Chapter Text
Marilla Cuthbert stood under a bare tree in the sunlight of an autumn afternoon, eagerly scanning the crowd emptying out of the church around her with a pleased little smile on her face. She was waiting for someone.
Rachel Lynde noticed this from the entrance of the church, having hung back for a brief conversation with the minister’s wife about the new Sunday school curriculum. She had many thoughts on the topic, most of which were still running through her head when she spotted the certain someone that Marilla waited for—a certain mouthy someone, wearing trousers paired with heeled boots. The two began chatting away before they were within five feet of each other. Rachel felt quite a bit of a sting at that; Marilla certainly never greeted her with such enthusiasm these days.
Muriel Stacy had never made a habit of attending mass in Avonlea until late, and Mrs. Lynde found it mighty bold of her indeed to choose to do so in such... non traditional garb. Yes, non traditional was the best way to describe the woman, she thought to herself with an exasperated huff. That was for sure and certain. If she had but one duty as a Christian, she felt with some vigor that it was to save the poor thing from herself—and she moved quickly through the dwindling crowd to do just that, in her own polite fashion.
Marilla saw her approach over Muriel’s shoulder and steeled herself for some well intentioned prying. Rachel approached quicker than Marilla could warn her.
“Good afternoon ladies,” Rachel proclaimed, startling Muriel to her presence. “Though that sure wouldn’t be most folk’s first guess from across a room,” she added under her breath, assessing the offending outfit up close with a raised eyebrow.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Lynde,” Muriel replied brightly, sharing a knowing glance with Marilla who simply nodded her acknowledgment in turn. Here was trouble, surely—Rachel had been particularly relentless in her quest to play matchmaker as of late, and Muriel had only one guess as to why the rather stout woman approached her. There was no rest for the wicked, it seemed--especially when the identity of “the wicked” inhabiting Avonlea happened to be decided by Mrs. Lynde and Mrs. Lynde only. Marilla felt some sympathy for her younger friend. She herself had had decades to acclimate to all of Rachel’s vast and varied particularities, but never had she personally experienced her efforts so concentrated. Marilla recognized that fervor, though--she really wouldn’t budge until she saw Muriel wed.
“Making plans for this evening, are we?” Rachel asked haughtily.
“I was just asking Muriel to tea at Green Gables,” Marilla answered. “You’re more than welcome to join, as always,” she added with some reluctance that couldn’t quite hide itself.
Rachel had already known the answer to her question before asking it—the two women, an odd match though they were to all that observed them, had been spending plenty an afternoon together since Anne and her lot had gone off to Queen’s. The level of tomfoolery among the youth of Avonlea had diminished to comparatively none in the redhead’s wake, so as a natural course both Marilla and Muriel suddenly found themselves with more free time than they knew what to do with.
Rachel had a bit of an idea what Muriel ought to be doing with hers.
“Oh, thank you, but I couldn’t impose—I’ve got to be getting Thomas’s supper fixed up soon anyhow. Never a dull moment when one’s got a husband waiting at home. Speaking of...” Rachel started, turning ever so subtly to directly address Muriel once more, “If it wouldn’t break poor Marilla’s heart too terribly to pull you away, I happen to know of a very fine young gentleman staying in Avonlea for the week on business who wouldn’t mind some company for his tea this evening. And I do say—he’s quite a handsome fellow!”
With a deep breath and a quick glance at Marilla for moral support, Muriel put on the most polite smile she could muster. This conversation had played out many times and she knew from experience it was best not to yield one inch, right from the start. Any indecision transformed alchemy like before one’s very eyes into a fatal flaw, a crack in the defenses—that was when the woman figured how to get her way, regardless of what your own plans were. Muriel resolved to stick to her guns, as it were, a resolution made all the easier knowing Marilla stood with her, ready and willing to put her oar in if need be.
“I was actually very much looking forward to my evening at Green Gables, Mrs. Lynde, but I do appreciate the offer,” she answered. She had aimed for confidence, and still the arrow landed awkwardly—for as confident as she was, she admitted the constant bombardment still disconcerted her. Especially in such a public space, she thought to herself. Heaven forbid any other Avonlea resident took the opportunity to begin airing their own grievances with the minutiae of her lifestyle... Still, the answer registered on the short, stout woman’s face and she faltered for a moment. Marilla grinned, quietly amused. She had to admit she rather enjoyed seeing Rachel’s feathers ruffled—and ruffle them Muriel did, better than almost anyone. She could always rely on her friend in that respect.
“But I feel I must add, Muriel, he is a businessman,” Rachel said hastily, thinking that might sweeten the deal to a degree. A working woman could hardly argue at the prospect of money, could she? Rachel was quite wrong on that account, but the fact that she had finally approved of the female teacher in the first place was a shocking amount of progress to those that knew her, and as such they could hardly begrudge her a few misguided sticking points. All she wanted to do was help.
“Be that as it may,” Muriel started again, not one to be persuaded—until she found herself cut off.
“From Charlottetown! Owns a townhouse!” Rachel continued, determined not to lose yet again. It was obvious to her that the young teacher simply needed some assistance prioritizing.
“Be that as it may,” Muriel repeated, slower, raising her voice a bit and causing Marilla to suppress a small laugh (for she knew what Muriel’s “schoolma’am” voice sounded like, and that was it as sure as the woman stood before her wearing trousers), “I have no intentions of upsetting my plans with Miss Cuthbert.”
That truly silenced Mrs. Lynde for a moment. Both Marilla and Muriel turned back towards each other to continue their conversation, thinking the matter settled (at least for the weekend). Sure enough, though, Rachel intended to have the last word.
“You’ll never find yourself another husband spending all your spare time up at Green Gables, Muriel. Week after week... people will start to talk. I hope you understand that.”
Marilla turned sharply and spoke. “Now that’s more than enough, Rachel. You’ve said your piece. Let the poor woman be already.” The same speech as they’d both heard from Rachel many times before was one matter, but Marilla felt (and correctly, for she knew Rachel’s temper as well as she usually suppressed her own) that this was only a few words away from turning into a very personal matter indeed. If she had anything to do with it, it would not proceed further.
“Oh, hush Marilla. I understand you’re lonely but I’ll not let you turn her into a bitter old widow just to make you feel like less of a spinster.”
Marilla felt as if she’d had all the air knocked out of her chest. Her face grew hot. She didn’t have any words; it’d been many years indeed since Rachel had managed to wound her so quickly and completely. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, stinging and defenseless and daring to spill down because she hadn’t the will to hold them back. Though Marilla couldn’t see it— she stared only at her own feet, head hung in embarrassment, hand covering her mouth— Muriel’s face was red too. Red with anger.
“I hardly think it’s fair to say such things to someone you’re lucky enough to call a friend, Mrs. Lynde. No, it is downright cruel,” she shot back, stepping forward to put herself in between Marilla and the offender. “Has it ever occurred to you, for a single moment of this tireless crusade to get me married off that you seem to be on, that I am fully aware of my own station in life? Has it ever occurred to you that I choose to live the way I do because it makes me happy?”
“Well now...” Rachel stammered. “You may think that now, but... but... by the time you reach my age and find yourself alone and desperate like her, you’ll wish you had let me help you. You’ll wish you had done the sensible thing and just... settled down and married a rich man when the opportunity had been so graciously placed before you.”
Muriel fought not to openly shout at the callous woman. There really was no getting through to her, calm or otherwise—her life revolved around meddling in the lives of others, of course the concept of independent thought bewildered her. Any kindness she had ever showed Marilla was shadowed over by this harsher tongue, and had been for years. Yes, the discussion had been over before it ever actually started in that respect. She treated the woman like a punching bag. Instead of raising her voice, Muriel hooked her thumbs into her suspenders, squared her shoulders, and looked firmly down at her.
“I am a rich man, Mrs. Lynde. Is that enough for you?” she said sarcastically.
That was the final word—Rachel scoffed indignantly and backed away towards the road, muttering a series of ‘well-I-never’s and ‘the-nerve-of-some-people’s to herself while shaking her head. She didn’t spare a parting glance to the women in her wake, off to no doubt immediately recount the whole scene to anyone and everyone that passed her gate (with her own fair share of scandalizing embellishments).
Marilla and Muriel were left standing alone under the bare tree, both red faced and breathless, the last member of the congregation having finally headed for home. Muriel turned to face Marilla once more and found her visibly shaken, face still cast down in shame. Muriel had seen her friend in distress before, but never like this. She placed a tentative hand on her shoulder in consolation. When Marilla didn’t reject her or shrug it away, Muriel gave her a moment to just breathe with the tactile reminder that she was not alone. She ran a thumb over Marilla’s shoulder to comfort her, and when Marilla reached for that hand she held it. When red rimmed eyes finally rose to meet her own, Muriel spoke earnestly.
“I try my hardest every day to like that woman, hand to my heart, but the way she behaves sometimes is appalling. The nerve she has, speaking to you like that so plainly... She’s so ill-tempered and petulant when she doesn’t get her way, I felt just now as if I was admonishing one of my more troublesome students. Though I hardly think I would’ve let my own temper go quite so far were she an actual child—they don’t have the luxury of knowing better.”
Marilla thought on that. She blinked. She suddenly found herself feeling a bit like a schoolgirl with the snort that escaped her just then, and subsequently turned into a fit of giggles at the mental image of Rachel trying to sit at one of the little desks in the schoolhouse. Soon Muriel joined in laughing, relieved, and Marilla found she couldn’t stop—she couldn’t say anything, just smile at her friend with fresh tears of hilarity arising in the corners of each eye. She let the laughter fill her, chasing away the memory of Rachel and soothing the sting of her words. When they both regained a modicum of composure and caught their breath, Muriel withdrew her hand only to chivalrously offer Marilla her arm.
“Would mademoiselle care for an escort back to Green Gables?” She asked, raising her eyebrow. Marilla laughed once more, winding her arm through Muriel’s as they turned out of the yard towards the church gate together.
“Why thank you, kind sir.”
The journey along the path back to Green Gables awed Marilla—everything seemed so beautiful that afternoon, the sun gilding every branch above their heads and each dry leaf that skittered across the road before them. Nothing had really changed or shifted about the route since she had traveled to the church that morning. Nothing, that was, but her companion. Muriel brought out not only the beauty in their surroundings, but a perpetual sense of wonder that she gave Marilla the privilege of sharing. When she noticed a particular bird or plant, she easily slipped into the role of teacher, asking Marilla (happy to play student) questions and sharing the most fascinating tidbits with her. This must be what Muriel’s students experienced during their “field” days, Marilla supposed. To be sure, Rachel hadn’t put much stock in the idea of it when the woman had first graced the Avonlea schoolhouse, but—Marilla laughed again. Why bother countering opinions in a conversation held entirely in her mind? Marilla didn’t really put much stock into Rachel, on this of all days. What she was invested in, at this particular moment, was the determined furrow in Muriel’s delicate brow as she focused on determining whether the pinecone she held hailed from a white spruce or a white pine. She felt that uncharacteristic smile creeping back, watching Muriel so absorbed and in her element. From the back of her mind, a thought burst forth—though wherever it came from baffled her. Yet she couldn’t argue herself. Surprised as she was to be thinking it, it warmed curiously in her chest after dawning: the trousers were really quite becoming on Muriel.