Chapter Three
Alec stood straight up on the porch and shaded his eyes to see a cloud of red dust coming up the road. "Papa's back!" he yelled, scrambling up the steps to bang the screen door loudly in its frame. It was late on Friday afternoon and the trees were casting long shadows all around Rose Cottage. Eleanor came downstairs and scolded Alec mildly for making such a commotion, while Hetty followed at a more sedate pace. Roger and Ruth giggled joyfully as only very small children can, as they made their way to join the group. Within minutes, Abraham King was pulling up in front of the house.
"Well, this is a nice greeting!" he laughed as he jumped down and looped the horse's reins around the fencepost.
"Welcome back, Father," Hetty told him politely, thinking of the five cows she had milked that morning until her hands were sore.
"Papa!" Alec cried, hugging him around the waist. Roger and Ruth each grabbed a leg and Abraham reached down to toussle Ruth's golden curls with his hand.
"We've missed you, Mr. King," Eleanor said as he drew her to his side and gave her a kiss as quickly as he could.
"Did everything go all right?" he whispered in her ear.
"Of course! Hetty, come and give your father a hug," Eleanor directed, turning to her daughter who was standing a little bit aside. Hetty obeyed, coming forward with her hands behind her back. Abraham put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed her.
"And I'm sure you were a great help to your mama while I was away," he said. Hetty looked at her mother and smiled.
"Yes, she certainly was," Eleanor assured the two of them. After a few minutes, Abraham turned around and went to put the horse in the stable, while the others walked back into the house to wait. Hetty collected the dry laundry she had been folding and rushed to put it away before her father came back. When she was finished, she smoothed her pinafore and perched on the small tan hassock in the sitting room where her mother and siblings were gathered. Abraham returned presently and settled comfortably into his chair with Ruth on his knee.
"Now, you must tell me about all that's happened since I left," he announced.
"Mama made a new dress for Lucy!" Ruth told him, holding up her doll for him to see.
"Well, that's a very pretty dress. Did you say thank-you to your mama?"
"Yes," she replied solemnly.
"What have you been up to, Roger?" Abraham asked his younger son, who was lounging on the floor.
"Nothing, sir."
"We picked apples today," Alec contradicted.
"Hetty received an A on her first composition of the school year," Eleanor announced proudly.
"That's very fine, Hetty!" Abraham exclaimed.
"Yes!" Alec laughed. "And guess what else Hetty did--" he started. Unfortunately for him, his sister was sitting close enough to pinch him and he squeaked in mid-sentence.
"What was that, son?" Mr. King asked.
"Um...she...made supper for us last night..." he continued under Hetty's warning eye.
"Oh, I see," Abraham said, throwing a questioning glance at his wife, who shrugged. She didn't know anything about the seagull incident, either.
Hetty was up early the next morning and down at the shore as early as possible, hugging her chocolate brown sweater around her shoulders. Dark clouds were gathering in the sky, forming piles of gray cotton and bringing with them a moist, stormy breeze. She watched the lighthouse come to life as the clouds came closer, rolling in from the sea. As she stood there, she suddenly wanted to cry. The summer was really over now. A northern storm had arrived and the leaves of the maple trees were rapidly changing to red and orange and yellow and rich golden brown. Soon they would be on the ground and snow would cover the entire town of Avonlea. At the same time, the different shades of gray in the sky were beautiful in a stark, terrible way. She would have to go inside soon, before it started raining.
She climbed up the hill, back through the reddish dunes and shoreline grass. Her wavy hair blew in front of her and across her face in the wind as she walked, and when she got to the road she paused to see a carriage coming. When she saw who it was, she quickly headed in the opposite direction, but the driver was coming too swiftly. It was Romney Penahallow driving home from the general store with some packages in the back for his parents. "Good morning, Hetty!" he called, waving his cap. She wanted to answer him with a saucy remark, but for once couldn't think of anything to say.
"Hello," she returned his greeting grudgingly, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her sweater.
"Would you like a lift home?"
"I'm not going home."
"Well...would you like a lift to wherever it is you're going."
"No, thank-you. How is your father today?"
"My father? He's poorly, as usual. Now, why don't you want a ride? It's going to rain."
Hetty didn't know what to say. All she knew was that she was feeling something for Romney that she couldn't understand. She stopped and looked up shyly at his laughing eyes. Shyly...Hetty King! Shyly! She shook her head. Romney chuckled. "What's wrong? Are you afraid someone will think I'm your beau?"
Hetty's face darkened. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm only a child and you're just a ridiculous boy with no manners whatsoever!" She turned and ran, intending to take the long way home. Romney sat back and watched her, grinning to himself.
Hetty didn't want to go home, but she realized she wasn't dressed to go calling on anyone, so she returned to Rose Cottage where Mama was going about her daily work. She came in the door just as a few fat raindrops began to fall, pelting the road and creating red mud. Rivulets of water ran through the grass, down the roof, and dripped from the remains of the summer roses, still blooming resolutely on the trellis. Hetty took up a piece of needlework and labored stubbornly over it. The work was dull and repetitive--thus, it allowed her mind to wander and mull over her recent encounters with Romney Penhallow. She stabbed her needle into the cloth and idly noticed that a pattern of squares was forming on the back, while the criss-cross pattern created the image of three blood-red roses and green leaves on the front.
By one o'clock, the rain had stopped and the sun was warming the earth. By three, the roads were almost entirely dry and Hetty looked out the window to see someone coming down the road toward Rose Cottage. "Mama, someone's here!" she called. Upon closer examination, she added, "It's the Mrs. Reverend Ward with Janet and Abigail!" Eleanor joined her at the window, hurriedly drying her hands with a dishcloth and rushing to tidy her ruddy brown hair.
"Oh, dear!" she exclaimed. "Well, the tea's on and I don't suppose she's expecting to stay for long. Is Ruth awake yet? She can play with Janet." At that exact moment, Ruth bounded down the stairs and landed with a smack at their base.
"Ta-da!" she yelled. Hetty and Eleanor tried not to laugh, but it was difficult.
"Ruthie," her mother began. "Mrs. Ward is here. Now, are you going to behave like a nice little girl and play quietly with Janet while she visits?" Ruth considered this for a moment.
"Will Papa bring me back some candy next time he goes to the store?"
"Ruth!" Hetty scolded, fully aware that her sister was trying to make a deal.
"Oh, here they are!" Eleanor cried. "You girls hush." With a change in her tone, she opened the screen and greeted her company. "Hello, Mrs. Ward! Your daughters look perfectly beautiful today."
"Thank-you!" the young Mrs. Ward replied, beaming. "I hope you don't mind my stopping by, but David...the Reverend Ward...had some work to do over at the church and you know how it is at home with two young ones."
"Oh, yes, indeed!" Eleanor laughed. "Hetty, help Mrs. Ward with her horse."
"Yes, Mama." Hetty came out and Mrs. Ward smiled cheerfully.
"Don't worry about that, dear. Will you hold Abbie for me while I tie him up?"
"Yes, thank-you, Mrs. Ward!" Hetty said, holding out her arms eagerly. She loved holding Baby Abigail...she was such a pretty, sweet little thing with delicate strawberry-blonde hair and the tiniest hands. She was sleeping peacefully now, her face partially obscured by a white cotton bonnet. Janet was nearly three, almost a year younger than Ruth. She was dressed in a lovely green dress with white flowers all over it and a ruffled white pinafore. Her blonde hair was plaited in two somewhat frizzy braids and tied with dark green ribbons. Eleanor showed Mrs. Ward into the parlor, while Janet and Ruth lagged behind and finally sat on the floor, watching to see what the grown-ups would do.
Mrs. Ward sighed contentedly and pushed a stray curl behind her ear. "Eleanor, you can't imagine how grateful I've been for your friendship over these past four years! It seems no matter how long I live here, I'm still an outsider."
"It can't be as bad as that," Eleanor protested. "You are well-liked by the congregation...why, just the other day, Mrs. Stacey was telling me what a wonderfully charming guest you were and how lovely your little girls are."
"Oh, I have some friends. I suppose...well, it was difficult for me, moving away from my family in Nova Scotia to come back with the Reverend Ward to his hometown, where I knew everyone would be waiting to see what sort of girl he got himself."
"Mary!" Eleanor laughed, sitting up in her chair and clasping her hands together.
"But it's true, isn't it? In a town this size, people notice everything. I'm worried in church sometimes, lest Janet should cause some sort of disruption and the other ladies say I'm not a good mother...that I don't discipline her. What can I do?" She fingered one of Janet's braids. "She was born high-spirited, I'm convinced of it. I couldn't have done something wrong, could I?"
"Of course not!" Eleanor reassured her. "My Ruth is a very lively child. Each person has his own natural personality, I'm sure of it. I've had four children now and each of them was unique from the moment I first held them in my arms." Hetty had her own ideas about discipline, as was seen earlier, but she knew it wasn't her place to argue with a pair of mothers. She smiled down at Abigail who was now awake and making gurgling noises.
"Well, that sets my mind at ease," Mary Ward conceded. "But how do I convince the other women of what you've just told me?"
"You can't convince everyone. That's just the way it is," Hetty spoke without thinking.
"Hetty, that wasn't polite. You must apologize for interrupting," Eleanor admonished her. "I'm sorry, Mary."
"That's quite all right." Mary sighed again. "I suppose I'll just have to resign myself to the ways of this town."
The two women moved on to other topics of conversation, but Hetty continued to think about what Mrs. Ward had said. She tried to see things from her point of view. The trouble was, Hetty didn't care very much what other people thought of her, except for Romney Penhallow. She was jealous of Muriel, but that certainly didn't prevent her from speaking her mind. She studied Mrs. Ward as she sat there, cheerfully answering Eleanor's questions about the upcoming church social. Mary Ward was a plump, sweet-faced woman with hair exactly the color of Baby Abigail's. Her smile was warm and inviting, her eyes often dancing with a gentle joy, and her manner quick and lively. Why on earth should she be so preoccupied with the opinions of a few old cats like Gertie Sallow and Margaret Lawson?
"Have you met the Dales yet?" Eleanor asked. At that point, Hetty decided to pay attention. She was curious about what sort of family Jasper could have come from.
"Yes, I have. Well, Mrs. Dale and her little boy. Her husband was away. She seemed a kind woman to me, very intelligent, but...oh, I don't mean this as gossip...a bit sickly. She was lovely company, though. They'll be in church this Sunday."
"I was curious about her little boy. Hetty tells me...he's got something wrong with his speech?"
"Oh, just a stammer, and he's rather shy, but what a darling little thing! He was very well-behaved--a perfect gentleman, even at the age of six."
"Did you hear that, Miss Hetty?" Eleanor asked.
"Yes, Mama."
The back door opened and closed, and then Roger and Alec came running through, on their way to the stairs. "Boys, slow down!" Eleanor warned. "Why are you in such a hurry?"
"Nothing, ma'm!" Alec called, already halfway up. Eleanor shook her head and Mrs. Ward laughed.
"Oh, dear! What will I do if I ever have a little boy?"
"The boys are nothing to my mischievous Ruth!" Eleanor giggled girlishly. Abigail began wailing and her mother tried to shush her.
"I can't even imagine more children right now," Mrs. Ward added. "Hush now, Abbie, everything's all right," she said softly, standing up and pacing. "We'd better be taking our leave soon."
"I suppose I should get back to work," Eleanor agreed, coming to her side and making faces at Abigail who stopped crying and cooed happily.
Mrs. Ward glanced over at her elder daughter. "Janet, help Ruth put away her things before we leave." Little Janet sighed and fingered the coffee-colored curls of Ruth's second favorite doll one more time before gathering a handful in her arms and thumping up the stairs as quickly as her fat toddler legs would allow. Ruth clung to Eleanor's skirt and nuzzled her cheek against the folds.
"Mama, does Janet have to go?"
"Yes, Ruthie."
"But I don't want her to!"
"I don't wanna go, either!" Janet added, back from her trip to the bedroom.
"Now, Janet," Mary Ward began.
"Ruthie..." Eleanor said at the same time.
"Mama..." Ruth mimicked in the exact same voice. That did it.
"Ruth King, don't you dare mimic your mother!" Eleanor scolded, scooping her up and glancing apologetically at Mrs. Ward before handing her to Hetty. "Take her upstairs," she directed. Hetty obeyed, with Ruth squirming and whining all the way. Janet stomped down the stairs and out the door, her braids bouncing defiantly. Mary and Eleanor looked at each other, shook their heads, and said good-bye.