Grandmother wasn't too pleased about Marigold's new ambition, but everyone else was pleased. Aunt Edna took most of the credit for the new determination in the girl's eye, Aunt Marigold immediately sent a thick letter full of advice and suggestions, Uncle Klon took Lorraine to Charlottetown to register Marigold at Queen's for the fall term, and Cousin Mira started planning a school wardrobe. It was decided, albeit with reluctance on Grandmother's part, that Marigold would take her two years at Queen's, and then teach until she could afford university and medical school. It meant a great deal of work, but Marigold was confident she could pull through it.
Mickey approved of it as well. "Folks has got to earn their own way in this world. You can't go through life expecting everything to be handed to you on a silver plate. Being a doctor is a noble goal, and you've got enough grit to make it happen."
Marigold was inordinately pleased at his commendation. Somehow, over the past six months, Mickey's opinion had come to mean more to her than anyone else's. Gwennie had written and expressed with her usual frankness that she thought Marigold was an idiot to want to "work with all sorts of disgusting diseases and whiny sick people," and had mentioned as an aside that Sid "thought girls with ambition were pathetic." Marigold just laughed them off. She couldn't believe there was ever a time when Budge—Sid's—view shaped her every thought. Mickey, Sylvia, Murray—those were the people whose opinions mattered now, though even if they didn't approve, she still would have gone ahead and pursued medicine. Marigold Lesley was an independent woman!
"You're not really going to go back out to sea—at least not until I'm gone, are you, Mickey?" she asked. The two of them were working in the garden, clearing away the dead leaves and preparing for spring.
He shrugged. "I ain't too sure. Sometimes I think I'll go, but then other I like it here jest fine. Spring in P.E.I. is a grand thing—it'd be a shame to miss it."
"Indeed it would," Marigold agreed solemnly, though her dimpling cheeks gave her away.
Mickey glanced at her sideways out of dark eyes, and laughed. "Now jest why is it so important to you that I stay? You've done everything in your power to keep me here."
Marigold blushed. "You're one of my dearest friends, Mickey. It just wouldn't seem right around here with you gone—besides, who would give me advice?"
"Oh, I dunno—maybe Murray Kent?" he inquired with a too-innocent face.
Marigold's blush deepened. "I don't know what you are talking about," she said with dignity. Then she laughed. "No, I can't keep a secret from you. I do admire Murray—and respect his opinion—but I don't know how he feels about me, and I'm certainly not going to make an idiot of myself over any man ever again!" ending with sudden venom as she remembered Charlie.
Mickey's mouth turned down in a scowl. "That scoundrel. I surely do wish I'd had the chance to thrash him. He and his sister think they're jest too good for the Island and all the honest folk here."
Marigold was surprised. She'd never heard Mickey speak so venomously about anybody. "Anyway," she spoke quickly, trying to change the subject. "No matter how I feel about Murray, you still give the best advice, and are still one of my closest friends, and I would hate to see you go. Why do you want to leave?"
Mickey shrugged and began raking faster. "No reason. It's time, that's all. I don't like staying in one place too long."
Marigold eyed him shrewdly. "No, that's not your real reason. I know you too well, Mickey. What's the true cause?"
He looked even more uncomfortable now. "You've no need to pry into my reasons, Marigold. Let it go."
Marigold's blue eyes opened wide with surprise. "I didn't mean to pry," she said slowly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you."
He looked at her hurt face and relented. "I'm sorry, Mari. I shouldn't 'a spoken so harsh. It's jest—it ain't something I'm real comfortable talking about."
Marigold didn't want to pry, but she was truly concerned for her friend. "If you don't want to talk about it, then I won't make you. Your private business is yours alone. But—you always are so helpful to me, and always know just how best to help me work through things. I wish you'd let me help you now."
He looked down. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to tell you a bit about it—but not a word to anyone else, mind?"
"On my honor," Marigold answered solemnly.
Mickey couldn't quite meet her eyes as he started talking. "It's jest—it's jest that there's this girl, is all, and I've fallen for her, but there's no way I could ever be with her. She's out o' my league, and I've got sense enough to know it, but I can't help how I feel about her, so I'd be better off out o' here altogether, where I don't have to see her all the time."
This all was delivered rapidly, in an embarrassed undertone, but Marigold still caught every word. Her first thought was that he meant her, but she immediately dismissed that as nonsense. She and Mickey were far too good of friends for him to fall in love with her. She spoke up briskly. "Out of your league? Mickey, that's ridiculous! You're kind and wise and good, and any girl would be honored to be with you. Just because you haven't had much of an education is no reason to assume you have no chance with her. If she's worth anything at all, she'll recognize your worth and love you for who you are, not for what you have."
He looked up and smiled sheepishly. "I reckon you're one o' the few who'd say that—not that I don't appreciate it. And it ain't so much the girl who would be the problem as her family. They think the sun sets and rises in her, and they wouldn't want a ragged old fellow like me to be with her."
"Well, if you love her and she loves you, what does anyone else matter?" queried Marigold with supreme scorn. "You two are the only ones who are important."
Mickey stubbornly shook his head. "It's easy for you to say things like that, Marigold. You've never had to deal with folks thinking you're lower than dirt, just 'cause you don't use proper grammar and smoke a pipe and such. No, I wouldn't even dare to dream of this girl—besides, she's so pure and sweet that she deserves the best there is. Me and her family agree on that, I reckon."
Marigold recognized defeat when she saw it. She sighed heavily. "I don't think anyone could find better than you, Mickey, but I know better than to argue with you when you get that mulish look in your eyes. I won't say another word about it."
Mickey made a comic face. "Who looks like a mule?"
They both broke into giggles, and the matter was dropped. Still, Marigold wondered and worried about it a great deal in private. She longed to talk it over with Sylvia, but she had promised not to say anything, and she wouldn't have felt comfortable telling Mickey's private feelings to anyone else anyhow.
In the meantime, March went out like a lamb, and April entered in a flurry of rainstorms. It rained almost every day that month, keeping all but the bravest souls trapped inside. Marigold and Sylvia still made great efforts to see each other every week, but for the most part it was a grand time for study. The more Marigold learned about the field of medicine, the more fascinating she found it. Lorraine had discovered a great many of Leander's old schoolbooks from when he was in medical school, and mailed them along to her daughter. Marigold treasured these, next to her father's journal, above everything else she owned. Not only were they still helpful, every now and then Lee would have penciled in a personal note in the margins. These unexpected pieces of her father's handwriting and personality were dearer than gold to Marigold.
April swam out and May came in with the promise of spring and sunshine. Ilse Miller showed up alone at Hope Fulfilled one day for an impromptu visit with Emily Kent. Marigold, going over there the first day the roads were dry enough to walk on, saw Charlie's mother in their small kitchen and hurried up the stairs, flushing angrily. Sylvia met her at the top of the stairs and ushered her into her small room quickly.
"What is Mrs. Miller doing here?" Marigold asked as Sylvia shut the door behind them.
"She says she just missed Mother, but I accidentally overheard a part of their conversation yesterday, and she's getting worried about—well, about Charlie." Sylvia watched her friend's face closely.
Marigold did feel a small pang at the mention of his name, but it was only of embarrassment, not of romance. "What's wrong with him?" she asked, pleased to find her voice sounded normal.
Sylvia looked slightly relieved for a moment, but then worry clouded her clear brow. "Well, apparently he's been spending more and more time with a really bad group of friends—skipping classes and staying out all hours of the night, and drinking, and just really turning wild. He won't listen to his parents anymore. Uncle Perry is furious, but he doesn't know how to go about curbing Charlie's behavior. Aunt Ilse has been hoping it's just a phase, but now even she's starting to worry, so she wanted to talk with Mother."
"You picked all that up from overhearing part of their discussion?" asked Marigold in amazement.
Sylvia had the grace to blush. "Well, it originally was an accident, but once I heard what they were talking about, I had to listen to the rest of it."
Marigold remembered something Murray had said about the Miller children. "Rosy and Charlie have been raised to think they're above everybody else, and to do whatever they please. It's no wonder Charlie now refuses to heed his parents. He's never had to control himself or do anything he didn't want to, ever."
"Well said, Mari," agreed Sophie, coming in and closing the door behind her. "Aunt Ilse and Uncle Perry have no one to blame for this but themselves—although I don't suppose it would do any good to tell them so."
"I do feel bad for them," said Marigold impulsively. "I thought I hated them, but I guess I don't. I'm sorry they're in a place like this. It must be dreadful."
"I'm worried about Rosy," said Sylvia. "We haven't spoken since—well, not since Christmas, but she's still my friend, and I know she idolizes Charlie. She always follows his example in everything. If he goes bad, there's a quite good chance that she will too."
Sophie sighed. "I'm so thankful we have our parents. I can't imagine being raised by anyone else or learning different principles."
For the first time, Marigold was devoutly thankful for her upbringing. She'd always resented slightly the interference of her grandmothers—although not Old Grandmother so much—and the rest of her clan in how she was raised, but despite everything, they had instilled in her a strong set of values.
"It's not just how you were raised, though," said Sylvia unexpectedly. "Some of it just has to do with knowing right and wrong, instinctively, inside you. I mean, look at Mickey. He has the strongest morals of anyone I know. He always knows what is right, and he always does it, no matter how unpleasant it may be. And he has no idea who his parents are or anything, and he didn't get any kind of an upbringing!" she concluded triumphantly.
Sophie smiled wryly and slid off the bed. "When Sylvia drags Mickey into a conversation, the rest of us know better than to continue arguing. She holds him up as perfection in everything." She nodded to them both and exited.
A rosy hue crept up Sylvia's ivory neck. Marigold stared at her in wonderment, a wild suspicion suddenly shooting through her brain. Could Sylvia be the girl…? She spoke impulsively. "Sylvie, do you have a—a crush on Mickey?"
"Oh please, Mari, don't tease me," Sylvia implored. "I know you probably think it's ridiculous—he's so much older and has done so many things, while I'm just a simple little country girl, but I can't help it! He's just—he's everything I admire, and he has become such a good friend…I didn't even realize it until a few weeks ago. I knew that I admired and respected him, but it wasn't until you were talking about him leaving to go back out to sea that I knew—I knew how I felt. It's hopeless, I know, but I can't help it!"
Marigold flung her arms around her friend. "Sylvie, I think you'd be perfect for Mickey! You're so sweet and dreamy, and he's so practical and clever—you two are just right for each other."
"Really?" Sylvia began to smile. "You're not just saying that?"
"Of course not."
Sylvia's face fell. "Not that it matters. I'm sure he wouldn't dream of falling for me. In his eyes, I'm just a little girl. He's going to go away to sea, and I'll never see him again. He'll probably fall in love with some clever, sophisticated foreign girl."
"If Mickey sailed to every port around the globe, he couldn't find a sweeter girl with a lovelier soul," declared Marigold positively. "Sylvie, maybe he likes you but doesn't dare admit it." She spoke rather hesitantly now, not wanting to give away Mickey's secret in encouraging Sylvia. "If I just dropped a few hints to him…"
Sylvia sprang up and grabbed her arm forcefully. "Marigold Lesley, don't you dare! If you ever breathe a word of this to him, I—I don't know what I'll do, but it'll be drastic! You can't tell him how I feel. I'd rather see him leave here tomorrow than have him know. Promise me, Mari!"
"I promise, I promise," said Marigold hurriedly. She couldn't help but feel rather vexed. Here were two of her dear friends, pining away for each other, and with a few words she could bring them together, but she was honor-bound to keep silent. For a moment, she was slightly annoyed with Sylvia, but then, looking at her friend's passionate face, she relented. After all, if someone threatened to tell Murray how she was starting to feel about him, she would be just as alarmed. She sighed.
"What a mess this world is," she murmured.
Sylvia sat back down next to her. "I know. It's a good thing the Lord is in charge of it, or I'd be afraid that everything was just happening wrong."
Marigold agreed whole-heartedly, and the two sat gloomily beside each other, each wrapped up in her own preoccupations.
