It had been months, nay years since the last letter had arrived. Marilla had long given up hope of receiving another. They had always turned up with haphazard timing, but she'd received two or three a year until they just stopped. She hadn't worried for some time and then got into the habit of not expecting the next one.
She had not realised what a strength her dalliance brought her. Hitherto trips to the store were fraught. She would put off shopping for days for fear of bumping into her neighbours, the nest of vipers as Matthew once termed them. Marilla couldn't help but agree, somehow even the most casual enquiry was shot through with venom. "How are you keeping, Miss Cuthbert?" Mrs Bell might ask, and Marilla would be forced to paste on a smile and reply that she was doing well, thank you for asking. But inside she would be quaking in her boots resentful of the emphasis on Miss as though she were missing out.
Later of course she realised that it did not confer upon her any more wisdom than had previously been the case, though it was evident that her peers believed so. As though she were a lesser, stupider woman for her lack of having laid with a man and in truth she had endured their underhand arrows for so long that she had started to believe them. Even her otherwise dearest friend, Rachel was known to act similarly.
Afterwards even though no one, not even Rachel, knew a thing, those barbs bounced easily off her. She knew, even if no one else did, that she was as much a woman as any of them, more perhaps. Even though it was a sin, who amongst them were not sinners, she mused. After all let he who is without sin cast the first stone. And it meant in way that she was more considerate of her neighbours, for even the most demure woman might have a hidden past.
The letters were packed up in an old box at the top of her wardrobe but occasionally, she brought them down to read the odd one or two, selecting different ones each time. This is stupid, she thought eventually. That time has passed, and I should get on with the business of living. Time to put away ridiculous notions of romance. Drawing a page out she crumpled it into a ball and drew her arm back to throw it into the fire, but something stayed her hand then, some fey, wicked thought. An image came to Marilla then, of her grandchildren sitting around the kitchen table reading these very letters. Thankful then that they had never exchanged names on paper at least, Marilla smiled somewhat evilly imagining how they might feel when they found her stash.
Having gathered the papers together in a least a semblance of order, Faith tumbled down the stairs in great excitement shouting her news. Upon landing downstairs she found Nan and Di arrived together bringing with them much needed enthusiasm. Nan was particularly annoyed to have missed out on the wine. "I can't believe you finished the bottle," she kept saying. "You might have left a bit for us." They were mollified by the letters though.
Gathered around the kitchen table they shared snippets from the pile. Increasingly incredulous at the sentiments contained therein. Light streamed through the windows helping them to decipher the faded copperplate. "Listen to this," Shirley announced having pored over his with furrowed brow. "Have you noticed the charge of electricity in that moment before we kiss?" There was a pause as everyone stopped to take in the intent of those words. Nan shifted embarrassedly in her seat; this was a new Aunt Marilla, and she wasn't sure how she felt about it.
"It's rather wonderful, you know," Shirley said after a pause. "Kinda glad she had some excitement in her life."
"What would Mum have said?"
"She'd have been pleased; I reckon."
"Not to mention surprised."
"Fancy keeping it secret all your life."
"That was her way. Marilla always did keep herself apart."
"But who was it? Who's this fellow?"
"He can write, I'll give him that."
That did make Nan smile, "I admit I'd go a bit weak at the knees if someone wrote to me like that." Jem flashed the old Blythe grin her way.
"Was it Grandpa do you think?" Shirley asked.
A pause then, as they all reflected upon that idea.
"But he," Di started, doing the math in her head.
"They aren't dated. Maybe he hadn't met Grandma yet?" There was a visible relaxation in the room with that thought.
"No, here you go," said Shirley eagerly rescanning. Listen to this, "you speak of young John Blythe. He was a handsome fellow as I recall. Good to know you. Damn that's all I can make out, there's a blotch covering the rest."
"Still, that tells us that her correspondent wasn't Grandpa at least."
"I must admit I'm relieved. The idea that they might have been cuckolding Grandma concerned me," said Di.
"I found a bit more," Shirley announced. "It's a shame John broke it off with you, something I personally I can't comprehend. Can't make the next bit out." He scanned a bit more, "personally I vow never to, even if we can only make love via letter, know that I will never forsake you."
"Wow, just as well Grandpa never read it."
"He did leave her, remember."
"Just as well, I guess. If he hadn't, we wouldn't be sitting here."
Another pause as they took that bit in; if their grandfather hadn't left their other grandmother none of them would have existed. "Your family is altogether too strange," Faith laughed. "You could write a book about it." She picked another from the pile. "Your words make me shiver in delight. I have devoured your sweet letter countless times so that the paper is wearing thin. Do not tease me, write again and that right soon, I implore. I need to hear more."
They took turns reading more snippets:
"The sun creates a halo with your hair. It's that image that sustains me when we are parted, my love. The long days stretch out and all I can do is count the days til we are reunited."
"Don't say you are worthless, such words wound me so. There is no one with half your wit or intelligence. You are everything to me and my only regret is that we must be parted for now."
"When I kissed your sweet lips, I bruised my own in the sweetest gesture of love. I can still taste the tangy iron on my tongue."
Jem went up to bed before Faith, as the eldest he laid claim to the master bedroom. Quickly changing into his pyjamas, he leapt under the covers wriggling his toes to warm them up. Faith arrived shortly after. She was content to take a little longer, first unwinding her hair and sitting down to brush it as she always did. It was one of Jem's favourite things to watch.
"Do these letters upset you darling?" she asked swivelling around in the chair to face him.
"Mm."
"You're finding out that your grandmother had a secret life."
"There was more to her than met the eye."
"Is that a bad thing?"
"No, but I thought I knew her. We were close you know."
"Well, I wouldn't expect her to divulge all her skeletons to her grandson, no matter the strength of your relationship. If she didn't tell Anne, she was hardly likely to tell you."
"I know. It's just…"
"I understand, you thought you knew her and you're finding out there's more to her than met the eye."
"Mm."
"And you wonder what else you never knew."
"I suppose so."
"People, even grandmothers, are allowed to have secrets you know."
"It's just…"
"You saw her as some passionless old maid no doubt and today we find out there was more to her."
"Mm."
Faith snuggled under the covers wincing, "this bed!"
"I know it's awful isn't it," Jem grimaced.
"It's nice to be here with you though." Faith walked her fingers up his arm."
"Faith! Not now."
"Why not?"
"This was Marilla's bed."
"From the sounds of it she had her fair share of fun here, too."
"Ugh," Jem rolled over to cover his face with the pillow.
Pressing her point Faith added, "now we can keep up with tradition."
"Faith," Jem whined. "Stop."
"Not interested? Marilla was."
"Shut up."
"What's up? You find the thought of her enjoying some passion too appalling."
"Well, it's not as though anything came of it."
"Oh yes, of course we only do it for the sake of procreation ourselves, don't we? Well, if that's your attitude, we won't do it anymore."
"Ugh."
"Well perhaps you can explain the difference to me?"
"The difference is," Jem enunciated his words very clearly as though it was obvious. "Marilla was my grandmother, and I am, well, me."
"Ah, so long as you admit you're a complete hypocrite, James Blythe, then we can maintain relations."
Jem groaned, "even from the grave you and she are in cahoots."
Faith laughed wickedly, "you better believe it."
"Faith?"
"Mm?" Faith snuggled down into her pillows ready to sleep but prepared to talk if he needed.
"This place."
"It's pretty run down isn't it. The water stains on the carpet and down the walls. Needs a complete refit or to be knocked down altogether."
"Mm."
Faith propped up on one elbow, "what?"
"How would it be if we moved in?"
"Jem Blythe!"
"It's just I hate to see it go. It's been in the family forever. It saved Mum's life. Even though she lived longer in the Glen than anywhere, she always felt grounded here. I just can't stand the thought of it not being part of us anymore."
"Oh Jem. Can I sleep on it at least?"
"I guess."
"Got another big day tomorrow. Can we talk then?"
Feeling lassitude overcome him, Jem nodded and murmured, "goodnight," relishing the feel of his lovely wife by his side.
