 CHAPTER 38. THE BANNED IN THE ROAD Marella went to town the next day and returned in the evening. Anne had gone over the orchard slope with Diana and came back to find Marella in the kitchen, sitting by the table with her head leaning on her hand. Something in her dejected attitude struck a chill to Anne's heart. She had never seen Marella sit limply in earth like that. Are you very tired, Marella? Yes, no, I don't know, said Marella verily looking up. I suppose I'm tired, but I haven't thought about it. It's not that. Did you see the Oculus? What did he say? Asked Anne anxiously. Yes, I saw him. He examined my eyes. He says that if I give up all reading and chewing entirely, and any kind of work that strains the eyes, and if I'm careful not to cry, and if I wear the glasses he's given me, he thinks my eyes may not get any worse, and my headaches will be cured. But if I don't, he says I'll certainly be stoned blind in six months. Blind. Anne, just think of it. For a minute, Anne, after her first quick exclamation of dismay, was silent. It seemed to her that she could not speak. Then she said briefly, but with a catch in her voice. Marella, don't think of it. You know, he has given you hope. If you are careful, you won't lose your sight altogether, and if his glasses cure your headaches, it will be a great thing. I don't call it much hope. Said Marella bitterly. What am I to live for if I can't read or see or do anything like that? I might as well be blind, or dead. And as for crying, I can't help that when I get lonesome. But there, it's not good talking about it. If you'll give me a cup of tea, I'll be thankful. I'm about done out. Don't say anything about this to anyone for a spell yet anyway. I can't be a bit fox. She'll come here to question, sympathize, and talk about it. When Marella had eaten her lunch and persuaded her to go to bed, then Anne went herself to the east gable and sat down by her window in the darkness alone with her tears and her heaviness of heart. How sadly things had changed since she had last sat there the night after coming home. Then she had been full of hope and joy and the future had looked rosy with promise. Anne felt as if she had lived here since then, but before she went to bed there was a smile on her lips and peace in her heart. She had looked to duty courageously in the face and founded a friend, a duty ever is when we meet it frankly. One afternoon, a few days later, Marella came slowly in from the front yard, where she had been talking to a caller. A man whom Anne knew beside the settler from comedy. Anne wondered what he could have been saying to bring that looked Marella's face. What did Mr. Settler want, Marella? Marella sat down by the window and looked at Anne. There were tears in her eyes in defiance of the Oculus's prohibition and her voice broke as she said. He heard that there was going to sell Cran Gables and he wants to buy it. Buy it? Buy Cran Gables? Anne wondered if she had heard right. Oh, Marella, you don't mean to sell Cran Gables? Anne, I don't know what else is to be done. I have thought it all over. If my eyes were strong I could stay here and make out to look after things and manage with a good hired man, but as it is I can't. I may lose my sight altogether in any way I will not be fit to run things. Oh, I never thought I'd live to see the day when I'd have to sell my home, but things would only go behind verse and verse all the time till nobody would want to buy it. Every cent of our money went in the bank and there are some notes M.G. gave last fall to pay. Mrs. Linn advises me to sell the farm and bought somewhere with her, I suppose. It won't bring much. It's small and the buildings are old, but it will be enough for me to live on, I reckon. I am thankful you are provided for with that scholarship, Anne. I am sorry you won't have a home to come to on your vacations. That's all, but I suppose you'll manage somehow. Marilla broke down in Webbiterly. You mustn't sell Crain Gables, said Anne Resoluzzi. Oh, Anne, I wish I didn't have to, but you can see for yourself. I can't stay here alone. Let go crazy with trouble and loneliness, and my sight would go. I know it would. You won't have to stay here alone, Marilla. I'll be with you. I am not going to Redmond. Not going to Redmond? Marilla lifted her worn face from her hands and looked at Anne. Why? What do you mean? Just what they say. I'm not going to take the scholarship. I decided to deny it after you came home from town. You surely don't think I could leave you alone in your trouble, Marilla, after all you have done for me? I've been thinking and planning. Let me tell you my plans. Mr. Berry wants to rent the farm for next year, so you won't have any border over that, and I'm going to teach. I have a blight for this school here, but I don't expect to get it if I understand the trustees have promised it to Chilbert Blight. But I can have the Kamudy School. Mr. Blair told me so last night at the store. Of course, that won't be quite as nice or convenient as if I had to ever loan a school. But I can board home and drive myself over to Kamudy and back, in the warm weather at least. And even in winter, I can come home Fridays. We'll keep a horse for that. Oh, I have it all planned out, Marilla. And I'll read to you and keep you cheered up. You shan't be dire lonesome, and we'll be real cozy and happy here together. You and I. Marilla had listened like a woman in a dream. Oh, Anne, I could get on real well if you were here. I know. But I can't let you sacrifice yourself for me. It would be terrible. Nonsense. Anne loved Marilly. There's no sacrifice. Nothing could be worse than giving up Crane Gables. Nothing could hurt me more. We must keep that here old place. My mind is quite made up, Marilla. I am not going to Redmond, and I am going to stay here and teach. Don't you worry about me a bit. But you're ambitious, and I'm just as ambitious as ever. Only I've changed the object of my ambitions. I'm going to be a good teacher, and I'm going to save your eyesight. Besides, I mean to study at home here and take a little college course over myself. Oh, I have dozens of plans, Marilla. I've been thinking them out for a week. I shall give life here my best, and I believe it will give its best to me in return. Death Queens, my future, seemed to stretch out before me like a straight road. I thought I could see along it for many a milestone. Now there's a bend in it. I don't know what lies around the bend, but I'm going to believe that the best does. It has a fascination of its own, the bend, Marilla. I wonder how the road beyond it goes. What there is of Crane Glory and Soft, checkered light and shadows. What curves and hills and valleys further on. I don't feel as if I ought to let you give it up, said Marilla, referring to scholarship. But you can't prevent me. I am sixteen and a half. Obstinate as a mule, as Mrs. St. once told me. Laugh then. Oh, Marilla, don't you go pitting me. I don't like to be pitted, and there's no need for it. I am hard-clad over the very thought of staying at Dear Crane Gables. Nobody could laugh at it as you and I do, so we must keep it. You blessed girl, said Marilla yielding. I feel as if you've given me new life. I guess I ought to stick out and make you go to college. But I know I can't, so I ain't going to try. I'll make it up to you, Anne. And it became noise to brought an ever-loaner that Anne Shirley had given up the idea of going to college and intended to stay home and teach. There was a good deal of discussion over it. Most of the good folks, not knowing about Marilla's eyes, thought she was foolish. Mrs. Ellen did not. She told Anne in so approving words the poor tears of pleasure to the girl's eyes. Neither did good Mrs. Lind. She came up one evening and found Anne and Marilla sitting at the front door in the warm, centered summer dusk. They liked to sit there when the twilight came down, and the white moss flew about in the garden and the odor of the mint filled the teary air. Mrs. Rachel deposited her substantial purse upon the storm bench by the door, behind which grew a row of tall, pink and yellow hollyhocks with a long press of mingling weariness and relief. I declare I'm getting glad to sit down. I've been on my feet all day, and 200 pounds is a good bit for two feet to carry around. It's a great blessing not to be fat, Marilla. I hope you appreciate it. Well, Anne, I hear you've given up your notion of going to college. I was real glad to hear it. You've got so much education now as a woman can be comfortable with. I don't believe in girls going to college with a man and cramming the heads full of Latin and Greek and all that nonsense. But I'm going to study Latin and Greek just the same, Mrs. Lind. Said Anne, loving, I'm going to take my arts course right here at Crane Gables and study everything that devoted college. Mrs. Lind lifted her hands in holy horror. Anne Shirley, you'll kill yourself. Not a bit. I shall strive on it. Oh, I'm not going to overdo things. As Josiah Anne's wife says, I'll be medium. But I'll have lots of spare time in the long winter evenings, and I have no case of offensive work. I'm going to teach over at Carmody, you know. I don't know it. I guess you're going to teach right here in Avalona. The drasties have decided to give you the school. Mrs. Lind, cried Anne, springing to her feet in surprise. Why, I thought, they promised it to children applied. So they did. But as soon as Gilbert heard that you applied for it, he went to them. They had a business meeting at the school last night, you know, and told them that he was through his application and suggested that they accept yours. He said he was going to teach at White Sands. Of course, he knew how much you wanted to stay with Marilla, and I must say, I think it was real kind and thoughtful in him. That's what. Real self-sacrificing too, for he'll have his point to pay at White Sands, and everybody knows he's got to earn his own way through college. So the drasties decided to take you. I was tickled to death when Thomas came home and told me. I don't feel that they ought to take it, murmur at the end. I mean, I don't think I ought to let Gilbert make such a sacrifice for, for me. I guess you can't prevent him now. He signed the papers with the White Sands drasties, so it wouldn't do him any good now if you were to refuse. Of course you'll take the school. You'll get along all right. Now that there are no pies going, there's been some pie or other going to Avalona's school for the last 20 years, and the guest's mission in life was to keep schoolteachers reminded that Earth isn't their home. Bless my heart. What does all that winking and blinking at the Bear Gable mean? Diana is signaling for me to go over. Love, Anne. You know we keep up the old custom. Excuse me while I run over and see what she wants. Anne ran down the clover slope like a deer and disappeared in the fiery shadows of the haunted wood. Mrs. Linn looked after her indulgently. There's a good deal of the child about her yet in some ways. There's a good deal more of the woman about her in others, retorted Marella, with a momentary return of her old Christmas. But Christmas was no longer Marella's distinguishing characteristic, as Mrs. Linn told her Thomas that night. Marella Caspett has got mellow. That's what. Anne went to the Little Avalona Grave the next morning to put fresh flowers on Mrs. Grave and water the scotch rosebush. She lingered there until dusk, liking the peace and calm of the little place. With its poplossous rustle was like low friendly speech and its whispering grass is growing at will among the graves. When she finally left it and walked down the hill that sloped to the lake of the shining waters, it was past sunset and all Avalona lay before her in a dream like after light. A haunt of ancient peace. There was a freshness in the air as of a wind that had blown over honey-sweet fields of clover. Home lights twinkled out here and there among the homestead trees. Beyond lit a scene, misty and purple, with its haunting and seizing murmur. The west was a glurry of soft-mild views and the pond reflected them all in still softer shadings. The beauty of it all hurled Anne's heart and she gratefully opened the gates of her soul to it. The old world, she murmured, you are very lovely and I am glad to be alive in you. Half way down the hill a tall lad came whistling out of the gate before the blind homestead. It was Chelbert and the whistle died on his lips as he recognized Anne. He lifted his cap courteously, but he would have passed on in silence if Anne had not stopped and held out her hand. Chelbert, she said with scarlet cheeks, I want to thank you for giving up the school for me. It was very good of you and I want you to know that I appreciate it. Chelbert took the offered hand eagerly. It wasn't particularly good of me at all, Anne. I was pleased to be able to do you some small service. Are we going to be friends after this? Have you really forgiven me my old fault? Anne laughed and tried unsuccessfully to withdraw her hand. I forgave you that day by the pond landing, although I didn't know it. What a stubborn little goose I was. I've been, I may as well make a complete confession. I've been sorry ever since. We are going to be the best friends, said Chelbert jubilantly. We are born to be good friends, Anne. You have tried the destiny enough. I know we can help each other in many ways. You are going to keep your studies up, aren't you? So am I. Come, I'm going to walk home with you. Narella looked curiously at Anne and the latter entered the kitchen. Who was that came up the lane with you, Anne? Chelbert blight, answered Anne, wakes to find herself blushing. I met him and bear his hair. I didn't think you and Chelbert blight were such good friends that you'd stand for half an hour at the gate talking to him, said Narella with a dry smile. We haven't been. We've been good enemies. But we've decided that it will be much more sensible to be good friends in the future. Where we rallied there for half an hour, it seemed just like a few minutes. But you see, we have five years' lost conversations to catch up with Narella. Anne said long had her windowed at night companion by a clad content. The wind part softened the cherry boards and the mint press came up to her. The stars twinkled over the pointed furs in the hollow and Diana's light gleamed through the old gap. Anne's horizons had closed in since the night she had set their after-coming home from Queens. But if the past set before her feet was to be narrow, she knew that flowers and quiet happiness were bloom along it. The chore of sincere work and versey aspiration and congenial friendship were to be hers. Nothing could help her for birthright of fancy and her ideal world of dreams, and there was always a bend in the road. God's in His heaven, all's right in the world, whispered Anne softly, softly. End of Chapter 38, recording by Ellie, November 2009. End of End of Green Gables, by Lucy Mod Montgomery.