Anne of Green Gables
Did you know? Anne was almost sent back!
In Montgomery's book, Matthew and Marilla originally wanted to adopt a boy to help with farm work, but due to a communication mix-up, they received a red-haired girl, Anne. In the real Prince Edward Island of the late nineteenth century, many orphans were indeed placed with farming families, and children were often seen as labor. Anne's story is therefore not just romantic imagination—it also reflects the historical reality of child placement and family labor at that time.
On the north shore of Prince Edward Island, there was a country road lined with apple trees and white birches. At the end of the road lay the village of Avonlea. The people there rose with the sun and rested at dusk, knowing one another as well as an old family album. At the edge of the village stood a white wooden farmhouse—its roof shingled with green-painted wood, its window frames painted snow-white, and two tall white birches rustling in the wind before the door. Everyone called it Green Gables.
In Green Gables lived the Cuthbert siblings. Matthew Cuthbert was already sixty years old, silent and shy, awkward around women, yet with the gentlest eyes. His sister Marilla lived with him, thin and straight-backed, methodical in everything, never mincing words. The brother and sister had never married, giving their youth to the land and to each other.
One evening, Marilla dried the last plate, put it in the cupboard, and turned around, her apron still on.
“Matthew,” she said, in a tone that announced a decision already made, “we are getting old. The work on this farm gets heavier every year, and you cannot keep it up alone much longer. I have been thinking—we should go to the orphanage and adopt a boy, so he can help you with the farm work and bring some life into this house.”
Matthew sat in the chair by the window and slowly put down his newspaper. He was silent for a long while, so long that Marilla almost thought he had not heard.
“Well,” he said at last, “I think… you are right, Marilla.”
“Then it is settled,” Marilla said, hanging up her apron. “Tomorrow you take the train to Bright River station, and the orphanage will send the child there. A boy, about ten or eleven, old enough to do chores.”
Matthew nodded and looked out the window. Dusk was slowly creeping over the orchard, and the shadows of the apple trees stretched long and soft. He had a feeling he could not put into words, as if something were quietly coming toward him—though he could not say what.
The next afternoon, Matthew drove his horse and buggy to Bright River station. The platform was nearly empty, with only a dim yellow lamp, a few long benches, and a small figure sitting at the edge of a bench.
It was a girl.
She wore a gray cotton dress washed almost white, so thin she looked as if a gust of wind might scatter her, yet on her head was a shock of vivid red hair—not a soft auburn, but a fiery red that seemed almost about to blaze. Her face was covered with freckles, and her large eyes were startlingly bright, like two stars washed by rain. Beside her foot sat a worn, faded carpetbag, its clasp loose, holding all her belongings from the orphanage.
Matthew froze. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Where was the boy? he wanted to ask, but not a word came out.
The girl saw him first. She stood up at once, forgetting even her bag, and hurried to him. She lifted her face, her voice as clear as a bell:
“I suppose you are Mr. Cuthbert? I have been waiting for you. I told myself that even if you did not come, I would wait here until the moon rose—but you did come, and that is wonderful. I am Anne Shirley, Anne with an e—A-n-n-e, with an e at the end; it sounds so much more distinguished.”
She said it all in one breath, without panting, and went on: “I used to think a railway station was a place full of partings, but now I feel it can also be a place full of meetings. Don’t you think so? All the way here I kept wondering what Green Gables would be like—I guessed it must have many trees, and the trees must have many birds, and the birds must sing beautifully. I have even thought of a name for it, but that will not count until I see it.”
Matthew stared at her, dazed. He had never heard anyone talk like that, like a little stream suddenly breaking its dam, chattering on and on, yet so clear and bright that one could not bear to interrupt. The vague feeling in his heart suddenly took shape.
“Get in,” he managed at last, his voice a little hoarse. “We’ll… go home.”
The buggy rolled along the country road toward Green Gables. Anne sat beside Matthew, her hands folded properly in her lap, but her eyes were never still, darting here and there as if she wanted to gather the whole world into her heart.
Both sides of the road were covered with apple blossoms. The white petals lay thick upon thick, and when the wind blew they fell in flurries, carpeting the road as if someone had scattered snow along the whole way. Anne suddenly held her breath and leaned forward.
“Oh—” she cried softly, “please stop a moment, sir, just a moment.”
Matthew reined in the horse. Anne jumped down and stood in the middle of that flowery path, tilting her head back so the petals fell on her red hair and her shoulders. She turned around, her eyes shining: “Look, how is this a road? It is a white river, the petals are the waves, and the wind is the current. I shall call it ‘The White Queen’s Avenue’—no, that name is not good enough, but I cannot think of a better one now. Tell me, how can anyone live in such a beautiful place and still find the days hard to bear?”
Matthew did not answer; he only looked at her, and his mouth unconsciously relaxed into a smile.
The buggy moved on and rounded a bend, and suddenly the view opened before them—a long, narrow pond lay quietly, its surface glittering in the evening light as if someone had scattered broken gold into it. Anne cried out again.
“What is that?” she pointed at the pond, her voice trembling. “It shines as if it were breathing! I shall call it ‘The Lake of Shining Waters’—yes, that is the name, the Lake of Shining Waters. What do you think? I think the name suits it perfectly, not a bit too much.”
“That is the Barry’s pond,” Matthew said slowly. “We just call it… the pond.”
Anne’s eyes widened, as if she had heard something terribly unfortunate: “Just the pond? Oh, that is too bad. A place with such a beautiful look ought to have a name worthy of it, or it will feel hurt.”
She settled back in her seat, her red hair fluttering in the wind, and chattered on all the way. Matthew listened, and suddenly felt that this road he had traveled for decades seemed to be truly traveled for the first time today.
Marilla was already waiting on the porch of Green Gables. She heard the buggy and smoothed her apron, walked to the door, and squinted toward the carriage—then she froze entirely.
In the carriage sat a girl. Red hair, freckled face, thin as a reed.
“Matthew Cuthbert,” her voice dropped at once, “what is the meaning of this? I said a boy.”
Matthew tied the reins and rubbed his hands uneasily: “The orphanage… sent her. When I arrived, she was the only one on the platform.”
Marilla’s gaze fell on Anne. Anne had already jumped down from the buggy and stood up straight, clutching her carpetbag tightly to her chest, trying hard to smile, though the smile trembled badly.
“Mrs. Cuthbert,” she began, her voice much smaller than it had been in the carriage, “I know I am not the boy you wanted. But—but I can work very hard. I can wash dishes, sweep floors, look after children—I learn everything quickly. I am not picky about food, and I am not afraid of early rising. If you will let me stay, I will try my best to be a good child.”
Marilla did not answer at once. Her mind was in turmoil: the child was odd and quaint, and her red hair would set tongues wagging in the village; besides, how much farm work could a girl do? She thought of the orphanage, of the letter that had stated everything so clearly, and her brow furrowed deeper and deeper.
“Come inside,” she said at last, her tone brusque. “It is late, and we cannot have you standing outside. As for what comes next—we will talk about it tomorrow.”
Anne’s eyes dimmed at once, but she still held her back straight and followed her in. As she crossed the threshold, she quietly turned her head and looked back at the orchard in the dusk, as if to imprint the scene firmly in her memory, in case she might need to recall it later somewhere else.
That night, Marilla sat in the kitchen for a long time. The oil lamp flickered on the wall, and she thought of every word Anne had said after she came in—the child had hung her coat neatly, placed her shoes straight, and before going upstairs, she had turned around and said very seriously, "Thank you for letting me come in. Even if you send me away tomorrow, I'll remember that this door was opened for me tonight."
Marilla sighed. She had never liked uncertainty, but this time, the scales in her heart just wouldn't balance.
The next morning, she called Anne before her. Anne's face was pale, but she stood up straight.
"I wrote a letter to ask," Marilla said. "The orphanage said that if we don't keep you, you'll have to be sent somewhere else. I thought about it all night—" She paused. "You may stay for now. We'll see if you can follow the rules and help out. If not, we'll make other plans."
Anne was stunned for a moment, then her whole face lit up as if someone had lit a lamp inside her. She opened her mouth to say something, but suddenly choked up, tears rolling down in big drops. She hurriedly wiped them with her sleeve.
"Oh, you won't regret it," she said, choking back tears. "I will—I will do my very best."
Marilla led her upstairs and pushed open the small door under the east gable. In the slant-roofed attic room, there was a simple wooden bed and a window facing east, with the branches of a white cherry tree outside.
"This is your room," Marilla said.
Anne stood in the doorway, not moving at all. She walked in slowly, knelt by the window, buried her face in her hands, and her shoulders shook gently. Marilla thought she was crying and was about to speak, but then she heard Anne's low voice:
"Dear Heavenly Father, thank you for giving me a window, thank you for giving me a door I can close. I never had a room of my own before, and now I do. I will cherish it."
Marilla stood outside the door and suddenly felt a tightness in her throat. She gently closed the door and said nothing.
On Sunday, Marilla took Anne to church. Anne wore one of Marilla's old dresses that had been made smaller, and her hat was pulled down low. All the way there, she was so nervous that her palms sweated.
The church was full of people. As soon as Anne walked in, she felt countless eyes on her—on her hair that couldn't be hidden. Several children in the front row whispered to each other, and one boy even laughed out loud. Anne's face turned red at once. She lowered her head, pulled her hat down further, and clenched her fingers tightly together.
After the service, people stood in small groups on the grass outside the church. Anne stood alone under a tree, just looking for a quiet corner, when suddenly she heard a gentle voice:
"You must be the new girl at Green Gables, aren't you?"
She looked up. In front of her stood a girl about her own age, with neat brown curls and blue eyes that held no trace of mockery—only curiosity and kindness.
"I'm Diana Barry," the girl said, blushing slightly. "I live over by the Lake of Shining Waters. I heard—I heard your name is Anne, and you gave the pond its name. I think that name is just lovely."
Anne looked at her in surprise and suddenly felt her eyes grow warm. "Do you really think so?" she asked quietly. "Don't you think... my hair is funny?"
Diana shook her head seriously: "I think it's like autumn maple leaves."
Anne's heart gave a leap. She opened her mouth, and the words poured out like a spring: "Oh, Diana, do you know, when I was in the orphanage, I always dreamed of having a kindred spirit, a girl with eyes like stars and a voice like music—and now I've met you, and you're even better than I imagined. Can we—can we be friends?"
Diana smiled and held out her hand: "Of course we can."
Not far away, Mrs. Barry was talking to Marilla, but her eyes kept glancing over, and her brow was slightly furrowed.
That afternoon, Anne and Diana walked along the Lake of Shining Waters. The lake sparkled in the sunlight, and between the birches and ferns on the shore, a quiet little path wound into the woods.
"Does this path have a name?" Anne asked.
"No," Diana said. "We just call it the little path."
"That's too bad." Anne stopped and looked around solemnly. "From today on, it shall be called 'The Whispering Path'—no, even more beautiful. Listen, doesn't the wind through the birch leaves sound like someone whispering? Let's call it 'The Whispering Path.'"
Diana nodded with a smile: "The Whispering Path. I like it."
The two walked to a flat stone by the lake and sat down. Anne suddenly became serious, turned, and took Diana's hand.
"Diana," she said, her voice low and earnest, "I want you to swear. Swear that we will be bosom friends forever—no matter what happens, no matter what anyone says, we will never be parted. I've never had a real friend in my whole life, and if I lost you, I couldn't bear it."
Diana was moved by her earnestness and became serious too: "I swear."
"I swear too," Anne said, her eyes shining like the light on the lake. "From now on, the Lake of Shining Waters, the Whispering Path, and this stone are our witnesses."
The two girls looked at each other and smiled, and their laughter startled a few birds in the woods. Anne lifted her face and let the sunlight fall on her red hair, her heart brimming over—for the first time, she felt that this world was made for her, and that she finally had a place where she could belong.
On the way home, she hummed a song all the way, and even her steps were so light that she seemed about to fly.
School started. Anne sat at the window seat, trying to keep her back straight and her slate straight. She told herself: follow the rules, study hard, and never let Marilla down.
But sitting diagonally behind her was Gilbert Blythe. He was the smartest boy in the village, good at his lessons, bold, and with a confidence in his laugh that no one could suppress. Before class, he suddenly leaned over and whispered in a drawling voice:
"Hey, Carrots! Carrots!"
Anne's back went rigid. She didn't turn around, but her fingers clenched tightly around her slate pencil.
"Carrots," Gilbert laughed again, "did your hair get burned that color from sitting in the sun too long?"
A few snickers sounded around them. Anne's face burned red, and her ears rang. She thought of the mockery in the orphanage, the stares in church, and how hard she had tried to hold her head up—she jumped to her feet, grabbed the slate from her desk, and with all her strength brought it down on Gilbert's head.
CRACK! The slate hit him right on the forehead. The classroom went dead silent.
Gilbert clutched his forehead and stared at her, first in shock, then a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.
"Anne Shirley!" the teacher's voice rang out sternly. "What do you think you're doing? Stay after school!"
Anne stood straight, her chin slightly raised, but her voice trembled: "I'll take my punishment. But I'm not sorry—he shouldn't have called me that."
As she sat down, her hands were still shaking. Outside the window the sun was shining, but inside she felt cold and hard, as if a thin layer of ice had formed. She stole a glance at Gilbert and saw the red mark on his forehead, and a strange pang of regret swept over her, but she immediately pushed it down.
She lowered her head and stared at the empty desk, saying not a word.
It was a Saturday afternoon, and the sun made the kitchen at Green Gables warm and cozy. Marilla was going out to a meeting of the Ladies' Aid Society. Before she left, she gave just one instruction: "Anne, there's a bottle of raspberry cordial in the pantry. You may offer some to Diana. Don't make a mess in the kitchen." Anne nodded solemnly, her eyes shining like two stars.
When Diana Barry arrived, she was wearing her best white dress, her hair neatly combed back. The two girls sat at the little kitchen table, and Anne was so excited she could hardly sit still. "Diana, let's pretend this is a formal afternoon tea," she said. "I am the hostess, and you are my honored guest from afar. I shall serve you in the prettiest glasses."
She opened the pantry and saw two glass bottles side by side, both deep red, almost identical in the light. Without a second thought, Anne grabbed one, pulled the cork, and poured the deep red liquid into two glasses. "Please help yourself, dear guest," she said with a playful curtsy.
Diana took a sip and frowned slightly. "This cordial tastes a little odd, Anne."
"Does it?" Anne took a big gulp. "I think it's delicious. It must be Marilla's own recipe—very rich." The girls drank glass after glass, laughter echoing through the kitchen.
Before long, Diana's cheeks turned as red as ripe apples, and her speech began to slur. "Anne, I... I feel dizzy. The room seems to be spinning..." She clutched the edge of the table, swaying. Anne realized something was wrong and hurried to steady her, but Diana's eyes were glazed, and she giggled foolishly before sinking softly into a chair.
Just then, the door opened and Mrs. Barry walked in. When she saw her daughter, her face darkened. She strode over, sniffed the glass, and looked at the bottle. Her voice was cold as ice: "This is currant wine! Anne Shirley, how dare you give my daughter such a thing!"
Anne's face went pale, and her lips trembled. "I thought it was cordial... I truly thought it was cordial..."
Mrs. Barry helped the dazed Diana up and shot Anne a furious glare. "From now on, you are not to associate with Diana. I will not have my daughter friends with a girl who is so careless." The door slammed behind her, leaving Anne alone in the empty kitchen, still clutching the unfortunate bottle.
For days after that, Anne was like a flower nipped by frost, listless in everything she did. Marilla scolded her, but at night she quietly tucked the blankets around her. "Child, when you make a mistake, you must own up to it, but don't bury yourself in it," Marilla said, her tone unusually gentle.
Anne dried her tears and secretly made a resolution. Since she had lost Diana's friendship, she could at least prove herself elsewhere. Early Monday morning, she walked into the schoolroom, arranged her books neatly, lifted her head, and looked straight at the blackboard.
On the other side of the room, Gilbert Blythe was joking with some boys. Ever since the slate incident, he had paid Anne a kind of puzzled attention. He glanced over occasionally, but Anne immediately turned her face away, the thin ice around her heart not yet melted.
"Anne," the teacher called during class, "solve this arithmetic problem." Anne stood up, her voice clear and steady, and wrote the answer on the board step by step. The teacher nodded approvingly: "Very good, completely correct."
Gilbert raised an eyebrow, looking somewhat surprised. After class, he deliberately walked past Anne's desk and murmured, "Not bad, carrots." Anne did not turn her head; she only gripped her pencil tighter.
From that day on, a silent rivalry sprang up between the two children. Every quiz, every recitation, every problem solved on the blackboard—Anne gave it her all, refusing to let Gilbert's name appear above hers. She channeled all her hurt and loneliness into hard work, reading late by lamplight until even Marilla urged her to rest.
"I will beat him," Anne told herself. "I will show everyone that Anne Shirley is not just a clumsy girl who makes mistakes." Her marks climbed day by day, and Gilbert felt the pressure and began to apply himself. The two children were like a pair of matched ponies, neither willing to fall half a step behind.
One autumn evening, Anne was arranging wildflowers in the "White Queen's Cottage" at the edge of Violet Vale when she saw Diana's little sister, Minnie May's nurse, running frantically across the field. "Minnie May is very sick, and Mrs. Barry has gone to town for the doctor and hasn't returned!" the nurse cried.
Anne's heart clenched. Forgetting Mrs. Barry's ban, she ran as fast as she could to the Barry house. She pushed open the door and found little Minnie May in bed, her face flushed, her breathing rapid and weak. Only the helpless nurse was there.
"Quick, boil some water and bring clean cloths," Anne's voice was surprisingly calm. She remembered how Marilla cared for the sick: first sponge the child with cool water to bring down the fever, then coax her to drink warm water. Minnie May opened her eyes hazily, and Anne soothed her: "Don't be afraid, Minnie May, I'll stay with you."
During the night, the child's condition suddenly worsened, her throat so swollen she could barely breathe. Anne recalled hearing that warm compresses on the throat could ease the symptoms. She did not dare delay, changing the cloths over and over, watching through the whole night without closing her eyes.
As dawn approached, Mrs. Barry finally returned with the doctor. After examining the child, the doctor let out a long breath: "Thank goodness she was treated in time; a little later and it would have been dangerous. Who was caring for this child?"
Mrs. Barry looked at Anne, who stood by the bed, pale but resolute, and for a moment could not speak. She walked over to Anne, her voice trembling: "Anne... I was wrong to blame you. You saved my daughter." She paused, then finally lowered her head. "From now on, you may see Diana. I will not keep you apart any longer."
Anne's eyes filled with tears, but she smiled and shook her head. "I'm just glad Minnie May is all right." At that moment, she felt the thin ice around her heart finally melted by something warm.
The school was putting on a play, and Anne was chosen for an important role. She was so excited she couldn't sleep for nights, going over her lines and movements again and again. "I'll show everyone how well Anne Shirley can play this part," she told Marilla, her eyes sparkling.
But on the day of rehearsal, she frowned at herself in the mirror. The character had long raven-black hair, while hers was red. "Red hair is too conspicuous; it doesn't look like the character at all," she muttered. Just then, a peddler came by Green Gables, selling all sorts of trinkets. Anne spotted a bottle of black hair dye in his basket, and a thought popped into her head.
"If I dye it black, it will be perfect." She secretly bought the dye and, when Marilla was out, applied it to her hair following the peddler's instructions. She waited expectantly, imagining a head of glossy black hair in the mirror.
However, when she washed out the dye and looked up at the mirror, she froze. The person in the mirror did not have black hair—it was a strange, glaring green, like algae in a spring pond.
"No—!" Anne screamed, tears streaming down her face. She washed desperately, scrubbing with soap again and again, but the green would not budge; it clung to her head.
The next day, she had to go to school with green hair. As she walked into the classroom, a wave of snickers washed over her. Gilbert was stunned at first, then couldn't help laughing, but when he saw Anne's flushed face, his laughter slowly faded.
Anne stood before everyone, fists clenched, tears welling in her eyes. She took a deep breath, then suddenly lifted her head, her voice trembling but clear: "Yes, my hair turned green. It's funny. I was silly to try to change the way I was born. But I won't hide—this is me."
The laughter in the classroom gradually stopped. Anne walked back to her seat, tears still on her face, but for the first time she felt that accepting herself was more solid than anything.
Mrs. Barry kept her word. A few days later, Diana came to Green Gables herself, standing at the door with a shy smile. "Anne, can we still be friends?"
Anne almost flew to hug her, tears and laughter mixing together. "Of course we can, Diana! These past weeks have been like living in a nightmare!" The two girls held each other tightly, and Marilla watched from the kitchen, her lips curving into a quiet smile.
That afternoon, they went to Violet Vale together. The valley was full of purple flowers, and when the wind blew, their fragrance drifted all around. The two girls sat on the grass and told each other everything that had happened, laughing and crying, their eyes reddening for the hurts they had each suffered.
"Anne," Diana said seriously, "my mother says you are the bravest girl she has ever met. She has never praised anyone like that before."
Anne lowered her head, feeling warm inside. "I just didn't want to lose you, Diana. You are my first real friend in Avonlea—the kind of kindred spirit I used to read about in books, the one I chose for myself."
They stayed in the valley until sunset, weaving flower crowns and pretending to be fairies living in the forest. Anne placed a crown on Diana's head and announced solemnly, "From now on, you are the queen of Violet Vale, and I am your lady-in-waiting." Diana laughed until she could hardly breathe.
On the way home, Anne suddenly felt that this town, which had once seemed so strange and lonely, was slowly accepting her. Neighbors began to greet her, and the children no longer called her "that red-haired orphan girl." She was no longer the child standing outside the door, longing to be let in.
"Marilla," Anne said softly at supper, "I think I really belong here now." Marilla said nothing, but she added an extra spoonful of food to Anne's bowl, and her eyes were gentler than usual.
Several years passed, and Anne had grown into a tall, graceful young woman. She remained at the top of her class at school, and her rivalry with Gilbert Blythe never stopped. They pushed each other to do better, neither willing to admit defeat, yet in that competition grew a grudging respect.
That year, the entrance exam results for Queen's Academy were announced. One evening, Matthew came back from town, clutching a letter, his face showing an excitement he could hardly hide. "Marilla, Anne, come quick!" His voice was trembling.
Anne took the letter, her fingers shaking slightly. She opened the envelope and read line by line, then suddenly looked up, her eyes shining. "I passed! And… and I came first!"
Marilla put down her work and, with a rare smile, came over and gently patted Anne's shoulder. "Good girl. You've worked hard all these years." Her voice was calm, but her eyes were moist.
Matthew was grinning from ear to ear, saying over and over, "I knew it, I knew our Anne could do it." He tried clumsily to say something more, but in the end just nodded firmly.
Anne held the letter, and a complex emotion welled up in her heart. She thought of the frightened little girl on the platform years ago, of the days of being laughed at and misunderstood, and of how she had walked step by step to this moment. She had done it. She really had.
But amid the joy, a practical problem loomed. The tuition and living expenses at Queen's Academy were no small sum, and Green Gables' income was limited, and Matthew was getting older. "Marilla," Anne hesitated, "about the tuition…"
Marilla was silent for a moment, then said firmly, "You just go to school. Uncle Matthew and I will find a way. This is your chance, and it must not be lost because of money." Matthew nodded vigorously, his eyes full of determination. Anne looked at them, her heart both aching and warm, and silently vowed never to let them down.
Life at Queen's Academy was even busier than Anne had imagined. The courses were deep, the competition fierce, and excellent students from everywhere filled the classrooms. But Anne took to it like a fish to water. She devoured book after book, spoke up eagerly in class, and soon stood out among her peers.
She and Gilbert Blythe became classmates again. Over the years, the two former rivals had matured. Gilbert no longer called her "Carrots," and occasionally, when they met in the library, he would even offer her a rare reference book. "You take it first," he said. "You always read faster than I do anyway." Anne was taken aback, then took the book and thanked him softly. The thin ice of many years seemed to be quietly cracking.
At the end of the term, Anne won a scholarship for her outstanding grades. When the news came, her first thought was to write to Marilla and Matthew. She sat by the dormitory window and poured her joy onto the page, imagining the proud looks on the two old people's faces as they read it.
However, just as she was happily preparing for the next term, a letter from Green Gables made her heart sink. It was from Marilla, her handwriting more hurried than usual, the lines filled with unconcealed worry—Matthew had suffered a heart attack. The doctor said the situation was not optimistic; he needed long-term rest and could no longer do farm work.
Anne clutched the letter, her hands growing cold. Outside the window the sun was shining, but she felt a cold hardness in her heart, as if a thin layer of ice had formed. She thought of Matthew's quiet, gentle face, of the way he had silently supported her again and again, and her eyes filled with tears.
"Matthew…" she whispered his name, and tears fell onto the letter, blurring the ink. The scholarship, her studies, her future—all the things she had once valued so much—suddenly seemed less important. She stood up and looked out the window toward Avonlea, a decision already forming in her heart.
The funeral was held on a gloomy afternoon. The sky hung low, gray clouds piled upon gray clouds, and it seemed all of Avonlea mourned for Matthew Cuthbert. In the parlor at Green Gables, neighbors spoke in hushed voices, and the air was thick with the scent of lilies and damp earth. Anne, dressed in black, stood in a corner, her hands clasped tightly, her nails digging into her palms. Her eyes were red and swollen, but no more tears would come—she had cried them all out over the past three days.
"He passed peacefully," Marilla told each visitor, her voice flat as if reciting. But Anne noticed that Marilla's hands trembled slightly beneath her apron, and whenever someone mentioned Matthew's name, her mouth twitched uncontrollably.
Anne looked at the empty rocking chair, with Matthew's old gray coat still draped over the back. She remembered countless evenings when Matthew sat there, silently smoking his pipe, occasionally winking at her to show he had heard her long speeches. Now the chair no longer rocked, and the pipe lay cold on the mantelpiece.
"Anne," Marilla's voice came from behind, with a rare hesitation, "the minister asks if you would like to say a few words."
Anne shook her head, her throat too tight for words. She walked to the rocking chair and gently touched the cuff of the coat, worn almost transparent. She remembered the first time Matthew came to the station to meet her, wearing this very coat, saying clumsily and gently, "I think you can stay."
In that moment, Anne finally understood: Green Gables was home not because of the house, but because Matthew was there. Now that he was gone, the house suddenly felt empty and strange. She knelt before the rocking chair, buried her face in the coat, breathed in the faint scent of tobacco and sunshine, and finally wept aloud.
After the funeral, Green Hill Wall fell into a heavy silence. Marilla began rubbing her eyes frequently. At first, Anne thought it was from grief, until one day Marilla was reading the newspaper with her face pressed so close it almost touched the paper. Then Anne realized how serious the problem was.
"Marilla, is your eyesight getting worse?" Anne asked cautiously.
Marilla put down the newspaper and sighed. "The doctor said last week—cataracts. He said surgery is possible, but the success rate isn't high, and the cost is frightening." She paused, and her tone returned to its usual practicality. "More importantly, I can't run the household the way I used to. Anne, Green Hill Wall is too big. The two of us can't keep it up."
Anne's heart sank. "You mean... sell Green Hill Wall?"
"I've thought about it," Marilla's voice dropped, filled with a weariness Anne had never heard before. "Sell it to a family willing to take care of the farm, and we can move to a smaller house in town. It would be better for everyone."
Anne looked out the window. The apple orchard Matthew had tended so carefully was in full bloom, white petals drifting like snow in the breeze. She remembered the sight of Matthew bending over his work in the orchard, and the smile on his face when he handed her the first apple. Green Hill Wall was not just a house—it was everything Matthew had left them.
That night, Anne sat by her bedroom window. Moonlight spilled over the letter of admission to Redmond University on her desk. The scholarship—the honor she had dreamed of, the ticket to the halls of literature. She closed her eyes and imagined leaving: Marilla sitting alone in the empty kitchen, her vision blurred, with no one to keep her company.
"No," Anne opened her eyes and said softly but firmly, "I can't go."
She picked up her pen and wrote her reply: She thanked the school for its generosity, but due to family circumstances, she must decline the scholarship. When she finished the last word, her hand did not tremble. She thought of what Matthew always said: "Family is what matters most." Now it was her turn to protect this family.
The next afternoon, Anne intercepted Gilbert Blythe on the path to Bright Lake. He was riding his bicycle, a basket full of books, and when he saw Anne he braked so hard he almost fell off.
"Anne? Are... are you all right?" Gilbert took off his hat, his voice full of genuine concern. Since Matthew's death, he had been looking for a chance to comfort her but hadn't known how to begin.
Anne took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye. "Gilbert, I came to apologize. All these years, I've held a grudge against you over that slate incident and said many unkind things. I... I'm very sorry."
Gilbert was stunned, then broke into a warm smile. "Anne, I forgot about that long ago. Actually, I should be the one apologizing—I shouldn't have teased you like that. You know, I've always admired you—your grades, your imagination, and your courage."
Anne felt the tight knot in her chest finally melt. She smiled, but tears slipped down despite herself. "Thank you. And... I heard you won the scholarship to Albert College. Congratulations."
Gilbert's expression turned serious. "Anne, I heard you gave up the Redmond scholarship. Is it because of Marilla?"
Anne nodded. "Green Hill Wall needs me."
Gilbert was silent for a moment, then made a decision that surprised Anne. "Then let me give you the local teaching position. My father has already contacted them for me—Albert can be deferred for a year. You need this job more than I do, and you'll be a better teacher than I ever could."
Anne's eyes widened. "Gilbert, you can't—"
"I can," he interrupted, his tone firm. "Consider it my late apology. Anne, we're friends, aren't we?"
Anne looked at him, a warmth rising in her heart. She nodded and smiled at him sincerely for the first time. "Yes, we are friends."
Anne began to sort through Matthew's belongings. Marilla said she couldn't bear to touch them, so Anne went alone into Matthew's simple room. Sunlight slanted through the window, and tiny dust motes floated in the air like golden spirits.
She opened the wardrobe, where a few old shirts and that gray coat hung neatly. She folded them one by one and placed them in a wooden chest. In the drawer was an old pocket watch, its face worn smooth, the hands stopped at a moment in the past; and a wooden pipe, with the last of the tobacco ash still in the bowl. Anne placed them gently on the table, her fingertips brushing the watch face as if she could feel Matthew's warmth.
In the bottom of the bedside chest, she found a worn Bible, with a yellowed slip of paper tucked between the pages. She unfolded it carefully. On it was Matthew's crooked handwriting: "For Anne—may you always be Green Hill Wall's daughter." Beside the note was a dried apple blossom, picked from the orchard that spring.
Anne pressed the note to her heart, tears falling silently. She remembered the focused, gentle look in Matthew's eyes whenever she told him a story, the way he secretly bought her new dresses but was too shy to give them to her directly, the way he never scolded her when she made a mistake but simply stood quietly behind her.
"Matthew," she whispered, "I'll take care of Marilla, and I'll take care of Green Hill Wall. I promise."
She gathered the belongings into a small wooden box and placed it in her desk drawer. From now on, these things would be her anchor, reminding her of what truly matters. As she went downstairs, Marilla was sitting at the kitchen table, holding a cup of cold tea. Anne walked over and took her hand. "Marilla, we're not selling Green Hill Wall. I'll find a way."
Marilla looked up at her, a glimmer of light in her clouded eyes. "Anne..."
"Together," Anne said, "just as Matthew would have wanted."
On a weekend afternoon, Anne and Diana sat side by side on the grass by Bright Lake. The lake sparkled with golden light in the sun, and the birch trees in the distance swayed gently in the wind, rustling softly. It was their favorite place, where they had shared secrets and dreams countless times.
"So you've really decided to stay?" Diana asked softly, her fingers absently weaving a grass braid.
Anne nodded, gazing at the lake. "Redmond is wonderful, but Green Hill Wall is better. Marilla needs me, and I... I need home."
Diana turned to look at her, her eyes full of admiration. "Anne, you've changed. The old you would have chased her dreams without hesitation, but now you're willing to give them up for someone else."
"It's not giving up," Anne corrected her, her tone calm and firm. "It's choosing. I chose something more important. You know, Diana, I used to think home was a place, but now I understand—home is where the people who love you are. Matthew is gone, but his love is still in every wall and every tree at Green Hill Wall."
She picked up a flat stone and threw it hard across the lake. It skipped five times before sinking, sending out ripples in circles. "You see? Just like that. Each ripple will fade, but they existed, they touched the water. That's how Matthew is—his quiet love sent ripples through my heart that will never disappear."
Diana took her hand. "Anne, no matter where you are, I'll always be your friend. And now we can see each other every day—isn't that wonderful?"
Anne smiled, her first truly happy smile since Matthew's death. "Yes, wonderful. Diana, thank you for always being here."
They sat quietly until the sunset dyed the lake orange. Anne took a deep breath; the air was full of the scent of pine needles and wildflowers. This land, this friend, this love—she was grateful for it all.
In September, Anne officially became the teacher at Avonlea school. There were twenty-three students in the classroom, ranging from six to fourteen years old, with varying levels of ability. On the first day of class, Anne wore a new dress that Marilla had sewn for her, and stood at the podium, her heart pounding with nervousness.
"Everyone," she began, her voice steadier than she expected, "I am Anne Shirley, your new teacher. I know some of you might find school boring, but I promise you, we will do many interesting things together."
She did not teach by the book. She had the children spell out letters with leaves, taught history by telling stories, and even took them outside to observe insects. She discovered that when she told tales of imaginary adventures, even the most mischievous boys would quiet down, their eyes shining.
After school, Anne stayed in the classroom to grade assignments, and took out her own notebook. She began to write—setting down the story of Green Gables, the story of Matthew, her own story. She wrote slowly, weighing every word, because she wanted these stories to be worthy of those memories.
"Perhaps one day," she said to herself, "these stories will be printed in a book, so others can read them too."
She sent off her first short story to a children's magazine. While waiting for a reply, she continued teaching, caring for Marilla, and writing. Every evening, she would record the day's events in her diary—sometimes amusing things her students did, sometimes tiny signs of Marilla's eyesight improving, sometimes just the changes in the apple tree outside the window.
A month later, a reply came. The editor said her story was "full of genuine emotion and vivid imagination," and decided to publish it, enclosing a small payment. Anne ran into the kitchen with the letter, breathless, and said to Marilla, "They're going to publish my story! And they're paying me!"
Marilla put down her sewing, and the corners of her mouth lifted slightly—the closest thing to a smile she had shown in a long time. "Well done, Anne."
Anne put the payment into a glass jar labeled "Green Gables Fund." She knew the road was long, but she was not afraid. She had a home, friends, imagination, and the courage Matthew had left her.
One year later, in spring, the apple trees of Green Gables were once again covered in white blossoms. Anne stood at the window of her room, gazing at the Lake of Shining Waters in the distance. Sunlight danced on the water like countless diamonds. She remembered the first time she saw the lake and had named it "the Lake of Shining Waters"—then just an orphan newly arrived at Green Gables, longing to be loved.
Now she was no longer an orphan. She had Marilla, Diana, friends like Gilbert, and the whole community of Avonlea who had welcomed her. She looked down at the small wooden box on her desk, containing Matthew's tie, his pipe, and that note. She gently opened the box and touched the pressed apple blossom.
"Matthew," she whispered, "I did it. Green Gables is still here, Marilla is well, and I am happy."
Marilla's voice came from downstairs: "Anne, Diana is here!"
Anne closed the box and hurried down. Diana stood at the door, holding a letter. "Anne, it's from the publisher! They say they want to publish your collection of stories!"
Anne took the letter, her hands trembling slightly. She read it once, then again, then looked up, her eyes full of tears and smiles. "Diana, we did it."
She walked to the porch and looked out at the familiar scenery: the apple orchard, the birch grove, the Lake of Shining Waters in the distance. The wind blew through her red hair, carrying the scent of flowers and earth. She took a deep breath, her heart full of gratitude.
"Home," she said softly, "is not a place, but where the people who love you are."
She remembered what Matthew had said to her at the train station long ago: "I think you can stay." Now she finally understood—she had stayed, not just at Green Gables, but in love.
Anne Shirley, the daughter of Green Gables, stood at the window, looking at the Lake of Shining Waters, smiling. The story continues, but in this moment, she was happy.
