Read Online Magic for Marigold by L. M. Montgomery - Free Book Online

to help Kate Blacquierre drive Mr. Donkin’s cows to water and we had such a time chasing that bloody heifer.”
    At once Marigold knew she had said something dreadful. The frozen horror on the faces of her family told her that. One minister looked aghast, one hid a grin.
    What had she said?
    â€œMarigold, you may leave the table and go to your room,” said Mother, who seemed almost on the point of tears.
    Marigold obeyed wretchedly, having no idea in the world what it was all about. Later on she found out.
    â€œBut Kate said it,” she wailed. “Kate said she’d like to break every bloody bone in that bloody heifer’s body. I never thought ‘bloody’ was swearing, though it’s an ugly word.”
    She had sworn before the minister—before two ministers. And their wives! Marigold did not think she could ever live it down. A hot wave of shame ran over her whenever she thought about it. It did not matter that she was never allowed to go with Kate again; she had not cared much for Kate anyhow. But to have disgraced herself and Mother and the Lesley name! She had thought it bad enough when she had asked Mr. Lord of Charlottetown, with awe and reverence, “Please, are you God ?” She had been laughed at so for that and had suffered keen humiliation. But this! And yet she could not understand why “bloody” was swearing. Even Old Grandmother—who had laughed herself sick over the incident—couldn’t explain that.
    The spirit of jealousy had claimed her, too. She was secretly jealous of Clementine, the girl who had once been Father’s wife—whose grave was beside his on the hill under the spireas—jealous for her mother. Father had belonged to Clementine once. Perhaps he belonged to her again now. There were times when Marigold was absolutely possessed with this absurd jealousy. When she went into Old Grandmother’s room and saw Clementine’s beautiful picture on the wall, she hated it. She wanted to go up and tear it down and trample on it. Lorraine would have been horrified if she had dreamed of Marigold’s feelings in this respect. But Marigold kept her secret fiercely and went on hating Clementine—especially her beautiful hands. Marigold thought her mother quite as beautiful as Clementine. She always felt so sorry for little girls whose mothers were not beautiful. And Mother had the loveliest feet. Uncle Klon had said more than once that Lorraine had the daintiest little foot and ankle he had ever seen in a woman. This did not count for much among the Lesleys. Ankles were better not spoken of, even if the present-day fashion of skirts did show them shamelessly. But Mother’s hands weren’t pretty; they were too thin—too small; and Marigold felt sometimes she just couldn’t bear Clementine’s hands. Especially when some of the clan praised them. Old Grandmother referred to them constantly; it really did seem as if Old Grandmother sensed Marigold’s jealousy and liked to tease her.
    â€œI don’t think she was so pretty,” Marigold had been tortured into saying once.
    Old Grandmother smiled.
    â€œClementine Lawrence was a beauty, my dear. Not an insignificant little thing like—like her sister up there in Harmony.”
    But Marigold felt sure Old Grandmother had started to say “like your mother,” and she hated Clementine and her hands and her fadeless white lily more poisonously than ever.
    Grief? Sorrow? Why, her heart nearly broke when her dear gray kitten had died. She had never known before that anything she loved could die. “Has yesterday gone to heaven, Mother?” she had sobbed the next day.
    â€œI—I suppose so,” said Mother.
    â€œThen I don’t want to go to heaven,” Marigold had cried stormily. “I never want to meet that dreadful day again.”
    â€œYou’ll probably have to meet far harder days than that,” had been Young