Girl of My Heart
After a stunned pause Davy and Ralph tackled Marilla, Ralph pinning Marilla's arms to her side, Davy catching the doll as it fell. As she lost the doll and found herself pinioned, Marilla started to wail in a high pitch. The racket in the room was more deafening than ever; Marilla screaming, the little children crying in fright, Sara sobbing over the doll, Ralph grunting as he tackled the surprisingly strong Marilla as she fought with all her might. "Can't hold her forever," he said with clenched teeth over her shoulder.
Dora tended to John who was lying on the floor, knocked out cold. She looked up at a shocked Matthew and bid him find some smelling salts, suggesting he might look in the pantry. Matthew collided with Mme Soigne who rushed out at the commotion. "Smelling salts, please," panted a distraught Matthew. Agathe took a look around the room, the various parties in their distress, her gaze coming to land eventually upon her employer spread-eagled on the floor. She crossed herself as she muttered a heartfelt, "mon Dieu" and took Matthew by the arm to find the salts. She rustled around in the pantry for a panicked moment before locating them. Pressing the small bottle into the boy's hand, she watched him leave before catching her breath.
With sigh, Agathe followed him out into the parlour. John was reacting to the smelling salts, coming to with a terrific headache, but he seemed fine for the time being. Ralph though, was losing the fight against a very determined Marilla. Agathe had heard tales of the prodigious strength of madwomen and in this case, it seemed to be true. Rushing to the linen cupboard, she found a single sheet and took it over to Ralph. Together they wrapped Marilla up, pinning her arms to her sides and then sitting her down on the sofa, the task made more unpleasant by the high-pitched screams that were coming from her in her distress. "Let's move her, shall we?" Davy suggested. He picked her up, sheet and all. Carrying her in his arms he gestured with his head for Agathe to help. She bustled ahead of him to the spare bedroom door. Opening it, she suggested he lay Marilla on the ground until they could find some rope to tie her to the bed.
"Well, what now?" asked Dora into the void. Millie had taken all the children home to her house to give the adults some time to take stock of the situation. Marilla was still in the bedroom, tied to the bed with some stout rope; her continuous keening had finally stopped due, according to Davy, to her having fallen asleep.
"I don't think you can look after her alone, John. It's not safe." Davy asserted.
"I'm not alone, you can all help me," John replied sadly, unwilling to acknowledge the truth of what Davy suggested. "And anyway, where would she go?"
Ralph looked up; he knew better than most where she would end up. The Charlottetown Asylum was not his favourite place. He thought he would never forget how his mother had looked when she came home. The problem was what was the alternative?
They heard the ratta tat tat of the door being knocked at that moment, but no one moved at first. Eventually when the visitor knocked once more, Ralph got up to answer it. Doctor Mustard entered the room, he was paying his customary call. John put his head in his hands. He could guess what was coming next.
After he was appraised of the situation, Doctor Mustard remarked, "well there's really no alternative, John. She can't stay here. She's not safe and neither are you."
"Will, will you take her to the asylum then?" Ralph was the only one brave enough to voice the question.
"It's really for the best," the doctor looked at them each in turn. "She needs a little rest, and you do too. I assure you she will be cared for there." Ralph snorted and went to gaze out the window, his arms crossed. He had serious doubts about that. "I know you have your own concerns Mr Andrews," Doctor Mustard commented quietly. "But if you could see this case on its own merits, it would be beneficial. Your mother was a different case."
"They were both considered mad and I don't think they treated her very well." Ralph commented softly, following the doctor's lead.
"I'll keep a good watch over Mrs Blythe, I promise," he looked over at the others. "I promise." he said solemnly.
They watched sadly as Davy bundled Marilla into Doctor Mustard's carriage, waving goodbye as he drove away. Dora hugged John and invited him to dinner the following night. He turned when they had all left and walked back inside. Mme Soigne was tidying up the dishes. She patted his hand and offered to bring him some tea. Nodding, John walked back out to the parlour and sat down wondering how it had all gone so wrong.
"Tell me you're joking, Gilbert!" Anne yelled at him.
Gilbert ran his hand through his curly locks and looked at Anne firmly restating what he'd just said, "yes it's true. We did it for their safety. Marilla is being cared for in the asylum and Dad is on his way here."
"Gilbert you know my opinion of asylums, she won't be cared for, you've committed her, and she'll die in that terrible place, unloved. How could you? Of all things. How..." for once in her life Anne ran out of words. She just fumed at him for a few moments before she turned and strode away, unable to be in the same room as him for the time being. Red hot rage surged through her, she was as angry with him as she had been when they first met and if there had been any slates to hand it would have been very satisfying to recreate that moment, if ineffectual.
Nevertheless she greeted John warmly when he turned up on their doorstep looking old and haggard; his black eye fading a little, but still evident. It was obvious that he had not been coping for some time. "Come in come in," she hugged him, feeling his painfully thin back between her arms. Gilbert followed with John's luggage and Shirley leapt into his arms as soon as he crossed the threshold. They put John in his usual room, it seemed strangely empty without Marilla there too.
John was quiet at dinner, smiling gently at the children, but with little to say for himself. After supper, Shirley took his hand and accompanied him to bed. "He's sad Mum," Shirley informed her later. "He misses Aunt Marilla."
"I know he does sweetheart," Anne replied stroking his hair, before she deposited a kiss on his forehead, "I know he does."
"Why are they apart?"
"Your father thinks it's for the best. Aunt Marilla isn't very well."
"Then," Shirley's face crumpled with confusion, "why isn't she in a hospital or here?"
"You'll have to ask your father that, Shirley."
John slept in. Anne looked in at him a couple of times during the morning, but he did not stir. When he finally woke, the sun was slanting in sideways through the curtain, catching his eye. He stretched and looked sideways, the bed was empty and it was then he realised with a shock that he was alone.
John was torn. He hated the thought of Marilla stuck in that terrible place, but he was exhausted and his cheek hurt where she had hit him. He bore her no malice, understanding that she was not in her right mind when she did it. Perhaps after he was rested, they'd let him look after her again, it wasn't that bad - no it was true. He was kidding himself if he thought he was coping. The constant work had ground him down and there was little if any, compensation. Day after day was a constant litany of issues which he had to deal with on his own.
He lay back down with a sigh. This was pleasant, if he asked Susan would bring him a tray, and he could eat in bed, and sleep a bit more, he thought, barely stifling a yawn. Maybe later, after a little nap. He turned away from the sun and closed his eyes. Feeling finally for the first time in ages that he could relax.
Anne knocked on his door a while later bearing a tray with tea and toast. He stirred then and she helped him sit up and handed him the tray. Sleepily yawning he bit into the toast relishing the experience of eating by himself. Anne didn't force him to speak. She just sat with him, sipping her own cup of tea. When he was finished, he yawned again and Anne left him to it, pleased that he was getting some much needed rest. She kissed him lightly on the cheek before she turned and left, closing the door behind her. Shirley was outside, but she pressed her fingers to her lips and told him to run along, his grandpa needed to sleep.
Grim grey walls reached up up up hiding the misery within. They all fetched up here, the orphans, the infirm and the mad. All the folk no one wanted to deal with. Anne experienced a terror such as she had not experienced since she was a little girl. The walls seemed higher before, but she was better aware of the various horrors now than she had been at ten. She clutched Gilbert's hand tightly but even still it took all of her resolve to cross the threshold, and even then she nearly bailed. But she was no longer a child and her beloved mother was incarcerated within. If she ever wanted to sleep at night or have any respect for herself, Anne knew there was only one course of action.
She had persuaded Gilbert to come and see Marilla, just to check that she was being taken care of. They had left John and the children in Susan's tender care and travelled to Charlottetown.
Anne looked at Gilbert and knocked firmly on the door. A small red-haired waif opened it. It could have been her decades earlier. "I'd like to talk to the director please," she said, reminding herself that she was an adult now with nothing to fear.
The director greeted them, most put out and making a bad job of disguising it, "I assure you your mother is fine," he said grumpily.
"Well, may we see her?" Gilbert said calmly, feeling Anne bristle next to him.
"This way please." The director opened the door for them, and they followed him along various corridors. The place stank of boiled cabbage, stale urine and fear. "She should be over there, see?" The director pointed towards a group of sullen women shuffling around a common room. The blinds were drawn, wall furnishings were non-existent. There was nothing to make the room look remotely inviting. Grasping Gilbert's hand tightly Anne stood casting her eyes over the crowd looking for a sight of Marilla. "Is that her?" Gilbert asked, pointing at an elderly woman with limp grey hair cascading down her back.
They rushed over to her, flinching at the sight when they got close. Marilla made no gesture of greeting as she did not recognize them. Gilbert and Anne examined her closely, but Gilbert stopped Anne from touching Marilla just yet. "Let her get used to us first," he whispered. He turned angrily to the director. "You call this looking after her?" Not only was Marilla's hair dirty, but she had obviously soiled herself; the stain spreading up the back of her dirty grey shift. She was dressed in a thin cotton dress, dirty grey slippers on her feet. Bruises covered her arms and her eyes were blank.
"Bath day's tomorrow. She isn't always this bad," the director asserted. Bending over and looking into Marilla's face aggressively waggling his finger, he shouted, "you must take better care of yourself, Marilla. If you're disobedient, you'll be confined to your room." Marilla flinched at his tone and backed away but gave no other sign that she understood him.
"They are often recalcitrant, but if they behave, they can have a good quality of life here," The director straightened up and looked at Gilbert, ignoring Anne. As a woman he deemed her beneath his dignity.
Anne would have none of that, taking matters into her own hands she accosted the man. "How dare you treat her like that, she is a woman deserving of dignity. You dress her in that, that flimsy thing, and you don't care of her. How can she do it for herself if you don't give her the opportunity?" The inmates were taking some interest in Anne's tirade, nothing ever happened here, but finally someone was taking action. "I'll report you to the authorities, I'll have you fired. You, you bastard!" Anne rarely resorted to such language, but it felt strangely satisfying in this instance. "Gilbert!" she commanded, turning to him, "we are taking Marilla home."
"Uh, we are?" Gilbert had not come expecting to take Marilla back.
"Yes, you have the authority to remove her. Please do so now!" Gilbert looked at Anne, she was beautiful when her blood was up. Then he looked at his mother in law, it was true she was not being cared for.
"Take her by all means," said the director carelessly. "But good luck getting rid of me. No one else wants the job."
"Marilla," Anne's tone was gentle now. "Will you follow me?"
Marilla looked at her vaguely, her voice was kind. Perhaps she could trust this woman? Hesitatingly she took one step towards her. "That's right come this way dear. We'll look after you."
Slowly they made their way down the chilly corridors. When Marilla shivered Anne took Gilbert's coat off his back and placed it around her mother's shoulders, patting her back as she did. Marilla flinched at her touch, breaking Anne's heart.
"I have to do more. I've been too lax. I'll have to step up to the plate, Gilbert," Anne said as they trudged along.
"What do you have in mind?" Gilbert asked as they slowly made their way down endless drab corridors.
"I think I should move into Green Gables," Anne suggested.
"She may live for years yet. Do you mean to leave us all? The children still need you. I need you."
"Well, no I suppose that won't work," Anne mused, thinking out loud. "How about I share the load with John. We do a fortnight apiece and we ask Davy and Dora to help out more too."
Gilbert glanced at her over Marilla's bowed head as they shuffled forwards, "that could work."
They sent word ahead to Dora to get the house ready, to light the fire and draw a bath. It was early still, and they wanted to get Marilla back to her beloved Green Gables as soon as possible. Deciding there and then that a further night spent in Charlottetown would only upset her further.
"I'd forgotten how big the bath is here," Anne commented as Gilbert poured in yet another bucket of hot water. Dora had prepared the house and it was warm and inviting. She had placed some spring flowers in a vase in the window and it was this that greeted them as they drove up. Marilla had fallen asleep on Anne's shoulder by this time. She may not have recognized these folks, but she felt safe in their presence. No one shouted at her and they seemed kind.
Dora and Anne both gasped when they removed Marilla's dirty shift, she was covered in bruises. Tears came to Anne's eyes, "oh darling." She called out to Gilbert who had kept away for the sake of Marilla's modesty. "If you thought they were caring for her," she spat at Gilbert. "Look at this." Gilbert frowned. Anne shooed him away. He really couldn't help much at this point.
Later bathed, her hair washed and dried and some hot porridge in her, they put Marilla into her own bed. She lay down confused at the day's events, but content. Dora said she would sit with her for a while so Anne went to find Gilbert.
"How is she?" Gilbert asked.
"Resting peacefully. I suppose...," Anne mused.
"What?"
"Well at least she's unlikely to remember much of the past three weeks. That's a saving grace."
"I'm sorry Anne-girl." Gilbert really did look apologetic.
"Hm." Anne was unconvinced even now.
"No, I am. We think the asylum is the answer in too many cases. I supported Doctor Mustard's decision to send her there. I was worried about Dad. I still am. But despite that, we have to take care of Marilla too. And it can't be there." He looked at her, "the problem is that man is correct."
"Which man?" Anne asked curiously.
"The director. No one else will want the job, and there's little oversight. Basically no one cares. Usually patients are dumped there by their families and forgotten," he caressed Anne's hand. "Marilla is one of the lucky ones, believe it or not.
I'll have a word with Doctor Mustard. I think we as a profession must do more for our patients," he commented.
The next day Gilbert examined Marilla, she was bruised certainly, but he determined that the wounds were superficial, nasty certainly, but nothing long lasting. Hopefully there would be no lasting effect, particularly as she would soon forget the emotional trauma.
John's reunion with Marilla was emotional on his part, if not on hers. She had already forgotten the events of the previous weeks and she looked at him curiously as he cried, "I'm so terribly sorry, darling. I'll never let us be parted again." Later over coffee, Anne announced her plans. "I'll stay here with you for a few days and then I'll be back in two weeks. We'll do a fortnight each. You are free to decamp to anyone's house for the other two weeks, but I will care for her. John nodded. It was a good idea giving him time with Marilla, but plenty of respite. Hopefully this way he would not get too exhausted and he could enjoy life.
With their love and good attention, Marilla recovered slowly. Never returning exactly, but coming back to life somewhat.
"Do you have a best friend?" Marilla asked Rachel one morning.
"I do," replied Rachel, looking straight into Marilla's eyes.
"That's good, it's important to have a best friend. Have you known her long?" Marilla enquired.
"A fair while," Rachel said wistfully. She missed their chats.
"I had a best friend. I knew her forever such a long time. We had our differences you know. She had ever so many children, that was hard for me."
"How so?" Rachel wasn't aware of any difficulty Marilla had suffered.
"Oh, it's just I always wanted children of my own, so it was difficult to witness her have so many, so very very many and effortlessly it seemed, though as I recall she lost a couple along the way." Rachel dabbed her eyes surreptitiously, she had been oblivious to Marilla's thoughts on the matter until now. But it was obvious now, thinking back. Marilla's voice brought her back to the present, "she was a funny thing, lived for gossip. She kept me in touch with the world for ever so many years. I can't imagine I was good company. I lived a quiet life. Still, she stuck by me, like a good friend should."
"That's nice," Rachel replied. It was an odd situation, being spoken about in the third person.
"Yes, I was very lucky. I miss her. I don't know where she is now. She seems to have gone away." Rachel had to hurry out at that, saying over her shoulder that she'd rustle up some tea. In actual fact she had to have a little cry. It was unbearable sitting next to her best friend who was missing her.
"Anne, how wonderful to see you. She'll be pleased," John greeted Anne when she walked in the door. The old place was as welcoming as ever, she could smell something delicious baking in the oven, Mme Soigne's work more likely than not. When Anne made to walk upstairs John stopped her. We moved her to the ground floor, the stairs aren't safe for her anymore," he said waving to a bolted gate across the bottom of the stairway.
"Did she fall?" Anne asked, concern written across her face.
"Not quite, but we had a few near misses. Thought this was the best solution," John replied, the memory of her hanging onto him on the way down one morning fresh in his mind. "She's having a bad day today, refuses to get up, though she'll love to see you."
Pulling an armchair over to the bed, Anne placed her satchel on the floor and sat down to examine her, especially as she seemed oblivious. Marilla's grey hair had been braided to keep it neat and it lay over her left shoulder. Marilla's usually sharp eyes looked watery and opaque now and she was terribly thin. Her old work worn hands were caressing the blanket. A fidget pillow Dora had made lay next to her. John had explained that it kept her nervous fingers engaged lest she start working on other, less savory, things.
Glancing at her satchel, Anne bent down and undid the clasps, pulling out a handful of papers and photographs. There were photos of Marilla in happier times; a young Marilla and Matthew and their parents; Matthew in his Sunday best with a small smile on his face and his customary hat upon his head; Marilla looking smart in her church dress her prized amethyst brooch securing her favourite shawl, her best hat covering her grey bun; Anne between her two adoptive parents.
Leaning towards Marilla, Anne took up this last photograph, she gently bade Marilla good morning then asked. "Marilla, do you know who this is?" Marilla's hands stopped for a second as she looked down, "that's my daughter Anne, isn't she lovely?" she said stabbing at the picture; coherent for a split second.
Anne with tears in her eyes replied, "that's me Marilla, I'm Anne."
"Oh no I don't think so," Marilla looked at her as if she were beyond preposterous, "she lives far away. I'd know Anne anywhere, there is no one like the girl of my heart." Marilla patted Anne's hand comfortingly. "I would know her if I met her anywhere in this world. She will always have a piece of my heart."
The sun streamed into the parlour on a warm day. Dust motes dancing in the rays. Rachel was knitting and Marilla reminiscing, knitting too complicated for her now. Out of the blue Marilla remarked, "it's quite difficult on a train."
"What is dear?" replied Rachel absentmindedly.
"Sex," stated Marilla with a faraway look in her eyes.
"Oh," Rachel looked up in shock, dropping a stitch.
"The space is so tight, the little bunks so narrow. We did our best, we didn't let it stop us. I waited such a long time for it you know, I was a virgin nearly all my life. Rachel tried to tell me what it would be like and I poo-pooed her, but she was right all along. Because I was a farmer, I thought I understood. I was wrong. Thank goodness John could teach me. Turns out it was very enjoyable."
"Oh," said Rachel faintly. "Did he?"
"Yes," replied Marilla, "he was a very attentive lover. He had this little trick with his …"
"… well that's enough of that, shall we have some tea?" Rachel interrupted. She didn't think she could look John in the eye again if she learnt about his techniques.
Marilla became overtly sexual, even in public. Making lewd comments to John or other men. Even on one occasion lifting her skirts and inviting the minister to share a melting moment with her, alluding to his weight in a most suggestive manner. When she spied Mrs Sloane looking on, mouth agape, Marilla invited her to tip the velvet, grabbing her crotch under her skirts and waggling it in Mrs Sloane's direction whilst sticking her tongue out suggestively. Horrified, John apologised on her behalf and pulled her away even as she was laughing and turning around making come hither gestures at the shocked minister. "You can watch if you want," she suggested to John.
"Hush now, let's get you home."
"Spoilsport," she pouted as he bustled her into the carriage. She sat on the seat with her legs apart and reached under her skirts. "Marilla!" John admonished. "Not in public," he pushed her legs together while she laughed evilly.
At first when she became frisky, he enjoyed her attentions, as any man might, but when she was up for it every night, he became startled. They had always enjoyed a physical marriage it was true, but she had her limits and after their honeymoon usually made love about once a fortnight. When she initiated congress for the fourth time in a week he expressed shock and she grew angry with him. It was quite an argument, one he felt he lost, mostly because she wouldn't listen to reason. At the time he had no idea what was going on, but later it made more sense.
Anne had arrived for her customary stint. Their plan was working well, but over time she noticed how much or little Marilla regressed over the interceding fortnight. Sometimes barely any change took place, other times there was a big difference.
"I have to take the monkeys to the waterfall," Marilla demanded.
"Mm, yes darling, soon." John replied.
"What's she on about?" asked Anne, perplexed.
"I have no idea."
"I have to take the monkeys to the waterfall."
"Yes, yes." John glanced back at Anne, before gazing lovingly at his bride again, "I asked the doctor about it, and he advised to just keep soothing her. I can't argue with her she doesn't listen sh..."
"I have to take the monkeys to the waterfall."
"She just keeps circling back to that line," John explained.
"I doubt she's even ever seen a monkey," Anne mused. "When did this start?"
"Just a few days ago," John replied with a grimace.
Somehow and from somewhere this sentence had got stuck in Marilla's brain and she circled back to it relentlessly. The doctor had suggested to John that there was no point in arguing with her, rather it was better to agree to take her sometime in the vague future. From dawn to dusk she talked about taking the monkeys to the waterfall and by this stage, very little else. She would rock back and forth in her armchair stating emphatically that those monkeys needed to be at the waterfall. Why or even how? John never knew. She'd lapse into silence for a few minutes after he answered her and then would pipe up again. It was doing John's head in.
"I have to take the monkeys to the waterfall."
"Soon darling," John patted her hand. "soon."
Marilla looked down at her hand as if surprised it was attached to her. After a pause, "I have to take the monkeys to the waterfall."
"Yes, soon, soon."
"Must be doing your..."
"I have to take the monkeys to the waterfall."
"... head in." Anne remarked.
"It ..." he paused expecting Marilla to start up again, but she was silent. "Does rather."
John missed her. He missed her dry wit, her wise intellect and occasionally sharp tongue. All that had gone now, all that was left was this shell. She looked like Marilla, but her soul had died. Which wasn't to say he didn't love her any less, but well - he missed the girl of his heart.
