Made and Meant for Each Other (an Anne of Green Gables fanfiction)

Mrs. Allan

This chapter deals with issues of infant loss.

Mrs. Allan patted the earth firm around the newly planted rosebush next to the front porch, and sat back on her heels to survey the results. Yes, these bright pink blossoms would be a spot of cheer all summer long, she decided. Leaning back further, she looked at the house itself. It was coming to feel like home, at last. It had taken some time to let go of the life she had left behind in Avonlea—and in particular the small grave where so many of her hopes had been buried. But at last, thanks to the two pairs of little feet that kept their new home lively and to the welcoming arms of the new community, she was beginning to put down roots. Literally, she thought with a smile, giving a last pat to the dirt under the rosebush.

Thinking of putting down roots made her think of Anne Shirley, who had been so fond of the concept of soul-roots. Mrs. Allan couldn't help but chuckle at the memory of the earnest little girl, speaking in words far too big for her mouth, espousing concepts she only barely understood—but given her history, understood much better than any young girl should have to. Anne had found her real roots a year ago, returning to the little house where she had been born and finding that a packet of letters between her parents had been miraculously kept all this time, and Mrs. Allan had noticed a change in her letters since then, a new deepening of thought, as if Anne had felt the touch of something very real in the words her parents had written.

And now a further deepening had come, as Anne finally let go of the childish fancies that had represented love to her all these years and opened her heart to the real thing, to the real man who had been at her side all along. It had been clear to Mrs. Allan even when they were young children that there was something extraordinarily steadfast in Gilbert's nature, that his heart would be given only once. And despite her dislike of encouraging the often silly playing at love children tended to do, it was easy to see that Gilbert had eyes for only one girl amongst the bevy who had made up Avonlea's young people. That his enduring fidelity had finally broken through the mists of Anne's dreams and brought her into an understanding of her own heart was no surprise to Mrs. Allan now. The Anne who had written to her over the years had been developing and maturing, and she was ready now for the joys and sorrows life would bring her.

Quick tears came to Mrs. Allan's eyes, as they did so often when she was alone and lost in thought, as she remembered her own bridehood, the first joyous days of marriage—the birth of her son, the crowning glory, the missing piece that made her life come together ... and then the long illness, the days watching as the chubby cheeks became thinner, the rosy skin became paler, the life ebbed away from the body of her firstborn. She prayed Anne would never know pain like that; if she could have, she would have prevented anyone from ever knowing pain like that again.

She took a deep breath, turning her face up to the sun. Being outdoors helped. He had loved to play outside, and it made her feel closer to him to be out here working in her garden. Back at home—in Avonlea, she reminded herself, which was no longer home—parishioners had promised her they would keep flowers on his grave, make it clear that he wasn't forgotten. And how could he be, when she kept him in her heart every day?

Taking another look at the rosebush, she thought of new life: the roses that would bloom for years to come; the seed that had taken root within herself that would bring another bundle of joy into the world before the summer bloomed again next year; of Anne and Gilbert, set to walk a path of their own making together. "Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning," she said softly to herself.