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.

The first day Wade Jr. felt well enough that Marybeth was comfortable to leave him she headed out to Ingleside. She wanted to clear her head and in order to do that she needed to leave the house where she had brooded over her child and waited for the few moments she could have alone with John.

Anne was on the porch along with Miss Cornelia, the latter doing her usual needlework. They both nodded cordially to Marybeth as she took a chair.

"Didn't you bring anything to work on?" Asked Miss Cornelia.

"Not today," Marybeth laughed. "I just can't concentrate on anything for long enough to do any good."

"Is your son better?"

"Yes, thank you for asking. He'll be able to go outside tomorrow."

"Well, I'm glad to see you around again," said Anne warmly, although she looked at Marybeth closely.

Conversation among the three women flowed easily, centered on innocuous subjects like the weather and housework, although Marybeth sometimes had the feeling that Miss Cornelia was studying her.

"There's Mr. Meredith," said Miss Cornelia abruptly and she called out and waved to him. He turned at the sound of her voice and entered through the gate.

Marybeth watched him approach, her mouth dry. They hadn't seen each other with other people around in a long time, or at least it seemed that way to her, and it felt like a test. She was glad she didn't bring any work to do--she wasn't sure she could pull herself together enough to pretend to work. Bringing all her self-control to bear, she folded her hands together in her lap and to her relief they weren't shaking. As it was, she needed to concentrate on the effort of acting as if his visit were an ordinary, everyday occurrence. Which in fact, it was.

She was able to return his smile of greeting in a seemly enough fashion although her heart knocked violently in her chest.

"I wanted to ask you," Miss Cornelia said," if we could hold the fall bake sale a couple weeks earlier than last year? Of course, that would mean having it at the beginning of October rather than the end, but there shouldn't be a problem with that, should there?"

Anne watched this interchange uneasily. She and Miss Cornelia both knew the bake sales were held at times chosen by the Ladies' Aid and did not need the approval of the pastor. Did Mr. Meredith know that? Was he aware that he was being tested? For Anne was sure Miss Cornelia was testing him. Marybeth didn't know about their bake sales, either, but it didn't matter if she knew she was being tested. She had promised she wouldn't cause any problems for their congregation, but Anne didn't know how things stood between them right now. She'd been up to the Hamilton house twice in the last week but Marybeth never even hinted at the subject again and Anne was afraid to. She didn't know if they had broken things off, but she devoutly hoped they had. Thank heaven Marybeth was sitting there so calmly. Whatever had come and gone between them, she was acquitting herself well. If Anne didn't know better she would never suspect a thing...

For her part, Marybeth listened politely to the conversation between Miss Cornelia and John Meredith, but she was aware of the attention of both women on her, Miss Cornelia openly, Anne covertly. And she was acutely aware of the minister's presence, in a way she hadn't been before. She listened to the sound of his voice, observed the way he stood, the way he moved his hands, each detail imprinting itself on her brain.

After going over the details of the bake sale, Miss Cornelia detained Mr. Meredith, asking him about this and that problem with the church and he handled himself deftly despite the strain of Marybeth's nearness. Once she had asked him everything she could think of, Miss Cornelia dismissed him politely. He nodded to the three women, giving no more emphasis to Marybeth than was necessary before taking his leave.

When he was out of earshot, Miss Cornelia turned to Anne. "Is he more abstracted than usual lately, Anne dear?"

With difficulty Anne refrained from glancing at Marybeth before giving her opinion that no, he was not.

"What do you think, Marybeth?" Miss Cornelia pressed.

"He looks the same to me." Then Marybeth held Miss Cornelia's gaze calmly, with a little smile, before she looked away. She was afraid to give herself away by saying either too much or too little. She happened to look at Anne, but the other woman's expression was blank. However, Marybeth wasn't fooled. Anne was studying her, of that she was certain.

"Of course, when he marries again, his wife will surely keep him in order and put a stop to all that distractedness," pressed Miss Cornelia.

"That sounds reasonable," Marybeth couldn't help but reply.

"And it's only a matter of time now before one of the young ladies in our congregation catches him. Of course, a minister has to be discreet when he's courting, but you know how the stories fly."

"No, I'm afraid I definitely wouldn't know how the stories fly," Marybeth retorted a little wickedly. "A little out of my experience and all, how a minister chooses a wife. But I'm sure you could enlighten me."

"Why, it would be my pleasure to enlighten you. You see, he'll notice that one or two of the young women of our congregation are available. He'll go calling at her house on some pretext or other, keep company with her under adequate chaperonage then make his choice. Then it will become public knowledge. Finally he'll marry her."

"How interesting," Marybeth murmured demurely.

Anne watched this byplay with growing dread. She knew Miss Cornelia couldn't help herself, but she hoped for better from Marybeth. Yet here she was deliberately baiting the older woman. Anne kept her eyes on her garden because she didn't trust herself to look at either of them. But wild horses couldn't have dragged her from the spot.

"Naturally," Miss Cornelia said, putting her work in her lap and leaning towards Marybeth slightly, "The women he didn't choose will be expected to act with dignity and pretend they didn't care about him at all. You understand--no scenes, no gossipy little feminine comments."

"Of course not," replied Marybeth, leaning slightly towards Miss Cornelia and looking her straight in the eye. "A scene is the last thing anybody would want. But the congregation must surely know that the choice belongs with him and no one else. They must surely realize their minister is smart enough to make the right choice. Of a wife. Or a lover. Hypothetically, of course."

Miss Cornelia picked up her sewing. "A wife is one thing. A lover is another. And not all lovers become wives."

A faint nausea crept over Marybeth. It was on the tip of her tongue to make a killing retort, but then she looked at Anne, who was avoiding her eyes, and suddenly felt ashamed. After all--Miss Cornelia was a good person, even if she had always been suspicious of Marybeth's friendship with Mr. Meredith. She cared about her church, took her religion seriously. Marybeth could understand that. She wished she had never risen to the bait. She had behaved terribly.

Filled with remorse, Marybeth reached out to touch Miss Cornelia's hand. "I'm sorry for being so flippant just now. It was wrong of me--terribly wrong. I don't speak from experience of course, but I can certainly appreciate that for a minister the choice of a wife is of vital importance, to be done with care. Of course, all marriages should be thought out with care, but a minister chooses not only for himself, but also for his church. And I didn't mean to make light of it. I apologize." She looked down then, embarrassed to look at Anne or Miss Cornelia.

Miss Cornelia, stunned and caught by surprise by Marybeth's abrupt change of mood and sincere apology, was rendered speechless at first. Then, looking at the younger woman's lowered head, she shrugged. "I guess the heat gets to all of us. And it's not really a good idea to take to heart every word that's exchanged between neighbors."

Marybeth looked up at Miss Cornelia and smiled, friendship restored.

Anne, anxious to steer the conversation into safer channels, asked, "So Marybeth, have you come to a decision about your house?" She was referring to a conversation she'd had with Marybeth earlier in the week.

"Well, now that I've been living in it all summer, I think it's safe to say it's a good property and a solid, well built home."

"Will you be buying it?"

"I plan to."

"So you'll be back for vacations?"

Marybeth paused. "I honestly don't know."

oOoOoOo

Marybeth went to pick up her mail in town after she left Ingleside, but then she took a different route home--a trail she heard of that wound in between the different farms. As desperately as she had craved people to talk to when she first left her house, she now craved solitude.

She was more shaken than she hoped she showed when Miss Cornelia waved John to join them. Marybeth really didn't have a lot of experience with intrigue and she hoped she hadn't given them away.

She stopped at a secluded spot along the trail, unseen from the road, lined by a split-rail fence. She climbed to the top rail of the fence and looked out over the fields before looking at the letters in her hands. There were quite a few this week--one from her mother, one from her mother-in-law, a few letters for her children from their friends back home, and one from her sister-in-law that made its way from overseas. It was this last one she opened and started to read. It was a fat, newsy letter, full of the latest doings of everybody. Marybeth wondered how her sister-in-law managed to keep abreast of the family gossip when she wasn't even on the same continent. But that was Ella's way...

She was deep into reading when she heard her name called and looked up to see Norman Douglas walking between the rows of crops. He waved and made his way to her. She wasn't able to slip away, so she waited patiently instead, trying to look calm and unconcerned.

When he was close enough to talk to, she said, "I was just reading a letter from my sister-in-law. She and her family have been touring Europe these last couple months."

"Europe! Does she say anything about the Kaiser of Germany?"

"No," Marybeth laughed a little in her surprise. That was pretty much the last thing she expected him to say. "She doesn't pay attention to things like politics." To herself she thought, if Ella even knows there is a Kaiser somewhere it's more than I've ever given her credit for.

"Just like you."

"Yes, just like me, but why does it matter?"

"You can't keep your head buried in the sand forever, woman, even down there in the States. I've been following his career with interest and let me tell you he's a dangerous man--maybe the most dangerous man to come out of Europe since Napoleon."

"I don't understand," she said, shaking her head.

"Because what he wants is to take over Europe."

"Surely you can't be serious."

"You mark my words," he said, getting louder and slamming his hand down on the fence rail. "He'll set the world on fire. Before he's done you'll see half of Europe dragged into war. He's aching to fight somebody."

"America doesn't get involved in European wars."

He looked at her ironically.

Marybeth suddenly thought about her sons. She had been blessed with many sons but there wasn't one she could afford to lose. A chill went over her at the ideas Norman was presenting her and she pressed her fingertips to her temples and closed her eyes.

"I don't deny it's possible--anything is possible. But I don't want to think about it anymore," she murmured.

He peered at her closely. Her sudden pallor was a little alarming. He decided to change the subject.

"Where've you been hiding yourself lately?"

Marybeth opened her eyes. Now they were on more familiar ground, but also more dangerous. There was too much she couldn't say to him.

"My son had tonsillitis," she said, watching his reaction. "Now he's out of danger, but I had to stay close by."

"Will I be seeing you on your nighttime rambles again?"

"I don't know", she replied, trying to speak casually. She couldn't tell him or anybody else the truth about how she was spending her time these days, but she was too nervous to look at him directly. She was seized by the irrational idea that he would be able to see the truth in her eyes. She wanted to take her leave of him and escape.

"Come now, why don't you know, Mary?" He asked playfully. He seemed to think she was being coy with him. But as he talked he moved closer to her until he was looking up into her face, leaning against her knees. Under the hem of her skirt she felt his hand close over her ankle for a moment and slide upward a little, somewhat carelessly.

She should have been offended at his casual handling of her, but to her mortification all she felt was a dizzy, light-minded wonder--as if her powers of thought had been temporarily quenched. But then his eyes locked on hers and she took a sharp intake of breath. This was wrong. She might never belong to John Meredith, but she was trysting with him every day and he hadn't given her any indication that his interest was waning. Nor had she attempted to jilt him. And even though she acknowledged to herself that she was fond of Norman, she had no business here with him. After all, she thought in exasperation, she should at least try to maintain some decorum in her private life.

Because she was furious at herself for not feeling furious at Norman she quickly shifted sideways on the top rail, effectively shaking off his grasp and jumped down onto the ground, keeping the fence between them.

He smiled at her knowingly--for all her obvious agitation she wasn't angry with him--and she couldn't meet his eyes. She was glad he couldn't read her thoughts because she hated to think what his opinion would be about John's involvement with her. Norman had no need for parsons and no reverence for the cloth.

"I have to go home," she said shakily, looking at the ground.

"If you must," he replied, still grinning at her.

oOoOoOoOo

John Meredith was fervently relieved when Miss Cornelia stopped talking and dismissed him from Ingleside. It was the first time he and Marybeth had been together with other people around and it took everything he had in him to appear calm and casual. But her nearness had put a tremendous strain on him. He wanted to look at her, feast his eyes on her, take her in his arms--everything he was forbidden to do because of his ministerial office and her religion. She could sit there, the picture of serenity, and he drew his strength and resolve from her.

But it came to him as he talked to Miss Cornelia--for all his fondness for Marybeth, he didn't like, couldn't like, the situation they were in. It felt sneaky and devious. It was one thing to court discretely, knowing that if he and the woman in question agreed well together it would eventually become public, but this situation could never be public and there was something unpleasant about all this secretiveness. He wanted to live his life openly in front of his neighbors and congregation. There was nothing he could do to reconcile his liaison with Marybeth with his desire for openness and honesty.

He came to see her that evening, discreetly as always.

"It was strange, today, seeing you at Ingleside," he said.

Marybeth only nodded. So much had happened to her that day, so many emotions crowding, one right after the other. They sat quietly together in her parlor, neither of them having much to say. It occurred to him that breaking off with her would have been much easier if Marybeth had been such a one to cry or get angry or try to cling to him. But she merely sat, not peppering him with questions as he absently played with her rings. John felt an almost unbearable tension, not coming from her. It was brought home to him as he talked to Miss Cornelia how foolish it was to try to hold on to Marybeth. It certainly wasn't fair to her to keep going like this, when there could be no satisfying resolution.

"It could only continue to be strange, you know—no hope for it ever to be normal," he continued, with an edge to his voice.

Startled, she looked into his eyes. The moment she had waited for almost since the night of the Blythes' dinner had arrived. He was going to jilt her.

Marybeth had firmly believed she would be ready for his jilting when the time came. She prepared herself for it, steeled herself against it. But now when the moment came she wanted to forestall it, needed to forestall it, just a little while longer...

John looked out the window, gathering his thoughts, choosing his words carefully. He wanted to inflict as little pain as possible on her as he did this necessary thing. He didn't notice her sudden, stealthy movement--for almost without his conscious volition, her arms were around him, her mouth under his, sweetly, softly luring him into forgetfulness. With her there was no past, no future, only the present--and he could forget, temporarily, the troubles of his congregation, his worries for his children, even Cecelia, almost. Good sense and prudence warred once more in his heart against desire and longing--and lost. He sighed as he gave himself one more time over to the sensation of Marybeth...