It wasn't that Gilbert liked stalking Green Gables; it's just a nice scenic route to town he reasoned. He rode past that damp afternoon as the horse kicked up the mud and noticed that Pris was talking to Anne on the veranda. I just hope she's talking some sense into her, he thought as he slapped the reins on the horse's neck and surreptitiously, he hoped, trotted away.
They had been getting closer and then Anne brushed him off at the picnic and now, and now he didn't know where he stood. He loved her so. He'd always been a bit besotted, ever since they first met but this past year their friendship had grown deeper, solidified; or so he thought. What if Anne still regarded him as just a chum? Honestly if that were the case Gilbert didn't know if he could do likewise. Better to cut all ties with her if that was the case. The thought of politely greeting her next to another man, well he didn't think he could bear it. He spurred the horse into a gallop and thundered wetly down the road, relishing the wind rushing past hoping to clear his head.
The Wrights were a family who had lived in Avonlea but had moved away some years ago, before Anne had come to Green Gables. Now the family had returned from Vancouver where they had been trying their luck. "Nope," said Mr Wright to the neighbours congregated at the mercantile. "Just didn't settle over there. Felt like another country."
"It is exceedingly far," Mr Barry remarked.
"Aye," agreed Mr Wright. "Martha missed the old town so. When her mother passed, we decided to return."
Their youngest son Fred had been a shy, round little fellow, quite mousy and not particularly memorable. Diana was intrigued to find that little Fred had grown into a handsome young man with sandy hair and a gentle manner. When he paid a call upon her one afternoon her mother had graciously given them leave to go for a short walk, just around the property initially as she did not want Diana to get a reputation for being fast.
They walked slowly around the perimeter trying to eke out the conversation for as long as possible. Far from being the dull boy she vaguely remembered Fred had grown into a sensible and interesting man. He had been to places Diana had only heard about in books and she listened avidly to his tales of the Rockies and life in Vancouver. "But I am pleased to be home," he said stoutly. "Where it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance again Diana." Diana tripped slightly and he caught her before she fell. The sensation of his strong arms around her holding her up made her quite giddy with excitement and later they promised to meet again.
Diana was pleased to receive an invitation a couple of days later asking her to the church dance due to be held in Carmody that weekend. "May I go, please Mother? It sounds like so much fun." Her mother acquiesced and Diana spent a happy afternoon trying on all her dresses deciding which one to wear. She rather hoped Anne and Gilbert would come too, but Anne was being a bit queer about Gilbert at the moment. And sometimes, well Diana didn't like to say it, even to herself, but sometimes Anne was rather melodramatic.
She hadn't told Anne about Fred and though her opinion didn't matter; Diana wasn't sure if she wanted to say anything just yet. She had a nasty feeling Anne might try put him down since Fred was a far cry from the men that inhabited their girlhood dreams. Diana had grown up since then and realised that one's fancies were liable to change and after all Fred was awful sweet and such a gentleman. She rolled it around in her mind gentleman, as though realising for the first time what the word actually meant, yes Fred was a gentle man. Was he the sort of man she could marry? Lying back on her bed surrounded by her dresses, Diana thought that just possibly he was. She recalled the way he placed his hands on her waist to stop her from falling and felt rather as though she'd like to feel that again, the memory bringing a smile to her lips.
Matthew's chair sat empty at the head of the table as though waiting for its owner to enter, wash his hands and sit down to his meal. Marilla felt odd about it but had not yet summoned the courage to alter the arrangement. Instead, the family sat at either side of the table and ignored the most comfortable seat. Davy had once tried to assume his place as head of the family, being a man as he put it but at Marilla's look of consternation he quickly scrambled over to the safety of the bench. Marilla nodded her thanks to him, not quite trusting her voice at that particular moment.
Lowering skies greeted Marilla when she dashed out to bring in the washing. It was still quite damp, and she'd have to drape it over the furniture near the stove overnight but there was no doubt it'd never dry if she left it out in the gathering storm. More likely blow away altogether she thought darkly as she struggled to stuff the damp sheets into the washing basket. Fat rain drops landed across the yard as she rushed inside. Once in the rain intensified so that the drubbing on the roof was so loud, she could barely hear herself think. Setting the basket down on the table she went to find a towel to dry her hair and when that was accomplished, she pulled all the chairs out to set the washing out. Looks like a laundry house she thought as the sheets closest to the fire started to steam.
I hope Matthew will be all right, but she caught herself. Matthew would never get caught in a storm again. He was reposing safe and sound in the Avonlea graveyard. Ridiculous Marilla chided herself to still be grieving. But oh, how I miss him, he was my rock, my foundation. She sat down and let a stray tear roll down her cheek licking its saltiness off her top lip.
Dora found her there in the gloomy kitchen, tears running down her face. Wordlessly she wrapped her small arms around Marilla's waist and stroked the quilt of her lined face. Comforted by her youngest daughter Marilla hugged her back for a moment or two making no effort to pull herself together. When it appeared that she was settling down Dora set the kettle on the fire. She wasn't much of a fan herself, but the grownups always seemed to like tea in troublesome situations. Marilla got up from the table when the water had boiled and made herself a pot. Still neither of them had spoken when into the gloom Dora said, "Sometimes I cry too."
"Of course, darling, of course you do. You must miss her so."
"I can't really remember what she looks like," Dora whispered, then she too had tears tracking down her cheeks and it was Marilla's turn to provide comfort.
When Anne returned, she was surprised to find the lamps unlit and no dinner preparation in progress. Instead, Marilla had Dora cradled in her lap on the sofa in the parlour and both were sound asleep. Mystified for Marilla never acted in this manner, Anne placed a blanket over them both and tip toed out to get dinner on. She rummaged around the pantry and found a few leftovers, reasoning that dinner would be late indeed if she decided to start from scratch. Davy raced in from the wet and she hushed him as she rubbed him dry with a towel. "I don't know what's happened, Davy boy but be a dear and help me set the table, will you?" Anne whispered.
Marilla had still not stirred when the table was set with bowls of leftovers and a steaming pile of freshly cooked vegetables. Anne hated to do it but felt compelled to wake them. Marilla looked up at her in some confusion but quickly roused Dora and the two of them made their way out to the kitchen. When she tried to apologise, Anne shushed Marilla and she hushed Davy too. No explanations were necessary really. Marilla and Dora were quiet letting Anne and Davy describe their day until after dinner when they made their way up to bed still somewhat exhausted by their outpouring of emotions.
Dora fell asleep right away, but Marilla was still awake when Anne brought up a warm brick. "Are you alright?" she asked Marilla gently placing her hand on her mother's shoulder. Marilla sighed. "I just had a moment in the storm, you know I never did like them, and I hoped Matthew wouldn't get too we-et," she explained her voice cracking on the final word. "I worried about him so, for so long. It's hard to break the habit."
"Oh, Marilla," Anne sat down and hugged her, tears glistening. She pulled back and wiped Marilla's face with her handkerchief.
"I should be getting over it I suppose," Marilla said sniffily.
"I doubt it works like that," Anne replied wisely. "But you know what, I think I might have a look in my wardrobe, maybe it's time I got out of this black."
"Matthew would like that, he always adored you in those pretty dresses, Anne."
"Would you? Would you help me? It's been so long."
Marilla glanced across at Dora lying in the bed, eyelashes heavy with tears. She was torn. More than anything really, she longed to lay down and consign herself to sleep but Anne was awake and obviously needed her too. "Of course, darling. Fetch my dressing gown will you."
Marilla sat on Anne's bed before Anne opened her wardrobe. "Let's put the covers over you to keep you warm," Anne suggested. "Now how about this one?" Anne pulled her old friends out one by one, and Marilla nodded her assent or otherwise. Some were too old and out of fashion, some needed mending. Anne chattered away remembering the times she had worn them all. At the back was the original puffed sleeve dress Matthew had given her all those years ago. It no longer fit of course but was still too large for Dora. Anne stroked the sleeves lovingly. "Remember this?" she said turning to Marilla … who had fallen fast asleep. Anne smiled and put the dresses back. She left Marilla to it and climbed in next to her little sister.
Stirring in the night Marilla was surprised to find herself in the little bed and for a moment wondered when she was. It took her right back to sleepless nights when thoughts of John Blythe ran around her mind. Doubting that she'd get back sleep again Marilla thought of that difficult time when she had upset him so. Annoyed herself she'd stared at his back as he'd strode off, his jaw set. She'd half a mind to call after him but her stubbornness got in the way. Instead, she watched as he disappeared from view. He'll be back, she thought but the days passed, and he hadn't come.
Anger turned to frustration and then into bitterness. Did she mean that little to him? They'd never really talked since that moment. She'd watched from afar as he married Cora. Rachel had been invited but she opted not to go out of loyalty; an act Marilla simultaneously was and was not appreciative of. On one hand it would have felt like a betrayal but on the other she was insanely curious to know how the wedding had gone. Of course, she had seen him at Rachel's wedding a year or so later, standing with Cora at the far side of the hall. If only, she thought the memory stinging even now, if only I'd called after him that day. She shifted her position the bed creaking under her and sighed heavily.
No point in dredging up those old memories, I'm happy enough now with Anne and the twins. My life turned out for the best didn't it. Didn't it? Marilla thought about those long, lonely years with just Matthew by her side. Could've been worse I suppose, but I would have liked to have lain with a man, just once. Kissing was nice but she knew she'd missed out. Never get a chance again* either she thought tucking her hands under her chin.
When next she opened her eyes, she was surprised to see sunlight streaming in through the gabled window. Thoughts of her youthful misdemeanours were tamped back into place. But as she prepared breakfast, Marilla thought she had an inkling of how to advise Anne.
* Or did she? If you are interested in a story where she did get another chance look up Love Does not Flourish at Speed.