The Books: Further Chronicles of Avonlea: ‘The Conscience Case of David Bell’ (L.M. Montgomery)

Daily Book Excerpt: YA/Children’s books:

Further Chronicles of Avonlea – “The Conscience Case of David Bell” – by L.M. Montgomery

Let me see if I can remember the who what where why when of this story. It appears that a new preacher has come to town – actually, I guess you might call him an itinerant preacher – an evangelist (Lucy Maud’s people are, in general, Presbyterians – there are a lot of jokes about Methodists – the battle between the Prescyterians and the Methodists – so it seems that these are the two main religions of the people of Prince Edward Island. There are, of course, some Catholics – but those people are just filthy drunken no-good Irish – so nobody takes them seriously) But in this particular story, an itinerant preacher has “set up shop” in town – and an evangelical fever has swept through the community. Everyone wants to get up and testify. Testifying is good for the soul. In my opinion, it’s kind of a group-think atmosphere – or a variation on the whole Large Group Awareness Training, which has now been identified as a cult atmosphere – but who am I to judge. (Uhm, yes. I judge. But you know.) Lucy Maud doesn’t judge (or no, that’s not true – she does. She judges pious judgmental people – as you can see from her humorous characterization of Miriam Bell below. It’s not a HARSH judgment, but she definitely acknowledges how tiresome such people are). She is interested in how this whole testifying fever would impact somebody who had something on his conscience. Something he did NOT want to share with the community. Or even his family. His family, all worked up about the weekly revival meetings, wonders why their father won’t testify. They feel hurt, they feel rejected, they want him to be a part of their enthusiasm, and also – I think they think that he might not be “saved” if he doesn’t go along with the group-think. And their father – for the most part a lovely kind gentle man – has suddenly, over the last weeks, since itinerant preacher came to town, become grumpy, withdrawn, separate … Lucy Maud paints a portrait of a very close and loving family (something she doesn’t often do – if you think about her stories, most of them are people who are isolated – either by being orphaned, or whatever – and their families, while interesting and book-worthy, aren’t exactly LOVING. She doesn’t write stories, for the most part, about people who have a ton of siblings, for example. There are no novels she has written – except for the execrable Pat of Silver Bush series, which shows her inadequacies in this area as in others – where there’s a big raucous family with brothers and sisters. Her heroines are alone in the world.) But I digress. The Bell family, in this story, is lovingly drawn – I think Lucy Maud does a very good job of giving a sense of this family, who they are, the different personalities of each, and how they love each other. It’s not sentimental – Lucy Maud isn’t good when she gets sentimental – but it feels real. I like all of these people.

I’ll excerpt the opening scene of the story when everyone is getting ready to go to the revival meeting. You’ll see what I mean about the atmosphere she creates. It’s lovely. Also, Lucy Maud always sets up most of her exposition in the mouths of her characters – she lets THEM give the back story, and I like that a lot, good technique, it makes the whole thing seem much more real.

Excerpt from Further Chronicles of Avonlea – “The Conscience Case of David Bell” – by L.M. Montgomery

Eben Bell came in with an armful of wood and banged it cheerfully down in the box behind the glowing Waterloo stove, which was pouring warmth and ruddy color into the dismal little kitchen, making of it a homey, pleasant place.

“There, sis, that’s the last chore on my list. Bob’s milking. Nothing more for me to do but put on my white collar for the meeting. Avonlea is more than lively since the evangelist came, ain’t it, though?”

Mollie Bell nodded. She was curling her hair before the tiny mirror that hung on the whitewashed wall and distorted her round, pink-and-white face into a grotesque caricature.

“Wonder who’ll stand up tonight,” said Even reflectively, sitting down on the edge of the wood box. “There ain’t many sinners left in Avonlea – only a few hardened chaps like myself.”

“You shouldn’t talk like that,” said Mollie rebukingly. “What if father heard you?”

“Father wouldn’t hear me if I shouted it in his ear,” returned Eben. “He goes around, these days, like a man in a dream, and a mighty bad dream at that. Father has always been a good man. What’s the matter with him?”

“I don’t know,” said Mollie, dropping her voice. “Mother is dreadfully worried over him. And everybody is talking, Eb. It just makes me squirm. Flora Jane Fletcher asked me last night why father never testified, and him one of the elders. She said the minister was perplexed about it. I felt my face getting red.”

“Why didn’t you tell her it was no business of hers?” said Eben angrily. “Old Flora Jane had better mind her own business.”

“But all the folks are talking about it, Eb. And mother is fretting her heart out over it. Father has never acted like himself since these meetings began. He just goes there night after night, and sits like a mummy, with his head down. And almost everybody else in Avonlea hs testified.”

“Oh, no, there’s lots haven’t,” said Eben. “Matthew Cuthbert never has, nor Uncle Elisha, nor any of the Whites.”

“But everybody knows they don’t believe in getting up and testifying, so nobody wonders when they don’t. Besides,” Mollie laughed — “Matthew could never get a word out in public, if he did believe in it. He’d be too shy. But,” she added with a sigh, “it isn’t that way with father. He believes in testimony, so people wonder why he doesn’t get up. Why, even old Josiah Sloane gets up every night.”

“With his whiskers sticking out every which way, and his hair ditto,” interjected the graceless Eben.

“When the minister calls for testimonials and all the folks look at our pew, I feel ready to sink through the floor for shame,” said Mollie. “If father would get up just once!”

Miriam Bell now entered the kitchen. She was ready for the meeting, to which Major Spencer was to take her. She was a tall, pale girl, with a serious face, and dark thoughtful eyes, totally unlike Mollie. She had “come under conviction” during the meetings, and had stood up for prayer and testimony several times. The evangelist thought her very spiritual. She heard Mollie’s concluding sentence and spoke reprovingly.

“You shouldnt criticize your father, Mollie. It isn’t for you to judge him.”

Eben had hastily slipped out. He was afraid Miriam would begin talking religion to him if he stayed. He had with difficulty escaped from an exhortation by Robert in the cow-stable. There was no peace in Avonlea for the unregenerate, he reflected. Robert and Miriam had both “come out” and Mollie was hovering on the brink.

“Dad and I are the black sheep of the family,” he said with a laugh, for which he at once felt guilty. Eben had been brought up with a strict reverence for all religious matters. On the surface he might sometimes laugh at them, but the deeps troubled him whenever he did so.

Indoors, Miriam touched her younger sister’s shoulder and looked at her affectionately.

“Won’t you decide to-night, Mollie?” she asked, in a voice tremulous with emotion.

Mollie crimsoned and turned her face away uncomfortably. She did not know what answer to make, and was glad that a jingle of bells outside saved her the necessity of replying.

“There’s your beau, Miriam,” she said, as she darted into the sitting room.

Soon after, Eben brought the family pung and his chubby red mare to the door for Mollie. He had not as yet attained to the dignity of a cutter of his own. That was for his elder brother, Robert, who presently came out in his new fur coat and drove dashingly away with bells and glitter.

“Thinks he’s the people,” remarked Eben, with a fraternal grin.

The rich winter twilight was purpling over the white world as they drove down the lane under the over-arching wild cherry trees that glittered with gemmy hoar-frost. The snow creaked and crisped under the runners. A shrill wind was keening in the leafless dogwoods. Over the trees the sky was a dome of silver, with a lucent star or two on the slope of the west. Earth-stars gleamed warmly out here and there, where homesteads were tucked snugly away in their orchards or groves of birch.

“The church will be jammed tonight,” said Eben. “It’s so fine that folks will come from near and far. Guess it’ll be exciting.”

“If only father would testify!” sighed Mollie, from the bottom of the pung, where she was snuggled amid furs and straw. “Miriam can say what she likes, but I do feel as if we were all disgraced. It sends a creep all over me to hear Mr. Bentley say, ‘Now, isn’t there one more to say a word for Jesus?’ and look right over at father.”

Eben flicked his mare with his whip, and she broke into a trot. The silence was filled with a faint, fairy-like melody from afar down the road, where a pungful of young folks from White Sands were singing hymns on their way to meeting.

“Look herer, Mollie,” said Eben awkwardly at last, “are you going to stand up for prayers tonight?”

“I — I can’t as long as father acts this way,” answered Mollie, in a choked voice. “I – I want to, Eb, and Mirry and Bob want me to, but I can’t. I do hope that the evangelist won’t come and talk to me special tonight. I always feel as if I were being pulled two different ways, when he does.”