Why would a man care about some girl's drawings?
There's no reason for that, Marianne kept telling herself, not one. Even when the drawings are of the man's son, making it painfully obvious that she's taken an interest into the boy; and an interest is said as quite an understatement, though she would rather she hadn't acknowledged.
But Marianne did acknowledge. Once again she couldn't sleep, thinking again and again of all the ways Gilbert might confront her about the sketches (and awful and terrifying they all were). There was some small part of her that hoped Mr. Blythe wouldn't tell his son about anything, but she preferred not to hold onto it too tightly. She didn't want to face even greater disappointment. Going to school next time already seemed worse then usually, and Marianne dreaded the moment her eyes will set on Gilbert again.
But she didn't even have the chance to see him, for the boy didn't come at all. Marianne thought it strange for him to be late, and was surprised when she realised that he wouldn't arrive - yet, now she's not surprised anymore. Having seen Mr. Blythe in his state of bad health, she can imagine the reason behind his absence.
Anne doesn't seem to notice, though. She's much too absorbed with her relationship with Diana, whose mother made it impossible for the two girls to share their closeness anymore. Marianne can't help but pity both of them, knowing how much having a close companion means to Anne.
Now she awaits the redhead girl outside. It feels somehow strange to be walking only in each other's company, without Diana, but almost everything does these days. It's not like she could help the situation anyway.
Hearing the door slam behind her, Marianne turns around. And there she is - Anne - jaws locked, and a storm in her eyes.
"What is it?" asks Marianne as they start to walk. "Is it about Diana again?"
Anne only groans in return, making it somehow theatrical. "No, it's about the loathsome persona of Gilbert Blythe, again. Apparently, he's missing classes and Mr. Phillips doesn't want his best student to fall behind. So he had me take these to him," she finishes bitterly, mentioning to the extra books in her hand.
It's hard to tell whether Anne is more upset by her given task or by Mr. Phillips referring to Gilbert as his best student. Though Marianne is leaning into the latter option a little more - to be called a student worst than the Blythe boy must surely seem like an outrageous insult to the redhead girl.
"Like I was supposed to know where does Gilbert Blythe live! Frankly, I couldn't possibly care less about his whereabouts, ever."
"Then you should be glad you don't have to go there alone. As a companion, I may not compare to Diana, but I happen to know the way." And, hoping to forestall any possible questions, she adds, "I stumbled across his house during one of my walks and I think I should remember the way just fine."
Anne says nothing, still obviously not over the injustice Mr. Phillips had done her. They walk side by side in silence and every time Marianne steals a glance at the other girl, she sees her eyes fixed on some distant spot and her lips pressed tightly against one another. She wouldn't call herself eager for conversation, but even then she would probably refrain from even trying to talk to Anne at the moment; instead the only sound to be heard is the snow creaking under their feet.
After a few minutes long walk the Blythe house becomes visible. For a moment Marianne is afraid she'll have to stop Anne from running away and force her to go forward, but it's not necessary. The redhead girl only groans again as they step onto the porch, an overly dramatic question of "Why does everything happen to me?" leaving her lips.
Marianne resists an urge to scold Anne and she watches as she knocks instead.
"Gilbert? Gilbert Blythe!" Anne's fist bangs on the wood several times, giving away her irritation just like the tone of her voice does. "Life is so unfair."
"Come on, Anne," Marianne opens her mouth to say something, only to be interrupted by the sound of the door opening.
"Finally."
But it's not Gilbert who greets them.
"Sorry to make you wait," apologizes Mr. Blythe, panting, leaning against the doorframe. "Marianne, a pleasure to see you again so quickly. Gilbert... is out back chopping wood."
"Oh, no, we didn't wait long at all. But perhaps you shouldn't stand out here in the cold, Mr. Blythe-"
The man ignores Marianne's words, turning his attention to Anne. "What wonderful red hair. You're the Cuthberts' new charge, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"I've heard nice things about you, too. And how is Marilla? Still feisty, I hope?"
Marianne has never seen Anne so lost at words before, yet now she can almost feel her confusion at the sight of the sickly looking man in front of them. Maybe Marianne should have told her-
"Dad, what are you doing?"
Hearing Gilbert's voice, Marianne turns to look at him. He's dressed in the same sweater she saw on him last time, once again covered in snow. Placing wooden logs onto the stack by the wall, he points out, "You shouldn't be walking."
He's right, of course, and they all know it. Marianne feels terrible for forcing Mr. Blythe to leave his bed and the fact that Gilbert could rightfully blame both her and Anne for being the reason of it makes the whole matter even worse.
Not to the said man himself, though, as he says, "My son worries too much. It seems these young ladies have urgent business with you. I'll go inside now."
"I'll fetch your chair."
"No, I-I-I'll go on my own. Thank you, son. It was nice to meet you. Give my kind regards to Marilla," Mr. Blythe smiles one last time before turning to leave, only to look back just a few seconds later. "Thinking about it now, I might use some help. Would you be so kind and aid an old man, Marianne? I'm sure your friend will be fine explaining everything to my son in her own for a moment."
Marianne looks at him, wide-eyed and possibly with her mouth opened slightly. Yet, before Gilbert has a chance to say anything, she nods her head, words of agreement leaving her lips as she gazes apologetically to Anne before following inside.
She keeps close behind the man, hands extended slightly, ready to rush to help if he collapsed. He seems to take no notice, though, and not to worry about the possibility of fall, somehow making it into his bedroom on his own; Marianne feels completely unnecessary, now wondering why would he change his mind so unexpectedly if he didn't need assistance.
At last, Mr. Blythe turns to look at her as she helps to pull the covers over his legs. "My son talks about you a lot, every thing nicer than the other, you know?" he says, the smile on his face teasing yet giving away some signs of melancholy. "I didn't have a chance to tell you that the last time we've seen each other, but I suppose it's a father's role to embarrass his boy before a pretty girl. And I fear I have not much time left to do so."
Marianne doesn't know which makes her stop in motion - the information given by Mr. Blythe or the mention of his state. "Oh, I..."
"There's no need to pretend, for we all know that getting better is no longer an option for me, I should think. For what it's worth, I've already come to terms with my condition, yet I fear Gilbert's still thorn: he knows too, yet still struggles to give up hope, only making himself hurt more," the man sighs and Marianne feels as though the weight of his words was crushing onto her. "He's a good boy, my son. I would do everything to ease his pain, but my hands are empty at this point. The only thing I can do is to make sure he'll have someone by his side when I'm gone."
"I'm not sure whether I'm the best person to ask-"
"I wish I knew more on the matter of art, but the knowledge I have proves to be enough now. What I saw in your drawings the other day... You treat my boy's looks with affection, and although it is much too early to voice such question, I am simply out of time; and so I am asking you do do the same with his heart. Would you be willing to do that? For both me and Gilbert?"
Would she?
🌼
Making the decision, Marianne didn't expect she would have to fulfill the promise so fast.
John Blythe's state was more than obvious, almost painfully. And yet, sitting here, in his house, just after his coffin had been buried into the frozen ground... this seems so, so surreal. Sitting by one of the windows and watching all these people making conversation and eating is somehow upsetting; and it's not even the fact that Marianne doesn't even know half of them. It's only strange to be in rooms belonging to a dead man, acting like nothing had happened to the man of the house. Especially without his son, but Marianne couldn't possibly demand of Gilbert to chat as though it was a day like any other.
Because of her state and the decisions made by her brother and the family doctor, she wasn't there for her parents' funeral. And the weight of guilt has never been so much on her shoulders as it is in the-
At her side, Anne stills for a few seconds in front of the window she's been looking out of for the past couple of minutes, then rushing to grab her coat before running out of the house. Marianne turns her head to see what's gotten into the redhead girl, and understanding comes as soon as she notices the dark figure in the snow; she's almost as quick in following her friend's steps, placing her hands in the sleeves on the run.
She might have not been there for her parents' service, but listening to Anne's notions would have been very low on her list of desired consolations, of that she is sure.
"It was a lovely service. It seemed fitting somehow," these are the words Marianne hears as she catches up with the other two. "Everything was so white and still. I've always thought the minister prays quite mournfully, so this suited him nicely. Baptisms must be grim."
Upon Anne's next words, Marianne is surprised by how unempathetic the girl is; not necessarily on purpose, but this is not something a person in mourning could be looking forward to hear; yet, could there be a way for her to stop Anne from saying all of it?
"Being an orphan has its challenges, but you already have so many advantages, you'll be much better off than I was. And... I didn't know my parents. They died when I was a baby, so I couldn't fend for myself the way that you can. And I don't remember my parents at all, but you'll always be able to remember your father, just like Marianne can recall her parents. You know, when you think about it, you're really very lucky."
Gilbert turns around with a look of, among many other fellings, disbelief on his face; which, Marianne is sure, must be a mirror image of her own right now. "You think I- we are lucky?"
Anne, however, doesn't catch the tone of his voice. "Compared to me? Yes."
"And why is this about you?"
"It's not. I was just trying to-"
"See you."
And, watching him go away, Marianne realises two things. First, she cannot even begin herself to look at Anne at the moment. And second, there it is again, this well-known pain in the middle of her chest, springed by the mere mention of her parents' death.
And how can she fullfil the promise of taking care of Gilbert Blythe's heart when her own is not in a very good condition itself?