I wonder if they really published it.
It would be nice if they did.
Oh look, it's that girl from the party.
She was the one who recited a poem with Jo Rose, wasn't she?
She's still so young...
yet she performed in such a dignified manner.
Emily, you're becoming pretty well known.
I'm not.
It's Jo Rose who is famous.
All I did was stand beside her.
Whoa!
Excuse me, could I have a copy of Garden and Woodland and the Enterprise, please?
Oh, it's Emily.
I heard about your performance at the Stuarts' party.
It was a brilliant recital.
Thank you, ma'am.
Here's the latest.
Let's see... here.
This is the right amount.
Thanks for coming by.
How is it?
Not this time either.
Well, that's a shame.
How about here...
What is it, Emily?
Emily?
Come on!
Excuse me!
A copy of Garden and Woodland!
Could I exchange this for a copy of Garden and Woodland?
It's still new.
I cannot take back papers that have been read.
Emily.
Cousin Jimmy, could you lend me some money?
Eh? Let me see...
One copy of Garden and Woodland, please!
Thanks for shopping with us.
Emily, I don't quite get what's going on.
Cousin Jimmy.
Emily Byrd Starr.
You can hear the truth resonate from her poems.
This is...
Emily!
I've made it, Cousin Jimmy!
I've finally made it!
What brings you here, Emily Byrd Starr?
You're as excited as a puppy dog chasing a cat.
Yes, and I'm as excited as a puppy dog chasing a cat, too!
And what does Miss Puppy Dog need from me today?
My poem got published in this magazine!
I thought you'd be happy.
Emily Byrd Starr, you thought I would be happy that your poem made it into some magazine?
At the very least, I'd like you to be pleased.
A soft sweet echo resonates in the ear of those who long to hear.
A gentle note, so audible, so clear.
Through the golden hills and valleys, the wind whistles by silently.
Bringing back solemn memories; singing a capricious melody.
Mister Carpenter.
"Solemn" was quite unnecessary.
You have a tendency to overuse sentimental words.
You've already read it, Mister Carpenter.
Also, you used italics too often, Emily Byrd Starr.
Italics are used for added emphasis.
The way you used them didn't add emphasis at all.
Be careful about how you use them.
Yes, sir.
Overall, it's not a bad piece of work.
For someone so young and inexperienced, I can say it's quite well done.
O Lord, forgive the sins of Peter DeGeer who has been called to your side.
Let your mercy be unto him.
I'm home.
Welcome back.
That magazine...
How did you know?
Jimmy brought this to me.
"Emily's poem is published in it," he said.
Cousin Jimmy did?
"There aren't any others of Emily's age who have their writings published in this magazine," he said.
"It's worth taking a look."
You've read it, Aunt Elizabeth?
I have.
What do you think?
It's just some meaningless wordplay.
You keep on writing in spite of me telling you countless times not to.
I cannot distance myself from writing.
I don't want to hear any excuses.
Emily, go to your room.
Yes, ma'am.
She's as stubborn as you are.
Emily, I've heard.
Your poem finally got published in a magazine.
Yes, it was.
Though it's just a small publication.
It's already quite well received.
"A new poet is born in our town", people say.
Really? People are saying that?
Emily.
We're having supper.
Having one poem published in a small magazine doesn't amount to anything.
By the way, on my way back I happened to see Peter DeGeer's funeral.
I saw it too.
Old man DeGeer, huh?
Such a poor old man.
Why?
He was ostracised by society for a number of reasons.
His wife must have had a tough time...
since he took to the bottle rather often.
Eventually he stopped working.
He even spent the money his wife earned on drink.
He needed the alcohol to escape from his troubles, I guess.
But when he sobered up, he only felt more anxious.
That's how the story went, right, Elizabeth?
I shall get it.
Missus DeGeer.
Is Emily Byrd Starr at home?
A memorial?
What's that?
You know, it's a piece of writing for the deceased.
I read one in an obituary yesterday.
Outstanding, Mister Perry.
You're even able to read newspapers.
Stop taking jabs at me, Ilse.
So Emily, what's this about a memorial?
I was asked to write a memorial for the late Mister DeGeer.
Wow, that's something!
But why did they ask you?
Garden and Woodland.
You've read it, Teddy?
You oaf.
We were supposed to pretend not to know and surprise her later.
Sorry.
Well, we can't take back what's been said.
Look.
We all bought a copy.
Aunt Elizabeth didn't seem too agreeable at the beginning.
"We should not leave a matter of such significance to a child," she said.
I thought of turning down the request at first.
But then, Missus DeGeer said to me,
"I would want none other than our town's celebrated Emily Byrd Starr to write it."
I don't know about being celebrated... but for a memorial, it's important that the truth resonates.
A memorial for a drunkard.
It's perfect for a certain hopeful poet.
I think so too.
I'm sure doing this will inspire a tremendous improvement in me.
Someone who can't see the truth like I can couldn't possibly understand.
Emily had thought about it.
She would write a touching memorial that she could proudly show others.
A memorial that would let the readers understand her feelings.
Reasons for drinking?
I think everyone has a common reason.
A common reason?
To raise their spirits... or the feeling of going to heaven...
or being able to forget your cares.
Peter's job, eh?
There wasn't a single one where he would work more than a week at most.
Why is that?
Why, you ask? He's just that sort of person.
He loafs around all the time, or so people claimed.
Maybe he was thinking of something?
I suppose he was thinking of drinking once the sun sets.
The confessions of an alcoholic?
Yes, I'm sure you've heard of some.
The circumstances and stories that changed his life.
No, I have no knowledge of such things.
How can this be?
Peter was born seventy-eight years ago, the youngest of four children.
As his family was poor, he started working the moment he could.
Though he worked many jobs, he never stuck to any one for very long.
Not long after arriving in this town, he made his new wife work.
Most of the money she earned was spent on his drinking habit.
That went on for the next few decades...
until the day he died.
Mister Carpenter.
I have a little problem...
Regarding?
How's the memorial going?
Why he couldn't hold a steady job... or why he took to drinking...
I couldn't find the answers from anyone.
Everyone just said that's the kind of person Peter DeGeer was.
Why did you lead such a boring life?
I thought you would have done something dramatic in your life.
Emily, come help me prepare for supper.
Emily?
Okay, I'm coming.
Emily.
How is Peter DeGeer's memorial going?
That's right.
You should let us hear it soon.
It's your first request. I'm really looking forward to it.
What's wrong, Emily?
I can't write it.
No, I should say I'm not inspired to write it.
Why is that, Emily?
I've done some research, but Peter DeGeer's life was as bland as porridge.
You said he might have had a hard life, but I couldn't find any evidence of that.
He was nothing more than an alcoholic.
He was just a ne'er-do-well.
I can't bring myself to write about someone like that.
Someone else who knew him better should write it for him.
Emily.
Yes, ma'am.
Emily Byrd Starr, you made a promise to Missus DeGeer.
You refused to let me stop you and agreed to write the memorial.
You have a responsibility to fulfill your promise.
Responsibility... I don't want to take responsibility for this.
I don't want to write for a person like that.
It's a desecration of my art.
Emily Byrd Starr!
Let me say this clearly.
You made a promise.
Regardless of how you dissatisfied you may feel, you must finish what you have started.
While I don't hold the opinion that the late Peter DeGeer was a worthy man...
if you should just leave your responsibilities,
then you'd be no different from the man you look down upon.
I shall write it!
I shall write the truth!
Dear Father,
I'm sure you know that the things I write when I'm angry are spiked with thorns...
and that I do not mince words when I'm upset about something.
Peter DeGeer's memorial accounted for all the things he did in his life.
And the outcome was not a pleasant one.
I'm done!
Mister Carpenter!
This is the memorial for Peter DeGeer, I gather?
Yes, it is.
Very well written.
You certainly have talent.
Using that talent you must have enjoyed satirizing this downtrodden man.
The ill-fated Mister Peter DeGeer was a failure in life.
I'm sure God, his maker, empathized deeply with him.
But his fellow creatures shared no sympathy for him.
I say this again: you have the power.
It's simply overflowing.
This is a very well written piece.
You have painted a picture of the weaknesses and foolishness of mankind.
When I'm gone, you'll write something like that for me, won't you?
I'm a failure in life as well.
Mister Carpenter, you're not like that!
No, I am.
I left this place harbouring dreams of my own.
I aspired to be a writer like you.
But unlike you, I was defeated by my own impossible dream, and I returned here.
I didn't know...
I've never told this to anyone.
But I think you're an admirable man.
You're nothing like old Mister DeGeer.
How would you know?!
You just said you didn't understand why he did the things he did.
Why did Peter DeGeer drown himself in drink?
No one knows, right?
You don't have the answer, do you?
Mister Carpenter...
Emily Byrd Starr, when I'm gone, I'd like you to write my memorial.
But let me tell you this.
Write it in this way, all right?
His dreams were shattered...
but the one who understood that the most clearly was none other than himself.
Oh, Emily.
I apologise, Missus DeGeer.
I haven't finished the memorial.
I see.
I'm sure you've heard what was said about him.
I must apologise for giving you such a difficult task.
If you feel you cannot complete it, you can tell me now.
I won't be disappointed.
I'm just glad you agreed to write for him.
No, please let me finish it.
But...
Please, give me more time.
Thank you, little poet.
He told me to never give up.
Even though others gave up on him, and nothing went right for him.
He couldn't find the strength to overcome his troubles.
A life of grief.
But in the end, he tried still, to move forward.
He said he would work to improve our lives.
That's when I understood.
I was half the reason for his motivation.
He never said it outright.
He placed my life on the same level as his own.
He treated me dearly,
though I never did anything for him.
That was why I wanted him to leave with good memories,
and so I asked you to write a memorial on his behalf.
It would see him to the Lord's side.
Yes, ma'am...
Emily realised how small a person she was to be elated over a published poem.
And she finally understood how much responsibility it takes to write something.
A precarious road lies ahead of her...
a pristine white road that leads to her dreams.
Why, Aunt Elizabeth?
Everyone else is going to Shrewsbury High, so why can't I?
On the next episode of Emily of New Moon:
The Stage of Youth.
Watch for it!