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.
The week had been cloudy, every day threatening rain and Marybeth's nerves felt raw and exposed. One part of her felt alive for the first time in too long. The other part wished to go, to cut her vacation short, to pull up her whole household and flit home. This afternoon she walked up from the market alone when the clouds thickened, the wind whipped the trees, and the temperature lowered. Then the skies opened up and poured water. Marybeth had brought her umbrella, but it turned inside out at the first gust, and she was soaked through within three minutes. She tried running home, but one can only run so far in stays and she was soon out of breath. She settled for a brisk walk.
As she trudged through the storm she thought she heard her name being called, but couldn't look around to see.
"Mrs. Hamilton!"
Marybeth looked up to see Norman Douglas. She had got as far as his house, and he must have seen her hurrying along and come out to her. However, he didn't pause for conversation. He put an oilskin over her and said, "This way" as he ushered her into his house. He left her dripping in the foyer and hollered for his housekeeper, who came bustling out from the direction of the kitchen.
"Wilson, take Mrs. Hamilton upstairs and get her dried off."
Marybeth protested, "Mr. Douglas, I have to get home."
"Your house is a half a mile up the road. Nobody's getting through this. See how the wind is blowing? You want a tree limb to fall on you?"
"But my children--"
"Are all smart enough to come in from out of the rain, I'm sure. Unlike their mother. Wilson, stop gaping and get Mrs. Hamilton dried off."
Reluctantly Marybeth followed Wilson upstairs and down the hall to the spare room. Wilson rummaged around in an armoire and found a substantial but ugly robe and handed it to her, then went to start a fire in the grate. Marybeth removed her now-bedraggled hat, shoes and stockings, and waited for Wilson to leave so she could hang up all her clothes on the chairs Wilson was setting up in front of the fire.
The robe was too big for her and it trailed the floor. The late Mrs. Douglas must have been a bigger and taller woman than she. Marybeth would have liked to hide in this room until her clothes were dry, but she needed to phone to her family. She fastened the robe from neck to floor, and then unpinned her hair and finger combed the tangles out. Her teeth had started chattering while she was getting undressed. She looked around the room and saw a pretty little quilt on the bed. She grabbed that and pulled it around herself, too, then headed downstairs for the phone.
Wilson was alone in the kitchen, and she looked at Marybeth grumpily.
"I need to call my family."
"Go ahead," Wilson said, jerking her head towards the phone. "But I bet the line's down."
Wilson was right. The line was down. The wind was howling and the rain was pouring, and Marybeth's teeth were still chattering. Wilson did not seem like the type of person one could make conversation with, so Marybeth decided to head back upstairs to the spare room and wait out the storm. As she turned to go, Mr. Douglas appeared in the doorway.
"Wilson, don't you have any gumption? Why didn't you make Mrs. Hamilton sit in the parlor, instead of standing in the middle of the kitchen? Do it right now."
Wilson took Marybeth to the parlor and showed her the sofa. Marybeth arranged the robe and quilt around herself. Her teeth were still chattering, but there was a roaring fire, and best of all, Mr. Douglas was nowhere in sight. She hadn't counted on seeing him again like this, and she felt like she was at a disadvantage. She stared into the fire and tried to warm up. Just as she was drifting into a reverie, she was jolted back to reality by Mr. Douglas handing her a brandy.
"Drink it. You're freezing."
"I can't get through to my family, Mr. Douglas."
"I'm sure they're fine. If they're not home, then they're at the Blythes, or the Manse."
At his mention of the Manse, she took the glass in both hands and drank it half down in one gulp. She started to feel the warmth steal through her and she closed her eyes.
"Not so fast, Mrs. Hamilton, or you won't be able to walk home tonight."
Her eyes flew open.
"Stay here and get warm." He left the room.
Marybeth sipped her brandy and resumed staring into the fire. It was cozy to stay here and warm up and listen to the sound of the storm raging. The brandy was making her drowsy. She could hear some conversation in the kitchen, but it was none of her concern. Mr. Douglas came back to tell her that supper would be ready soon.
"I can't promise it's edible, but it'll keep you from starving."
Marybeth smiled at him.
"Your glass is empty. I'll take it." She handed him the glass and he looked at her peculiarly. "I hear your housekeeper has a new baby girl."
"That's right. I've I haven't been out much."
"That's what I heard. You should hire a girl here to help you."
Marybeth nodded.
They ate supper in front of the fire to Wilson's disgust, who believed that all meals should be served properly at table. The storm continued unabated through the meal, but Marybeth warmed up from the hot food. Mr. Douglas left her in the parlor again after supper to check on something. She heard the sounds of Wilson cleaning the dishes and debated going in and offering to help. Her decision was made for her when Mr. Douglas came back, carrying a box.
"You play chess?" He asked, as he set up the board on a table near the sofa.
"Why yes, but I'm not a very challenging player, I'm afraid," she said, with some surprise.
"Was there something else you wanted to do instead?" He glanced at her as he set up the pieces.
"No."
"I assumed you would prefer this to cards. None of the women around here approve of cards."
"Really, why is that?"
"You tell me. Don't the parsons warn against it?"
"I really don't know, Mr. Douglas. I go to Stella Maris."
"Is that right?" He grinned at her a little wickedly.
Her eyes narrowed. "I'm warning you, Mr. Douglas, don't even think about saying something obnoxious."
"Because you might get mad?"
"You know, you can really be insufferable sometimes," Marybeth said, but she forced herself to speak quietly.
"You go first--it's your move," he gestured at the chessboard.
They played a few moves and Marybeth had not lost any pieces yet, but she needed to concentrate on the board. He watched her as she bent over the board, considering her choices. She looked like a young girl with her hair down.
"So, what was your maiden name?" He asked abruptly.
"Brodie."
"Brodie! That's a Scottish name."
"Brodie just so happens to be an Irish name."
"Aha. I knew you had to get your temper from somewhere."
"If you're going to make personal remarks, I could come back with a few observations of my own," she said haughtily.
"I'd like to know exactly what you think of me. I just captured your rook."
Marybeth sighed and turned her attention back to the board.
"How long have you lived in Glen St. Mary's?" she asked him after a few more moves. She wanted to change the subject.
"This farm's been in my family for several generations, now," he said, proudly.
"Have you never been outside the Glen?"
"Why would I? Everything I need is here. I grew up here, I courted here and I married here."
"Hester," she said. "Oh, don't look at me like that. Of course I hear all the gossip."
"I'll just imagine what you heard. Hester was a good woman; she just couldn't see the funny side of things. So, I let her do the fussing and worrying."
Marybeth smiled. That was a little different from the way Miss Cornelia told it.
Then something dawned on her. "Are you letting me win?"
"What makes you say that?"
"Mr. Douglas, I'm not this good a player. You should have beaten me long before now."
"Maybe I am helping you a little. Women generally can't play chess--don't have the mind for it."
"Well stop it this minute! I'm not a child who needs to be coddled," she said indignantly.
"Fine, but I do like you when you're mad," he said, grinning at her. "Check."
"Thank you." She moved her piece.
"Checkmate. You happy now?"
"Thrilled to bits. When is this storm going to let up?" She said, looking towards the window. She jumped, startled, when Mr. Douglas sat down next to her, picked up her hand and kissed it, but she didn't pull her hand away.
"I've missed you, Mary," he said, simply.
"Nobody in the world calls me Mary," she whispered, as he kissed her hand a second time.
"Good."
He leaned towards her then, pushing back the heavy mass of her slightly damp hair. When he was close enough that his lips were nearly brushing her ear, he whispered, "You're not sorry you stayed, are you?"
She couldn't truthfully say she was sorry, but her mouth had gone dry and she couldn't answer. She closed her eyes as he lightly kissed her neck just below her ear, but she opened them again when she felt him pull away from her. He looked searchingly into her face.
"Blazes, woman," he said quietly. "Your hand is shaking and you look like a frightened deer."
"I'm not frightened," she said, as he caressed her hand.
He raised an eyebrow at her. "Then I'll just hold your hand until it stops shaking."
They sat in silence for a while, staring at the fire. Marybeth didn't know what to say to him. She had been afraid, but not of him. She could still feel where he kissed her. The atmosphere in the quiet little parlor seemed nearly explosive, but it seemed that any attempt at conversation would be wrong.
Finally, after what seemed like hours to Marybeth, he gave her hand a squeeze, stood up and checked out the window. He came back to the sofa and said, "Storm's over. You get ready while I check on the animals in the barn."
Marybeth stood up also, and said, "Mr. Douglas, I--"
But he shook his head, cutting off her words. "I'll be back in a little while."
Marybeth went upstairs and got dressed, picked up her ruined and still soggy hat, then peered into the mirror. She decided not to pin her hair back up. They wouldn't be running into anybody this late at night. She went downstairs to wait for him. He came back shortly and handed her a shawl.
"Put this around you. It belongs to Wilson--found it hanging by the back door. The night got chilly. The storm hit us badly; tree limbs are down everywhere, so I'm bringing the lantern." He looked at her as she put the shawl around her shoulder and gave her a grin. "You could pass for a gypsy, dressed like that."
She smiled back at him in return.
When he opened the front door, Marybeth was shocked at the amount of damage there was. They would have to clear a path to the front gate, and the ground was a muddy mess. Mr. Douglas took her elbow and said, "Hold on to me, and watch your footing."
It took them a long time to progress. Mr. Douglas had to stop every few feet to toss branches out of their way, and the mud made walking treacherous. She clung to him as they made their slow progress.
At one point the lantern shone full in her face as he took her arm again after clearing another branch.
"Why did you smile?" He asked her.
"I just thought we would look funny if somebody saw us from far away, staggering through the road. Anybody would think we were making our way from the saloon."
When they resumed walking, they heard "Hello! Hello with the lantern!"
They turned to see two people making their way towards them. When they got closer, Marybeth could see Miss Cornelia's husband and Mr. Meredith.
"We were at Carter Flagg's store when this hit," Mr. Elliott explained, after they caught up. "There's less damage up this way than there was down there."
"Do they need help down in the village?" Mr. Douglas asked.
"No," said Mr. Meredith. "They had a little flooding at the Harbor Mouth, but we ran into Gilbert Blythe in town. As far as he knew, there were no deaths or serious injuries."
Marybeth sighed, an unconscious prayer of gratitude.
"Then let's get you home, Mrs. Hamilton, " Mr. Douglas said.
"I don't know where my children were when this started," Marybeth explained. "I'm anxious to know they're all safe."
She met Mr. Meredith's eyes briefly, and she saw he had been thinking the same thing, hoping his children were all okay.
They resumed walking, but with four people in their party, the going was much quicker. Mr. Elliott parted ways with them when he got close to his own house, and Marybeth asked him to thank his wife for the baby dress, which she had sent over.
When they arrived at Marybeth's gate in the little stone wall, she turned to the remaining two men and said, "I'm going to go count everybody. If someone's missing, I'll need to find them." She turned and walked down her little path. Burt must have cleared this part because she didn't have to step over anything.
Dilcey met her at the door. "Everybody's home but Anna, Miz Marybeth, but I think she's at the preacher's house. She was headed over there to play this afternoon."
Marybeth met the men at the gate. "Dilcey thinks Anna is at your house, Mr. Meredith."
Without a further word, the three picked their way towards the Manse, the lantern flickering and making weird shadows. When they arrived at the front door of the Manse, Mr. Meredith invited them to come in while he looked for Anna.
"No, Mr. Meredith, " Marybeth replied. "My shoes are too muddy. I wouldn't think of it."
A few moments later, Mr. Meredith emerged from the house to tell Marybeth he had found Anna in Una's room. "She may as well just stay here tonight, rather than wake her up," he said.
"That's just fine," Marybeth said. "All yours accounted for?"
He nodded.
"I'm glad. Well, just send Anna home tomorrow then. Good night, Mr. Meredith."
Mr. Meredith watched her leaving a moment before shutting his door. She looked very young and half-wild with her hair down and wrapped in that big shawl. Usually Marybeth looked fairly stylish. He liked seeing her tonight, but there was a small trace of another feeling mixed in there, too, something he refused to admit was jealousy. After all, he reasoned, he had nothing to be jealous of. Marybeth was a lady he could talk to about interesting things, and he liked her, but he had no claim on her, and never could have a claim on her. Too many things separated them. However, he couldn't help wishing just a little bit that it was he who was walking her home right now.
Now that she knew her children were safe, Marybeth was succumbing to fatigue. Her steps were slower and she was leaning on Mr. Douglas for support. Neither one had spoken a word to each other since they had left Marybeth' s house for the Manse. At her gate, he took her hand and kissed her chastely on top of her head. "Good night, Mary," he said, then left.
The clock in Marybeth's parlor showed it was nearly 1:30 in the morning, and she started to climb the stairs to her room when Dilcey and Burt emerged from the back of the house.
"Can we talk to you?" Dilcey asked.
"It's really late, Dilcey, can it wait until tomorrow?"
"It's important."
Marybeth sighed and went into the parlor to sit down. When they were all seated, Dilcey said, "It's about Ted."
"Miz Marybeth," Burt said, "I didn't know whether to tell you or not, but Ted told me what happened that night at the shore."
Marybeth braced herself. This would make the third version she heard to date.
"Some of those trashy Harbor Mouth young folks, boys and girls, were at the beach that night. The boys got one of the girls very drunk, and they were trying, well, you know."
Marybeth nodded.
"Our boys, and their friends, got the girl away from them, and Ted walked her home. On the way, it seems, the girl threw herself at him."
This version of the story was square with what she had heard so far. Dilcey took over talking. "It seems that Ted did push her away, but not at first. He was curious, Miz Marybeth, you know how boys are. But he changed his mind and decided that it was wrong to be kissing her when she was so drunk and he didn't even know her. So when he pushed her away, she said some nasty things to him, like there was something wrong with him for not wanting to be with her."
"That's why he came to me," Burt picked up the thread of the story. "I told him there was nothing wrong with him, that he didn't have to prove himself, and he did the gentlemanly thing to not take advantage of her."
Marybeth sighed with relief. The story could have been much worse. Besides, she could understand wanting something one shouldn't have.
"You understand why he didn't want to tell his Ma," Burt said. Marybeth nodded. These were the things men talked of among themselves.
"What about Beau and Wade Jr.? What do they know?" Marybeth asked.
"Don't worry yourself about it, Miz Marybeth," Burt said. "I talked to all three of them."
Marybeth was grateful. It was hard to raise young boys without a father. She was glad they had Burt to talk to.