"All these feelings that seem so wrong
Remember when we were so strong
Well it's been raining for so long
It's been raining, I can't go on
Don't you go out in the rain
Don't go out in the pouring rain
If you go out in the rain
We'll never have that time again"
- Rain by Dragon
It's been raining for so long
It was the rain, pitter-pattering peacefully against the window sill, that lulled Anne into sleep. And it was the rain that woke her again a few hours later – no longer quietly tapping, no longer peaceful, but pouring down as if the sky was sobbing and had decided to wash Green Gables away with its anguish.
Despite painting a tragically beautiful image, it didn't change the fact that falling asleep again would be difficult. And as all the thoughts of rain and tears and water made her feel a little parched, Anne slipped her bed covers aside and rose. The floor boards felt cold against the soles of her feet as she padded down the stairs, fumbling in the dark kitchen for a glass and the smooth handle of the water pump.
"Matthew? Is that you?"
The sudden call made Anne jump, her mind going to dreary ghouls of Green Gables' past, beckoning their victims before consuming their souls. But once she got the reins over her imagination, she realized the voice was one she knew well.
"Marilla?"
Sure enough, her guardian was sitting in the living room by the light of a single candle, wearing her dressing gown and with her hair down in a way she never had during the day. It made her seem younger, more vulnerable in a way Anne had only seen a handful of times. And just like those times it tied an uncomfortable knot in her stomach, as if her body was physically telling her this was a side of Marilla she was not privy to.
As Marilla caught sight of her, her face set in its familiar sternness and Anne breathed a little easier. "Anne. What are you doing out of bed at this hour?"
Anne held up her glass of water, steadying it with her other hand as the liquid sloshed dangerously close to the edge. "I was awoken by the rain, and–"
"Here." Marilla moved the candle to clear a space on the little square table cloth. "Put it down before you drench yourself."
Anne did as she was told, a thought striking her as she did. "Why are you awake, Marilla?" Her gaze caught on the bundle of cloth draped over Marilla's knee and the abandoned needle and thread on the table. "Oh Marilla, I had no idea you were the kind to take to midnight sewing, to wile the night terrors away with the quiet monotony of the needle and–" The smile that had begun to form faded. "It is not night terrors, I hope? I've had my fair share and I wouldn't wish those horrid experiences on anyone."
"Nothing of the sort," Marilla answered, firmly enough Anne believed her. "Just doing a spot of thinking, is all."
"What about?"
"Not any of your concern." Marilla picked up the needle and thread again. When she shifted the bundle in her lap Anne recognized it as the jacket Matthew had been wearing two days ago. The one that had gotten caught and torn while he was mending a section of fence.
For a moment Anne hovered, unsure. Because while the words were clearly dismissive, encouraging her to go back to her room and sleep, something about the way Marilla had said them made her feel inclined to stay. That even though whatever was on Marilla's mind was not her concern, she might want it to be.
And if she could alleviate Marilla's mind the same way she and Matthew had done time and again for her… well, that would be nice too.
Making her mind up, Anne picked up her glass of water again and sat herself on the couch next to Marilla. The night air was cool and so was the water, but not uncomfortably so. Neither was the silence that stretched between them, broken up only by the rain. It was quieter here on the bottom floor, like the rain couldn't quite reach them. Yet she could still see it through the window, turning the barn and the yard outside into a well-loved photograph, striped by age and wear.
The quiet clear of a throat made Anne look over to Marilla. She was watching the rain too.
"I was thinking about Michael," she said.
"Your brother?"
"Yes." Something soft came into her eyes. "He loved the rain."
A part of Anne wished she remembered her parents enough to know if they had loved the rain. She hoped they had, or at least that they too had found it some sort of romantical.
"What did he like about it?" The way it seems as if the sky is crying in commiseration? she refrained from adding.
"Not just the sound, I presume." A wistful smile crossed Marilla's lips. "He would come inside and mend things with me. Every downpour, without fail – he became quite good with a needle, believe it or not."
Anne smiled back. "So that is why you're awake? Because the rain reminds you of your most precious moments of him?"
That didn't seem the right thing to say as Marilla's eyes shuttered, and Anne, heart dropping, opened her mouth to backtrack and smoothen over whatever upset she had caused. For once however, Marilla was quicker to words than her.
"It does. But–" She paused. "There was a storm that day too. The day he passed."
For a moment, they both sat in silence, Marilla's gaze on the rain, Anne's on her as she pondered what to say. Because what could there possibly be to say, that wouldn't sound hollow in the face of the sorrow of having lost your brother? A brother you knew intimately and loved dearly? Anne may have lost much in her young life, but she had yet to experience that kind of loss.
But she knew stories.
"At the orphanage, I remember reading a book of folk tales. One of them about two friends, so close they could very well have been siblings. They… their names were Whirlwind and Rain."
She stopped then, meeting Marilla's eyes. Her guardian didn't look disapproving though. Nor dismissive.
"They were inseparable," she began with renewed courage, gaze drawn to the pouring rain outside once more. "Rain had been born without eyes, you see, and therefore needed someone to help him around. And Whirlwind, though he was prone to mischief due to his ability to turn invisible, was always there to offer his friend a guiding hand.
"One day, a few men in their village approached Whirlwind, their faces brimming with indignation." She was warming up to the tale now, felt the words whisk her away as if she were right there in the village too. "They had all tried to win the affection of the village chief's daughter, only to be mocked for their stature and belittled for their intellect, and so they asked Whirlwind to help them teach her a lesson.
"In truth, the daughter was a kind and gentle soul. She had never wanted to marry and if so only to someone who could be her intellectual equal, for her greatest passion was reading and learning about the world. The men had all been boorish and disrespectful of her wishes, and so she had only responded in kind!"
She glanced over at Marilla then, who now had a frown on her face. Anne flushed. "I'm sorry, Marilla," she hurried to say. "If you don't want to hear anymore, I shan't say another word."
Marilla nodded in acknowledgement, and for a quiet moment continued sewing. Then, "Well. As you've already started, you may as well finish."
Anne smiled and continued.
Whirlwind didn't know the full story, of course, and so the next time he spotted the woman, he charged at her. With a shriek she went tumbling into a puddle of mud as Whirlwind tore off her hat and tossed it into the sea.
Furious, the village chief banished Whirlwind from the village. And so Rain, who couldn't imagine staying in the village without his dear friend, left with him, hand in hand.
Months passed, and the land began to feel the toll of Whirlwind and Rain's absence. The grass grew dry and brown without water; the boats rested listlessly on the shore with no wind to fill their sails. And so the chief, persuaded by his kind-hearted daughter, sent out search parties far and wide. Bear and Fox, Mountain Ash and Fir, Crane and Kingfisher all searched… and all returned empty-handed.
But finally the Sparrow came across a small cave, surrounded by emerald green grass and gently swaying trees. And sure enough, in that cave curled around the fire, were Whirlwind and Rain. Once they heard the Sparrow's tale, they both agreed to return and help. They had never turned away from each other when they had been in need, how could they treat the village any different?
"And so they returned," Anne said, "and the people welcomed them back with celebration and joy, overflowing with gratitude as the vibrant green returned to their fields and the jubilant waves returned to their seas. And the Sparrow was praised and would never be hunted again. Because without Sparrow, they would never have found Whirlwind and Rain. And the two friends would never have realized how important they were to each other and to the village."
Anne took a breath, reveling in the feeling of a story told to its end. She turned to Marilla to see her reaction… only for her heart to drop. Because Marilla's eyes were shimmering and wet.
"Oh Marilla, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to–"
Marilla's hand, dry yet warm, covered hers and the sentence lodged in her throat. "You have nothing to be sorry for, dear child." Then, light as a feather, Marilla leaned over and kissed her temple.
It wasn't the first time Marilla had shown her affection in such ways, fleetingly rare though they were, but it still sent a ripple of feeling rushing through Anne. Of warmth. Of safety. Of belonging.
All things she had dreamed of, yearned for her entire life… and yet something she had never dared to think possible. It was exhilarating and terrifying and wonderful all at once.
"Now," Marilla wiped her eyes brusquely, her voice taking on its usual stern edge, "I think we've wasted enough time on memories and stories. You might as well help me with the mending. There's more needle and thread in the cupboard."
Anne smiled and went to fetch them.
:::
It rained the next night too, the heavy pattering against the roof tiles now joined by the whistling of the wind. When Anne ventured down the stairs, she found Marilla once again in the living room. She glanced up only briefly from her work – knitting this time – but moved over to give Anne space to sit next to her.
"Well?" Marilla asked after a few quiet minutes of knitting. "What other tales were there in that book of yours?"
The story Anne tells is a retelling of the native Canadian folk tale The Sparrow's search for Rain. Once I read it I knew I had to include it :)
Thank you for reading!