Chapter 17
Mary woke to gentle sunlight filtering through the blinds of her stateroom and the soft sound of water lapping against the hull. For a moment, she wasn’t sure where she was, then memory returned with a rush of excitement. Prince Edward Island.
She went through her morning routine, maneuvering with a little more ease in the smaller space than yesterday.
Once dressed in comfortable clothes, she carefully packed her tote bag.
Her well-worn copy of Anne of Green Gables went in first. She added her journal, her phone, and her wallet, then wrapped her jacket around her shoulders.
Breakfast in the dining room was a cheerful affair, passengers buzzing with excitement about the day’s excursions.
Mary joined Diane and Colin at their table.
Just like last night, Diane was dressed in elegant comfort, her hair perfectly styled and her gold bangles around her wrist and rings on her fingers.
“Do you mind if I take this seat?” Another gentleman traveling alone was standing behind the fourth chair, and she smiled up at him.
“Please do,” she and Diane said at the same time.
“I’m George Watson,” he said as he slid into the chair. “I’m from Dartmouth, just across the harbor from Halifax. Retired from the shipyards, and now I travel when I can.”
As they introduced themselves, Mary watched as George smiled broadly at Diane. She guessed he was about the same age as Diane, and they discussed the various tour options over excellent coffee and fresh pastries.
“The main walking tour covers quite a bit of ground,” Colin said, reviewing the excursion details on his tablet. “Six miles total, with several hills. Not exactly wheelchair-friendly, I’m afraid.”
“Which is why we’ve arranged for a private accessible van,” Diane said, patting Mary’s hand. “I called ahead weeks ago. We’ll hit all the same sites at our own pace, with a driver who knows how to navigate the accessible entrances and routes.”
“Oh, how smart, but please let me pay for my share,” Mary insisted, though she was grateful. She’d been worried about how much of the tour she’d be able to participate in.
“I won’t hear of it! What’s the point of having money if you can’t use it to make travel easier?
” Diane smiled. “Besides, I prefer a more leisurely pace anyway. We can actually spend time at each location rather than rushing through on a schedule.” She turned her beautiful smile to George.
“Would you like to join us, or are you determined to get your walking steps in?”
“My dear, I would be delighted to join your excellent company!”
Colin’s lips tightened at his aunt’s overjoyed expression when George accepted the invitation. “I hope we won’t be crowded—”
“Nonsense!” Diane enthused. “We will all fit perfectly.”
Their van arrived at nine, a spacious vehicle with a lift and plenty of room for both wheelchairs. The driver, a friendly man named James who was probably in his fifties, greeted them warmly and helped them secure their chairs.
“Beautiful day for it,” James said as they pulled away from the dock. “Been doing these tours for fifteen years, and I never get tired of showing people Anne’s country. There’s something special about this island.”
The drive through Cavendish took them along winding roads lined with the distinctive red soil for which Prince Edward Island is famous.
Fields rolled gently toward the horizon, already showing the first hints of spring green, and Mary pressed her face close to the window, drinking it all in.
This was the landscape Lucy Maud Montgomery had described, the pastoral beauty that had captured imaginations for over a century.
Their first stop was Green Gables Heritage Place, the farm that had inspired the setting of Montgomery’s most famous novel. James pulled up to the accessible entrance and helped them disembark.
“Take your time,” he said. “I’ll be right here when you’re ready to move on.”
The Green Gables house sat at the end of a tree-lined lane, its distinctive green-and-white exterior exactly as Mary had imagined it.
Her breath caught slightly as they approached.
This was real. She was actually here, at the place that had sparked her childhood imagination and given her the fictional Anne Shirley…
that fierce, talkative, imaginative orphan who’d become like a friend.
The wheelchair ramp was at the back of the house, and the interior had been preserved and restored to reflect the period of the novels; more recently, the doors were widened to make them accessible.
Mary moved slowly through the rooms, taking in every detail.
She wasn’t able to access the second floor, but she loved the kitchen, where Marilla would have worked, and Matthew’s bedroom on the first floor.
The parlor was decorated with period furniture and quiet elegance.
“I always loved how Anne saw the beauty in everything,” Diane said quietly as they paused in the bedroom. “Even when her circumstances were difficult, she found ways to make life an adventure.”
Colin walked past. “That’s dear auntie. She loves to pretend fictional characters are real.” He continued on his way into another room, and Mary glared at his back, not liking the tone of his snotty comment.
Turning back to Diane, she said, “I remember reading that Lucy Maud Montgomery said that people weren’t right when they thought Anne was her.
But she used Anne of Green Gables to rewrite her life as she wished it had unfolded.
Her background wasn’t as happy as Anne’s became.
She created a more hopeful and loving version of a childhood while filling the character with her personality traits and love of nature. ”
“Oh, that’s both lovely and tragic,” Diane whispered.
Mary nodded, running her hand along the windowsill. She pulled her book from her bag and opened it to a passage she’d marked years ago, reading softly. “Isn’t it splendid to think of all the things there are to find out about? It just makes me feel glad to be alive—it’s such an interesting world.”
Diane nodded, smiling. “That’s always been my favorite thing about the way the author wrote her character. Her determination to find joy and beauty and possibility, even when things were hard. She didn’t let her circumstances define her happiness.”
Colin, who’d been examining a framed photograph on the wall, turned back to them.
“Though she did have quite the temper, didn’t she?
Always getting herself into scrapes because she couldn’t control her emotions.
She would have made more of her circumstances if she’d had been a little less adventurous. ”
Diane patted Colin’s hand with an indulgent smile, then said, “Don’t forget, Colin, that Anne had to fight against a culture that didn’t value a woman who stood up for herself.”
He sighed and smiled as she then accepted his assistance in moving into the next room.
Mary bit back a sigh. Colin meant well, but she was now noticing that he tended to offer opinions on everything, whether they were wanted or not.
She’d begun to notice it last night at dinner and again at breakfast. He was intelligent and well-traveled, but he seemed unable to simply let a moment be quiet and reflective.
They moved through the rest of the house, and she smiled as George managed to slip behind Diane and push her along. She also noticed that Colin’s eyes narrowed as George slid into his place. Colin fell into line with Mary, but she bristled when he placed his hands on her chair to move her along.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “but I prefer to maneuver my chair unless in a situation where I need assistance.”
“Oh… independent. I like that in a woman,” Colin said with a laugh and another wink.
Mary stifled her sigh and tried to focus on the experience rather than her mild irritation.
The grounds were beautiful, with gardens laid out much as they would have been in Montgomery’s time, and pathways that were blessedly accessible.
“The Haunted Wood is just down that path,” James told them when they returned to the van. “And Lover’s Lane. Both have accessible routes now, though they’re a bit rustic.”
The Haunted Wood was exactly as Mary had imagined from Anne’s descriptions—a grove of trees that would be appropriately spooky in the twilight, though in the bright morning sunshine, it was simply beautiful and slightly mysterious.
She could imagine Anne and Diana running through here, scaring themselves with stories of ghosts and murdered brides.
Lover’s Lane was her favorite, though. The path wound through tall trees, dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy, and everything was quiet except for birdsong and the whisper of wind through leaves.
Mary paused partway down the lane and opened her book again, finding another marked passage.
“It’s been my experience that you can nearly always enjoy things if you make up your mind firmly that you will.
” She pulled out her journal and flipped several pages back from her latest writing about the ship.
Her entries lately were often about Bert. And right now, she wished he was here to experience this place with her. Shaking her head to clear away the cobwebs, she jotted down notes and thoughts on what she was seeing for the first and hopefully not the last time.
“You’ve really loved these books, didn’t you?” Diane asked, rolling closer.
Mary was grateful it was Diane who’d spoken and not Colin. “Since I was eight years old,” Mary admitted. “My grandmother gave me the set. I’ve reread them constantly over the years.”
“What drew you to Anne?” Diane’s question was gentle, genuinely curious.