Lucy Montgomery - Emily Climbs

"I can't leave New Moon... I love it too much... it means too much to me."

"I thought you wanted to come with me, Emily," said Miss Royal reproachfully.

"I did. And part of me wants to yet. But away down under that another part of me will not go. Don't think me foolish and ungrateful, Miss Royal."

"Of course I don't think you're ungrateful," said Miss Royal, helplessly, "but I do... yes, I do think you are awfully foolish. You are simply throwing away your chances of a career. What can you ever do here that is worth while, child? You've no idea of the difficulties in your path. You can't get material here... there's no atmosphere... no... "

"I'll create my own atmosphere," said Emily, with a trifle of spirit. After all, she thought, Miss Royal's viewpoint was the just the same as Mrs. Alec Sawyer's, and her manner WAS patronizing. "And as for material... people LIVE here just the same as anywhere else... suffer and enjoy and sin and aspire just as they do in New York."

"You don't know a thing about it," said Miss Royal, rather pettishly. "You'll never be able to write anything really worth while here... no big thing. There's no inspiration... you'll be hampered in every way... the big editors won't look farther than the address of P. E. Island on your manuscript. Emily, you're committing literary suicide. You'll realize that at three of the clock some white night, Emily B. Oh, I suppose, after some years you'll work up a clientele of Sunday-school and agricultural papers. But will that satisfy you? You know it won't. And then the petty jealousy of these small prunes-and-prisms places... if you do anything the people you went to school with can't do some of them will never forgive you. And they'll all think you're the heroine of your own stories... especially if you portray her beautiful and charming. If you write a love story they'll be sure it's your own. You'll get so tired of Blair Water... you'll know all the people in it... what they are and can be... it'll be like reading a book for the twentieth time. Oh, I know all about it. 'I was alive before you were borned,' as I said when I was eight, to a playmate of six. You'll get discouraged... the hour of three o'clock will gradually overwhelm you... there's a three o'clock every night, remember... you'll give up... you'll marry that cousin of yours... "

"Never."

"Well, some one like him, then, and 'settle down'... "

"No, I'll never 'settle down,'" said Emily decidedly. "Never as long as I live... what a stodgy condition!"

... "and you'll have a parlour like this of Aunt Angela's," continued Miss Royal relentlessly. "A mantelpiece crowded with photographs... an easel with an 'enlarged' picture in a frame eight inches wide... a red plush album with a crocheted doily on it, a crazy-quilt on your spare-room bed... a hand-painted banner in your hall... and, as a final touch of elegance, an asparagus fern will 'grace the centre of your dining-room table.'"

"No," said Emily gravely, "such things are not among the Murray traditions."

"Well, the spiritual equivalent of them, then. Oh, I can see your whole life, Emily, here in a place like this where people can't see a mile beyond their nose."

"I can see farther than that," said Emily, putting up her chin. "I can see to the stars."

"I was speaking figuratively, my dear."

"So was I. Oh, Miss Royal, I know life is rather cramped here in some ways... but the sky is as much mine as anybody's. I may not succeed here... but, if not, I wouldn't succeed in New York either. Some fountain of living water would dry up in my soul if I left the land I love. I know I'll have difficulties and discouragements here, but people have overcome far worse. You know that story you told me about Parkman... that for years he was unable to write for more than five minutes at a time... that he took three years to write one of his books... six lines per day for three years. I shall always remember that when I get discouraged. It will help me through any number of white nights."

"Well"... Miss Royal threw out her hands... "I give up. I think you're making a terrible mistake, Emily... but if in the years to come I find out I'm wrong I'll write and admit it. And if YOU find out you were wrong write me and admit it, and you'll find me as ready to help you as ever. I won't even say 'I told you so.' Send me any of your stories my magazine is fit for, and ask me for any advice I can give. I'm going right back to New York to-morrow. I was only going to wait till July to take you with me. Since you won't come I'm off. I detest living in a place where all they think is that I've played my cards badly, and lost the matrimonial game... where all the young girls... except YOU... are so abominably respectful to me... and where the old folks keep telling me I look so much like my mother. Mother was UGLY. Let's say good-bye and make it snappy."

"Miss Royal," said Emily earnestly, "you do believe... don't you... that I appreciate your kindness? Your sympathy and encouragement have meant more to me... always will mean more to me than you can ever dream."

Miss Royal whisked her handkerchief furtively across her eyes and made an elaborate curtsey.

"Thank you for them kind words, lady," she said solemnly.

Then she laughed a little, put her hands on Emily's shoulders and kissed her cheek.

"All the good wishes ever thought, said, or written go with you," she said. "And I think it would be... nice... if any place could ever mean to me what it is evident New Moon means to you."

At three o'clock that night a wakeful but contented Emily remembered that she had never seen Chu-Chin.

"June 10, 19...

"Yesterday evening Andrew Oliver Murray asked Emily Byrd Starr to marry him.

"The said Emily Byrd Starr told him she wouldn't.

"I'm glad it's over. I've felt it coming for some time. Every evening Andrew has been here I've felt that he was trying to bring the conversation around to some serious subject, but I have never felt quite equal to the interview, and always contrived to sidetrack him with frivolity.

"Yesterday evening I went to the Land of Uprightness for one of the last rambles I shall have in it. I climbed the hill of firs and looked down over the fields of mist and silver in the moonlight. The shadows of the ferns and sweet wild grasses along the edge of the woods were like a dance of sprites. Away beyond the harbour, below the moonlight, was a sky of purple and amber where a sunset had been. But behind me was darkness... a darkness which, with its tang of fir balsam, was like a perfumed chamber where one might dream dreams and see visions. Always when I go into the Land of Uprightness I leave behind the realm of daylight and things known and go into the realm of shadow and mystery and enchantment where anything might happen... anything might come true. I can BELIEVE anything there... old myths... legends... dryads... fauns... leprechauns. One of my wonder moments came to me... it seemed to me that I got out of my body and was FREE... I'm sure I heard an echo of that 'random word' of the gods... and I wanted some unused language to express what I saw and felt.

"Enter Andrew, spic and span, prim and gentlemanly.

"Fauns... fairies... wonder moments... random words... fled pell-mell. No new language was needed now.

"'What a pity side-whiskers went out with the last generation... they would suit him so,' I said to myself in good plain English.

"I knew Andrew had come to say something special. Otherwise he would not have followed me into the Land of Uprightness, but have waited decorously in Aunt Ruth's parlour. I knew it had to come and I made up my mind to get it over and have done with it. The expectant attitude of Aunt Ruth and the New Moon folks has been oppressive lately. I believe they all feel quite sure that the real reason I wouldn't go to New York was that I couldn't bear to part with Andrew!