Chronicles of Avonlea by Lucy Maud Montgomery (funny books to read .TXT) š
- Author: Lucy Maud Montgomery
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Mr. Leonard looked somewhat reproachfully at Janet Andrews, as if to ask her why Felix should have attained to this dubious knowledge of good and evil under her care; and Janet shot a dour look back which, being interpreted, meant that if Felix went to the district school she could not and would not be held responsible if he learned more there than arithmetic and Latin.
āWhat do you know of Naomi Clark to like or dislike?ā she asked curiously. āDid you ever see her?ā
āOh, yes,ā Felix replied, addressing himself to his cherry preserve with considerable gusto. āI was down at Spruce Cove one night last summer when a big thunderstorm came up. I went to Naomiās house for shelter. The door was open, so I walked right in, because nobody answered my knock. Naomi Clark was at the window, watching the cloud coming up over the sea. She just looked at me once, but didnāt say anything, and then went on watching the cloud. I didnāt like to sit down because she hadnāt asked me to, so I went to the window by her and watched it, too. It was a dreadful sightāthe cloud was so black and the water so green, and there was such a strange light between the cloud and the water; yet there was something splendid in it, too. Part of the time I watched the storm, and the other part I watched Naomiās face. It was dreadful to see, like the storm, and yet I liked to see it.
āAfter the thunder was over it rained a while longer, and Naomi sat down and talked to me. She asked me who I was, and when I told her she asked me to play something for her on her violin,āāFelix shot a deprecating glance at Mr. Leonardā ābecause, she said, sheād heard I was a great hand at it. She wanted something lively, and I tried just as hard as I could to play something like that. But I couldnāt. I played something that was terribleāit just played itselfāit seemed as if something was lost that could never be found again. And before I got through, Naomi came at me, and tore the violin from me, andāSWORE. And she said, āYou big-eyed brat, how did you know THAT?ā Then she took me by the armā and she hurt me, too, I can tell youāand she put me right out in the rain and slammed the door.ā
āThe rude, unmannerly creature!ā said Janet indignantly.
āOh, no, she was quite in the right,ā said Felix composedly. āIt served me right for what I played. You see, she didnāt know I couldnāt help playing it. I suppose she thought I did it on purpose.ā
āWhat on earth did you play, child?ā
āI donāt know.ā Felix shivered. āIt was awfulāit was dreadful. It was fit to break you heart. But it HAD to be played, if I played anything at all.ā
āI donāt understand what you meanāI declare I donāt,ā said Janet in bewilderment.
āI think weāll change the subject of conversation,ā said Mr. Leonard.
It was a month later when āthe simple creature, Maggieā appeared at the manse door one evening and asked for the preached.
āNaomi wants ter see yer,ā she mumbled. āNaomi sent Maggie ter tell yer ter come at onct.ā
āI shall go, certainly,ā said Mr. Leonard gently. āIs she very ill?ā
āHerās dying,ā said Maggie with a broad grin. āAnd herās awful skeered of hell. Her just knew ter-day her was dying. Maggie told herāher wouldnāt believe the harbour women, but her believed Maggie. Her yelled awful.ā
Maggie chuckled to herself over the gruesome remembrance. Mr. Leonard, his heart filled with pity, called Janet and told her to give the poor creature some refreshment. But Maggie shook her head.
āNo, no, preacher, Maggie must get right back to Naomi. Maggieāll tell her the preacherās coming ter save her from hell.ā
She uttered an eerie cry, and ran at full speed shoreward through the spruce woods.
āThe Lord save us!ā said Janet in an awed tone. āI knew the poor girl was simple, but I didnāt know she was like THAT. And are you going, sir?ā
āYes, of course. I pray God I may be able to help the poor soul,ā said Mr. Leonard sincerely. He was a man who never shirked what he believed to be his duty; but duty had sometimes presented itself to him in pleasanter guise than this summons to Naomi Clarkās death-bed.
The woman had been the plague spot of Lower Carmody and Carmody Harbour for a generation. In the earlier days of his ministry to the congregation he had tried to reclaim her, and Naomi had mocked and flouted him to his face. Then, for the sake of those to whom she was a snare or a heartbreak, he had endeavoured to set the law in motion against her, and Naomi had laughed the law to scorn. Finally, he had been compelled to let her alone.
Yet Naomi had not always been an outcast. Her girlhood had been innocent; but she was the possessor of a dangerous beauty, and her mother was dead. Her father was a man notorious for his harshness and violence of temper. When Naomi made the fatal mistake of trusting to a false love that betrayed and deserted, he drove her from his door with taunts and curses.
Naomi took up her quarters in a little deserted house at Spruce Cove. Had her child lived it might have saved her. But it died at birth, and with its little life went her last chance of worldly redemption. From that time forth, her feet were set in the way that takes hold on hell.
For the past five years, however, Naomi had lived a tolerably respectable life. When Janet Peterson had died, her idiot daughter, Maggie, had been left with no kin in the world. Nobody knew what was to be done with her, for nobody wanted to be bothered with her. Naomi Clark went to the girl and offered her a home. People said she was no fit person to have charge of Maggie, but everybody shirked the unpleasant task of interfering in the matter, except Mr. Leonard, who went to expostulate with Naomi, and, as Janet said, for his pains got her door shut in his face.
But from the day when Maggie Peterson went to live with her, Naomi ceased to be the harbour Magdalen.
The sun had set when Mr. Leonard reached Spruce Cove, and the harbour was veiling itself in a wondrous twilight splendour. Afar out, the sea lay throbbing and purple, and the moan of the bar came through the sweet, chill spring air with its burden of hopeless, endless longing and seeking. The sky was blossoming into stars above the afterglow; out to the east the moon was rising, and the sea beneath it was a thing of radiance and silver and glamour; and a little harbour boat that went sailing across it was transmuted into an elfin shallop from the coast of fairyland.
Mr. Leonard sighed as he turned from the sinless beauty of the sea and sky to the threshold of Naomi Clarkās house. It was very smallāone room below, and a sleeping-loft above; but a bed had been made up for the sick woman by the downstairs window looking out on the harbour; and Naomi lay on it, with a lamp burning at her head and another at her side, although it was not yet dark. A great dread of darkness had always been one of Naomiās peculiarities.
She was tossing restlessly on her poor couch, while Maggie crouched on a box at the foot. Mr. Leonard had not seen her for five years, and he was shocked at the change in her. She was much wasted; her clear-cut, aquiline features had been of the type which becomes indescribably witch-like in old age, and, though Naomi Clark was barely sixty, she looked as if she might be a hundred. Her hair streamed over the pillow in white, uncared-for tresses, and the hands that plucked at the bed-clothes were like wrinkled claws. Only her eyes were unchanged; they were as blue and brilliant as ever, but now filled with such agonized terror and appeal that Mr. Leonardās gentle heart almost stood still with the horror of them. They were the eyes of a creature driven wild with torture, hounded by furies, clutched by unutterable fear.
Naomi sat up and dragged at his arm.
āCan you help me? Can you help me?ā she gasped imploringly. āOh, I thought youād never come! I was skeered Iād die before you got hereādie and go to hell. I didnāt know before today that I was dying. None of those cowards would tell me. Can you help me?ā
āIf I cannot, God can,ā said Mr. Leonard gently. He felt himself very helpless and inefficient before this awful terror and frenzy. He had seen sad death-bedsātroubled death-bedsāay, and despairing death-beds, but never anything like this. āGod!ā Naomiās voice shrilled terribly as she uttered the name. āI canāt go to God for help. Oh, Iām skeered of hell, but Iām skeereder still of God. Iād rather go to hell a thousand times over than face God after the life Iāve lived. I tell you, Iām sorry for living wickedā I was always sorry for it all the time. There aināt never been a moment I wasnāt sorry, though nobody would believe it. I was driven on by fiends of hell. Oh, you donāt understandā you CANāT understandābut I was always sorry!ā
āIf you repent, that is all that is necessary. God will forgive you if you ask Him.ā
āNo, He canāt! Sins like mine canāt be forgiven. He canātā and He wonāt.ā
āHe can and He will. He is a God of love, Naomi.ā
āNo,ā said Naomi with stubborn conviction. āHe isnāt a God of love at all. Thatās why Iām skeered of him. No, no. Heās a God of wrath and justice and punishment. Love! There aināt no such thing as love! Iāve never found it on earth, and I donāt believe itās to be found in God.ā
āNaomi, God loves us like a father.ā
āLike MY father?ā Naomiās shrill laughter, pealing through the still room, was hideous to hear.
The old minister shuddered.
āNoāno! As a kind, tender, all-wise father, Naomiāas you would have loved your little child if it had lived.ā
Naomi cowered and moaned.
āOh, I wish I could believe THAT. I wouldnāt be frightened if I could believe that. MAKE me believe it. Surely you can make me believe that thereās love and forgiveness in God if you believe it yourself.ā
āJesus Christ forgave and loved the Magdalen, Naomi.ā
āJesus Christ? Oh, I aināt afraid of HIM. Yes, HE could understand and forgive. He was half human. I tell you, itās God Iām skeered of.ā
āThey are one and the same,ā said Mr. Leonard helplessly. He knew he could not make Naomi realize it. This anguished death-bed was no place for a theological exposition on the mysteries of the Trinity.
āChrist died for you, Naomi. He bore your sins in His own body on the cross.ā
āWe bear our own sins,ā said Naomi fiercely. āIāve borne mine all my lifeāand Iāll bear them for all eternity. I canāt believe anything else. I CANāT believe God can forgive me. Iāve ruined people body and soulāIāve broken hearts and poisoned homesā Iām worse than a murderess. Noānoāno, thereās no hope for me.ā Her voice rose again into that shrill, intolerable shriek. āIāve got to go to hell. It aināt so much the fire Iām skeered of as the outer darkness. Iāve always been so skeered of darknessā itās so full of awful things and thoughts. Oh, there aināt nobody to help me! Man aināt no good and Iām too skeered
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