Chapter 10

Three weeks later....

"It wasn't that hard, really," Gilbert explained, standing in the Barry parlour speaking to the assembled group. Before him stood Mr. and Mrs. Barry, Marilla and Anne, and a new couple. The new couple he had brought back to Avonlea with him. "Once I found the marriage records for Mr. and Mrs. Miller it wasn't hard to track down the witnesses listed on the license--Mrs. Miller's cousin and her husband here," he said, indicating the pleasant-looking couple standing next to him. The woman bore a striking resemblance to the recently departed Mrs. Miller and there was little doubt of her familial connection.

"We lost track of Louisa and Hugh after their marriage," the woman explained regretfully. "We came into some hard years of our own, as you can see," the woman waved down at herself, shabbily clad in rather outdated attire, "and somehow we just didn't keep in touch like we should have. It appears Louisa endured some hard times herself and I'm so sorry we weren't able to help," the woman apologized, casting a glance at her also-remorseful-looking husband. In the hard scramble for existence they'd endured the past several years it had been easy enough to lose track of a distant cousin when the day-to-day focus was on mere survival. And then just a week ago they'd been contacted by the young man. The young man who stood next to them now, who had borne the unwelcome news of Louisa Miller's recent death and that of her husband a year before that. Unwelcome news, but still better delivered in person than by some cold impersonal letter.

"Well, you're here now, that's the important thing." It was Anne Shirley who's said that in almost joyful glee, looking at the pair one to the other. She liked what she saw. Oh true enough, the couple didn't appear to be overly affluent, their wardrobe clearly indicating their status in life. But Anne wasn't judging by appearances of wealth, there wasn't much worth in material things anyway. What Lizzy and Henry needed was a loving home, and Anne was overjoyed at this unexpected prospect. The woman was on the petite side, her face a little bit lined from years of work, but her eyes were kindly. The man wasn't much taller than his wife, a little more rotund and he walked with a slight limp, aided by a cane. They both comported themselves with respect, with a quiet dignity, and yet they exuded a natural warmth and friendliness. Yes, this pair met with her approval, Anne decided, casting Gilbert an appreciative glance, a glance of deep thanks for what he had done.

Gilbert met Anne's gaze with a raised brow, surprised to be the recipient of such a glance. There was something in Anne's gaze, something he had never seen before, the way her eyes had softened and the way she fairly glowed when she looked his way that shook him to his core. He knew he had gone to Charlottetown partly because of Anne, because of what she had told him that day in the forest. He was as concerned as anyone about the children but when Mr. Spurgeon had asked for a volunteer to travel to Charlottetown to seek out any relatives, his first thought had been of Anne, and what he could do to help. He was only glad his trip had proved fruitful. He didn't know if he could have borne Anne's disappointment if he'd returned with unhappier news. And if he'd missed out on three weeks of summer earnings towards his medical school tuition he only had to take in Anne's glowing face at this moment to know it had all been worth it.

"Ah, here comes Diana with the children now," Mrs. Barry announced, gazing towards the door across the room.

All eyes turned to the doorway, including those of Hannah and Silus Hunt. Hannah Hunt inhaled sharply at the sight of the two small blond-haired children, her eyes misting as she watched them bound into the room. At his first glance at the woman in Mrs. Barry's parlour, little Henry's eyes lit up in recognition. "Mama!" he called out the greeting excitedly and ran towards Hannah, wrapping his small arms around her legs and hugging tight.

The room came to a shocked standstill. Hannah Hunt, along with everyone else, stood frozen in place, her mouth agape in horror as the full import of the situation hit them all at the same time. Little Henry Miller had mistaken Hannah Hunt for his mother. Yes, there was a strong family resemblance, but of course the adults knew the difference. It was a different scenario for a small child not yet able to fully grasp the concept of death, whose only thought was that the mother he missed had suddenly reappeared. While the adults stood in shocked disbelief, unable to act to right such a horrible misconception, it was Lizzy, little Lizzy Miller, suddenly older and wiser than her years, who took charge of the situation.

"No Henry," she said, coming alongside her brother to gently pry him away from the strange woman's legs. "It's not Mama. Mama's in heaven," Lizzy explained to him with all the omniscience of her seven years. His trust in his sister unassailable, Henry pulled back from the woman, his face however a picture of confusion and disappointment. Lizzy draped an arm protectively around his shoulders as they stood together in quiet expectation, alone and adrift in the room as they waited for the adults to do or say something.

Regaining some of her lost composure, Hannah Hunt crouched low before the children, meeting their eyes in turn. "Your sister's right," she finally said, addressing Henry. "I'm not your Mama. My name is Hannah Hunt. Your Mama was my cousin," she explained. Seeing the still confused expressions of the children, Hannah changed tactics. "Here, I have a picture of your mother. Would you like to see it?" she asked, already reaching into her pocket just as Lizzy and Henry gave slight nods. Withdrawing a faded daggeurotype from the folds of her skirts, Hannah turned it around and held it before the children. "There," she said, pointing to the image of a young woman dressed in a frilly white Victorian day dress, her youthful happy face peering out from the printed page. "That's your mother when she was about 19 years old. And that's me," she pointed to another young woman standing near the first, her face mirroring the same youthful happy optimism. "That's me beside her, when I was 17."

Lizzy and Henry regarded the photograph with interest. Whether or not they recognized the youthful version of their mother was unknown, but it was clear they grasped the fact that Hannah Hunt was connected to their mother. Was connected to them.

"Did my mother send you here?" Lizzy asked, looking up to regard the woman with her innocent question. Lizzy knew her mother was in heaven, and that she wasn't coming back, but just what heaven entailed she wasn't quite certain.

"Well, not directly," Hannah answered slowly, weighing her words. "But I think...," she paused, glancing up at Gilbert Blythe, the young man responsible for her and her husband being here. "I think she had a hand in it," Hannah smiled over the indirect statement and the meaning behind it. Yes, perhaps God wouldn't mind her ascertion that the young man who'd taken the time to seek them out and to bring them to Avonlea had been heaven-sent to them.

"Lizzy, Henry, why don't we show Mrs. Hunt the cookies we made this afternoon?" Diana piped in with the cheerful suggestion. Immediately the children brightened with proud achievement and pulled on Hannah Hunt's arms, one on each side of her. Laughingly, Hannah rose to her feet, allowing herself to be pulled along by the two children. Diana, her parents and Marilla followed behind the happy brigade.

Silus Hunt stood unmoved and watched his wife leave the room with the small children. There was no mistaking his wife's pleasure, the tinge of a happy blush that animated her face, and Silus felt a twist of sorrow in his gut at the picture. Hannah had always loved children, and children had always loved her back. Even if they were always someone else's children, for Hannah and Silus had never been able to have their own. That's just what made this all the more difficult, he thought, his eyes trained on the now vacated doorway through which his wife and the youngsters had disappeared.

"I would do anything for that woman."

"What?" the question came from Gilbert Blythe as both he and Anne Shirley, now the only other occupants of the room, turned to Silus Hunt at his strange proclamation.

Silus Hunt jolted from his musings, embarrassed to find he'd spoken aloud. "I'm sorry, I.....," he started, then decided it was time to be honest. "Hannah wanted so much to come here, to see the children," he explained. "I couldn't say no. I couldn't deny her that. I would do anything for that woman," he repeated his earlier statement. "But this is just going to make it harder," he said regretfully. At Anne and Gilbert's puzzled looks, Silus elaborated, "We can't take the children. We can't afford it."

"But...but....," Anne sputtered in alarmed protest. What did he mean they couldn't take the children? It had all been going so well, she'd felt so good about the couple, and now this.

Silus Hunt was shaking his head in regret. "You've probably noticed we're not exactly well-off," he said, in polite reference to their financial situation. "I've had trouble getting steady work, what with my leg the way it is," he explained, rapping his cane lightly on the floor as he alluded to the past factory-sustained injury which had hampered his employability over the past several years. Suddenly Silus Hunt met Gilbert eyes challengingly. "I ask you Mr. Blythe, man to man, would you knowingly subject your wife and children to a life of penury? Would you do that to them knowing you couldn't provide properly for them?" he asked, pride in his voice even in the public acknowledgement of his reduced circumstances.

The questions put to him man to man, Gilbert shook his head back. "No sir, I wouldn't." It was a man thing between them. An unspoken code of honour.

Anne felt her hopes crumble at the news. It was as if something inside her that had desperately yearned for a happy outcome was now crushed, and she fought the sudden panic that rose up in its place.

"Mr. Hunt, I had intended to bring this up to you later, but it seems like now is the better time," Gilbert said out of the blue, as both Anne and Silus Hunt eyed him questioningly. Reaching into his shirt pocket, Gilbert pulled out a slip of paper. "When we spoke in Charlottetown you told me about how you had once worked in the post office there, before you'd been laid off and then the trouble you've had since because of...well...the trouble you've had since. I hope you don't mind but I....," Gilbert paused over his presumption, then pushed on, "...I took the liberty of sending a telegraph enquiring about the post office here, in Avonlea." Gilbert handed the paper to Mr. Hunt. "If you're agreeable, the town councillors are prepared to offer you the position of Avonlea postmaster."

Stunned, open-mouthed in astonishment, Silus Hunt gazed mutely back at Gilbert Blythe, unable to comprehend the unexpected offering.

"There's a small apartment above the post office, big enough for you and your wife, and the children. It's nothing fancy, mind you," Gilbert warned. "But if you're interested, it would be something to get you back on your feet."

Silus Hunt shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He was like a drowning man who had suddenly been offered a lifeline. "Mr. Blythe...I...I don't know what to say! This is all so incredible!" he exclaimed in amazement.

Gilbert smiled. "Then I take it that's a 'yes'?" he asked.

Silus Hunt drew himself a little taller, his bearing a little prouder. Quietly he extended his hand. Gilbert smiled and reached to shake it.

"Mr. Blythe, you're a good man and I'm proud to know you," Silus Hunt said.

Her eyes swimming with tears of admiration as she watched the scene from nearby, Anne Shirley couldn't have agreed more.