Anne's House of Dreams

  CHAPTER 11

  THE STORY OF LESLIE MOORE

  "Yes, the eighth baby arrived a fortnight ago," said Miss Cornelia,from a rocker before the fire of the little house one chilly Octoberafternoon. "It's a girl. Fred was ranting mad--said he wanted aboy--when the truth is he didn't want it at all. If it had been a boyhe'd have ranted because it wasn't a girl. They had four girls andthree boys before, so I can't see that it made much difference whatthis one was, but of course he'd have to be cantankerous, just like aman. The baby is real pretty, dressed up in its nice little clothes.It has black eyes and the dearest, tiny hands."

  "I must go and see it. I just love babies," said Anne, smiling toherself over a thought too dear and sacred to be put into words.

  "I don't say but what they're nice," admitted Miss Cornelia. "But somefolks seem to have more than they really need, believe ME. My poorcousin Flora up at the Glen had eleven, and such a slave as she is!Her husband suicided three years ago. Just like a man!"

  "What made him do that?" asked Anne, rather shocked.

  "Couldn't get his way over something, so he jumped into the well. Agood riddance! He was a born tyrant. But of course it spoiled thewell. Flora could never abide the thought of using it again, poorthing! So she had another dug and a frightful expense it was, and thewater as hard as nails. If he HAD to drown himself there was plenty ofwater in the harbor, wasn't there? I've no patience with a man likethat. We've only had two suicides in Four Winds in my recollection.The other was Frank West--Leslie Moore's father. By the way, hasLeslie ever been over to call on you yet?"

  "No, but I met her on the shore a few nights ago and we scraped anacquaintance," said Anne, pricking up her ears.

  Miss Cornelia nodded.

  "I'm glad, dearie. I was hoping you'd foregather with her. What doyou think of her?"

  "I thought her very beautiful."

  "Oh, of course. There was never anybody about Four Winds could touchher for looks. Did you ever see her hair? It reaches to her feet whenshe lets it down. But I meant how did you like her?"

  "I think I could like her very much if she'd let me," said Anne slowly.

  "But she wouldn't let you--she pushed you off and kept you at arm'slength. Poor Leslie! You wouldn't be much surprised if you knew whather life has been. It's been a tragedy--a tragedy!" repeated MissCornelia emphatically.

  "I wish you would tell me all about her--that is, if you can do sowithout betraying any confidence."

  "Lord, dearie, everybody in Four Winds knows poor Leslie's story. It'sno secret--the OUTSIDE, that is. Nobody knows the INSIDE but Leslieherself, and she doesn't take folks into her confidence. I'm about thebest friend she has on earth, I reckon, and she's never uttered a wordof complaint to me. Have you ever seen Dick Moore?"

  "No."

  "Well, I may as well begin at the beginning and tell you everythingstraight through, so you'll understand it. As I said, Leslie's fatherwas Frank West. He was clever and shiftless--just like a man. Oh, hehad heaps of brains--and much good they did him! He started to go tocollege, and he went for two years, and then his health broke down.The Wests were all inclined to be consumptive. So Frank came home andstarted farming. He married Rose Elliott from over harbor. Rose wasreckoned the beauty of Four Winds--Leslie takes her looks from hermother, but she has ten times the spirit and go that Rose had, and afar better figure. Now you know, Anne, I always take the ground thatus women ought to stand by each other. We've got enough to endure atthe hands of the men, the Lord knows, so I hold we hadn't ought toclapper-claw one another, and it isn't often you'll find me runningdown another woman. But I never had much use for Rose Elliott. Shewas spoiled to begin with, believe ME, and she was nothing but a lazy,selfish, whining creature. Frank was no hand to work, so they werepoor as Job's turkey. Poor! They lived on potatoes and point, believeME. They had two children--Leslie and Kenneth. Leslie had hermother's looks and her father's brains, and something she didn't getfrom either of them. She took after her Grandmother West--a splendidold lady. She was the brightest, friendliest, merriest thing when shewas a child, Anne. Everybody liked her. She was her father's favoriteand she was awful fond of him. They were 'chums,' as she used to say.She couldn't see any of his faults--and he WAS a taking sort of man insome ways.

  "Well, when Leslie was twelve years old, the first dreadful thinghappened. She worshipped little Kenneth--he was four years youngerthan her, and he WAS a dear little chap. And he was killed oneday--fell off a big load of hay just as it was going into the barn, andthe wheel went right over his little body and crushed the life out ofit. And mind you, Anne, Leslie saw it. She was looking down from theloft. She gave one screech--the hired man said he never heard such asound in all his life--he said it would ring in his ears till Gabriel'strump drove it out. But she never screeched or cried again about it.She jumped from the loft onto the load and from the load to the floor,and caught up the little bleeding, warm, dead body, Anne--they had totear it from her before she would let it go. They sent for me--I can'ttalk of it."

  Miss Cornelia wiped the tears from her kindly brown eyes and sewed inbitter silence for a few minutes.

  "Well," she resumed, "it was all over--they buried little Kenneth inthat graveyard over the harbor, and after a while Leslie went back toher school and her studies. She never mentioned Kenneth's name--I'venever heard it cross her lips from that day to this. I reckon that oldhurt still aches and burns at times; but she was only a child and timeis real kind to children, Anne, dearie. After a while she began tolaugh again--she had the prettiest laugh. You don't often hear it now."

  "I heard it once the other night," said Anne. "It IS a beautifullaugh."

  "Frank West began to go down after Kenneth's death. He wasn't strongand it was a shock to him, because he was real fond of the child,though, as I've said, Leslie was his favorite. He got mopy andmelancholy, and couldn't or wouldn't work. And one day, when Lesliewas fourteen years of age, he hanged himself--and in the parlor, too,mind you, Anne, right in the middle of the parlor from the lamp hook inthe ceiling. Wasn't that like a man? It was the anniversary of hiswedding day, too. Nice, tasty time to pick for it, wasn't it? And, ofcourse, that poor Leslie had to be the one to find him. She went intothe parlor that morning, singing, with some fresh flowers for thevases, and there she saw her father hanging from the ceiling, his faceas black as a coal. It was something awful, believe ME!"

  "Oh, how horrible!" said Anne, shuddering. "The poor, poor child!"

  "Leslie didn't cry at her father's funeral any more then she had criedat Kenneth's. Rose whooped and howled for two, however, and Leslie hadall she could do trying to calm and comfort her mother. I wasdisgusted with Rose and so was everyone else, but Leslie never got outof patience. She loved her mother. Leslie is clannish--her own couldnever do wrong in her eyes. Well, they buried Frank West besideKenneth, and Rose put up a great big monument to him. It was biggerthan his character, believe ME! Anyhow, it was bigger than Rose couldafford, for the farm was mortgaged for more than its value. But notlong after Leslie's old grandmother West died and she left Leslie alittle money--enough to give her a year at Queen's Academy. Leslie hadmade up her mind to pass for a teacher if she could, and then earnenough to put herself through Redmond College. That had been herfather's pet scheme--he wanted her to have what he had lost. Lesliewas full of ambition and her head was chock full of brains. She wentto Queen's, and she took two years' work in one year and got her First;and when she came home she got the Glen school. She was so happy andhopeful and full of life and eagerness. When I think of what she wasthen and what she is now, I say--drat the men!"

  Miss Cornelia snipped her thread off as viciously as if, Nero-like, shewas severing the neck of mankind by the stroke.

  "Dick Moore came into her life that summer. His father, Abner Moore,kept store at the Glen, but Dick had a sea-going streak in him from hismother; he used to sail in summer and clerk in his father's store inwinter.
He was a big, handsome fellow, with a little ugly soul. Hewas always wanting something till he got it, and then he stoppedwanting it--just like a man. Oh, he didn't growl at the weather whenit was fine, and he was mostly real pleasant and agreeable wheneverything went right. But he drank a good deal, and there were somenasty stories told of him and a girl down at the fishing village. Hewasn't fit for Leslie to wipe her feet on, that's the long and short ofit. And he was a Methodist! But he was clean mad about her--becauseof her good looks in the first place, and because she wouldn't haveanything to say to him in the second. He vowed he'd have her--and hegot her!"

  "How did he bring it about?"

  "Oh, it was an iniquitous thing! I'll never forgive Rose West. Yousee, dearie, Abner Moore held the mortgage on the West farm, and theinterest was overdue some years, and Dick just went and told Mrs. Westthat if Leslie wouldn't marry him he'd get his father to foreclose themortgage. Rose carried on terrible--fainted and wept, and pleaded withLeslie not to let her be turned out of her home. She said it wouldbreak her heart to leave the home she'd come to as a bride. I wouldn'thave blamed her for feeling dreadful bad over it--but you wouldn't havethought she'd be so selfish as to sacrifice her own flesh and bloodbecause of it, would you? Well, she was.

  "And Leslie gave in--she loved her mother so much she would have doneanything to save her pain. She married Dick Moore. None of us knewwhy at the time. It wasn't till long afterward that I found out howher mother had worried her into it. I was sure there was somethingwrong, though, because I knew how she had snubbed him time and again,and it wasn't like Leslie to turn face--about like that. Besides, Iknew that Dick Moore wasn't the kind of man Leslie could ever fancy, inspite of his good looks and dashing ways. Of course, there was nowedding, but Rose asked me to go and see them married. I went, but Iwas sorry I did. I'd seen Leslie's face at her brother's funeral andat her father's funeral--and now it seemed to me I was seeing it at herown funeral. But Rose was smiling as a basket of chips, believe ME!

  "Leslie and Dick settled down on the West place--Rose couldn't bear topart with her dear daughter!--and lived there for the winter. In thespring Rose took pneumonia and died--a year too late! Leslie washeart-broken enough over it. Isn't it terrible the way some unworthyfolks are loved, while others that deserve it far more, you'd think,never get much affection? As for Dick, he'd had enough of quietmarried life--just like a man. He was for up and off. He went over toNova Scotia to visit his relations--his father had come from NovaScotia--and he wrote back to Leslie that his cousin, George Moore, wasgoing on a voyage to Havana and he was going too. The name of thevessel was the Four Sisters and they were to be gone about nine weeks.

  "It must have been a relief to Leslie. But she never said anything.From the day of her marriage she was just what she is now--cold andproud, and keeping everyone but me at a distance. I won't BE kept at adistance, believe ME! I've just stuck to Leslie as close as I knew howin spite of everything."

  "She told me you were the best friend she had," said Anne.

  "Did she?" exclaimed Miss Cornelia delightedly. "Well, I'm realthankful to hear it. Sometimes I've wondered if she really did want mearound at all--she never let me think so. You must have thawed her outmore than you think, or she wouldn't have said that much itself to you.Oh, that poor, heart-broken girl! I never see Dick Moore but I want torun a knife clean through him."

  Miss Cornelia wiped her eyes again and having relieved her feelings byher blood-thirsty wish, took up her tale.

  "Well, Leslie was left over there alone. Dick had put in the cropbefore he went, and old Abner looked after it. The summer went by andthe Four Sisters didn't come back. The Nova Scotia Mooresinvestigated, and found she had got to Havana and discharged her cargoand took on another and left for home; and that was all they ever foundout about her. By degrees people began to talk of Dick Moore as onethat was dead. Almost everyone believed that he was, though no onefelt certain, for men have turned up here at the harbor after they'dbeen gone for years. Leslie never thought he was dead--and she wasright. A thousand pities too! The next summer Captain Jim was inHavana--that was before he gave up the sea, of course. He thought he'dpoke round a bit--Captain Jim was always meddlesome, just like aman--and he went to inquiring round among the sailors' boarding housesand places like that, to see if he could find out anything about thecrew of the Four Sisters. He'd better have let sleeping dogs lie, inmy opinion! Well, he went to one out-of-the-way place, and there hefound a man he knew at first sight it was Dick Moore, though he had abig beard. Captain Jim got it shaved off and then there was nodoubt--Dick Moore it was--his body at least. His mind wasn't there--asfor his soul, in my opinion he never had one!"

  "What had happened to him?"

  "Nobody knows the rights of it. All the folks who kept the boardinghouse could tell was that about a year before they had found him lyingon their doorstep one morning in an awful condition--his head batteredto a jelly almost. They supposed he'd got hurt in some drunken row,and likely that's the truth of it. They took him in, never thinking hecould live. But he did--and he was just like a child when he got well.He hadn't memory or intellect or reason. They tried to find out who hewas but they never could. He couldn't even tell them his name--hecould only say a few simple words. He had a letter on him beginning'Dear Dick' and signed 'Leslie,' but there was no address on it and theenvelope was gone. They let him stay on--he learned to do a few oddjobs about the place--and there Captain Jim found him. He brought himhome--I've always said it was a bad day's work, though I s'pose therewas nothing else he could do. He thought maybe when Dick got home andsaw his old surroundings and familiar faces his memory would wake up.But it hadn't any effect. There he's been at the house up the brookever since. He's just like a child, no more nor less. Takes fractiousspells occasionally, but mostly he's just vacant and good humored andharmless. He's apt to run away if he isn't watched. That's the burdenLeslie has had to carry for eleven years--and all alone. Old AbnerMoore died soon after Dick was brought home and it was found he wasalmost bankrupt. When things were settled up there was nothing forLeslie and Dick but the old West farm. Leslie rented it to John Ward,and the rent is all she has to live on. Sometimes in summer she takesa boarder to help out. But most visitors prefer the other side of theharbor where the hotels and summer cottages are. Leslie's house is toofar from the bathing shore. She's taken care of Dick and she's neverbeen away from him for eleven years--she's tied to that imbecile forlife. And after all the dreams and hopes she once had! You canimagine what it has been like for her, Anne, dearie--with her beautyand spirit and pride and cleverness. It's just been a living death."

  "Poor, poor girl!" said Anne again. Her own happiness seemed toreproach her. What right had she to be so happy when another humansoul must be so miserable?

  "Will you tell me just what Leslie said and how she acted the night youmet her on the shore?" asked Miss Cornelia.

  She listened intently and nodded her satisfaction.

  "YOU thought she was stiff and cold, Anne, dearie, but I can tell youshe thawed out wonderful for her. She must have taken to you realstrong. I'm so glad. You may be able to help her a good deal. I wasthankful when I heard that a young couple was coming to this house, forI hoped it would mean some friends for Leslie; especially if youbelonged to the race that knows Joseph. You WILL be her friend, won'tyou, Anne, dearie?"

  "Indeed I will, if she'll let me," said Anne, with all her own sweet,impulsive earnestness.

  "No, you must be her friend, whether she'll let you or not," said MissCornelia resolutely. "Don't you mind if she's stiff by times--don'tnotice it. Remember what her life has been--and is--and must alwaysbe, I suppose, for creatures like Dick Moore live forever, Iunderstand. You should see how fat he's got since he came home. Heused to be lean enough. Just MAKE her be friends--you can doit--you're one of those who have the knack. Only you mustn't besensitive. And don't mind if she doesn't seem to want you to go overther
e much. She knows that some women don't like to be where Dickis--they complain he gives them the creeps. Just get her to come overhere as often as she can. She can't get away so very much--she can'tleave Dick long, for the Lord knows what he'd do--burn the house downmost likely. At nights, after he's in bed and asleep, is about theonly time she's free. He always goes to bed early and sleeps like thedead till next morning. That is how you came to meet her at the shorelikely. She wanders there considerable."

  "I will do everything I can for her," said Anne. Her interest inLeslie Moore, which had been vivid ever since she had seen her drivingher geese down the hill, was intensified a thousand fold by MissCornelia's narration. The girl's beauty and sorrow and loneliness drewher with an irresistible fascination. She had never known anyone likeher; her friends had hitherto been wholesome, normal, merry girls likeherself, with only the average trials of human care and bereavement toshadow their girlish dreams. Leslie Moore stood apart, a tragic,appealing figure of thwarted womanhood. Anne resolved that she wouldwin entrance into the kingdom of that lonely soul and find there thecomradeship it could so richly give, were it not for the cruel fettersthat held it in a prison not of its own making.

  "And mind you this, Anne, dearie," said Miss Cornelia, who had not yetwholly relieved her mind, "You mustn't think Leslie is an infidelbecause she hardly ever goes to church--or even that she's a Methodist.She can't take Dick to church, of course--not that he ever troubledchurch much in his best days. But you just remember that she's a realstrong Presbyterian at heart, Anne, dearie."