Chapter 1: Mrs. Rachel Lynde Receives a Visitor

To the uninitiated traveler, the little grey house sitting at the crossroads of Avonlea was a tidy well kept affair, a picturesque representative of all that a staid farmhouse should be. What that traveler did not know was that this was the home of Mrs. Rachel Lynde, the self-appointed overseer of all business related to her village and its inhabitants. She had settled her extensive personage in her favorite chair. It was her favorite primarily because it caught a good afternoon sunshine, and by looking out her kitchen window, over the garden of Lynde Hollow, she could see who came and went on the red road. Her view was of a splendid late summer afternoon. A warm wind rustled gently in the orchard trees, for no wind would dare whistle wildly in the prim order of Mrs. Rachel's tidy flower beds. The sound mixed with the hollow roar of the ocean in the distance and the hum of insects in the fields, creating a symphony that spoke of a fading summer resigned to the coming winter. The good lady industriously knit away on her cotton warp quilt, still, if one were to look closely, one could see Mrs. Rachel's mind was not entirely engrossed her stitch count nor was her sharp eye watching closely the traffic passing on the little country road. There was a slight smile on her lips and a gleam of humor in her eye. She was, in fact, recalling the afternoon's visit with Marilla Cuthbert.

The previous June, all of Avonlea, and Mrs. Rachel not the least, was shocked by the most scandalous story that had rocked the little farming community since Millie Jenks had become engaged to a Yankee. Marilla and Mathew Cuthbert had sent to an orphan asylum, but through some strange mistake, or stroke of providence, had been sent a girl instead of the boy they had requested. No ordinary girl either. No, in all her years, Mrs. Rachel Lynde had never seen the like of this thin slip of a girl with her strange speeches and bewitching eyes. Marilla had certainly taken on a handful with that one. The child was almost unearthly and had the most amazing knack for getting into scrapes. Well Rachel remembered her first introduction to Anne Shirley, the anger and indigence that flared up in that small face upon being called homely and red-headed, the literal truth it will be told. Still, no Avonlea child would have dared say such things to Mrs. Rachel Lynde. A small part of Rachel's conscience told her she should not have twitted the girl about her looks, but who would have expected such a temper. It came with the red hair she supposed.

If she had been shocked by their first meeting, their second meeting had won her over completely. The child was clearly sincere in her apology, but still there was something as she looked up out of those clear grey green eyes that Mrs. Rachel Lynde had never seen in a girl of eleven. She certainly wasn't like the Avonlea girls. Rachel had tried to get more of Anne's backstory from Marilla, but Marilla never was one to say much but the plain facts. Anne was born in Bolingbroke, Nova Scotia. Upon the death of both her parents of a fever, she had lived with two ladies before being sent to the orphan asylum in Hopeton. There Mrs. Spencer had taken charge of her and delivered her to the care of the Cuthberts. There must be more to the story, and Mrs. Rachel had never been fully satisfied with this version of events. What history could have formed such a child as could charm Mathew Cuthbert, well known for his shyness around all females save Marilla, and induce prim Marilla Cuthbert to keep her? No there was certainly more to the story. Today, Rachel had learned that Anne was to attend school in September. How would that child get on with the other children of Avonlea, odd thing that she was? To be sure, she had become fast friends with Diana Barry. Rachel chuckled to herself and shook her head. There was something winsome in Anne that would draw people to her, no doubt. Still, she was not the same as the other small fry born and bred on P.E.I. It was Rachel that had brought up Anne's schooling.

"Well Marilla, I suppose Anne is looking forward to the start of school," Rachel had begun. "She is getting on real well with the other little girls. I noticed so at the Sunday school picnic."

"Yes, she gets on quite well with the other girls," replied Marilla in her frank manner. "I am more concerned with her habit of slipping off into daydreams when she should be attending to her duties."

Rachel could not help but shake her head and think to herself, "Marilla you have really taken it on yourself. What does an old maid know of raising normal children, much less such a child as that?" Instead she said aloud, "She won't have much time to daydream. Mr. Phillips is a good enough teacher, and no nonsense about him. He doesn't spare the rod as some do, but he spends a bit too much time with the older scholars from what I understand. He is not the kind of teacher I would have chosen had I been on the school board." Here Mrs. Rachel huffed, and shook her head, as if in wonder that she had not been asked her opinion in his selection.

Marilla had soon after concluded her visit and made her way back home, but, though not burdened with much imagination herself, Mrs. Rachel suspected Anne's ideas and mannerisms would surely make for a more interesting school year than normal in Avonlea.

Abstracted as she was, Mrs. Rachel did not miss a person in the figure of Mrs. George Fletcher striding down the road, then turning in at the Lynde's gate. Meredith Fletcher was as round as Mrs. Rachel herself, but with something more soft and jolly that bespoke of a comfortable mind and a good sense of humor. Rachel invited her in at the light tap on her kitchen door.

"Good evening Meredith, do come sit down," said Mrs. Rachel, always happy to have a guest and hear the latest news. "How are all of your folks?"

"Oh, we are well, quite well you know, all of us," replied the smiling Mrs. Meredith. "My brother John is a bit run down, never been quite back up to his old self since his sickness some years back, but we are still all quite well you know." John Blythe, Mrs. Meredith's brother and next door neighbor, had become ill some four years back. He had moved his whole family to Alberta for three years as he recuperated his health. Just last fall the family had returned to the old Blythe homestead, which neighbors Mr. George Fletcher's farm on the west.

"Well we shall include John in the prayers at the Ladies Aid on Tuesday," Mrs. Rachel replied piously with a nod of her head. She did love to include people in the prayers. To her credit, she sincerely cared for the well being of her neighbors, but it must be admitted she enjoyed being the person who always knew when someone needed praying for.

"Thank you, Rachel. That is kind of you. I'm sure he will be fine. He has worked too hard without Gilbert here this summer to help him. Quite too hard, you know. Still, Gilbert is returning from visiting his cousins in a few weeks, it will all work out fine," smiled Mrs. Meredith.

Mrs. Rachel recalled John and Maria Blythe's son, Gilbert, as being a roguish boy but quite responsible. George Fletcher's hired boy had told Thomas Lynde's hired boy, who told Thomas, who told Rachel, that Gilbert did quite as much work on the farm as his father, perhaps more, often giving up the little pleasures young boys enjoyed to keep the burden of the work from his father. Rachel believed in youth doing their work, still a small part of her wondered if it was right for a boy so young to take on such responsibility. Well, that responsibility had not prevented Gilbert from developing quite the reputation as a prankster and a general favorite among the young female element of Avonlea, despite the fact that he was well known for teasing the girls. If not for the vivacious antics of one Anne Shirley, the summer would have been fairly dull without the mischief of Gilbert Blythe.

Mrs. Meredith turned the conversation to the reason of her visit, borrowing a pattern for an apple leaf quilt she intended to start, and soon Meredith went along her way. Mrs. Rachel got up to go about getting tea ready for Thomas, giving only one uneasy passing thought to this bit of local news. How would Anne Shirley's temper respond to the teasing of Gilbert Blythe?

Note: Thank you insubordinationfreak for catching a rather embarrassing spelling error, now corrected.