Chapter 3 - YOU?
"Anne, are you all right?" Diana called out, hurrying after her dearest friend.
"Oh, Diana, today has been the absolute worst of all possible days," Anne lamented, her voice thick with tears. "That treacherous boy! I shall never, ever forgive him, Diana! Never!"
Diana hesitated, a thoughtful expression on her face. "What is it, dear?" Anne asked.
"It's just that—I've never seen Gilbert Blythe apologize to anyone before."
"So, what does that matter to me?" Anne snapped.
"Anne, you must mean something to him if he's so desperate for your forgiveness and approval," Diana reasoned gently.
"Then he shouldn't have insulted me in such a dreadful way."
"I agree," Diana conceded, "but didn't you hear what he said?"
"Yes, Diana, I heard his pathetic apology—oh, the nerve of him!" Anne fumed.
"No, Anne, I mean what he said after you ran off. He, well—he said he liked carrots."
Anne's cheeks flushed a deep pink. "So he decides to insult me again after his so-called 'apology'? That boy!" she huffed, picking up her skirts and running off toward Green Gables.
"No, Anne, I think he meant it differently!" Diana called after her, but alas, Anne had already run too far to hear.
—
"Oh, Marilla! I shall never set foot in that dreadful school again! Today was the most tragical day of my entire life!" Anne declared dramatically as she burst through the door.
"And why was that, Anne?" Marilla asked, a hint of amusement in her voice, well acquainted with Anne's flair for the dramatic.
"This wretched boy, whose name I shall never speak aloud again, had the audacity to pull my braid in front of the entire schoolhouse and called me Carrots!" Anne cried, her voice trembling with a mix of outrage and despair.
"Anne, I'm sorry to hear that. Did this boy apologize?" Marilla asked, though she had a fair idea of the boy in question.
"Oh, he did, Marilla! He apologized repeatedly, but I shall never, ever forgive him!" Anne declared, her arms crossed with unshakable resolve.
"Anne, it isn't right to withhold forgiveness when someone sincerely asks for it."
"But, Marilla, he insulted me in the most unbearable way! My hair—it's the bane of my existence, and he mocked it in front of everyone!" Anne protested, her eyes brimming with the passion of her wounded pride.
"Oh, Anne," Marilla sighed, shaking her head slightly. She couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor girl. The boy was probably one of the Pye boys, or perhaps one of the Andrews, all known for their less-than-gentlemanly manners.
"Anne, go wash up. We're going to take dinner over to the Blythes," Marilla said as she turned back to her work.
Anne's eyes widened in surprise. "Why?" she asked, her voice tinged with suspicion.
Marilla looked at Anne, slightly puzzled. "You must have met Gilbert by now. Wasn't he at school today? Well, since his father is…" Marilla hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "Very ill, Matthew and I have been helping out around their farm and house. I used to take them supper before they left for Alberta when John first fell sick. I had planned to go earlier this week, but we were busy settling you in, so I thought we'd go together today."
Anne's face fell, first in horror and then in anger.
"But surely Gilbert's mother could make dinner for them," Anne retorted, her tone sharp and indignant.
Marilla looked at Anne in shock, her heart aching as memories of John bringing Gilbert to Avonlea in the pouring rain flashed through her mind.
"Anne, Gilbert doesn't have a mother. And I never want to hear you speak like that again, do you understand, young lady? Now, go wash up!" Marilla's voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable edge of anger in it.
Anne, taken aback, silently rose and went to wash up. The thought that Gilbert Blythe, of all people, was someone the Cuthberts visited regularly was almost too much to bear.
Anne and Marilla walked silently along the path to the Blythe orchard, the tension from their earlier conversation lingering between them. Marilla, her thoughts spinning, decided to break the silence. "Anne, why did you react so strongly when I mentioned Gilbert's name? I thought bringing dinner to the Blythes would be a nice outing for the two of us."
"Oh, Marilla, well…" Anne hesitated, biting her lip.
"Spit it out, Anne."
Anne let out a sigh, her eyes welling up with fresh tears. "Gilbert is the boy who pulled my braid and humiliated me before the entire school today!" she burst out with a sob.
Marilla's mouth fell open in surprise. "That doesn't sound like Gilbert at all. Anne, I'm sorry that happened. Perhaps I should have a word with him?"
"No, Marilla! Please don't!" Anne pleaded, her voice filled with a mix of desperation and lingering pride.
Marilla sighed, shaking her head gently. She couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for Anne.
As they reached the Blythe house, Marilla knocked on the door, the sound echoing through the quiet evening. Inside, Gilbert was just setting a book down after reading to his father, unaware of their visitors. He had wondered why the Cuthberts hadn't visited in the days since his return, and a small part of him had worried that they might have forgotten him.
A second knock startled him.
"Just a minute! I'm coming!" Gilbert called out, quickly making his way to the door.
As he opened it, he was greeted by the sight of Marilla and—much to his surprise—Anne, her vivid red hair unmistakable even in the dim light.
"YOU?" he blurted out, his shock evident. Realizing his rudeness, he quickly covered his mouth with his hand.
Anne shot him a scowl that could have melted ice.
Marilla, noticing the tension, quickly stepped in, her voice warm but firm. "Hello, Gilbert. It's been too long. This is Anne Shirley, as I believe you two have already met. Matthew and I have taken her in, which is also why we haven't had the chance to visit you until now."
Gilbert's surprise deepened as he looked from Marilla to Anne and back again. "Marilla! My father and I have missed you so much. Yes, Anne and I did meet today… It's good to hear she's staying with such wonderful people as the Cuthberts. Please, come in, both of you," he said, stepping aside to let them in.
Anne simply nodded and kept her gaze fixed on the floor as she sat down, the awkwardness between them palpable.
"Gilbert? Are the Cuthberts here?" John called out from his room.
"Excuse me for a moment," Gilbert said, hurrying out of the parlor to his father's side.
"Pa, Marilla is here, but you won't believe it…" Gilbert began, his voice filled with a mixture of disbelief and excitement.
John raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What is it, son?"
"Anne Shirley—the girl I told you about. The Cuthberts have taken her in! That's why they haven't visited us yet!"
John's mouth opened in surprise, then closed, then opened again, though no words came out.
"Marilla and Matthew have… what?"
"They've adopted Anne Shirley. The one girl who just had to hate me," Gilbert said, his voice full of exaggerated despair.
John chuckled, shaking his head at the dread on his son's face. "Boy, help me up to the parlor."
"Pa! You shouldn't…"
"Gilbert, I want to see Marilla and this Anne Shirley I've heard so much about in the parlor, not from this dingy bedroom."
Gilbert hesitated, then finally relented, helping his father clean up and supporting him as they made their way to the parlor.
Anne's eyes widened in shock as she watched Gilbert practically carry his father into the room. The man before her was clearly very ill, far more than Marilla had let on—this man was clearly dying.
"Hello, Mar. We've missed you," John said sweetly as he settled into his chair, his voice warm despite his obvious frailty. Marilla's cheeks turned a faint shade of pink, though only John seemed to notice.
"And you must be the famous Anne Shirley I've been hearing so much about! It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Hello, Mr. Blythe. Erm—how are you?" Anne stammered, still reeling from the sight of him.
"I've seen better days," John replied with a chuckle, his voice still full of good humor as Gilbert helped him get comfortable.
"John, how was Alberta?" Marilla asked gently, hoping to steer the conversation to a lighter topic.
"A bit stagnant, if I'm honest. But those mountains! They're a sight I'll never grow tired of. Still, right now, Gilbert and I just need Avonlea," John said, a soft smile playing on his lips.
"I'm glad you're back, John. Avonlea has missed you both," Marilla said kindly.
"Erm—Anne, Gilbert, could you both heat up the supper we brought?" Marilla asked, gesturing toward the beef broth she and Anne had carried over.
Anne's eyes widened in panic, but before she could protest, Gilbert quickly stood and smiled. "Of course, Marilla," he said, ever the polite host.
Anne stifled a sigh, reluctantly following Gilbert to the kitchen, the pot of beef broth clutched in her hands.
"My, Gilbert is certainly growing into a fine young man. He's the spitting image of you at his age," Marilla remarked, watching the pair leave.
"Too bad I won't be around to see him fully grown. He's still just a lad," John replied, a shadow of sadness crossing his face.
"John, don't say that," Marilla chided softly, her own heart aching.
"It's the truth, Mar. I've been dying for three years now, and leaving that boy alone is what pains me the most."
"You aren't leaving him alone, John. He has us—he has family," Marilla said, her voice firm with quiet determination.
John sighed heavily. "I know, Mar, but it's hard to shake the worry."
Marilla nodded somberly, understanding all too well.
"Well, I heard about a certain slate incident today," John said, changing the subject with a faint grin.
"Slate?"
"Didn't you hear? Gilbert pulled Anne's braid, and she broke a slate over his head."
"Well, I heard about what Gilbert did, but Anne conveniently left out that part! She must apologize—that's no way to behave! I understand she felt insulted, but violence is never the answer."
"Oh, Marilla, there's no need for that."
"No need? She's got your boy apologizing to a wall like there's no tomorrow!"
"They need to sort it out on their own. I remember how much I hated it when my parents got involved in our childhood quarrels—it always made things worse. We worked out our differences best when we were left to do it ourselves."
"I suppose you're right. I'm not surprised Anne lost her temper, but what made Gilbert act that way? I was sure it was one of the Pye or Andrew boys who teased her, but a Blythe? I'd never have guessed it."
"Well, Marilla, I don't think it was teasing, exactly… As Gilbert tells it, he was trying to get her attention, and she was ignoring him. So, without thinking, he pulled her braid and called her Carrots. He knows he was wrong, but… I think he fancies your Anne Shirley."
"John, he's just a boy—only thirteen. He couldn't possibly have those feelings yet, could he?"
"I fancied you at that age, Mar."
Marilla's cheeks turned pink again, and she quickly cleared her throat to mask her flustered state. "Well, shall we get to dinner?" she said, extending her arm to help him up.
"Oh and Marilla, I left out the best part."
Marilla's eyebrows raised.
"He told her, he liked carrots" John said while giving a hearty laugh.
Marilla smiled.
—
"Anne, I truly am sorry," Gilbert said earnestly, his voice carrying a note of sincerity.
"You insulted me, Gilbert. It hurt me deeply. And now that you know I'm an orphan, you'll probably make fun of me even more for that," Anne replied, her voice tinged with bitterness.
Gilbert's eyes widened in shock. "Anne, I would never! How could I when—"
"When what?" Anne demanded, her curiosity piqued despite her anger.
"When I'm likely to become one myself any day now," Gilbert blurted out, rubbing his eyes to hide the emotion that threatened to overwhelm him.
Anne's heart sank as she thought back to her earlier words to Marilla. How could she have been so thoughtless?
"If you don't forgive me, that's fine," Gilbert continued, his voice now cooler than she had expected. "But we should at least try to get along for our parents' sake."
A twinge of regret tightened Anne's heart. Gilbert did seem genuinely sorry, and it dawned on her that they had more in common than she had initially believed. But her pride, that ever-present companion, stood in the way. She lifted her nose in the air and responded with a curt, "Fine."
The two of them awkwardly busied themselves with heating up the stove and setting out the bowls, the tension between them was palpable.
They each stole glances at the other when they thought the other wasn't looking, both trying to find the words to break the uneasy silence.
"Gilbert," Anne finally said, her voice softer now. His head whipped around, surprised by her tone.
"I'm sorry about your parents," she offered, her earlier harshness now replaced with genuine sympathy.
"There's nothing to be sorry about, Anne," Gilbert replied, his voice quieter, as if the weight of the situation was something he had already resigned himself to.
"Did you know your mother?" Anne asked hesitantly.
"No," Gilbert answered, shaking his head.
"Me neither," Anne admitted, a shared sadness passing between them.
"But…" Gilbert began, as if searching for the right words.
"But what?" Anne prompted gently.
"But my father has told me many stories about her—about their time together in Alberta."
"That's simply wonderful, Gilbert," Anne said, her voice softening with genuine interest.
"You know what my father told me about her today?" Gilbert asked, a note of nervousness creeping into his voice.
"What?" Anne asked, her curiosity piqued once more.
"That her hair was just like yours."
"Gilbert, I'd appreciate it if you'd stop teasing me! I thought we were supposed to be getting along," Anne snapped, her defenses rising again.
"No, Anne, I mean it, I swear. My father said her hair was one of the loveliest things he had ever seen. Anne, please forgive me. I know it wasn't kind to call you 'Carrots,' but it wasn't meant as an insult. How could I ever insult someone with hair like my mother's?"
Anne's eyes widened in shock at his words. She quickly turned away and busied herself with the utensils, trying to hide the blush that was creeping into her cheeks. Diana's earlier words echoed in her mind: "No, Anne, I mean what he said after you ran off. He, well—he said he liked carrots."
Gilbert sighed, disappointed, as he sensed the wall still standing between them.
—
As the evening shadows lengthened and the soft glow of lamplight filled the Blythe house, Marilla, Anne, Gilbert, and John gathered around the dinner table. The air was thick with the scent of the beef broth Anne and Gilbert had heated, mingling with the faint tang of the dying fire in the hearth. The atmosphere was calm yet tinged with an undercurrent of tension that had not quite dissipated.
John, looking frailer than usual, leaned back in his chair, his gaze fondly resting on Gilbert and then drifting over to Anne. "It's been too long since we've had company for dinner," he remarked, his voice warm but weakened by his illness. "I'm grateful you could come, Marilla. And you too, Miss Shirley. Next time you must bring over Matthew"
Anne looked up, surprised by the use of "Miss Shirley." It sounded so formal, almost as if she were someone important. She wasn't used to such respect, and it made her feel both shy and proud. "Thank you, Mr. Blythe," she replied, her voice soft, as she reached for the bowl of broth.
Gilbert, watching Anne with a new sense of understanding after their conversation in the kitchen, couldn't help but notice how her demeanor had softened since their earlier encounters. He still felt the sting of her rejection, but there was something in the way she had spoken to him in the kitchen—something that suggested a truce might be possible, even if it was a tentative one.
Marilla, began serving the broth, her sharp eyes catching the exchange between Anne and Gilbert. She couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope that perhaps the rift between the two could be mended over time. "John, you look like you've regained some strength," she said, steering the conversation to more neutral ground.
John smiled, though it was a tired smile. "It's being back in Avonlea, Marilla. There's something about this place… it's like it has its own kind of medicine. I've missed the simplicity of it, the familiarity."
Marilla nodded, understanding the sentiment all too well. "There's nothing quite like Avonlea. It has a way of getting into your bones and staying there, no matter how far you wander."
Gilbert, sensing his father's weariness, spoke up to fill the silence that threatened to settle over the table. "Pa's been telling me stories about when he was my age, running around these same roads," he said, a hint of pride in his voice. "It's strange to think how much things have changed, but also how they've stayed the same."
Anne, who had been quietly listening, felt a pang of envy. She had no stories like that, no tales of her own family's history to share or remember. But rather than let the melancholy take hold, she focused on the warmth of the company around her, the comforting clink of cutlery, and the gentle murmur of conversation.
"Gilbert," Anne began, her voice a little hesitant, "it must be nice to know so much about your family and where you come from." It was a simple statement, but it carried a weight of longing that didn't go unnoticed by anyone at the table.
Gilbert looked at her, seeing beyond the usual sharpness in her tone to the loneliness she so often hid. "It is," he admitted quietly. "But I suppose, in some ways, it's what you do with the stories you're given that matters, more than how many you have."
Anne nodded thoughtfully, her gaze dropping to the table. She could see the truth in his words, and it made her realize that perhaps she wasn't as alone as she often felt. She had new stories now—stories she was beginning to build in Avonlea, with people who cared for her.
The conversation ebbed and flowed as the evening wore on. Laughter was shared, and for a while, the shadows of worry lifted from John's face, replaced by the warmth of companionship. Even Anne and Gilbert managed to exchange a few more words, their earlier tension easing into something that resembled a fragile understanding.
As they finished the meal, John looked around the table, his heart full despite his weakened body. "Thank you all for this evening," he said, his voice filled with genuine gratitude. "It means more than you know."
Marilla, ever practical but with a rare softness in her eyes, simply nodded. "We're glad to be here, John. You and Gilbert are like family to us."
Anne felt a swell of emotion she couldn't quite name—a mixture of belonging and acceptance that was still new to her but felt deeply right. She looked at Gilbert and, for the first time, offered him a small, genuine smile.
Gilbert, caught off guard, returned the smile with a warmth that surprised him. Perhaps, he thought, they could find a way to be friends after all.