Anne stood quietly behind the counter, looking out the window with sad longing. The bell sounded, signaling that someone had come into the shop, and she snapped her head around, angry at herself. The days of dreaming had ended for Anne. She must learn to be content with her station; if not content, at least accepting. Windows revealing warm Spring days were unhealthy for this attitude.

After all, at least she had been able to find work. At least she didn't have to stay at the orphanage any longer, living off charity. She was too old for that anyway; they would have kicked her out in another year. But, she thought with a sigh, spending her days stocking shelves with brown sugar and garden hoes was hardly the romantic life she had once envisioned, even if it did allow her to be independent.

"Excuse me," said a young man who had just come into the store, once again jarring Anne from her sad reverie.

"Yes?"

"Well I don't mean to be rude, but I've been standing here for several minutes and you have failed to give even the slightest acknowledgement of my existence."

A few years ago, Anne would have conjured up a scathing retort to this pert young man. But now she simply stifled a sigh, muttered a quiet apology, and asked him what he wanted. If she had looked up at the customer she might have noticed that his expression was more amused than angry, but she had relinquished her former sport of studying people. It led to imagining, which led to dreaming, which led to comparison between her life and the one she wanted, which led to utter depression. As a result, the only people she looked in the face nowadays were the unromantic ones she had known for ages, of whom she couldn't imagine dreamy things even if she tried.

"I see here your store is sponsoring a story contest for the new Rollings Reliable Apples."

"So I hear," said Anne dully.

"I guess I was just wondering, why would a company try to sell 'Reliable Apples' at a place like this where half the trees are nearly toppling over with free ones? Although I guess one could make an interesting story out of it, couldn't they?

"Picture this: Beautiful maiden walking along a flowery path, spots the ripest, most perfectly shiny red apple she ever saw in her life. Her mouth begins to water; she is drawn hopelessly towards the tree. She picks the apple, and in one, swift motion, plunges her teeth into the juicy fruit. But suddenly, a strange look comes into her eyes it is a look of panic. She falls to the ground, hopelessly, dropping the her precious fruit to the grass below. Just then, a handsome prince shall we call him Percival? comes running to her rescue, but alas, he is too late. Fair maiden lies stricken on the ground, her face white like the clouds above, her skin cold as death. He looks at the apple, and what he sees would shock even the bravest of men. It is a large, brown worm, sluggishly infecting his way through the pure fruit. Fair maiden must have died from shock. Percival thinks to himself, 'If only she had eaten a Rollings Reliable Apple, this cruel fate would have been avoided.' Well, what do you think? Shall I win the prize?"

Anne smiled in spite of herself. She was wondering what she should say to him, when a tall woman came running over.

"Don't mind him, Miss," she said to Anne, taking his hand, "he's always rambling on about some such nonsense. If you ignore him, he'll usually stop after awhile."

He smiled, and the young lady squeezed his hand, looking at him admiringly. It was clear she didn't entirely mind his nonsensical ramblings. Looking at the two of them, Anne could not escape the wave of intense sorrow that washed over her. She knew now that she would never experience true love homely orphans never did, it seemed. But her heart still yearned for it, more than ever. She knew that too, though she tried to ignore it, and do what she might, she could not prevent one small tear from trickling down her cheek.

Luckily the customers had turned away to look at some brown sugar. Anne took a deep breath, and was about to wipe it away, when the boy turned around. He saw it at once, and a look of overwhelming sympathy came over him for this slender, red haired girl. Instinctively he reached his hand over the counter in order to grab Anne's small white one.

But the moment was gone. Anne jerked her hand away from his and quickly wiped the tear away.

"How stupid of you," she said to herself. "Acting as if you were 12 years old, honestly. And to let someone see it, too! Just when you thought you had gotten over it all. Oh, will I ever be free?"

"Gilbert!" the young lady said suddenly, "Come look at this fabric! Oh, won't it make a lovely dress for the concert next month? That is, if you'll ever make up your mind and ask me to go with you!"

A look of mild annoyance flashed through the boy's face for a moment, but was instantly replaced with a joking one.

"I'm sure it's lovely, Christine. And yes, I suppose I'll go with you, though I wish you'd tell your nosy friends to stop asking me when I'm going to propose to you. Secret engagements can be so tedious," he whispered, just loud enough for Anne to hear.

Anne clasped her chest, breathing deeply, praying for strength to overcome herself. Oh, if only the Cuthbert's had kept her!