Forgive & Forget

Summer had arrived too early in Avonlea, and the sun intended to make the most of it as it peeked through the clouds over Green Gables. As did Marilla Cuthbert, who lounged on the veranda with a placid expression settled in her features.

She was a tall, thin woman, with angles and without curves; her dark hair showed some streaks of grey in it and was always twisted up in a tight little knot at the back with two wire hairpins stuck agressively through it.

She was practical in personality, which very much resembled the plain fashion she dressed in, but always stern when it came to morals and manners and her kitchen of course. Because Marilla was known for her cooking, and you didn't call on her without bringing your appetite and thirst for a sip of her rich currant wine, which was famous all over Prince Edward Island.

She sat in the midst of a warm afternoon breeze, which brushed her skin tenderly and threaded itself between her fingers. The grass was just beginning to green after a long winter and the flowers were just starting to blossom after months buried beneath the earth.

She chuckled slightly at herself, realizing that she was beginning to sound like Anne. That blessed girl. Marilla knew all too well that the freckled, red-headed, ill-tempered, orphan, who spoke too much for her own good and arrived on her doorstep only a few years ago, had rubbed off on her more than she had on Anne. And it wasn't Anne who had changed in recent years, but Marilla herself. And now, she couldn't imagine life without Anne. Because, had the little lapse in communication not happened, Marilla wouldn't have any imagination at all.

And without it now, she wouldn't have been reminded of a certain September day many, many years ago. For it was a day quite similar to this fine afternoon that Marilla Cuthbert made the acquaintance of John Blythe.

Marilla Cuthbert reached into her hair, which fell in long, straight strands around her shoulders, and unwinded from it the little pieces of paper that were being pelted at her from the back.

"Don't mind him," her classmate, Rachel McNab, advised. "It's an ill habit of his to tease the girls on the first day back."

Rachel Lynde was a slender girl and only a little older than Marilla, with thin blonde hair and pronounced cheekbones, and an even more pronounced opinion. Which was quite the nuisance for Marilla and brought her to ponder how she'd even wound up sharing a desk with such an inquisitive person with far too much to say for their own good. Yet here she was, and there was no escaping the seats now that they were already assigned for the semester.

"Well, if you ask me, he's certainly quite the audacious young man to pursue such young ladies." Replied Marilla, who took the risk of glancing a little less than discretely over her shoulder at the boy.

He was her age, perhaps a little of the way younger, with broad shoulders but a narrow torso that barely filled out the shirt he wore buttoned up to his throat. His brown hair fell in curls over his even browner eyes, of which you were hardly able to see under his bushy eyebrows that curved in a most puzzling fashion.

His full pink lips bent into the crookedest of grins at the corner of his mouth when he realized she was watching him, cautiously of course, but watching nonetheless. A sour Marilla only responded with the sternest of frowns creased between her eyebrows, which was almost instantly dismissed by a wink from the boy. But she caught herself before she could falter, and her frown quickly deepened into a scowl. And he, the boy only smiled in return. And it wasn't crooked this time, but a genuine smile drawn from his lips.

Marilla turned away from the boy, wanting to have absolutely nothing to do with him, and just in time too as Miss Bloomwood was just beginning to take her place at the front of the class.

"Good morning class," she greeted them. "I trust you all had a splendid holiday?"

The children responded with a chorus of yes.

"Excellent. Now, I want everyone to retrieve their copy of collected poems from their desks and we shall begin reciting a paragraph each. Marilla, why don't you start us off?"

Marilla stood from her seat and took a moment to flatten her wrinkled skirts out before picking up her copy of collected poems from her desk and holding it open in her palms. She'd never had any difficulty reading out loud, in fact, she had rather a knack for it. Or so she was told by the audience when she recited at local recitals. People she'd never met complimented the calm and collected tone she adopted when reading and praised the emotion she invested in the story.

She tucked away a strand or two that had fallen loose from the clip she had in her hair behind her ear and quietly cleared her throat before beginning to recite A Pause Of Thought by Christina Rossetti.

"I looked for that which is not, nor can be,

And hope deferred made my heart sick in truth

But years must pass before a hope of youth

Is resigned utterly.

I watched and waited with a steadfast will:

And though the object seemed to flee away

That I so longed for, ever day by da-"

She was abruptly interrupted when multiple crumbled up pieces of paper struck her from the back of the head, which resulted in the entire room's laughter. Miss Bloomwood stepped from behind her desk and raised her hands for silence. But before the children could settle down, Marilla spun on her heel and with a stronger arm than John Blythe would have suspected, she pelted her book directly for his head.

It collided with a loud thump and an even harder force that knocked John off his seat and to the floor where he sat and rubbed at his temple, which was already beginning to swell. The children were out of their seats now as the commotion quickly rose amongst them, and poor Miss Bloomwood was endeavoring to calm them down.

Marilla was at his desk now, and down at him with anger she yelled, "How dare you!"

But John couldn't focus on what she shouted at him. On the words and elaborate hand gestures she expressed her frustration with. He couldn't concentrate on anything really. His vision was too blurry to see and he appeared to have momentarily lost his hearing. And, as of this moment, he saw not one but two, three, maybe even four of each of his classmate's faces.

He could just barely register Miss Bloomwood's voice when she immediately summoned Marilla to the front of the class. And Marilla froze as her actions suddenly began to dawn on her, of which she had been entirely oblivious to in her blind rage. But she reported to the front of the class nevertheless, where Miss Bloomwood condemned her actions for such a young lady and ordered her to remain after class, after which she would be obliged to write, 'Marilla Cuthbert has a very bad temper' until the hour of dinner struck.

That was the first encounter Marilla Cuthbert had with John Blythe. And it certainly wouldn't be the last, nor the worst despite the dreadful circumstances she found herself in.

Her eyesight may have been diminishing in her old age, but her ears still functioned just as well as they had in her young age. And it was so clearly that she heard the steady clip clop of hooves pounding against the gravel as a carriage was towed from behind. But it wasn't so clearly that she could see who rode in the carriage, and not immediately did she realize it was he when his horse turned the corner.

She was already leaning on the edge of the seat and peering as far around the bend as you could see from the veranda when he greeted her with a tip of his hat. "Good day, Marilla."

"John Blythe," she spoke in return, for once not feigning even the slightest bit of astonishment in her tone, for which she would probably chide herself later on. But for now, she allowed herself to succumb to the stuff and nonsense of emotion one normally enunciated with. "we haven't seen you around these parts much, lately."

He smiled the first smile she ever witnessed cross his lips, and it was as crooked as they came. "Well, I don't have much time for social calls now-a-days. The old place still looks as pretty, though."

"The old buildings are getting worn down, but people in Avonlea still say that it's the loveliest old spot on the North Shore."

"It is that. Some things never change, even in thirty years." Her eyes fell on his then, and she couldn't help but feel as if he was referring to her. Or, at least, who she was. "I'm looking for my boy." He said, mostly to ease the tension that had arisen, or that had always been drifting between them.

"Yes, Anne and he are walking by the pond," she paused briefly as she considered her next words. Because Marilla could never be too careful of how she expressed what she felt. "Maybe, would you like to sit a while until they come back?"

She waited with baited breath for his answer, which could not come sooner. While he considered her offer carefully before he could give his answer because you could never speak to early, of course. And she only hoped she wasn't too late.

"Thanks, but we're taking a shipment into Charlottetown before dark. I best go and find them."

Of course he should. He should leave her behind while he still could. While the opportunity to save himself still stood. While she wasn't given yet another chance to hurt him.

Marilla stepped out into the warm afternoon sunshine, under the blue Avonlea skies, from the Lawson Mercantile with packages wedged in the crooks of her arms, some of which kept falling loose from her grip and to the dusty road.

She didn't hear the carriage rolling her way until it was too late to turn back.

"Hello Marilla. Whoa," John gave a slight heave on the reins and his horse responded by slowing his pace. "Can I offer you a ride home?"

She stopped in the lane and replied without turning to face him as discourteously as manners would allow without the potential of seeming rude. "I am grateful for your assistance Mr. Blythe, but find it isn't required. Good day."

"Oh, why don't you get off your high horse."

She turned to face him then with a scowl carved in her features, brow creased, eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring, and lips pursed. And by this point, she wasn't at all concerned of seeming rude.

"You are very bold to make such comments Mr. Blythe. I shall remind myself to do well to stay away from the likes of you in the future."

He chuckled because he couldn't seem to help it. She amused him in every way, and she'd strung him up in her web the moment she risked that glance over her shoulder. "Come now, hasn't this childish volley gone on long enough?"

Perhaps for him. But for Marilla, two years could not seem any shorter.

"Can't we be friends now? Look, I'm sorry I ever teased you like I did. You have no idea how sorry. But it was so long ago, aren't you ever going to forgive me?"

"It was a deliberate humiliation."

"I only did it because I- Because I wanted to meet you so much."

Her expression softened, but only slightly. After all, Marilla's face was so placid the majority of the time that it was difficult to contort in into anything other than a frown.

"Can I at least offer you the ride?" He asked, and there seemed to be the sincerity hidden behind his eyes that she'd never noticed, nor would have guessed he was capable of.

"Well, alright. I suppose it is rather awkward carrying all these."

"It was good of you to stop." She told him when they were well on the road to Green Gables. And, much to her surprise, she meant what she said.

"Not at all. It's my pleasure," He said, almost as if it cost him nothing for both the favor and to say so. "just as the honor of escorting you to the White Sands recital would be where you'll be this Friday evening."

"My life is an open book I see. Who told you that?" She demanded of him.

"I've picked it up somewhere. Can't seem to recall where." She just noticed the corner of his mouth upturn at his response but decided to allow him to have the satisfaction of the knowledge of something she didn't for once. After all, she pitched a book at his head. Yet still not as hard as she meant to.

"So, will you give me the privilege of courting you?"

She didn't think he was serious. How could he have been? So she didn't know what to say when he asked. "Well, I'm not sure. I promised the Lyndes I'd go with them..."

"And here I was under the impression that you were old enough could make up your own mind." He slyly remarked.

"I've always been old enough to make up my own mind. Very well then John, I'd be please to accept your invitation."

He let her off at the corner. And with the assistance of John's hand for balance, Marilla climbed out of the buggy. Her palm was still warm long after she'd let go of his hand for the first, but not for the last time.

Anne appeared from around the bend with her skirts gripped in her clenched fists and eyebrows knit into a frown as she bit into her lips in her aggravation. And into the house she marched without so much as a nod to address neither John nor Marilla.

"Anne! What about your twenty-dollars for the cow?" Gilbert, who approached the property on horseback, called after the seething redhead to no avail.

Anne shut the door behind her, which slammed so loudly and with such force that Marilla thought for a moment it might come loose from its hinges.

The lads peered up at the house, half expecting Anne to hit the roof. Her temper frequently got the better of her after all. But her bedroom window remained undisturbed almost as easily as if the house was vacant.

John Blythe just couldn't seem to resist, and Marilla just wished he'd left it alone while he still could have. "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, does it?"

No. No it didn't.

Marilla Cuthbert didn't love John Blythe the first time. Or the second. Not the third or even the fourth either, at least not to her knowledge. But she loved him far sooner than she would have guessed, for it was during their fifth encounter, (by which point it was beginning to seem like more of a routine rather than a coincidence), that she realized how fond she'd grown of him and of his companionship. And it would have come as a revelation to her had she not found out the same day that practically all of Avonlea already knew of the romance blossoming between the two.

And so, the news of Marilla's beau spread quickly, even faster than Rachel, (who was now Mrs. Lynde), herself predicted. And she was almost never wrong. In fact, so scarcely was she mistaken that I'm afraid she wasn't very familiar with the concept.

But not even she was surprised at how quickly it circulated. People expected it of them, after all, which only made the prospect all the more daunting. Because, if Marilla was to accept John Blythe as her own, she wanted to do it for the right reasons rather than the wrong ones. She knew they'd just end up as two old crows bickering all the time and that they would carry their regrets upon their shoulders for the miserable long years ahead. And she knew she'd be unhappy.

So why was she still stringing him along? Why was she still stringing herself along? Their relationship was doomed to fail in the end. Marilla knew this, so why was it so difficult to let go? But it sure seemed as though John was determined to make this work out for the best. Make them work out for the best, or at least for the better. He was so caught up that Marilla wondered if he even realized they were destined to be unhappy. She even wondered if she deserved to be unhappy after all her negative thoughts.

But on the evening he asked for her hand, which was damp in the crisp autumn months, she couldn't remember a single day that she possibly could have felt happier. And so she gladly gave it to him, she would have given him her heart should he have asked for it. Her happiness that day fell in tears down her cheeks, but they weren't quite sad tears. No. They weren't sad. How could they be? For what reason did she have to cry? Or better yet, what reason did she have to be so miserable?

As the date was fixed and arrangements were made, the young bride-to-be only felt more anxious as the days drew on. And it wasn't for the right reasons. She tried to make it work, but every attempt she made to mend the fences she built failed to feel right in her gut. And so, it soon began to feel dishonest. And she grew fearful that John would find her out. And find her out he did, but not the way she wanted him to.

"Are you ready?" He asked her.

The sat on the bank of Barry's pond but with a sufficient length of distance between them and the water as it was just beginning to grow too cold to even soak your feet in.

"What do you mean?" She wouldn't look at him, and her tone was perhaps a little terse but it was something she just couldn't help anymore. He'd caught her on a particularly bad day, after all.

"Tomorrow of course," a devilish grin pulled at his mouth as did the not at her stomach. "Are you ready to become Mrs. Blythe?"

She knew he was just teasing, and obviously excited and perhaps even a little terrified. She suspected that was how everyone felt on the eve of their wedding. It was how she should have felt. So why did it all feel so wrong?

"Please John, don't badger me!" It all came bearing down on her, and she suddenly realized what she was getting herself caught up in. And it was all too much. He was too much. The very thought of them was too much.

She brushed his arm from around her shoulders and began to march away, but stopped short when he gripped her wrist before she could get too far.

"Marilla wait! I'm sorry. I didn't mean- how can I fix this? How can I make it better?"

They were standing now with their hands entwined between them. Marilla had held his hand many times since that first time when he helped her out of the buggy, and she had adored his hands every day since. They were warm and the skin was soft as velvet and even the nails were smooth. But as she held them now, this time was already different. She was already different.

"You can't John."

"What do you mean? I don't understand what you mean Marilla." He was begging now, almost as if he was in pain and only she had the remedy. She very much loathed herself for doing this to him. But she didn't know how to say it. And it needed to be said one way or another. She needed to save him while she still could.

"I can't marry you John."

"What? But you were happy... We were happy weren't we?"

For a time, maybe. But she wouldn't be happy forever. And they didn't have forever, they only had as long as they were allowed to live.

"We wouldn't be happy," she tried to explain as the words caught in her throat. "We'd end up as two old crows bickering all the time. And I know I'd be unhappy."

"I don't believe that for a second. I only believe in us."

"Please John. You want someone who will adore you; someone who will be content just to hang on your arm and build a home and start a family for you. And I'm afraid that someone won't be me."

"You must think me very shallow if you think I want that at all. And if I wanted that, I would have asked for Marilyn Pye's hand instead of yours."

"I don't think that very fair to Marilyn, as much as I dislike her."

"I don't care about Marilyn. I care for you, more than I ever have for anyone. What can I say to make you say yes?"

"If there was anything you could do, I would have told you. But I'm afraid my mind won't be changed."

"You don't mean that. You can't mean that."

Marilla thought she meant it. But what she didn't know at the time was that it wasn't marriage she was afraid of, but rather, being loved. She'd never experienced a love of this type before, and she was terrified that if she revealed to John how much she cared, he'd flee from her.

"I'm afraid I do John, I mean it all too well. I'm so desperately sorry." She grasped her skirts in her clenched fists and slipped from his grip when she turned to leave. And he let her go, not knowing what else to say to make her stay.

Marilla didn't know then how much she would regret denying herself the right to happiness. And if she didn't know it then, she knew it now when he and his boy bid her a good day and she watched him roll away in the carriage, leaving her behind his back where she belonged. And suddenly she was able to comprehend exactly how he felt when she turned her back on him thirty years ago. So she supposed she was only rightfully deserving of being left behind.

She wondered what would have happened if she'd accepted John. Would everything be different? Would he be different? Would she be different? But she supposed it was too late for apologies now. Although she couldn't help but feel she would always owe him one no matter how many times she said it as well as to herself. After all, she had no one to blame for her mistakes but herself. But that was the thing about mistakes; sometimes we just had to learn from them.

And sometimes that took a little forgiving. Forgiving and forgetting. Forgiving ourselves, and forgetting our mistakes.

This is my first Anne Of Green Gables story so leave reviews and let me know how I did!

-birdywings