COME HOME SOMEDAY

Dwell In the Lilac Tree

[part one]

The prospect of reciting a poem in front of what seemed to be all of Avonlea had, at first, seemed like a wonderful idea to Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. But now, as she sat trembling with anticipation and nerves, she knew she could never do it. She wouldn't be able to make her legs move to the stage for they had turned to jam. Never mind giving a dramatic recitation. Though Anne loved to recite, and considered herself to be rather good at it, she could still remember that day at school when almost all the kids had mocked her dramatic reading in class. All those same kids were here tonight, them and their parents. Anne felt she could not bare it if she were laughed at again.

Anne was far from the one person reciting that night. It was the annual Debating Club concert. Prissy Andrews often recited at these events, and supposedly so had Gilbert Blythe. But Gilbert had left Avonlea in December of the year before. It was now November. It wouldn't exactly be true to say she missed the boy. He'd never been a big enough part of her life for her to truly feel his absence deeply, but she did think of him often and wonder whereabouts he was and what marvelous adventures he was encountering.

Anne felt some satisfaction in knowing he couldn't be there that night. Gilbert Blythe had a way of getting Anne worked up, and she was already plenty worked up on her own.

As the recitations continued, Anne felt more and more nervous. Her hands had begun to sweat and she clutched handkerchief like it was her last chance of survival.

Anne's nerves were so on edge that when Charlie Sloane's older brother, Sam, got up to explain "How Hockery Set a Hen" Anne found herself laughing until tears ran down her cheeks and the people around her stared. Sam Sloane left the stage feeling quite pleased with himself.

It was after Prissy Andrews had given her recitation that Anne knew there was no way she could follow through with her performance. Prissy, though unremarkable in some ways, happened to have a sweet voice and knack of emotion just right for poetry. Her piece was so moving, Anne knew she could never compare.

When it was nearing Anne's turn, Diana Barry came hurrying up the aisle behind her. Ignoring the complaints of the people seated in that row, Diana leaned over the back of the bench and whispered to Anne, "Good luck, Anne! I know you'll do wonderful!"

Anne looked around at her bosom friend with a face thinner and whiter and freckles more pronounced than Diana had ever seen.

"Oh, Diana," said Anne in a terrified whisper. "I can't! I can't do it!"

Diana frowned. "But why, Anne? Are you unwell?"

"I know as soon as I get up on that stage I will be rendered speechless," said Anne. "And I will be mortified! No. It isn't to be thought of. I can't."

"Oh, but Anne, you must!" said Diana in despair. "Ruby and I have so been looking forward to you performing! I know you'll do wonderful!"

Anne stared at Diana for a few moments with wide blue eyes, then gave a resolving nod. She gripped her friends offered hand and squeezed it. "Alright. I will Diana. For you."