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.
Marybeth had Bert take some fried chicken and biscuits to the Drew family, with her condolences and a promise to make a neighborly call. That took half the morning, and by the time the house was straightened and in order, to take a break.
Marybeth was playing with Jomishie and Henry in her yard when Rilla and Shirley Blythe joined them, and Carl from the Manse. The older children had found other entertainment, and the young ones were at loose ends. The boys decided on a made up a game of playing "knights" and were tearing through the grounds with wooden swords and sheilds, and any kind of helmet at all. Jomishie and Rilla had decided to be wood-sprites, and Marybeth made flower crowns for them. Being in a rather whimsical mood, she took the leftover wildflowers and made a crown for herself, then sat down to read the book from Mr. Meredith. She had grown so accustomed to hearing the yelling from the children that she didn't look up until she heard a different kind of shriek. Henry was limping towards her, bleeding from a gash in his knee, and the girls had decided that mass hysteria was the best way to deal with the situation.
Marybeth motioned Henry to the nearest chair and sent Jomishie to Lanie for the bandages. Lanie herself came outside with the basin of water and a sliver of soap, and Jomishie trailed behind with the bandages Lanie had given her to carry.
The children watched with gruesome facination while Marybeth cleaned and dressed the wound. The wound was bigger than Marybeth had thought at first and she cleaned it carefully. Hopefully there would be no need to consult Dr. Blythe. She would have to watch it carefully over the next few days.
The girls had stopped sobbing and Marybeth made Henry sit and rest, much to his dismay, but the boys decided to play checkers instead, winner playing the odd man out. The girls had run off again, and Marybeth picked up her book and resumed reading. The summer heat was making her pleasantly tired, and she was having to read sentences more than once. She sat back and simply let the passages she had read play through her mind.
Another shriek snapped her out of her reverie, and thinking it was another injury, she tucked her notes into the book and ran from the garden through the front gate where she had heard the sound. She almost ran into Mr. Meredith, who was standing with Dr. Blythe. Apparantly, both men had walked up from the village when Rilla saw her father. She was hanging on him happily.
Marybeth caught her breath and placed her hand over her heart. "Well, thank goodness nobody else is hurt! " She paused and took a deep breath. "My Henry skinned his knee pretty badly about an hour ago," she explained to Dr. Blythe.
Dr. Blythe looked concerned. "Would you like me to take a look at it?"
Marybeth considered. "Well, as long as you're here, and if you're sure it's no bother?"
"Of course not. Let's take a look."
Marybeth led the men to the garden, oblivious to the amused glance they had given each other. Dr. Blythe examined Henry's leg and prescribed a salve to put on it. He would have someone bring it up from his office. He left, grinning to himself. It was funny that Mrs. Hamilton could be so scatterbrained.
Marybeth walked with Mr. Meredith to the garden gate, and showed him how she was more than halfway finished. He kept giving her funny looks, glancing at her head, at the same time valiantly trying to keep a straight face. Marybeth touched her head, blushed deeply and tried to gracefully sweep the wreath from her head, but it caught in her hair and she gave a little gasping yelp and blushed even more deeply. She looked down to avoid his eyes and fumbled with the wreath, but in her embarrassment she only made it worse. She wanted to disappear through the stones of the terrace, but she felt his hand over her own.
"Allow me," she heard him murmur. She still couldn't look him in the face, but she saw him move closer and felt him gently untangle her hair from the wreath. She was grateful she didn't have to look him in the face, because she found she was blushing again. He was taking his time, not rushing, carefully removing the stems and leaves. She had composed her face along more placid lines by the time he had finished, and was able to look at him as he handed the wreath to her. Was there a trace of a blush on his face? It was probably just the late afternoon light playing tricks with her eyes. He smiled shyly at her and quietly bade her goodbye as he summoned Carl to come home to get ready for supper. She made the excuse of having to help Lanie in the kitchen to make her escape.