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As Anne’s gentle fingers fix her bow and rest softly on her shoulder, Josie yearns for it to last forever. She wants to lean into the touch, to turn around and run her own fingers through Anne’s red locks – they always look so soft, and sometimes refraining from touching them during class is torture. The girl looks so beautiful today, all dressed up special for the fair, like Josie herself. Except Josie feels like a fraud, or maybe a prized cow prepared for auction. Anne looks like a flower, soaking in the sun like she belongs there among the bright colours and bustling activity.
In fact, Josie almost compliments Anne the first time she sees her that day. But, of course, Josie and Anne aren’t friends, not really. Josie has made sure of that, because she can’t be caught associating with a girl like Anne – her mother has made that clear. Proper ladies looking for a husband don’t talk to trash when they don’t have to. So, Josie bites her tongue, and follows Billy through the fair as he shows off, like a ridiculous bird with its chest puffed up.
Instead of thinking about how inappropriate her interest in Anne is, Josie watches Billy play games. Instead of imagining that it is Anne’s arm she holds onto instead of Billy’s, Josie inspects the (few) prizes Billy has won. She can’t distract herself from the disgust she feels every time Billy’s hand brushes just a bit too low on her waist, but she can school her expression into one of careful interest, so it’s good practice for the future. Because this is where her future lies – with Billy, not in whatever meager fantasy she’s created with Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.
And it is meager – there’s no riches or stables, no servants or children. It’s just Josie and Anne, with their arms wrapped around each other as they lay next to a fire. They’re both older – Anne’s hair is darker, and Josie’s is no longer curled, because Anne doesn’t care about such vanities, not when they take up so much time in the evenings that could be better used for exploring or writing, or whatever it is Anne dreams about doing. There are no worries about boys or corsets; it’s just the two of them, and in this fantasy world Josie Shirley-Cuthbert is happy. But that’s all it is – a fantasy.
Real life is the discussion between her mother and Mrs. Andrews, the one that both her and Billy are pretending not to hear.
But as Billy drags her outside behind the barn not even the smooth voice of Mother that lives inside her heard can keep her calm. This isn’t just a matter of attraction (although Josie would rather die than kiss Billy ever again), because that isn’t something Josie could tell a single person as an excuse, let alone her mother. No, this is a matter of propriety (or, that’s what Josie convinces herself).
Real life is Josie realizing as she goes inside with tears in her eyes that it doesn’t matter that this time she said no – next time she’ll have to say yes.
So, Josie memorizes the faint feeling of Anne’s fingertips on her shoulder and doesn’t turn around. The air around them seems heavy, like Anne can tell what Billy has done and is comforting her – but that is most certainly just wishful thinking. Not even Anne Shirley-Cuthbert can read minds. Something is plaguing her, Josie can tell (although she won’t pride herself on knowing the girl well, because she doesn’t). But Josie doesn’t ask, and Anne doesn’t tell. The two stand there for a moment, while Josie pretends Billy is still outside or maybe nonexistent, and Anne turns her back on the rest of the room and whatever worries her.
And then Charlie Sloane comes and steals Anne away, and the moment ends. The dancing begins and Josie doesn’t join, because who would she dance with? Billy hasn’t joined in (the thought of holding his hand makes her skin crawl), and to dance with another boy at this point would be disgraceful. Instead she watches Anne dance, and then Diana, then Anne, then Tillie, then Anne, then Ruby, then Anne, then Anne, then Anne. But watching someone dance can only be so interesting, especially when their eyes are on someone else.
So, Josie hesitantly falls into a daydream where Anne is the one who draws her outside, not Billy. It feels wrong but also right, and Josie must jolt herself from it before she goes too far. This isn’t a useful pastime for proper lady, nor a properly Christian one. She resolves to put Anne out of her mind and perhaps go get a bit of air, but her stupid daydreaming has brought back the fresh memory of Billy’s lips upon hers and then there are tears in Josie’s eyes. There are so many people here that Josie doesn’t want to see her cry – Billy, Mother, Anne.
As Josie sits in the crowd, listening to the stomping and laughing while trying not to cry, she wishes for a moment that she would’ve just let Billy have what he wanted. Then she wouldn’t feel so lost, so confused – she wouldn’t be sitting her daydreaming such sinful things on the verge of tears. In this moment unhappy in a barn with a bright future seems better than unhappy in the dance hall while she questions everything her mother has taught her to want.
Then, of course, Anne has to run back over, because she’s quite the hero isn’t she, even though never, not once has she done anything but make things worse.
Josie carefully doesn’t think about how much she wishes Anne was actually the hero in this story – maybe she is, but if that’s the case, then Josie is surely the villain, and villains never have a happy ending.