Chapter 22 Emily’s Quest by Lucy Montgomery
I
Life, of course, went on in spite of its dreadfulness. The routine of existence doesn't stop because one is miserable. There were even some moments that were not altogether bad. Emily again measured her strength with pain and again conquered. With the Murray pride and the Starr reserve at her elbow she wrote Ilse a letter of good wishes with which nobody could have found fault. If that were only all she had to do! If only people wouldn't keep on talking to her about Ilse and Teddy.
The engagement was announced in the Montreal papers and then in the Island ones.
"Yes, they're engaged and heaven help every one concerned," said Dr. Burnley. But he could not hide his satisfaction in it.
"Thought at one time you and Teddy were going to make a match of it," he said jovially to Emily--who smiled gallantly and said something about the unexpected always happening.
"Anyhow we'll have a wedding that is a wedding," declared the doctor. "We haven't had a wedding in the clan for God knows how long. I thought they'd forgotten how. I'll show 'em. Ilse writes me you're to be bridesmaid. And I'll be wanting you to oversee things generally. Can't trust a wedding to a housekeeper."
"Anything I can do, of course," said Emily automatically. Nobody should suspect what she felt not if she died for it. She would even be bridesmaid.
If it had not been for that prospect ahead she thought she could have got through the winter not unhappily. For The Moral of the Rose was a success from the start. The first edition exhausted in ten days--three large editions in two weeks--five in eight weeks. Exaggerated reports of the pecuniary returns were circulated everywhere. For the first time Uncle Wallace looked at her with respect and Aunt Addie wished secretly that Andrew hadn't been consoled quite so soon. Old Cousin Charlotte, of Derry Pond, heard of the many editions and opined that Emily must be very busy if she had to put all the books together and sew them herself. The Shrewsbury people were furious because they imagined they were in the book. Every family believed they were the Applegaths.
"You were right not to come to New York," wrote Miss Royal. "You could never have written The Moral of the Rose here. Wild roses won't grow in city streets. And your story is like a wild rose, dear, all sweetness and unexpectedness with sly little thorns of wit and satire. It has power, delicacy, understanding. It's not just story-telling. There's some magicry in it. Emily Byrd Starr, where do you get your uncanny understanding of human nature--you infant?"
Dean wrote too--"good creative work, Emily. Your characters are natural and human and delightful. And I like the glowing spirit of youth that pervades the book."
II
"I had hoped to learn something from the reviews, but they are all too contradictory," said Emily. "What one reviewer pronounces the book's greatest merit another condemns as its worst fault. Listen to these--'Miss Starr never succeeds in making her characters convincing' and 'One fancies that some of the author's characters must have been copied from real life. They are so absolutely true to nature that they could hardly be the work of imagination.'"
"I told you people would recognize old Douglas Courcy," interjected Aunt Elizabeth.
"'A very tiresome book'--'a very delightful book'--'very undistinguished fiction' and 'on every page the work of the finished artist is apparent'--'a book of cheap and weak romanticism' and 'a classic quality in the book'--'a unique story of a rare order of literary workmanship' and 'a silly, worthless, colourless and desultory story'--'an ephemeral sort of affair' and a book destined to live.' What is one to believe?"
"I would just believe only the favourable ones," said Aunt Laura.
Emily sighed.
"My tendency is just the other way. I can't help believing the unfavourable ones are true and that the favourable ones were written by morons. But I don't really mind much what they say about the book. It's only when they criticize my heroine that I'm hurt and furious, I saw red over these reviews of darling Peggy. 'A girl of extraordinary stupidity'--'the heroine has too marked a self-consciousness of her mission.'"
"I did think she was a bit of a flirt," conceded Cousin Jimmy.
"'A thin, sweetish heroine'--'the heroine is something of a bore'--'queer but altogether too queer.'"
"I told you she shouldn't have had green eyes," groaned Cousin Jimmy. "A heroine should always have blue eyes.'
"Oh, but listen to this," cried Emily gaily--"'Peg Applegath is simply irresistible'--'Peg is a remarkably vivid personality'--'a fascinating heroine'--'Peg is too delightful not to be credited while we are under her spell'--'one of the immortal girls of literature.' What about green eyes now, Cousin Jimmy?"
Cousin Jimmy shook his head. He was not convinced.
"Here's a review for you," twinkled Emily. "'A psychological problem with roots that stretch far into subliminal depths which would give the book weight and value if it were grappled with sincerely.'"
"I know the meaning of all those words by themselves except two, but put together they don't make any sense," protested Cousin Jimmy ruefully.
"'Beneath the elusiveness and atmospheric charm is a wonderful firmness of character delineation.'"
"I don't quite get that either," confessed Cousin Jimmy, "But it sounds kind of favourable."
"'A conventional and commonplace book.'"
"What does 'conventional' mean!" asked Aunt Elizabeth, who would not have been posed by transubstantiation or Gnosticism.
"'Beautifully written and full of sparkling humour. Miss Starr is a real artist in literature.'"
"Oh, now, there's a reviewer with some sense," purred Cousin Jimmy.
"'The general impression left by the book is that it might be much worse.'"
"That reviewer was trying to be smart, I suppose," said Aunt Elizabeth, apparently quite oblivious of the fact that she had said the very same thing herself.
"'This book lacks spontaneity. It is saccharine and melodramatic, mawkish and naive.'"
"I know I fell into the well," said Cousin Jimmy pitifully. "Is that why I can't make head or tail out of that?"
"Here's one you can understand--perhaps. 'Miss Starr must have invented the Applegath orchard as well as her green-eyed heroine. There are no orchards in Prince Edward Island. They are killed by the harsh, salt winds that blow across that narrow sandy strip.'"
"Read that again please, Emily."
Emily complied. Cousin Jimmy scratched his head, then shook it. "Do they let that kind run loose over there?"
"'The story is a charming one, charmingly told. The characters are skilfully depicted, the dialogue deftly handled, the descriptive passages surprisingly effective. The quiet humour is simply delightful.'"
"I hope this will not make you vain, Emily," said Aunt Elizabeth warningly.
"If it does, here's the antidote. 'This feeble, pretentious and sentimental story--if story it can be called--is full of banalities and trivialities. A mass of disconnected episodes and scraps of conversation, intermingled with long periods of reflection and self-examination.'"
"I wonder if the creature who wrote that knew the meaning of the words himself," said Aunt Laura.
"'The scene of this story is laid in Prince Edward Island, a detached portion of land off the coast of Newfoundland.'"
"Don't Yankees ever study geography?" snorted exasperated Cousin Jimmy.
"'A story that will not corrupt its readers.'"
"There's a real compliment now," said Aunt Elizabeth.
Cousin Jimmy looked doubtful. It sounded all right but--of course dear little Emily's book couldn't corrupt anyone but--
"'To review a book of this kind is like attempting to dissect a butterfly's wing or strip a rose of its petals to discover the secret of its fragrance.'"
"Too highfalutin," sniffed Aunt Elizabeth.
"'Honeyed sentimentality which the author evidently supposes is poetic fancy.'"
"Wouldn't I like to smack his gob," said Cousin Jimmy feelingly.
"'Harmless and easy reading.'"
"I don't know why, but I don't quite like the sound of that," commented Aunt Laura.
"'This story will keep a kindly smile upon your lips and in your heart as well.'"
"Come now, that's English. I can understand that," beamed Cousin Jimmy.
"'We began but found it impossible to finish this crude and tiresome book.'"
"Well, all I can say," said Cousin Jimmy indignantly, "is that the oftener I read The Moral of the Rose the better I like it. Why, I was reading it for the fourth time yesterday and I was so interested I clean forgot all about dinner."
Emily smiled. It was better to have won her standing with the New Moon folks than with the world. What mattered it what any reviewer said when Aunt Elizabeth remarked with an air of uttering the final judgment:
"Well, I never could have believed that a pack of lies could sound as much like the real truth as that book does."