CHAPTER 8 A STRANGER COMES TO TOWN

Rose breathed in, eyes feasting on her discovery. The salt tinged air seemed to clear her head of those tangled cobwebs that had been growing over her brain in the oppressive boarding room where she was studying. But she'd escaped from that, and now she rested on the shore. She called it her secret cove, and had spent every minute possible there since she had discovered it on the second day of school. It wasn't the main beach, it was the cliff jutting out over that, where she could gaze and idly sketch the passer-by's below, not to mention letting her spirit soar over the tossing blue beyond. No one came up there often, where bushed ran wild in a sort of tangled greenery, with buttons of wild flowers poking between them. There were a few lounging trees, which Rose would snuggle up to, or hide behind, depending on her mood at the time.

'This is my home' she thought, though she tried, she could never think of that boarding house as a home, 'it simply lacks in that charm of a home, but here…' she breathed in again, 'oh, I belong here'

When she was little she never had an imaginary friend really, instead, there was this gnarled oak out the back, the most wrinkled and rough tree you could imagine, and she called it Grandmother Hetty, for she was always reading about wise and kind grandmothers in books and desperately wanted one of her own. Grandmother Hetty was always there for her, her own guardian, and she'd spill out all her problems to it, while she imagined Grandmother Hetty would teach her the ways of the flowers.

But one day, one awful day, one black day, she skipped out for her daily lesson, and she was simply not there, instead there was a jagged stump sitting there where Grandmother Hetty used to smile lovingly down at her. It was a tragedy for the ten-year-old girl - it was nothing but murder. How she screamed, piercing through the windows of the homestead, and how she raged that night seeing Jack bring in piles of wood, how she called him a villain, the most black hearted murderer there ever was, and would never ever speak to him again. She thought of those tales of hell that the Sunday School Teacher terrified her with, and she said that too him too – that she hoped he would burn there. Right in front of Frieda too, and how Frieda locked her in the room for days after that, calling her a wicked heathen, and when she was finally let out, it was because they said she was going to another home, Frieda's last words in her ear being, "And that was the thanks we got for taking her in after Harry had rescued that wailing child from the field".

But the faces that met her after the train were that dimpled dumpling one of Eleanor and that kind face of Ted. And when she had told her all of her woes, Eleanor (with a look at Ted) just stroked her hair and told her that Grandmother Hetty probably just left to look after another little girl because Rose was getting too big for her. And then Ted had said that there was a Grandpa Elm at their place, in-between two gossiping Maple Maidens. Rose had fallen in love with them both from that moment on.

Rose smiled and leant back, her thoughts now of home, of the elusive Echo that lived in their field, of flower balls on the lawn, of her art teacher Mr. Lahar who began teaching her when he sat behind her in church and saw her doodles in the hymn book pages…

Unconsciously Roses hand flew as she thought of this, her pencil scribbling over the pages as her thoughts. A mischievous elf wind picked up the pages of her sketchbook and threw them into the air, scattering them down the steps to the beach, making them look like a flock of doves nesting on the ground. But Rose was oblivious to this, lost in her reverie of thoughts, until the same elf wind tugged on her sleeve and she 'woke up' with a start and looked around in dismay at her precious pages strewn everywhere. She hastened, and started to chase one down the steps, and finally got a hold of it, when a hand grabbed it out of her clutch,

"Excuse me!" she snapped and looked straight up into the eyes, and roguish smile of an unfamiliar face, but she took no notice of how the eyes twinkled, like sunlight on the sea, or how an irresistible lock of hair was flung in front them. She saw only a teasing look of an imbecile bumbling boy, who dared take her artwork,

"I believe stealing an artists work is called plaguerism, or maybe you're ignorant of how the law works, any case, I could have you thrown in jail!" The boys eyes locked into hers, fascinated by her fuming ones,

"Well, I would be very sorry for plagiarising an artists work, if only she would thank me for rescuing them from the wind's thieving hands" his voice drawled and smile grinned as teasingly as ever, in his arms were the rest of the runaway pages. Rose's eyebrows shot up,

"In that case I suppose an artist should be grateful, even though she was fine by herself" She snatched them off him and waited for him to scowl, but he simply dug his hands in his pockets, his smile as wide as possible, repressing laughter. That made her furious, even more so when he went on, with infuriating carelessness,

"Now what would a lass be doing in the wildness of the shore scribbling away at sketchbooks when she could be…"

"Nothing more than what a strange American boy would be strolling around the shores butting in when he's not wanted when he could be…"

"…Enrolling in Queens Academy" she scowled, now he was going to but in on her at school too, unless,

"What year?"

"First" Her face fell, he noticed,

"The same as the roaming Bohemian lass too I guess?"

"Correct"

"Then you might know my cousin, Gilbert Blythe?" He asked. A burst of laughter sprung up in her at Gil's name, she just couldn't forget their first meeting! But then she stopped…so this was the cousin from the west, the one she had heard such things. Ruby would be so jealous. She nodded her head

"Well I guess we'll have much more pleasure of meetings in the future, classmate" He struck out a hand, she hesitated

"So I go from Bohemian lass to classmate?" He sensed her coldness and withdrew his hand,

"I better be off so we are classmates"

"And I better go back to my scribblings as you call them" Tom grinned and whistled as he walked away, all day he met new people, but he could just not get that red head lass's face out of his head, he's never met anyone like her. Rose flung herself into the tree, her heart burning, she looked scornfully at the "scribblings" even Josie wouldn't deny that they were more than that. She wished he would shrivel up into thin air.

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She told Anne all about it that night. "Typical of a Blythe" was all that Anne said.

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Okay, so maybe my meetings are a bit cliché, but still stick by me! By the way, I've refurnished the whole story, added a whole new bit to Chapter 4 about Anne and Rose getting to know each other, and some minor things in some of the other chapters, so if a name has changed here, I changed it back there as well. And after you've checked out the chapter please, please, please review while I figure out the next one!