A Seaside Wooing by Lucy Maud Montgomery. Part 4
Watch on KineScope.
July Twentieth
This morning was a beautiful warm day, and after breakfast Aunt said: ‘I think you may go to church if you wish, Marguerite. Remember that you must be careful, and quiet, and polite, and not speak to any strangers.’
I ran upstairs and found my prettiest dress. It is a lovely soft gray with shiny bits in it. Every time I get any new clothes, Aunt Martha and I have a terrible battle. I think she would like me to wear dresses and hats that were fashionable a hundred years ago. Connie always says that my clothes are very nice and interestingly different from other people’s.
That’s what Connie thinks – I don’t agree.
But I chose this dress and it is really very pretty. I wore a little silvery-gray hat, with some pale pink flowers on it, and I pinned to my dress some of the sweetest little pink roses from the garden. Then I ran downstairs for Aunt Martha to look at me.
‘Really, child,’ she said, disapprovingly, ‘you have dressed yourself up for a summer lunch party, it seems to me.’
‘But, Aunty,’ I said, ‘I’m all in gray – every bit of me?
Aunt Martha turned her mouth down at the corners. That face says about a hundred different disapproving things. But I walked off to church like a singing bird.
In the church I saw Mr Shelmardine at once. He was sitting right across from me, and there was a smile in his eyes. I did not look at him again. I was careful, and quiet, and polite, and not even looking at anybody.
When church was finished, he waited for me at the door.
I pretended not to see him until he said, ‘Good morning,’ in a lovely deep voice. It was the kind of voice that you could listen to for ever. You felt it could be a very gentle voice too.
When we went down the steps, he took my book, and we walked together up the long country road.
‘Thank you so much for coming today,’ he said.
‘It was very difficult to make Aunt Martha agree to it,’ I said. ‘Mrs Saxby helped – she made it possible for me.’
‘I don’t know Mrs Saxby, but I like her very much already,’ he said warmly. ‘But is there any way we can persuade your aunt that it’s all right for us to meet? I will do anything to make that happen.’
“There is none. Aunt Martha is very good and kind to me, but she will never stop trying to take care of me. She will go on doing it until I’m fifty. And she hates men!’ Mr Shelmardine looked serious, and began to hit the poor wild flowers at the side of the road with his walking stick.
‘Then there is no hope that I can see you openly and honestly,’ he said.
‘Not at this time, I said in a whisper.
We were silent for a while, and then began to talk of other things. He told me how he first saw me.
I saw these people who were always on the beach in the same place at the same time, and I wanted to know who they were. So one day I took my spyglass. I could see you very clearly. You were reading and had your hat off. I asked Mrs Allardyce who were the people staying in Fir Cottage, and she told me. I had heard Connie talk about you, and I decided to try and meet you.’
When we reached the path going to Fir Cottage, I held out my hand for my book.
‘You mustn’t come any closer, Mr Shelmardine,’ I said hurriedly. ‘I don’t want Aunt to see you.’
He took my hand and held it, looking at me seriously.
‘Suppose tomorrow I walk up to the cottage and ask for you?’
‘Oh! Please don’t!’ I said miserably. ‘Aunt Martha will – but you’re not serious, are you?’
I suppose not,’ he said sadly. “Of course I won’t do anything that will make life unpleasant for you. But this must not be our last meeting.’
‘Aunt won’t permit me to come to church again,’ I said.
‘Does she ever have a sleep in the afternoons?’ he asked.
I drew a little circle on the sandy path with the toe of my right shoe.
‘Sometimes.’
‘I shall be at the old fishing boat on the beach tomorrow afternoon at two-thirty,’ he said.
I pulled my hand away from his.
‘I couldn’t – you know I couldn’t,’ I cried – and then my face flushed up to my ears.
‘Are you sure you couldn’t? He moved his head a little closer to mine.
‘Absolutely sure,’ I whispered.
At last he gave me my book back.
‘Will you give me a rose?’
I unpinned all the little roses and gave them to him. He lifted them until they touched his lips. As for me, I ran up the path with my heart beating wildly. At the corner I looked back. He was still standing there with his hat off.