'...the marigold light setting the hazel forest of his eyes on fire. It was selfish of him really, to take something she loved so dearly as the woods and complicate it with... with them.'
The Avonlea Class of 1898- heading towards futures far away f...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Green Gables lay where it always had, on that steadily slanting hill, the grasses now bronzed with the coming of autumn, and the air felt crisp and new on Jerry Baynard's lungs. He breathed it all in: the barn, the vegetable patch, and that dusty porch. It was now littered with crisp leaves, varying in tones of warm browns and subtle orange. The building's pasty green paint work stood out in the muted environment, however it was scratched and worn, which seemed to add to its authentic feel. A home like no other, his home. It had been years since he first got the job at Green Gables, it had been lifetimes.
As he walked up the path, strewn with branches and sticks that had blown over from last nights rough wind, he spotted Marilla at the west window- she beamed at the sight of him. She disappeared from view for a second, only to reappear at the front door, swinging it open hurriedly. Jerry grinned, picking up his pace until they met on either sides of the porch. "Jerry," she greeted enthusiastically. "Ms. Cuthbert!" Jerry replied charmingly. "You're here early," she remarked, her hands clasped in front of her. Jerry could see how pleased she was to see him, how she could quite fight the spark that came into her eyes. "Never too early to see your friendly face Ms. Cuthbert," he explained, as though this was obvious. Marilla blushed, shifting slightly under the compliment. "Come inside child, I'll set you some breakfast," she huffed, but she was still smiling. "Oh no Ms. Cuthbert, I've already eaten," Jerry protested as he brushed off his boots on the door mat and took off his hat. "Fiddlesticks! You will sit and I will make us some tea." She pressed, clicking the door shut and hurrying to the kitchen. Jerry obeyed, knowing better than to argue further with her. "Where is Mr. Cuthbert this morning?" Jerry asked once he had sat down at the smooth wooden table. "Charlottetown. Lord knows why, set off as early as the bird sings. Didn't even take the shopping list with him, I tell you!" Marilla rambled from the kitchen, with sounds of mugs and cupboard doors banging. Jerry chuckled to him self at the thought of Matthew shuffling off to Charlottetown, with out Marilla's permission. At that moment, she strode in with cinnamon toast, creamy butter and milky tea, all set about a tray scattered with fresh sprigs of lavender. Jerry was surprised by this presentation, such frivolous things were never expected of Marilla Cuthbert. Anne Shirley-Cuthbert maybe, but not Marilla. "This looks delicious Ms. Cuthbert!" Jerry stammered. "Oh it's nothing, " Marilla set it upon the table, then sat opposite Jerry. They stared at the elegant grey tray, crowded with it's various components. "It is... rather pretty. I suppose." Marilla said slowly, a sad smile started to grow across her lined cheeks and then she said, "It does... it reminds me of-" "Anne?" Jerry put in, quietly. Marilla nodded, not looking away from the breakfast. When she did look up, she blinked several times hastily, Jerry met her gaze with furrowed eyebrows. "It's only been a week you know," she chuckled humourlessly. Jerry didn't speak, not sure if he should say anything. "I like to imagine what she's doing, learning." she smiled proudly. "She'll be back in a month or two, to- to visit," Jerry ventured. Marilla looked down at her hands, then up at the boy again. "Yes, she will. Jerry, she will." Jerry returned her comforted expression warmly. "Now. Jerry, have you ever tried my famous cinnamon bread?" Marilla asked, a rosy blush newly glowing on her cheeks.
