Anne's House of Dreams Index
OWEN FORD COMES
One evening Miss Cornelia telephoned down to Anne.
"The writer man has just arrived here. I'm going to
drive him down to your place, and you can show him the
way over to Leslie's. It's shorter than driving round
by the other road, and I'm in a mortal hurry. The
Reese baby has gone and fallen into a pail of hot water
at the Glen, and got nearly scalded to death and they
want me right off--to put a new skin on the child, I
presume. Mrs. Reese is always so careless, and then
expects other people to mend her mistakes. You won't
mind, will you, dearie? His trunk can go down
tomorrow."
"Very well," said Anne. "What is he like, Miss
Cornelia?"
"You'll see what he's like outside when I take him
down. As for what he's like inside only the Lord who
made him knows THAT. I'm not going to say another
word, for every receiver in the Glen is down."
"Miss Cornelia evidently can't find much fault with Mr.
Ford's looks, or she would find it in spite of the
receivers," said Anne. "I conclude therefore, Susan,
that Mr. Ford is rather handsome than otherwise."
"Well, Mrs. Doctor, dear, I DO enjoy seeing a
well-looking man," said Susan candidly. "Had I not
better get up a snack for him? There is a strawberry
pie that would melt in your mouth."
"No, Leslie is expecting him and has his supper ready.
Besides, I want that strawberry pie for my own poor
man. He won't be home till late, so leave the pie and
a glass of milk out for him, Susan."
"That I will, Mrs. Doctor, dear. Susan is at the helm.
After all, it is better to give pie to your own men
than to strangers, who may be only seeking to devour,
and the doctor himself is as well-looking a man as you
often come across."
When Owen Ford came Anne secretly admitted, as Miss
Cornelia towed him in, that he was very "well-looking"
indeed. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with thick,
brown hair, finely-cut nose and chin, large and
brilliant dark-gray eyes.
"And did you notice his ears and his teeth, Mrs.
Doctor, dear?" queried Susan later on. "He has got
the nicest-shaped ears I ever saw on a man's head. I
am choice about ears. When I was young I was scared
that I might have to marry a man with ears like flaps.
But I need not have worried, for never a chance did I
have with any kind of ears."
Anne had not noticed Owen Ford's ears, but she did see
his teeth, as his lips parted over them in a frank and
friendly smile. Unsmiling, his face was rather sad and
absent in expression, not unlike the melancholy,
inscrutable hero of Anne's own early dreams; but mirth
and humor and charm lighted it up when he smiled.
Certainly, on the outside, as Miss Cornelia said, Owen
Ford was a very presentable fellow.
"You cannot realise how delighted I am to be here, Mrs.
Blythe," he said, looking around him with eager,
interested eyes. "I have an odd feeling of coming
home. My mother was born and spent her childhood
here, you know. She used to talk a great deal to me of
her old home. I know the geography of it as well as of
the one I lived in, and, of course, she told me the
story of the building of the house, and of my
grandfather's agonised watch for the Royal William. I
had thought that so old a house must have vanished
years ago, or I should have come to see it before
this."
"Old houses don't vanish easily on this enchanted
coast," smiled Anne. "This is a `land where all
things always seem the same'-- nearly always, at least.
John Selwyn's house hasn't even been much changed, and
outside the rose-bushes your grandfather planted for
his bride are blooming this very minute."
"How the thought links me with them! With your leave I
must explore the whole place soon."
"Our latch-string will always be out for you,"
promised Anne. "And do you know that the old sea
captain who keeps the Four Winds light knew John Selwyn
and his bride well in his boyhood? He told me their
story the night I came here--the third bride of the old
house."
"Can it be possible? This IS a discovery. I must hunt
him up."
"It won't be difficult; we are all cronies of Captain
Jim. He will be as eager to see you as you could be to
see him. Your grandmother shines like a star in his
memory. But I think Mrs. Moore is expecting you. I'll
show you our `cross-lots' road."
Anne walked with him to the house up the brook, over a
field that was as white as snow with daisies. A
boat-load of people were singing far across the harbor.
The sound drifted over the water like faint, unearthly
music wind-blown across a starlit sea. The big light
flashed and beaconed. Owen Ford looked around him with
satisfaction.
"And so this is Four Winds," he said. "I wasn't
prepared to find it quite so beautiful, in spite of all
mother's praises. What colors-- what scenery--what
charm! I shall get as strong as a horse in no time.
And if inspiration comes from beauty, I should
certainly be able to begin my great Canadian novel
here."
"You haven't begun it yet?" asked Anne.
"Alack-a-day, no. I've never been able to get the
right central idea for it. It lurks beyond me--it
allures--and beckons--and recedes-- I almost grasp it
and it is gone. Perhaps amid this peace and
loveliness, I shall be able to capture it. Miss Bryant
tells me that you write."
"Oh, I do little things for children. I haven't done
much since I was married. And--I have no designs on a
great Canadian novel," laughed Anne. "That is quite
beyond me."
Owen Ford laughed too.
"I dare say it is beyond me as well. All the same I
mean to have a try at it some day, if I can ever get
time. A newspaper man doesn't have much chance for
that sort of thing. I've done a good deal of short
story writing for the magazines, but I've never had the
leisure that seems to be necessary for the writing of a
book. With three months of liberty I ought to make a
start, though--if I could only get the necessary motif
for it--the SOUL of the book."
An idea whisked through Anne's brain with a suddenness
that made her jump. But she did not utter it, for they
had reached the Moore house. As they entered the yard
Leslie came out on the veranda from the side door,
peering through the gloom for some sign of her expected
guest. She stood just where the warm yellow light
flooded her from the open door. She wore a plain dress
of cheap, cream-tinted cotton voile, with the usual
girdle of crimson. Leslie was never without her touch
of crimson. She had told Anne that she never felt
satisfied without a gleam of red somewhere about her,
if it were only a flower. To Anne, it always seemed to
symbolise Leslie's glowing, pent-up personality,
denied all expression save in that flaming glint.
Leslie's dress was cut a little away at the neck and
had short sleeves. Her arms gleamed like ivory-tinted
marble. Every exquisite curve of her form was
outlined in soft darkness against the light. Her hair
shone in it like flame. Beyond her was a purple sky,
flowering with stars over the harbor.
Anne heard her companion give a gasp. Even in the dusk
she could see the amazement and admiration on his face.
"Who is that beautiful creature?" he asked.
"That is Mrs. Moore," said Anne. "She is very lovely,
isn't she?"
"I--I never saw anything like her," he answered,
rather dazedly. "I wasn't prepared--I didn't
expect--good heavens, one DOESN'T expect a goddess for
a landlady ! Why, if she were clothed in a gown of
sea-purple, with a rope of amethysts in her hair, she
would be a veritable sea-queen. And she takes in
boarders!"
"Even goddesses must live," said Anne. "And Leslie
isn't a goddess. She's just a very beautiful woman, as
human as the rest of us. Did Miss Bryant tell you
about Mr. Moore?"
"Yes,--he's mentally deficient, or something of the
sort, isn't he? But she said nothing about Mrs. Moore,
and I supposed she'd be the usual hustling country
housewife who takes in boarders to earn an honest
penny."
"Well, that's just what Leslie is doing," said Anne
crisply. "And it isn't altogether pleasant for her,
either. I hope you won't mind Dick. If you do, please
don't let Leslie see it. It would hurt her horribly.
He's just a big baby, and sometimes a rather annoying
one."
"Oh, I won't mind him. I don't suppose I'll be much in
the house anyhow, except for meals. But what a shame
it all is! Her life must be a hard one."
"It is. But she doesn't like to be pitied."
Leslie had gone back into the house and now met them at
the front door. She greeted Owen Ford with cold
civility, and told him in a business-like tone that his
room and his supper were ready for him. Dick, with a
pleased grin, shambled upstairs with the valise, and
Owen Ford was installed as an inmate of the old house
among the willows.