This is an alternative ending to the story and picks up in the middle of the previous chapter. If you're sensitive towards violence and angst, don't read this chapter! If you know me in real life, do not read this either!
This one's for a fan of mine from AO3: Blush8657.
"The girl's room is the closest."
"No-no! Don't! Please!" Marilla cried when Larry pulled her towards the door.
A terrible shout suddenly came from Joe, half of whose body had just been poured over with boiling water. This slowed down Larry and quieted Marilla for the moment. Joe turned around to find the culprit, only to gain a blow at his face with the hot kettle.
"Anne!" Marilla cried, not quite sure whether in relief or fear.
Thanks to the blow from Anne, Joe crashed to the floor quite like Anne had a little while before downstairs. The gun fell from his hand, but before Anne could reach it, Larry had taken hold of her. He started swiftly forward, backing the struggling girl to the stairs.
Now free, Marilla didn't stop to think of her own safety, but instead pulled at Larry's arm, hoping to make him leave her girl alone.
"Let go of her!" Marilla's voice sounded angrier to Anne than she had ever heard it before, not a trace left of the fear her tone had held only moments ago.
Larry turned to give Marilla a sharp slap across the face, sending the woman tumbling backwards. Paying no attention to Marilla's pained shriek, Larry turned to regain his hold on Anne. The knife in her hand would have posed a threat if he hadn't been so much stronger than her. With one firm movement he pushed the girl away from himself and down the stairs.
Marilla screamed her little girl's name and started forward, only to be caught by the waist by Joe, who had regained his strength by now. Enraged and frightened, Marilla started scratching his arms until Larry caught her wrists and pulled them away from their task.
She couldn't hear a sound from downstairs any more and her heart ached for Anne. The two men dragged her towards the East gable room and she tried once more to reason with them, "Please, gentlemen! Don't do this to me." At this point she was cut off by her own gasp when Joe kicked open the door to Anne's room. "I-I'm just an old maid; you don't want to-"
She couldn't finish because she was thrown onto the bed and her head hit hard against the headboard. A moment later Marilla was already trying to prop herself up on her elbows, but Larry's hands landed roughly on her shoulders and pushed her down again. She felt completely helpless, trying to turn away from the two men towering over her but being unable to move. Joe was already rummaging under her skirts. Marilla tried to kick him off of her but he managed to pin her legs down with his knee.
Marilla felt her heart thumping, sweat gathering on her skin, a terrified hollow feeling in her stomach. When Joe's shameless hands touched her tender skin, she squeezed her eyes shut and prayed. "Oh God, help me! Please help me!"
Anne lay sprawled on the lowest steps of the staircase, staring at the faraway ceiling and came to the conclusion that she wasn't hurt too bad. Everything moved; there would be nothing but a few bruises, except for her left hand that had a minor burn on it. She realized it was very quiet in the house—all too quiet. And suddenly it came—a blood-curdling, unearthly scream from upstairs. Anne was horrified to recognize the voice as Marilla's. Her always lively imagination failed her for the first time in her life and she didn't dare think of what Larry and Joe were doing to her. Anne stared at the ceiling and the walls, and her ears caught Marilla's pained sobs and tortured shrieks, mixed with the men's eerie laughter and grunts.
After a minute or two, a high-pitched, "Stop!" seemed to inject new life into Anne. She scrambled up from the bottom of the stairs, and leaving the horrible sounds behind, dashed out of the house, leaving the kitchen door open behind her.
The Barrys were having their afternoon tea in their lovely sunlit sitting room and discussing—at least on the female part—the latest hat fashions in Paris when a scrawny out-of-breath redhead burst through their front door and ran into the room. Four pairs of snooty eyes looked at her in surprise.
Anne had prepared grand words for her plea of help on her way running to the Barrys'; now, however, her head was empty again. She could see each family member's lips moving but it was only Diana's, "Are you hurt, Anne?" that finally reached her. Anne shook her head vigorously.
"Marilla!" she exclaimed abruptly. "There are two men at Green Gables and they're hurting Marilla!"
The three female Barrys gasped, but William Barry had no time for such luxuries. He threw his newspaper onto the floor and hurried out of the house to get his horse.
Marilla stared blankly at the plain white wall next to the bed. The bed and her body had stopped rocking a couple of minutes before. Although she was alone, she thought she could still feel a man's weight on her body, two pairs of hands roughly feeling every inch of her. A dull ache filled her body from the stomach to her knees. There was a bitter taste in her mouth, the sickening sweet taste of blood seeped in slowly from her cut lip. Her face was streaked with tears but she had no strength to wipe them away.
She felt filthy and numb. After the painful and brutal tortures the men had exercised on her, Marilla's body had gone completely limp. They had prodded her, rolled her over, toyed with her and beat on her. She had cried all through the horrible scene; now her breath came in short shallow gasps.
She wasn't entirely aware of her own hands slowly dragging themselves across the bed and pulling the remains of her ripped blouse back into place to cover her naked bosom; she had no idea where her corset could be, nor did she care much at this moment. She pushed her skirt down over her damp thighs. Her fingers brushed against something wet, and without even looking, she knew it to be blood. A new miserable sob climbed up her throat.
Anne and William Barry arrived at Green Gables in time to see three figures approaching the house—Rachel and Thomas Lynde and Matthew. The three of them were surprised to see them and Rachel Lynde was intent on telling them so, too, but Anne was—as always—quicker to open her mouth. She jumped off Mr. Barry's horse the moment it came to a stop in front of the house, and declared, "Marilla is hurt!"
It's difficult to believe that five people could manage to fit in through the kitchen door all at once, but they did. Anne, of course, was the nimblest of them all and dashed through the house before the men had had a chance to question her for further details. Rachel was hot on her heels and climbed the stairs behind the girl with remarkable speed.
Anne ran into her room and came to a halt the moment she laid eyes on the woman lying in her bed. Rachel rushed inside after her and her hand flew up to her mouth when she gasped, "Oh, my lord..."
Her best friend was lying on the bed in disarray. Her clothes barely managed to cover the important parts of her body; her corset was lying on the floor by the window. Marilla looked flushed and sweaty; her hair flowed over the covers in grey tangles. A few bright red streaks ran down her half-covered thighs, and she looked too weak to conceal them from their view. Marilla's head was turned to the side, away from them, but her eyes were wide open.
For once it was Rachel who managed to gather her wits first, and she spoke rather harshly, "Out, Anne!" The girl jumped and looked at her with her big frightened eyes. "Go and make some hot water for Marilla. She'll want to get cleaned up. And send the men out to catch these-these..." She couldn't find the right words to even begin to describe the way she was feeling about the men responsible for the sight at hand, but it wasn't necessary—Anne was already down the hall and out of sight.
Rachel approached the bed quickly. "Oh, my darling," she said softly and reached out a hand to touch Marilla's arm. The latter flinched at her touch, but Rachel didn't back down. She couldn't begin to imagine what her friend must have been feeling, but it broke her heart to see her like this and to know what must have transpired.
"They're gone now," Rachel said gently, unable to think of anything that could ease her friend's pain—she doubted, actually, that such a thing existed. She waited and watched Marilla slowly turn her head to look at her. Her eyes were red from crying, glassy with fright, and Rachel had to fight back a startled sob of sorrow. She had never come into contact with anyone so badly hurt, and it made her uncharacteristically indecisive, not to mention uneasy.
She held out her hands in an offer of help. "Come on now," she said, and even to herself her voice sounded unnaturally gentle. "Let's get you out of here and washed up." It took Marilla longer than Rachel would have thought to comprehend the meaning of her words. Eventually Marilla started to rise, her legs swung down over the edge of the bed. Encouraged by the positive response, Rachel took her by the arms and arduously pulled the other woman up on her feet. "That's it, dear."
Marilla's skirt fell back into place, her hair was still tousled. Rachel took her place at her friend's side and reached an arm around her to better steer her out of the gable room. Only now did she notice Marilla was shivering violently. When they started to walk, Marilla fell heavily against Rachel and her hand gripped Rachel's tightly. Rachel sent a last glance at the bloodied spot on the bed and shuddered.
Anne was drumming her fingers on the kitchen table restlessly when Mrs. Barry knocked on the kitchen door, and Diana pushed it open without waiting for an invitation. Anne jumped up and went to greet them; Diana caught her in her embrace.
"Oh, Diana, it was horrible!" Anne wailed. "The most appalling thing you could ever imagine! No, you couldn't even imagine it!"
Eliza, who did not relish the thought of the orphan girl sharing the details of the Cuthberts' latest tragedy with her daughter, quickly cut in, "Where is Mr. Barry?"
"He went after Joe and Larry with Mr. Lynde and Matthew," Anne replied, her face still pressed against Diana's hair. "They'd already escaped before we got back here."
Eliza gave a short, unnoticeable sigh of relief. So the girl hadn't exactly seen everything. She set the basket she'd brought along on the kitchen table and scanned the house quickly. "And where is Marilla?"
Anne finally let go of Diana and sniffed. "Mrs. Lynde is helping her get washed up."
As if on cue they heard a sound from the dining room and witnessed a slightly disarranged and very pale Rachel Lynde guiding a shaky Marilla to a chair at the dining table. The girls remained in the kitchen while Eliza walked over. Rachel greeted her with an acknowledging nod but Marilla kept her eyes fixed on the tablecloth. She looked terribly weary and sick. She'd stopped crying by now but nevertheless looked ready to burst into tears at any moment. Rachel had found her a new blouse and skirt to wear; it didn't take much to notice she'd been in too much pain to squeeze into her corset. Her hair was hanging loose but was unable to cover the vibrant bruise under her left eye.
Eliza did her best not to stare and brought forward some little bottles she'd brought along from home. "I-I thought these could be of help." She placed them on the table. "They're very good ointments all the way from England. They're good for… tender skin."
Marilla gave a sharp hiss, squeezed her eyes shut, clenched her teeth and turned her head away. Rachel hurried over to put her arms around her and pull her close to herself. Eliza and the girls watched, astounded, as Marilla clung on to her friend while Rachel whispered soothing words against the side of her head.
Thomas Lynde took immense pleasure in pushing the two tied up crooks into the county attorney's house—the closest thing Avonlea had to a police station. William Barry looked rather grim as he lead the small party to their local official's office. Matthew stepped in last. He was rather disheartened. Not only didn't tying the two scoundrels up and having them run behind their horses prove to be as satisfying as he'd hoped, he also felt fairly responsible for everything that had happened that day.
If he hadn't taken out that loan against Green Gables, the two men would never have had to come and stay with them. If he had taken a buggy to fetch the Lyndes, he'd have been back sooner. If he had sent Anne to fetch them instead, he could have protected his sister himself. He hadn't had a chance to ask what kind of shape Marilla was in before he'd left Green Gables, and he dreaded going back.
He was only partly listening to William explain the situation to the county attorney. It wasn't until the official turned his way and very hesitantly asked, "I'm sorry, Mr. Cuthbert, but isn't your sister… Well, about your age?" that he finally emerged from his morbid thoughts.
"Aye, but a maid," the bearded crook snickered. And with a toothy grin his mate added, "Until today."
Matthew felt an uncharacteristic anger building up inside him and he calculated whether it would hurt him or the crook more if he were to hit one of them over the head. Thomas Lynde placed a calming hand on his arm, probably sensing his friend's furious train of thought.
It seemed unreal that anything quite so awful could happen to them. Marilla was one of the strongest and most prim women Matthew knew. He didn't know if he'd be relieved or horrified if he were to come home and find her going about the chores as if nothing had happened. However, neither could he imagine what he would do if he were to find her an emotional wreck. The lack of knowledge gnawed at him painfully. Poor Anne didn't deserve to witness such things either.
It was dinnertime when Matthew finally got home. He was greeted by a distraught Anne, who ran into his arms and refused to let go for a long while, and a stern Rachel Lynde, who had evidently taken charge of the household for the day. She served Matthew a plentiful dinner and the man was immensely grateful for it. He took off his coat but hesitated before heading into the dining room.
"How is, uh… How is Marilla?" It felt almost like a crime to break the silence.
Rachel gave him a sorrowful look and nodded towards the dining room. "I've never seen anything the likes of this," she said quietly. "Go on and have your dinner; she won't notice you."
Matthew was confused at the woman's words but ventured into the dining room. Before he could reach the table and the source of the delicious smell that had caused his stomach to rumble, his eyes were drawn to the lean figure sitting by the fireplace. Marilla had wrapped her arms around her and was rocking herself back and forth slowly, her eyes fixed on the flames in the fireplace. From where he was standing Matthew couldn't see the marks the men had left on her face, but the sight alarmed him nonetheless. Keeping Rachel's words in mind, he took his seat at the table; Marilla gave no indication of being aware he was in the room.
The meal passed in silence. Anne had already had her dinner with Mrs. Lynde and now sat at the table with Matthew, observing him and inadvertently making him feel a tad uncomfortable. She was obviously bursting with questions, but the solemn silence in the house seemed to be holding her back from asking them out loud. Matthew ate unhurriedly; as much as he'd disliked being left in the dark, as long as he didn't know everything he could tell himself that the situation was not as bad as it seemed to be.
Anne volunteered silently to clean up after him. Rachel left soon after with a promise to check on them the next afternoon and a dozen instructions for Anne to take care of the household should Marilla not feel up to it, and also to take care of Marilla herself. Always eager to please, Anne remained on the porch, reciting her directions to her retreating neighbour.
Hesitantly Matthew walked over to the fireplace and pulled a chair close to his sister's. Still Marilla did not acknowledge him. He didn't think he'd ever felt so timid about addressing Marilla; he sat down silently and for about a minute or so tried to make his sister look at him by staring at her averted eyes. Needless to say, he was unsuccessful, so he leant forward and reached out to ever so gently pry Marilla's fingers from their iron hold on her own upper arms.
Marilla started and looked up at him with feverish fright. Every weary line in her face screamed of a violent injustice done to her. Matthew felt terrible cold dread clenching his heart. The despondent look in Marilla's eyes made it impossible to hope that things were better than what they'd seemed to be. The horrible afternoon was as real as Marilla's hands that suddenly gripped his tightly. He could see that she was trying to force her expression into a collected one, either to convince her brother or herself that she was all right—naturally, she didn't succeed.
Matthew felt afraid suddenly that anything he might say could hurt his sister even further. What did one say to someone as badly hurt as Marilla was now? "Well now, how are you feeling, Marilla?" He chided himself in his head for sounding so unconcerned.
But oddly enough, he witnessed a subtle change in Marilla's expression. No one had spoken to her so calmly and levelly all day. It was a pleasant surprise to the woman to recognize her brother's steady demeanour—finally something that hadn't changed drastically since the afternoon.
She took a deep breath and released it slowly. Her brows furrowed in thought as she attempted to put her feelings in some sort of order, into some comprehensive words. "I ache all over," she finally uttered. She didn't sound like herself at all; her voice was low and constantly broke as she spoke. "I keep seeing all of it over and over again. I can't get it out of my head. What they did to me… I've never… I've never been so scared in all my life. And I feel… filthy." She shuddered and tried to pull her hands away from Matthew's grip but he didn't release them. As much as he wanted to be kind to his sister, he didn't want her to shut herself away again. "And hungry. But I can't eat anything. Perhaps in the morning… Everyone has been so kind, especially Rachel. But I just want to be left alone."
Matthew felt it was a significant improvement not only from her eerie behaviour of this evening but from her usual reserve as well. Marilla never spoke of her feelings. She always stuck to silence and doing what she felt like without giving a lengthy explanation as to why she was doing it. Matthew nodded his head patiently as he listened.
"No," Marilla continued. "I don't… I don't want to be alone. I don't know what I want or-or… Or if I'll ever… feel better." She clenched her teeth and started blinking her eyes rapidly; and Matthew took that as a sign to intervene.
"Well now, I think it will take some time," he said gently, "maybe a lot of time. But if I know anything it's that you are strong and you are lively, and you will not stay down for long. Now, heaven knows it won't be easy for you. But I can promise you that Anne and I—we'll help you in any way we can."
Tears welled up in Marilla's eyes and she squeezed her brother's hands, unable to voice her gratitude for his support.
"I don't know if you want to hear this," he continued after a momentary pause, "but Larry and Joe will be put on the first train to Charlottetown in the morning. The police are going to pick them up at the station." Although he knew it was fairly irrelevant at the moment, he added, "I brought back our silverware." And he thought he could see the beginning of a small smile tugging at Marilla's lips.
Anne had seen her adoptive parents conversing quietly by the fireplace and slipped upstairs, unnoticed. She was completely shaken by the day's events, although definitely not as much as Marilla was. She was also rather frustrated at the fact that everyone seemed to know exactly what Larry and Joe had done to Marilla in her gable room, while she'd been the only one near this place and she had no idea. Mrs. Lynde had told her curtly that perhaps she'd understand when she was older, to which Mrs. Barry had replied that she certainly hoped not.
Anne tried not to allow her vivid imagination to conjure up possible scenarios as she undressed for the night. As she combed her bright red hair, her eyes caught sight of the bed in the mirror and she suddenly realized she didn't want to sleep there. She'd changed the sheets and she had decided to do the laundry the next day, whether Marilla felt up to helping or not. But the bed upon which the older woman had been tortured still looked uninviting.
After Anne had said her prayers, remembering to thank God for sparing Marilla's life and to ask him to heal her quickly—and to have someone hurt Larry and Joe in the near future—, she sat in the chair by her window for a long while, unable to climb under the covers. She had already blown off her candle and now regretted it. Looking out at the big cherry tree she wondered if Marilla could sleep at all tonight.
She knew it wasn't one of her brightest ideas since Marilla was a very private woman; nevertheless, Anne crossed her room and stepped out into the dark hallway. She made her way to the other end of the hall without making a sound and very carefully knocked on the door to Marilla's bedroom. She received no answer but since she'd already come over, she saw no reason to turn back now.
Anne pushed the door open and entered hesitantly, preparing herself for a reprimand from Marilla for invading her privacy. The woman in question was standing close to her bed and turned her way with a start; she lowered her hand from the bruise Anne knew was under her eye. In the dim candlelight it was nearly impossible to tell that something was amiss about Marilla, and the way she spoke Anne's name in that questioning manner she often used caused the girl to think perhaps Marilla would get over today's horrors sooner than they'd all thought.
Anne closed the door and stepped forward, into the small ring of light. Wringing her hands in front of her, she said, "Marilla, I wanted to… No, I need to know; how are you?" The two of them hadn't spoken since that afternoon and it had been terribly painful for Anne to see her dear Marilla suffering without being able to help any.
"I will be better soon," Marilla told her and there was an almost convincing cheeriness in her tone. "Don't you worry about me. I won't be showing my face in Avonlea for a few weeks now, that's for sure and certain. But I've heard time heals everything, doesn't it? And what about you, Anne?" she changed the subject swiftly. "I never got a chance to ask if they hurt you."
Anne shook her head quickly. "No. Except for a few bruises I found on my back from the fall I'm all right," she assured her, but she felt she'd left something very important unsaid. "I… I'm sorry, Marilla."
"What ever for?" Marilla asked, surprised.
"I tried to stop them," Anne explained and felt her eyes filling with tears. This thought had been weighing on her ever since she'd heard that first unforgettable horrifying scream. "I tried to hold them back but you saw… They were so much stronger than either one of us and I couldn't… I just…"
She couldn't finish because, astounded, Marilla stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her little girl. "There-there now, Anne," she said tenderly as two lean arms wound around her body. "You mustn't blame yourself for any of this. You were very brave today, and very resourceful."
"But if I hadn't told you that the silverware was missing in the first place…"
"I doubt that would have made any difference," Marilla pointed out gravely.
Anne pressed her face against Marilla's nightgown and inhaled her familiar pleasant scent. The reversal of their roles as compared to the rest of the day felt refreshingly natural. It was amazing how in spite of everything she'd been through Marilla was still readily eager to comfort her child. Anne had wondered for so long what having a mother would be like.
"I can't sleep in my bed," she confessed after a lengthy silence. Marilla's hand that had been caressing her head came to a halt. "It's so grim. The girls at school have told me that when they were little and couldn't sleep, their mothers would let them sleep in their room." She made a significant pause there.
Marilla looked down at her incredulously. Anne could tell she wanted to call such notions fiddlesticks, but, oddly enough, she didn't. Instead in a small voice she said, "All right. But just for the night."
Anne couldn't help gaping at the woman as she walked over to the bed and pulled the covers aside for the two of them. This new and gentle kindness was astonishing. Anne didn't dare marvel at it for too long, however, lest Marilla change her mind. She climbed into bed happily and watched Marilla blow out the candle.
Anne didn't think Marilla had shared a bed with anyone since her childhood, so as silence fell over them she tried not to make any sudden movements that could possibly startle her. She wondered briefly if being a grown-up meant not crying oneself to sleep, because she certainly would have if someone had hurt her nearly as much as Marilla had been hurt today. The latter, however, was completely peaceful.
She also wondered if it was possible to hear people's thoughts, because when she still hadn't fallen asleep after a long while, Marilla's voice told her quietly, "Good night, Anne."
"Good night," Anne returned zealously and remembered to close her eyes.
Marilla placed her purchases in her handbasket and thanked the shop owner. This was the first time she'd been away from Green Gables in four weeks. Her body had healed from their boarders' attack but she didn't fancy staying out for any longer than was necessary. Since it had been the Lyndes and the Barrys who had helped her out of her situation, she was convinced everyone in Avonlea had to be aware of her terrible misfortune by now—and she didn't want their pity or their scorn.
She had hoped to be on her way without attracting too much attention to herself. That was not to be, apparently, as Mrs. Andrews approached her at the door of the town shop. "Oh, Ms. Cuthbert, I hope you're feeling better now?" she said in her casual unconcerned tone.
Marilla detected an unusual lack of contempt in her voice but nevertheless found herself at a loss for words. Her bruises had healed, yes, but how was one expected to heal mentally from such a harrowing experience? And in just a few weeks, too.
It was Eliza Barry who eventually came to her aid. Marilla had seen her in the shop but had tried to avoid eye contact out of embarrassment. "There you are, Marilla!" she said cheerily and glanced briefly at Mrs. Andrews' haughty face. "I say, that must have been some cold. But Anne told me you're much better these days."
Marilla gaped at her. "Cold?" she asked thinly.
"Yes," Eliza assured her, linking arms with the dumbfounded Cuthbert. "Rachel Lynde told everyone you'd caught a frightful cold working the field on that dreadfully windy Wednesday and that you haven't been out of the house ever since."
When realization finally dawned, Marilla gave a sigh of immense relief. "That's right," she agreed with a faint smile. "But I'm all right now." Mrs. Andrews gave the two of them a polite nod and ventured farther into the shop.
Once they were out in the street and away from prying ears, Marilla turned to Eliza and quietly said, "Thank you, Eliza."
"It's not me you ought to thank," Mrs. Barry replied. "It was Anne and Mrs. Lynde who made up the story." She patted Marilla's hand. "Not a word of what happened is going to get farther than our three families, I assure you."
The End