Timeline - Anne's House of Dreams. Christmas Eve Dinner at the Moore's. Leslie and Dick are visiting relatives, but Owen is around. (I wanted a different day and location to not challenge canon.)
For a shorter narrative, I am combining events that occur in this book and introducing ideas and characters in a different order. Some characters I am not using at all. It is very helpful to know the events of this book even if I elect to take liberties.
Chapter 40: Margaret
Davy Keith attempted to sleep in an alcove of the Four Winds Harbor lighthouse. It seemed to Davy, at one point of the night, that the cold wisps of incoming air meant to surround and freeze him to the sofa-bed. He thought he could even see the maligned vapors seeping in from the drafts and curling around him. Feeling spooked, Davy slipped his hand under his pillow and touched his unopened gift from Millie. Even though she was far away on the Caribbean island of Cuba, he no longer felt the chill of loneliness. The knowledge that she remembered him ignited his heart and his rest came in small, slumbering doses.
On the morn, Davy inspected the window as he clenched his jaw to prevent chattering. A thick layer of frost clung to the pane of glass and Davy assumed it had snowed until he stuck his head out the door. The land was bare of any drifts with only a crystalline crust covering the landmarks.
After shaving, Davy sat through a quiet breakfast of porridge with an untalkative Captain Jim.
What a strange contrast their silent breakfast was to their late-night discussion. Davy had shown him the strange little package from Havana and Captain Jim launched into many stories about his travels to Cuba. They were very racy adventures, the type you didn't talk about in the company of women.
Davy couldn't believe Captain Jim had suffered such escapades with booze and sex. He still wondered how such a troublemaker had mellowed into the harmless man slurping breakfast tea and dabbing the corners of his mouth with a napkin.
The old man had scoffed at Davy's doubt, explaining how fifty years can do a lot to change one's manners. The storyteller had not restrained his reports as he confessed to his young charge.
It had started with the map. Even though it was old and yellow, with tatters on the corners, it had been an expensive document. With Cuba rolled out and smoothed, they had leaned into the record. Davy was dazzled as he followed Captain Jim's finger tracing the route from Florida. To get to Havana by ship, one had to enter a narrow waterway which opened to a natural harbor.
Sailors had a dirty name for the passage, a word that made Davy's cheeks heat when Captain Jim rolled it off his tongue. Davy took another look at the map and had to agree that the bay was a sort of womb for the seaman, hence the slur for the canal. Such talk came with the job.
Captain Jim had been a young and stupid fellow on his first overseas trip to Cuba and had lost track of his moral compass. He "tware a rowdy cuss" that had spent his money foolishly.
Back then, it was believed that a good leave with plenty of time in the brothels kept morale high on the voyage home. For a mutiny-fearing captain, the order to go get laid was pre-emptive.
"You slept with a prostitute?! Because your captain told you to?"
"Yes. Hurts to admit now, but, I's 'twas a young, strapping boy-man, and she had beautiful brown eyes. 'Twas nice too, her name 'twas Rosa. And to me, she 'tware a flower with no thorns."
Captain Jim seemed wistful in his report, an air he let go of when his eyes flickered down a beat.
"Now, in hindsight young man, what I did 'tis something I'm not turrible proud of, but folks think differently in a port city than they do elsewhere. If brothels and the shore girls weren't there, neither would be the ships and the merchandise."
"But what about love?" Davy had felt his chest tighten to contain his racing heart. "I thought you said you had a great love!"
"I had yet to meet her." Captain Jim had shaken his head as if he recalled something painful.
"Davy, you're lucky to find yer girl whiles yer young." He had told him as he gave Davy his precious map of Cuba. "You can save yerself for her, and be her one and only when you marry. Such a beautiful sacrifice that will pay you back the rest of your life.
When I met my Margaret, I changed for her. And, I promised to save her from her life as a shore girl. I don't tells many this, but, she broke my heart in the end. I was away too much on my adventures. She couldn't return my promise."
That had been the last thing Captain Jim had told him before showing him his bunk.
The old man was sullen now, his face hung low. Davy reached towards the center of the table for the sugar, contemplating whether or not he should break their morning silence. He deliberated the question as he mixed the sweetener into his tea.
Captain Jim interrupted his reverie, pointing to the roof. "I's got work to do. Mebbe ships needing port. You go ahead without me."
*/*/*
"Charlottetown's closed. Summerside too." Captain Jim said as he crossed the threshold of Leslie Moore's home. It was later in the afternoon, but no warmer than it had been at dawn. The cold had taken his posture and Captain Jim's steps were stiffly made. Davy had explained the seriousness of the weather. Everyone that knew Captain Jim also knew he'd do everything within his power to keep his brother-sailors safe. "Four Winds is open fer now. I kept the light goin' jest the same. Let it burn, won't hurt nothin' and mite help."
Captain Jim let out a grizzly cough and Owen Ford's tinkering of Silent Night at the piano abruptly stopped. The ruggedness that the lighthouse keeper wore was an armor over his weakened-with-age body.
"Captain Jim, won't you please come into the parlor and warm-up?" Anne rushed over to greet the man with a kiss to his cold cheek.
"Mistress Blythe, yer smile is nuff to warm me heart. I's would have been sooner, but I brought yous fresh vegetables for dinner. Li'l peppers. Some lettuce, mebbe. Mite be a bit brown. It's a long way from the fields of Mexico. I dropped the crate by the kitchen door, rather than drag it through dare house."
Anne hugged the gentleman with all her strength and squeaked out a heartfelt "Thank You".
It was truly an answered prayer. She had been dreaming of fresh greens for the holiday meal.
Captain Jim coughed again and Anne's excitement for the produce waned. He needn't had worked in the dastardly wind. Cold and age proved to be a poor combination.
Anne searched the room for Gilbert, but his black head bopped back to the kitchen and out of sight. Anne knew Gil was going to drag in the box and see what it contained. A moment later, a giant, Mrs. Lynde spoken, "Land's sake!" floated into the parlor where it hung in the air like a big and bright banner.
Meanwhile, Davy meandered over to the fireplace and pulled back the black screen. With the iron poker, he turned the ashened log so its heat kicked out into the room. Anne escorted the seamaster to the fire, taking his knitted hat and woolen pea coat, trading it for the crocheted afghan that normally blanketed the sofa.
"You haven't missed a thing, Captain Jim!" Anne informed him as she rubbed his arm. "The goose isn't done, so, we haven't started eating. We were waiting and hoping, but..." Anne shook her head obviously unhappy with a turn of events beyond her control. "Gilbert's cousin, Helen Blythe is feeling peaked, so we moved her this morning to our place, hoping she might recover sooner in a quiet house, but, I think she's decided to stay and rest."
Owen cocked his head in Anne's direction as he extended his fingers, finding a chord that was augmented either by poor playing or bad tuning.
"Anne, I'm sorry I slept through my alarm." Owen then rolled his fingers so the piano keys sounded out one by one and continued to explain the novelty of the forthcoming feast to the newcomer. "The bird is for dessert, Captain Jim. Won't that be fun?"
Poultry for dessert! Anne repeated her head shake.
She had agreed to the idea, but she didn't like her hand forced into it. She didn't want to be known for her eccentric dinner parties. It was either eat out of order or starve. They were all hungry and surrounded by pleasant, savory scents. No one else wanted to wait the additional hour.
Silent Night resumed with Owen attempting to sing the German verses. He found it troublesome to read both the music line along with the foreign lyrics.
Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht
Alles schläft, einsam wacht
"It's too bad Helen can't sleep," Katherine Brooke bemused from across Marilla.
Katherine's amber eyes lifted to the ceiling beams where an old chandelier hung. Helen had reported a haunting in the parlor over breakfast, something about a body hanging from the ceiling that only she could see. According to Owen, that man had been Mrs. Moore's father.
Holder Knabe im lockigen Haar*
Katherine picked up the next line as Owen's voice faltered. Katherine's German was the best in the room. She actually found herself using it regularly in her work for the Premier. She wrote briefs of the news from across Europe as well as take dictation of his meetings.
Anne gave Marilla an apologetic nod as she encouraged Captain Jim to stretch out his hands to the blaze.
Marilla returned Anne's glance with one of her own. She communicated her amusement with Anne's undercooked goose. A witch Gilbert might be, but he couldn't master time. What could Anne do but try to laugh off her scrape with "backward Christmas Eve dinner"? Pies first, then bread and sides, and then, maybe some of the fatty meat for dessert.
Mrs. Lynde moseyed out of the kitchen and through the parlor with yet another bowl of potatoes to Anne's chagrin. Anne had prepared her dish of potatoes according to Geraldine's recipe and Marilla had made hers to offset Mrs. Blythe's contribution. So, of course, Rachel felt left out in the potato making fun. As soon as she laid her eyes on Mrs. Moore's abundantly full potato bin, she rolled back her sleeves not to be outdone by Anne's and Marilla's take on the spud.
Gilbert followed Mrs. Lynde into the dining room with a large tray of greens.
Through the pass-through, a cut out in the wall from the dining room to the parlor, Anne watched as they positioned the dishes on a dining table already straining to hold the rest of the meal. Dora continued to circle its perimeter, laying down dishes, silverware, and napkins folded into swans, ignoring Mrs. Lynde's sometimes sensational ejaculations.
Another cough from Captain Jim brought Anne's attention back into the parlor. Everyone was looking at her, waiting for her to say something.
Anne put her hand on the captain's elbow, gleaning his attention. "Captain Jim, you don't know everyone here, do you?"
Captain Jim glanced around the familiar room made stranger by a face he didn't know. His eyes settled on a middle-aged woman. She looked up a moment from her reading, determined not to smile back, but her eyes full of interest. Her expression stayed stoic and would not mirror his smile.
Jim caught the attention of Miss Cuthbert and she returned his coquettish grin. He told her a few of his yarns already when she had visited a few weeks ago. Marilla reflected a lightness now. Whatever had troubled her in the previous call to Four Winds, its worry no longer showed on her face.
Katherine Brooke closed the volume she was reading, revealing it to be an advanced copy of The Life-Book of Captain Jim.
"This is…" Anne started to say.
"I'm Katherine Brooke, one of Anne's former teachers in Summerside." The smile Katherine made now was not saccharine. "I feel like I know you already from Mr. Ford's book." And she gave the volume in her lap a good thump. "It's an excellent read!"
"Thank you Katherine!" Owen called from the piano. "From you that's very high praise!"
"How d'you do, Mistress Brooke?" Captain Jim was glad he had his hat off already as he bowed.
Next, Anne swiveled Captain Jim to point out a woman that might be his peer. "And you know Marilla, but let me introduce you to her boarder and good friend, Mrs. Rachel Lynde." Anne gestured to the squat woman lingering in the dining room's corridor. "I wouldn't be the woman I am today without her."
Rachel blinked in disbelief. She had overheard people say she was loud and outspoken often enough, but rarely was she treated to a softer review that suggested her life made another's more meaningful. Anne's words, while lacking an effusiveness, provoked a choking session behind her blouse buttons.
Rachel used her vibrato and announced for all to hear, "I'm pleased to meet you, Captain Jim. And, you need some tea, that's what! I'll fetch you a cuppa."
"James, why don't you take my chair? It's the warmest." Marilla stood from the upholstered recliner, gripping the sidearms with bony fingers that could still snap peas.
Captain Jim held the green afghan closed, his body cocooned from any pesky drafts creeping along the floorboards. He acknowledged Marilla as her gray, unadorned dress swished from the movement she made. Her confidence was an enviable accessory to her handsome frame.
"Twoudn't dream of it, Marilla. I's can stand."
"Pish-posh," Marilla closed their gap, eventually placing a firm hand on his back. She motioned him to the vacant seat, fully expecting Captain Jim to sit.
He resisted which caused Marilla to search his eyes for an explanation. Her face pinked when his eyes twinkled back. Their sparkle affected her speech with a nervous pause.
"Why... why don't you keep the chair warm for me then? I'll go help Rachel."
"Yessum, I'd be glad to help with that, Ma'am."
He sighed as his weight sunk into the squashy seat.
Marilla did not immediately leave but stood in a haze that Davy recognized. Davy shook off his flowering thought as he wasn't sure he wanted it to bloom, not after Captain Jim's stories from last night.
Before Marilla could depart the parlor Gilbert entered and was followed closely by Dora and Mrs. Lynde with the promised cup. Gilbert gestured for Anne and she went to his side, greeting him with a peck on the lips.
It was finally time to tell the rest of them about their impending Joy!
Gilbert beamed as he surveyed the room. Sure, they pretty much all knew that Anne was expecting their first child, but aside from Captain Jim and Owen Ford, none of them knew that their first baby was a witch.
Gilbert pinged the water goblet before he started his speech.
*/*/*
The former schoolmaster kicked the wet sand, scuffing the surface that was instantly smoothed as a roll of water washed the shore. He kept his face down as he trod, ignoring the squishiness of the ground between his toes and admiring the dark outline of his footsteps before they filled with wet. Thinking always went better when he retreated into himself, hunched over and hands deep inside trouser pockets. The August sun cast a squat shadow that followed his every move. Was his sojourn in Four Winds going to end now? It had only been fifteen years since he cast his spell.
John Selwyn hitched his breath when he lifted his chin to glimpse the fishing village over yonder. The whorehouse was waking up, he could see the girls bringing in their laundry. Persis' scapegoat had been chosen from the shore girls there. A woman for your woman and a ship for a ship. He remembered his promise to the Fates yet it grieved him that his victim would be Jim's true love. He turned his face away from the picture as glare hit his eyes. The Fates wanted Margaret for that reason. Sacrificing her and hurting his friend was the karmic price.
His best friend and mate would rightly hate him for it, an attitude they had discussed long ago. He had explained his powers, apologizing for the family curse.
"You won't be so much my friend if you think much about it."**
The sixteen-year-old, idealistic James Boyd had assured him, "Nothing could make me any less your friend."
John had shaken his head, not accepting a teenager's blind loyalty. John sensed the future when magical strife would divide them.
"I've lost friends before because of this magic I have. I don't blame them nor would I blame you. There are times when I feel hardly friendly to myself because of it. Such a power has a bit of divinity in it-whether of a good or an evil divinity who shall say? And we mortals all shrink from too close contact with God or devil."
John Selwyn, the one time schoolmaster, shrugged off his worry as there was no point in it. He had apologized long ago. He hoped that a tiny part of Jim might remember and see that. Even the plainest man could feel the circular nature of time, so long as anger didn't consume his memory. John's gift as a witch wasn't for clairvoyance, although that was the simplest way to put it. It was trickier as he could bridge the fourth dimension. He could knot points of time together which provided an almost God-like omnipotence. His family's legacy was alive in him.
Night approached and the fiery sun tucked itself behind clouds, spilling out the final rays which pinked above the ruffling waters. He scuffed the beach with his foot once more. It had to be. It was time to go call on the shore girl Margaret.
*/*/*
Tap, tap, tap.
"No," Helen cried against her waking consciousness. The dream that she was having… was it a dream? Helen rubbed the left side of her head, easing her unmedicated throb. What she had experienced felt more like a memory. As soon as Helen rationalized it, she knew it was so.
The man in her vision, the witch.. he was looking to call on Margaret. But who was she? A girl that Jim loved?
Helen squeezed her eyes shut as if physical contortion would extract the answer, but her illuminating trance was over.
Tap, tap, tap.
The noise at the front door returned. The beats quicker paced as the caller grew impatient.
Did she really have to acknowledge the caller? Didn't Gilbert say he was going to pin a sign to his front door saying he was over at the Moore's? She was sure he had said that before her head crashed onto Dora's pillow.
Helen had left her dream journal back at the Moore's with her luggage. Writing down the memories helped her see details she would otherwise overlook. The players of her visions honored her care by visiting her less. Helen pulled open the bedside table drawer and found scrap paper. The words pulsed in her head. She grabbed the pencil also tucked inside and blindly etched a phrase before it left her forever, the mantra of the beating surf. The promise that John Selwyn had tried to kick off so long ago.
A woman for your woman, a ship for a ship, and then Helen autowrote, Margaret.
From outside she heard a cacophony of squashed metal followed by an expletive and she peered out the window where she saw a hatless man with sandy-brown hair topple to the ground. The visitor had his foot caught in the tin box Anne and Gilbert kept on their stoop. The poor person was making a racket trying to kick off the unlikely shoe.
Helen dropped her scribble on the bed, never looking at the picture she embossed. It was the dory and the dock, an important clue to the mystery of her dreams and the sad girl. Helen instead rushed on her shoes to help the man staggering at the front door.
to be continued
*Words by Joseph Mohr, 1816, Music by Franz Xavier Gruber: Bauer, Ingrid. "Learn the German Translation for 'Silent Night,' 'Stille Nacht'." ThoughtCo, Jun. 23, 2019, /stille-nacht-silent-night-1444302.
**Anne's House of Dreams, Chapter 7, The Schoolmaster's Bride.