Chapter 7 - An Uncertain Future

"They ought to go to the orphan asylum in Charlottetown."

Anne Shirley froze at the emphatic statement and felt something cold grip her heart in a terrifying vice. This couldn't be happening. This was all some horrible nightmare and she would wake up soon. For the sake of Lizzy and Henry Miller she prayed to God she would wake up soon.

Had it been only three weeks since she and Gil had first stopped in at the Miller place? The doctor had been there, tending to a sickly Mrs. Miller, but when they'd talked to him later that night he'd assured them she was much improved. Indeed, Anne and Gilbert had visited many times over the next several weeks, along with Marilla and Mrs. Barry and many of the other neighbours, who'd taken to checking in on the struggling widow with her two small children, and on each visit Mrs. Miller's health had appeared to be improving, not declining. So word of her sudden death had come as a shock. Heart failure, so the medical report said. There were some, like Rachel Lynde, who said it could more rightly be said that Mrs. Miller died of a broken heart. That she'd had never really recovered after the death of her husband a year ago and her subsequent continuing ill-health was the result of that. Anne only wished they could have done more, done something to prevent this outcome. But sometimes God and providence had other plans. So here they all were, Mrs. Miller buried in her grave and the rest of the townsfolk gathered in Mrs. Barry's parlour to decide the future of the two small children who'd had the terrible misfortune to lose both parents in such a short period of time.

"The orphan asylum is just the place for them." That was Mrs. Bluitt's cold pronouncement to the group, made from her position perched stiffly on the edge of Mrs. Barry's upholstered parlour chair. Mrs. Bluitt, the mother of a dozen children herself, and apparently without an ounce of sympathy in her heart. A few murmurs of agreement rose up, and one or two even spoke out in approval of the idea. It's not that anyone wanted to send the children to an orphanage but what was there to do? They were orphans and Mrs. Miller had no other family. They hadn't even been able to locate any relatives to notify them of the death, at least not in the limited amount of time they'd had before burial was necessary. It was the Avonlea community who had pooled their resources to pay for Mrs. Miller's modest funeral and a small plot in the corner of the Avonlea cemetery next to her husband. Goodness knew Mrs. Miller had left no money and her house and property were owed to the bank. And now her children were to be sent to an orphanage. Apparently securing Mrs. Miller's final resting place was to be the end of the Avonlea generosity, Anne swallowed the bitter realization.

Orphans. Just two little orphans. The words tore at Anne's heart, at something deep and hidden in her heart, at something that had been hidden in her heart for a long, long time. She looked about the room at the assembled group. What did they know? What did any of them know? What did any of them know of being an orphan? Of what it was like? What right had they to...to....Anne felt a bubble of anger and righteousness rise up inside her. Without conscious awareness, she felt herself rising to her feet. Slowly, purposely, until she stood straight-backed and high-chinned, her posture demanding attention and recognition. It wasn't long coming. Soon the murmurs of discussion in the room quieted and every eye turned to her, sensing something about to unfold. Anne's gaze swept the room and she purposely met the eyes of every person who had directly or indirectly supported Mrs. Bluitt's stance, issuing them an unrepentant challenge before she began to speak.

"I can't believe what I'm hearing." There was an obvious disgust in Anne's tone. "I've always thought Avonlea was the best place in Prince Edward Island, the best place in the world. With the most caring generous people. But I was wrong," Anne said and paused, deliberately letting that assessment sink in. "Sending those two children to an orphanage is the coldest, most unfeeling thing I've ever heard of and I'm ashamed of you all for even considering it." Oh they would hate her, would revile her for stating such an opinion but Anne didn't care. Mrs. Bluitt was already fixing her with a narrowed unapproving gaze while most of the others just gaped in astonishment in reaction to her blunt outburst, but it didn't matter to Anne. She was fighting for those children. Lizzy and Henry had no one to speak up for them, for their interests, but she would do it. Yes, even at the risk of invoking Mrs. Bluitt's wrath and the displeasure of her fellow townspeople, she would do it.

"But Anne, there's no one here who wants to take on the care of two children," the whiny protest came from Charlie Sloane's father. "Most of us already have our hands full looking after our own families, our own children," he complained.

Anne nodded slowly. "Yes, I know that Mr. Sloane," she conceded the point. Most of Avonlea's residents weren't rich to be sure, and even the ones who were better off mightn't be willing to take on the challenge of two boisterous children. "But it seems to me we can do better by these children than shipping them off to an orphanage three weeks after their mother's death. How do we know they don't have kin somewhere? Has anyone even really tried to locate some family?" she asked, remembering there had been precious little time before the funeral for the task and just how thorough a search could be made in three weeks time anyway? Anne looked about the room but a small silence was the only thing that greeted her question.

"Anne's right."

The words were quiet but they broke the silence as all eyes turned to their owner. Marilla Cuthbert was one of Avonlea's oldest and most respected inhabitants and her opinion carried a lot of weight. "We can do better by those children," Marilla repeated Anne's own declaration, endorsing it with her own. Anne looked down at Marilla who sat to her right and met her eyes with gratitude. A sudden love and appreciation swelled in Anne's heart. She knew she sometimes befuddled Marilla, that she didn't always act in ways Marilla wanted or expected, maybe had even sometimes embarrassed her. Like now maybe, when she'd lashed out at Marilla's neighbours and friends, almost insulting them into action. But there was Marilla, quietly supporting her as always.

"Perhaps some inquires can be made as to any relatives. An ad placed in the Charlottetown paper maybe. I'd be willing to check on that."

Anne whipped her gaze to the opposite end of the room. The suggestion and offer had come from Gilbert, leaning next to the fireplace. She had barely met his eyes with her thanks before another voice spoke.

"And the children can stay here until we at least know if they've got any other family. It's the least we can do." The offer came from Mrs. Barry.

"I'll help you look after them Mother." It was Diana, quick to pipe in with her own generous offer of assistance.

"We'll need a pool of funds for the newspaper ad, and maybe we could hire a solicitor or an investigator even. I'd be happy to look after organizing that." The words and offer came from Mr. Spurgeon, Moody Spurgeon's father.

"Mrs. Barry, I can send you up some clothes I was making for Beth and Kenny but they don't really need them. They'd be about the right size for Lizzy and Henry and I can make some more too if you need them." That from Mrs. Hamilton, mother of two children just about the same age as Lizzy and Henry.

Anne stood in the middle of the room, stunned by the sudden outpouring of assistance and generosity that was flowing all about her. She felt suddenly ashamed. Yes, ashamed of her earlier outburst. Avonlea was the best place in the world, with the most generous caring people. She had only to look about her now to see the truth. Oh how she loved these people. This place.

"Well Mrs. Barry, I don't know as you'd be needing them but I've got a half dozen jars of peach preserves I can send along. I never met a young'un yet that didn't have a taste for my peach preserves," Rachel Lynde offered with a hint of pride in her voice as the room broke out into some lighthearted laughter, completely eliminating any traces of the former discord. Trust Rachel Lynde to take any opportunity to boast of her culinary prowess. But even Rachel smiled at her own antics and it was a happy and easy note upon which to break up the meeting.

As the room's occupants filed out Anne was surprised when many of them passed by her with either an approving smile or a pat on her arm. Why it was as if they were thanking her in some way, she realized with astonishment. She had practically insulted them with her little tirade earlier on and they were thanking her? It was only Mrs. Bluitt who completely ignored her, who swept haughtily past her and out of the house. Perhaps Anne didn't fully understand it now, but the residents of Avonlea were more than pleased someone had stood up to the heartless Mrs. Bluitt and any who might have followed her suggestions.

When Diana came abreast of her, Anne was quick to mouth a silent "thank you" to her. Diana was all that was good and generous and it was a relief to Anne just knowing Lizzy and Henry would have such a gentle caretaker. Diana merely squeezed Anne's hand and smiled back, always pleased to help her bosom friend.

Gilbert passed her next and they exchanged a silent glance. Then Gilbert smiled and winked at her. Anne felt a blush creep up her neck and settle into two splotches on her cheeks. She dropped her gaze from his, embarrassed at her own reaction. Gilbert was expressing his approval too she realized, in his own particular way. But that wink had set her to blushing in confusion and she didn't know just why that should be.

"Can I walk you home Anne?" Gilbert politely enquired, but Anne shook her head no. The afternoon's events were more than enough excitement for one day and Anne had the sudden desire to be alone. Gilbert nodded his goodbye and moved away, while Anne quickly turned to Marilla standing close by and said, "Marilla, I'll be along shortly. I just have a few things to take care of first," knowing she needed a bit of time to herself. That she felt shaky and unsettled inside and it had nothing to do with the public spectacle she had made of herself. She was used to making a spectacle of herself, that was nothing new. But this was. This strange anxious feeling inside was new, almost as if something was pushing for release.

"Mind that you don't take too long," was Marilla's only comment as she wrapped her shawl around her shoulders.

Anne nodded and waited until the room had cleared. Then she too took her leave, but instead of following the road back to Green Gables she headed towards the thick stand of trees near Barry's Pond. Once she was well hidden inside the sheltering forest she leaned against a tree and wrapped her arms around her midsection. She was trembling, she realized, somewhat surprised that she couldn't seem to make herself stop and that instead the tremors were only growing stronger. It was something to do with what had happened back there at the house, she knew. Oh, everything was alright for the moment and Lizzy and Henry were safe for now. But it was the possibilities that troubled her. They were two orphans and they faced an uncertain future. Just as another orphan, a little red-haired girl, had faced many years ago. Someplace deep within a small section of Anne's heart there was a little locked room, a place she never opened, not to anyone. And that place had been touched today. No longer able to supress her feelings, Anne turned her face into the tree.

And wept.