Marilla scowled at the woman across the aisle from her, whose legs and arms were crossed in a very undignified manner. She was looking outside the window, palm pressed against the glass, as she watched the train slowly begin to drag forward. As much as Marilla's mental alarm bells were ringing at the woman's posture, she softened her gaze, as she recalled her first train ride with Anne, where she looked precisely like that - in awe of all of her surroundings. She turned her attention back to her book, which had been a gift from Anne the week prior and she had yet to read. The book was flimsy, made from a few pieces of paper tied together and given a makeshift cover page, but it was written by Anne, and therefore it was worth more to Marilla than original copies of William Shakespeare. She opened the first page and smiled as she took in Anne's handwriting.

There once was a young girl, redheaded and fair-skinned. She was skinny, almost unattractively so, and an unnecessary amount of freckles dotted her nose and cheeks. She owned three dresses, one plain brown one, another plain green dress, and a more fanciful royal blue gown that matched wonderfully with her brilliantly red hair. The dresses were made by her beloved mother Marilla, and therefore no matter how much they disagreed with the latest trends, if you asked, she would certainly choose those over a fancy new dress made by a stranger. She knew most of the people in her town, and many of them were friends or at the very least acquaintances. If she didn't already know them, it was a guarantee that she would soon, and likely become infamous in their eyes.

The girl was a clutz. A calamity, a 'disaster on two feet' as she was sometimes called. She was likely the complete opposite of grace and tranquility, but at the same time could not be matched when it came to her determination and willpower, as she was often told by her father, Matthew. And this was thanks to the unwavering encouragement that came from both her parents daily, despite how incredibly unworthy she was of it. How unworthy any person could be of such an incredible source of love.

Her parents were unmatched in their kindness, their honesty, their wisdom and their-

Matthew cleared his throat and looked up at Marilla, who looked up from the story, slightly irritated that Matthew interrupted it. "Yes?" She replied.

Matthew shifted, and he seemed almost uncomfortable. "Do you think Anne'll be alright without us?"

Marilla sighed, and reluctantly closed the book in front of her. She'd thought of this, as well, and eventually, after weighing all considerations and circumstances, had come to the one conclusion that allowed her to be on the train at this moment. "Yes," she said. "Of course she will."

She could have repeated every rationalization that allowed her to come to that point that she had thought of herself, but at the moment, that simple answer seemed to satisfy Matthew, as though the answer was clear and obvious from the start. So she chose not to.

The two's thoughts were of Anne, clumsy, intelligent, funny, creative, perfect Anne.

And then they could not think at all.

A/N: Hello my wonderful wonderful readers! I hope you are all having a fantastic day today. I'm so sorry to have gone on a bit of an unannounced hiatus from this story, but due to the overwhelming weight of all that's been going on in the last while I'd sort of forgotten about it. I thank the person who kindly reviewed this story urging me to keep it going. I meant to get this updated yesterday so I apologize for the delay. As I hope you got, this is a chapter of Matthew and Marilla's final moments. The normal story will resume either next chapter or the one after that, so thanks for your patience and I hope you enjoyed! Stay safe, and happy!