The storm had ceased its wintry roar,
Hoarse dash the billows of the sea;
But who on Thule's desert shore,
Cries, Have I burnt my harp for thee? *

Anne's expressive delivery set the tone for a good story as always and they all, Lyndes, Blythes and Cuthbert sat around the newly cleaned Green Gables parlour listening to her weave the mysterious tale. Some might have called it a touch ponderous, but Anne brought life into the words in her own inimitable style. She had an uncanny knack of knowing when to lull them into a dream state and then bring them back to attention as her voice rose at the exciting parts. Rachel sat knitting and Marilla worked on her sampler but the men sat as transfixed as the children.

"That's enough for now," announced Marilla after Anne had finished the second chapter.

"Aww Marilla. Please let's go on," Matthew spoke for them all, but Marilla was adamant. It was late and what's more she wanted to spare Anne. It was no easy task reading out loud, though she seemed to relish it well enough.

Rachel had taken her Marilla out to the kitchen and together they had prepared a simple supper. Upon walking back in she barely noticed the tableau noting instead that young Gilbert Blythe leaned against the further door jamb watching Anne intently. Everyone else was laughing but he had an intense gaze and seemed unaware of the crowd. He broke his reverie when supper was served then said, "tell them about the pirates Ma." Marilla shot him a reproachful look but he was unrepentant.

"Pirates? Mercy me!" exclaimed Rachel.

"It wasn't that bad," Marilla said soothingly. Gilbert raised his eyebrows suggestively. "Well," she started reluctantly after a sip of tea. "It happened in the mid of Atlantic perhaps a couple of hundred miles off the coast of Brazil." They all sat listening agog as Marilla, with interjections from Gilbert, told them how they had played cat and mouse with a pirate ship until finally taking cover in a handy fog bank.

Anne had not been with them at that point and she sat nursing her cocoa wishing she had been for she'd have turned it into a better tale than the matter of fact Mrs Blythe ever could. She'd have described the tendrils of fear and excitement that looped around her stomach; the facial features of their hunters (whether she had seen them or no); how they watched from afar as a pirate walked the plank, down to the echoey sound his peg leg made across the still water when it connected with the timber. But as she wasn't there they didn't ask her to contribute and she had to make do with this frankly dullish rendition of what should have been a thrilling story.

Later that night after her charges had gone to sleep she sat at the desk and using the light of single candle flame wrote her version of the story up including a myriad of embellishments as they came to mind. Eventually the tale told, she laid her pen down, closed the inkwell and blew out the candle. Marilla found her fast asleep in the morning when she failed to rise, the manuscript laying on the desk beside her. She read barely recognising her own tale but recognising the brilliance of Anne's story telling nevertheless. Marilla tip toed out leaving Anne to sleep. If this were the reason for the girl's exhaustion this morning it was worth it.

Matthew swore under his breath when he was surprised by the monkey yet again. It always popped up in the most preposterous positions. This time it hung upside down from a rafter and chattered in his face. "Get away with you," he shook his fist and was further annoyed when it flung a small object in his direction, it bounced off his head and he bent to the ground to pick it up to find it was a thumbnail size piece of orange peel. Upon rightening himself he was again attacked by a barrage of the stuff. "Argh get away." Honestly if it weren't for the fact that Anne was his daughter …

He stopped, he hadn't thought of her in that way before. Examining his feelings in a rare display of introspection he contemplated further. Did he? Did he think of Anne as a daughter now rather than as Marilla's servant girl? Certainly those days spent cleaning Green Gables bonded them as nothing else could. She just got on with the task with him, never saying a word of chastisement. Brushing his hair out of his eyes he thought it over. He'd never had a daughter, never dared think it was possible in his situation, but well now there's a thing. Anne, hmm. She was a sweet little girl, she had babbled stories at him when they were together making the time pass easily enough, but daughter? The concept bounced around in his mind; daughter, daughter daughter.

The monkey watched him with its twinkly black eyes. The man had gone still now and its fun had stopped. It reached out for another piece of peel and flung it at Matthew's cheek but was annoyed when he didn't react, so deep in thought was he. Goliath swung over and hung upside down chattering to get his attention.

Rachel winced when she brushed her hand across her chest and looked up at the clock. Honestly if this baby didn't wake up soon she'd have to take matters into hand. The tightness needed a release soon, her breasts felt like boulders resting on her chest. Glancing down she reflected how easy it was with another breastfeeding woman in your house; tell-tale damp patches were easily explained. "Bit tender?" asked Marilla.

"Mm."

"Never thought I'd say it, but I suppose there are drawbacks to having a good sleeper."

Rachel nodded tightly with increasing discomfort. She set her knitting aside and got to her feet. Marilla watched her leave with a smile on her face. Susanna had just fed and she was feeling very relaxed in her armchair. Still she reflected, it was interesting how Rachel altered the atmosphere; being such a force of nature she caused eddies where ever she went. Marilla looked up when Marilla walked into the room to talk to her mother about dinner preparations. She halted when she saw only her older version was there.

Ever since young Marilla had tended to her older counterpart she found herself tongue-tied. It was the oddest thing, Marilla was no shrinking violet but there was something about being around the older woman that made her stumble over her words. The children had all taken to calling the other mother 'aunt' but Marilla wished they had stayed with the more formal Mrs; and it sounded stupid to be the only one to call her Mrs Blythe when her younger siblings called out Aunt Marilla with such ease.

"Can I fetch you anything, Mrs... Aunt M'rill." She said, sliding over the letters.

"No, I'm fine thank you Marilla," the older woman had no trouble saying it back to her evidently. Having walked in Marilla could hardly back out, for that would be rude so she sat awkwardly down on the couch as if she meant to do that all along. There was a pause as older Marilla bent down over her sewing and younger Marilla twiddled her thumbs trying to come up with an excuse to leave. There was a pause as Marilla worked and Marilla watched her and then all of a sudden they decided to break the silence - simultaneously.

"I," they both said then paused for the other and said, "excuse me, you first," at the same time and paused again for the other to speak. This happened a few times until eventually older Marilla broke the ice by bursting into giggles "it's like we're twins," she said as tears of laughter tracked down her cheeks.

"You know," said the older woman when their paroxysm had dulled to the odd hiccup, "you had me so confused at first."

"How so?" asked the younger.

"When you introduced yourself I had something of an identity crisis. You know what it's like, we never meet another. I'm used to being the one and only. I wasn't thinking straight and when you introduced yourself as Marilla I wondered, if you were Marilla, who was I? And it was so odd because I still felt like me, but then there you were."

"I'm sorry."

"Not at all, you didn't do anything wrong, after all you are Marilla too just as much as I am. If I hadn't been in such a state it would have been fine, but I just had a little moment there."

"I didn't even realise you were conscious, not really," said the younger.

"Well I suppose I wasn't totally, my mind came and went."

"Do you remember anything then?" she asked.

"Not much, that moment with you and the way the dust danced."

"Don't tell Ma, she'll be upset any dust dared to dance in this house. One of my jobs is keeping it at bay."

"No easy task on a farm if I recall," the older commiserated.

Young Marilla smiled, "no indeed."

They were sitting in easy conversation by the time Rachel reappeared with Lexie in her arms. "What was all that about?" she asked as she placed the baby at her breast thinking ahh that's better when she took the strain off with her first suckle.

"We were just," one Marilla glanced at the other.

"Comparing notes," the other finished off and they were both off again howling with laughter as Rachel looked on in bemusement. Still she was pleased, relations between these two whom she loved so dearly had seemed strained hitherto and if that had thawed then it was all to the good.

"Tea?" Matthew called out. Marilla took her seat at the dining table and waited for him to pour. "I have something for you."

"Oh?" Matthew was surprised because after all Marilla arrived home with nothing but the clothes on her back and her children in tow. John still hadn't returned so there's no way she could have much for him.

Marilla rummaged in her bag and drew out a sampler she'd been working on during her convalescence. "We'll need to get it framed, but I thought it might suit."

Matthew unwrapped it from its covering and warded the children back when they clamoured to see.

Thy firmness makes my circle just
And makes me end where I begun **

The beautifully formed stitching was encircled by a myriad of sea creatures, Neptune with his trident straddled a sea serpent in the top left hand corner counterbalanced by a kraken with tentacles waving in the bottom right. The whole thing had a greenish blueish tinge adding to the maritime atmosphere. "Mar," Matthew said wonderingly, tracing his finger over the words. "It's beautiful." His whole face lit up when he looked across the table at her.

She smiled in benediction, "just wanted to thank you for everything."

"I think it's Rachel you need to thank."

"I'll make another one for her, but I'll do that on board. It's too hard to keep the sewing of it from her while I'm here and it'll be nice to have a project when we're at sea."

"Well I'm sure she'll love it, as I do this." Every time Matthew glanced back at the piece he noticed a new detail. "I'll give it pride of place above the mantlepiece I think. It'll look nice in there." Matthew cleared his throat and blew his nose. He really was quite emotional, particularly by her use of that phrase; Donne had been a favourite of their mothers.

* The pirate tale that naturally sprang to mind was Treasure Island but unfortunately it wasn't published for another 20 years, so it's the more ponderous The Pirate by Walter Scott that Anne reads instead.

** A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning, John Donne