I'll withdraw my contributions to the salary."
"Sounds good," I added, winking at Dan. "After all, Peter will have a wife to support. Ministers have to keep careful records of all the money they spend and make sure that their wives don't have big fancy hats." I half expected Cecily to be confused over Dan's imaginary financial support, but when I snuck a look at her, she was talking quietly with Felix about something to do with the last church social.
"Are you going to be a minister too, Bev?" Sara Ray asked, smiling at me shyly. Dan poked me in the ribs and whispered, "Crazy quilts."
"No, I'm studying journalism at McGill right now, and when I finish there, I want to work for a newspaper and travel."
"Oh," Sara said, looking rather disappointed. Apparently journalism did not rate as high on her list of possible occupations for prospective husbands as the ministry. "What about you, Felix?"
"I don't know for sure yet. I just finished school this spring, and I think I might take the teachers' examinations and try for a school for a year or so before going to McGill. I'm not as brainy as Bev over there—nor as ambitious."
I could tell from the look on Sara Ray's face that she was about to deem it a pity that Felix was not ambitious, and in the interest of brotherly love, I decided to change the topic. "So are you having a big dinner after the wedding?" I asked.
Cecily, Sara Ray, and the Story Girl all groaned, while Felicity smiled. "Of course," she said. "All of us girls are going to spend the next week cooking and cleaning in preparation for it."
"Are you having pudding?" Felix asked. "If so, you better watch out for saw—" He stopped his sentence abruptly, sneaking a look at the Story Girl's face.
The Story Girl flushed, but her eyes twinkled. "Hopefully I'll be helping Aunt Janet with the cleaning and sewing rather than the cooking."
Dan raised his eyebrows maliciously. "I don't care if we have pudding or not, but, Felicity, if you can make sure that we have a fresh batch of rusks from the recipe you used when the Governor's wife came to tea, I'd sure appreciate it."
Felicity glared at him. "Donald King, it might be entirely possible that you'll be so busy that you won't have time to sit down and eat at all!"
"You never know," Peter said. "While the rest of us are dancing, Dan could always eat up the leftovers."
"You're going to have a dance?" the Story Girl asked with a puzzled look on her face. "I thought the presbytery frowned on their ministers dancing. That's what Felicity said, anyway."
Peter shrugged. "I haven't started seminary yet, and Felicity wants to have a dance. So you two"—to Felix and I—"will have to polish your shoes and look for the pretty girls to dance with." Sara Ray giggled.
"I don't think Bev will be interested," Felix said soberly, but with a twinkle in his eye.
"Why ever not? Is there a lass back in Toronto who's caught your fancy, Beverley King?" Dan asked.
I felt my ears turn red, knowing who Felix was referring to. I had squired Martha Pickering to several church events during the winter, and McGill University seemed to consider us something of an item. But Martha, although she was a dear friend, didn't make my stomach twist itself up in knots whenever I saw her handwriting on an envelope…as certain letters from overseas always did.
"It's all in Felix's imagination," I said, trying to laugh. "I'm beginning to think that he's a hopeless romantic at heart."
"I am not," Felix muttered. He perked up and looked at the Story Girl. "Sara, you've been awfully quiet this evening. Do you have any stories for us?"
Much to my surprise, the Story Girl shook her head. "I'm afraid not tonight."
Everyone blinked and looked at her. "But you're the Story Girl!" Cecily said. Her tone of voice was similar to one that you might use upon finding out that your parents were not truly your parents and that instead, you had been left in a basket on their doorstep.
"You always have a story to tell," Sara Ray said.
"Not tonight. Maybe some other time, though," the Story Girl said. Her voice was as beautiful as it had always been, but I suddenly noticed that it sounded tired and weary. Perhaps the journey from Paris had been too taxing for her, I thought to myself. At any rate, it would only take a few days before she was back to her normal, charming, alluring self.
After the Story Girl's refusal to tell us a story, the evening fell rather flat. Felicity explained the intricacies of her trousseau to us until we were bored, I tried to talk about college doings, and Cecily explained the latest project of the Missionary Society (a jumble sale where all the neighbors could donate their unwanted items so they could become someone else's unwanted items), but somehow none of it could hold our attention. Finally we all dispersed to our respective homes for the night.
"It's not quite like old times," I said to Felix as we climbed into bed. "It's good, but it's not the same."
"I think it's better," Felix mumbled as he fell asleep, but when I asked him why, the only response I met with was a snore.
Author's Note: As always, thanks for reading and if you care to, leave me a review…I'd love to hear what you think about the story and what will happen next. Many thanks to Portia Sue, my wonderful beta-reader. Cecily's jumble sale owes its inspiration to Connie Willis's book To Say Nothing of the Dog, which has no connections to this story except that I read the one while writing the other. L. M. Montgomery owns the characters; I do not.
