55

There was no thinking about it, Rilla was falling in love with Teddy. Was there ever a more definitive case? Of course, it might be a rebound. Anne had made that mistake. It took her two years to realise that the rich, gallant gentleman she had been walking out with could never compare with the poor, handsome farmer's son she had known for most of her life.

Rilla's love story had all the same elements but in a different order: Ken being rich and well known, and Teddy being poor and a stranger. History doesn't repeat but it often rhymes, so Mark Twain said, and the whole affair really did satisfy Anne's writerly soul. There was only one tangle that Anne could not make straight. No one knew who Teddy was, not really, not in the way that would satisfy an Islander.

There was sense in Anne's sentimental hopes that her children would marry into families she knew. Perhaps it was the orphan in her that yearned for that generational claim, or perhaps she too was just getting old. What was wrong with old, all of a sudden. Couldn't this brave new world the war had forged put more emphasis on the brave and the little less on the new?

That new car, for instance, now crammed with Blythes, Wrights, Merediths and Keiths ready to be zoomed away. There would be no leisurely buggy ride to Lowbridge, no songs to be sung in time to clipping of the horse's hooves. Anne had tried singing once when Gilbert took her for a spin, and she could not hear her voice above the sound of the engine. She could not catch her husband's eye as she tried to sing those songs, either, because he had insisted on the top being down which meant he was wearing his driving goggles. Worse, he had to keep both hands on the wheel (to be fair to Gilbert, he regretted that too). With his hands so planted, there was no way for him to ever so casually drape his arm along the back of the seat, and end up draping it around her.

There was no need to set aside chores because there was no time to do them and get ready for the big day and get to that big day on time. Now they had a car they could get to the school hall in ten short minutes, so Anne might as well finish darning Jem's sock and sort out her sewing basket.

Diana, conversely, was delighted with the prizes of progress, and was sitting in the backseat with Fred a good half hour before they were meant to leave. She did not get to keep that prize position for long however, not with everyone else piling in, but it was fun to sit on her husband's knee!

Anne was the last one to leave the house, Susan was sitting where the doctor's wife would have been expected to sit. Her 'little brown boy' squeezed in next to her, and the silver fox cubs in that enormous crate on both their knees.

"You could sit on my knee," Carl offered, somewhat confusedly, for he wasn't quite sure if that was proper form. Was it better to have Mrs Blythe on his lap, or was it better not to have offered at all?

"I think I'll pop along to the Manse," Anne said, "and walk with Una and Bruce."

"S'only Una," Bruce piped up from behind the crate on Shirley and Susan's knees. "She said she doesn't care about the stalls and all that. She's only going for the concert bit."

"I could get out and go with you, Anne," said Rosemary. She was currently on John's lap, and two of the Keith children were on hers. Davy and Milly had set off after breakfast for Lowbridge. They weren't here for the concert, they had come for the tractor display. Jack had gone with them, and his dear Di, too.

Before anything could be decided one way or the other, before there was more shuffling around and the tires threatening to burst under all that weight, another visitor to Ingleside arrived. One of those poetry fanciers by the look of him, the scholarly sort rather than the usual tourist who wanted to see where Walter was born.

Anne waved her loved ones away and plastered on a suitable smile. It was to be expected. This was the day Walter's portrait was being unveiled, but she had hoped that people would gravitate to his school now, rather than his home.

"How do you do?" The man lifted his bowler, tucked it under his arm and gave a stiff bow. "I do hope I haven't caught you at an inconvenient time."

"Ah," said Anne, the smile was more genuine now, there was something about this man, some indefinable but familiar air, that she immediately liked. "I suppose you are here on account of my dear son?"

The man wiped his brow. His brown eyes gleamed like resin nuggets. "Not your son, Madam. I believe I am looking for mine."

...

next chapter to follow...