2 Emily Of New Moon - Guided Literature

Emily of New Moon is the first in a series of novels by Lucy Maud Montgomery about a Canadian orphan girl growing up in Prince Edward Island. Montgomery is also the author of the Anne of Green Gables series. It was first published in 1923.

This Guided Reading features the soothing sounds of Stephanie Poppins.

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Transcript

Welcome to sleep stories with Steph your go-to podcast. That offers you a calm and relaxing transition to sleep. Into a great night's sleep. It is time to relax and fully let go. There is nothing you need to be doing now. And know where you need to go. Close your eyes. And feel yourself sink into the support beneath you. And let all the worries of the day go. Drift away. This is your time. And your space. Take a deep breath in through your nose. And let it out with a long sigh. That's it! There is nothing you need to be doing now. And know where you need to go. Happy listening. Chapter 2 A watch in the night. Emily stood quite still and looked up at Ellen's broad red face. As still as if she had been suddenly turned to stone. She felt as if she had. She was as stunned as if Ellen had struck her a physical blow. The colour faded out of her little face and her pupils dilated. Until they swallowed up the irises and turned her eyes into pools of blackness. The effect was so startling even Ellen Green felt uncomfortable. I'm telling you this because I think it's time you were told. She said. Been at your par for months to tell you, But he's kept putting it off and off. I says to him, Says I, You know how hard she takes things and if you drop off sudden some day you'll almost kill her if she isn't prepared. It's your duty to prepare her. And he says, Says he, There's time enough yet, Ellen. But it's never said a word. And when the doctor told me last night the end might come any time, I made up my mind I'd do what was right and drop a hint to prepare you. Laws of mercy, Child, Don't look like that. You'll be looked after. You'll mask people who see to that, On account of the Murray Pride, If for no other reason. They won't let one of their old bloods starve or go to strangers. Even if they have always hated your pa, I presume. You'll have a good home. Better heaven than you'd have here. You needn't worry, You might. As for your pa, You ought to be thankful to see him at rest. He's been dying by inches for the last five years. He's kept it from you, But he's been a great sufferer. Folks say his heart broke when Yamaha died. It came on so sudden. She was only sick three days. That's why I want you to know what's coming, So you won't be all upset when it happens. For mercy's sake, Ebony Birdstar, Don't stand there staring like that, You'll give me the creeps. You ain't the first child that's been left an orphan, And you won't be the last. Try and be sensible. Don't go pestering your pa about what I've told you, Mind. Come on in now, Out of the damp, And I'll give you a cookie before you go to bed. Ellen stepped down as if to take the child's hand. The power of motion returned to Emily. She must scream if Ellen even touched her now. With one sudden, Sharp, Bitter little cry, She avoided Ellen's hand, Darted through the door and fled up the dark staircase. Ellen shook her head and waddled back to the kitchen. Anyhow, I've done my duty. She reflected. Jester kept saying time enough and put it on till he was dead and then there'd have been no managing her. She'll have time now to get used to it and she'll brace up in a day or two. I'll say for her she's got spunk, Which is lucky from all I've heard of the Murrays. They won't find it easy to overgrow her. She's got a streak of their pride too, And that'll help her through. I wish I dared sense some of the Murray's word. He's dying, But I don't dare go that far. There's no telling what he'd do. Well, I've stuck on here to the last and I ain't sorry. Not many women would have done it. Living as they do here. It's a shame the way their child's being brought up, Never even sent to school. Well, I've told him often enough what I thought of that. It ain't on my conscience that's one comfort. Here you soul thing, Get out! Now where's Mike too? Ellen could not find Mike for the very good reason he was upstairs with Emily, Held tightly in her arms as she sat in the darkness on her little cot bed. Amid her agony and desolation, There was a certain comfort in the feel of this soft fur and round, Velvety head. Emily was not crying. She stared straight into the darkness, Trying to face the awful thing Ellen had told her. She did not doubt it. Something told her it was true. But why couldn't she die too? She couldn't go on living without father. If I was God, I wouldn't let things like this happen. She's sad. Emily felt it was very wicked of her to say such a thing. Ellen had told her once it was the wickedest thing anyone could do to find fault with God. But Emily didn't care. Perhaps if she were wicked enough, God would strike her dead and then she and Father could keep on being together. But nothing happened. Only Mike got tired of being held so tightly. And he squirmed away. She was all alone now with this terrible burning pain that seemed all over her. And yet was not of the body. She could never get rid of it. She couldn't help it by writing about it in the old yellow account book either. She'd written there about her Sunday school teacher going away and of being hungry when she went to bed, And Ellen telling her she must be half crazy to talk of the windwomen and flashes. And after she'd written down all about them, These things hadn't hurt her anymore. But this. . . Could not be written about. She could not even go to father for comfort, As she'd gone when she burned her hand so badly, Picking up the red-hot poker by mistake. Father held tiny psalms that day and all that night. Then he told her stories and helped her to bear the pain. But father, So Ellen said. Is about to die. Emily felt as if Ellen had told her that she isn't years ago. Surely couldn't be less than an hour since she'd been playing with the wind women in the barrens and looking at the new moon in the pinky green sky. The flash will never come again. It calms. She thought. But Emily had inherited certain things from her fine old ancestors. The power to fight. To suffer. To pity, To love very deeply. To rejoice and to endure. These things were all in her and looked out at you through her purplish grey eyes. Her heritage of endurance came to her aid now and bore her up. She must not let father know what Ellen had said. It might hurt him. She must keep it all to herself. And love father so much in the little while. While she could still yet have him. She heard him cough in the room below. She must be in bed when he came up. She undressed as swiftly as her cold fingers permitted. And crept into the little cot bed which stood across the open window. The voices of the gentle spring night call to her all unheeded. Unheard the woman whistled by the eaves. For the fairies dwell only in the kingdom of happiness. Having no souls, They can't enter the kingdom of sorrow. Emily laid there cold and tearless and motionless when at last her father came into the room. How slowly he walked, How very slowly he took off his clothes. How was it she had never noticed these things before? But he was not coughing at all. What if Alan were mistaken? What if. . . A wild hope shot through Emily's aching heart and she gave a little gasp. Douglas Starr came over to her bed. She felt his dear nearness as he sat down on the chair beside her in his old red dressing gown. How she loved her father. There was no other man like him in all the world. I never could be. So tender, So understanding, So wonderful. They had always been such chums. They had loved each other so much. It shouldn't be they were to be separated. Thinkum, See you asleep. Whispered Emily. Are you sleepy small deer? No, Not sleepy. Darkless Star took her hand and held it tightly. Then we'll have our talk, Honey. I can't sleep either. I want to tell you something. I know it. First out, Emily. Oh father, I know it. Ellen told me. Darkness Star was silent for a moment. Then he said under his breath That old fat fool. As if Ellen's fatness was an added aggravation of her folly. Again for the last time, Emily Holt. Perhaps it was all a dreadful mistake, Just some more of Ellen's fat foolishness. It isn't It isn't true, Is it, Father? She whispered. Emily Child. Siddhartha. I can't lift you up. I haven't the strength. But climb up and sit on my knee in the old way. Emily slipped out of bed and got on her father's knee. He wrapped his old dressing gown about her and held her close with his face against hers. Their little child, Their little, Beloved, Amykin. It's quite true. I meant to tell you myself tonight. And now that old absurdity of an Helen has told you. Brutally, I suppose, And hurt you dreadfully. She's the brain of a hen and the sensibility of a cow. May Jackal sit on her grandmother's grave. I wouldn't have hurt you, My dear. Emily thought something down that wanted to choke her. For all that. I can't bear it. Yes you can, And you will. You will live because there's something for you to do, I think. You have my gift. Along with something I never had. You will succeed where I failed, Emily. I haven't been able to do much for you, Sweetheart. But I've done what I could. And I taught you something, I think. In spite of Ellen Green. Emily, Do you remember your mother? Just a little here and there, Like lovely bits of dreams. You were only four when she died. I never talked much to you about her. I couldn't, But I'm going to tell you all about her tonight. It doesn't hurt me to talk with her now. I'll see her soon again. You don't look like her, Emily. Only when you smile. For the rest you're like your namesake, My mother. When you were born, I wanted to call you Juliet too. But your mother wouldn't. She said if we called you Juliet. . . I'd soon take to calling her mother to distinguish between you. " And she couldn't endure that. She said her aunt Nancy had once said to her. . . The first time your husband calls you mother, The romance of life is over. So we called you after mine. Her maiden name was Emily Bird. Your mother thought Emily the prettiest name in the world. It was quaint and arch and beautiful, She said. Emily, Your mother was the sweetest woman ever made. His voice trembled here and Emily snuggled closer still. I met her 12 years ago. When I was sub-editor of the Enterprise up in Charlottetown. She was in her last year at Queen's. She was tall, Fair and blue eyed. She looks a little like your Aunt Laura. But Laura was never so pretty. Their eyes were very much alike and their voices very different. She was one of the Murrays from Blair Water. I never told you much about your mother's people. They live on the old North Shore, Blair Water on New Moon Farm. They've always lived there since the first Murray came out from the old country in 1790. The ship he came on was called the New Moon, And he named his farm after it. It's a nice name, The new moon. It's such a pretty thing. Said Emily, Interested for a moment. There's been a Murray ever since on New Moon Farm. They're a proud family. The Murray Pride is a byword along the North Shore. Well, They had some things to be proud of that cannot be denied, But they carried it too far. Folks call them the chosen people out there. They increased and multiplied and scattered all over, But the old stock at New Moon Farm is pretty well run out. Only your aunts Elizabeth and Laura live there now, And their cousin Jimmy Murray. They never married. Couldn't find anyone good enough for a Murray. Your Uncle Oliver and your Uncle Wallace live in Summerside. Your Aunt Ruth in Shrewsbury. In your great heart, Nancy Priest Pond. Priest Pond. That's an interesting name. Not a pretty name like New Moon and Blair Water, But interesting, " said Emily. Feeling father's arm around her, The horror had momentarily shrunk away. For just a little while, Emily ceased to believe it. Douglas Starr tucked the dressing gown a little more closely around her. Kissed her black head. And went on. Elizabeth and Laura, Wallace, Oliver, Ruth. They were all old Archibald Murray's children. His first wife was their mother. When he was 16 he married again a young slip of a girl who died just when your mother was born. Juliet was 20 years younger than her half-family, She used to call them. She was very pretty and charming and they all loved and petted her and were very proud of her. When she fell in love with me, A poor young journalist with nothing in the world but his pen and ambition. There was a family earthquake. The Maori pride couldn't tolerate the thing at all. I won't break it up. But things were said I could never forget or forgive. Your mother married me, Emily. And the New Moon people would have nothing more to do with her. Can you believe that? In spite of it all. She was never sorry for marrying me. Emily put her hand up and patted her father's hollow cheek. Of course she wouldn't be sorry. Of course she'd rather have you than all the marries of any kind of a moon. Father laughed a little. And there was a note of triumph in that laugh. Yes, Your mother used to feel that way about it. And we were so happy. There were no two happier people in the world. You were then a child of that happiness. I remember the night you were born in the little house in Charlottetown. It was in May and a west wind was blowing silvery clouds over the moon. There was a star or two here and there. In our garden, Everything we had was small, Except our love and happiness. I walked up and down the path between the beds of fire that your mother planted, And I prayed. The paleace was just beginning to glow like a rosy pearl. When someone came out and told me I had a little daughter. I went in then and your mother, White and weak, Smiled that dear, Slow, Wonderful smile and said, We've got the only baby of any importance in the world. Just think of that. I wish people could remember from the moment they're born, Said Emily. It would be so interesting. I daresay we'd have a lot of uncomfortable memories, " said her father, Laughing a little. It can't have been very pleasant getting used to living. No pleasanter than getting used to stopping it. But you didn't seem to find it hard. You were a good wee kidlet, Emily. We had four more happy years then. Do you remember the time your mother died? I remember the funeral distinctly. You were standing in the middle of the room holding me in your arms and mother was lying before us in a long black box. I lean down and touch her cheeks. They were so cold. It made me shiver. Someone in the room said poor little thing. And I was frightened. And I put my face down on your shoulder. Your mother died very suddenly, Said her father. I don't think we'll talk about it anymore. The Murrays all came to her funeral. They have certain traditions and they live up to them very strictly. One of them is nothing but candles shall be burned for light at new moon. And the other that no quarrel must be carried past the grave. They came when she was dead. They would have come if she was ill, If they'd have known she was ill. And they behaved very well indeed. They were naught than Murray's and New Moon for nothing. Your Aunt Elizabeth wore her best black satin dress. For any funeral but a Murray's, The second best one would have done. And they made no serious objection when I said your mother would be buried in the star plot. In Charlottetown. Cemetery. They would have liked to take her back to the old Murray burying ground. Put your Uncle Wallace. Handsomely admitted a woman should belong to her husband's family in death. As in life. They then offer to take you and bring you up. Give you your mother's place they said but i refused Did I do right, Emily? Yes, Whispered Emily. Yes, Father. I told Oliver Murray, As long as I lived I would not be parted from my child. He said if you ever change your mind, Let us know. But I did not change my mind. Not even three years later when doctors told me I must give up work. Those years and what I have left in them are the only legacy I can leave you. We've been living on a tiny income I have from a life interest that was left me in an old uncle's estate. That uncle died before I was married. The estate goes to a charity now and this little house is only rented. From a worldly point of view, Emily, I've certainly been a failure. But your mother's people will care for you, I know that. The Murray Pride will guarantee so much, If nothing else. And they can't help loving you. Perhaps I should have sent for them before. But I have a pride of kind too. We are not entirely traditionless, The stars. But the Maurice said some very bitter things to me when I married your mother. Shall I send to you New Moon and ask them to come for you? No! Said Emily almost fiercely. She did not want anyone to come between her and her father for the few precious days left. Their thought was horrible to her. It would be bad enough if they had to come afterwards. But she would not mind anything much. Vain. Then we'll stay together to the very end, Little Emily Child. We won't be parted for a minute. And I want you to be brave. You mustn't be afraid of anything, Emily. Death isn't terrible. The universe is full of love. Spring comes everywhere. And in death you open and shut a door. There were beautiful things on the other side of that door. Your mother's there. I've doubted many things but I've never doubted that. I wish you could take me right through the door with you. Whispered Emily. After a little while you won't wish that. You've yet to learn how kind time is. And life has something for you, Emily. I feel it. Go forward to meet it fearlessly, Dear. I know you don't feel like that just now, But you'll remember my words. Bye and bye. I feel as if I don't like God anymore. Yes, You do. You can't help liking God. He's love itself. You mustn't mix him up with Ellen Green's God, Of course. Emily didn't know exactly what her father meant. But all at once she found she wasn't afraid any longer, And the bitterness had gone out of her sorrow and the unbearable pain out of her heart. Love was everywhere. Father was going through the door. No, He was going to lift a curtain. She liked that thought better. And he would be there in its beauty, Never far away. She could bear anything. If she could only feel father wasn't very far away. Just beyond that wavering curtain.