LM Montgomery owns Anne of Green Gables. Margaret Mitchell owns some other characters. I own the characters you don't recognize from any stories you have read. And legal disclaimers are for the birds. Tweet Tweet.
Lanie, the housekeeper, was pregnant, and it was on a Saturday in late June when her grandmother was due to arrive in Glen St. Mary by train. Lanie's husband, Bert, drove the wagon and Marybeth rode with him to meet her. Despite Lanie's and Marybeth's misgivings about the strain of the arduous trip on the elderly woman, she insisted on being there for the birth even though Dr. Blythe was Lanie's doctor while they were living in Canada. Lanie's grandmother had practiced midwifery ever since her days as a slave on a Georgia plantation and was not about to leave Lanie in the hands of a doctor half her own age.
On they drove, past the manse, past Ingleside, past the meadows and farms that composed the outlying properties of the Glen. Marybeth felt chilly as she rode in the breeze. She was still in the habit of thinking about June as a hot, sticky month even though it had been several years since she and her husband had left Atlanta, and it only felt like spring to her. She could imagine what it would seem like to Lanie's grandmother, who had lived down South all her life.
Marybeth and Bert had only a brief wait until the train arrived, and Marybeth watched as the door opened and Lanie's grandmother appeared descending the steps. Bert strode forward to offer his arm to her on the last stair. She accepted his assistance with the dignity of a queen, and then let go his arm when her own two feet were on the platform. She hugged and kissed him as Marybeth approached the pair, then she turned to Marybeth.
"Miz Marybeth," She said, extending her hand.
"Dilcey," Marybeth replied, shaking her outstretched hand, "It's good to see you."
Even at Dilcey's advanced age, Marybeth had to look up to see into her face. She had not lost any of her dignified manner and Marybeth had always held her in awe. She didn't know how old Dilcey was, and Dilcey didn't tell. But she had been old when Marybeth first met her over 20 years before.
Dilcey and her luggage were brought to the house and Lanie was overjoyed to see her grandmother again. Dilcey greeted the children as Marybeth and Lanie brought out tea and cakes and the three women settled in to talk as soon as Marybeth sent them off to play.
"Just another few weeks, Lanie," Dilcey said and Lanie nodded. "You tired?"
"Of course, Grandma," Lanie replied.
"You don't overdo?"
"Really, Dilcey, as if I would let her," Marybeth said reproachfully.
Dilcey raised her eyebrow at Marybeth, who gave her look for look.
"This is real nice country up here. The air is so crisp. And you can hear the ocean roar," Dilcey said.
Marybeth and Lanie looked at each other and grinned. "When we first came up here, " Lanie said, " I couldn't hear myself think for that noise. Now, we never hear it at all. Just wait 'til tonight when you try to sleep, Grandma. Then we'll see how much you like it."
"Don't sass your elders, Lanie," Said Dilcey sternly. Then she turned to Marybeth. "You're greatly missed in Atlanta, Miz Marybeth."
"I know the children are welcome back, Dilcey..."
"Not just the children, Miz Marybeth--you are missed."
Marybeth grimaced and looked at her hands. "Dilcey..."
"You don't believe me? Just mention the word that you're coming back and just see how many friends you have. Folks miss you."
Marybeth said, "That may have been true at one time, but things change."
Dilcey sighed heavily. "If you mean that trouble all those years ago, you're crazy. People haven't forgot, mind you--people love a juicy story. But if you think that's any reason to stay away, you're crazy. You think you're the only one who ever got in trouble---I could tell you stories. And you know how our grapevine is. Why, your own mother-in-law... No, Marybeth, you can take your place in Atlanta society any time you want."
"But that's the whole problem, Dilcey. I don't have a place in society. My late husband had a place. I was just his wife. I was an outsider when I married him, and I'll always be an outsider."
"Well, maybe that's why people are more willing to forgive you. And anyway, you may be an outsider, but folks do miss you. Just think about it."
Later that night, the household was asleep and Marybeth was restless once more. She needed out, but she didn't want to go into Rainbow Valley and risk meeting with Mr. Douglass again. He made her laugh, but his demeanor was too acerbic for her to be able to manage in the mood she was in right now. Instead, she put on her shawl and headed out the front door and scrambled onto the decaying stone wall in the front of her property, facing the road. She stared at the moon for a moment, and then glanced at the darkened houses around her. The manse and Ingleside were pitch black, full of people sleeping comfortably. Marybeth envied them, wishing she could calm her jangled nerves and sleep. Dilcey could have that effect on her, even now. Marybeth lost herself in memories...
Dilcey had been Marybeth's rock when she was first married and trying to navigate her way in an unfamiliar world. Marybeth had grown up in a comfortable, bourgeois family, but the Brodies were by no means rich. Marybeth's mother had a "girl" who came every day to help with the housework, but that was the extent of Marybeth's experience with servants. Her husband, who had been born on a plantation during the War Between the States, had lived with slaves, then servants, all his life. Although his family, like many others of his social class, descended into genteel poverty during the years immediately following the War, his family, like many others, had put their energy into rebuilding what was lost. By the time Marybeth had married him, his family had rebuilt their wealth, and in the transition, their former slaves were now paid employees.
Dilcey was an intelligent woman and had studied closely the manners and mores of the people she worked for. And, because Marybeth had grown up without learning the social distinctions between employer and employee, she was unselfconscious about asking for Dilcey's guidance. Dilcey freely shared all she knew with the young woman because Dilcey liked her unpretentious attitude, and wanted to see her succeed.
Looking back now, Marybeth could see how the pieces of her life in Atlanta fit together like a puzzle. Marybeth had been an outsider. She had moved to Atlanta looking for work, and not only had she succeeded in finding a job, she had also found kindly patrons in a childless elderly couple. In order to retain their kind opinion of her, Marybeth had decided to tell a lie. At the time she told it, she had only wanted to keep her job, but as lies tend to do, it grew out of her control. Her lie opened doors for her, made her new friends and finally landed her a rich husband.
Her husband was by rights an insider, but he was, through no fault of his own, a misfit. Wade Hamilton belonged to the best families in Georgia, but his father had died, his mother had seemingly made a career out of displaying increasingly outrageous behavior, and his stepfather had always been in the middle of some controversy or other. Wade himself had not had a forceful enough personality to overcome these obstacles. He was a decent man, a straight arrow, but he was also shy and retiring, allowing forces outside his control to carry him along. The only exception to this was in the courtroom. He was a skilled attorney, and his reputation grew favorably over the years. Socially, he was never in a leading roll, but he was a good, solid supporting player.
Marybeth now realized that she would never have been allowed to marry one of the major luminaries in Atlanta society. But she was good enough for Wade. Of course, this realization hadn't come to her until she had been married for many years. But it didn't matter because she hadn't married him for money or position. She married him because she loved him, and he loved her, and they were happy together for many years, until one day.
Marybeth had always carried an undercurrent of uneasiness during the years she lived in Atlanta. Every success, every triumph, had been tainted by her guilt over the lie she had told so many years ago. One fateful day, however, it had all come to a head...
Marybeth was jolted out of her reverie when a branch cracked nearby her. She gave a little shriek as she saw a man walking towards her. Her shriek startled the man, who saw her and removed his hat.
"Holy cow, Mr. Meredith," Marybeth gasped, shaking. "Don't you keep civilized hours?" She climbed carefully down from the wall and stood there, peering at him in the dark.
"I was coming from a sick call, Mrs. Hamilton. I beg your pardon for frightening you." Mr. Meredith sounded weary, and Marybeth felt guilty for taking him to task.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Meredith. How is the patient?"
"He passed on, I'm afraid. Dr. Blythe did everything he could, but Zachariah Drew was in his 90's." He sighed heavily, and then looked at her, as if for the first time. "What drove you out of your comfortable house in the middle of the night?"
Marybeth frowned and reached out to pick at a piece of moss on the stone wall. "My mind was full of troubling thoughts," she said, quietly. "I guess you can't reach a certain age without having some regretful memories. Mine just caught me up tonight." She looked over the stone wall towards her home.
John Meredith studied her face a moment. A widow with a large family was bound to have things to drive her out of bed in the middle of the night, but this had the feeling of guilt about it. He turned away from her and looked at his own house for a few minutes to think.
"Did you make amends for what you did?" He asked, still not looking at her.
She looked at him, startled. "Yes, but how did you--"
"I've been doing this a long time. Did you repent and reconcile yourself with God?"
She nodded.
"Did the person you sinned against forgive you?"
"Yes," she whispered.
He sighed and said to her, "Then, it sounds like you have had a long habit of punishing yourself over your sins. Now, you need to replace that habit with one of forgetting. Of course, if there is any reparation that still needs to be done you must attend to it, but as for the rest, you must forget."
"But that's just it--how do I know that all my reparation has been done? I still wonder if there is anybody who was affected by it, and if I should go and make it right."
"That may be your problem--you keep looking for a problem to fix. That's the way you keep your guilt current in your mind. Give this problem to the Lord, and trust that if there is anything further to be done, it will make itself obvious. Somebody will bring themself to your attention, without you going after them." When she stood silently for a moment, he spoke again, "I'm not the first clergyman you've told this to, am I?"
She shook her head.
"Sometimes people come to us over and over with the same problem. May I pray with you to take this burden away from you?"
Marybeth was shocked, but she nodded weakly and clasped her hands together as he prayed for her. When he was done, he smiled tiredly at her and said to her, "Now you have permission to forget your sin. 'Forget the things which are behind, and stretch forward to the things which are before'. That's in Philippians, Mrs. Hamilton."
Marybeth was able to give Mr. Meredith a genuine smile. "You're a good preacher, reverend. And I'm afraid I've taken up too much of your time. You must be exhausted."
"It comes with the job, Mrs. Hamilton. Good night." With that he left her.
He was right of course. Her regular confessor had told her that more than once and she agreed with him in her head. But between Dilcey's practical advice and Mr. Meredith's spiritual advice it finally dawned on her that brooding over her past mistakes was a type of reveling in her sin, a type of pride and a mistrust in God. Forgetting was what she was instructed to do, and forgetting was what she was going to do.