Our Own Island

Chapter 4

Anne found lately that while she used to want to constantly fill silence by talking, voicing the racing thought that so often filled her mind, now she didn't mind silence.

With so many days between them, it wasn't as if Anne ran out of things to say to Gilbert, but more as if she learned to appreciate the fact that she could enjoy the silence and save those things to say for later.

That silence usually fell when both were working, and now was no exception. Gilbert was studying, and Anne, unable to bear the unromantical thought of homework on a holiday, was knitting.

Her mind still raced, so much so that her hands still, pausing her knitting with the needles held in place. Not only was she still pretending she didn't know about Cole's surprise upcoming visit, as well as trying to completely forget about the note she'd taken off the take notice board. There was also a fight she'd gotten into with Marilla that morning.

The fact that it was a holiday from school, as Ms. Stacy had been called away on business, meant that Anne was looking forward to the day off and doing something else nice for Gilbert and Sebastian. She had gotten dressed early and headed downstairs to pack up enough ingredients to make a pie or something.

"Anne," Marilla walked in. "I was thinking perhaps today we might sew together. You're likely in need of a new slip or two, and I know you prefer to add your own frills."

"I can't help you today, I'm sorry, Marilla." Anne was rooting through the ingredients, trying to find the cinnamon. "I have to get to Gilbert's."

"Anne," Marilla sighed. "Don't you think you've been spending a bit too much time there?"

"No." Anne said firmly, trying to squash down rising anger. "Not at all. Gilbert needs my help."

"What about you, Anne? What about your own health? You'll run yourself ragged."

"I feel fine, Marilla." Anne said.

She'd even managed to rise early to do her chores, helping to feed the chickens and gather eggs, even doing a bit of pitching the hay. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a strand of hay poke from off her shoulder and into the loose locks of her hair. Marilla looked at it too.

"Well, you look shaggier than a dog in may. For heaven's sake, braid that hair up off your shoulders."

"No." Anne could not explain why she didn't want to. She was born knowing how to braid her hair, could do it with her eyes closed, and though she'd always done it herself and enjoyed its practicality, as braids didn't snag much when climbing trees, something about the sight of herself in them now made her sick.

"Then let me give it a trim—"

"No!"

The very thought of a blade going anywhere near her hair, the point scraping now her braid, sent the worst type of shivers down her spine. Her hands shook, the bag of ingredients slumping in her arms, causing the apples to spill out. The sound was hauntingly familiar.

"No, no, no –!"

"Anne! Anne!" Marilla grasped Anne by the shoulders. "Calm down!"

"I—" Anne took shaky breaths, eyes widening in the realization that the horrible things she was remembering weren't happening now. She quickly tried to wipe her tears and gather the now bruised apples from the floor.

"Anne, I think it's best you stay home today." Marilla said firmly.

The rage and injustice of it all coursed through her, but she dare not reply. She was going to leave today, and she knew exactly how. She shook slightly in nerves, but tried to stay calm as she quickly cleaned up the mess.