"It's as if we had had a day made to order, Mrs. Dr. dear," said Susan complacently, as she feathered an orange-frosted cake with cocoanut. "I will try my hand at them new-fangled butterballs after breakfast and I will phone Carter Flagg every half-hour to make sure that he will not forget the ice-cream. And there will be time to scrub the verandah steps.”
"Is that necessary, Susan?”
"Mrs. Dr. dear, you have invited Mrs. Marshall Elliott, have you not? SHE shall not see OUR verandah steps otherwise than spotless.
But you will see to the decorations, Mrs. Dr. dear? I was not born with the gift of arranging flowers.”
"Four cakes! Gee!" said Jem.
"When we give a party," said Susan grandly, "we GIVE a party.”
The guests came in due time and were received by Aunt Mary Maria in garnet taffeta and by Anne in biscuit-coloured voile. Anne thought of putting on her white muslin, for the day was summer-warm, but decided otherwise.
"Very sensible of you, Annie," commented Aunt Mary Maria. "White, I always say, is only for the young.”
Everything went according to schedule. The table looked beautiful with Anne's prettiest dishes and the exotic beauty of white and purple iris. Susan's butterballs made a sensation, nothing like them having been seen in the Glen before; her cream soup was the last word in soups; the chicken salad had been made of Ingleside "chickens that ARE chickens"; the badgered Carter Flagg sent up the ice-cream on the tick of the dot. Finally Susan, bearing the birthday cake with its fifty-five lighted candles as if it were the Baptist's head on a charger, marched in and set it down before Aunt Mary Maria.
Anne, outwardly the smiling serene hostess, had been feeling very uncomfortable for some time. In spite of all outward smoothness she had an ever-deepening conviction that something had gone terribly wrong. On the guests' arrival she had been too much occupied to notice the change that came over Aunt Mary Maria's face when Mrs. Marshall Elliott cordially wished her many happy returns of the day. But when they were all finally seated around the table Anne wakened up to the fact that Aunt Mary Maria was looking anything but pleased. She was actually white ... it COULDN'T be with fury! ... and not one word did she say as the meal progressed, save curt replies to remarks addressed to her. She took only two spoonfuls of soup and three mouthfuls of salad; as for the ice-cream, she behaved to it as if it wasn't there.
When Susan set the birthday cake, with its flickering candles, down before her, Aunt Mary Maria gave a fearful gulp which was not quite successful in swallowing a sob and consequently issued as a strangled whoop.
"Aunty, aren't you feeling well?" cried Anne.
Aunt Mary Maria stared at her icily.
"QUITE well, Annie. Remarkably well, indeed, for SUCH AN AGED PERSON as myself.”
At this auspicious moment the twins popped in, carrying between them the basketful of fifty-five yellow roses, and, amid a suddenly frozen silence, presented it to Aunt Mary Maria, with lisped congratulations and good wishes. A chorus of admiration went up from the table, but Aunt Mary Maria did not join in it.
"The ... the twins will blow out the candles for you, Aunty,” faltered Anne nervously, "and then ... will you cut the birthday cake?”
"Not being quite senile ... yet ... Annie, I can blow the candles out myself.”
Aunt Mary Maria proceeded to blow them out, painstakingly and deliberately. With equal painstaking and deliberation she cut the cake. Then she laid the knife down.
"And now perhaps I may be excused, Annie. SUCH AN OLD WOMAN as I am needs rest after so much excitement.”
Swish went Aunt Mary Maria's taffeta skirt. Crash went the basket of roses as she swept past it. Click went Aunt Mary Maria's high heels up the stairs. Bang went Aunt Mary Maria's door in the distance.
The dumfounded guests ate their slices of birthday cake with such appetite as they could muster, in a strained silence broken only by a story Mrs. Amos Martin told desperately of a doctor in Nova Scotia who had poisoned several patients by injecting diphtheria germs into them. The others, feeling that this might not be in the best of taste, did not back up her laudable effort to "liven things up" and all went away as soon as they decently could.
A distracted Anne rushed to Aunt Mary Maria's room.
"Aunty, WHAT is the matter? ...”
"Was it necessary to advertise my age in public, Annie? And to ask Adella Carey here ... to have her find out how old I am ... she's been dying to know for years!”
"Aunty, we meant ... we meant ...”
"I don't know what your purpose was, Annie. That there is something back of all this I know very well ... oh, I can read your mind, dear Annie ... but I shall not try to ferret it out ... I shall leave it between you and your conscience.”
"Aunt Mary Maria, my only intention was to give you a happy birthday. I'm dreadfully sorry...”
Aunt Mary Maria put her handkerchief to her eyes and smiled bravely.
"Of course I forgive you, Annie. But you must realize that after such a deliberate attempt to injure my feelings I cannot stay here any longer.”
"Aunty, won't you believe ...”
Aunt Mary Maria lifted a long, thin, knobby hand.
"Don't let us discuss it, Annie. I want peace ... just peace.
'A wounded spirit who can bear?'“
Anne went to the concert with Gilbert that night, but it could not be said she enjoyed it. Gilbert took the whole matter "just like a man," as Miss Cornelia might have said.
"I remember she was always a little touchy about her age. Dad used to rag her. I should have warned you ... but it had slipped my memory. If she goes, don't try to stop her" ... and refrained through clannishness from adding "good riddance!”
"She will not go. No such good luck, Mrs. Dr. dear," said Susan incredulously.
But for once Susan was wrong. Aunt Mary Maria went away the very next day, forgiving everybody with her parting breath.
"Don't blame Annie, Gilbert," she said magnanimously. "I acquit her of all intentional insult. I never minded her having secrets from me ... though to a sensitive mind like mine ... but in spite of everything I've always liked poor Annie" ... this with the air of one confessing a weakness. "But Susan Baker is a cat of another colour. My last word to you, Gilbert, is ... put Susan Baker in her place and keep her there.”
Nobody could believe in their good luck at first. Then they woke up to the fact that Aunt Mary Maria had really gone ... that it was possible to laugh again without hurting anyone's feelings ... open all the windows without anyone complaining of draughts ... eat a meal without anyone telling you that something you specially liked was liable to produce cancer of the stomach.
"I've never sped a parting guest so willingly," thought Anne, half guiltily. "It IS nice to call your soul your own again.”
The Shrimp groomed himself meticulously, feeling that, after all, there was some fun in being a cat. The first peony burst into bloom in the garden.
"The world is just full of poetry, isn't it, Mummy?" said Walter.
"It is going to be a real nice June," foretold Susan. "The almanack says so. There are going to be a few brides and most likely at least two funerals. Does it not seem strange to be able to draw a free breath again? When I think that I did all that in me lay to prevent you giving that party, Mrs. Dr. dear, I realize afresh that there IS an overruling Providence. And don't you think, Mrs. Dr. dear, that the doctor would relish some onions with his fried steak today?”
Chapter 15
"I felt I had to come up, dearie," said Miss Cornelia, "and explain about that telephone. It was all a mistake ... I'm so sorry ... Cousin Sarah isn't dead, after all." Anne, smothering a smile, offered Miss Cornelia a chair on the verandah, and Susan, looking up from the collar of Irish-crochet lace she was making for her niece Gladys, uttered a scrupulously polite, "Good-evening, MRS.