She mustered an air of calm. “Oh, how nice for Gilbert Blythe. Is his father better, then?” She turned to Anne, and said for her benefit, “Mr. Blythe has been ill for two whole years, so Gilbert had to leave school and look after their small farm.”
At that moment, Charlie Sloane approached with his cap in his hands. “Hullo, Diana. Won’t you introduce me to your new friend?”
Several other requests for introductions followed, from girls as well as boys, while the picnic attendees watched the great jug of ice cream opened and waited to receive their portion of the treat in tin bowls and cups. Diana’s throat was nearly dry from talking to all her school and church friends, debuting Anne Shirley to Avonlea’s curious and gregarious society of small fry.
“Anne doesn’t seem to realize how popular she is,” Diana thought. “If it were Gertie who was new in Avonlea—or even Ruby Gillis—she would preen and strut from so much attention. But Anne isn’t puffed up at all. She just seems happy to make so many new friends. I’m awfully glad she’s my chum… and don’t I feel lucky to have met her first, before she could find another bosom friend!”
When at last they received their scoops of strawberry ice cream, Diana and Anne broke away from the crowd of welcomers, slipping away to the edge of the pond where they could sample the long-awaited bliss without any distractions. They hid themselves behind a screen of reeds; Anne stared down at her dish of ice cream with the air of one going to meet her fate.
“Now that the moment is here, I can hardly believe it’s real,” she whispered. “I have so many regrets. I utterly repudiate that slice of chocolate cake!”
“Taste it, silly,” Diana laughed.
Anne tasted a spoonful. She savored it for a long moment, then suddenly tears sprang to her eyes. She tossed her straw boater aside and leaned her ruddy head on Diana’s shoulder.
“Oh, Diana, today has been simply perfect. It was worth all the strife and uncertainty, to find myself here. Even those horrid Pye girls couldn’t spoil it. Life is good, after all… and best, I get to share it with my dearest friend.”
School Begins
The air was as crisp as the apples that scented it. The first blush of autumn revealed itself in the changing color of light filtering down through the treetops, where leaves touched with tinges of gold and flame-orange had just begun to overtake the hardy green of summer. Everything was warming to a most delicious, golden-yellow hue in preparation for autumn’s full display of splendor.
Anne had hardly paused in her chatter since she first met Diana at the log foot-bridge. The little red-headed slip hadn’t even noticed the turning of the first leaves or the slight chilling of the air. It was clear from Anne’s agitation—the fidgety way she clasped her primer and lunch basket to her chest, the flush on her cheeks that obscured even her most assertive freckles—that she was both thrilled and terrified in equal measure, too much so to gaze about her in wonder at the turning of the seasons.
“I was very bold with Gertie Pye at the Sunday school picnic,” Anne was saying as the girls passed Violet Vale. There were no violets there now, of course, this being early September, so it was just a little depression in the earth, a cup full of bright green and gold-faded grasses at the edge of Mr. Bell’s woods. But the red clusters of pigeonberries that peeped over the vale’s edges were almost as pretty as springtime violets. “But the truth is, I’m awful afraid of my spelling, Diana, and my reading, too.”
“You have nothing to worry about, you goose,” Diana said affectionately. “Why, we’ve been reading together all summer long… haven’t we finished seven whole books between us? And you’re just as good a reader as I ever seen.” She blushed and clapped a hand to her mouth. “I’ve ever seen, I meant to say. I must get out of the habit of talking like a country bumpkin. Mr. Phillips is even stricter about grammar than Mother is, but I can’t seem to break myself of it. I don’t know how you avoided it, Anne. Did they have teachers to school you in proper grammar at the asylum?”
“Indeed, no,” Anne said soberly. “We had no teachers at all. Of course, I was only at the asylum for four months. Maybe if I’d stayed longer, they might have put some schooling into me, to make me more appealing to grown-ups, you know. But I feel terribly lucky they didn’t, because if they’d given me any affectations then perhaps Mrs. Spencer wouldn’t have picked me out for Matthew and Marilla—they’re such dear, sweet, countryish old things. Of course, Matthew and Marilla wanted a boy, not a girl, and Mrs. Spencer was mistaken… but you know all about that.
“No, Diana, whatever modest knowledge I can claim, I have learned from books. The first lady I lived with taught me how to read, because it was the only way she could think to distract me so I wouldn’t pepper her with questions. That’s what she called it… ‘peppering.’ I do think that’s a funny way of saying it. I couldn’t help but imagine all the questions sticking to her skin, like little flecks of pepper on a roasted chicken, and then picturing it made me want to laugh, which would only make her more exasperated. I fear I am an especially exasperating girl, and even good grammar can’t make up for it.
“But I’m dreadfully worried about Mr. Phillips. What if he shouldn’t like me? Oh, and Diana, I’ve just thought…! What if we aren’t allowed to sit together? I won’t be able to bear it!”
“I guess you’ll bear it all right,” Diana said. “All the girls at the school are pretty nice. Well… all the girls who aren’t Pyes.” But Diana, too, felt a twinge of anxiety at the prospect of being separated from her bosom friend for the length of an entire school day. What if Anne should make other, better friends, and forget all about Diana?
“None of the girls can be as nice as you,” Anne said stoutly. “I’ll sit with them if I must, but I won’t…”
Anne trailed into a sudden, weighty silence, a kind that had become quite familiar to Diana through the pleasant weeks of summer. She didn’t need to look at Anne to know that her eyes were wide and starry with inspiration, that her mouth hung open in breathless awe. The lane they followed past Violet Vale had entered back under the canopy, but these were not the dark, stately firs of Mr. Bell’s woods. This stretch of forest was composed almost entirely of birches, young and slender and white, just like those that encircled Idlewild. But there were dozens of birches here… perhaps hundreds. Autumn had only just begun to touch the leaves with its cold, golden fingers; veils of morning light hung in airy layers all down the length of the path, rippling subtly in shades of green or gold, depending on the shade of the leaves overhead. Here and there, a shaft of unfiltered light burst through an open spot in the birch boughs, and in those dazzling columns, dust motes whirled and glinted like stars drawn down to the earth. The starflowers had long since lost their delicate, pearl-white blooms, but the leaves of the plants still edged the path, glossy and lush. Curls of fern, just beginning to dry as the fall came on, stood up alertly between the white birch trunks.
“Oh!” Anne gasped. “I’ve never been so far along this path before. What is this place called, Diana?”
“I don’t know that it has a real name. We just call it ‘Bell’s Road.’”
“A place so stirring must have a better name. Can’t you feel the magic here? We must call it…”
“Please, can I name it?” Diana asked suddenly. Anne had named all their various haunts, and while Diana liked every name Anne had picked, she felt as if she must contribute something to their mutual lore.
Anne nodded at her in encouragement, gray eyes shining, eager to hear what romantic title Diana would bestow on the place. Diana’s heart sped in a rather disconcerting way. She hadn’t thought this through. Anne had such a talent for romance; Diana would only let her down if her name fell short of the mark.
“We shall call it,” Diana said slowly, stalling for time while her mind worked furiously. But she could stall no longer, or Anne would think her silly. She was obliged to say the first and only name that came to her. “The Birch Path.”
Anne’s hesitation was
fleeting; then she smiled at Diana and wrapped one thin arm around her shoulders. But Diana had caught the flicker of disappointment. “I’m not as good at naming places as she is,” Diana thought, “but I’m glad she’s nice enough not to draw attention to it.”
The girls soon left the Birch Path behind. The lane joined the main Avonlea road, which was hot and dusty even in the morning. Fortunately, they had only a short walk along the road until the way forked. Their path led up a spruce-covered slope, blanketed in blue-green shadows, to a whitewashed school at the hill’s crest. Anne lapsed into silence again as the girls climbed the hill, but now there was no awe in her… only fear. Other children joined them as they walked—children who came from all directions, from every rustic corner and hidden dell of Avonlea. Their greetings and laughter and general merriness seemed to throw a little light to chase away the shadows of Anne’s worry.
They climbed the school’s porch steps just as the bell clanged briskly in the yard. A nearly-grown girl of fifteen or sixteen years was ringing it.
“But I thought we had a man for a teacher,” Anne said. She paused on the porch to watch as the slender girl with curly brown hair gave the bell’s rope a few more solid tugs.
“That’s not our teacher,” Diana said. She couldn’t keep a faint note of disgust out of her voice. “That’s Prissy Andrews.”
“Is she Jane’s sister?” Anne inquired. They had played often with Jane Andrews over the summer, for she was the girls’ own age. Jane lacked Anne’s wild imagination, and was very plain and steady… but she was always kind and sweet, too, and happy to take part in their adventures, no matter how intricately Anne knotted romance through and around their games.
“No, Prissy is a cousin to Jane,” Diana replied. “At the end of last school year, Mr. Phillips started making eyes at her, and some of the boys wrote up his name with hers right here on the porch, in a big ‘take notice.’ The boys got in terrible dutch for it.” Diana leaned close and whispered in Anne’s ear, “But all summer long, Mother has heard rumors that Mr. Phillips has started courting Prissy Andrews… or that he intends to start courting her in earnest, when this school year is through. I don’t know if it’s true or not, but Prissy is definitely Mr. Phillips’s pet. He positively worships her.”
“It is very intimidating, knowing that the teacher has a pet,” Anne said meditatively. “Do you think it’s likely to make Mr. Phillips less favorably inclined toward a new scholar?”
The last of the Avonlea School students clattered up the porch steps and crowded through the red-painted door, into the bastion of learning that waited beyond. Anne and Diana were left alone.
“I don’t know,” Diana said, seizing Anne’s hand and pulling her into the schoolroom. “But we’d better not be late to our desks!”
Upon entering the schoolhouse proper, Anne checked and stared around her in delighted wonder, so that Diana was forced to stop, too, or let go of her hand. The sight of the old-fashioned, hinge-topped desks, standing in orderly rows and separated by stately aisles, seemed to thrill Anne to her very core. And the simple wooden lectern with a clean, dark expanse of blackboard behind it struck Anne mute and still, as a pilgrim who stands before a shrine.
Mr. Phillips was bowed over his lectern, busy with his notes. He looked up, caught sight of Anne, and said, “Ah. And you must be Anne Shirley, our new student. Welcome to our school.”
His words were welcoming, but his expression and tone were guarded, even suspicious, as they so often were. Mr. Phillips was still a very young man—Diana guessed him to be twenty-one or twenty-two. He had neatly parted and slicked, coffee-brown hair and a remarkably natty mustache. In addition, he always wore starched collars and brightly colored neck-bows, tied in the stylish “floppy” way. But despite his smart looks, Diana had never been able to make herself like Mr. Phillips. She obeyed him, of course, and showed him the respect a teacher was due. But she decidedly did not like him. There was something about him, a faintly stuffy air, that simply refused to be liked.
Diana elbowed Anne, for the latter was staring at Mr. Phillips in pale, trembling silence.
“Yes, sir,” Anne finally managed. “I’m Anne Shirley; Anne is spelled with an E.”
“You will share a desk with Diana Barry,” Mr. Phillips said, gesturing with his pencil to one of the unoccupied, double-bench desks. It was perfectly situated next to a window, which was useful for daydreaming when lessons grew dull.
Diana and Anne squeezed each other’s hands in triumph and hurried to their desk.
“I’m so glad,” Anne whispered as the girls tucked their primers into the cavernous desk. “I would have gone wild with fear if I had to be parted from you, Diana.”
When the classroom was more or less settled, Mr. Phillips cleared his throat to marshal his scholars’ attention and stepped grandly in front of the lectern. His hands were clasped behind his back and his mustache quivered as he addressed the school in his most sonorous and authoritarian manner.
“Today we witness the opening of another school year. Now is the time for us all to reflect on our ambitions, to set and achieve worthy goals. The weeks and months ahead promise to bring—”
Diana stifled a sigh; Mr. Phillips never squandered a chance to make a grand speech. Anne’s eyes shone with inspiration as the teacher spoke about taking pride in one’s work, striving for improvement, and embracing the glories of new knowledge. But Diana allowed her mind to wander… and presently, she allowed her eyes to wander, too. Across the aisle, on the boys’ side of the classroom, the seat next to Moody Spurgeon MacPherson remained empty. Diana’s stomach sank a little, and some of the day’s glowing thrill snuffed itself out, replaced by the dull ashes of disappointment.
A sneering whisper hissed behind Diana. “You’re looking for Gilbert Blythe. You’re dead gone on him.”
It was Gertie Pye. Diana did not turn around to fix Gertie with a withering, offended stare; Mr. Phillips would only punish her for that. But she did snap to attention, focusing on the front of the classroom with her face burning and her heart racing painfully in her chest.
“Gertie doesn’t know a thing,” Diana told herself. “She’s only trying to get my goat.”
But Diana could feel the emptiness of the seat across the aisle all throughout the morning. As their lessons progressed, Mr. Phillips paced up and down the aisles like some dignitary in a stately procession, orating as he went. And Diana bit her lip and squeezed her chalk hard in her fingers, concentrating on her slate, resisting the urge to gaze wistfully at Gilbert’s vacant seat.
Anne was remarkably focused on their lessons, even though she struggled tremendously with arithmetic. Diana was glad to help her work out the sums, for numbers had never given Diana any trouble. But in the hour before lunch time, Mr. Phillips instructed the scholars to take their primers from their desks. It was time for the reading exercise… the moment Anne had dreaded.
As the girls laid their primers on their desks, Anne peered uneasily at Diana’s book. “You’re in the fifth reader,” Anne said, tragedy lacing her words. “I thought you would be in the fourth, with me.”
“It’s only because you’ve never been to school before,” Diana said practically. “You’re such a good reader; you shouldn’t fret over it. You’ll be moved ahead to Fifth in no time.”
Mr. Phillips assigned pages to each class of readers; there was a rustling of paper and a general shuffling of bodies as the scholars located their lessons. Then a tense silence descended on the schoolroom as silent reading began. The tension was largely concentrated around Diana’s and Anne’s shared desk, though, where a red-haired girl, miserable with anxiety, fumbled and fretted through her reading.
Mr. Phillips called students one by one to rise and read from their books, each presenting a single paragraph with their best, steadiest, clearest elocution. The eldest students went first, with Prissy Andrews foremost of them all. She did have a pretty, melodious voice, which was pleasant to hear… but she punctuated every
sentence with a coy little giggle, and Diana could barely stop herself from rolling her eyes crudely when Prissy had finished.
Diana acquitted herself well amongst the fifth-reader class. She always felt a bit light-headed and jittery whenever she read aloud, but she was determined to get through the first day of school without attracting any disapproving sniffs from Mr. Phillips, so she took her time and spoke each word with care.
“Good,” Mr. Phillips said shortly when she had finished her paragraph. “Though you must work on your presentation, Diana. Speak too slowly and you will put your audience to sleep with boredom.
“Now the fourth readers.”
Anne stiffened on the bench.
“Anne Shirley, will you please rise and read the first paragraph from ‘The Summer Garden’?”
Anne did not move. She stared fixedly at Mr. Phillips, her face pale and sickly, until Diana squeezed her hand. “Pretend we’re only reading to each other at Idlewild,” she whispered.
“Anne Shirley,” Mr. Phillips said sharply.
She climbed shakily to her feet. “In s… summertime the garden blooms with a var… variety of flowers,” Anne read. Her voice, like her poor little frame, shook and shivered as if buffeted by tempest winds. But she soldiered on bravely, stumbling only a few times and mispronouncing only one flower’s name.
“Hydrangea,” Mr. Phillips corrected her as she finished.
With flaming face, Anne sank miserably back down on her seat.
At lunch time, the fourth- and fifth-reader girls retrieved their bottles of milk from the stream behind the shoolhouse, then arrayed themselves in a circle on the grass. They opened their baskets and commenced the Avonlea School tradition of pooling their lunches, so that everyone might have a taste of each delicious goodie their mothers had made and packed.
Diana of Orchard Slope Page 6