Anne of Avonlea

The moonlight over Avonlea is as white as it ever was, a silver wash over the pointed firs of the Haunted Wood and the birches in the hollow. For Anne Blythe, now the mother of five, a visit to Green Gables is a walk through a garden of ghosts - the ghosts of herself. The fields she roamed, the mirror in her old gable room, the very scent of the spring flowers Mrs. Lynde sets by her bed - they all whisper of the Anne-who-used-to-be. A week of such lovely hauntings is a balm, especially when it includes an afternoon stolen with Diana, a day of revisiting old spots and exchanging warm, friendly glances and countless “do-you-remembers” that echo with the laughter of their girlhood. They eat their supper in Hester Gray's forgotten garden, and as the first star appears over the cherry trees, they sit in a silence too sweet for words, their old, unforgotten love burning brightly in their hearts.

But as dear as Green Gables is, Ingleside is home. Anne's heart sings all the way back to Glen St. Mary, to the joyous house filled with laughter and silver mugs and babies. Ingleside, with its magnificent trees and mellow, welcoming rooms, is where she is no longer Anne of Green Gables, but Anne of Ingleside, wife to Gilbert and mother to a bustling brood. The children tumble around her upon her return - solemn Jem, dreamy Walter, and the inseparable twins, pretty, imaginative Nan and red-headed, sensible Di, not to mention two-year-old Shirley. Presiding over the happy chaos is the indispensable Susan Baker, a woman of firm opinions and boundless loyalty, who thinks the Ingleside children are perfection and defends them fiercely from all critics.

The household's harmony is soon disrupted by the arrival of Gilbert's cousin, Aunt Mary Maria Blythe, for a visit that stretches from weeks into months. A woman of mournful blue eyes and unshakable convictions, she casts a pall over Ingleside with her constant sighs, her headaches, her disapproval of laughter, and her grim pronouncements. She corrects the children's grammar, criticizes their manners, and fills their minds with gruesome ideas, leaving Anne and Susan to navigate a minefield of hurt feelings and simmering resentment. The happy meal-times become ordeals, and the children's boisterous games are muted by the presence of the woman Nan secretly calls “Mrs. Mefusaleh.”

Life at Ingleside unfolds in a series of small, vivid dramas, each child taking a turn in the spotlight. When seven-year-old Jem is forbidden from going with the village boys to watch a sailor get tattooed, he hides himself away to sleep on a window seat, plunging the entire household into a panic-stricken search that ends only when Susan discovers him, safe and sound. Later, sensitive Walter endures a miserable visit with the boisterous Parker children, who tease him mercilessly. Terrified by their careless talk that his mother is dying, he runs away in the dead of night, walking six long, dark miles home, only to arrive at a silent, darkened Ingleside at the very hour his new baby sister, Bertha Marilla - or “Rilla” - is born.

The twins, Nan and Di, live out their own intense adventures of the heart. Di falls under the spell of two charismatic but untrustworthy new friends - first the dramatic Jenny Penny, whose tales of a glamorous life fall apart upon inspection, and later the sorrowful Delilah Green, whose stories of cruel mistreatment are revealed to be a web of malicious lies. Nan, meanwhile, lives in a secret world of her own making. She strikes up a series of bargains with God, promising acts of virtue or penance in exchange for small miracles, a secret arrangement that culminates in a terrifying promise to walk through the graveyard after dark if God will only make her sick mother well again. When her courage fails her, she is haunted by guilt, a burden only lifted when she confesses her “cheating” to a recovering Anne.

As the years pass, the children's world of Rainbow Valley - a hollow below Ingleside filled with Tree Lovers, dryads, and imaginary dragons - is the backdrop for their games and dreams. Their luck with pets, however, is less than magical. Jem's heart is broken twice, first when his little dog Gyp dies of a mysterious illness, and again when Bruno, the dog he buys to replace him, pines so deeply for his former owner that Jem must give him up. But there is also Cock Robin, a fledgling they rescue and raise, who becomes a beloved member of the household, fearlessly perching on Susan's shoulder and waiting on Walter's windowsill for crumbs each morning.

Anne, too, faces her own quiet crisis. After fifteen years of marriage, a chilling fear begins to creep into her heart. Gilbert seems distant, absorbed in his work, and the easy, laughing companionship that has been the bedrock of their life feels like it is slipping away. He no longer calls her “Anne-girl,” and she feels herself becoming just a habit to him. Her anxieties crystallize when Christine Stuart, a beautiful and sophisticated old college friend of Gilbert's, comes to visit. At a dinner party, Anne feels dowdy and provincial, watching with a jealous ache as Gilbert and Christine reminisce about “the dear, dead days beyond recall.” She is certain he has grown tired of her.

The drive home is silent and miserable, but at Ingleside, the misunderstanding dissolves in a rush of relief and laughter. Gilbert, it turns out, has been sick with worry over a patient, a burden so heavy he could think of nothing else. With the news that the patient will live, he is his old self again, waltzing Anne around the moonlit room and presenting her with a diamond pendant for their forgotten anniversary. He confesses he found Christine a bore and barely listened to her chatter. “Thank goodness you haven't got fat, Anne-girl,” he says, and in that moment, all the shadows flee. Life, which had seemed so grey, is suddenly brilliant with color again. Looking out from her window at the moonlit garden and the far, dreaming hills, Anne knows that while the seasons of life will always change, the deep, secure love that anchors Ingleside will remain.