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.
After Anne left, Marybeth was all alone with her thoughts. The spell seemed to be broken now, her lack of sleep was catching her up, and she was cast back and forth between romantic daydreams about the minister and the doubts and fears about her entanglement with him.
But there was something else--the other thought she had been able to avoid until Anne mentioned it. She knew without any doubt that Anne Blythe would never try to hurt her, but still--when she asked about Norman Douglas she'd poked, as it were, at a sore point. She didn't want to think about Norman right now when she was so tired and full of doubt, but she couldn't escape it. She had been resisting his advances all summer, but not because she felt any dislike towards him. Rather it had been due to her own cautious nature and her desire to avoid becoming too attached to anybody here or to having anybody become attached to her.
But the last time she saw Norman, when she told him things she thought she would never tell another living soul--he listened to her without any sign of disgust or rejection and she'd felt so safe and protected with his arm around her that she fleetingly wondered why she resisted him all those times. And yet, when they stood together at her garden gate and he tried to kiss her, at that moment she felt so open, so exposed, and she was afraid she would break down utterly if she accepted the type of comfort he wanted to give her. She didn't know if he understood that or not, but that was why she refused him.
Then with the suddenness of a whirlwind came her romantic involvement with John Meredith. Despite their intense flirtation over that entire night she somehow never quite believed he would actually try to kiss her. And entranced as always by his smile and gentle demeanour towards her she could no more resist him than a thirsty man could resist a glass of water--even though she knew there could be no happy ending for them because she could never be anything more to him than a momentary diversion. She simply allowed herself to be swept away by the moment. And he knew things about her, too--things she hadn't even shared with her sister-in-law, who was her closest friend.
Of course, the choice was hers to make, and hers alone, but she couldn't help feeling torn. And besides--what kind of woman was she turning into that she could fall into one man's arms despite having feelings of fondness for another? She should have sorted all this out in her own heart before becoming involved with either of them. After all, it wasn't as if she were some dewy eyed twenty-year-old who didn't know her own mind. No, she had to be a dewy eyed forty-year-old who didn't know her own mind and somehow that seemed infinitely more pathetic.
She went to bed almost immediately after supper and prayers that night and sank into a dreamless sleep.
The next morning as her family was sitting at the breakfast table, Marybeth realized that the strange dreamy quality of the day before was quite gone, but in its place was an odd sense of expectancy, as if today was the only day there was and anything could happen in it. And naturally, something did.
She was looking over the table at her children when she noticed Wade Jr. just sitting with his hand around his cup, looking at it with a little frown. His plate was nearly untouched.
"Wade Jr.? Are you okay?" She asked him.
He looked at her, eyes too bright in his face. Shaking his head, he said, "Can't swallow. My throat's sore."
She jumped up and drew him away from the table and into the dining room. His head felt hot and she turned up a lamp to peer into his throat. It was reddened. She sent him upstairs and back to bed. Then she called the doctor and had her other boys move their belongings into the guest room.
She was putting a cool wet cloth over his forehead when Dr. Blythe arrived. Diagnosis was easy enough--tonsillitis. The doctor gave Marybeth the usual advice and left her some aspirin with instructions on how to give it.
Most of that day was spent flitting in and out of the sickroom, applying cold compresses, having Wade Jr. gargle. The boy spent most of the time that his mother wasn't fussing over him sleeping.
John Meredith came to see her late in the afternoon--he had heard Wade Jr. was sick and he wished to offer Marybeth well wishes. She received him in the parlor and they spoke alone for a few moments. He thought she looked strained, but she insisted that she wasn't overly worried--the boy needed rest and recuperation and the illness would take its course.
Before he left he pulled her into his arms and she leaned tiredly and not unhappily against him. He suspected she was more worried than she would admit and he kissed her gently a few times before he left, gratified at the feel of her arms sliding around his neck.
Two more days went by in this fashion. Marybeth spent most of her time in the sick room. Lanie was back in charge of the house. And Wade Jr. didn't seem to be getting worse; although Marybeth wasn't sure he was getting better, either. Dr. Blythe didn't seem worried when he examined him, however, and Marybeth assumed the same attitude he did.
On the third day Wade Jr. complained in an odd sounding voice of headache and Marybeth saw he had some difficulty opening his mouth. She called Dr. Blythe immediately and he confirmed what she suspected--quinsy. The doctor proceeded to lance the area and allow it to drain. After some painkillers, Wade Jr. went to sleep again. There was nothing to do now but watch for any worsening and wait until he was better.
And after the lancing he did improve--Marybeth could see it and the doctor confirmed it. She continued to spend most of her time hovering in and around the sickroom, but she felt a lessening of worry. Actually, she had never admitted to herself that she was worried at all, but now she realized she must have been because now she was feeling calmer.
She also realized the tenor of her life had seemed to change in this past week. The first day after the Blythes' dinner with its unreal quality--when she was torn between her sweet memory and the dread of how it would all end--that feeling was entirely gone.
Instead, it seemed to her as if she were two people. One person was the busy housewife and mother who bustled about the house taking care of her family and running her household. This was even the Marybeth who received John Meredith's visits. For he had continued to visit her every day, but so discreetly that no one outside Laney and Dilcey knew he came to her. And Marybeth agreed that such discretion was prudent, because although neither one of them mentioned it, they both knew that there would be consequences for him if anybody suspected a romantic entanglement between the two of them--and it was simply too hard for them to stay away from each other.
For that was the other person she seemed to become. He would visit and they would talk to each other calmly and soberly enough; he would ask about the boy and they would discuss his progress. But as soon as it happened that they were alone, a wild, reckless mood seemed to come over both of them and they would fall into each others arms with hasty kisses and embraces for the few moments they had. Marybeth never saw him alone in those days more than five minutes at a time, and they no longer talked about the lofty things they used to before the night of the Blythes' dinner-- they didn't wish to waste what little time they had talking.
Marybeth guessed that he was feeling something similar to what she was feeling--that their time alone was something apart from the rest of their normal lives. He never hinted about breaking off their association, never had that look anymore that implied he wanted to talk to her about where their liaison was likely to end up. Like her, he seemed to be content to act as if there were no future moment when they would have to settle this once and for all.
During the times when she wasn't in the sick room caring for Wade Jr. or in John's arms she went about her day-to-day routine as best as she could. But all of a sudden she would be startled out of a reverie when somebody tried to talk to her. Then she would be surprised to learn that they had had to repeat themselves. Dilcey was increasingly aggravated with her moony daydreaming and trysting with "that preacher", but Lanie laughed, enjoying vicariously the romance and drama of it all.