𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐎𝐌 | gilbert blythe

13. a funeral, with love

As Penelope Sullivan entered her second week of isolation, she had officially broken.

She hadn't been allowed to speak to anyone in days. Mr. Phillips a constant, overbearing eye. He seemed to agree that Penny had been growing unruly.

Penelope lived in a constant of terror. When Anne had attempted to speak to her under the cover of the trees on their walk home, Penny had done little more than give a brief squeak of fright before bolting away. Anne too stunned to follow after. The dejected look on the red-haired girl's face was nearly too much to bear.

Even Ruby had given up attempting to whisper to her after receiving a harsh chastisement from Mr. Phillips.

Her deliveries had been taken over by Anne, on top of it all, meaning she also hadn't spoken to Gilbert either.

No longer did she have any free will, no longer did she feel the need to speak, no longer did she desire to continue.

Her father was harder on her than he ever had been before. She couldn't seem to do anything correctly and the winter weather and extra layers meant he could leave bruises in more places and make them dark enough they would last for weeks. He'd also gone forward and sold all of her dresses save the few she had made herself. Stating she was unlikely to ever marry, being so weak, and so she no longer needed them.

She cooked, she cleaned, she went to school, she cleaned more, she slept when given permission and she pulled scraps from pans as she washed them.

She did as she was told, and nothing more.

Penny missed the others especially on the coldest of nights.

She missed Diana's politeness and desire for friendship.

She missed Ruby's childish excitement and innocent laughter.

She missed Anne's stories and her headstrong personality.

She missed Gilberts concern and ability to make her laugh.

"Penelope!"

"Yes, sir,"

"You'll be minding the horse today after I bring her back, and I expect the fireplace to be thoroughly cleaned. I should be back from town within the hour,"

"Yes, sir,"

"Look at what a sight you've become," Her father held almost a proud gleam in his eye, the only time he'd held that emotion while looking at her, "A perfect daughter. Your weaknesses are leaving you,"

"Thank you, sir"

With a sharp pat on the head that made Penelope flinch harshly, the man was off.

Penny set about her chores, not even being able to come up with the courage to hum to herself.

What if he hears. What if he hears.

As he'd claimed, her father had arrived back within the hour and handed the waiting girl the reigns to the horse.

As she was walking towards the barn, she saw her father holding a newspaper in his hands and scoffing at what he read.

"That old Blythe fool finally died, good riddance," 

"What?" Penny froze, her grip tightening on the leather of the horse reigns.

"His son was in your class, eh? Well, he was a sappy dimwit, in my opinion. Always preaching travel and big plans, but he never did amount to much," Her father seemed almost pleased with his own words.