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 was alone in her kitchen, baking. Lanie was not on her feet yet, and Dilcey was tending her.
The kitchen of the house was spacious and dark, as the house had been built on a slope and the kitchen was partly underground. There was a massive cast iron stove, perfect for cooking the amounts of food required in the Hamilton household and an enormous wooden table in the middle of the room. Unfortunately, there was only one window cut into the stone wall, and a door that led out to the back yard, and neither allowed enough light for close work. There was a screen in the door, however, and Marybeth could get some air into the kitchen without attracting flies. It was quite warm however, even this early in the morning. Later in the afternoon it would be too hot for any kind of baking.
Marybeth had tied up her hair in a kerchief and pushed up her sleeves and was rolling crust for a pie at the wooden table when she heard a knock at the kitchen door.
"Come in!" She called, then looked up to see Mr. Meredith let himself in. Taking a deep breath, she said, "Welcome to my kitchen. What brings you here today?"
"I wanted to thank you for the book you sent over." He was thinking that she looked very funny with the kerchief tied on her head, the ends flopping over like an enormous hair bow.
"You're welcome. If you're not too busy, won't you sit down? I'd just advise you to hang your suit coat on that peg over there. You'll swelter in this heat."
As he hung his coat on the peg, Marybeth wiped her hands on a damp rag and poured some tea that was left over in the pot. She shoved the teacup, sugar and milk at him where he was sitting at the other end of the table from her workspace. Then she resumed her pie crust.
As he stirred his tea, he said, "I admit I was quite surprised at the subject matter. Tertullian? His later writings were considered quite heretical--saying that certain sins were beyond forgiveness."
"I just ignore that part," said Marybeth with a shrug. "And, that's why I bought his writings in commentary form, so I can tell what parts are sound and what parts are unsound. I left school when I was 15, but I always loved to read whatever and whenever I could get my hands on. Novels, classics, religious, a little bit of history. Even things like magazines. But I never went to college like you, for instance." Then she grinned. "I have to admit, politics confuses me. I just sort of ignore that. And anyway I can't vote so it doesn't really matter."
She looked up at him; he was nodding at her. "I know, I know, I'm a bluestocking," she said, grinning.
"It doesn't matter. There's nothing wrong with furthering your education on your own. In fact, it's admirable."
The room grew quiet as Marybeth lined the pie pan with the crust and started adding the filling ingredients.
"Actually, Mr. Meredith, I'm glad you stopped by. I want to ask you something." Marybeth tried to speak casually, and not appear to be soliciting gossip. "What do you know about the Harbor Mouth young people?"
"Some are very good, and some are not. Just like everywhere, Mrs. Hamilton." Marybeth nodded slowly.
Seeing her disappointment at his brief response, Mr. Meredith asked, "Is this about the incident on the beach last week?"
"Yes, sort of," Marybeth replied as she put the top crust on.
"From what Faith told me, Ted acted quite honorably. He walked the young girl home, keeping her from the boys who had been drinking whiskey..."
"Wait--what? First let me put this in the oven," Marybeth opened the oven, letting a blast of hot air into the kitchen, put the pie in to bake, then closed the oven and stood up. She went to sit down next to Mr. Meredith.
"What's all this about whiskey?" She asked.
"You didn't know?"
"I knew there was a fight. Beau came home bloody. What did Faith tell you?"
"Faith said some Harbor Mouth kids showed up."
"Yes, yes, I know that part."
"Anyway, they brought some whiskey, and were told by our boys that they were not welcome at the bonfire. They went down the beach a little way. Then, our boys saw them harassing a girl, they went to rescue her, a fight broke out, and Ted walked the girl home. As I said, Ted acted admirably."
Marybeth sat a few moments, digesting everything Mr. Meredith told her.
"What was the girl's name, do you know?"
"Sadie. Faith didn't know her last name."
Marybeth was quiet again, trying to put everything together. She frowned a little. Maybe Ted wasn't so chivalrous. It disappointed her to think it. On the other hand, according to Anna, the girl kissed him, not the other way around. But Ted was only 14. Way too young for girls.
Mr. Meredith watched the play of emotions on Marybeth's face as she sat thinking. The warmth and dimness of kitchen, along with the comfortable cooking smells were having a soporific effect on him. He was comfortable just to sit with her like this and talk.
"At least Anna and Una were gone by that time," she said, and sat back in the chair. Suddenly she sat up straight and leaned forward to Mr. Meredith, her hands clasped on her knees, looking directly into his eyes. "The kids, our kids, they're just too young for this. They know all the fairy tales, and the stories of knights and romance, and how they end in happily ever after. Love and romance is part of life, after all. But I don't want them to see the seedier side of men and women together yet. I can't shelter them forever, Mr. Meredith, but for right now, I want them to understand the ideal--that when the Prince kissed Sleeping Beauty, she had saved her lips for the man she loved. It wasn't just--" Marybeth dropped her head down, embarrassed, blushing. This was the most intimate conversation she had ever had with any man other than Wade about the physical side of married life. And she and Wade had only ever exchanged this type of conversation in the dark of their own room. Reticence had been trained into her during her upbringing. But she had been thinking about Ted and was talking to Mr. Meredith as one parent to another, forgetting momentarily that he was a man.
Mr. Meredith sat, dumbfounded. He didn't know what had brought on this passionate outburst because he didn't know the story that Anna had told Marybeth about Sadie and Ted. He did realize that he was hearing some of her deepest feelings about love and understood her modesty and why she had blushed. Cecilia had been much the same way; loving and affectionate and willing, but unable to talk about that part of their life without much agony of embarrassment. In his ministry he had been privy to people's most private lives. A person would repent and convert, and would tell him their story. Mr. Meredith had heard much, includng stories about things that women like Marybeth and Cecilia would never know about. It was all part of his purpose in life. But he had snapped out of his soporific mood when Marybeth leaned forward to pour out her feelings. He became aware that they sitting close together, knees almost touching, with her face turned towards his as she talked about kissing. He felt an enormous amount of relief when she stood up and moved away from him and started clearing off the table, but to his confusion, there was disappointment mixed in there, too.
He looked up at her when she sighed, sharply. Rubbing her hand across her forehead, she said with a wry smile, "The mother is always the last to know."
Flour on her hands had rubbed off onto her face as she said it. The combination of her abrupt change of mood, along with the sight of her with her funny kerchief and flour-smeared face affected Mr. Meredith strangely. As a reaction to the sudden ceasing of tension in the room, he started to laugh.
"What's so funny?" She asked, wondering.
"You, with the flour on your face," he replied, chuckling.
"This is funny, is it,?" She couldn't help laughing a little nervously as she felt the atmosphere in the kitchen become less charged.
"Yes," he said, defiantly, still laughing.
"Oh really, how funny is this?" Impulsively, she picked up a couple pinches of flour and threw it at him. Then she put her hands over her mouth in horror as he looked at her, shocked.
"So that's how it is?" He said, before he sprang up, reached over to the open flour sack and threw a pinch back at her.
She squealed and jumped. "Ha! You missed." Then she grabbed some more flour and ran as he grabbed some flour and chased her around the table, throwing flour, grabbing for more.
She was laughing, getting breathless as she said, "Stop, we're going to disturb Lanie," before she threw another handful at him and reached for more.
"Hey!" he said, before he lunged, took hold of her throwing hand and, laughing, pulled her to him, then wrapped his other arm around her waist. "If you want to stop, then let go of the flour," he said more quietly, as he twined his fingers in hers to make her drop the flour she was holding.
They stood like this, regarding each other for a few heartbeats, unsure what to do. Marybeth scarcely breathed, but her heart was pounding in her chest and her knees felt weak.
"If I may," he murmured quietly as he broke eye contact. He let go of her hand and felt at her waist for the damp rag she had used to wipe her hands. Gently, he wiped the flour off her face, then stepped back a little and gave the rag to her for her hands.
"Mr. Meredith," Marybeth could hardly keep her voice steady. "Your vest. I'm so sorry." She turned to the pail of clean water and rinsed out the rag and handed it back to him. "It'll come out, thankfully. What would your Aunt Martha say if you came home covered in flour?"
He smiled at her shyly.
Marybeth proceeded to clean the table, and the flour that was everywhere. After Mr. Meredith had cleaned himself up, he proceeded to help her tidy the kitchen. They worked silently, neither knowing what to say to the other. Finally the room was in tip-top order, and Marybeth took off her apron and kerchief. Mr. Meredith, stood, looking at her steadily, but not saying anything, either.
"Thank you for stopping by, Mr. Meredith. I really must get lunch on the table. Unless you'd like to stay?"
"I'm afraid not, I have business in town."
She saw him out the door and watched him walk down the road into town before she sat down in the lounge chair to cool herself off before making lunch. Her thoughts were spinning and she couldn't help reflecting that it wasn't likely her insomnia would be getting any better soon.