A DIFFERENT KIND OF HAPPINESS
“JULY 20th.
“DEAR FATHER:
“I have been a fortnight at Wyther Grange and I have not written to you
once. But I thought of you every day. I had to write to Aunt Laura and
Ilse and Teddy and Cousin Jimmy and Perry and between times I am having
such fun. The first night I was here I did not think I was going to be
happy. But I am--only it’s a different kind from New Moon happiness.
“Aunt Nancy and Caroline are very good to me and let me do exactly as
I like. This is very agreeable. They are very sarcastic to each other.
But I think they are a good bit like Ilse and me--they fight quite
frequently but love each other very hard between times. I am sure
Caroline isn’t a witch but I would like to know what she thinks of
when she is all alone by herself. Aunt Nancy is not pretty any longer
but she is very _aristocratic looking_. She doesn’t walk much because
of her roomatism, so she sits mostly in her back parlor and reads and
knits lace or plays cards with Caroline. I talk to her a great deal
because she says it amuses her and I have told her a great many things
but I have never told her that I write poetry. If I did I know she
would make me recite it to her and I feel she is not the right person
to recite your poetry to. And I do not talk about you or Mother to
her, though she tries to make me. I told her all about Lofty John and
his bush and going to Father Cassidy. She chuckled over that and said
she always liked to talk to the Catholic Priests because they were the
only men in the world a woman could talk to for more than ten minutes
without other women saying she was throwing herself at their heads.
“Aunt Nancy says a great many things like that. She and Caroline talk
a great deal to each other about things that happened in the Priest
and Murray families. I like to sit and listen. They don’t stop just as
things are getting interesting the way Aunt Elizabeth and Aunt Laura
do. A good many things I don’t understand but I will remember them and
will find out about them sometime. I have written descriptions of Aunt
Nancy and Caroline in my Jimmy-book. I keep the book hid behind the
wardrobe in my room because I found Caroline rummidging in my trunk
one day. I must not call Aunt Nancy Great-Aunt. She says it makes her
feel like Methoosaleh. She tells me all about the men who were in love
with her. It seems to me they all behaved pretty much the same. I don’t
think that was exciting but she says it was. She tells me about all
the parties and dances they used to have here long ago. Wyther Grange
is bigger than New Moon and the furniture is much handsomer but it is
harder to feel acquainted with it.
“There are many interesting things in this house. I love to look at
them. There is a Jakobite glass on a stand in the parlor. It was a
glass _an old ansester_ of the Priests had long ago in Scotland and
it has a thistle and a rose on it and they used it to drink Prince
Charlie’s health with and for _no other purpose_. It is a very
_valewable airloom_ and Aunt Nancy prizes it highly. And she has a
pickled snake in a big glass jar in the china cabinet. It is hideous
but fascinating. I shiver when I see it but yet I go to look at it
every day. Something seems to drag me to it. Aunt Nancy has a bureau
in her room with _glass knobs_ and a vase shaped like a green fish
sitting up on end and a Chinese draggon with a curly tail, and a case
of sweet little stuffed humming birds and a sand-glass for boiling eggs
by and a framed wreath made out of the hair of all the dead Priests
and lots of old dagerrotipes. But the thing I like the best of all is
a great silvery shining ball hanging from the lamp in the parlour. It
reflects everything like a little fairy world. Aunt Nancy calls it a
gazing-ball, and says that when she is dead I am to have it. I wish
she hadn’t said that because I want the ball so much that I can’t help
wondering when she will die and that makes me feel wicked. I am to
have the chessy-cat door knocker and her gold earrings, too. These are
Murray airlooms. Aunt Nancy says the Priest airlooms must go to the
Priests. I will like the chessy-cat but I don’t want the earrings. I’d
rather not have people notice my ears.
“I have to sleep alone. I feel frightened but I think if I could get
over being frightened I’d like it. I don’t mind the swallows now. It’s
just being alone so far away from any one. But it is lovely to be able
to stretch out your legs just as you like and not have anybody scold
you for skwirming. And when I wake up in the night and think of a
splendid line of poetry (because the things that you think of like that
always seem the best) I can get right out of bed and write it right
down in my Jimmy-book. I couldn’t do that at home and then by morning
I’d likely forget it. I thought of such a nice line last night. “Lilies
lifted pearly chaluses (a chalus is a kind of cup only more poetical)
where bees were drowned in sweetness” and I felt happy because I was
sure they were two better lines than any I had composed yet.
“I am allowed to go into the kitchen and help Caroline cook. Caroline
is a good cook but sometimes she makes a mistake and this vexes Aunt
Nancy because she likes nice things to eat. The other day Caroline
made the barley soup far too thick and when Aunt Nancy looked at her
plate she said “Lord, is this a dinner or a poltis?” Caroline said
“It is good enough for a Priest and what is good enough for a Priest
is good enough for a Murray,” and Aunt Nancy said “Woman, the Priests
eat of the crumbs that fall from the Murrays’ tables,” and Caroline
was so mad she cried. And Aunt Nancy said to me “Emily, never marry a
Priest”--just like Old Kelly, when I have no notion of marrying one of
them. I don’t like any of them I’ve seen very much but they seem to me
a good deal like other people. Jim is the best of them but impident.
“I like the Wyther Grange breakfasts better than the New Moon
breakfasts. We have toast and bacon and marmalade--nicer than porridge.
“Sunday is more amusing here than at New Moon but not so holy. Nice
for a change. Aunt Nancy can’t go to church or knit lace so she and
Caroline play cards all day but she says I must never do it--that
she is just a bad example. I love to look at Aunt Nancy’s big parlor
Bible because there are so many interesting things in it--pieces of
dresses and hair and poetry and old tintipes and accounts of deaths
and weddings. I found a piece about my own birth and it gave me a queer
feeling.
“In the afternoon some of the Priests come to see Aunt Nancy and stay
to supper. Leslie Priest always comes. He is Aunt Nancy’s faverite
neffew, so Jim says. I think that is because he pays her compliments.
But I saw him wink at Isaac Priest once when he paid her one. I don’t
like him. He treats me as if I was a meer child. Aunt Nancy says
terrible things to them all but they just laugh. When they go away Aunt
Nancy makes fun of them to Caroline. Caroline doesn’t like it, because
she is a Priest and so she and Aunt Nancy always quarrel Sunday evening
and don’t speak again till Monday morning.
“I can read all the books in Aunt Nancy’s bookcase except the row on
the top shelf. I wonder why I can’t read them. Aunt Nancy said they
were French novels but I just peeped into one and it was English. I
wonder if Aunt Nancy tells lies.
“The place I love best is down at bay shore. Some parts of the shore
are very steep and there are such nice, woodsy, _unexpected_ places
all along it. I wander there and compose poetry. I miss Ilse and Teddy
and Perry and Saucy Sal a great deal. I had a letter from Ilse today.
She wrote me that they couldn’t do anything more about the Midsummer
Night’s Dream till I got back. It is nice to feel so necessary.
“Aunt Nancy doesn’t like Aunt Elizabeth. She called her a “tyrant” one
day and then she said “Jimmy Murray was a very clever boy. Elizabeth
Murray killed his intellect in her temper--and nothing was done to her.
If she had killed his body she would have been a murderess. The other
was worse, if you ask me.” I do not like Aunt Elizabeth at times myself
but I felt, dear Father, that I must stand up for _my family_ and I
said “I do not want to hear such things said of my Aunt Elizabeth.”
“And I just gave Aunt Nancy a _look_. She said “Well, Saucebox, my
brother Archibald will never be dead as long as you’re alive. If you
don’t want to hear things don’t hang around when Caroline and I are
talking. I notice there are plenty of things you like to hear.”
“This was sarcasm, dear Father, but still I feel Aunt Nancy likes me
but perhaps she will not like me very long. Jim Priest says she is
fikkle and never liked anyone, even her husband, very long. But after
she has been sarcastic to me she always tells Caroline to give me a
piece of pie so I don’t mind the sarcasm. She lets me have real tea,
too. I like it. At New Moon Aunt Elizabeth won’t give me anything but
cambric tea because it is best for my health. Aunt Nancy says the way
to be healthy is to eat just what you want and never think about your
stomach. But then she was never threttened with consumption. She says I
needn’t be a bit frightened of dying of consumption because I have too
much ginger in me. That is a comforting thought. The only time I don’t
like Aunt Nancy is when she begins talking about the different parts of
me and the effect they will have on the men. It makes me feel so silly.
“I will write you oftener after this, dear Father. I feel I have been
neglecting you.
“P. S. I am afraid there are some mistakes in spelling in this letter.
I forgot to bring my dictionary with me.
“JULY 22.
“Oh, dear Father, I am in a dreadful scrape. I don’t know what I am to
do. Oh, Father, I have broken Aunt Nancy’s Jakobite glass. It seems to
me like a dreadful dream.
“I went into the parlor today to look at the pickled snake and just as
I was turning away my sleeve caught the Jakobite glass and over it went
on the harth and _shivered into fragments_. At first I rushed out and
left them there but afterwards I went back and carefully gathered them
up and hid them in a box behind the sofa. Aunt Nancy never goes into
the parlor now and Caroline not very often and perhaps they may not
miss the glass until I go home. But it _haunts_ me. I keep thinking of
it all the time and I cannot enjoy anything. I know Aunt Nancy will be
furious and never forgive me if she finds out. I could not sleep all
night for worrying about it. Jim Priest came down to play with me today
but he said there was no fun in me and went home. The Priests mostly
say what they think. Of course there was no fun in me. How could there
be? I wonder if it would do any good to pray about it. I don’t feel as
if it would be right to pray because I am deceiving Aunt Nancy.
“JULY 24.
“Dear Father, this is a very strange world. Nothing ever turns out
just like what you expect. Last night I couldn’t sleep again. I was
so worried. I thought I was a coward, and doing an underhanded thing
and not living up to my tradishuns. At last it got so bad I couldn’t
stand it. I can bear it when other people have a bad opinion of me but
it hurts too much when I have a bad opinion of myself. So I got out of
bed and went right back through all those halls to the back parlor.
Aunt Nancy was still there all alone playing Solitare. She said what
on earth was I out of bed for at such an hour. I just said, short and
quick to get the worst over, “I broke your Jakobite glass yesterday
and hid the pieces behind the sofa.” Then I waited for the _storm to
burst_. Aunt Nancy said “What a blessing. I’ve often wanted to smash it
but never had the courage. All the Priest clan are waiting for me to
die to get that glass and quarrel over it and I’m tickled to think none
of them can have it now and yet can’t pick a fuss with me over smashing
it. Get off to bed and get your beauty sleep.” I said “And aren’t you
mad at all, Aunt Nancy?” “If it had been a Murray airloom I’d have
torn up the turf” Aunt Nancy said. “But I don’t care a hoot about the
Priest things.”
“So I went back to bed, dear Father, and felt very releeved, but not so
heroyik.
“I had a letter from Ilse today. She says Saucy Sal has had kittens at
last. I feel that I ought to be home to see about them. Likely Aunt
Elizabeth will have them all drowned before I get back. I had a letter
from Teddy too, not much of a letter but all filled with dear little
pictures of Ilse and Perry and the Tansy Patch and Lofty John’s bush.
They made me feel homesick.
“JULY 28.
“Oh, Father dear, I have found out all about the mistery of Ilse’s
mother. It is so terrible I can’t write it down even to you. I cannot
believe it but Aunt Nancy says it is true. I did not think there could
be such terrible things in the world. No, I can’t believe it and I
won’t believe it no matter who says it is true. I _know_ Ilse’s mother
_couldn’t_ have done anything like that. There must have been a fearful
mistake somewhere. I am so unhappy and feel as if I could never be
happy any more. Last night I wept on my pillow, like the heroins in
Aunt Nancy’s books do.”