"Anne Shirley. What in the world is this nonsense? I thought that you came out to Kingsport to support Gilbert in medical school. That's what you told me. You said, "Marilla, I'm going to get a job in Kingsport so that I can help Gilbert with the rent and be there for him."
"I am supporting Gilbert, Marilla. I'm helping him with the bills. Packing his lunches. Doing the housework. Seeing that he gets some sleep. Keeping him from studying himself sick again."
"Anne Shirley. You're running around cemeteries now? I thought that you were working full time. Tell me that you didn't get fired already! Anne, I thought that you were going to buckle down and set some career goals for yourself. It's not like you can just be a housewife as soon as Gilbert's a doctor. I'm not saying that Gilbert would ever leave you for another woman or anything. Blythe men don't run around on their wives. But what if he dies young? What if he gets himself run down again from overwork and he leaves you a widow with six kids? As Rachel always says, a man is not a financial plan, Anne."
"Oh, Marilla, chill. I'm not going to let Gilbert leave me with six kids and no way to support myself. This isn't the Victorian era. Also, nobody says "housewife" anymore, Marilla. Are you eighty years old? Cause you sound about eighty."
"Seriously, Anne. Did you get fired already?"
"No, Marilla. I didn't get fired. I'm still working for that technical writing firm. That's my day job. I just picked up some side hustles. You know, while Gilbert's studying. Gives us a little bit of breathing room until Gil's next scholarship check comes."
"You picked up a side hustle in a cemetery? Only you would do that, Anne Shirley. What's wrong with waitressing for some extra cash? It's good, honorable work."
"Well, Marilla, I may just end up waitressing. Nothing wrong with that. But right now I'm doing a little bit of portrait photography. You know. For Redmond folks. I took Jo and Phillipa's engagement pics. A bunch of the theater grads booked me to do their headshots. Then, Gilbert's friend Christine booked me to shoot her in St. John's Cemetery. With a camera, I mean."
"Seriously, Anne? Someone hired you to take her photo in a cemetery. That's morbid, Anne."
"Oh, but Marilla. It's the oldest cemetery in Kingsport. It's OLD, Marilla. Like, 1700's old. It's one of the oldest cemeteries in Canada, Marilla. The guy who burned down the White House is buried there. He's one of the newbies there. Christine plays the violin. She is going to look so nice in front of those old tombstones. Christine is gorgeous."
Christine Stuart was a good friend of Anne's fiancé, Gilbert Blythe. Before Anne and Gilbert were engaged, Christine's name was linked romantically to Gilbert's in Redmond University gossip. Anne herself had expected Christine and Gilbert to announce their engagement. Then, Anne learned from Gilbert that Christine was engaged to someone else from her hometown. After all that, Christine wasn't Anne's competition for Gilbert's heart! In theory, anyway.
Why did Christine hire Anne, of all people, to take her professional photos for her emerging music career? Didn't Christine's friend, Claire Hallett, also take photos as a side gig? Well, anyway, Christine was going to pay Anne real, actual money to photograph her in St. John's. If Anne did Christine's photos correctly, these photos would look good in Anne's portfolio. Christine had already given Anne permission to do this. Christine had a lot of other musician friends who were trying to establish their own professional careers. Maybe some of them might also hire Anne.
So, yeah, traipsing around cemeteries WAS sort of in line with Anne's professional goals. If only Rachel Lynde and Marilla would understand this.
"Well, it doesn't sound natural, Anne. Getting photos taken in a cemetery. It's morbid, Anne. Morbid and unnatural. What would Mrs. Harmon Andrews say?"
"Marilla, the world would be a much better place if we could all just live our lives without concern for what Mrs. Harmon Andrews would say."
"Anne Shirley, I'm not going to argue with you right now. Too late in the evening for that. I have Davy calling for me. Goodnight."
Anne hung up from her conversation with her foster mother. It was getting late. Gilbert wasn't back from his study group yet.
Anne checked her camera. Fully charged batteries. Check. Memory card and back up memory card. Check. Anne had purchased the Nikon Z model her final semester at Redmond with money she didn't have. She put it on her Visa card. Early graduation gift to herself, she justified at the time. Then, she accepted money from Phillipa - Phil - to take Phil's engagement photos. See, the camera was a good investment!
Gilbert didn't know that Anne used credit to pay for a camera that cost more than Gilbert's first car. Now Anne had the balance nearly paid. Anne hoped to pay the remaining balance soon and leave Gilbert none the wiser.
Anne planned to head over to St. John's the next day after her "real" work ended. She wanted to scout out photo locations that worked with the angle of the sun in the late afternoon at this time of the year. Maybe she would take some photos for her own use. Perhaps even shoot enough cemetery photos over the course of a year to sell prints online or even produce a calendar? People would buy a 12-month calendar of Old St. John's Cemetery, wouldn't they? How much would it cost to get something like that printed? How much could she charge to sell it?
To be sure, there was nothing shameful with picking up a little part time job as a waitress while Gilbert studied. Perhaps stash half of any hypothetical tips earned into a savings account for their wedding. However, Anne had really hoped to have more free time to write and blog. The blog was the whole reason that she ordered the camera, after all. So, if she just pulled enough from the photography hustle, she could skip waitressing.
Anne heard the front door open.
"Honey, I'm home," Gilbert called.
Anne pulled Gilbert into a giant hug. She kissed him on the lips.
"There's my brilliant sexy man," Anne replied. "How was the studying?"
Gilbert said, "I think that I know the material now. Wow, that's so nice to come home to your arms. That's a nice hug. What did you do this evening?"
Anne said, "Well, Marilla called. Then, I planned out my trip to shoot Christine with her fiddle in a graveyard."
Gilbert raised his eyebrows.
"Christine's a very nice girl, Anne" he said. "One of the nicest girls that I've ever met."
"Unlike your moody bioch of a fiancée, huh, Gil? She's not the type of girl who would crack you over the head with a slate."
"Anne, she's a nice girl. And she likes you. Why do you think that she hired you to take her photos?"
"Oh, Gilbert, I'm going to hazard a guess that Claire Hallett was too squeamish to walk past all those graves. Also, I charge a lot less than that fancy studio downtown. That's why she picked me."
"Anne, please. I'm just exhausted right now."
Gilbert headed for the shower.
"Gil! I'm sorry. You're right. She's a nice girl."
Anne grabbed Gilbert's hand, pulled him into another hug.
"Your back is so stiff, Gil. Your muscles feel so tight. Would you like a back rub?"
Gilbert said, "That might be nice. Tell you what. Let me see how loose I can get my back in my nice hot shower. If my muscles are still tight after my shower, I'll take you up on the offer."
Anne said, "Deal."
Gilbert got into his shower and Anne checked her email.
She had a message from their new neighbor, Cornelia Bryant.
From: cornelia_the_seamstress
To: anne_shirley_photography
Hi Dearie:
I don't know if you've met the gal who lives directly across the street yet. Leslie Moore. Mrs. Leslie Moore, although we don't really talk about that in front of her. The story of her marriage too complicated for me to get into right now. Anyway, Leslie has a furnished apartment above her garage that she rents out."
Leslie has a new tenant who is coming to rent that apartment next week. However, Leslie has an appointment for that afternoon that she can't reschedule. She can't be there to properly welcome her new tenant. She gave him the key to his new place and then she had to take off. So, she asked me to see what neighbors I could round up to go over to play welcoming committee to the new tenant.
Anyway, dearie, I thought of you because this guy is a writer. Owen Ford. He's even written a book about St. John's Cemetery. I thought that you'd like to come with me to meet him. Let me know.
Cornelia
Anne pulled up Google. Owen Ford - if she indeed found the correct Owen Ford, and really, how many Owen Fords existed who were writers in Nova Scotia - was quite prolific! Several young adult novels. That book that above mentioned book about St. John's. A book about downtown Kingsport. A narrative nonfiction about a serial killer.
Oh, Cornelia, we just met and already I know that you're part of the race that knows Joseph. Of course, I would like to go with you to meet this Owen Ford.
"I'm all ready for my back rub, Anne-girl!"
Gilbert stood bare in the doorway; a towel wrapped around his mid-section.
"Come here, love," Anne said. She cradled Gilbert in her arms, forgetting for the night Old St. John's Cemetery and all connected with it.