Redhead Anne

Author: Lucy Maud Montgomery
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2002-05-01
Features: Anne looked at Marilla through a spray of apple blossoms, her eyes showing great interest. "What does Diana look like? Her hair isn’t red, is it? Oh, I hope not. I have red hair myself, which is bad enough, and I absolutely can’t stand my best friend having it too." "Diana is very pretty, with dark eyes and dark hair, and a rosy face. She is smart and good, which is much more important than being pretty." "Oh, she is very pretty, and I’m so glad. It’s the best thing in the world for someone to be pretty—well, not for me, it’s not—but the next best thing is to have a pretty best friend. When I lived with Mrs. Thomas, there was a bookcase with glass doors in her sitting room. It was empty of books, and Mrs. Thomas put her best china and jams inside—if she had any left over. One of the glass doors was broken, and Mr. Thomas broke it one night after having a few too many drinks. The other door was fine, and I used to imagine my shadow on it as another little girl living inside. I called her Katie, and we were very close. I often talked with her for an hour, especially on Sundays, telling her everything. Katie was a comfort in my life. We often imagined the bookcase was magic, and if I knew the spell, I could open the door and step into Katie’s room instead of the cupboard where Mrs. Thomas kept her jams and china. Then Katie would take my hand and lead me to a fairyland where flowers bloomed, the sun shone brightly, and fairies swarmed. We would live there happily forever. Later, I had to go to Mrs. Hammond’s, and I had to say goodbye to Katie, and my heart broke. She was very sad too, I know, because when she kissed me through the glass door, she cried. Mrs. Hammond’s house didn’t have a bookcase. But not far from her house, up the little river, there was a narrow green valley with the most wonderful echo in the world, which would repeat every word you said, even if your voice wasn’t loud. So I imagined it was a little girl named Viola, and we were very good friends—you know, I loved her almost as much as I loved Katie—in a way, not quite the same, but almost. On the first night at the orphanage, I said goodbye to Viola, and oh, she said goodbye to me, her voice so sad. I kept thinking of her, so even though the orphanage had room for imagination, I didn’t have the heart to imagine another best friend." "I think it’s fine not to have imagination space," Marilla said dryly. "I don’t approve of what you’re doing—you seem to believe in the things you imagine. Having a real friend to help drive those crazy thoughts out of your head would be good for you. But don’t let Mrs. Barry hear you talking about Katie or Viola, or she’ll think you’re making it up." "Well, I won’t. I won’t tell anyone about them—the memories are too precious to share with just anyone. But I think I’d like to tell you about them. Oh, look, a big bee has jumped out of an apple blossom.