who was racked with sympathy but could never learn to express it in other than age-worn formulas.
“It doesn’t seem FAIR,” said Anne rebelliously. “Babies are born and live where they are not wanted — where they will be neglected — where they will have no chance. I would have loved my baby so — and cared for it so tenderly — and tried to give her every chance for good. And yet I wasn’t allowed to keep her.”
“It was God’s will, Anne,” said Marilla, helpless before the riddle of the universe — the WHY of undeserved pain. “And little Joy is better off.”
“I can’t believe THAT,” cried Anne bitterly. Then, seeing that Marilla looked shocked, she added passionately, “Why should she be born at all — why should any one be born at all — if she’s better off dead? I DON’T believe it is better for a child to die at birth than to live its life out — and love and be loved — and enjoy and suffer — and do its work — and develop a character that would give it a personality in eternity. And how do you know it was God’s will? Perhaps it was just a thwarting of His purpose by the Power of Evil. We can’t be expected to be resigned to THAT.”
“Oh, Anne, don’t talk so,” said Marilla, genuinely alarmed lest Anne were drifting into deep and dangerous waters. “We can’t understand — but we must have faith — we MUST believe that all is for the best. I know you find it hard to think so, just now. But try to be brave — for Gilbert’s sake. He’s so worried about you. You aren’t getting strong as fast as you should.”
“Oh, I know I’ve been very selfish,” sighed Anne. “I love Gilbert more than ever — and I want to live for his sake. But it seems as if part of me was buried over there in that little harbor graveyard — and it hurts so much that I’m afraid of life.”
“It won’t hurt so much always, Anne.”
“The thought that it may stop hurting sometimes hurts me worse than all else, Marilla.”
“Yes, I know, I’ve felt that too, about other things. But we all love you, Anne. Captain Jim has been up every day to ask for you — and Mrs. Moore haunts the place — and Miss Bryant spends most of her time, I think, cooking up nice things for you. Susan doesn’t like it very well. She thinks she can cook as well as Miss Bryant.”
“Dear Susan! Oh, everybody has been so dear and good and lovely to me, Marilla. I’m not ungrateful — and perhaps — when this horrible ache grows a little less — I’ll find that I can go on living.”
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