The Complete Short Stories of Lucy Maud Montgomery. Lucy Maud Montgomery
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life among rich, stylish folks, and at a swell school, I wouldn’t have a minute’s peace of mind. I’d know perfectly well that she’d look down on everything here, and be discontented and miserable.”
“YOUR daughter might,” said Old Man Shaw, with more sarcasm than he had supposed he had possessed, “but Blossom won’t.”
Mrs. Blewett shrugged her sharp shoulders.
“Maybe not. It’s to be hoped not, for both your sakes, I’m sure. But I’d be worried if ‘twas me. Sary’s been living among fine folks, and having a gay, exciting time, and it stands to reason she’ll think White Sands fearful lonesome and dull. Look at Lauretta Bradley. She was up in Boston for just a month last winter and she’s never been able to endure White Sands since.”
“Lauretta Bradley and Sara Shaw are two different people,” said Sara’s father, trying to smile.
“And your house, too,” pursued Mrs. Blewett ruthlessly. “It’s such a queer, little, old place. What’ll she think of it after her aunt’s? I’ve heard tell Mrs. Adair lives in a perfect palace. I’ll just warn you kindly that Sary’ll probably look down on you, and you might as well be prepared for it. Of course, I suppose she kind of thinks she has to come back, seeing she promised you so solemn she would. But I’m certain she doesn’t want to, and I don’t blame her either.”
Even Mrs. Blewett had to stop for breath, and Old Man Shaw found his opportunity. He had listened, dazed and shrinking, as if she were dealing him physical blows, but now a swift change swept over him. His blue eyes flashed ominously, straight into Mrs. Blewett’s straggling, ferrety gray orbs.
“If you’re said your say, Martha Blewett, you can go,” he said passionately. “I’m not going to listen to another such word. Take yourself out of my sight, and your malicious tongue out of my hearing!”
Mrs. Blewett went, too dumfounded by such an unheard-of outburst in mild Old Man Shaw to say a word of defence or attack. When she had gone Old Man Shaw, the fire all faded from his eyes, sank back on his bench. His delight was dead; his heart was full of pain and bitterness. Martha Blewett was a warped and ill-natured woman, but he feared there was altogether too much truth in what she said. Why had he never thought of it before? Of course White Sands would seem dull and lonely to Blossom; of course the little gray house where she was born would seem a poor abode after the splendours of her aunt’s home. Old Man Shaw walked through his garden and looked at everything with new eyes. How poor and simple everything was! How sagging and weather-beaten the old house! He went in, and upstairs to Sara’s room. It was neat and clean, just as she had left it three years ago. But it was small and dark; the ceiling was discoloured, the furniture old-fashioned and shabby; she would think it a poor, mean place. Even the orchard over the hill brought him no comfort now. Blossom would not care for orchards. She would be ashamed of her stupid old father and the barren farm. She would hate White Sands, and chafe at the dull existence, and look down on everything that went to make up his uneventful life.
Old Man Shaw was unhappy enough that night to have satisfied even Mrs. Blewett had she known. He saw himself as he thought White Sands folk must see him — a poor, shiftless, foolish old man, who had only one thing in the world worthwhile, his little girl, and had not been of enough account to keep her.
“Oh, Blossom, Blossom!” he said, and when he spoke her name it sounded as if he spoke the name of one dead.
After a little the worst sting passed away. He refused to believe long that Blossom would be ashamed of him; he knew she would not. Three years could not so alter her loyal nature — no, nor ten times three years. But she would be changed — she would have grown away from him in those three busy, brilliant years. His companionship could no longer satisfy her. How simple and childish he had been to expect it! She would be sweet and kind — Blossom could never be anything else. She would not show open discontent or dissatisfaction; she would not be like Lauretta Bradley; but it would be there, and he would divine it, and it would break his heart. Mrs. Blewett was right. When he had given Blossom up he should not have made a half-hearted thing of his sacrifice — he should not have bound her to come back to him.
He walked about in his little garden until late at night, under the stars, with the sea crooning and calling to him down the slope. When he finally went to bed he did not sleep, but lay until morning with tear-wet eyes and despair in his heart. All the forenoon he went about his usual daily work absently. Frequently he fell into long reveries, standing motionless wherever he happened to be, and looking dully before him. Only once did he show any animation. When he saw Mrs. Blewett coming up the lane he darted into the house, locked the door, and listened to her knocking in grim silence. After she had gone he went out, and found a plate of fresh doughnuts, covered with a napkin, placed on the bench at the door. Mrs. Blewett meant to indicate thus that she bore him no malice for her curt dismissal the day before; possibly her conscience gave her some twinges also. But her doughnuts could not minister to the mind she had diseased. Old Man Shaw took them up; carried them to the pig-pen, and fed them to the pigs. It was the first spiteful thing he had done in his life, and he felt a most immoral satisfaction in it.
In mid-afternoon he went out to the garden, finding the new loneliness of the little house unbearable. The old bench was warm in the sunshine. Old Man Shaw sat down with a long sigh, and dropped his white head wearily on his breast. He had decided what he must do. He would tell Blossom that she might go back to her aunt and never mind about him — he would do very well by himself and he did not blame her in the least.
He was still sitting broodingly there when a girl came up the lane. She was tall and straight, and walked with a kind of uplift in her motion, as if it would be rather easier to fly than not. She was dark, with a rich dusky sort of darkness, suggestive of the bloom on purple plums, or the glow of deep red apples among bronze leaves. Her big brown eyes lingered on everything in sight, and little gurgles of sound now and again came through her parted lips, as if inarticulate joy were thus expressing itself.
At the garden gate she saw the bent figure on the old bench, and the next minute she was flying along the rose walk.
“Daddy!” she called, “daddy!”
Old Man Shaw stood up in hasty bewilderment; then a pair of girlish arms were about his neck, and a pair of warm red lips were on his; girlish eyes, full of love, were looking up into his, and a never-forgotten voice, tingling with laughter and tears blended into one delicious chord, was crying,
“Oh, daddy, is it really you? Oh, I can’t tell you how good it is to see you again!”
Old Man Shaw held her tightly in a silence of amazement and joy too deep for wonder. Why, this was his Blossom — the very Blossom who had gone away three years ago! A little taller, a little more womanly, but his own dear Blossom, and no stranger. There was a new heaven and a new earth for him in the realization.
“Oh, Baby Blossom!” he murmured, “Little Baby Blossom!”
Sara rubbed her cheek against the faded coat sleeve.
“Daddy darling, this moment makes up for everything, doesn’t it?”
“But — but — where did you come from?” he asked, his senses beginning to struggle out of their bewilderment of surprise. “I didn’t expect you till tomorrow. You didn’t have to walk from the station, did you? And your old daddy not there to welcome you!”
Sara laughed, swung herself back by the tips of her fingers and danced around him in the childish fashion of long ago.
“I found I could make an earlier connection with the C.P.A. yesterday and get to the Island last night. I was in such a fever to get home that I jumped at the chance. Of course I walked from the station — it’s only two miles and every step was a benediction. My trunks are over there. We’ll go after them tomorrow, daddy, but just now I want to go straight to every one of the dear old nooks and spots at once.”
“You must get something to eat first,” he urged fondly. “And there ain’t much in the house, I’m afraid. I was going to bake tomorrow morning. But I guess I can