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.

Thank you to everybody who's reviewed so far--it does help keep me focused.

"Dominus Vobiscum," chanted the priest.

"Et cum spiritu tuo," intoned the altar boys in reply.

Marybeth Hamilton stood quietly in the pew at Our Lady Stella Maris and watched as the priest swung the censer, heavy and smoking, on its long chain over the gospel book preparatory to reading it.

Jomishie stood on one side of her, Henry on the other. She always separated them to keep them from poking and teasing each other. The familiar scents of incense, beeswax candles and furniture polish and the muted jingling sound of rosary beads from the other women rarely failed to induce a reverent, prayerful state and she wanted to pray very much, but she was unable to force her thoughts into anything approaching the spiritual realm. The most she was able to achieve this morning was the outward semblance it. And so she stood, gently advancing her rosary between her fingers, the ivory rosary Wade had given to her for a gift after they were married, and her lips moved as she prayed the familiar prayers she'd prayed her whole life.

She felt happy and a bit exhilarated, but she could also feel fatigue starting to creep in at the edges of her consciousness. She pushed back that unwelcome feeling with the strength she had--she still wanted to keep the memory of the previous night untarnished for as long as possible, and she knew that on the heels of fatigue would come anxiety and doubt...

oOoOoOo

John Meredith walked up the aisle to the platform, then turned and stood in front of his congregation. The Bible was already open on the pulpit and he read out loud the passage from Scripture on which he had chosen to preach. There was a strange sense of unreality about the whole procedure, about knowing he had to face his congregation and lead them in prayer. There was no mystery about the source of this feeling and it grieved him that it should be that way because nothing had happened between Marybeth and himself that was scandalous or dishonorable. The wrongness of the previous night hadn't consisted of anything they had done. It consisted of who they were.

Last night hadn't turned out quite as he planned. He had planned to talk to her, admit how he felt about her and explain why he couldn't see her anymore. It would have been awkward, but he believed then and he still believed now that she would have understood and not tried to hold on to him by any means or wiles. Just like she had never tried to lure him in the first place. She had that kind of understanding. Ironically, that was part of her attraction for him.

Then he finally had her alone as they walked home and he was working around to saying all this to her when she stumbled and he took her arm. The quiet peaceful hush of the moonlit evening and consciousness of her nearness weakened his resolve and he had her by the hand and she was not at all reluctant for him to be doing so. It was so like the other times their minds had met in affection and agreement he didn't want to break the spell. He wanted to savor it. Just a little while longer.

He thought over the events of the previous evening. When had it been, what had been his point of no return--the moment that he could no longer stop himself from taking her in his arms? When she had pulled the pins from her hair, letting it hang around her shoulders--at his request? When she had invited him into her house for tea? When they stood together at the Ingleside gate? Or maybe it had been inevitable, maybe the entire summer had simply been leading up to that moment--a different kind of foreordination...

"Lavabo inter innocentes manus meas et circumdabo altare tum, Domine... "

Marybeth sat, hands in her lap, still advancing her beads, watching as the priest washed his fingers before starting the prayers of consecration. Try as she might, her thoughts would drift.

The ride to Lowbridge this morning had started uneventfully enough, although Dilcey had not ceased giving her sidelong glances. Lanie busied herself with the baby and exchanged barely two words with Marybeth all morning. The children had clambered into their usual seats and they started off toward the church.

Marybeth was in the habit of using the ride to church as a time of contemplation, and she had her eyes fixed on her hands folded in her lap. She was lulled by the movement over the bumpy road when Lanie started whistling "Won't You Be My Sweetheart". Lanie was usually quiet when riding to church, and Marybeth looked up suddenly and realized they were passing by the manse. She gave Lanie a sharp look then, and Lanie grinned back at her and winked, unrepentantly, but she couldn't whistle anymore for smiling. Marybeth turned to Dilcey, who was still giving her that same knowing look she had given her all morning. Marybeth mouthed she knows? And Dilcey shrugged, but then Marybeth happened to notice that Burt, who was driving, was struggling to keep a straight face. Putting a hand over her eyes, she muttered to Dilcey, "Does everybody around here know?"

"Know what, Mama?" Jomishie piped up.

"Never mind!" Dilcey and Marybeth answered together and Lanie started laughing.

"Always 'never mind'," complained Henry.

Lanie, between giggles said, "It's just grown folks business, Baby."

"Did you ever notice," said Anna to no one in particular, "That everything they don't want us to know is 'grown folks business'? I can't wait until I grow up."

"I can't wait for you to grow up either," Beau muttered.

"Hey!" Anna replied indignantly as Beau grinned.

"That," Marybeth said sternly, "is enough out of all of you. Do I have to remind you we are going to church? Everybody better settle down this instant and behave or there's going to be trouble."

They all lapsed into silence for the rest of the ride, although Anna stuck her tongue out at Beau first. And Lanie couldn't stop grinning with amusement the whole way...

oOoOoOo

John Meredith had a reputation for being absent minded except when preaching. He always woke up when he was in the business of giving spiritual food to his flock, and this Sunday was no exception. But when he spoke his voice had an added intensity, and there was a look in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

Down in her pew, Miss Cornelia, suddenly conscious of a feeling of something seriously out-of-kilter, looked across the aisle and her eyes met Anne's. The questioning look she gave Anne before turning her attention back to Mr. Meredith made Anne's stomach sink.

Something could have happened at the manse, Anne reasoned. Something could have happened in the congregation that she wasn't aware of, but somehow she doubted it. She hadn't wanted to believe it, didn't want to think about it. She fervently hoped she had been mistaken, but she had been aware of an unspoken communication between Marybeth and John Meredith the previous evening. She remembered a look that had passed between them when Marybeth handed the tea to him. It had been as quick as a heartbeat before they both looked away, but something about it had embarrassed Anne, who was clearly not meant to have seen it. She didn't like to be suspicious, but she was sensing disaster.

Per ipsum, et cum ipso, et in ipso, est tibi Deo Patri omnipotenti, in unitate Spiritus Sancti...

Marybeth knelt, beads still, elbows resting on the pew in front of her, her forehead pressed in her clasped hands as the priest elevated the host. Her eyes were closed in reverence, but she didn't need to be watching to know what was happening on the altar. Soon it would be time for communion, but not for her, for she had broken the fast. The thought tugged at her heart; she liked to receive. But she had not been paying attention to the time last night; her only thought had been about John.

When at last it was time for communion, Marybeth stayed in the pew with her younger children. Dilcey's eyes met hers as she stood up to approach the rail, but there was no condemnation in them; just concern tinged with sorrow. It pained Dilcey to see Marybeth keep company with a man who was out of reach. She didn't want to see her get hurt...

oOoOoOo

The collection piece was one of the few opportunities John Meredith had to sit down during a service. On this morning he almost wished he didn't have to take any collection, because when he wasn't preaching he was thinking about Marybeth. At least more than he had been. He thought about her as he read from Scriptures and as he preached she was never far from his mind. But now when he wasn't needed to say anything, he found that he couldn't keep the thought of her at bay. He was remembering the way she felt in his arms, her kisses, the things they had whispered to each other during the long hours of the night that seemed to go by too fast.

He couldn't help wondering what she was doing, what she was thinking about. Of course, she would be at her own church. He wondered if she knew that "Stella Maris" was Latin for "Star of the Sea". But he guessed she did--as much as she loved to read, she would probably know the translation of the name of her own church. He wondered what she must think of him now. She hadn't offered him any resistance last night, but perhaps in the light of day she saw the whole incident differently...

"Bridget Priscilla, Ego te baptizo in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spritus Sancti..."

Lanie's baby was now duly baptized. Mass was over and the church was nearly deserted as Marybeth's household was gathered around the baptismal font. They now could call the baby by name, instead of just calling her "the baby". The mystery was over. But Lanie was always like that--she always enjoyed the bit of drama.

They started filing out of church, although Marybeth paused to light a candle for Wade as was her habit, and to exchange a few words with Fr. Fournier before they left and were headed home again.

When everybody sat down at the kitchen table for breakfast, Marybeth stayed behind in the dining room for a few minutes to look at the letter that Beau reminded her had arrived the day before. The envelope was worn and looked as if it had traveled around the United States a few times before it made its way to Glen St. Mary and there was no return address. She opened it up, read the contents and smiled before she took it into the kitchen to share the news with her family...

oOoOoOo

After church John Meredith shut himself into his study and took down from the bookshelf the Bible where he had placed Marybeth's flower. He'd cast about in his mind for just the right place to put it and had settled on Ecclesiastes chapter three; "...a time to every purpose under heaven."

He read the passage again even though he had it committed to memory for many years. But the verses seemed to take on new meaning as he read. And as always, he found them to be true, even if he hadn't followed its advice. Last night had been the time to speak to her plainly and all good prudence told him that it was the time to refrain from embracing. And yet--he couldn't bring himself to wish away the joy he felt with her.

Everything had changed between them and nothing had changed between them. It was impossible now to go on pretending the way they had been all summer--pretending they were merely friendly acquaintances. He felt like he could never pretend to her about anything again. But regardless of his feelings, the differences that kept them apart were still there and he couldn't keep her, couldn't court her properly. Maybe even now she didn't want to see him again. However in all fairness to her, he needed to talk to her as soon as possible. And so, it was with equal parts longing and dread he left the manse to go visit Marybeth.