Читать книгу Pat of Silver Bush - L. M. Montgomery - Страница 24
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And then the going away! For the first time in her life Pat found out what it was like to say good-bye to some one who was not coming back. But she could cry then because everybody cried, even Judy, who seldom cried.
“When I feels like crying,” Judy was accustomed to say, “I just do be sitting down and having a good laugh.”
She would not let Pat stand too long, looking after Aunt Hazel, tranced in her childish tears.
“It’s unlucky to watch a parting friend out av sight,” she told her.
Pat turned away and wandered dismally through the empty rooms. With everything so upset and disarranged upstairs and down Silver Bush wasn’t like home at all. Even the new lace curtains seemed part of the strangeness. The table, that had been so pretty, looked terrible ... untidy ... crumby ... messy ... with Aunt Hazel’s chair pushed rakily aside just as she had risen from it. Pat’s brown eyes were drowned again.
“Come along wid me, darlint, and help me out a bit,” Judy ... wise Judy ... was saying. “Sure and yer mother has gone to bed, rale played out wid all the ruckus, and small wonder. And Winnie’s tying hersilf into kinks wid the stomachache and that’s no puzzle ather wid the way she was after stuffing hersilf. So there’s nobody but us two to look after things. We’ll lave the dining-room as it is till the morning but we’ll straighten up the parlours and the bedrooms. Sure and the poor house do be looking tired.”
Judy had doffed her silk and high heels and company voice and was in her comfortable old drugget and brogans ... and brogue ... again. Pat was glad. Judy seemed much more homelike and companionable so.
“Can we put all the furniture back in its right place?” she said eagerly. Somehow it would be a comfort to have the sideboard and the old parlour rocker that had been put out of sight as too shabby, and the vases of pampas grass that had been condemned as old-fashioned, back again where they belonged.
“Oh, oh, we’ll do that. And lave off looking as doleful as if yer Aunt Hazel had been buried instid av being married.”
“I don’t feel much like smiling, Judy.”
“There’s rason in that. Sure and I’ve been grinning that much to-day I fale as if I’d been turned into a chessy-cat. But it’s been one grand widding, so it has, and the like av it Jen Binnie will never see for all av her city beau. As for the supper, Government House itsilf cudn’t bate it. And the cirrimony was that solemn it wud av scared me out av the notion av getting married if I iver had inny.”
“I would have cried and spoiled it all if it hadn’t been for you, Judy dear,” said Pat gratefully.
“Oh, oh, I wasn’t blaming ye. I knew a big, handsome bridesmaid onct and she burst out waping right in the middle av the cirrimony. And the things people did be saying ... such as she was crying bekase she wasn’t getting married hersilf, whin it was just her full heart. At that it was better than the bridesmaid that was laughing in the middle av things at Rosella Gardiner’s widding. No one iver did be knowing what she laughed at ... she wud niver tell ... but the groom thought it was at him, and he niver wud spake to her again. It started a ruckus in the fam’ly that lasted for forty years. Oh, oh, the liddle things that do be having a big inding!”
Pat didn’t think that for the bridesmaid to laugh in the middle of the ceremony was a little thing. She was very glad nothing like that had happened to make Aunt Hazel’s wedding ridiculous.
“Come now and we’ll swape up all this confetti stuff first. The ould days av rice were better I’m thinking. The hins got a good fade innyhow. Oh, oh, this table do be looking like the relics of ould dacency, doesn’t it now? I’m seeing one av the good silver crame jugs has got a dint in it. But whin all’s said and done it don’t be looking much like the table did after yer Great-aunt Margaret’s widding over at the Bay Shore farm. Oh, oh, that was a tommyshaw!”
“What happened, Judy?”
“Happened, is it? Ye may well ask. They had a fringed cloth on the table be way av extry style and whin the groom’s cousin ... ould Jim Milroy he is now ... Jim wid the beard he was called thin ... oh, oh, he had the magnificent beard. Sure and ’twas a shame to shave it off just bekase it wint out av fashion ... well, where was I at? He wint to get up from the table in a hurry as he always did and didn’t one av his buttons catch in the fringe and away wint fringe and cloth and dishes and all. Niver did inny one see such a smash. I was down to the Bay Shore to hilp thim out a bit and me and yer Aunt Frances claned up the mess, her crying and lamenting all the time and small blame to her. All the illigant dishes smashed and the carpet plastered wid the stuff that was spilled, niver to spake av the poor bride’s dress as was clane ruined be a great cup av tay tipped over in her lap. Oh, oh, I was a young skellup av a thing thin and I thought it a great joke but the Bay Shore people were niver the same agin. Now, run up to yer room, and put off yer finery and we’ll get to work. I belave we’re after having a rainy night av it. The wind’s rising and it’s dark as a squaw’s pocket already.”
It was such a comfort to put things back in their places. When the job was finished Silver Bush looked like home again. Darkness had fallen and rain was beginning to splash against the windows.
“Let’s go into the kitchen now and I’ll get ye a tasty liddle bite afore I do be setting the bread. I noticed ye didn’t ate innything av their fine spread. I’ve a pot of hot pay soup I brewed up for mesilf kaping warm on the back av the stove and there’s some chicken lift over I’m thinking.”
“I don’t feel like eating with Aunt Hazel gone,” said Pat, rather mistily again. That thought would keep coming back.
“Oh, oh, fat sorrow is better than lean sorrow, me jewel. Here now, ain’t this snug as two kittens in a basket? We’ll shut out the dark. And here’s a liddle cat wid an illigant grey suit and a white shirt, be the name av Thursday, wid his small heart breaking for a word after all the neglict av the day.”
A fierce yowl sounded outside. Gentleman Tom was demanding entrance.
“Let me let him in, Judy,” said Pat eagerly. She did so love to let things in out of the cold. Pat held the door open for a moment. It was a wild night after the lovely day. The rain was streaming down. The wind was thrashing the silver bush mercilessly. Snicklefritz was howling dolefully in the church barn since Joe was not yet back from the station to comfort him.
Pat turned away with a shiver. The peace of the old kitchen was in delightful contrast to the storm outside. The stove was glowing clear red in the dusk. Thursday was coiled up under it, thinking this was how things should be. It was so nice to be in this bright, warm room, supping Judy’s hot pea soup and watching the reflection of the kitchen outside through the window. Pat loved to do that. It looked so uncanny and witchlike ... so real yet so unreal ... with Judy apparently calmly setting bread under the thrashing maple by the well.
