Originally I planned for this to be a series of vignettes on Anne's family, but now I am wondering if perhaps I should just continue this as a story. If anyone has any opinions, please feel free to tell me!
It would perhaps thrill Bertha Willis, but more likely astonish her, that the daughter she would one day give birth to would so delight in her own very much detested name. And no doubt it would also surprise her that her own little Anne would grow up despising her ruddy curls; for the man that would one day fill the dark shadows of Bertha's life would have a head of auburn hair as well, and she would not be able to fathom how one could despise such a cheery and exuberant shade of red.
But all of this was yet to come, and sixteen year old Bertha now sat despondently on a rock, fingering her almond locks and gazing out across a field of honeysuckle and queen's lace. Summer was drawing to a close, and one could feel it in the air, Bertha imagined. A lone bird twittered in the branches of a distant tree, and Bertha smiled.
"I'm glad that someone feels the same way as I do about summer winding down," she murmured sadly to the honeysuckle laden meadow. She looked up, scanning the blue arch of sky overhead in search of the bird. "It seems so strange to not have to return to the little white-washed school house come autumn; to sit beside Percy and Wilma and Mary-Beth once more, and to have to pass notes behind the schoolmaster's back. It seems only yesterday mama was dragging me down that winding path, trying to convince me just how fun school can be."
Had there been another being present, they would have noticed the tender suppleness of the eyes; the smile that glowed despite the frown playing at the edges of the pale face. And in fact she was not alone, for creeping up behind a grove of slender birches was a sight familiar to that of Bertha, but not to us:
Percy Willis, much beloved cousin and comrade, friend and foe and fiendish villain all mixed into one very plump and rosy girl. It was to Percy's chagrin that she had been born into a family high on spirit but low on boys, for Percy had been thought to be the last child, and in despair her parents had decided to name her after Percy's grandfather, Percy Edward Robertson, whom they had promised a namesake soon after announcing their engagement. But fourteen years and seven children later, Percy's parents had had enough and decided that father Percy Robertson would just very well have to do with a granddaughter named after him.
All of this Percy would learn later on, and would have no doubt been fine with, had not the appearance of a sudden stork and a fat little bundle disrupted her position as both baby and queen of 18 Foggy Meadow Street. For Robert (an homage to Percy's namesake, who could not have been more delighted with the birth of his first grandson, and who, in a fit of excitement at hearing the news, proceeded to drop baby Percy clear on her head); and so baby Robert would disrupt the settled life of the Willis family, and for this Percy would never forgive him (or her grandfather, who late one night, after having drunk a bit too much of his wife's famed wine, would recount the dropping-of-Percy-on-her-little-lopsided-head tale).
And of course Percy would seek revenge, first on her grandfather and secondly on her brother Robert Son Willis, whose middle name never ceased to send Percy and Bertha into fits of laughter.
"Mother thought that grandfather would not understand that they had named Robert after him, and so she came up with the splendid idea that Robert's middle name should be Son… Robertson! What a fantastic idea! And now Robert is the joke of every school yard joke! Of course mother tried to make him feel better about it but she only made it worse when she told him that his middle name also stood for his position in our home, as the only son… I, of course, upon hearing this, could not keep silent and had to chime in: 'You see Robert,' I told him, 'Mother and father are afraid that you've gotten a bit girlish in your attitude, having been surrounded by the female sex all your life, and so the middle name of 'son' is quite fitting in reminding you of your place in our little world. I do say, are those my bloomers you have on there?'"
And together the two girls would laugh over the plight of poor little Robert Son Willis, who of no fault of his own had been born into the impetuous Willis clan.
But now Bertha sighed to herself, for creeping through a mossy bank to the right of her was none other than Percy Wills, trying desperately to remain silent but failing miserably.
"Don't think I can't see you, Percy Willis."
"Rats! How did you see me, Bert?" Percy plopped down heavily beside her slender cousin with a sigh and a whistle. "I was imagining that I was an Indian, striking through the bush; I thought I was as silent as one too and---"
"Silent! You couldn't be silent if your life depended on it!" Bertha exclaimed with a laugh and a fond smile. "You shouldn't say 'rats', Percy, and anyway, I saw your red skirt out of the corner of my eye. And where did you get that? I would have spotted you half a mile away if I hadn't had my eyes closed."
Percy let out a groan and stretched herself out on the rock. "I told mother that I didn't want a red skirt. What am I going to do with one? I asked her, and you know what she said?" Percy raised herself up on one arm dramatically. "You will find a husband, my dear! That's what you'll do!" Percy let out a shriek of laughter and fell back down upon the rock.
Bertha smiled and shook her head. "And I bet you laughed just like that, didn't you?"
"Why of course. I'm only seventeen, I reminded her."
"To which she replied: 'When I was eighteen---'"
"--'I was married!'"
Bertha let out a laugh, for like Percy, she had heard the story many times before.
"What are you doing out here anyway, Bert? Why'd you leave the picnic so soon?"
Bertha shrugged and looked down at her hands. However fond she was of Percy, it was no use conversing with her about the things that often plagued and cradled her mind. Instead she held up her hands for inspection. "What do these remind you of?"
Percy squinted at the creamy fingers. "Lizards?"
"Percy!" Bertha batted her arm playfully and rolled her eyes. "Percy Willis, you are simply incorrigible."
"Oh, I've forgotten that one. Remind me to look that up when we get back to the house. But alright, Bert. They look like hands; lovely, nicely taken-care of hands, with fine cuticles and lovely crescent-moon nails. Mother always compares your hands to mine; but what I have repeatedly told her, for your secret can't possibly be safe with me, is that you spend a dollar each month on special creams and lotions for those lovely hands of yours, and once a month you hop on a train and head into the big city to have a doctor examine those pearly fingers of yours for freckles and wrinkles and--"
"Percy Willis! And your mother would believe it!"
"That's why it's so much fun, cousin-- because she does believe it! Actually, last week I told her that your mother purchased a brand new straw hat for you with a lovely silk band and a simply elegant trim of velvet, just so that she would get another hat for me."
"You didn't! And whatever do you need another hat for?"
"I lost my other one last week; Alfred Rove and his sister Maud took me berry-picking--"
"You mean Alfred took you."
"Well of course it was Alfred; do you honestly think that Maud had anything to do with it?" Percy plucked a blade of grass and stuck one end into her mouth. "But I do pity her. She's only twenty-two, and already such an old maid. And she has such a sour expression… you would have thought we were out there to do away with her and leave her for the dead, had you seen the look she gave us."
"Mrs. Rove told mother that Mauve said the two of you were behaving quite scandalously," Bertha couldn't help adding with a twinkle in her eye.
"Fiddlesticks! That Mauve is just plain jealous and I don't even know of what."
"Perhaps she knows that you don't care much for Alfred."
"Oh, Alfred. Let's not start with him, Bert. The Alfred's of this merry world belong in cauldrons and in monasteries—"
"—and I supposed the Jim Wicam's belong in castles and palaces?" Bertha asked, rolling her eyes dramatically and batting her eyelashes, for it was not a secret that Jim Wicam was an esteemed fellow in Percy Willis' book.
"Why you little---!" Percy made a grab for Bertha, but she was already racing through the field, her laughter trickling behind her. Percy paused for a moment to admire the back of lithe young girl who in so many ways seemed a thousand years old… and yet at the same time so terribly unprepared to face the hardships of the world. Mrs. Blight from down the road always said that Percy was a flippant-fly (whatever that meant), but even Mrs. Blight would have had to acknowledge the wisdom of Percy's thoughts at that clear moment.
Percy Anne Willis shrugged, and, letting out a war whoop, belted through the meadow after the slender figure.
"Come back and fight like a man!"