Chapter Text
“It’s a wonderfully gorgeous landscape, isn’t it? So open and full of possibility, yet it has such variety and character already existent within itself. It provides so much scope for the imagination; I love watching it just… rush by out the window like that, presenting itself for the briefest glimpse before fading back into the distance with its mysteries still intact. People say long car rides are boring, but I think that’s just because they don’t have the imagination to really appreciate them, don’t you?”
The older gentleman driving the car--Matthew Cuthbert, she’d gathered--was glancing sidelong at her with a somewhat befuddled expression as she talked. Anne could only surmise that he was taking in her garishly red twin pigtails, the uncontrolled splatter of freckles defiling her face, and her general gawkish appearance.
“I’m sorry I’m not much to look at,” she said, smiling apologetically. “I promise, I will do my utmost to be a bright presence in your home. To offset the effect, as it were.”
“Oh, um…” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, ran his tongue over his lips. “No, uh, it’s not… you, uh, look just fine.”
“It’s kind of you to say so,” Anne sighed. “Nonetheless, I’ve resigned myself to an existence being… well, ‘plain’ is putting it lightly. I’ve heard it said that a good attitude and a sunny disposition go a long way towards making up for a lack of attractive physical features. I can only resolve to hold to that and hope that it’s true.”
Mr. Cuthbert gave her another glance, and she thought she saw a flicker of sadness in his eyes, but he didn’t seem inclined to offer comment on the matter, so quiet settled over the interior of the car. The radio, which had been murmuring quietly underneath their words as they (well, okay, she ) had talked, suddenly became audible again.
“...held a public memorial service today for the Halifax Protectorate hero Oculus, who was killed in action during last week’s Leviathan attack in Miami. Rescue and reconstruction efforts are ongoing following the devastating--”
Mr. Cuthbert’s hand snapped out with quickness uncharacteristic of anything else Anne had seen in the hour or so that she’d known him, switching off the radio and plunging the car into silence. She could hardly blame him. Any of the Endbringers made for an unpleasant topic of conversation, but Leviathan in particular had been a sore point for Canadians ever since the destruction of Newfoundland.
“So,” she said, as much to break the silence as anything else. “What made you decide to bring a poor orphan girl into your home? Have you always wanted a daughter? Perhaps yearned for one all your adult life, but were prevented from having one of your own by some grand tragedy?”
“Oh. Uh…” Mr. Cuthbert’s lips pursed, and the muscles in his face worked slightly. Unlike Anne’s propensity to spill forth a veritable fountain of words at the drop of a hat, he seemed to be the sort of person who required a few moments of contemplation before making any sort of statement. Somewhat like a child’s toy, which needed to be wound up before it could do anything. “Well, you know, I’m retired these days, and we have the room in the house… it used to be the family house, y’know, but it’s just me and Marilla now, and we figured--”
“Marilla’s your wife?” Anne interrupted.
“Huh?” Mr. Cuthbert looked at her, vaguely startled. “Oh, no… no, she’s my sister.”
“So you’re not married, then?” Anne asked. “Widowed, perhaps?”
“Uh--no, no, never did marry. Marilla neither. Just been the two of us for… well, for quite some time now, I suppose you’d say.”
Anne let out a soft, heartfelt sigh, drawing another odd look from Mr. Cuthbert. “There’s something tragically beautiful about it, isn’t there?” she said. “Two siblings, with nobody in the world but each other, quietly living together in their childhood home… it’s like something out of a storybook.”
“Storybook, huh?” Anne thought she caught the crinkle of a smile at the corners of Mr. Cuthbert’s eyes as he looked out at the rood. “Well, I… I have to say, I never really thought of it that way.”
Anne smiled at him. “And as they begin to enter their twilight years, they bring a young woman into their home, trading shelter from the harshness of the world for the brightness of her company…” She leaned towards him, placing one hand on the divider between their seats. “I’m grateful for you and your sister taking me in, Mr. Cuthbert. Really, I am.”
“Oh, uh, Matthew’s just fine.” Another crinkle of a hidden smile. “Ah, here we are, then. Not too much farther.” He eased the steering wheel over in a smooth motion, nudging the car off the main highway and onto an exit.
AVONLEA, the exit’s sign read in bold letters.
“Avonlea,” Anne repeated to herself, murmuring the name to see how it felt in her mouth. It felt promising. As they cruised down the road, dropping to residential-area speeds, a distant glint of light caught her eye, and she surged upright--at least as much as her seatbelt would allow. “Oh, Matthew!” she gasped. “What is that?”
“Huh?” His head swiveled around to see what she was looking at. “Oh. Uh, that’s… Barry’s Pond.”
The glint had been sunlight reflecting mirror-like off of water; Anne gazed at it through the window, enraptured. “Barry’s Pond…?” she said. “Who on earth is Barry? No, no, that won’t do. I think it should be called… the Lake of Shining Waters.” She turned back to face Matthew. “What do you think of that?”
“What do I think?” he repeated. “Oh, well… it’s a lot more grandiose, that’s for sure.”
She beamed at him. “It is a lot more grandiose! That’s a fine word for what it is.” They wound through a few more streets, Matthew making turns here and there on a route that he’d obviously driven regularly for decades. Avonlea was a sleepy little town, the sort of place that still had a “Main Street” that served as the center of commerce, and the number of people who were out and about was far less than Anne would normally expect on a Friday afternoon. Still, she stayed glued to the window, eyes roving for landmarks to memorize. This sleepy little town could well be her home from now on.
Okay, so she thought that every time she got placed in a new home. But it felt especially keenly possible this time.
At length they trundled up a road in one of the town’s more far-flung neighborhoods, rumbling to a stop in front of one of the houses. Anne gasped again as she looked up at the building. “Matthew, this is where you live?”
“Yup, this is it,” he confirmed, switching off the ignition.
The house was a grand two-story affair with elegantly pointed gable roofs, painted a pristine white that shone in the afternoon sunlight and provided a perfect base for the vivid green of the trim. “It’s beautiful,” Anne sighed. “What’s its name?”
“Name?” Matthew asked.
“Come on, a house as gorgeous as this one needs an equally gorgeous name, don’t you think?”
He shrugged. “Well, ah… that seems to be your area of expertise, I’d say. What name would you give it?”
Anne studied the house with intense scrutiny. “Let’s see… those gable roofs, and that lovely emerald green you’ve painted them… I think we should call it Emerald Gables. Wait, no, no. Green Gables. That’s alliterative, it’s better.”
“Green Gables. Hm.” Matthew nodded. “Well, we’d, uh, best get you packed inside.”
Anne couldn’t hold in a squeal as she undid her seatbelt and bounced out the passenger side door; she bounded up to Green Gables’ front lawn as Matthew went around to the trunk of the car to retrieve her suitcase. The house’s front door opened, and a woman with a square, weathered face and graying hair pulled severely back into a bun stepped out onto the porch.
“You’re Anne, then?” the woman, who could only be Marilla Cuthbert, asked without preamble.
“Um,” Anne replied, stumbling to a halt at the sheer, palpable presence of the woman. “Yes. I mean, yes, ma’am. I’m Anne.” She was overcome with the inexplicable feeling that she should be curtsying.
“Hm,” Marilla said by way of reply. Her eyes flicked down and back up again, roving over Anne with an all-too-familiar air of taking her measure. “Well. The house is still a bit in shambles, I’m afraid. Haven’t had much time to pull things together since we got the call.”
“The call…?” Anne asked.
“The social worker,” Marilla explained. “All but threw you at us, trying to get you placed before the weekend. Well, I didn’t have the heart to say no when the woman was so clearly desperate, but it only gave me a couple hours to try and get things ready for you.”
Understanding coiled into Anne’s gut like nausea. “You don’t want me,” she said quietly.
Marilla let out a huff of breath. “Well. Not you particularly, not as such…”
“Marilla,” Matthew said warningly, coming up behind Anne.
“It’s the truth, Matthew, that’s all.”
Anne stood rooted to the spot, disbelief edging into despair. Here she’d thought--she’d hoped --that somebody finally wanted her, and it turned out she’d only been taken in out of pity. Not even pity for her, but for the social worker who’d been desperately trying to cram her somewhere so she wouldn’t have to look after her for the weekend. Anne’s throat began to itch slightly in the way that presaged tears. More worrying was a familiar sensation underneath her skin, a sort of heat, slight but insistent and growing stronger with each passing second, as if there were a fire inside of her that was trying to burn its way out. She gritted her teeth against it. She could not, under any circumstances, let that happen. Not here, not now.
A hand on her shoulder made her flinch slightly, and she turned to see Matthew looking at her with eyes full of kindness. “Let’s get you up and settled in, now,” he said simply.
Well, Anne thought as he led her inside, at least one of them seems to like having me around.
The interior of Green Gables was about what one would expect from looking at the outside, with carefully matched sets of furniture and the walls and shelves decorated with various pieces of kitsch--but tasteful kitsch, Anne reflected to herself as she took in her surroundings. She suspected that Marilla was in charge of the interior decorating; it all had a certain restraint and precision to it that matched the buttoned-up woman she’d met on the porch.
“Just up the stairs here,” Matthew said, moving ahead of her and shifting the hand that held her suitcase so that he could maneuver it up a narrow stairway.
The stairway led up to a hallway--also fairly narrow, as it happened--and Anne followed Matthew to the end of the hall, which terminated in a room positioned directly under the peak of one of the gables, the ceiling sloping sharply down to either side. Marilla was already inside, surveying the state of the room critically; Matthew set Anne’s suitcase down on the bed and nodded at her as he ambled back out the room and down the hall.
“This was Michael’s room,” Marilla said, glancing at Anne. “We kept it up, kind of had a notion of making it a guest room… only thing is, we don’t really get any guests. So we figured we might as well put it to use another way.”
“Who’s Michael?” Anne asked, frowning as she took a seat next to her suitcase.
“Our brother,” Marilla said. “Elder to both of us. Passed away… a long time ago, now.”
“Oh.” Anne’s eyes widened slightly. “The room’s not haunted, is it?”
Marilla’s head snapped all the way around to stare at Anne in disbelief. “Haunted?!” she repeated.
Anne nodded. “I mean… your brother’s spirit doesn’t still… linger here, does it?”
“Of course not, child!”
“You’re sure?” Anne pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around to hug them slightly. “You’ve never been walking down the hallway on a dark, lonely night, and peered into the gloom of this room, only to catch a fleeting glimpse of a shadowy figure with an eerie resemblance to your--”
“Fiddlesticks!” Marilla interrupted. “Of all the fool notions. No, girl, the room’s not haunted, and you’ll find it perfectly adequate to your needs.” She spun on her heel and marched out the door with a clomp clomp clomp that reverberated down the hallway as the hard soles of her shoes struck the wood of the floor.
Who even says ‘fiddlesticks’ anymore? Anne pulled at the zipper of her suitcase, beginning to open it, and then stopped. Should she even bother to unpack? Marilla had two whole days to get sick of her before she could throw her out on Monday, and then it’d be back to the social worker in Charlottetown. She’d just have to pack it all back up again…
A soft noise at the door made her look up; Matthew was standing there. “Oh, I just, uh…” He blinked twice, and then his lips pursed as he seemed to summon the words he was searching for. “Welcome home, Anne.”
If all the breath hadn’t left her body at those words, Anne would’ve leaped up off the bed and wrapped Matthew up in the tightest hug she’d ever given anyone. Instead, she could only offer a vague, stunned smile; Matthew smiled at her in return before ambling back off down the hallway.
Home, Anne thought to herself later that night as she lay tucked into the bed-- her bed. What a lovely word. Her things were all put away, clothes scarcely filling a quarter of the space available in the old dresser, and a paltry collection of knick-knacks scattered across its top. She sighed contentedly as she pulled the blanket tighter around herself.
Maybe she could belong here, after all.
- - -
A sharp knocking at the door intruded into Anne’s awareness, or lack thereof. “Wuzzat?” she said sleepily, raising her head from the pillow. Blurry streaks of red crossed her vision where stray strands of her hair hung in front of her eyes, lit by the rays of morning sunshine streaming in through the windows.
“Anne?” Marilla’s voice called from the other side of the door.
“Wuh?”
Apparently taking this for a sufficient response, Marilla edged the door open and stuck her head inside. “Sorry to wake you,” she said curtly. “I had meant to let you sleep, seeing as I’m sure you had plenty of excitement yesterday, but… well, I’m afraid I’ve gotten us into a bit of a situation here, and you haven’t much time to get ready.”
Anne’s eyes went wide as her brain began to function again, processing Marilla’s words. “Wha…?” she replied eloquently. Had there been some misunderstanding? Was the social worker here to inspect them already, for some reason? Had she been accused of something? Were the police coming to take her away, with only a scant amount of time left to prove her innocence?
“Well, you see, I was talking to my neighbor Rachel earlier,” Marilla said. “And of course I mentioned that you’d come to live with us, and she asked about you, and one thing led to another… well, what it all adds up to is that the neighbors are coming over for brunch so that they can meet you.”
“Oh,” Anne said, feeling slightly let down at the anticlimax. Then she realized that this meant that everybody was coming together to have brunch for her -- a feast in my honor! --and got excited again. “Who all am I meeting?”
“Well, Rachel and her husband, of course, and then once I’d invited them it only made sense to invite our other neighbors, the Barrys--they’ve got a daughter about your age, so you were going to meet her sooner or later anyway.” Marilla sighed. “We’ve only got a bit under two hours--I’ll need you to wash up and get your nicest clothes on. And Anne… perhaps don’t go on about ghosts and haunted rooms when you see them? This’ll be your only chance to make a good first impression.”
Anne nodded seriously. “Nothing happened last night anyway,” she said. “There weren’t any mysterious disturbances while I was trying to sleep, or anything like that.”
Marilla stared at her.
“I mean, um, of course there weren’t,” Anne added quickly. “That is to say, er… I should go hop in the shower.”
One shower later, Anne found herself standing before the dresser, looking down at the clothes she’d stowed in it the previous night. There wasn’t much in the way of decisions to be made, here; she shifted her t-shirts aside to retrieve the only thing she owned that could honestly be called a ‘blouse’, a short-sleeved and collared number in yellow, which was one of the only colors that actually complimented her hair decently. After that, it was a simple matter of donning her least distressed pair of jeans and slipping on socks and sneakers before bounding out the door to her room, down the hallway, and down the stairs to the ground floor.
Marilla was in the kitchen; she glanced out as Anne clomped down the last few steps, skipping the final two with a little leap to the ground. “And what do you call that?” Marilla asked, voice sharp. “I told you to wear nice clothes.”
Anne froze in place. “Oh,” she said hesitantly. “These… these are the nicest clothes I have, ma’am.”
Marilla’s expression softened just the slightest bit as she regarded Anne. “I see,” she said. “Well, I don’t suppose there’s much to be done about that at this point. You’re small enough that any of my clothes would be too big for you… unless…” Seeming to come to a decision, she strode for the stairway. “Come.”
Anne followed her back up the stairs to the upstairs hallway, turning to pass through a doorway that had been closed the night before--Marilla’s bedroom, presumably. “This should help a bit,” Marilla said, reaching in her closet to retrieve what turned out to be a small grey shawl and draping it around Anne’s shoulders. “Yes, that’s better. Not the color I would’ve picked for that outfit, but it’s the best we have right now… just needs something to hold it in place.” She crossed to the dresser and retrieved an object from the jewelry box; as she returned, Anne saw that it was a small oval brooch, with studs of amethyst set in a finely worked metal that she knew was probably brass, but couldn’t help but imagine was gold.
“That’s lovely,” Anne sighed.
“It was my mother’s, and my grandmother’s before her,” Marilla said, looking just a touch pleased as she used the brooch to pin the shawl together. “It’s one of my most treasured possessions, so you be careful with it, you understand?”
“Of course.” Anne nodded earnestly. “Thank you so much, ma’am.”
“And that’s quite enough of ‘ma’am’,” Marilla added. “‘Marilla’ will do just fine, thank you very much.”
Anne smiled. “Of course, ma--Marilla.”
Matthew was waiting for them when they returned downstairs, wearing a shirt and tie with a sport coat that looked very distinguished on him. “Looking good, Anne,” he said, patting her shoulder.
“Thank you, Matthew,” she said. “Oh, I’m so nervous about this…”
“You’ll be fine,” Matthew said. “You’ve got a gift for gab. More than I ever did, that’s for sure.”
“Don’t encourage her, Matthew,” Marilla said as she busied herself with straightening the placemats on the dining room table.
The remainder of the time passed in a tizzy of nerves (“Will you please stop pacing all about the place, Anne!”) until finally there was a knock at the door.
“Ah, there we are,” Marilla said. “Right on the dot, too--no surprise there.” She bustled over to the door and swung it open. “Rachel, Thomas, hello! Come in, come in.”
“Thank you, Marilla.” The woman who followed Marilla inside was on the squat side, standing nearly a full head shorter than Marilla, her hair done up in a style slightly more complicated than Marilla’s bun; this woman in turn was followed closely behind by a man who was… well, unkind as it was to think, he was not particularly good looking, with a slightly bulbous nose and dark hair sticking out to either side of a perfectly bald crown. Anne hardly had room to judge anybody on looks, though, and besides, his manner seemed pleasant enough.
“Thomas, Rachel,” Marilla said, leading them over to where Anne stood. “This is Anne Shirley, our new… well, I suppose you’d call her our ward. Anne, these are our next-door neighbors, Rachel and Thomas Lynde.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Anne said politely. She experienced a brief moment of indecision regarding how to complement the greeting--should she nod? Bow?--before settling on simply sticking her hand out towards Mrs. Lynde for a handshake. Too late, she realized that the other woman was carrying some kind of glass dish in both hands, requiring her to fumble slightly and ultimately hand the dish off to Marilla before she could return the handshake.
“Well, she seems well-mannered, at least,” Mrs. Lynde said as she let go of Anne’s hand. “That’s rare enough with these foster kids--I suppose you got lucky there.”
Anne blinked, experiencing a moment of stupefaction. Was that true? She’d been housed with a number of other foster children, and she’d never noticed them being any more or less rude, on average, than anybody else she had met. Mrs. Lynde apparently didn’t notice her reaction, because she immediately moved on, following Marilla through the dining room and into the kitchen, chattering all the way. “Well, I must thank you for having us over like this Marilla. Of course, when a strange child moves into the home of one of my oldest friends, I simply must know all about--”
Anne felt a soft hand on her shoulder. “Don’t mind Rachel,” Matthew’s voice said quietly beside her. “She talks a lot. Doesn’t always think much about what she’s saying.” He stepped forward, extending a hand to Mr. Lynde. “Thomas.”
“Matthew.” The two men clasped hands with an ease and familiarity that put Anne in mind of blood brothers who had seen each other through many a tough time. She smiled to see it.
Another knock sounded at the door. “Matthew, could you get that?” Marilla called from the kitchen.
“Oh, uh…” Matthew looked vaguely stricken at the prospect, but he shuffled past Mr. Lynde to the front door nonetheless. Anne followed him at a short distance, if only to serve as moral support.
“Hel-lo!” a pair of overly cheery voices said in unison as the door opened. These would be the Barrys, Anne presumed. The man of the pair, Mr. Barry, was visibly younger than any of the Cuthberts or Lyndes, yet still distinctly on the threshold of middle age; his wife, on the other hand, could still honestly be called young, or at least young-ish. The two of them stepped inside, Mr. Barry giving Matthew a hearty clap on the shoulder as he passed, and Anne caught sight of a much smaller person partially concealed behind Mrs. Barry’s legs, a young girl who was glaring at Anne with undisguised skepticism and suspicion. Well, one could always trust small children to let you know exactly what they thought of you.
And as for the person bringing up the rear--
“Um, hi,” Anne said, her breath catching slightly. “I’m… I’m Anne.”
“Hello, Anne,” the girl said. “I’m Diana.” Her smile was a bit shy, as though she were just as nervous about meeting Anne as Anne was meeting her--which made no sense. Diana Barry was, there was no other word for it, beautiful. She had lovely dark brown hair that cascaded down to her shoulders with just the right amount of curl to it, and a handsomely formed face with a tint of bronze to her skin that put Anne’s hopelessly pasty complexion to shame. She was dressed smartly too, with a white blouse that was just fitted enough to hint at the swoop of her waist, flaring out into a black skirt that fell to her knees, followed by dark tights and an elegant pair of slip-on shoes. Anne was suddenly particularly self-conscious of her own underdressed and mismatched outfit.
“Well, well, this is the new addition to our neighbor’s household, then?” Mr. Barry’s tone was friendly enough, but as his eyes flicked over Anne, she knew she was being appraised nonetheless. “Well. It’ll be nice for Diana to have another girl her age so close by.”
“I suppose so,” Mrs. Barry agreed, not needing to voice the distinctly implied addendum of as long as she’s good enough for our daughter.
Anne’s jaw tightened as the burning sensation under her skin whispered back into existence. Not now, not now…
“I have to admit, I was surprised,” Diana said, taking a step towards Anne and folding her hands demurely in front of her. “Waking up this morning, only for my mother to tell me that our neighbors had taken in a girl my age? It was so sudden!”
“Yeah, the whole thing was really sudden,” Anne agreed, grinning awkwardly. “I mean, yesterday afternoon I was in the social worker’s office in Charlottetown, and then the next thing I know, I was in the car with Matthew, on my way here.”
“Well, we’re glad to have you here with us,” Diana said, and the radiant sincerity with which she said it made Anne want to start crying.
“Oh, Bill, Eliza!” Marilla called from the door to the kitchen. “You’re just in time--Rachel and I have just finished up the meal.”
There was a general scramble as the assembled group worked out how to fit nine people around the Cuthberts’ dining room table. Anne wound up squeezed in between Matthew and Diana, which was just about an ideal arrangement as far as she was concerned.
The meal was amazing, one of the best Anne had eaten in a long time. She piled food on her plate, being sure to take a little bit of everything that was on offer, and all but groaned with ecstasy as it slid over her tongue and down her throat. Unfortunately, she was the constant focus of the table’s conversation, and as such was frequently obliged to hold off on her next bite so that she could answer the latest in the stream of questions that were being directed at her. No, she hadn’t been taken away from her parents, they had both died. No, she didn’t have any memory of them, she’d been in the foster system for as long as she could recall. No, she’d never been to juvie. (Just what did Mrs. Lynde think foster kids got up to?!)
“Anne,” Diana said to her as the meal wound down and the dishes began to get cleared away. “Why don’t you show me your room?”
“Oh.” Anne flushed slightly. “It’s not much to look at, I’m afraid.”
Matthew nudged her a little. “Well, uh, why don’t you go show her anyway, Anne?”
It didn’t connect until the two of them were at the stop of the staircase that ‘show me your room’ had simply been an excuse for Diana and Anne to go off on their own where they could talk without the adults listening in. Anne felt a rush of gratitude towards Matthew for being faster on the uptake than she was. “Well, um, this is it,” she said as she led Diana into her room.
“Oh, this is nice,” Diana said, looking around. “It looks very cozy.”
“Well, nearly everything in here belongs to the Cuthberts,” Anne said, sitting at the edge of the bed. “But yeah, it’s nice. Probably the nicest room I’ve ever stayed in.”
Diana took a seat next to her. “Have you been in a lot of homes, then?”
“More than I can count,” Anne sighed. “I don’t think I’ve had any of them last even a year.”
A soft touch as Diana laid her hand atop hers. “Well, I hope you stay around here for a while,” Diana said, smiling softly. “It’d be awfully nice to have a friend living so close by.”
Anne couldn’t help gaping slightly as she looked into Diana’s face. “Does that… mean we’re friends, then?”
“Well, yes,” Diana said, looking back at her. “I mean, if you want to be, that is.”
“Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes!” The two girls giggled together as Anne swept Diana up in an enthusiastic embrace. “Oh, this is so exciting,” sighed Anne as she let go. “I’ve never had anybody ask to be my friend before.”
A surprised, saddened look flickered briefly across Diana’s face. “Well, I’ll just have to be the best friend ever to make up for that then,” she said. “Here, we should trade numbers so we can text each other. That is… you do have a phone, right?”
Anne looked over at the battered, outdated thing sitting on top of the dresser. “Technically.”
“Well, as long as it can send and receive messages, it’ll do. Here, give me your number and I’ll send you a text so you have mine.” Anne told her. Diana set about entering the number in her phone and composing an introductory text, and as she did so, Anne found her attention caught by the image adorning the back of Diana’s phone, ducking her head slightly to get a better look at it. It was a picture of a regal, powerfully built woman in a dark bodysuit with a tower emblazoned on the chest, her head covered by a steel helmet, and a long, heavy cape flaring out behind her.
“Is that Alexandria?” she asked.
Diana’s eyes went wide, and she quickly dropped her phone down into her lap. “Oh. I mean--that is--it’s an old phone case.”
“Okay…?” Anne said, not quite sure how that was relevant to the question she’d asked.
Diana sighed; her cheeks had taken on a slight pink tint. “Oh, I don’t suppose there’s any point trying to hide it,” she muttered. “You’re bound to find out sooner or later. You see, I’m a bit of a… well the term people use is ‘cape geek’. My other friends tease me something awful about it.”
“That doesn’t seem very nice,” Anne said, frowning.
Diana’s mouth twitched into a smile. “I like keeping up with all sorts of capes, especially local ones,” she continued. “I mean, not from Avonlea, obviously, it’s too small of a town for that--but the Protectorate team in Halifax and the like. I went through a phase a few years ago, though, where I was just obsessed with Alexandria.” She lifted her phone again, smiling fondly at the image on the case. “I don’t know, it’s silly. It’s just… I saw her out there, doing all those amazing things, and… I guess it made me feel like I could be amazing too.”
“That’s not silly at all,” Anne said, putting a hand on Diana’s knee. “I think it’s wonderful to have somebody so inspirational that you can look up to and use as a role model.”
Diana’s flush grew deeper, and she met Anne’s eyes shyly. “Anne?”
“Yes?”
“I think I might like you quite a lot.”
- - -
Anne’s heart was full to bursting as she lay in bed that evening, playing over her conversation with Diana in her head. Words couldn’t properly express how delightful it was to finally have a friend--or better than a friend, even. Anne had an inkling that Diana could be a true bosom friend, someone she could bare her heart to and listen to her bare her heart in return. She’d read about such friendships many times in books, but it had always seemed like too much to hope that she could actually have a friend like that for real…
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. “Anne?” Marilla’s voice called.
“Yes, Marilla?” Anne replied, sitting up.
The door opened up, Marilla stepping in to stand in the doorway. “Where is my brooch?” she asked. “It isn’t in my jewelry box.”
Anne stopped to think. Had she returned it to the jewelry box after the others had left? She couldn’t remember doing so, and if it wasn’t there… “I’m sorry, I must not have remembered to put it back,” she said. “I imagine it’s probably on the chair where I left the shawl, then.”
Marilla shook her head. “No, it isn’t there, either. I checked.”
This was a conundrum. “Well, I’m not sure where else it could be, then,” Anne said. “I wonder if--”
“Anne.” Marilla’s expression had turned hard, her voice sharp in a way that sent a jolt of terror through Anne’s body. “Where is it?”
“I just said, I don’t know--”
“Don’t lie to me.”
Anne’s throat began to ache; the burning under her skin had returned, slight, but steadily growing in intensity. “I’m not lying,” she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. “I really don’t know where it is, Marilla!”
Marilla drew herself up, ramrod-straight. “I won’t have a thief in my house,” she said coldly. “Come clean, now, and we can sort this out.”
“How am I supposed to confess to something I haven’t done?!”
“I see. So that’s how it is.” Marilla sighed. “We’ll discuss this tomorrow, girl, and I’ll search this room top to bottom if I have to. In the meantime, I suggest you take tonight to reflect on the value of honesty.”
She whirled about to leave, and the door snapped shut behind her with an awful crack.
Anne sat in stunned silence for several moments before a strangled sob finally escaped her, and she tumbled forward off the bed, landing on her knees, doubling over with her arms wrapped tightly around herself. The burning sensation had become so intense that she swore her skin was on the verge of cracking and flaking away in scorched pieces. She should’ve known better, should’ve known it was all too good to be true. How many times had she gotten her hopes up, only to have them cruelly crushed when the other shoe dropped? This place was no different. No--it was different, it was worse, because Matthew and Diana had given her the smallest tantalizing taste of what it was to be truly cared for, and now that had all been snatched away in one horrible instant--
Her body spasmed with suppressed sobs, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks as she looked up through her window to the night beyond. It was all over, she would never belong here, never be wanted here. What was she supposed to do now?
- - -
Marilla’s mind was disquieted as she got herself ready for bed. She’d been clinging to a righteous sense of anger since confronting Anne, but in spite of her best efforts, it was beginning to ebb away, leaving a confusing mess of emotions in its wake. The oddest one was a deep and cutting sense of betrayal. God help her, she’d been starting to like Anne, in spite of the girl’s many, many oddities. And it was plain as plain that Matthew had taken to her like a duck to water.
Matthew. Marilla let out a sigh. He was already asleep in his room, and she didn’t have the heart to wake him, not when she knew this would break his heart. This whole foster business had been his idea, after all; she suspected that, though he’d never let on, he’d gotten awful lonely around the house since retiring…
A gleam of light interrupted her thoughts as she crossed her room. Frowning, she followed it over to the chair by her dresser. Something was wedged in between the arm of the chair and the side of the cushion, only barely visible. She reached in--and pulled out the missing brooch.
The enormity of it slammed into her like a blow from a sledgehammer. Anne--the poor girl had been telling her the truth, and she’d brushed it aside, backed her into a corner and refused to relent. Marilla’s feet moved almost of their own accord, carrying her out of her bedroom and into the hallway. She could see light coming out of the gap beneath the door to Michael’s room-- Anne’s room. Good. She’d clear up this misunderstanding straightaway; the girl didn’t need this hanging over her head all night.
“Anne?” she called, knocking at the door. No response. “Anne?” Still no response. It was likely she was just sulking--she had every right to, under the circumstances--but something planted a seed of worry in Marilla’s gut, and she reached down, turning the handle and pushing the door open.
A cold draft whispered over her skin--the window at the far end of the room stood wide open. Anne was nowhere to be seen.