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 enjoyed doing her marketing in town. The walk during these balmy summer months was picturesque, and she was learning the names of some of the people who lived in the town. Her older sons would run off with the older Blythes and Merediths as soon as their chores were over, and she would not see them again until meal-times. They were becoming locally famous for their exploits, and they knew most of the people in the town, or so it seemed. Henry and Jomishie stayed closer to home. Her Anna, at 11 years old, had told her that Una was her "Best Canadian Friend." They took turns playing at each other's houses or down in Rainbow Valley. Marybeth realized that this was the first summer Anna hadn't spent most of her time shadowing her. She missed the girl, but was glad she found a playmate.

Anne Blythe walked into town with her on this day. Marybeth enjoyed Anne's company more than probably any other of her friends. Anne had such a poetic way of thinking and talking that Marybeth would never be able to copy. She herself was so energetic and straightforward, like a hummingbird in constant motion that Anne's dreaminess was like a balm to her. Anne, on the other hand enjoyed Marybeth's energy and charm. It was especially amusing to watch her on market day. Marybeth was a widow, and conducted herself with a certain dignity, but her Southern background sometimes got the best of the situation. She was an inveterate charmer, and although no one could precisely call her a flirt, she had a natural, unaffected way of tilting her head and looking up at a man through her lashes that disconcerted the shopkeepers who were lucky (or unlucky) enough to have her as a customer. Somehow, in her presence, hard to find merchandise would find its way out of stockrooms, friendly advice about the best sale prices would be forthcoming, and the freshest produce and meats would become available.

Naturally, Marybeth would declare herself ever so grateful for their kindness, and the clerk would feel especially gallant. Anne was a second hand beneficiary of this by-play, as well as an amused spectator.

They trudged up the hill on the way back from town. Naturally, that was the least enjoyable part of the trip, and the two women spoke little. They were both absorbed in their own individual thoughts when just as they passed the Douglass farm, they heard a yell from the barn, followed by a string of colorful language. Snapped out of their reverie, the women looked at each other, dropped their purchases, and ran towards the scream.

They passed the hired boy, who was running out of the barn at top speed. Apparently, the cussing had been directed at him, because when they entered the barn, they found an appalling scene.

Norman Douglass stood, clutching his left arm, which was gushing blood at an alarming rate. Marybeth turned to Anne to have her get the doctor, but Anne was already in motion. "I'll call my husband from your phone, Mr. Douglass," she said over her shoulder as she trotted into the house.

Marybeth sped over to his side. "Let me look," she said.

"I'm fine. Go away."

"Let me see," she repeated. She pried his fingers loose, but she was unable to see the wound through the gushing blood. Pressing the wound with one hand, she dug in her pocket for the clean handkerchief she had there and pressed that over the wound instead.

"Lacy handkerchief's gonna be a lot of help," he muttered sarcastically.

"Oh, hush up," she replied. "Save your strength." She looked around the barn and spied a little bale of hay. "Come sit over here," she commanded, tugging at his arm.

He complied, grumbling, as she led him to the hay and made him sit. "I'll be fine. Just tie up the handkerchief with something."

"Wrong. I'm staying here until Dr. Blythe gets here. Tie it up, indeed." She lifted his arm above the shoulder.

"What are you trying to do, woman? Yank my arm out of its socket?"

"Are you always such a baby when you get hurt? I own a farm and I have several sons. I think I know how to stop bleeding."

He fell silent then, but looked at her speculatively as she held his arm. She smiled at him reassuringly, and also fell silent. Her shoulders started to ache and she rested his arm on a barrel nearby, but continued to apply pressure.

"So, Mr. Douglass, what happened?"

"Saw slipped."

She tisked sympathetically and shook her head. The blood flow was slowing a bit and Mr. Douglass leaned towards Marybeth a little and said, "Mrs. Hamilton, if I may..."

But whatever he was going to say was cut short by the arrival at that moment of Dr. Blythe. Mr. Douglass sighed with a trace of annoyance and leaned back against the wall. Dr. Blythe took one look at Marybeth and sent her home.

"This is where I take over, Mrs. Hamilton. Get yourself cleaned up. You look like you just committed murder."

Marybeth raised an eyebrow at Mr. Douglass and said, "If the patient hadn't stopped arguing with me about letting me care for him, I just might have."