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.
Marybeth hurried down the hallway when she heard the knock at her front door. She opened it and was pleased to see John Meredith. She stepped outside, took his hands for just the briefest moment and couldn't resist bouncing on her toes before she let go.
"If you had come just a half hour earlier, I could have invited you to raise a glass with us. Not that we have anything stronger than tea to toast with. But we've just received some news--some good news." She caught her breath and laughed, bouncing again, hands clasped together.
He was caught by surprise at her greeting. When they parted ways this morning, right on this very doorstep, it felt as if they were the only two people in the world, all their attention had been so focused on each other. There was something of sweetness in that memory. But life had a way of pushing on despite the little events of individual people and here she was digging in her apron pocket for something--a letter.
"Come sit down here, in the garden," she mumbled, head down, leading the way as she unfolded the paper in her hand. She sat down in the chair he held for her and waited for him to sit. "My oldest son is in the Army, you see. I haven't heard from him--oh, since February, probably--but it seems he got married in April, and that's not all--this January they're expecting a baby." She put the letter down in her lap and smiled at him, eyes shining. "I'm going to be a grandmother," she laughed.
He looked at her amazed. She was happy and joyful and he was glad for her. But she looked less like a grandmother than anybody he'd ever seen. Even out here in the garden, with the full sunlight falling on her face she looked too young...
She'd never mentioned having any children old enough to be on their own. But from what she'd told him that evening on the porch at Ingleside, it wasn't out of the question. He couldn't help feeling curious about this part of her life she'd never told him about, but at the same time he was reluctant to ask her a lot of questions that might embarrass her. He contented himself with offering his congratulations.
"Thank you," she said, before looking out over the garden, a little smile playing on her lips.
Now that he was seeing and talking to her in person he wondered why he dreaded this meeting. To his relief there had been no awkwardness, no discomfort--her demeanor towards him hadn't changed. Of course he knew he owed it to her to tell her what was on his mind, but his resolve wavered, not wanting anything to intrude on this peaceful interlude. And anyhow, she looked so happy about the addition to her family--make that two new additions; a daughter-in-law and a grandchild. And heaven forgive him, he wanted to prolong this moment with her for just a little while.
They did engage in some pleasant small talk, both of them carefully avoiding referring to their last meeting. But eventually their conversation came to a lull and she sighed and leaned back against the seat cushion, closing her eyes briefly. She could tell from his face he was trying to decide whether to bring up last night. And maybe it was selfish, but she didn't want to hear it. Not yet.
Nonetheless she fought her own quiet battle, with conscience and prudence waging war against yearning and wanting. Finally screwing up her courage she opened her eyes and looked at him. He was looking over the garden but turned to her when he heard her shift.
"John," she said encouragingly, "there's something you want to say?"
She knows, he thought, looking into her eyes. She knows what I need to say to her. She knows and she'll listen patiently.
Taking a deep breath, he started, "Marybeth, I..."
But at that moment their relative solitude was broken by Jomishie coming around the corner and into the garden with some other children to ask Marybeth a question. Suddenly it seemed like the garden was filled with people milling around. Marybeth spoke to her daughter a few moments, chiding herself silently the whole time that she felt relieved at putting off hearing what John was going to say, at least for a little while.
John Meredith had similar feelings of relief, but it was also getting later and there were things he remembered he needed to do. As the children left to run down to Rainbow Valley, they were alone in the garden again, but he had to leave. Besides, the earlier serious mood was gone and neither of them really wanted to bring it back.
He stood up and she walked with him towards the gate. They were alone in the garden, at least temporarily, and shielded from view by the shrubbery, he looked in her eyes and when he saw what was in them he allowed himself the luxury of touching her face. And as if such a thing were a normal, everyday occurrence she allowed herself the luxury of leaning into his hand, closing her eyes as she did so. He kissed her quickly then and left, giving her one last look of longing. She sighed before turning and going back into the house in search of a book to read. She wasn't really sorry they had been interrupted. The magic that surrounded them from the previous night hadn't entirely faded and maybe she was cowardly, maybe she was foolish, but she didn't really want to let it go, not yet.
It was in this state of mind that she looked at her book, not really seeing it, reading the same paragraph over and over, when she heard somebody enter through her front gate. It was Anne Blythe. Marybeth stood up to greet her, took one look at her face and said, "The kitchen. It's quiet in there."
Anne sat at the table as Marybeth made and poured the tea.
"I had a lovely time last night, and I'm sorry I didn't send a thank-you sooner," Marybeth said. She knew what Anne was wondering, and she wanted to forestall talking about it.
Anne made a deprecating gesture.
"I just got a letter from my Edward," Marybeth continued. "He's married now. I had no idea. But they're going to have a baby this winter."
Marybeth's joy was so obvious Anne could not help feeling happy for her.
"Congratulations," she said. "What's her name--your daughter-in-law?"
"It's a long one," replied Marybeth, grinning. "He calls her 'Josie'. But her full name is Josephina Catalina Elisa Lucita Castillo y Romero."
"I knew a Josie once," Anne mentioned. "But she wasn't Spanish. And I'm afraid she wasn't very nice, either."
Marybeth shook her head in amusement. Then she steeled herself, sat down, and picked up her cup. Leaning towards Anne and lowering her voice, she said, "John kissed me and I let him." She started to bring the cup to her lips, but her hands were trembling so badly that instead she put the cup down and clasped them in her lap. But her eyes never wavered from Anne's.
Anne stared at Marybeth with dismay. She had made that last statement quite coolly, but she couldn't hold a cup without spilling. "But--why? Whatever possessed you? You're not--even a member of our congregation--and he is expected to..." Anne stopped. Even though this was what she guessed at, she had no words for this situation.
"Ministers want and need the same as other men, I daresay," Marybeth said quietly enough, but it was starting to creep in--the anxiety and doubt, just as she knew would happen. This was the feeling she tried to push back when she was at Mass this morning. Sitting up straight, Marybeth squeezed her hands together until they were still. "I know I can't keep him, Anne."
"No, you can't," Anne agreed severely. She remembered that Miss Cornelia had had suspicions all along. "Could you really have seen each other so many times--to strike up such an--'acquaintance' is such an inadequate word right now."
"We were friends, Anne, we saw each other often enough. We exchanged books, had a few conversations." She felt herself flush.
A little helplessly, Anne said, "I don't really believe you were capable of flirting with him heartlessly. You haven't started to care for him, have you?"
Marybeth's eyes went unfocused for a moment, and her face softened. But she picked up her teacup with hands that did not fumble this time and said firmly, "That doesn't matter at all. I can't keep him. And there's something else. Please don't blame him, it wasn't his fault. John Meredith is a good man and a good preacher. And I promise you I won't make trouble for him or your congregation."
Anne believed her; she was too resolute not to believe her, but there was a wistfulness in Marybeth's eyes that made Anne take pity on her. But all the same, she had to ask, "What about Norman Douglas? You had mentioned---"
For this Marybeth had no answer. But she had to put her cup down again as she looked away, blushing hotly...