Аня з острова Принца Едуарда

The Summons

           Shehadlaiduphertreasuresonearthonly;shehadlivedsolelyforthelittlethingsoflife—thethingsthatpass—forgettingthegreatthingsthatgoonwardintoeternity,bridgingthegulfbetweenthetwolivesandmakingofdeathamerepassingfromonedwellingtotheother—fromtwilighttouncloudedday.Godwouldtakecareofherthere—Annebelieved—shewouldlearn—butnowitwasnowonderhersoulclung,inblindhelplessness,totheonlythingssheknewandloved.

           Rubyraisedherselfonherarmandliftedupherbright,beautifulblueeyestothemoonlitskies.

           “Iwanttolive,”shesaid,inatremblingvoice.“Iwanttolivelikeothergirls.I—Iwanttobemarried,Anne—and—and—havelittlechildren.YouknowIalwayslovedbabies,Anne.Icouldn’tsaythistoanyonebutyou.Iknowyouunderstand.AndthenpoorHerb—he—helovesmeandIlovehim,Anne.Theothersmeantnothingtome,butHEdoes—andifIcouldliveIwouldbehiswifeandbesohappy.Oh,Anne,it’shard.”

           Rubysankbackonherpillowsandsobbedconvulsively.Annepressedherhandinanagonyofsympathy—silentsympathy,whichperhapshelpedRubymorethanbroken,imperfectwordscouldhavedone;forpresentlyshegrewcalmerandhersobsceased.

           “I’mgladI’vetoldyouthis,Anne,”shewhispered.“Ithashelpedmejusttosayitallout.I’vewantedtoallsummer—everytimeyoucame.Iwantedtotalkitoverwithyou—butICOULDN’T.ItseemedasifitwouldmakedeathsoSUREifISAIDIwasgoingtodie,orifanyoneelsesaiditorhintedit.Iwouldn’tsayit,oreventhinkit.

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