Daily Book Excerpt: YA/Children’s books:
Further Chronicles of Avonlea
Lucy Maud wrote ghost stories. They paid well – and I also think that there was a part of her that really sympathized and believed in the supernatural. All you need to do is read her journals to get that. Her cousin (and kindred spirit) Frede died in the 1918 influenza epidemic and Lucy Maud never really recovered from it (and Lucy Maud died in 1942!) Her grief always seemed to be fresh. She was not a “friend”-ish type person … Frede was her friend, and when she died, that was it. But there are multiple times in the journals when Lucy Maud got the sense that Frede was trying to communicate with her from beyond. Through her cats – through her dreams … She believed that there was a thin veil between the living world and the spirit realm – Frede was still with her. This kind of unexplainable phenomenon also shows up in her novels – especially in the Emily books – where she makes it quite clear that Emily has the gift (or curse) of “second sight”. Emily does not WANT this gift. It makes her feel uncanny, almost devilish. But in each of the books in those series – there is one incident – one unexplainable incident – when Emily breaks the boundaries between this world and the next – or not even the next world – she has unexplainable ESP moments – where she is actually able to communicate with someone who is across the ocean, or whatever. So Lucy Maud, while she wrote ghost stories because they paid well, also had a rather spooky strain in her … you can tell, in the prose. She doesn’t condescend to the genre.
“The Return of Hester” is about two sisters – again, the Lucy Maud archetypes. There is Hester – the strong domineering sister. And Margaret, the more submissive sister. Hester and Margaret’s parents have died – and the two sisters are everything to each other. Hester is a fierce woman (although also quite loving) – and has family pride that could cut glass. She is FIERCE and forbidding. Margaret is a bit more open. Anyway – when Margaret is about 18 – Hester goes away for a month – and during that time, a man named Hugh Blair starts to court Margaret. Margaret (the narrator of the tale) says that she lived a lifetime in that one month. She fell in love with Hugh Blair. It was her “moment” – her one moment in the sun. Hester returned from her trip, found out about the love affair and put a stop to it pronto. I think because Hugh Blair is not “good enough” for Margaret. That family pride, you know. Margaret begs, pleads, cries – but Hester will not budge. So Margaret, moron that she is, submits. She tells Hugh Blair no. Hugh Blair then begs and pleads. Margaret cannot go against Hester. Not because Hester is evil – but because their relationship is so strong. So then years pass. Hugh Blair (naturally) has never married. In my life, they always marry. But in Lucy Maud’s world, when your main love affair ends … you never have another one. And then – after an illness – Hester dies. On her deathbed, she says to Margaret, “Please promise me … that you will never marry Hugh Blair.” Margaret, beside herself with grief at losing Hester, says, “Don’t be silly … it’s been years … he doesn’t love me anymore …” Hester, going into the white light, says, “He has never married … the moment I die, he is going to come around again … Do not say Yes. Promise me.” Margaret, like a moron, promises. So Hester dies. And whaddya know, a week later – Hugh Blair comes calling. He sees his moment and he takes it. He has never stopped loving Margaret. Margaret, in the first throes of grief, puts him off – tells him No – she is out of her mind. Hester was everything to her. Hugh again begs. Margaret says No.
The book begins at this moment.
Here’s the spooky excerpt.
Excerpt from Further Chronicles of Avonlea
That was three weeks ago – and now I sat alone in the moonlit rose-garden and wept for him. But, after a time, my tears dried and a very strange feeling came over me. I felt calm and happy, as if some wonderful love and tenderness were very near me.
And now comes the strange part of my story – the part which will not, I suppose, be believed. If it were just for one thing, I think I should hardly believe it myself. I should feel tempted to think I had dreamed it. But because of that one thing I know it was real. The night was very calm and still. Not a breath of wind stirred. The moonshine was the brightest I had ever seen. In the middle of the garden, where the shadow of the poplars did not fall, it was almost as bright as day. One could have read fine print. There was still a little rose glow in the west, and over the airy boughs of the tall poplars one or two large, bright stars were shining. The air was sweet with a hush of dreams, and the world was so lovely that I held my breath over its beauty.
Then, all at once, down at the far end of the garden, I saw a woman walking. I thought at first that it must be Mary Sloane, but, as she crossed a moonlit path, I saw it was not our old servant’s stout, homely figure. This woman was tall and erect.
Although no suspicion of the truth came to me, something about her reminded me of Hester. Even so had Hester liked to wander about the garden in the twilight. I had seen her thus a thousand times.
I wondered who the woman could be. Some neighbor, of course. But what a strange way for her to come! She walked up the garden slowly in the poplar shade. Now and then she stooped, as if to caress a flower, but she plucked none. Halfway up she came out into the moonlight and walked across the plot of grass in the center of the garden. My heart gave a great throb and I stood up. She was quite near to me now – and I saw that it was Hester.
I can hardly say just what my feelings were at this moment. I know that I was not surprised. I was frightened, and yet I was not frightened. Something in me shrank back in a sickening terror; but I, the real I, was not frightened. I knew that this was my sister, and that there could be no reason why I should be frightened of her, because she loved me still, as she had always done. Further than this I was not conscious of any coherent thought, either of wonder or attempt at reasoning.
Hester paused when she came to within a few steps of me. In the moonlight I saw her face quite plainly. It wore an expression I had never before seen on it – a humble, wistful, tender look. Often in life Hester had looked lovingly, even tenderly, upon me; but always, as it were, through a mask of pride and sternness. This was gone now, and I felt nearer to her than ever before. I knew suddenly that she understood me. And then the half-conscious awer and terror some part of me had felt vanished, and I only realized that Hester was here, and that there was no terrible gulf of change between us.
Hester beckoned to me and said,
“Come.”
