"Well, what do you think?"

Faith was mystified, "about what?"

"About my suggestion from before."

Faith's eyebrows rose, "staying here you mean?"

"Mm hm, what do you think?"

Faith sighed, "it needs a lot of work."

"Got good strong bones," Jem knocked on the wall as if to demonstrate and looked rueful when a chunk of plaster flaked off and fell to the floor. "Well mostly anyways." Faith rolled her eyes.

Marilla felt as though her life was divided into two, when Gideon was there and when he was not. She was all light and happy in his presence and when he was away, she was miserable and yearning for his touch. Matthew noticed her lightness of spirit. Even Rachel commented, "you seem different somehow. Don't know how, or why, but you just seem happy." Marilla smiled over her coffee. Gideon was up at the house, and she'd come down to Rachels since she felt she should keep up appearances.

She'd never admit it to Rachel, but the housework suffered when Gideon was around. Instead of using every waking minute cleaning, washing, cooking; she relished his company spending hours listening to stories of which he had an ample store. In the evenings he liked to pull out his charcoals and sketch her by the fire. She blushed when she saw the one of her reclined in bed after making love, even she recognised her own latent sensuality. It was only much later seeing it again that she noticed that she might have been with child. Her breasts were fuller and there was a slight curve to her belly. Marilla traced over the lines of the drawing in sorrow for what might have been.

Craving a chance to express herself when he was gone, she took to writing out her feelings, just as a way of getting those thoughts out of her mind. Initially she scrawled on scraps of paper, but she went to town one day to buy a notebook. An unusual extravagance, for she spent a bit of money on something nice, figuring he deserved it. It felt good just to have somewhere to say the words that were circling in her mind. The notebook resided under her mattress and was brought out at the end of the day when she could write in private. She wrote her fears, her fervent wishes, her desires, all of it in tiny script so as not to waste the precious paper. He found it one night when she'd neglected to tuck in it in properly and it grazed his knee when he came to her bed. "What's this?" he asked?

She blushed, "it's nothing. Just some private scribblings." But he held it regardless until she nodded, in some fey way she wanted him to know her innermost thoughts. He read it out loud, holding the book with one hand and stroking her inner thigh with the other. I long to be close to him bathed in golden light. To be at one with him. He is my food and drink. "Ach ketzele, you miss me when I'm gone?" Breathless with longing Marilla could only nod.

Afterwards she asked, "what does ketzele mean, why do you call me that?"

"It means kitten."

"I'm no cat?" Marilla arched off the bed in imitation of the thing she most assuredly was not.

"I beg to differ. You're all spark and indignation but I like to make you purr," he said his finger circling.

Melting she breathed heavily through her nostrils but was otherwise silenced.

For his part Gideon felt the same way. He would go about his business from town to town, always hoping for a letter and he was not often disappointed. He had teased Marilla, but he knew his feelings for her were reciprocated, that they shared a deep connection. Prior to their meeting he had suffered terribly from homesickness, but Marilla's advances put that at bay. Instead, he began to feel that he might be able to stay in Canada, that it was not quite the cultureless wilderness he'd believed it to be.

Marilla had an inkling that something was amiss when her courses failed to arrive. Always so regular she knew the day they were late and then thinking back to their last night of passion her blood ran cold. She slumped into her chair and frantically thought how she could manage. How long could she hide it? There was nothing to see yet naturally, but she knew, how could she not, that this would not last. That one day Matthew would notice, and then Rachel, and next the world would know of her sin. Matthew would be within his rights to cast her out, though she fervently hoped he would not.

She continued not to say a thing. Not to Matthew nor to Gideon when he finally turned up. She had promised herself she would turn Gideon away, but she was so happy to see him that it was impossible. If perhaps she was a bit shorter with him than usual, she explained that she had a headache as Matthew looked on curiously.

That night in bed she figured she couldn't get pregnant twice. Gideon's caresses were as tender and as welcome as ever. His love making was always divine, but their time apart always added a certain urgency to the act. He'd left a few days later and she'd watched him from the kitchen window absentmindedly rubbing her belly.

Her cleaning took on such a fervour even Matthew noticed. "Take it easy, Marilla," he said. "I don't know what's gotten into you." And even as she cleaned, she felt a deep exhaustion that could not merely be explained by her exertions. It was an effort to drag herself out of bed in the morning and after tea she felt an acute need for a nap.

She wrote him, not mentioning her fears but unable to hide her misgivings. Gideon wondered at her change of tone. Sitting in his caravan he read and reread her latest missive wondering what had happened. Ordinarily her words were light and full of happiness as she made even the most mundane of activities full of life, but within this letter something was not quite right. Gideon was way down the far end of the island by the time he'd received it and it would take him some time to get back, but he fretted until he did.

Marilla had watched and waited for his return, unwilling to confess even to herself how much she needed him. Though she had not admitted her situation to him and did not know how or even if she would, she yearned for his embrace. A letter arrived before he did, telling her that he was on his way. She felt the beginnings of her tension relax, not quite to the extent that his being there would bring, but something at least. She sat down at the kitchen table to read it letting the dinner bubble on the stove. I long to be with you, ketsele, to feel your warmth. I dream of tracing featherlight kisses across the landscape of your back. A single tear crept down Marilla's cheek before she wiped it away with the palm of her hand. Sniffing she wiped her nose with handkerchief and got up to check the dinner. Stupid, she thought, shouldn't get so emotional.

Marilla heard his galloping horse before she saw his carriage but had forced herself to stay in the kitchen rather than run to him like a giddy schoolgirl. She was dismayed however to see his face appear in the doorway. "Gideon," she breathed. "Are you quite well?" He winced when she went to embrace him. He did not talk at first but let her attend to his bruises. A sharp intake of breath when she removed his shirt the only sign of his pain. Someone had done a number on him alright; he was black and blue across his entire torso. Matthew appeared while Marilla worked, and he knelt to lend her a helping hand. "Let's get him into bed," he suggested, and Marilla nodded. Together they each took a shoulder and walked Gideon slowly up the stairs wondering what had happened but recognising now was not the time to ask.

The truth came out the next day. Gideon explained that he had set up shop in a town a few miles away. Someone had taken exception to a draught he had sold them some time back, accusing him of making their daughter unwell. "Maybe they overdosed," he said. "You've got to be careful with some of these concoctions." The customer had accused him of witchcraft and though he did not say it to the Cuthberts he had also brought up the old adage of Semitism, blaming Gideon for his child's illness because as he had put it, Jews couldn't be trusted. The crowd had listened to their neighbour and turned upon Gideon despite his protestations. Curling into a ball he'd done his best to hide from the worst but could only wait until the kicks had slowed and then until the bulk of the crowd had tired and moved off. One solitary woman watched him gather himself in obvious pain and slowly pack his things before climbing up into the carriage. She spat when he drove off and said with cold hard eyes, "good riddance."

Gideon cried when he told the story, Marilla wanted to hold him tight, but mindful of his wounds could only rub his shoulder. "I thought I left all that at home." Marilla looked at him quizzically. "They mentioned my choice of faith. My family were murdered on the basis of it, I thought I had escaped," he said. Marilla was silent, but gently gathered him into her arms and held him.

Though it was wicked to admit it, Marilla rather enjoyed having Gideon home for his convalescence. One night though she knew she must confess. She told Gideon first, for he had a right to know. She pivoted herself away from him to say the words, "I believe I might be pregnant," edging backwards when he stood up to embrace her.

"What's the matter? Aren't you happy?"

"Well, it's not ideal is it. It'll be a bastard."

"I can remedy that."

"What? What do you mean?" Marilla was fearful she'd misunderstood him.

"If we marry ketzele, then our baby will be legitimate. Assuming that is, that I'm the father?"

Marilla gasped her laughter, "of course, of course you're the father," adding in mock seriousness, "just what are you implying Mr Hoffer?"

He laughed kindly in reply, "shh, I'm just teasing." Then more seriously he asked, "what does Matthew say?"

"I haven't told him yet."

"Don't you think he has a right to know, before he finds out of his own accord?"

Marilla sighed, "I want to tell him. We've never had secrets, he and I, but…" she trailed off.

"You fear his judgement?"

She nodded, "mm hm. He could turn me out and he'd be well within his rights."

"I don't think that will happen ketzele, Matthew is a good man."

"That's precisely why. He's good and I've proven myself wicked."

"Shall we tell him together? Would that help?"

"No," said Marilla sorrowfully. "I think it'll make us look in cahoots. As though we're forcing him to accept it. Leave it to me, I'll tell him in my own time." Gideon smiled sadly at her, he thought she was making a mistake, but Matthew was her brother after all. If there was one thing he knew about this woman it was her stubbornness.

While Marilla slept by his side Gideon had a chance to reflect upon the evening's conversation. He'd offered to marry her without a thought, but in truth was it even possible? She was a gentile and would never be accepted by his admittedly small community, and he supposed the same would be true of hers. Wherever they lived they'd be outcasts. Could he put her in that position? She may not have many friends, but Rachel and Matthew were her strength, if they married, she would lose them, and they would be a couple alone. Was it right to put her in that position? Yet, what choice did they have? If she mothered a child on her own, she could also be outcast. "Ach ketzele," he murmured gazing down on her sleeping form. "We're in a bit of a pickle aren't we."