The months turned, and spring warmed slowly to summer. The Millers remained in Blair Water, Charlie taking a job as a clerk in Mr. Winter's law office in Shrewsbury, and Rosy preparing to leave in the fall for New York!—for her parents had agreed to let her train to become an actress.
In June, Mickey sailed away to "make his fortune," as he said with a cheeky grin. It was hard on both Sylvia and Marigold to see him leave, but Marigold was soon immersed in her medical studies, and the letters that began arriving from various ports around the world went a long way toward cheering Sylvia. She threw herself whole-heartedly into preparing to go to Queen's with Marigold—not that she had any real interest in higher education; she simply wanted to have something to do to keep busy, and a teacher's certificate wasn't a bad thing, either. Although Mickey was determined to support her once they were married (not that he had actually proposed yet—Mr. Kent had asked him to wait at least until she was eighteen), Sylvia wisely wanted to have a marketable skill of her own to fall back on.
Sophia and Christine also began preparing to leave for university. David still wasn't sure what he wanted to do with his life, so he headed off to Charlottetown to see what opportunities a hard working young man could find there.
Everyone was busy with their lives, except Murray. He was fiercely determined to find something useful to do with his talents, but he didn't know what. What could a writer do that would help others? Writing was such a private, inward affair, that it was hard to see how it could be used for the benefit of other people. He asked his mother, but she just told him that if writing was his passion, he must follow it. He spoke to his father, and Mr. Kent told him the same thing. Finally, he went to Mr. Morgan for advice.
The cheerful high school science teacher listened thoughtfully while Murray poured out his quandary. He let the young man talk himself raw, and then thought in silence for a little while.
"As it happens, Murray," he said at last, "I think I know of a place where you could be used."
"Really?" Murray asked eagerly. "Where?"
"Reverend Lawrence, the new Presbyterian minister in Shrewsbury, was just here last night telling me about a project he's eager to start. He likes to take bits from his sermons, his daily readings, anything inspirational he comes across, and write it down so that he can remember it later. Apparently, many people have asked if he would be willing to share those thoughts with others, in a devotional-book form. The only problem is that he's a terrible writer. He needs someone to take his ideas and work them up so that others can actually read them and gain something from them. Would you be up for the task?"
Murray was slightly taken aback. He hadn't been expecting such a concrete example right away. He was slightly disappointed—it seemed so tame. It certainly wasn't life-changing, or important, or grand. And he wouldn't even get credit for it! He'd be making somebody else look good. The word "no" was hovering on the tip of his tongue, when Mr. Morgan, accurately interpreting his expression, spoke again.
"Of course, it all really depends on what you're truly searching for. If you're only interested in impressing people with your marvelous good deeds, then this obviously isn't for you. But if you truly want to do something good for others, something that might actually bless someone else, then this at least is a good place to start. And who knows? If you succeed with this, other opportunities might be given. After all, 'To him who has, more shall be given.' What do you say?"
Murray's face was flushed. He had been hoping to do something to impress Marigold—and others. But, he realized, that was an extremely shallow motive for helping people. He swallowed hard. "I'll do it."
Mr. Morgan beamed. "Good! I'll let Rev. Lawrence know and tell him to get in touch with you."
Murray stood. "Thank you, sir."
"My pleasure."
And so Murray, too, joined the forces of those working at something. Rev. Lawrence was a fairly young man himself, with high ideals and eager plans. He genuinely loved his God with all his heart, and desired to serve Him and His people as best he could. Every time they worked together, Murray came away inspired.
"It's odd," he confided to Marigold one warm day in late June. "When I started this, I only was doing it so that I could do something useful with my writing abilities. I wasn't thinking of getting anything out of it myself at all. And yet, I find that I'm the one who's being blessed here! I can tell that I'm growing and learning. Rev. Lawrence is such a brilliant man, and he had such humility. He never thinks about himself, but only about how he can serve God best. He's becoming my role model."
Marigold stooped to caress a delicate Lady's Slipper flower. " 'I would be the gladdest thing under the sun!' " she quoted dreamily. " 'I will touch a hundred flowers, and not pick one.' I am constantly amazed at how much my life has changed since moving here," she said in her normal tones, seemingly irrelevantly. "I was spineless and selfish—truly, I was—and I rarely thought about anything outside of my own little life. Then I met Aunt Edna—and Cousin Mira—and Mickey and all of you, and I just started growing and expanding until I don't even feel like a distant relation of the Marigold I used to be. I think that's what you're experiencing now, probably."
"Yes, exactly," Murray agreed eagerly. He sighed. "I can't believe you leave in two months."
"What will you do once we're all gone?" she asked him curiously.
He shrugged. "I'm not sure. I—I've been thinking…" he trailed off.
"What?"
He looked uncertain. "I haven't even told Sophie about this. Promise you won't laugh?"
"Never," Marigold assured him.
"Well, I've been thinking about going to divinity school."
"Murray, that's wonderful!" Marigold cried. "You would make a wonderful minister."
He laughed, suddenly feeling far more assured and confident, knowing Marigold supported him. "I'm not exactly sure if I want to be a minister—although it is a noble task—but there are many ways to serve God and people, and I'm interested in pursuing some of them. You don't think it's foolish?"
"Of course not," she said positively. "No more foolish than me becoming a doctor, or Sylvie a teacher, or anything else. Just"—
"What?"
She looked up at him shyly. "I was going to tell you to not give up on your writing, but I don't really think that's a problem."
"Never. No matter what else I may do in my life, I will always write. I could no more live without writing than I could without breathing."
Marigold sighed. "I'm so excited to be going to Queen's—and I'm happy that you're doing something with your life—and everything is turning out well—but just right now, I can't help but wish that this summer would never end."
"I know." Murray was silent for a moment. "No sense in regretting the inevitable. Let's just enjoy the time that we do have left."
Marigold laughed, her face lighting up until she looked remarkably like her namesake flower. "Yes indeed!"
She skipped off joyously, and Murray, watching the sun shine down on her lithe figure and soft hair, bringing out its golden highlights and warm coloring, was reminded of a poem by that great Irish playwright, Oscar Wilde.
"
'Her gold hair fell on the
wall of gold
Like the delicate gossamer tangles spun
On the
burnished disk of the marigold,
Or the sunflower turning to meet
the sun
When the gloom of the dark blue night is done,
And the
spear of the lily is aureoled.' "
There was more to it, but for the moment, that was the only verse that mattered. He shivered a little at her beauty—a beauty that came as much from her sweet spirit and joyful soul as from her physical appearance. He cared very deeply for Marigold Lesley, and had ever since she first arrived in Blair Water. While part of him longed to tell her how he felt, he knew he was not yet worthy of the affection of such a girl as this. Someday, when he had purged the selfishness and weaknesses from his character, he would ask her to be his. For now, her friendship was gift enough.
She turned back, still laughing. "Come on!" she called. "How are we supposed to enjoy the summer if you're just standing there like a stick?"
He laughed back and ran to catch up with her. Side by side, they strode through the woods, happy in each other's company.
At the end of June, Sylvia went to Charlottetown for the Queen's Entrance exam. She was pale and nervous, but resolute. Marigold went down to the station to see her off, and her heart was wrung with sympathy for her friend.
"Oh Mari—if I fail!" Sylvia gasped just before boarding, clutching Marigold's hand convulsively. "I'll never be able to face myself again."
"You won't fail, dearest," Marigold reassured. "I was scared stiff when I took the exam, but I passed just fine."
"Yes, but you're so clever," Sylvia said, trembling. "I'm not—I'm fanciful and dreamy. I know I'll never be able to pass."
"Yes you will," Marigold said strongly. "Just remember that it's for Mickey. You'll do well, for his sake if nothing else."
That was all Sylvia needed to hear. She stood up straight. "I'll remember. Thank you, Mari. I'll see you in a week!"
After the train pulled out, Marigold dreamily began her walk back to Aunt Edna's. She was alone, for Sylvia had said her goodbyes to the rest of her family at the house. Only Marigold had accompanied her to the station.
As she walked along the quiet road, enjoying the warm sunshine and calm surroundings, she suddenly heard a wondering voice from behind her.
"Marigold?"
She turned to see a strange young man regarding her wonderingly. She frowned. He looked familiar—surely she knew those round blue eyes—that silky yellow hair—that wide, friendly mouth? Just as she was puzzling over it, he grinned.
"It is you! Say, I haven't seen you in ages! What are you doing in this neck of the woods?"
Then Marigold recognized him. "Billy!" she exclaimed. She laughed. "My goodness. It has been a long time—not since that week we both spent at Aunt Min's."
Billy came over and gave her a brief hug. "That was some fun, wasn't it? I still laugh when I think over that synopsis I wrote—and how you forced me to confess to Aunt Min that we skipped church. You had some spunk. Say, I've never met another girl quite like you, you know."
Marigold blushed. This almost-cousin of hers had been her first boy friend. Even if he had led her into trouble, they'd had quite a bit of fun together for that one week they were both at Windyside. "What have you been doing with your life lately?" she now asked him companionably. Somehow, despite not having seen him for five years, she instantly felt comfortable around Billy. It was, she reflected, one of his charms.
"Traveling mostly," he answered, falling in beside her as she started walking again. "Once I finished school two years ago Dad decided to let me come along with him on his business trips. Say, I've been just about everywhere! South America and Africa and the States and India—we don't do much in Europe, though. Dad says things are in a rotten state over there. What about you?"
Marigold told him about staying with Aunt Edna and leaving for Queen's in the fall. He whistled.
"A doctor? Say, you are ambitious! I bet you'll be swell, though. You always did know how to make a fellow feel better."
Marigold laughed again. "It's not as exciting as traveling all over the world, though. You must have had some marvelous adventures."
Billy shrugged. "A few. Tell you the truth, it gets kind of boring after a while. Dad always is busy, and he wants me to learn the business, so he keeps me with him and I never get to go out and explore like I want. I manage to have some fun, though." He winked at her. "We're in Blair Water just for a few days while Dad visits some old cronies."
As they walked along, laughing and talking, neither saw Murray Kent, hidden in the woods along the side of the road. He had decided to meet Marigold and walk back from the station with her. Along the way he'd gotten distracted by the beauty of the woods and a poem that was burning for completion. By the time he was ready to regain the road, Marigold and Billy had met up.
He knew he had no cause to be jealous, but there was still a tight feeling in the pit of his stomach when he saw the two of them, particularly whenever Marigold would laugh. Her golden tones were so warm and beautiful; it hurt to see them bestowed on someone else.
Waiting for her hadn't seemed so difficult when he didn't think there was anyone else in contention for her heart. Now, it was born on him with frightening swiftness that he had no guarantee that she wouldn't fall in love with anyone else while he was striving to become worthy of her. Even if this awkward looking young man wasn't her beau, while at Queen's she was bound to meet someone who was worthy of her love, and she would give her heart to him, and marry him, and never think of him, Murray, ever again.
He groaned out loud with the pain of it, and hurried away to hide his agony among the comforting trees and hidden glades of Lofty John's bush.
