Much as she'd enjoyed her adventure, the sight of the house nestled between the orchard brought Marilla a profound sense of contentment. If Matthew was sorrowful to miss their nuptials, he hid it well. Marilla had a quiet word with him when they were alone. "Sorry we married without you there, brother," she said to him. "Didn't seem right somehow."

Matthew looked at her for a long moment, "I reckon the important thing is that you did it."

"Yes, but…"

"But nothing, Marilla. You were able to marry the man you love; I don't figure into it."

"Oh, but you do, Matthew. I wish you'd been there. It's been you and I all these years …" she trailed off.

"S'alright Marilla. I'm happy for you both; really, I am. Gideon is a good man," he cleared his throat to hide his emotion. "Pleased to have him in the family." Though he was sorrowful, Matthew refused to let her know; it had been hard enough for her to wed away from her community and the last thing he wanted her to do was feel any guilt about it. Stroking the cow's flank that evening he said to it, "wish I'd been there, but at least she was able to do it, that's all that matters ain't it?" The cow chewed her cud as she always did and by that Matthew determined that she agreed.

Gideon came in to find the kitchen empty. "Marilla," he called up the stairs. "Are you up there?"

A muffled call came back to him, and he climbed to find what she was up to. "What are you doing?" he asked as her back appeared, her torso lost amid the upper reaches of her closet.

"Just a minute."

He stood waiting uncomfortably while she scrabbled around. Eventually she reappeared, dust in her hair. "Lost something?"

"I know I have a spare bolt of cloth around somewhere. I just can't find it. I put it away years ago. It'll do nicely for new shirts for you and Matthew."

"Do you need a hand?"

"No. I'll find it; it's got to be here somewhere."

"It's always in the last place you look."

Marilla paused and looked at him blankly before laughing, "well naturally."

Gideon grinned initially before his smile faded, "it was a joke my parents used to share." Despite himself he sobbed pulling away from her when she tried to embrace him. It was obvious he was wiping his eyes when his back was turned. "Gideon," she said softly. He shook his head, but he came easily enough when she pulled him around and sat next to her on the bed. "I think I would have liked your mother. You don't speak of your parents much."

"No," he sighed. "I should. They are always in my heart."

"May I pray for them?" she asked gently.

He was so overwhelmed by her sentiment he could barely nod in reply, and he collapsed into her lap his mouth muffled by her skirts as she stroked his hair. It felt so nice and warm in there, like home nearly, apart from her scent. He felt as though unwittingly he'd put his Jewish roots behind him. Turning his head he said somewhat pathetically, "Marilla?"

"Mm."

"Would it be alright if I cooked sometimes?"

"Why?" Marilla was mystified. Was hers not good enough?

"I want my own food, to try Mama's recipes."

"Oh darling," her heart broke a little. "Of course, of course you may."

She felt rather than heard him crying and gave him the space to express his emotion. He sat up after a spell and straightened his shirt embarrassed by his display of emotions. "Sorry," he muttered.

"Why?"

"I shouldn't…" he cleared his throat.

"Fiddlesticks! If you espouse to some outdated notion that a man can't express his love when his heart is breaking, Mr Hoffer, well then …."

Gideon smiled and nodded in defeat, "thank you."

She smiled back, her affront assuaged. "I love you," she said clasping his hand in hers.

"Ach, I love you beyond measure my ketzele." She smiled and stroked his hair fondly. Then Marilla sprang to her feet as a brainwave occurred to her, rustling around under the bed she pulled out a dusty parcel. "Here it is! I knew it was somewhere close."

"What did I say?" replied Gideon almost as happy as she was.

"It's always in the last place you look!" she bent down to kiss him, and he smiled as she walked away.

"Speaking of parents," Gideon said later that night. "You don't speak of yours often, either." Gideon could not fail to notice the glance Marilla shot at Matthew. "If it makes you uncomfortable."

Marilla heaved a big sigh saying merely, "it's complicated," before lowering her head.

Into the silence Matthew commenced to speak, "Marilla and our mother had a difficult relationship, Gideon. Shouldn't speak ill of the dead but, well…"

"She was a bitch," Marilla muttered, though the last word came out forcefully enough. Gideon was surprised by her venom, the Marilla he knew would never speak in that manner.

Truth be told Marilla was a teeny bit jealous of the close relationship Gideon shared with his mama. Her own mother had been a manipulative, bitter woman who had taken her frustrations out on her only daughter. One day she supposed she would share more information, but she'd rather not dwell on the past.

As wonderful as Matthew's greeting had been, the honeymoon could not last. With some trepidation Marilla got herself ready for church their first Sunday back. Gideon of course, did not accompany her, but she wore her wedding ring proudly. Matthew offered to go too, an offer she gladly accepted. Some support would not go astray. Naturally, word had got out as it always did in small towns, and everyone knew she had married and a heathen at that. She prayed her reception would be straightforward but dreaded the backlash if it did not.

Avonlea like other small towns was a hotbed of gossip. News that old Marilla Cuthbert had returned from goodness knows where with a strange man on her arm spread like wildfire and when it became known that he was Jewish tongues wagged in an increasing crescendo. That a fine, hitherto upstanding, member of their community could wed outside the faith was beyond the pale and folks were scandalised.

Marilla clutched Matthew's arm as they walked into church, mightily glad to have his steady presence by her side. They sat down in their usual pew and tried to ignore the murmured asides and pointed looks. Marilla knew the congregation behind them were peering her way, but even worse the folks in front were turning in their seats. "Don't know what all the fuss is about, myself," muttered Matthew. "S'not like you've grown a horn."

The minister, annoyingly, preached the parable of the prodigal son. Innocent enough, thought Marilla, to anyone else. But she could not help but feel every word was directed solely towards her. After an uncomfortable morning she followed the congregation out hoping that everyone would move on. And move on they did, in fact they ignored her completely. Even the gaze of people who would once have smiled her way seemed to slide past her. Marilla stood feeling quite self-conscious in the church forecourt as her neighbours milled around catching up with the gossip. It was a strange feeling to be invisible.

Rachel wandered by and Marilla took a step towards her, expecting her oldest friend at least would acknowledge her. But Rachel glanced at her briefly, her eyes cold and unyielding before she diverted her gaze and strode off. Marilla was left cold and bereft her shawl flapping in the cool breeze.

Thankfully Matthew arrived with the buggy soon afterwards and they were able to beat a hasty retreat. Marilla was silent on the way home, but Matthew could tell she was fuming.

"How?" Gideon started his words fading on his lips when he saw her state.

"I don't want to talk about it." Marilla took off her outer layers and sank to a chair. Despite her comment the words burst out almost unbidden. "Of all the small minded, bigoted people I've ever had the misfortune to live beside these people take the cake…" She went on to describe Avonlea's reactions, her voice starting out in resignation and rising in indignation, until "and Rachel…" But her voice cracked, and she was unable to go on, instead shooting Gideon such a look as to make his heart sink. He'd met Rachel a couple of times but hadn't liked her all that much, nevertheless he understood how important their neighbour was to his beloved wife.

When she was particularly riled up Marilla usually took solace in baking, but as this was the sabbath she sat still casting quick glances around the kitchen longing to be active. Unable to express herself in housework Marilla stormed out of the house letting the door bang behind her. She wandered around outside for a bit finally coming to rest on the veranda step. A flock of birds noisily roosted in a nearby tree looking for all the world as though someone had strewn leftover handkerchiefs through its branches.

A step close by alerted her that she had company. She turned to rebuff him but was pleasantly surprised when Gideon draped a shawl over her shoulders and held out a steaming cup. Wordlessly he sat down beside her, setting a cookie laden plate down between them.

The tea, as it always did, helped. Tentatively sipping, feeling the warmth snake down her innards her breathing calmed and she felt a new lassitude. "Cookie?" Gideon asked proffering an unfamiliar selection. Unthinking she took one and on chewing was taken by its delicious taste. "What are these?" She mumbled through the crumbs quite forgetting her mother's stern command to never talk whilst eating.

"Hamantashen and mandelbrot" replied Gideon. "Old favourites."

"But it's Sunday, no baking."

"Ach, remember it's not my sabbath. I celebrated that yesterday." Marilla smiled; she had forgotten.

Upon returning inside she noticed for the first time the baking aroma that permeated the whole house. She had been so riled up before that it had escaped her attention. "Smells lovely in here," she said. "You've been working hard."

"Nice to do be able to do this for you. I know you don't love to have someone else in your kitchen while you're here, so I took the opportunity. The oven runs a bit hot," he gestured towards a burnt patch on his cookies.

"Doesn't it," Marilla had never had anyone who understood, her mother would brook no criticism regardless of evidence to the contrary. "Hav'ta circulate my baking. We've never been able to get to the bottom of it."

Changing the subject, she added, sighing, "Rachel."

"Mm?" Gideon had a fair idea where this would go, but he wisely left the space open for Marilla to fill.

"I thought she was my friend. I thought she'd understand. I've always supported her; I expected her to do the same."

"Was it awful?"

"She snubbed me, Gideon and worse than that, I don't think I've ever seen her eyes so cold and unyielding. She's a warm and friendly woman, ordinarily. Gay and blithe, regardless of the circumstances. Oh, I know, she can be judgemental, but I've never seen her quite like this. We've had some good laughs together, but it's never been this harsh. That my good friend could treat me this way…" she trailed off.

Gideon paused, thinking how to express himself, "maybe?" he cleared his throat. "Maybe she's jealous?"

"Jealous? What has she got to be… oh." Marilla saw it now. Rachel was used to having a friend up the lane one who always had time for her because there was no one else in her life. One who she could look down upon because she was manless. "Do you think?" she lapsed into silence reassessing their long relationship.

"People are strange, ketzele. Some befriend people on their own merits, and some do it because being their friend makes their life seem better. When you're struggling yourself, it can feel easier knowing people are worse off. Maybe, and I don't wish to cast aspersions, maybe Rachel likes having you around so she can think, despite the messiness of her life… How many children did you say she has?"

"Seven, and another on the way."

"Ach yes, so it must be chaotic in that house." Marilla nodded. "But she might think, as she falls asleep at night, at least I have children, at least I have a husband. Because you didn't and she pitied you for it."

"And all that's changed."

"Ach, yes, you have a husband now and children will follow."

"God be willing. So, she can't lord it over me anymore."

"No."

"And she may not like that."

"It's not as though you can't still be friends. Your relationship could develop if she let it."

"Mm."

"But she might have to think that through. And you'll have to forgive her."

"I forget they don't see the man I love. Their knowledge of you stops with your faith, whereas only I know how warm and loving you are. Your sense of humour, your handsome body. If only they knew…"

"I'm not getting undressed in front of them, ketzele."

That made Marilla laugh, "you had better not, that's for my eyes only."