Anne Of Avonlea - Chapter 30 | Final Chapter!

"Anne of Avonlea" was written by L. M. Montgomery and published in 1909, following the enormous success of Anne of Green Gables the prior year.

In this second book, Anne Shirley is sixteen years old and working in Avonlea as the local schoolteacher, determined to be sensible, responsible and worthy of the life she’s been given...

The final chapter gathers endings and beginnings into one luminous day...

Miss Lavendar’s wedding marks the close of an old chapter of Avonlea life, even as Anne stands on the brink of her own future.

Amid flowers, echoes, laughter and tidying-up afterwards, the story lingers on how joy and sadness so often weave together...

The chapter closes with a sense of waiting, of promise and possibility...as for Anne, girlhood slips gently into womanhood and life prepares its next unfolding...

Find the full playlist for Anne of Avonlea here: https://insig.ht/4ZfBC3zXWZb

Transcript

Hello there,

Thank you so much for joining me for this continued reading of Anne of Avonlea,

The delightful old tale from 1909 from Canadian author Lucy Maud Montgomery.

Believe it or not,

We've actually reached the final chapter of this book.

We've been hearing about the redheaded orphan Anne Shirley as a teenager back in her community.

If you've been listening along,

I hope you've enjoyed this story as much as I have.

I think it's been fascinating hearing about Anne as she gets older and remarkable too to know that there are six more books that followed on after this one,

Bringing Anne all the way through to old age and exploring the paths of her descendants.

Perhaps you've already heard the preceding parts of this story.

If you haven't and you'd like to,

You can certainly look for the playlist for Anne of Avonlea and all the parts are there in order.

But for now,

Let's just take a moment here to have a nice deep exhale,

Letting go of the day,

Letting go of whichever baggage we might be bringing with us into this moment.

For right now,

There's nowhere else we have to be,

Nothing else we have to be doing,

So we can just relax,

Get ourselves comfortable and enjoy the final installment of Anne of Avonlea.

Chapter 30.

A Wedding at the Stone House.

The last week in August came.

Miss Lavender was to be married in it.

Two weeks later,

Anne and Gilbert would leave for Redmond College.

In a week's time,

Mrs Rachel Lind would move to Green Gables and set up her lairs and pennates in the erstwhile spare room,

Which was already prepared for her coming.

She had sold all her superfluous household replenishings by auction and was at present reveling in the congenial occupation of helping the Allens pack up.

Mr Allen was to preach his farewell sermon the next Sunday.

The old order was changing rapidly to give place to the new,

As Anne felt with a little sadness threading all her excitement and happiness.

Changes ain't totally pleasant,

But they're excellent things,

Said Mr Harrison philosophically.

Two years is about long enough for things to stay exactly the same.

If they stayed put any longer,

They might grow mossy.

Mr Harrison was smoking on his veranda.

His wife had self-sacrificingly told that he might smoke in the house if he took care to sit by an open window.

Mr Harrison rewarded this concession by going outdoors altogether to smoke in fine weather,

And so mutual goodwill reigned.

Anne had come over to ask Mrs Harrison for some of her yellow dahlias.

She and Diana were going through to Echo Lodge that evening to help Miss Lavender and Charlotte IV with their final preparations for the morrow's bridal.

Miss Lavender herself never had dahlias.

She did not like them,

And they would not have suited the fine retirement of her old-fashioned garden,

But flowers of any kind were rather scarce in Avonlea and the neighbouring districts that summer,

Thanks to Uncle Abe's storm.

And Anne and Diana thought that a certain old cream-coloured stone jug,

Usually kept sacred to doughnuts,

Brimmed over with yellow dahlias would be just the thing to set in a dim angle of the stone house stairs against the dark background of red wallpaper.

I suppose you'll be starting off for college in a fortnight's time,

Continued Mr Harrison.

Well,

We're going to miss you an awful lot,

Emily and me.

To be sure,

Mrs Lindle be over there in your place.

There ain't nobody but a substitute can be found for them.

The irony of Mr Harrison's tone is quite untransferable to paper.

In spite of his wife's intimacy with Mrs Lind,

The best that could be said of the relationship between her and Mr Harrison,

Even under the new regime,

Was that they preserved an armed neutrality.

Yes,

I'm going,

Said Anne.

I'm very glad with my head and very sorry with my heart.

I suppose you'll be scooping up all the honours that are lying round loose at Redmond.

I may try for one or two of them,

Confessed Anne,

But I don't care so much for things like that as I did two years ago.

What I want to get out of my college course is some knowledge of the best way of living life and doing the most and best with it.

I want to learn to understand and help other people and myself.

Mr Harrison nodded.

That's the idea,

Exactly.

That's what college ought to be for.

Instead of turning out a lot of BAs,

So chock full of book learning and vanity that there ain't room for anything else.

You're all right.

College won't be able to do you much harm,

I reckon.

Diana and Anne drove over to Echo Lodge after tea,

Taking with them all the flowery spoil that several predatory expeditions in their own and their neighbours' gardens had yielded.

They found the stone house a gog with excitement.

Charlotte IV was flying around with such vim and briskness that her blue bows seemed to possess the power of being everywhere at once.

Like the helmet of Nevers,

Charlotte's blue bows waved ever in the thickest of the fray.

Praise be to goodness you've come,

She said devoutly.

But there's heaps of things to do,

And the frosting on that cake won't harden,

And there's all the silver to be rubbed up yet,

And the horsehair trunk to be packed,

And the roosters for the chicken salad are running out there,

Beyond the hen house yet,

Crowing,

Miss Shirley-Ma'am,

And Miss Lavender ain't to be trusted to do a thing.

I was thankful when Mr Irvine came a few minutes ago and took her off for a walk in the woods.

Courting's all right in its place,

Miss Shirley-Ma'am,

But if you try to mix it up with cooking and scouring,

Everything's spoiled.

That's my opinion,

Miss Shirley-Ma'am.

Anne and Diana worked so heartily that by ten o'clock even Charlotta IV was satisfied.

She braided her hair in innumerable plaits and took her weary little bones off to bed.

But I'm sure I shan't sleep a blessed wink,

Miss Shirley-Ma'am,

For fear that something will go wrong at the last minute,

The cream won't whip,

Or Mr Irvine will have a stroke and not be able to come.

He isn't in the habit of having strokes,

Is he?

Asked Diana,

The dimpled corners of her mouth twitching.

To Diana,

Charlotta IV was,

If not exactly a thing of beauty,

Certainly a joy forever.

They're not things that go by habit,

Said Charlotta IV with dignity.

They just happen.

And there you are.

Anybody can have a stroke.

You don't have to learn how.

Mr Irvine looks a lot like an uncle of mine that had one once,

Just as he was sitting down to dinner one day.

But maybe everything will go all right.

In this world,

You've just got to hope for the best and prepare for the worst and take whatever God sends.

The only thing I'm worried about is that it won't be fine tomorrow,

Said Diana.

Uncle Abe predicted rain for the middle of the week and ever since the big storm.

I can't help believing there's a good deal in what Uncle Abe says.

Anne,

Who knew better than Diana just how much Uncle Abe had to do with the storm,

Was not much disturbed by this.

She slept the sleep of the just and weary and was roused at an unearthly hour by Charlotta IV.

Oh,

Miss Shirley-Mum,

It's awful to call you so early,

Came wailing through the keyhole,

But there's so much to do yet.

And oh,

Miss Shirley-Mum,

I'm scared it's going to rain and I wish you'd get up and tell me you think it ain't.

Anne flew to the window,

Hoping against hope that Charlotta IV was saying this merely by way of rousing her effectually.

But alas,

The morning did look unpropitious.

Below the window,

Miss Lavender's garden,

Which should have been a glory of pale,

Virgin sunshine,

Lay dim and windless.

And the sky over the firs was dark with moody clouds.

Isn't it too mean,

Said Diana.

We must hope for the best,

Said Anne determinedly.

If it only doesn't actually rain,

A cool,

Pearly,

Grey day like this would really be nicer than hot sunshine.

But it will rain,

Mourned Charlotta,

Creeping into the room,

A figure of fun,

With her many braids wound about her head,

The ends tied up with white threads sticking out in all directions.

It'll hold off till the last minute and then poor cats and dogs and all the folks will get sopping and track mud all over the house and they won't be able to get married under the honeysuckle and it's awful unlucky for no sun to shine on a bride.

Say what you will,

Miss Shirley,

Mum.

I knew things were going too well to last.

Charlotta IV seemed certainly to have borrowed a leaf out of Miss Eliza Andrews' book.

It did not rain,

Though it kept on looking as if it meant to.

By noon,

The rooms were decorated,

The table beautifully laid and upstairs was waiting a bride,

Adorned for her husband.

You do look sweet,

Said Anne rapturously.

Lovely,

Echoed Diana.

Everything's ready,

Miss Shirley,

Mum,

And nothing dreadful has happened yet,

Was Charlotta's cheerful statement as she betook herself to her little back room to dress.

Out came all the braids,

The resultant rampant crinkliness was plaited into two tails and tied,

Not with two bows alone,

But with four of brand new ribbon,

Brightly blue.

The two upper bows rather gave the impression of overgrown wings sprouting from Charlotta's neck,

Somewhat after the fashion of Raphael's cherubs.

But Charlotta IV thought them very beautiful,

And after she had rustled into a white dress,

So stiffly starched that it could stand alone,

She surveyed herself in her glass with great satisfaction.

A satisfaction which lasted until she went out in the hall and caught a glimpse through the spare room door of a tall girl in some softly clinging gown,

Pinning white star-like flowers on the smooth ripples of her ruddy hair.

Oh,

I'll never be able to look like Miss Shirley,

Thought poor Charlotta despairingly.

You just have to be born,

So I guess.

Don't seems if any amount of practice could give you that air.

By one o'clock the guests had come,

Including Mr and Mrs Allen,

For Mr Allen was to perform the next vacation.

There was no formality about the marriage.

Miss Lavender came down the stairs to meet her bridegroom at the foot,

And as he took her hand,

She lifted her big brown eyes to his,

With a look that made Charlotta IV,

Who intercepted it,

Feel queerer than ever.

They went out to the Honeysuckle Harbour,

Where Mr Allen was awaiting them.

The guests grouped themselves as they pleased.

Anne and Diana stood by the old stone bench,

With Charlotta IV between them,

Desperately clutching their hands in her cold,

Tremulous little paws.

Mr Allen opened his blue book,

And the ceremony proceeded.

Just as Miss Lavender and Stephen Irving were pronounced man and wife,

A very beautiful and symbolic thing happened.

The sun suddenly burst through the grey and poured a flood of radiance on the happy bride.

Instantly the garden was alive,

With dancing shadows and flickering lights.

What a lovely omen,

Thought Anne,

As she ran to kiss the bride.

Then the three girls left the rest of the guests laughing around the bridal pair,

While they flew into the house to see that all was in readiness for the feast.

Thanks be to goodness it's over,

Miss Shirley ma'am,

Breathed Charlotta IV,

And their marriage safe and sound,

No matter what happens now.

The bags of rice are in the pantry,

Ma'am,

And the old shoes are behind the door,

And the cream for whipping is on the cellar steps.

At half past two,

Mr and Mrs Irving left,

And everybody went to Bright River to see them off on the afternoon train.

As Miss Lavender,

I beg her pardon,

Mrs Irving,

Stepped from the door of her old home,

Gilbert and the girls threw the rice,

And Charlotta IV hurled an old shoe with such excellent aim that she struck Mr Allen squarely on the head.

But it was reserved for Paul to give the prettiest send-off.

He popped out of the porch,

Ringing furiously a huge old brass dinner bell,

Which had adorned the dining room mantle.

Paul's only motive was to make a joyful noise,

But as the clangor died away,

From point and curve and hill across the river came the chime of fairy wedding bells,

Ringing clearly,

Sweetly,

Faintly and more faint,

As if Miss Lavender's beloved echoes were bidding her greeting and farewell.

And so,

Amid this benediction of sweet sounds,

Miss Lavender drove away from the old life of dreams and make-believes to a fuller life of realities in the busy world beyond.

Two hours later,

Anne and Charlotta IV came down the lane again.

Gilbert had gone to Westgrafton on an errand,

And Diana had to keep an engagement at home.

Anne and Charlotta had come back to put things in order and lock up the little stone house.

The garden was a pool of late golden sunshine,

With butterflies hovering and bees booming,

But the little house had already that indefinable air of desolation,

Which always follows a festivity.

Oh dear me,

Don't it look lonesome,

Sniffed Charlotta IV,

Who had been crying all the way home from the station.

A wedding ain't much cheerfuller than a funeral after all when it's all over,

Miss Shirley-Mum.

A busy evening followed.

The decorations had to be removed,

The dishes washed,

The uneaten delicacies packed into a basket for the delectation of Charlotta IV's young brothers at home.

Anne would not rest until everything was in apple pie order.

After Charlotta had gone home with her plunder,

Anne went over the still rooms,

Feeling like one who trod alone some banquet hall deserted,

And closed the blinds.

Then she locked the door and sat down under the silver poplar to wait for Gilbert,

Feeling very tired but still unweariedly thinking long,

Long thoughts.

What are you thinking of,

Anne?

Asked Gilbert,

Coming down the walk.

He had left his horse and buggy out at the road.

Of Miss Lavender and Mr Irving,

Answered Anne dreamily.

Isn't it beautiful to think how everything has turned out,

How they've come together again,

After all the years of separation and misunderstanding?

Yes,

It's beautiful,

Said Gilbert,

Looking steadily down into Anne's uplifted face.

But wouldn't it have been more beautiful still,

Anne,

If there had been no separation or misunderstanding?

If they had come hand in hand all the way through life,

With no memories behind them but those which belonged to each other?

For a moment,

Anne's heart fluttered queerly.

For the first time,

Her eyes faltered under Gilbert's gaze,

And a rosy flush stained the paleness of her face.

It was as if a veil that had hung before her inner consciousness had been lifted,

Giving to her view a revelation of unsuspected feelings and realities.

Perhaps,

After all,

Romance did not come into one's life with pomp and blare,

Like a gay knight riding down.

Perhaps it crept to one's side,

Like an old friend,

Through quiet ways.

Perhaps it revealed itself in seeming prose,

Until some sudden shaft of illumination flung athwart its pages,

Betrayed the rhythm and the music.

Perhaps,

Perhaps,

Love unfolded naturally,

Out of a beautiful friendship,

As a golden-hearted rose slipping from its green sheath.

Then the veil dropped again.

But the Anne who walked up the dark lane was not quite the same Anne who had driven gaily down it the evening before.

The page of girlhood had been turned,

As by an unseen finger,

And the page of womanhood was before her,

With all its charm and mystery,

Its pain and gladness.

Gilbert wisely said nothing more.

But in his silence,

He read the history of the next four years in the light of Anne's remembered lush.

Four years of earnest,

Happy work,

And then the garden of a useful knowledge gained,

And a sweet heart won.

Behind them,

In the garden,

The little stone house brooded among the shadows.

It was lonely,

But not forsaken.

It had not yet done with dreams and laughter and the joy of life that there were to be future summers for the little stone house.

Meanwhile,

It could wait,

And over the river,

In purple durants,

The echoes bided their time.

The End

Reviews

Wonderful ending. Good luck to Anne, I will miss her! Hope you do the next series! Did you read the Blue Castle a while ago? If so, that was my very favorite story!!! I might even listen again if I could figure out how to use the timer so it shuts off after a certain length of time. I’m going to contact Insight Timer for detailed instructions. Thanks again for reading such interesting books!📕

Thank you! I love the series about Anne.

Thank you so much for reading this wonderful book for us!