Chapter Three: The Decision to Keep Anne

"There, there, Marilla, you can have your own way," said Matthew reassuringly. "Only be as good and kind to her as you can without spoiling her. I kind of think she's one of the sort you can do anything with if you only get her to love you." L.M Montgomery

The melodic chirping of evening sparrows followed Marilla into her homestead as she returned from her walk. The sun was beginning its descent, and the clouds followed suit, changing from full white to wispy shades of pink. The world made its daily shift from blue to golden as Marilla stepped into the kitchen somberly and eyed Matthew with mild suspicion before sitting down with a quiet sigh. Almost as soon as she sat down, an equally somber Anne appeared in the kitchen threshold stating that she was indeed sorry and was willing to tell Mrs. Lynde so. Hiding her relief, Marilla told Anne simply that she would take the girl over first thing in the morning. An eventful day wound down into an uneventful and quiet evening. Not much was said during supper or afterwards, and the household turned in early. Marilla fell asleep holding on to her secret happiness at Anne's decision, unaware that in the other two rooms, Matthew and Anne held on to another sort of happiness. A familial bond between the old man and the young girl had been forged from a place of mutual respect and admiration; this alone had given way to Anne's decision to apologize.

By the end of the following day, Marilla felt more confident in Anne's ability to restrain herself from unregulated emotional outbursts. Observing Anne's apology earlier, she'd been impressed with Anne's clarity and eloquence, yet had to stifle a smile when Anne insulted poor Rachel in the midst of her effective yet quickly-delivered speech. A few days prior, when Anne had called Mrs. Blewett a "gimlet," Marilla had similarly needed to maintain a straight composure in order to instruct Anne on the rules of social propriety immediately thereafter. It was clear to Marilla in these moments that Anne was a clever girl, eager to please, and quick to learn. Whenever she taught Anne a particular rule, she obediently complied. These parts of Anne she understood. But there was another part of the girl that mystified Marilla and always left her at somewhat of a loss when displayed.

On their walk back home from Mrs. Lynde's, Marilla questioned Anne about her background, and the girl shared details about the previous two families she'd worked for before living at the orphanage. Both Mrs. Thomas and Mrs. Hammond had several children and their drunken husbands had been killed in work-related accidents. Anne said that both women had brought her up "by hand," and Marilla read between the lines to ascertain that Anne's life up until now had been colored by depravity, loneliness, and injustice. Despite her background, the girl's personality displayed a brightness and a gentleness that, for Marilla, teetered uncomfortably on that fine line between likable and lovable. It was possible to feel pity, and easy to feel empathy towards the girl, for Anne never expressed bitterness; only feelings of longing, spoken of indirectly using romantic and flowery language. Anne's imagination and her way with words was beyond Marilla's comprehension; Matthew had fallen head over heels for Anne because of it, but for her it was both curious and perplexing.

As they continued down the lane walking silently side-by-side, Anne quietly slipped her hand out from inside her dress pocket and found Marilla's to hold. Marilla's breath caught in her chest for a moment and she experienced more of what she did not have the words for. Earlier, she'd told Anne plainly that she must call her only Marilla, not "Miss Cuthbert" or "Aunt Marilla." Anne seemed to understand the need to be called one's own name, but now Marilla questioned the meaning of that request. Before Anne came, the name "Marilla" had simply meant a person, a sister, and a resident of Avonlea. Marilla knew who she needed to be for Anne – a role model, a guide, and a mentor. She could easily add these roles to her identity. But what did Anne want her to be? Was it a mother she wanted – or needed? She couldn't add that word to her identity now, having never been one, and having put that dream to rest many years ago. Marilla cringed at the thought; she tried to think of something else and suppress these strange, forgotten layers of herself that were beginning to surface. But she let Anne hold her hand and did not flinch away. Marilla allowed the odd warmth to fill her heart and let herself rest in two feelings she could name: uncomfortable and present.

The following day was uneventful. Anne accompanied Marilla to town, where she bought dress fabric and various sundries for Anne's room. At home, Marilla instructed Anne in simple chores, and when she finished, let Anne outside to explore the property. Anne was proving useful around the house, and a quick study. She followed direction well, and could be trusted to be punctual when needed. Marilla figured that after a week of Bible study and housekeeping at home, Anne would be socialized enough to attend the church picnic on Sunday and go to school that Monday.

Several days later while Marilla was fitting Anne for her dresses, she noticed that her amethyst brooch was missing from its home on the bureau. When questioned, Anne admitted to playing with it but denied taking it or losing it. In a sudden display that she would long regret, Marilla became uncharacteristically angry over Anne's inability to procure the item and then accused the girl of stealing it. Anne was struck dumb with shock while Marilla listened to her own harsh voice like a stranger eavesdropping on the ravings of a madwoman. With a distraught Anne in her room weeping over not being allowed to go to the church picnic, Marilla paced and baked downstairs feeling confused and betrayed. That evening, Matthew tried to calm the woman, who he thought was nearly losing her mind. His sister seemed affected by something other than the missing brooch, but he wasn't prepared to enter into whatever that topic was with the half-crazed lady. Matthew had almost been able to find humor in the situation, but his concern for the sanity of the two distraught ladies prevented him from giving in to that notion.

The next morning was Sunday and the feeling in the house was not much better than it had been the night before. Matthew slipped out quietly to the barn before the break of dawn and planned to stay there until it was time to leave for church. After sunrise, Anne sat motionless at her east gable window muttering to herself, while Marilla shuffled around downstairs preparing breakfast. She still felt betrayed, but not so angry at Anne anymore; mostly at herself. She'd felt her heart opening up the other day when Anne held her hand, and she was beginning to have loving feelings for the girl. She wanted Anne to love her, too, so it broke her heart to realize that she'd been used: lied to and stolen from. The truth stung; she was too upset to laugh and too angry to cry, so she put on a blank expression and walked upstairs with breakfast for Anne.

The morning sunlight streaming through the window greeted her with another terrible confession from Anne. Anne had not stolen the brooch, but had dropped it in the lake yesterday while she was play-acting by herself. Marilla's anger at the girl returned as she listened to Anne describe the loss of her most prized possession so flippantly. Anne used big words that Marilla didn't know and a tone of romanticism to describe what she'd done; Marilla's anger swelled and then she felt hot tears in her eyes. The girl was not to be trusted and her decision was final; Anne would be sent to live with Mrs. Blewett and the Cuthbert siblings' would get on with their lives, Marilla thought bitterly. Sometimes you win and sometimes you learn, but learning is painful and not always fair.

Marilla didn't feel like going to the picnic, but Matthew expected it as he was meeting Mr. Blair to discuss the sale of their potato crop in the fall. Matthew was painfully shy about socializing with women in public, so Marilla had to go and do the talking for him until he found Mr. Blair and other males. Matthew made sure to help his sister with every little thing as they got ready to leave; he had the mare and the buggy all cleaned and ready, and he'd washed up nicely after a long morning in the barn. There was no dirt under his fingernails and nothing for Marilla to fret over. He felt great sadness about Anne's apparent deception, but he couldn't blame his sister. If what Marilla said was true, then he couldn't abide by Anne staying.

But as Marilla retrieved the plum puffs from the kitchen and Matthew reached for her shawl to bring along, he noticed a glimmer in the fabric; there was the brooch, silently and patiently waiting to be found ever since it had been left there after the trip to town earlier in the week. Upon seeing it, Marilla's cheeks flushed and she rushed upstairs while Matthew waited in the foyer. The sense of humor that he had suppressed last night finally surfaced in a quiet laugh full of relief, and he continued to smile for a long while after. He knew in his heart that Anne was a good girl; in this case, the error was wholly his sister's. The degree to which Marilla felt embarrassed at that moment was unparalleled in recent Avonlea history. With each step up the stairs, all of the presuppositions and judgements she had made of Anne within the past day faded away so that by the time she reached the bedroom door, the only thing left was to make right by Anne.

She was surprised by the gentleness with which Anne responded to her apology. Marilla had expected tears and was prepared for the anger that she had thrust upon Anne to be given back to her. But Anne's reaction was nothing of the sort. There was an unspoken understanding that in the short time they'd known each other, both the young lady and the older one had shown themselves to the other truthfully. They'd allowed themselves to be vulnerable; Anne with her desire to have a home at Green Gables and Marilla with her uncertainty in her role as a guardian. Now they were meeting in the middle; they'd seen each other at their highs and lows, and at this moment they stood together on even ground with a clearer understanding of each others' truth.

So on that Monday during Anne's first day at school when Mrs. Lynde came bustling over to spill the news about Anne smashing her slate over a classmate's head, Marilla could understand. While inappropriate and deserving of discipline, the behavior did fall within the scope of Anne's emotional affect. But later in the day, when Marilla found Anne's door locked and the girl crying for her to not come in, there was a strong sense that whatever was beyond the door was an imminent disaster. Marilla's fears were realized at the sight of Anne's sickeningly green hair. Between bouts of Anne choking on her tears, Marilla learned that Anne had dyed her hair after a boy had teased her about it. "Gilbert had no right to call me carrots!" Anne wept into her soggy pillow mournfully while Marilla smiled slowly. Her girl had given that Blythe boy what-for and she was secretly very proud. Had Anne been looking up, she'd have seen a twinkle in Marilla's eye that revealed there was more going on than just green hair and a broken slate. Marilla regained her composure and gingerly nudged Anne to face her. "The trial period is over and we would like you to stay at Green Gables." Marilla spoke blankly and plainly while Anne's eyes widened into an expression of disbelief. The girl reached out to hug Marilla with new tears of joy in her eyes, but Marilla quickly stood up, uneasy at the thought of being regarded as the cause of Anne's bliss. She walked to the door and turned to see Anne's pale face overcome with wordless emotion, all the heartache of her eleven years vanishing with the turning of a fresh page. Marilla smiled warmly down at Anne for several moments before making her way downstairs.