I don't speak French and I'm not going to attempt to translate this next conversation into French, Quebecois at that, but you can assume this conversation would be taking place in that language.

Aftermath

"Jerry, go and see to the stock, then run home, dear. Your mother will be waiting," Mrs Lynde kindly advised him. Jerry had glimpsed Mr Cuthbert lying in the pool of blood against Miss Cuthbert's chest. Jerry was sure that Mr Cuthbert was dying.

The barn felt very lonely as he fed and watered the stock. There were plenty of times Jerry had done the job on his own if Mr Cuthbert was running chores or out in the fields; but for some reason it felt lonelier than ever, maybe because there was no prospect of ever finding Mr Cuthbert working on a piece of machinery in that building again. Jerry sobbed at the thought of it. He had been a kind and attentive master. He had come to love the man's gentle manner, and the way Miss Cuthbert shared their food. He hated to think they were all suffering.

He ran home, still in tears. Oblivious to how he must look, he ran into his mother's arms. She exclaimed "Mon dieu! What happened to you Jerry?"

"Monsieur Cuthbert is dying, Maman."

Madame Baynard was caught off guard, "but what's that got to do with your bruises my boy?"

"Oh!" Jerry had actually forgotten about his face. "I got beaten up in town, some bad men stole the money I got for the horse."

"Come sit here, while I fetch some tea and start at the beginning."

Madame Baynard was often too busy to show much love for her offspring, but at the sight of her visibly distressed son she knew she had to stop for a moment to listen to his tale. With her work-worn hands she deftly poured some tea into a bowl for her boy, and watched as he cradled it.

Sipping on the tea, Jerry relayed the whole sorry tale to her. How they had hitched the horse to the sleigh, how he had had fun singing and annoying Anne who asked for silence. Madame Baynard smiled. From what Jerry had told her, the two children had a joking kind of relationship. It had been Jerry's job to sell the horse and he had done that and got a good price for it, but then he had been set upon by two ruffians who had beat him up and stolen the money. "I feel just terrible about it Maman, I was going to get my last wages from that sale, and the rest was going to help pay off the debt." Madame Baynard patted her son's knee. "The Cuthberts seem like decent people, Jerry, they wouldn't want you to be hurt on their account. Tell me where did you stay?"

"Oh, Maman, I can't believe, it was like a palace, not a house. She was very kind."

"She?"

"Madamoiselle Barry, she's rich and old, but very generous. Oh, look," Jerry pulled out a small bag, "she agreed to pay my wages for the next year, in advance."

Madame Baynard glanced inside approvingly, "this will come in handy, how can we thank her?" Jerry just shook his head.

"And then, oh Maman, we got home easily enough and then…," Jerry sobbed.

"What? What is it my son?"

"Monsieur Cuthbert, he is dead."

"Mon dieu," Madame Baynard crossed herself "What happened?"

"I think he shot himself."

"He was a mad man? Was he always mad, Jerry?"

"I don't think he was mad at all, I think he was …," he trailed off.

"What? What was he?"

"Sad. I think he was sad."

"Are you going back tomorrow?"

"Yes, someone will still have to feed the stock, milk the cows."

"Tell Mademoiselle Cuthbert if she needs anything she only need ask," Madame Baynard confessed, "Ah, I never thought I'd say that about an English, but there you go."

They laid Matthew in his bed and when they settled him against the pillows Rachel found two pieces of folded paper under the sheets. She handed them over to Marilla and Anne unread. The contents were not meant for her eyes.

Green Gables
December

My darling wonderful Anne,

I know you are hurting right now.

You think I am a coward. That I took the easy way out. The chips were down, and I escaped. All this is true, I suppose and yet not. I did not take my life to make yours harder. I took it to save you. Marilla probably told you the crop was lost. The ship it was loaded on foundered on the way to the mainland, there was no insurance. Without means, we were lost.

There is hope though, you will see. I did it for a reason. I sacrificed myself. Marilla will explain.

It will be hard for a while, I know my darling. But, you will survive, you will even thrive.

Anne, you are so strong. I marvel at the way you throw yourself into life. I know life hasn't always been easy for you. You've never said it in so many words, it's what you haven't said that has told me so much. The way you express your love for our humble Green Gables, your love for nature, your imagination, your love for … me. I have never deserved that love, yet you give it without hesitation. Who am I? I'm nobody really, just an old old man. Yet from the first moment we met, I knew you had to come live with us.

I want to apologise for not telling you that first day that you were not the child we expected. Why did I leave it so long? Why did I let Marilla break the bad news? Why did I lead you along? I'm a coward. That's why. I wanted to keep you from the first moment we met. I couldn't bear to disappoint you. You were smitten straightaway, as was I. I guess as you would say, we are kindred spirits. That ride home was the best two hours of my life. I think I even fooled myself into thinking Marilla would see my love for you immediately and never question it. Of course, that was foolish, for Marilla did mind at first, didn't she? But we brought her around, you and I. Mostly you, you charmed my sister in your own sweet way.

Anne, she is not as demonstrative, but never for one moment believe Marilla does not love you as much as I. Her love is strong and true and fierce. She will never give up on you, she will mind and keep you. She will love you for as long as there is breath in her body. You are our kin.

I am just so very sorry I could not live up to your expectations. Just know I did this out of love. Love for you, for Marilla and love for our beloved Green Gables.

I wish you a long and wonderful life, Anne. I see marriage (yes, I know you believe you are not interested right now, but I think you will marry the boy of your dreams one day) and many children in your future. I leave you in Marilla's care, happy in the knowledge that with this final sacrifice you will be well cared for.

Go well my darling, go well. I love you and I will always love you,

Your father,

Matthew Cuthbert

Green Gables
December

My dearest sister

I'm sure you are hurting right now. You feel I have deserted you in our time of greatest need. You will not believe me I am sure, but I did this for a reason. Marilla, in the second drawer on the left of the bureau you will find the title for the life insurance policy I took out many years ago. It will save Green Gables. You and Anne can stay here for many years to come.

I want to thank you for looking after me all my life. You sacrificed your happiness for our family. Do not think I ever took your actions for granted. You could have been with John Blythe all this time, you could have travelled, you could have had children.

I know you wanted children. I heard your cries as I cradled you in my arms when Rachel had hers. I know it hurt, Marilla. You would have made such a wonderful mother. You are such a wonderful mother.

Any minor doubts I may have had in that regard were quelled when I witnessed the marvelous way you have nurtured our girl. I know, we both know, she has had a torrid beginning. Anne will grow and thrive under your amazing tutelage. It's the one thing I can be sure of in this whole mess.

I am so sorry it has come to this. I know I should have confided in you when I heard about the ship foundering. I know now the mortgage was a mistake, it all made perfect sense earlier in the week. I just hope with my insurance policy you can pay the loan off. Maybe William Barry will rent the fields and take that weight off your mind?

The one thing I am most sorry for is that I will not see our girl wed. I pray she finds a good man. Our life has not been so very terrible, but I think she would do better to be happily married with many children.

Marilla, look after her. Look after yourself.

Until we meet again.

Your loving brother,

Matthew Cuthbert

It was only now in hindsight that Marilla could recall the musty and sulfuric scent of the gunpowder. She had been too fraught at the time to notice it but now as the scene played out in her mind she smelt it once again. She could recall the same smell after Papa had to shoot their horse all those years ago. She had begged him not to, but the horse had broken its leg. Papa told her to leave him to it, that she shouldn't witness his actions. But the horse had been a friend, she felt she owed him that much, to have someone who loved it by its side at the last. She stroked his head, telling him how much she loved him and how sorry she was that he had to die. There was the terrible noise which made her ears ring and the horse collapsed. She felt awful now to be comparing her brother's demise to that of the horse, it was the smell.

Matthew looked so peaceful in his coffin dressed in his best Sunday suit. On his placid face there was a little kindly smile as if he but slept, dreaming pleasant dreams.

Marilla was in shock. She could barely speak, afraid that if she did so, all her emotions would come rushing out and she may never stop wailing. So she had kept her responses to Rachel, to Jeannie, the doctor and Anne quite mechanical. She hoped they didn't think she loved him any less. Her brother, her brother that she loved so, had left her. Left her to mourn him alone. Left them to carry on without him. He had been her rock, her foundation. It had been them together against the world for so long. It didn't seem right that she should be all alone now. Marilla didn't feel brave enough.

Anne too was in shock, she could not cry, not yet. It made her feel terrible. They had had a pleasant enough trip to Charlottetown. When she had been enjoying her dinner with Miss Barry, Matthew had been planning his demise, and just as she and Jerry came into sight of Green Gables he must have been pulling the trigger. If only they had travelled more quickly, perhaps if they had gotten up earlier, or she had helped Jerry rig the horse to the sleigh. All the reasoning in the world didn't change the truth, he was dead. Her father, the first man to see her potential; the first man who loved her romantic notions; the second man to love her as his daughter. She broke down then, to think of him laying in his coffin downstairs. Then the tears came and Anne wept her heart out. Marilla heard her and crept in to comfort her.

"There - there - don't cry so, dearie. It can't bring him back. It-it isn't right to cry so. God knows best."

"Oh, just let me cry Marilla," sobbed Anne.

"We've got each other, Anne. I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here - if you'd never come. Oh, Anne, I know I've been kind of strict and harsh with you maybe - but you mustn't think I didn't love you as well as Matthew did, for all that. I want to tell you know when I can. It's never been easy for me to say things out of my heart, but at times like this it's easier. I love you as dear as if you were my own flesh and blood and you've been my joy and comfort ever since you came to Green Gables."

They clasped each other all night long and fell asleep together in Anne's tiny bed, taking comfort in each other.