₁.₀ SUPERCUT; gilbert blythe ✔

INTERLUDE

DEAR GILBERT,

before your departure, I made you a promise to write you letters. Having that in mind, I must confess that I broke that word - moreover, over the last eight months I made no attempt to keep it, which, I imagine, puts me in the worst possible light. Therefore, if you were wondering why none of my letters reached you, now you know the truth. And I would also have you know that I am deeply sorry for this situation.

The reason I write to you now, however, is not only my regret, it's not the shame that makes me determined to finish this letter. Anne is really excited to tell you all about this, but it is only fair that I should mention it also - gold is said to be in Avonlea.

You are aware of the problems my family was facing last year. As a part of solution, we decided to take boarders at Green Gables. And it is one of them who discovered the treasure hidden under our land. Nathaniel is a geologist, an employee of an American company trusted with the task of conducting a survey on their behalf. There was a town meeting on the matter and a proposition was put out. Many residents are considering using this opportunity to test their soil in hopes to find traces of gold in it. Everyone would like to get rich.

Please, excuse me if my words seem harsh and void of optimism. I must warn you, there is something that doesn't allow me to take a liking to Nathaniel and Mr. Dunlop (the other man staying at Green Gables now), and it is my prejudice that affects them. I wouldn't like you to make assumptions about the whole thing based in my entirely subjective opinion. I just thought you have a right to know.

To be honest, apart from the information about the gold, not many things have happened in Avonlea since you left. At least that's what I used to tell myself as an excuse for my negligence. All the events taking place here must seem utterly unexceptional in comparison to your experiences in the wide world - or I hope so, at least, because it gives me some comfort to think that you're not only working, but also fulfilling your desires to travel the world. And in Avonlea we celebrate new calf being born (two were, actually, and for some reason I cannot imagine they are actually the sweetest creatures on this earth).

Not much is happening at school, either. Some of us try their best to learn something new, some find just attending satisfactory. I beg you not to let her know I gave that away, but Anne seems to miss having an academic rival. With you being gone, none of us can really fill the position. And you know, I'm sure, how much she enjoys being right about things.

Mr. Phillips still acts as though he was doing us a great favour by giving us a few hours of his time (which would be really admirable if he used those to actually teach us something).

It is my sincere wish that I could tell you more. However, I feel like you would be able to teach me a few more things about Avonlea than I can teach you, and in that case everything I might write seems a little pointless, don't you think? And everything else appears to me too personal, possessing only a subjective value to me, and to me alone. There is a part of me that wants to share them with you, too, but I wouldn't like to burden you with something you care about not.

Or perhaps you do.

That's what really makes me uneasy while I struggle to find the right words. I don't really know you that well, Gilbert Blythe.

I try to convince myself that there wasn't really a good chance for me to change that, but I suppose we both know it's not quite true. What's true is that I didn't take this opportunity. I regret that now, I really do. I could have made an attempt to talk to you more before you left Canada.

I tend to do that a lot, you see. I overthink things. I am too afraid to act, only to realise my own stupidity much later, when regret is all I have. And afterwards, you know, it all seems somehow easier than before. Everything is always easier in my head.

Except with you, maybe. With you it isn't any less hard, even if only imagination is involved. To be honest, I suspect it's because I don't know how to call our relationship, if 'relationship' is the right word to use. The best thing I can think of is a promise of a friendship and, with your permission, I would like to see it come true.

Forgive me if I seem too bold, living under the same roof with dearest Anne can change a person, and you are aware of her outspokenness.

Still, I would very much like to get to know you. And if it cannot be done in person, a letter once in a while would be more than enough. I am not in a position to expect anything from your side, but, I believe, asking wouldn't really do any harm.

Please, don't suspect me of sending you these words words with the intention of convincing you to come back to Avonlea. I am well acquainted with the feeling of being trapped in one particular place - truth to be told, I've begun to feel at home at Green Gables only recently. I couldn't ask you to act against the wishes of your heart. Therefore, I hope that when you return, if you ever decide on it, you won't do it for the gold, you won't do it for any of us here. And you certainly won't do it for me, because, honestly, why would you?

Even so, I could live without seeing you ever again with the knowledge that you are happy, wherever you are. But if you come back only to live miserable for the rest of your life... How could I ever forgive myself for even asking you such a thing?

You are a smart boy, so perhaps it is all rather obvious to you. But I still don't regret writing any of it. And I should post the letter before I have a chance to begin to.

WISHING YOU ALL THE BEST,
MARIANNE BELWARE

P.S. I've found joy in drawing again and I thought maybe it's not too late to send you this little piece of home I spoke of the day we've last seen each other.