Chapter Four

          Hetty smiled at her reflection proudly in the little oval mirror by the front door and jingled the bells on her beautiful beaver muff. It was the last day of the fall term at school and Mama had agreed to let her wear it, although Christmas was still five days away. Her fur-edged bonnet was tied firmly over her hair, which had been braided and pinned up at the back of her neck. Perhaps she was a bit young to be wearing her hair up, but she didn't care. Alec clomped down the stairs with his mittens hanging around his neck by the cord.

          "Hurry yourselves, children," Eleanor directed, coming over with Alec's coat and hat. She tied the ear-flaps under his chin and he made a face as if he were choking. "I won't have you arriving late on the last day of the term, either."

          Hetty gave her muff one last flirtatious toss, bringing a teasing smile to her mother's face. "Hetty King, perhaps I shouldn't have allowed to you wear that. All of the other girls are going to be absolutely jealous."

          "But we're Kings, Mama, and we ought to set the fashion in Avonlea."

          "Now don't start with that. I don't know if I like the way you take such pride in a name. It's not the name that makes the man...or the clothes," she added, glancing at the silky new muff. "Well, you'd better be going. Alec, you behave yourself." Eleanor leaned down and gave him a kiss on his rosy seven-year-old cheek. She watched proudly as her two eldest children hurried through the gate and down the road. The sun was just barely peeking over the horizon as Hetty and Alec walked briskly toward the schoolhouse, puffing frost and clopping on the frozen road with their boots. When they came to the schoolyard, Rachel McNab stared at Hetty for a moment and then leaned over to whisper into Eulalie's ear.

          "Just look at that muff!" Rachel exclaimed. "So showy with those bells on it!"

          "You wouldn't catch me with such a gaudy accessory," Eulalie agreed.

          "You're only saying that because your mother would never buy you one," Marilla laughed. Her smile softened into a hard line. "And neither would mine," she sighed.

          "Well, it's plain as plain: Hetty King is absolutely plain!" Rachel declared. "I suppose if I looked like her, I'd need a little fancying up, too."

          "Did you ever see a more snobby countenance?" nine-year-old Bernadette Sallow added, trying to join in the conversation.

          "Oh, hush up," Marilla scolded. "Hetty's got more sense than all of you put together and the world can always use more of that." The girls grew silent as the object of their discussion approached.

          "Hello, Rachel. Hello, Eulalie. Good morning, Marilla."

          "Good morning, Hetty," Rachel addressed her loudly. "I just adore your new muff. It is absolutely delightful. How long did it take your mother to sew that pattern along the edges? And those cunning little bells!"

          "She didn't sew anything on. She and Father brought it back for me from Charlottetown."

          "Really? It's fashioned so...unusually...I thought it was surely handmade."

          "Perhaps it was. By someone," Hetty agreed, turning her back on Rachel and waving to Muriel, who was coming up the road with her brother.

          "Hetty!" Muriel exclaimed in her usual cheerful way.

          "Muriel!" Hetty exclaimed, trying to match her tone. It was difficult. Rachel's insult had cut a little, but Hetty was determined not to let it show.

          "What a lovely muff," Muriel said. "I wish I had one just like it. Don't you, Rachel?" she asked.

          Rachel just snorted and then, for no apparent reason, turned on the sunny smile that made her look sweet and good-natured on the outside, no matter what was going on inside. "Hullo, Romney Penhallow!" she called. Hetty's head swiveled involuntarily.

          "Hullo, Rachel," he returned, sneaking a sidelong glance at Hetty.

          Rachel sidled up to him so he couldn't ignore her and said (in the most delicate tone a forward, buxom seventeen-year-old girl could manage), "I need to speak with you, Mister P."

          "Very well, Rachel." He gave the other girls a wink and tipped his cap. "You must excuse me, ladies. I'm needed elsewhere."

          "Oh, do come along, Romney!" Rachel exploded, half annoyed, half flirtatious, as she led him to the other side of the schoolhouse.

          "Well! I wonder what that was all about?" Eulalie smirked.

          "Good Lord," was all Marilla could muster.

          After a minute or so, Romney's resonant voice shouted, "I would be honored to escort you to the skating party on Saturday, Miss McNab!"

          Then came Rachel's voice. "Romney!". Then a smack-thump, as if she had swatted him with a book. The two of them marched out from behind the schoolhouse.

          Hetty pushed her hands deeper into her muff. "You have my sympathy, Rachel!" she laughed. "Do you realize what you've done?"

          "Romney and I'll have a jolly time, that's what," Rachel said.

          "True indeed," Romeny agreed, putting an arm around her shoulder, which she brushed off.

          "What a rude, impertinent boy you are!" Rachel told him. "That is not the proper way to treat a lady."

          "Who ever said you were a lady?" Marilla Cuthbert muttered under her breath, which sent the girls tittering. For the rest of the day, Rachel tried to get someone to tell her what Marilla had said, but no one would.

*            *            *           *

          The day of the skating party started out lovely, but by afternoon the sky had turned dark enough to match Hetty's state of mind. Rachel spent most of her time hanging on Romney's arm and Romney spent most of his time staring furtively at Hetty. She tried to ignore him, but skating with clumsy Gerald Sallow left her secretly wishing for anyone...even Romney...to sweep her away. Apparently Romney noticed.

          "Romney Penhallow!" Hetty screeched, as always, when he grabbed her hand. She had been standing next to Gerald, who was trying to pick himself up from the ice. "How dare you!"

          "Just one turn around the ice, Miss King."

          "No, I hate you!" She tried to free herself, which made him hold her more tightly.

          "Your efforts are useless." He laughed wickedly, like a villain in a play. They were moving very quickly now and Hetty had to concentrate on keeping her balance. The blade-chopped ice was covered with gashes and chunks of crushed ice.

          "Will you please let go of me?" Hetty managed to mutter.

          "Not on your life, Hetty King! You know...it was you I wanted to take to the party."

          "Then it was simply Holy Providence you didn't! Now let me go!"

          Romney shrugged and let go of her hand. Hetty knew he was hoping she would do something humiliating, such as crash into a snowbank or sprawl facedown on the ice. She struggled to stay on her feet. She hadn't expected him to give in so easily. Rachel whizzed by. "Was that you I saw skating with my partner, Hetty King? My, my!" She was off before Hetty could respond.

          "Hetty!" Gerald Sallow called out, taking oafish skate strokes across the pond and holding out a fat, mittened hand. Hetty ignored him and began skating laps as speedily as her heavy skirts would allow. The icy air scraped her face and cut through her stockings, but she kept going around and around. She was going faster than Rachel now. She was going faster than all of Avonlea and maybe even the whole world. The bumpy ice beneath her smoothed out with speed until it felt like well-worn sandpaper. She wished she were all alone. Maybe if she went fast enough, the chattering voices and colored scarves and caps would disappear. Finally, exhausted, she allowed herself to glide to a stop and the world came into focus.

          Hetty sat down on a wide log at the edge of the ice and was immediately joined by tittering Bernadette and wise-smiled Muriel. "That was just awful of Romney!" Muriel exclaimed sympathetically.

          "Everybody saw it!" Bernadette added helpfully.

          "Oh, shush up, Bernie Sallow," Hetty told her.

          "Oh, Hetty," said Muriel.

          "Oh, what? Muriel Stacey, why don't you say something intelligent for once!" Muriel was silent. Her lower lip trembled and Hetty tried not to roll her eyes. She sighed despairingly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

          "I know you didn't," Muriel assured her, almost crying.

          "Bernie, run along." Hetty gave the chubby little girl a shove, which prompted her to roll her large eyes and skip away, braids bouncing. "Muriel, really, I'm sorry."

          "I suppose I'm not very interesting," Muriel said softly. "I've always tried to be a good friend, though."

          "You are a good friend."

          "But I'm not half as smart as you Hetty...or...interesting or anything."

          "You're twice as sweet and twice as kind. That's better isn't it? Now for heaven's sake don't cry."

          "I won't." Muriel set her mouth. "Lets go have some molasses candy."

          "No, wait," Hetty said, tugging with one hand and pointing with the other. A lanky, bored-looking man was heading toward the festivities. At his side was a reluctant little boy.

          "Why, it's Jasper Dale!" Muriel exclaimed. "I'm surprised he's here. I'm happy he came."

          Hetty thought it was foolish of Jasper's parents to force him to appear at social functions. He stammered whenever he talked and was alternately pale or red with embarassment. Yet they persisted. Mama said they were only trying to help him, but these public exhibitions were painful to watch. "Jasper!" Muriel called, eager to rescue the boy.

          "Jaaaasper!!" Alec, Ed Lawson, and Bert Potts mimicked Muriel in exaggerated girls' voices. They burst into laughter and Jasper scowled. His father leaned down and said something to him. The scowl deepened. He wrenched his arm free and ran back up the hill. His cap fell off as he ran, but he didn't bother to turn around. His father, looking rather humiliated himself, snatched up the cap and hurried after him.

          Muriel turned to Hetty. "That was horrid of them! What did Jasper ever do to them?"

          "He's seems to think he's awfully smart. I think it annoys them."

          "Jasper is smart," Muriel said. "It's not right, the way the other boys treat him. Can't you talk to them, Hetty? They might listen to you."

          "Not me!" Hetty laughed. "Rachel McNab, perhaps. I think they're all a little afraid of her, what with her being such a big girl...and that voice! I pity the man who marries her."

          "Speaking of which, where's Thomas Lynde today?"

          "Over there by the fire making cow eyes at his lady love." The two girls giggled. Romney Penhallow passed by and gave them a wink. "Impertinence!" Hetty exclaimed.

          "Oh, Hetty, let's just go have some candy," Muriel persuaded.

          "Very well," Hetty said with a sigh. "But then I'm going home. I've had enough of this ridiculous event."

          "But, Hetty! You'll miss all the contests and everything! And it's the last time everyone will be together before next term."

          "Don't be silly. In this town, everyone is together all the time. I don't care about any contests. They're completely primitive. I think I'll leave right now, as a matter of fact. I'll see you in church, Muriel!"

          "Hetty, don't go!"

          "I've made up my mind," Hetty returned dramatically. "You'll just have to carry on without me." She jingled the bells on her muff as she strode away up the trampled path and through the clearing towards Rose Cottage. How lovely it was to escape the shouting and laughter! How refreshing to wander alone through the soft, icicled woods, knowing that she was isolated, but not lost! Solitude was one of Hetty's favorite experiences. Social situations had their place as well, but she liked a balance of the two.

          After a few minutes, Rose Cottage loomed up like a yellow flower in the snow. When the winter days grew short and dark, Rose Cottage was like sunshine. Hetty opened the gate and went through, shutting it with a click behind her. She climbed the steps, minding the creakiest one, just in case it gave way. Father had been saying he ought to fix it, but Hetty liked that step. It had been creaking for at least two years now. Father probably liked it, too. It would be odd to say so, but the creak of that step had a unique timbre that was pleasing to the ear. It had become part of their home, greeting all who climbed the steps.

          Hetty was still in a reverie as she entered the house. Mama was reading by the pot-bellied stove in the parlor and she looked up. "Hetty, is that you?" she called, knowing her daughter instinctively by the sounds she made as she came in the door.

          "Yes, Mama!"

          "Well, come into the parlor. What are you doing home so early? I wanted you to walk Alec home."

          "Oh, Mama, he's with his friends. He'll be alright."

          "Perhaps. But it's quite cold and the snow is starting again. I want you to go back for him in a little while."

          "Yes, Mama. Mama, did you like skating parties when you were a girl?"

          "Of course I did!"

          "I prefer reading novels."

          "Well, my mama didn't allow me to read novels, so I didn't have the opportunity to compare the two."

          Hetty sank into a hassock by near the stove and held out her hands to warm them. The glow through the little glass window illuminated her face. "Avonlea is a beautiful place, isn't it?"

          "Yes, I'll certainly agree with that." Eleanor King smiled gently. "It's the most beautiful place I've ever seen."

          "Then why are the people so dull?"

          "That's a harsh judgement to pass on the entire town. And are you saying our family is dull, as well? Am I dull?"

          "No, Mama! There are just so many people who are terribly dull. Like the Sallows. Nobody likes Gerald and Bernie, or even Clara, though she's only five years old. Or their mother and father. It's rather depressing. And Muriel Stacey irritates me so, and--"

          "And what about Romney Penhallow? Is he dull?" Mama asked almost innocently.

          "No, he's worse than dull! He's rude and mean."

          "Hetty, what you need is a more charitable outlook. Everyone has something good about him."

          "Then why don't I notice all these 'good' things about people?"

          "Because you aren't looking."

          "Mama!"

          "My dear Hetty, you simply don't look for the good in people. You are an intelligent and beautiful girl--"

          "I'm not beautiful. I'm ugly," Hetty said.

          "That's a cruel thing to say to your mother. You aren't at all ugly. You're beautiful. You'll grow up to be a beautiful woman. Are you listening to me?"

          "Yes, Mama." And she was listening. She was even hoping it was true, although she scarcely dared to believe it. She didn't say anything else and neither did Eleanor. They sat there gazing into the fire and suddenly Eleanor looked troubled. Her brow furrowed and she bit her lip. "What is it, Mama?" Hetty asked.

          "Nothing, Hetty. Nothing at all, I was only thinking." She glanced out the window. "I think it's about time you went back for Alec. It's getting stormy."

          "Mama, it's hardly snowing at all--"

          "Hetty, I want you to go for Alec now," Eleanor said firmly.

          "Yes, Mama." Hetty was glad she hadn't taken off her coat. She hesitated by the door for a moment before going out, but she finally left. Back in the parlor, Eleanor still sat thinking. Hetty still had so much to learn and it worried her.

Index