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Chapter 1

Saturday, August 7, 1841

Avonlea, PEI

The warm August breeze ruffled Marilla’s hair as she climbed onto the roof of the back porch. Her crinoline rustled beneath her dress, breaking the stillness of the night as she dropped to the ground to make her escape. Imagine, having to escape your own home! She’d tried it once when she was seven years old, and even now, ten years later, the sting of her mother’s slap was sharp in her memory. But Marilla knew if she didn’t brave this one act of defiance against her parents, she would simply die.

The full moon lit her way as she tiptoed across the yard, praying her parents wouldn’t hear her. She lifted her petticoat and started to run. A giggle, long buried, broke free and filled her with what she’d always known was missing from her life. That which she was now running toward, and the one thing that didn’t exist in the house behind her: joy. Pure, life-sustaining joy.

As far as Marilla was concerned, it had been choked to death a long time ago by her mother’s piousness, superiority, and self-righteousness. Tonight, Marilla would risk her punishment and the wrath of God almighty himself, just to have William hold her. She hoped and prayed this one night would change all the others to come.

She ran toward Rachel and the flickering lantern that waited for her at the end of the lane and together they raced toward town, where the dance hall was already aglow with lights. Where the sound of laughter filled the air. Where the face of the man she’d fallen more in love with every day since they met would smile just for her.

End of section

William leaned against the doorjamb. His jacket, the only one he owned, felt tight across his shoulders. He’d laboured long these past months and his muscles had broadened across his back. And though he was more comfortable in work clothes, he wanted Marilla to see that he could present himself as well as any other man. Or at least as well as John Blythe. He stood taller than John ever would, but he’d learned that privilege and status in a community as small as Avonlea brought its own form of stature to a man.

The last of the sun had slipped below the trees and the peepers had begun their rhythmic symphony. William sighed, his impatience at last getting the best of him.

“She’ll get here, don’t worry.”

“Who? What are you talking about?”

The snort of laughter from behind and the clap of Duncan’s hand on his shoulder made him turn.

“Willy, my man, there’s no hiding it. A blind man could see what you so stubbornly won’t. And you can mark my words, that little filly who caught your eye when we landed here back in June is at this moment braving life, limb, and most likely mortal soul to get here.”

William swatted the hand from his shoulder and smirked. He jumped, leaving the steps behind, and landed in the dooryard, releasing the excitement that exploded at the mention of Marilla’s limbs.

Duncan headed back inside, leaving William to stare down the darkened road, his words drifting behind him as he retreated.

“I’d be careful, William. John Blythe won’t take kindly to a mainlander stealing his girl.”

End of section

The lantern held between the two young women shook as Rachel’s words hissed into the darkness. “You can’t possibly love him, Marilla. Get hold of yourself. You’ve only known him a few months. What in the name of God will your mother say? She’ll not have it.”

Marilla looked into Rachel’s eyes, made all the more fiery by the glow of flame between them, and spat words she’d had little practice using: “I don’t care.” With that she grabbed the lantern and started walking away.

“You don’t care? Why, Marilla Cuthbert,” Rachel said, racing to catch up, “in all my life I have never heard words like that coming from you. You, who has cared for everything and for everyone for—well, forever!”

“Precisely.”

“But what about John? Are you saying you don’t have feelings for him? Everyone knows you’re his girl, Marilla. Always have been, always will be.”

Marilla’s rigid stance stopped Rachel in her tracks. “I am not his girl. Just because everyone thinks it, doesn’t make it so. John, with skin that’s never seen a hard day’s work in the sun and hair the colour of straw! He pales next to my William. I’m certainly fond of him, we’ve known each other for years…and I guess I thought maybe that’s what love was. But Rachel, I didn’t even know what love was until I met William. Now I do.”

Rachel’s voice softened. “William is quite handsome, anyone can see that.”

Marilla placed a hand over her forehead and feigned a swoon which made Rachel giggle. “But you haven’t looked into his eyes…they are the deepest brown with bits of amber that sparkle when he smiles. And his teeth. They’re perfect.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Marilla, he’s not a horse.”

“And he’s sweet and thoughtful and so strong.” Marilla, anxious now and breathless at the thought of seeing him, looped her arm through Rachel’s. “And best of all, he loves me too!”

The sound of fiddles reached them and the glow of lights shining in the distance made them squeal with excitement as they ran together toward the dance hall.

End of section

William stopped pacing and listened. The sound of her laughter reached him, and he started down the road. He could see the light from the lantern bouncing through the pines and he began to run.

She saw him, shouted his name, and, leaving Rachel behind to hold the lantern, ran headlong into his arms.

The next moment was a swirl of crinoline and the familiar sweetness of her skin as he buried his face in the tender curve of her neck. She squealed with laughter as he whirled her off her feet. His arms tightened around her tiny waist, pressing her breasts against him while his lips sought her mouth.

“You made it,” he whispered. “Thank God.” He lowered Marilla but held her tight. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you, William, so do you. From down the road I wasn’t sure who it was, standing there looking so handsome,” she teased, then stood atop her toes to reach his lips.

Something in the way she spoke, her lightheartedness, raised suspicion and he leaned back and eyed her. “Marilla, your parents were well aware I’d be here tonight, so now tell me, how did you get them to agree to let you leave?”

“I didn’t. I just left.”

William released her and stepped back. “You just left?”

“She just left.” They turned toward Rachel, who’d by now caught up to where they stood. Rachel had carried what they kindly called baby fat for most of her life, and walking at a pace that was more than a stroll often left her winded. She took a deep breath and wagged a finger in their direction. “And you’d better be worth it, William Baker. ’Cause there’s gonna be you-know-what to pay.”

“Marilla, this is not going to help with my petition for your hand. If your parents find out you disobeyed them, they will not give their permission, let alone their blessing.”

“They refuse to listen,” Marilla said, folding her arms across her chest. “And besides, I don’t need their blessing,”

“Maybe not, but you do need their permission. You’re not eighteen till October, and if we want to get married before I leave at the end of the month, then they need to sign the certificate.”

“I don’t care. What difference will a couple of weeks make anyway? We’ll go to the courthouse in Charlottetown. We’ll lie. We’ll run away,” Marilla shouted, shocking them both with her anger. “But one way or the other, William Baker, I will be on that ferry boat when you return to Nova Scotia. Do you hear me?”

They’d reached the steps of the community hall and people turned to stare.

“I think everyone can hear you,” Rachel said, taking Marilla’s arm and steering her toward the entrance. William followed discreetly behind. He had no desire to add fuel to the heated gossip that was undoubtedly spreading throughout the hall at their arrival.

Those dancing paid no heed, and within minutes had reached for their hands as they were caught up in the high steps and heated calls of the Virginia reel. By the end of the dance, their worries and anger were forgotten amid the fun and laughter. Marilla clung to William as he danced her into the shadows at the far end of the hall and out of view. When they emerged, sweaty and breathless, their lips were tender from kisses their hungry mouths had desperately sought.

While they were catching their breath, Rachel made her way across the floor carrying two full glasses of punch while a tall young man trailed behind, carrying two more. “Marilla, you remember Thomas?”

“Of course,” Marilla said, hoping Rachel wouldn’t notice how dishevelled she felt, having quickly settled her clothes and hair back in place. “Hello, Thomas. I almost didn’t recognize you. What with the beard and all.” She reached out and accepted the glass he offered. “Nice to see you back. How was college?”

“I must say, I enjoyed my time in Charlottetown,” he said “There was so much to do. But I’m relieved my studies are finished.”

“He just got back last week,” Rachel said, eyes gleaming as she stared shamelessly up at Thomas, whose previous crop of unruly hair was now quite tame, with only a few curls falling carelessly over his forehead. “Isn’t he—I mean, isn’t that wonderful?”

Marilla, who had been worried their absence would be questioned, realized it had never been noticed, and waited for Rachel to come to her senses. And when the two continued to stare, oblivious to anyone else, she coughed into her hand to break the spell.

“Oh, and this is William,” Rachel said, snapping out of her trance. “Thomas Lynde, meet William Baker.” The two men shook hands. “William has spent the summer in Avonlea with a shipbuilding crew from Halifax.”

“From the big city of Halifax. Well, I bet you can’t wait to get back there and away from all these farmers,” Thomas teased, passing a glass to William while dodging Rachel’s playful swat. She handed Thomas a glass and as their four drinks sloshed together, they toasted congratulations to Thomas on graduating from veterinary college and a wish for safe passage back to Nova Scotia for William.

End of section

At four in the morning, with the mist of early dawn dimming the moon’s glow, the two couples made their way, giggling, whispering, and shushing, along the road to Avonlea. Thomas had driven the wagon as far as he could without being seen or heard, and they now crept barefoot over the rise leading down to the small sleeping village.

Thomas, once the boy next door, was now all man; he held tightly to Rachel’s hand and turned right, following the lane that would take them toward their homes. William and Marilla turned left, tiptoed down the long path toward Green Gables, and quietly slipped into the barn that sat back from the main road, hidden from view.

The rum that had spilled into the punch throughout the night took the edge off Marilla’s fear, leaving her warm and glowing with desire. Her heart beat wildly as William lowered her onto his jacket, thrown hastily over a bed of hay, and reached for her buttons.

The sensation of bare flesh when they finally touched made her gasp. His mouth roamed over her body, taking her breath away until she pleaded for him to make love to her. William waited, poised above, and looked into her eyes. When he saw the answer he needed, he softly whispered her name.

She inhaled sharply, then sighed as he slowly, gently claimed her. She clasped him tight against her body and softly spoke his name. The rhythm of movement—primal, instinctive—delivered them to a time and place that would forever belong to them, and left them quaking and breathless when they returned.

They fell asleep in each other’s arms and only stirred when the rooster’s crow welcomed the day. Marilla’s eyes flew open and she shook William awake. “You have to go. Quick! Before my brother comes to the barn.”

Clothing rustled and hay scattered as they hurried to dress. William opened the barn door, stuck his head out slowly, and breathed a sigh of relief.

“He’s no where in sight. Thank God.”

“Hurry, William, you must leave.”

They smiled as lovers, kissed each other gently, and crept through the door. William raced along the lane and onto the main road, keeping to the trees and hedgerows. Marilla stepped onto the lid of the water barrel at the back of the house and hoisted herself onto the back porch. She shimmied through her bedroom window and buried herself under the quilts on her bed.

Her lips, once so prim and proper from a lifetime of obeying her mother, now held a smirk. And for the first time in seventeen years, Marilla was filled with the kind of joy her heart had always longed for.

Chapter 2

“Marilla, wake up.”

The voice, distant and muffled, reached her through the deep fog of sleep. She was buried beneath the quilts, and the darkness confused her. Why was her mother up so early? What time was it? Marilla poked her head out to look at the clock on her bureau and was startled awake by the brightness of the room.

“Marilla, church starts in forty minutes and you haven’t even had your breakfast yet. It’s been sitting on the table for half an hour. Get up this minute and get yourself ready.”

“Yes, Mother,” Marilla croaked. She placed both feet on the floor and sat up. Her stomach lurched forward and she waited for the dizziness to pass. Memories of the night before swirled inside her head and the sickly sweet taste of punch made her gag. She felt a tenderness deep within her and reached down to cradle her belly. William’s face swam before her and the knowledge of what they’d done felt all the more real in the light of day.

Her mother’s footsteps retreating down the back staircase that led to the kitchen propelled Marilla forward. She stripped, dropped her clothes to the floor, and reached for the pitcher of water sitting on the commode. As she bathed, the water’s hue turned red and the memory of giving herself to William made her tremble.

Twenty minutes later, with her thoughts gathered and emotions in check, Marilla stepped into the kitchen. Her father and brother stood at the wash basin in the corner, scrubbing the morning’s chores from their hands, while her mother stood at the stove, placing firewood in the grate. A roasting pan sat on the sideboard, waiting to be placed in the oven.

“I could have sworn I heard someone outside last night,” Mrs. Cuthbert said just as Marilla sat down. “Your father didn’t hear a thing, was dead to the world…as usual.”

Her father bristled at the tone she most often reserved for him. “I’d been up since five, Nora. And I was exhausted. What would you expect?”

Her mother sighed with impatience and turned away. “Your window faces the back, Marilla. Did you hear anything?”

The spoon Marilla held stopped midway to her mouth and she looked up in terror.

“That was just me,” Matthew said, wiping the last of the soap from his arms. “I went to check on one of the cows. She’ll be calving in the next day or so, I suspect.” He winked at Marilla as he passed and dropped something in the folds of her skirt. When she looked down, her face flushed with heat. One of the pink ribbons that decorated her corset was now sitting on her lap.

Her dear, sweet brother. A man of few words. Knew which ones not to say more than he knew how to say them. She slid the ribbon into her pocket, finished her cold oatmeal, and waited while her father and brother headed to their rooms to change.

Twenty minutes later, Marilla stood in the hallway struggling to pin her bonnet in place when Mrs. Cuthbert rushed past. “We’ll wait for you in the wagon,” she shouted, letting the front door bang shut behind her.

Her father, normally rushing to keep up with her mother, was slow this morning heading down the hall. He stopped and smiled at Marilla in the mirror. When his eyes suddenly glistened with tears Marilla spun around. “Father, what is it?”

“You’ve grown so much this summer, Marilla. I hardly recognize my little girl.”

Marilla smiled. He hadn’t called her that in a long time.

“But I guess maybe you’re not, now that William Baker has caught your eye.”

Marilla blushed with thoughts of William’s body lying next to hers and turned from her father’s knowing stare.

“I won’t always be here, Marilla, and it’s a comfort to know—”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, will you stop that? You’re starting to sound like old Mr. Webber now.”

Her father laughed and settled his hat in place. “You’re right, my girl, I am. Come along now. Let’s not keep Her Majesty waiting.”

Marilla laughed at their private joke and took one last look in the mirror, at the woman, no longer a young girl, looking back. Her thick brown hair, normally braided and hanging the length of her back, was now twisted into a bun at the base of her head and held in place with hairpins her aunt had sent from Halifax. Marilla peered closer. Her eyes were the same blue, though rimmed with red from lack of sleep. Her brows looked the same, though the frown that normally creased them had softened. When she leaned closer to inspect her lips, still tender from last night, she gasped at the sprig of hay stuck on the brim of her hat and was still laughing as she joined her family for the ride to church.

End of section

As she entered, Marilla breathed in the familiar smell of polished pine and the lingering scent of a wood fire, lit to chase the chill. She stopped for a moment and stared. On a morning when she would have preferred fewer faces, the church was packed.

Children from Avonlea and the surrounding communities had formed a choir, and under the direction of the Sunday school teacher, were performing for the first time. Mrs. Cuthbert, who hadn’t missed a church service her entire life, was indignant that her pew at the small Presbyterian church was now occupied by another family. “A family not even from Avonlea,” she muttered as they squeezed into a back row.

John Blythe, the pride and joy of his mother and the only son and future successor to his father’s mercantile, sat with his family in the pew across the aisle, and Marilla couldn’t even look at him when he waved and called out her name. The organ music pumped louder and people rose to begin the service. John tilted forward and stared past his parents to catch her eye. She briefly caught a glimpse of his expression and knew Rachel’s prediction that there would be hell to pay had already come to pass.

The minister, leading both the senior and junior choirs, blocked John from view as the procession made its way up the aisle. When the final note of the opening hymn strained toward completion, the congregation settled noisily in the pews. Marilla stared straight ahead, avoiding the glances of those who may have seen her the night before.

The altar, illuminated by the yellow hue of stained-glass windows, was draped in green as it always was in August, a time of green crops and lush growth. She recognized the vases and knew it was her mother who had filled them. White lupines, Marilla’s favourite, though her mother would not have known, were displayed on either end. She tried her best to settle and worried others would guess the reason for her angst.

Halfway through the service, from the corner of her eye, Marilla caught the outline of a man making his way down the aisle and startled her mother when she yelped.

William, in his full Sunday best, squeezed into the pew directly in front and smiled boldly in her direction. Her mother’s intake of breath startled the whole pew and Marilla thought for sure she’d die right on the spot. This couldn’t be happening. John glaring from across the aisle, William sitting directly in front, and her mother pressed beside her.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Cuthbert, but Marilla is needed to help prepare tea for the reception.” Rachel, that most loyal of friends, reached over and pulled her from the pew before Marilla’s mother could respond and the two made their way toward the hallway that led to the church hall.

“What is he doing here?” Rachel whispered when they were finally out of earshot.

“I didn’t think he’d really do it,” Marilla said, grabbing Rachel’s hands.

“Do what? What is he going to do?”

“He told me last night—well actually, it was this morning—” she corrected, blushing, “that if my mother wouldn’t let him come to the house, which she won’t because you know she doesn’t approve, then he would come straight to the church.” A note of pride crept into her voice for anyone bold enough to face down her mother. “And he did.” A smile began to form but quickly vanished when Rachel’s hands squeezed hers too tight. “Ouch.”

“And now what?” Rachel asked, forcing Marilla to focus.

“Well, I think he’s going to ask for my hand in marriage.”

“In the middle of the church?” Rachel’s whisper rose in panic.

“No. For God’s sake, Rachel, he’s not without some sense. He’s going to wait until the service is over and approach my father when he goes outside. Or at least that’s what he told me last night, I mean this morning….”

The voices of the children’s choir faded behind them and applause for their efforts, hesitant at first, became loud and enthusiastic.

“Marilla?”

They turned toward the voice and stopped to stare at John Blythe, who was approaching them with an expression on his face that made Marilla back up.

“What in hell is he doing here?” The voice that never whispered boomed into the hallway, and if not for the applause, would have been heard by everyone in the church.

“John, we’ve talked about this,” Marilla pleaded. “You know my feelings. Please leave.”

“I’m not leaving until you tell me what he’s doing here. If you think for one minute that I’ll just hand you over to that uneducated, lowlife excuse for a man—”

“Hand me over?” Marilla thrust her face forward, forcing John, a man who thought volume could compensate for height, to take a step back. “Who do you think you are? I am not yours to hand over. Do you hear me?” Her voice found strength as she stared him down. “I do not belong to you!”

The doors to the sanctuary opened and Marilla hurried past the people who’d stopped to stare. She could hear Rachel behind her, running to catch up, and prayed John wasn’t following. She ran through the crowded vestibule and out the front entrance, past the minister, past the choir, past the surge of people making their way to the hall. Only when the warmth from the midday sun touched her face did the tears begin to flow. Marilla sobbed as the reality of all that she had done and said set in.

When the footsteps behind her caught up, she spun around, but instead of Rachel, it was William, and without heed to who was watching or the consequences of such a display, she threw herself into his arms, where he held her until her trembling and tears subsided.

“What is the meaning of this? Marilla Anne Cuthbert, come away from that man this instant.” They turned to see her mother glaring at them, with her father and brother hurrying behind. When Marilla stepped back from William’s arms, the shock from her mother’s slap threw her off balance and she fell to the ground.

Her father caught his wife’s arm midair and moved her aside. “Enough!” he shouted. “Enough!”

He reached down and, together with William, helped Marilla to her feet while Matthew, furious at what he’d witnessed, grabbed his mother and led her away. “You stay with Marilla,” he said to his father. “I’ll deal with her.”

“Mr. Cuthbert,” William said, head lowered while Marilla clung to his hand, “this is all my fault. I came here today to tell you that I’m in love with Marilla and want to marry her. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

The words “marry her” reached Mrs. Cuthbert just as she stepped up into the wagon. “Over my dead body” was all they heard; the snap of Matthew’s whip as he pushed the horses on and the crunch of pebbles beneath the wheels drowned out the rest.

Her father took a deep breath and steadied himself before speaking. “This is not your fault, young man. But neither is this the right place for such a discussion.” He turned and watched the wagon leave. “I’ll tell you what…Marilla’s mother will be gone tomorrow after lunch to clean the church. Drop by and we’ll talk this over then.” He raised a hand as William began to speak. “I’m not saying I’ll agree. Marilla’s been spoken for by the Blythe family for a long time.” He looked up and held William’s gaze. “But I can see plain as day how much you care for my girl.” He winked at Marilla and shook William’s hand, then hurried to catch up with the wagon.

Marilla looked across the churchyard, seeing the people who’d gathered to watch begin to disperse, their heads tilted together in hushed conversations. Rachel rushed to where they stood, and while they embraced she explained how Thomas, her hero, had come to the rescue just in time to take a raging John Blythe out the back door and away from the church.

“I will never forgive him for this!” Marilla said.

“Where is he now?” William asked, taking a step away from Marilla and toward the church.

“He’s gone. His parents got him away as fast as they could. To say they were embarrassed would not quite tell the tale. Mortified, more like it. He’s always been strong-willed, but to be the cause of such a scene in the middle of a church service—well, you can imagine.” Rachel stopped talking suddenly and looked at Marilla’s face. Her eyes opened wide and she peered closer. “Marilla, what happened? Who…?”

“Who else? You should have seen her. She…” Marilla choked back tears and couldn’t finish.

“Come on,” William said, taking Marilla’s arm. “Let me walk you home. It’s done. You heard your father, he’ll listen to reason. You don’t need her approval. We’ll be together soon and you can leave all this behind.”

As comforting as the words sounded, Marilla couldn’t let go of the feeling that the events that had taken place over the past few hours, from clinging to William in the barn to the confrontation at the church, had upended the world she once knew and hell was still waiting to be paid.

Chapter 3

Monday, August 9, 1841

Monday in Avonlea was laundry day. Always had been, always would be. And the measure of a good housewife was based on what time her sheets and towels were pegged on the line. Heaven forbid if the time crept toward nine and the line was bare, because every woman in the small community would know and the chatter would begin.

By noon, the clothesline at Green Gables was still bare on this particular Monday. The pile of wet sheets and wooden pegs, spilled when the basket was dropped, lay scattered on the grass. The cows, not yet milked, were bawling loudly in the field, and the chickens fluttered and clucked in the yard, their nests too full of uncollected eggs to nestle and roost.

Marilla walked slowly down the lane toward the house and took in the scene before her. With all that had happened since early morning, it was the emptiness of the clothesline that brought her to her knees. She bent forward, buried her face in the folds of her apron, and wailed. Her father, the one who provided sanctuary against a life hardened by her mother’s bitterness, was gone.

One minute she could see him at the far end of the pasture, urging the cows toward the barn; the next she couldn’t see him at all. Before she had a chance to wonder why, she could see Matthew running from the lower pasture. He stopped suddenly and fell to his knees. She strained to see but the sway of tall grasses kept him hidden. It was only when Matthew shouted her name that she felt the first prickle of fear. She dropped the basket and ran. Halfway across the field, the image of Matthew rising, holding the limp body of her father, pulled a scream from her body so fierce it left her with little breath to run. She watched as Matthew staggered and swayed under the weight. She remembered reaching for her father, pale and lifeless, just as Matthew’s knees gave way and together they lowered him to the ground. She could hear the words “Stay with him, I’ll get the doctor” fade behind her as Matthew ran. She clutched her father’s hand and watched helplessly as he tried to speak. When his eyes, pleading and terrified, looked into hers, she knew he was dying. She laid her head across his chest as he heaved his last breaths and felt the shudder of his heart when it stopped.

As she kneeled remembering that moment, she heard the scuffle of feet behind her and lifted her head. Matthew laid his arm over her shoulders as he knelt beside her. His voice cracked when he spoke.

“Marilla, I tried so hard. I tried to carry him, to get him back from the field. But I couldn’t…I just couldn’t.”

“It’s not your fault, Matthew,” Marilla whispered, reaching for her brother’s hand. “There’s nothing more you could have done.”

With great effort they stood, and Marilla held Matthew while he cried. When he straightened and wiped his face with the back of his hand, Marilla was startled to see how angry his expression had become.

“She made his life miserable,” he spat, “and it finally broke him.”

“Don’t, Matthew. Don’t say that. He had a stroke. That’s what Doctor Timmins said. You heard him. You can’t blame this on—”

Matthew started walking away, cutting Marilla off, his voice growing louder with every step. “I heard him. But you and I know the truth. He cowered…for Christ’s sake, we’ve all cowered.”

Marilla watched him storm off, kicking dust and scattering hens as he made his way to the barn. She walked slowly to the clothes basket to complete the task that would let the neighbours know they were home. Word of what happened had by now reached them, and a procession of the shocked and mournful would soon begin.

Marilla carried the basket into the house and placed it in the porch. She looked into the emptiness of the kitchen and then headed upstairs. She hugged her shawl and settled at the window, rocking and waiting. What would happen now? William was supposed to drop by after lunch to meet with her father and discuss their future. He’d no doubt heard the news. And knew, like her, that all of that changed with the last beat of her father’s heart. William could appeal to her mother under normal circumstances, but not now. Not to a widow. A woman struggling to hide her indignation at the trouble her husband’s death was causing. With a funeral to plan. With the pain of loss embittering an already hardened soul.

From a distance, Marilla caught a glimpse of William at the end of the lane, and, with heart pounding, rose to watch him walk the path to the house. He stepped around to the back and stopped beneath her window. Through a blur of tears, Marilla stared into eyes that held all the words he would never have a chance to say. He sent a kiss on fingers that looked desperate to reach her and she placed her hand against the pane and cried out to him: “William, I love you!” And though bereft and overwhelmed as he walked away, she felt a small measure of comfort in knowing William never had to ask. Denying her mother the pleasure she would have gained in refusing his plea afforded Marilla a small measure of satisfaction amidst the pain of losing her chance to be free.

End of section

Aunt Martha, Marilla’s favourite aunt in the whole world, arrived three days later. She always visited in August and had arrived in Charlottetown the week before to visit with friends before heading to Avonlea. She’d boarded the train as soon as she received word and arrived just in time for the wake. The wagon that brought her from the train station dropped her off at the end of the lane, and Marilla ran to meet her. She clung to her aunt now, breathing in the familiar fragrance of lemon-scented soap and rosewater. At forty-two, her aunt, so like her brother, was still wiry, though her love of sweets, Marilla suspected, had rounded her curves and softened her embrace.

“I’m so relieved to see you,” Marilla said, linking her arm through Martha’s and walking together toward the house. “And I know how happy it would have made father…knowing you were here with us.” Tears slid down her face and Aunt Martha gently reached up and brushed them away. “Marilla, dear, of course I’m here. I came as soon as I could. Well, as soon as I could find a decent dress. You know how few I own.”

Aunt Martha, her father’s only sister, was never one for frills and lace, preferring overalls over aprons, and though she was eight years his junior and lived in Halifax, their closeness had never diminished.

“How is Matthew taking this? He was so close to his father. And how”—her aunt hesitated before continuing—“how is your mother? It must have been—”

“You can ask her yourself,” came the reply.

Martha’s sister-in-law, a woman she’d disliked from the first day they’d met, stood on the front porch. Her back was ramrod straight. Refusing to show any human tenderness, it had never slumped. Her hands, strangers to comfort and consolation, were tightly clasped in front of her.

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Nora,” Martha said, walking toward her. Just at that moment, the door behind Nora opened and a neighbour stepped out. Her sudden appearance forced a politeness from Marilla’s mother that otherwise would have been absent.

“Thank you for coming, Martha. You must be very tired after your journey. Marilla, don’t just stand there; bring her bags inside.”

The neighbour glanced back and forth between the women and hesitated before speaking. “Mrs. Cuthbert, the minister would like to begin.”

They stepped through the door and Martha stood for just a moment inside the kitchen while Nora hurried behind the neighbour. The delight she’d always felt at seeing her brother sitting by the window was gone, and though the kitchen was warm, she suddenly felt chilled, realizing, as if for the first time, where he lay. She clung to Marilla’s arm and walked slowly down the hall. The parlour had begun to fill early that morning and now spilled out into the narrow hallway, with some standing on steps leading upstairs. As they passed, friends who’d known them all their life murmured their sympathy and removed their hats. Nora had not even thought to lower the blinds, and the room was bright with sunshine. Martha bristled; the frill of white lace against the glare of glass felt gaudy and frivolous amidst the pall of grief.

Martha wept for her brother as the minister said the final prayers and the casket was closed. She stayed close to her niece while Matthew and Thomas Lynde, along with two of her brother’s oldest friends, carried the pine box from the parlour to the front door where a wagon sat waiting in the yard. Neighbours lined the roadway and joined the procession of mourners as they made their way to the cemetery, and Marilla felt a wave of gratitude and comfort for the kindness shown to her father.

When they reached the entrance to the graveyard, William, whom she hadn’t seen since the day of her father’s death, the day that was meant to be the beginning of the rest of her life, stepped forward and reached for her hand. She moved into his arms, returning to his solid presence, the only place that felt safe, and tears she’d held in check began to flow.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “For your loss…for your father…oh God, Marilla…for everything.” Something in his tone alarmed her, and she looked up and searched his face. His eyes were shrouded in sadness, but was it grief she saw, or regret?

A gentle hand on her back reminded her where she was and she pulled away.

“I assume this is William?” Aunt Martha said.

Marilla nodded. The procession of mourners had reached the open grave ahead of them.

“I need to talk to her,” William said.

“I’m sorry. As much as I appreciate you being here for my niece, you know you can’t stay.”

“But I just want to—”

“There will be plenty of time later, when all this is over, to talk.” She took hold of Marilla’s arm. “Marilla dear, your place is beside your family right now.”

William reached out to her as she passed and their fingers briefly touched.

“Come along now, Marilla, they’re waiting.”

Marilla took her place beside the grave and watched as the pine box was lowered. The earthy smell of red clay, recently dug and piled high, stung her nose. The shovels stuck in place on top, waiting to throw it all back, looked crude and offensive. She watched the mourners, heads bowed, dutifully murmuring prayers that would commit her father to his final resting place.

She raised her head and saw William, shoulders slumped, slowly walking away. She tossed a flower, handed to her by Matthew, on top of their father’s casket, and even while the sun warmed her back she felt herself grow cold. Her beloved father was gone, and when she looked back toward the empty road, something inside told her William was gone too.

Copyright

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Advance Praise for Marilla Before Anne

Dedication

Quote

Contents

Part I

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3