Challenge: Lost and Found
Title: Only a Summer
Author: godsdaisiechain
Fandom: Anne of Green Gables
Pairing/characters: Matthew Cuthbert/OMC
Rating: R
Prompt: Matthew Cuthbert. There was never a girl but once there had been a boy.
Summary: Story in flashbacks.  Young Matthew Cuthbert meets a bewitching young creature.  Why Matthew decides to keep Anne Shirley.

Warning: Original character death.


Marilla Cuthbert was annoyed with her silent, mild brother. “Matthew Cuthbert, I believe that child has bewitched you.”  Matthew did not know what to say.  He remembered the first time he had been bewitched, utterly and completely bewitched. At the time, he had been little more than a child himself.

Somehow he got through the rest of the evening, terrified that Marilla understood his secret, but he need not have worried overly much.  No one remembered it any longer.  No one had ever paid him very much attention.  At the time he had been grateful, but now that he was an old man, the thought that no one else remembered saddened him profoundly.  Late that night, he sat on his bed and looked at his spotted fingers, thinking of that long-ago day.

Forty-four years earlier
When Matthew was fourteen, he and his sisters and brother caught a fever. Martin and Margaret and Molly died. Marilla recovered. Matthew lived. He had always been a quiet boy, but something different had entered his silence, a kind of unhappiness.  Two years passed and his parents had grown almost used to the nagging worry about their only living son.

Almost.

“You’ve done a man’s work today, son,” said Mark Cuthbert on an unseasonably hot day in the late spring.  Matthew was not fooled by the falsely cheerful tone.  It was only mid-morning. He knew something was wrong with him, but there seemed nothing to do about it. Mark kept the forced lightness in his voice as he continued. “Why don’t you take your lunch and go swimming or fishing? I’m sure you can go find one of the lads.” Matthew knew better than to argue with his father, but he had no desire to seek out another lad. He missed his brother, but no one else could take Martin’s place. The boys about town were pleasant enough, but none of them tempted Matthew to overcome his habitual shyness.

The tall, ungainly young man had nearly reached the swimming hole when a snapping sound made him look up. A pale, slender boy, about his age, in a fancy suit of clothes with tails and shiny boots, stood up from a fallen log. His golden curls, some clinging to his red, sweaty face, surrounded his head like a halo, and his blue eyes shone with a sort of recognition, as if Matthew was an old and very dear friend.  “Oh, thank goodness,” he said, holding out a hand like a grown man. “I am C. Peter Johnson of Johnson and Son in Toronto.”

Matthew took the slender paw. “Matthew Cuthbert,” he said.  A sort of current raced through his young body at the touch of that soft hand.

“Cuthbert?” breathed the young man, keeping hold of Matthew. “That’s my name. It’s a great secret. Not even Jarndyce is supposed to know it, so you mustn’t tell. Do you live here in this magical place?”

Matthew looked at the woods he had known all his life and suddenly everything throbbed with magic. “It was much less magical before,” he said.

The stranger laughed and squeezed Matthew’s hand with both of his own.

“My father calls me ‘Scamp,’” said Cuthbert Peter Johnson, smiling deep into Matthew’s eyes. “The story is behind it is terribly amusing. I don’t let anyone else, but you may. We’re going to be terribly good friends.”

Matthew felt his work-roughened fingers twine between Scamp’s carefully manicured digits. “Are you lost?”

“Oh, no,” laughed Scamp. “Now I am found. By you. Matthew Cuthbert.”  He squeezed Matthew’s hand again. “We’re going to be terribly good friends.”

Matthew smiled warmly. “Would you like to come swimming?”

Scamp’s face clouded. “Is it far? I’m not used to so much exercise, and I’ve walked such a long way already.”

“No, not at all,” said Matthew. The boy still hesitated. “You can lean on my arm if you like.”

The slender boy grinned and wrapped his arm around Matthew’s. “Good.  This is nice.”  Matthew nodded, and the boy leaned against him. It was the nicest thing he had ever felt.

As they walked, Scamp chattered and Matthew listened. Peter and his valet had been going to find a man who knew his father.  Something happened to the wagon and then the horses ran off. “Well, not ran, exactly,” said Scamp, “But they were very determined to keep going.  They dragged the wagon off down the road, slowly but steadily, and Jarndyce told me to wait for him. But he was gone for so long and the woods were so bewitching. I had to see, just a little.” He stumbled and Matthew steadied him. “Thank you. And then, I got terribly lost.  I was really getting frightened, which is not at all good for my heart, you know.  And then you were there. Ah, a place of Shining Waters,” said Scamp when they reached the little swimming hole. Matthew felt shy undressing before this—he borrowed a word—bewitching creature.

The bewitching creature’s belly rumbled. “Are you hungry?” Matthew asked. “I brought a lunch. There should be plenty.”

The boy looked surprised, and rubbed at his narrow belly. “I am!” he cried. “It isn’t weakness at all.” The lad shook himself. “I’m simply tired and hungry from walking so far.” He looked at Matthew as if they had made a marvelous discovery. “Yes,” he breathed, mopping his brow with a clean handkerchief. “Thank you.”

Matthew shed his shoes and socks. “You must be warm in that heavy suit.”  The boy looked at himself and then at Matthew, who was clad in a shirt and knee-length breeches.

“Yes,” he said, shedding his tie and jacket and waistcoat. He folded each piece neatly, chattering about his tailor and how Jarndyce would not let him wear the latest fashions because they were too frivolous. “He really does not approve of velvet and silk embroidery at all, but I do so enjoy bright colors.” Soon the fine jaclet and waist and cravat were hanging over a low bough while the boy removed his boots and socks and garters then wiggled his toes. “Oh, that does feel better. Thank-you for noticing.”

Matthew investigated the contents of his pail while the boy rolled up his socks and garters and inserted them in his boots, then opened the buttons holding the fabric against his slender calves.  Mary Cuthbert had packed more than generously, a sure sign that she had, once again, forgotten that Martin would not need a lunch as well. Scamp looked with interest at the apple turnovers and snickerdoodles and chattered delightedly as he tasted each thing. The boys dangled their toes in the water as they ate, sitting much too close together as if each was afraid the other would disappear. Matthew, fascinated by the lad’s delicate manners, let the slender creature have more than a fair share of the cheese, jam and butter sandwiches, apple turnovers, and cookies. “You were hungry,” he said simply when the boy gave him a sidelong look.

“Thank you.  It was delicious,” said Scamp, touching Matthew’s foot with one of his own. The boys smiled at each other until their cheeks hurt.

Then Scamp produced an orange and pulled the segments apart carefully as he peeled, leaving the peelings piled neatly in the handkerchief he had spread across his lap.  Matthew watched, fascinated by the utter concentration the slender boy applied to the task, as though he was unused to caring for himself in that way. “Would you like some?” Matthew nodded. Matthew had only had oranges at Christmas, and the warm fruit tasted almost tart after the sweetness of the cookies they had eaten. When Matthew noticed Scamp had given him two segments of the fruit for every one he ate, he was treated to an impish wink. Matthew blushed and carefully gathered the peelings for his mother.

“Will we go swimming now?” asked Scamp, resting a hand on Matthew’s knee. Matthew felt himself swallow as he nodded. He looked away as they undressed and had moved into the water when Scamp said his name. Matthew turned to see the beautiful, naked boy, his hair illuminated by the sun, smiling at him as if he was the only person in the world. Matthew, grateful that his waist was under the water when he turned, held out a trembling hand to help his new friend. “This feels lovely,” said Scamp, clinging to Matthew’s arm for support. “You can see I’ve never been swimming like this before but you don’t think me weak or silly, do you?”

Matthew felt a smile bend his lips as he shook his head.  Scamp told him how he had always dreamed of swimming in the south of France. “I can’t imagine it could be as good as this, though.”  Matthew chuckled and showed Scamp how to float and paddle.  “I do like the way you hold me up.  It’s very reassuring.”

The boys floated in the water. “Can we play a bit, do you think?” Scamp asked diffidently. “Splashing or pushing each other under the water or something like that? I’m not sure how because I’ve never been allowed, but I have seen other boys. You could show me, I’m sure.” Matthew could.

He grinned and ducked the boy under the water, then quickly pulled him up, gasping and spluttering. Scamp clung to Matthew while he caught his breath. “Oh! I liked that!” They played for a few more minutes and then Scamp took Matthew’s arm.  “I walked such a long way.  Do you mind if I rest?” He slipped and Matthew settled a strong arm around the slender form. Scamp leaned against him with a little sigh, and Matthew felt as if he would never mind anything ever again. “Thank-you, Matthew.  This is very companionable.”

The boys put on their underthings, then lay on the blanket and Scamp fell asleep almost instantly.  Matthew folded the blanket over the boy and settled close beside him to keep him warm. When Matthew woke half an hour later, they had curled together like two spoons in a drawer.  Matthew had long missed the reassuring warmth of his brother in the bed, but this was different somehow.  He had never wanted to bury his face in his brother’s hair and kiss the soft place at the back of his neck.  Scamp’s arm had thrust out and Matthew saw that it was marred by a series of scars near the elbow. He pulled the blanket up more tightly around his new friend.

When he woke, Scamp looked bewildered, then he saw Mathew, just tying his shoes, and beamed. “I am so glad I didn’t dream you,” he said.  Then, between mouthfuls of snickerdoodle, Scamp explained how he had come to Avonlea. His father was travelling to St. John’s and had let his son go off with their valet on an important errand. “We need to find a place, but I know that you know where it is because we are looking for a Mr. Mark Cuthbert.” Matthew finished the second orange and offered to bring the boy home. “May I stay with you tonight if we can’t find Jarndyce?”

Matthew flushed. “Yes. Of course.”

Scamp squeezed his arm and Matthew’s heart quickened. “Good! I haven’t ever slept so nicely as I did beside you,” he said. “Not even at our hotel by the beach, and that was so lovely, I felt like I was on a cloud.” The young bodies quivered, and Scamp grinned like an imp. “Besides, I still have to get back at you for ducking me under the water like that.”  He winked and the boys burst out laughing.

Mark and Mary Cuthbert each looked up at the sound of their son’s laughter.  Mary felt only relief and gratitude, but Mark’s feelings were more complex when he caught sight of the slender young man of fashion leaning on his only son’s arm. Introductions were effected, and Matthew felt almost awed by the manly, sophisticated way that Scamp introduced himself, explained his perplexity, then apologized for intruding.

Mark Cuthbert asked especially after Scamp’s father and Jarndyce, who he had known as a boy.

“You lads must be hungry,” said Mary Cuthbert. She listened delightedly to the sound of the chat and chuckling as Matthew helped the slender lad wash up for tea.

Her husband looked thoughtful. “Here, Mary, please pack me up a lunch and I’ll see if this valet fellow got lost and missed our track along the road. And the lad looks like a fit for Martin’s old things.  Better kit the boy out before he ruins that fancy suit of his.” Laughter sounded again. “They can stay in the old bedroom, away from the rest of us, tonight. I haven’t the heart to tell him to be quiet.”

“That poor wisp of a boy,” said Mary Cuthbert.  Her husband pressed her hand.  He had meant Matthew, but that would keep.

Mary Cuthbert brought Scamp some farm clothes to wear. “We should brush your suit before the stains set,” she explained at his puzzled look.

The young man thanked her in an almost courtly way and did full justice to the tea. Scamp had been very fascinated by the dishes set out.  There was fish chowder and apples fried with onions and potatoes and corn bread with honey and bread with butter or berry preserves. Mary Cuthbert had made the boys each a fresh new egg fried in butter.  Her lips quirked at the delighted exclamation that came from their guest when she slipped the piping sunny offering onto his plate.  “Oh! This is so crispy and nice. Thank-you.”  Scamp thought it was the very best butter he had ever tasted.

Mary Cuthbert let Matthew show Scamp the barns, but she insisted that their guest lay down to rest in the old bedroom after his long day. Later, Scamp lay across the bed and watched as Matthew pulled off his shirt to wash again for supper. Mrs. Cuthbert was readying bedrooms at the far side of the house. “You look very nice,” said the slender boy shyly.  Matthew colored.

“Not as nice as you,” he said.  He put on a clean shirt since they were having company to supper.

Scamp laughed merrily. “Was it very wicked, what I did?” Matthew shook his head and Scamp sighed. “No one ever thinks I am wicked,” he said in a disappointed tone. Matthew chuckled.  “You may chuckle, but it is terribly disheartening to try so very hard to be wicked and have everyone chuckle at you indulgently.”

By that time, supper was ready and Mark Cuthbert had returned with Jarndyce. The man looked positively green with anxiety until he saw Scamp in his borrowed farm clothes and bare feet.

“Oh, Jarndyce!” the young man rushed up to hug him. “I should be even happier to see you, but I had so hoped I would be able to stay.” The older man’s eyes filled at the sight of that cheerful, laughing face. “Do you like me dressed as a farmer? They have been so terribly kind.”

Jarndyce attempted to scold, keeping an arm about his slender charge and smoothing his hair and adjusting his clothes in a way that seemed very unlike an employee and much more like a caring parent. “You occasioned me a great deal of worry and inconvenience, Master Peter. I was unable to complete the business that brought us here.”

“I am terribly sorry for the trouble, Jarndyce.  I ought not to have wandered off like that, but the woods were so very bewitching, you see.  You do know how few things are betwitching in these unregenerate times, but not here.  There are woods which are quite magical and a swimming hole and cows and then, possibly the very best thing, an egg fried nicely in butter.” The boy looked winningly at the man and gave him a squeeze. “And you see, I met you exactly where I was supposed to. And I made a wonderful new friend.”

“There’s no question of going, Edward Jarndyce,” said Mark Cuthbert. “We’ve already settled a room for you, and it’s far too late to travel tonight. And you know you are always, always welcome in my home. I hadn’t the slightest idea it was you. There’s no moon and besides you haven’t finished your business. You’ll sit to supper and stay as long as you like.”

“Edward!” cried Scamp. “Is that your real name?” Jarndyce gave the boy a quelling look. “It’s very dignified.” Jarndyce tousled Scamp’s hair and kissed his forehead and then, smiling, pushed him away and told him to stop making a nuisance of himself.  Matthew swallowed the lump that had risen in his throat and helped his mother serve.

Jarndyce praised the home cooking. “I rarely have such a treat as this,” he said. “These biscuits are absolutely delicious. We’re lucky if everything hasn’t gone cold by the time we eat it.” He watched the young lad clean his plate, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Mark” said Jarndyce, “we should discuss that business.” Mark Cuthbert nodded somberly. The men went to the parlor and Mary Cuthbert sent the boys to bed.

The boys settled together in the middle of the bed. Scamp had grown serious when Jarndyce brought him a black bag, but neither said a word about it.

“This is lovely,” said Scamp, nestling closely next to Matthew and taking one of his hands. “Let’s pretend that bag isn’t there. It was wicked, what I did before, making you look at me. I didn’t say anything, but I saw...”  Matthew felt himself blush scarlet.  Boys were not supposed to feel that way about other boys, but Scamp squeezed his hand and Matthew looked up. “I know it’s all very sudden, but we may not have another chance. I like you that way, too,” he whispered, shifting so that Matthew could feel his arousal. “You can see me, really see me, inside. No one else does, except Jarndyce, not even Papa.  He is the very best Papa possible, you know, the very kindest.”

“You are the realest person I ever met,” said Matthew. Scamp kissed him and something fresh and true seared through Matthew Cuthbert. The sensations he felt now, the utter completeness of his heart and mind and soul took him entirely by surprise. How could he have been so lucky as to feel such bliss? The joy shocked him.  He would never be the same again.

The boys clung together, trembling, and Scamp whispered anxiously. “Did you like it?” Matthew chuckled warmly and felt his friend’s body relax against him.

“I like everything about you.”  Matthew brushed the hair from Scamp’s face.

Scamp slipped his arms about Matthew’s neck. “Good.  Let’s do more.”

They woke with the light of dawn. Matthew needed to get up to do his chores. “You rest,” he said when Scamp tried to follow him.

The young man smiled. “I haven’t felt so well as this in such a long time. Thank-you so much.”

The first summer
Jarndyce was very reluctant to see the boys separated. “You have no idea how different he is, just in the one day.”

“He’ll be no inconvenience,” said Mark Cuthbert, while he helped Jarndyce hitch the horses to the wagon. “He is good company for my boy.  We’re far from the rest of the settlement back here. But I do hope he is not bored.  He seems so like his mother.”

Jarndyce considered this, as he did most things, seriously. “He is more contemplative than she was. We will bring his books and Mr. Johnson would compensate…” Jarndyce stopped speaking as Mark’s face dimmed.

“Charles Johnson’s son will always be welcome to a bed in my house and a share in whatever food is on my table,” he said. “You know that.

There was no need for him to send you here about that old business. I’d long forgotten that aspect of the thing.”

Jarndyce inclined his head. “Master Peter has been terribly unwell.  It would be a kindness in you to accept.” Mark looked at the floor. “What price would you set on your son’s happiness?”

Mark Cuthbert raised his eyes and the two men shared a look of emotion and intelligence. “I am already beholden to him for the change in my boy.”

The two men went off on Jarndyce’s business, leaving Matthew to do the necessary work for the day.  Scamp watched, very impressed, for a while, but Mary Cuthbert kept the frail lad by her in the afternoon.  It was a churning day, and Scamp was delighted with himself when he put the butter of his own making on the table.

The boys were quietly elated at the news that Scamp was to stay as long as they all liked. That evening, Mark Cuthbert drew Matthew aside. “Son, this is only for a summer, maybe only a few weeks if he falls ill again. You do understand?”  Matthew nodded.

Scamp flourished, growing stronger as the days passed. The boys went swimming every few days, and in long after years, those hours remained Matthew’s clearest memories of that summer, the sight of his slender, naked lover glowing golden in the sunlight, his face suffused with laughter. Every aspect of Matthew’s life was colored by that cheerful, loving presence.

The paraphernalia of illness was kept in the black bag and not spoken of until Dr. Kennedy came to visit. Late that night, the boys had curled together naked, kissing in the moonlight and Scamp pulled back, breathless, pressing a hand against his lover’s chest. “Matthew, promise that you’ll always remember me like this. If we open that bag, promise you’ll think of me like this, not like that.” Matthew watched the young man in his arms bow his head to will back the tears.

Matthew pulled his friend close against him and rubbed his back. “Don’t worry,” he murmured into the soft hair. “I don’t mind.” The frightened soul burst into sobs, all the pent up anger and grief at his foreshortened span of days pouring out for the first time to another soul.  Matthew held and consoled him, feeling a sort of wonder that he, of all people, could love someone so much, could be so loved and trusted in return.

Afterward, they nestled together and Matthew wiped Scamp’s face with a damp cloth. “It feels so wonderful, being here with you. I should feel embarrassed after crying like that, but it made everything so much better. I never knew how tiring it was to be so brave all the time. Thank-you for being so good to me.”

“Tomorrow let’s do something very wicked,” said Matthew.

“I’d like to do something wicked right now,” whispered Scamp, and they burst out in giggles when he pulled the covers off so they could look at each other naked in the moonlight.

A different type of doctor
Jarndyce warned Scamp not to be a burden and to do as much work as he could.  It felt good to do something that helped Matthew’s family, and Scamp learned quickly how to handle the business of milk and eggs. The daughter, Marilla, was away with cousins for the summer, and Mrs. Cuthbert welcomed Scamp’s help in the kitchen, where she could send him to take a nap when he seemed tired.  By the end of the first week, she remarked that they had made an extra dollar because of his work.  It was more than enough for his keep, and Scamp was deeply pleased.

Scamp liked the odd little collection of rooms, built around an old log cabin. Mr. Cuthbert was planning to build a frame house some day, but for now the boys had their own, secluded nook off the kitchen. It was a fine place for cuddles, and Matthew was a lovely cuddler, so sweet and gentle, with a musky scent that made Scamp’s knees feel wobbly.   

Jarndyce had brought Scamp’s things and a collection of spices, sugars, coffees and teas, candies, chocolate, dried fruits and oranges.  Mrs. Cuthbert had exclaimed against the generosity, but Jarndyce was firm. “The boy is used to such things.” Mrs. Cuthbert opened her mouth to protest and Jarndyce sheepishly continued. “And…I would like to beg a cheese and some butter. I have not found anything so fine at any price, even in Toronto.”  Then Mrs. Cuthbert glowed at the compliment.

The black bag haunted Scamp’s dreams.  What if he became ill again and had to leave? A few days after Jarndyce left, a man came in a buggy.  Scamp glanced over and caught sight of the black bag in the man’s hand.  He felt the color drain from his face, and it was all he could do to follow Matthew into the house.

“Peter!”  Mrs. Cuthbert called.  “Dr. Kennedy is here to see you.  Is your room fit to be seen?”

“Yes ma’am,” said Scamp.  Matthew looked at the worried little face with concern.

“Are you all right?”  Scamp nodded.  He wanted a hug, but it would not do where people might see.  Matthew touched his arm and carried the black bags into the room. Scamp followed.

“Don’t worry,” said Matthew hugging him.

Scamp washed up, then took off all his clothes and sat on the bed, feeling terribly humiliated and ashamed, nothing at all like the warm feeling he had when Matthew saw him.  He heard the door open and a muffled oath. That was rather alarming as a beginning, but as it turned out, Dr. Kennedy was the most sympathetic type of doctor possible. “Put your trousers back on, son,” the doctor said kindly, muttering something unflattering about city doctors.  Scamp blushed scarlet as he covered himself. “It’s not your fault, lad. No way to treat a boy,” muttered the doctor to himself gruffly. “I’m William Kennedy, Peter.”  Scamp shook hand politely.  “I knew your mother and father of old. Edward Jarndyce asked me to come see you. You look so like your dear mother.”

“I…” Scamp felt himself stammer and a large hand settled on his shoulder. No one ever spoke of his mother. “My mother?”

William Kennedy flushed. “Your mother. Have you never heard anything about her?”

“Only a little bit, sir,” said Scamp. “Jarndyce seemed very fond of her.”

The doctor looked uncomfortable for a moment. “So, he should, young Peter Johnson. Will you let me look at your back? Edward was concerned about some old sores and scars he saw on you at the beach.” Scamp nodded. The firm fingers were surprisingly gentle as he probed. “Everything has healed nicely. But this must have hurt.”

“Yes, sir,” said Scamp miserably.  The doctor looked at his arms and wrists, ran his hands over the scars that Matthew had kissed so tenderly.  Scamp wanted to die of shame. “It was highly unpleasant.”

“They tied you down,” said the doctor in disgust. Scamp nodded.  “And you feel better now? Do you like it here?”

Scamp clutched the doctor’s hand. “Yes, I do.  It’s lovely here. Everyone is so kind and nothing hurts.”

The doctor chuckled. “And you get on well with Matthew?  He’s very quiet.”

“He’s simply a wonderful friend,” said Scamp, with sparkling eyes.  “I felt better as soon as I met him.”

The doctor nodded. “Let me listen to your heart?”  Scamp allowed this and the doctor nodded gravely. “Get dressed while I look at this bag. Edward was very concerned.” Scamp put his clothes on while the doctor rummaged in Scamp’s black bag and said things not lawful to be uttered. Scamp turned and saw the items lined up on the bed he shared with Matthew, the cups and lances and rubber strips and cords. He felt the blood drain from his face as the doctor picked up a long, flexible metal device. “Did they use this on you, son?”

Scamp thought of the humiliation he’d felt when the doctors had inserted it into his body.  It had hurt horribly and the nurse jeered at him when the tears came up in his eyes. Jarndyce had heard Scamp’s muffled cry of pain and stopped them. Scamp had wanted to die at the look of guilty concern on Jardyce’s face as he covered him with a blanket and then given him some brandy to help him relax enough so they could gently ease it back out. He had never seen Jarndyce so upset.  Afterward, Jarndyce had brought him chocolate and biscuits and held Scamp’s hand and stroked his hair until he fell asleep. That was the day Jarndyce begged Papa to send the doctors away. Scamp had woken up in the middle of the night to hear Papa’s sobs and Jarndyce’s soothing voice.  Scamp felt his face begin to crumple.

The doctor pressed his shoulder. “It’s all over now, son. I’ll write you a letter so no one does that to you again.”

“Do you know what is wrong with me, Dr. Kennedy? Why I am always so tired?”

Dr. Kennedy paused and nodded gruffly. “You have a heart defect. It’s not curable, and there’s nothing to be gained by causing you pain. I’d like to take these things away and just leave your heart drops and morphine.”

The calm tone reassured Scamp enough to ask a question he had never been able to ask. “Will I get sick again? Will I die soon?”

The doctor looked at the boy sadly. “Perhaps.  You’re not strong. Keep your drops with you all the time. You have to be very careful of your health, but there is no reason for you to suffer. Do you understand?”

Scamp did understand. Then they had a very good conversation.  It was almost as good as the serious conversations Scamp had had with Jarndyce as a little boy. “Thank-you,” said Scamp, shaking the doctor’s hand.  “This is so encouraging. I’ve been so frightened for so long, and, well, it is better to know and understand that to simply be afraid all the time. And you’ll take those things away?” he asked eagerly.

The doctor chuckled. “I’ll take the things away. If you want to stay on the Island for a winter, you’ll need to plan carefully, but I will help you.”

“Jarndyce’s house in Halifax is very warm,” said Scamp.

“That’s good, then. I understand from Edward Jarndyce that you are skilled at playing chess. Would you care to amuse an old man?”

Scamp was delighted to amuse an old man.  He felt better, but that night, he had cried in Matthew’s arms.  No one could have been kinder or more comforting.  And afterward, they had the nicest cuddle yet. The next day Scamp felt as if he had been reborn as a new, happier boy.  A happier boy who loved someone who loved him right back.

Harvest
At the summer harvest, Jarndyce came to help, saying it was a great pleasure for a man to have some real work to do.  Scamp ran up and hugged him.  “I love you,” said the boy. “Thank-you for letting me stay here.”

The man was rendered speechless at the sight of the tanned, healthy-looking boy in front of him. “Your father…”

Scamp laughed.  “We both know it was really you.”

Jarndyce took the boy back to Toronto. Matthew said good-bye to his friend and returned to his life equably, his heart considerably lighter than it had been the morning he met Scamp. Not a word had been said about a return visit. Possibly at Christmas, there would be a message. “Are you all right, son?” Mark Cuthbert asked a few weeks later.

“Yes, sir,” he said, surprised at his father’s narrow look.  He had never expected to have any relief from the horrible realization that he was not like the other boys and instead he had found loving acceptance, and not just for one night, for a whole summer. How could he be anything other than grateful?

South of France
The doctors were shocked at the change in C. Peter Johnson.  They suggested he go to an expensive private school for the company of other boys.  Jarndyce was the only one who suspected how little he enjoyed it. “How can I tell father? He’s so happy. He thinks I’m really well.”

Jarndyce sighed, knowing that what the boy said was true. He held out his arms and Scamp came to him just as he had when he was a little boy. “They thought you would make some friends, like you did before. You are such a friendly soul, and you enjoyed it so much then.”

Scamp bowed his head and fought back his tears, trying not to think of how comforting it had been to have Matthew always there, quiet and steady and patient and gently affectionate. “But that was before I understood how different I am. I don’t think I can bear it much longer.  They all have plans for colleges and trips and marrying.  I’ll never do those things.”

Jarndyce gave the boy a squeeze and rubbed his back. “The doctors thought you were lonely.  So do I.”  He kissed the golden head. “We want you to be happy, Peter.”

There was no point in arguing. “I am lonely,” said the boy sadly. “But just for… him. It was so nice to have a friend my age who just accepted me.”

He flushed and Jarndyce gave him another squeeze. “But I don’t feel lonely when you are here. You are so good to me.”

Jarndyce kissed the boy’s head again. “I’ll talk to your father.” Scamp nursed a secret hope that they would send him back to the Cuthberts, but surprisingly, his father had arranged all his business concerns so they could go to France for the winter. Behind his pleasure and gratitude, Scamp wondered why he felt a disappointed chill of loneliness.

On the trip, Charles Johnson watched his son select post card after post card. “I want to send him a card,” said Scamp. Jarndyce raised an eyebrow and Charles did not have to ask who ‘he’ was. “I’d like it to be the best one possible.”

Charles smiled sadly and hugged his son.  He had considered asking the Cuthberts to take his son for the summer, but he understood what Scamp was not saying about young Matthew Cuthbert.  His boy was deeply in love. What if Matthew rejected him? Would his poor boy bear such disappointment? “Maybe you should write on them as you buy them and you can bring them to him when you visit him in the summer.”

“Oh, father!” The boy lit up. “May I?”

“Whatever you like.” Charles hugged his son again. “William Kennedy has said you are always welcome in his house. Think how much you’ll have to tell him.”

Scamp did well in the warm climate, and Jarndyce lingered with him even after Papa had to return to business. The following summer, it was as if the two friends had never been parted.  They had only a month together, for Scamp’s father did not want to lose a moment of his company.

Second summer
“You have grown into such a man,” said Scamp shyly, as he cuddled against Matthew in the darkness. Matthew found himself treating his lover with extra gentleness. The fragile look he had seen on their first meeting had been joined by something else, a quality he imagined he had seen in dying things just before the final decline, and he savored the presence of his impish playmate the more for it.

On their last night together, Scamp insisted they stay awake. “I’ve never stayed up all night before.” Neither had Matthew. “If I send for you, will you come to me?” He didn’t have to say why.

Matthew nodded. “Would you like to be wicked again or just cuddle?” Scamp laughed.

“You make everything better.”

Matthew would never remember that winter as anything but a time of waiting, hoping that his friend was comfortable. Jarndyce appeared on the doorstep on the last day of spring planting. “He asked for you.”  Matthew nodded and moved to change his clothes. “There’s no time. We could miss the boat.”  And then Matthew knew that Scamp was suffering.

The young man looked like a flower that had been crushed under foot. Matthew’s heart twisted when he saw the flushed sweating cheeks, the pinched features, the fingers clutching at the bedclothes against the pain.  Then Scamp looked up and saw Matthew. Happiness suffused the beloved face.

“Matthew! I knew you would come.” Matthew sat gingerly on the bed and pressed a thin hand. “You smell just the same.  Lock the door and get undressed.”  Matthew did as he was asked. “Now help me take off my shirt.”  They nestled together and the thin body relaxed for the first time in months. “I had forgotten what it feels like when nothing hurts.  I’m sorry, I must look so,” then the fading boy looked into Matthew’s face. “That’s exactly the way you looked at me that first day, by the shining waters.”

“You are beautiful,” said Matthew. “I am sorry I never told you that. Or how much I love you.”

Scamp laughed limply. “I never let you.  I was saving it, you see.”  He looked down at the bed clothes sheepishly.

“That was terribly wicked of you,” said Matthew, angry with him for a moment.

“It was?” Scamp was delighted. “I was wicked? Truly?” and the friends laughed. “Will you give me a bath—I had one before, I’m not really terribly dirty, but I would like it—and feed me dinner and take care of me?”

Matthew nodded.  “I brought you snicker doodles.”

Scamp started to say “I love you,” but Matthew stopped his mouth with a kiss.

“Not yet,” said Matthew. “Let’s wait.”

Matthew tended to his friend and Scamp fell into a deep, peaceful sleep. When Matthew opened the door, Jarndyce was there, with Scamp’s father. The two men were holding each other and weeping.

“We heard him laughing,” said Mr. Johnson. Jarndyce moved past them and looked in at the sleeping boy.

“I am sorry, sir,” said Matthew.

Charles Johnson shook his head. “You look just like your father when we were young men together,” he said.  Then he folded Matthew into a warm embrace.  “He hasn’t slept this peacefully since Christmas. Thank-you for doing so much for our poor young Cuthbert.” Jarndyce’s face had gone grey, and Matthew remembered that Scamp’s name had been a secret even from this dearest friend. “You stay with him as long as you like.
We’ll not disturb you.” Matthew was too grieved to wonder why.

On the morning of the third day, Matthew woke up to find Scamp resting against him, tears running down his face. “What is it? Does something hurt?”

“You have to go, Matthew. I need to spend one good day with Papa.” Neither of them said that there would be only one more good day.

“Thank you for spending your other good days with me.” Scamp nestled close and buried his face against Matthew’s shoulder.

“Those were the very best days. I love you so.  You are the most important friend I ever had.” Then, the boy shook with suppressed sobs. “I’m so frightened.”

Matthew could not possibly leave his friend like this. “Thank-you for waiting for me,” he murmured against the golden hair. “I never told you, but I was so lost and unhappy that day we met. I had been frightened for years, not knowing what to do. And then you were there. Everything was magical because of you. Everything.” Scamp went absolutely still. Matthew pulled back and kissed him. “Thank you for making me a man. I could not have done it without you.”

Scamp wiped the tears that had started from his friend’s eyes. “I did?”

Matthew nodded. He dampened a handkerchief and wiped Scamp’s face. “I’m terrified about what it will be like when you go. I couldn’t tell anyone, but I knew you would understand.”

“No one else has ever let me help them, really help them, like this. No wonder I love you.” He rested against his friend. “You are so comfortable, Matthew. You make everything better.”

Matthew kissed the golden head. “I need to ask you for a favor,” he said.  Scamp nodded. “When you go on, promise to never forget me,” his voice cracked.

Scamp dried Matthew’s tears, glowing with affection and love. “Of course I promise, silly. You make me so very happy, how could I forget that?”

They parted lovingly, the boy who would never have a chance to grow old and the young man whose life would be forever richer for their connection. As he left the house, Matthew stopped and looked up at the window. Jarndyce touched his elbow and they moved on.

Jarndyce came to the train station and Matthew started when the man bought two tickets for the return trip. “He asked me to see you safely home.” The man’s eyes filled with tears, but he willed them back.  “He said he couldn’t go if we were there, that you would understand.” Matthew nodded. They spoke little after that. When they parted, Jarndyce gave him an envelope. “He wrote this for you.”

Matthew had never done such a thing before, but he hugged the older man. “Won’t you come and stay with us?”

“Another time I will,” said Jarndyce. “But I have some things to settle.”


Apologies
Mark Cuthbert met his only son at the door. “How did he look?” Matthew saw that his father meant Charles Johnson.

“He asked me to apologize again.” Matthew had understood his father’s connection with Scamp’s father the moment the man hugged him, a hug that was not really meant for him.

“He wanted something I could not give him.  His father discovered us together and thought we had done something.”  Matthew waited patiently.

“You understand, I think?” Matthew nodded. “We promised never to see each other again. Jarndyce came to restore my inheritance.” Mark Cuthbert gathered himself. “I am sorry it was this way for you.”

“I’m not,” said Matthew, thankful that he would never have to leave his home and go out among strangers as his father had done.  He was equally thankful that he was so shy.  He would never have to marry if he didn’t like to.

Mark cleared his throat. “No one else knows, not even your mother.” Matthew never asked what Molly Cuthbert did not know.

One day, Matthew saw his mother fingering one of the cards from Scamp, a tear running down her face. She made snicker doodles that evening and they tasted like dust and ashes to her son. Matthew gathered all the cards and little remembrances of Scamp and put them away. Scamp meant joy and happiness to him. He could not bear to see sorrow associated with that precious memory.

Aftermath
Jarndyce would return for a visit with Dr. Kennedy now and again, until the doctor grew too old for country work and moved to Toronto.  During the last visit, Matthew brought Jarndyce to see the shining waters, which only filled during wet years. Scamp’s grave was far away in Toronto, and Matthew had only this place to visit.  The log house had been pulled down. “It had nearly killed Charles to think the boy might have preferred to be here than to have gone to France.”

“It was his dream.” Matthew heard his voice shake. “He enjoyed that trip.  He spoke of it, even on the very last day…” His heart contracted as he realized he would never again feel those lips on the nape of his neck or the soft breath in his ear or hear the words of love and encouragement from that tender heart.

Jarndyce squeezed the younger man’s elbow. “Charles will be relieved to hear it. We were so certain he would die that summer. Then he met you and suddenly he seemed well. William Kennedy said it was a shock of joy. I can never thank you enough for giving us those last months together with our dear boy. If we can ever do anything for you… if you would like to come to us, please know you may at any time.”

Matthew thanked Jarndyce, but they knew he would never leave his home. “You did more for me,” said Matthew. “You let him stay with me. I can never thank you enough for sharing him with me.” He knew that the circumscribed life of Avonlea would never have given him an opportunity to experience the rich love Scamp had brought him.

In the early years, Matthew had often felt as if a friendly spirit was beside him, but that feeling slowly faded. By the time he was an old man, Matthew had nearly forgotten the deep joy of Scamp’s gently delighted presence in his life. And then, one day, he met a red-haired girl, who grasped his arm and spoke of shining waters.  Matthew Cuthbert fell in love for the second time.

That night, Matthew went to the bureau and pulled out a battered cigar box.  He laid out the faded post cards, a lock of hair and a gold tie pin, a scrap of fabric from the suit Scamp had worn on the day they met, a slim volume of poetry, and a wizened orange peeling.  Then he opened the envelope Jarndyce had given him so many years before, the envelope he had hidden from everyone. He had never had the heart to open it and know there could never be another word waiting for him from that much-beloved soul. The penmanship was shaky but Matthew had no trouble reading the words.

My dearest friend,

I am waiting for you to come.  There is so much to tell and not much time, so I am writing some of it down now. So I do not forget. 

Today I imagined you near our shining waters, smiling and helping me into the water as you always did.  You were always kind to me.  You made me feel like I was enough just the way I was. Everything was like magic because of you. Everything.

I love you.

I’m sorry now I never said it out loud, but I wanted to save it for our last visit. I was so selfish, but you will forgive me, I know, because it is the only wicked thing I have ever really done. I always imagined being wicked would feel more…well, wicked, but it is rather uncomfortable, really.  I don’t care for it after all, which is rather disappointing.

I missed you every day we were apart, especially in France.  I was happy, but it felt so far from you and I wanted to show you everything, the way you showed me everything in Avonlea. I hope you didn’t miss me the same way. I hope you won’t, because you make me so happy, and I want you to be happy always.

I love you, more than anyone has ever loved anyone else.  And, really, that is very, very much.

Your very own,

Scamp

Tears rolled down Matthew’s cheeks as he read the words of love written by that impish soul trapped in a fragile body, but he chuckled when he reached the post script: “I love you more than snicker doodles or even an egg fried in butter.”

Matthew sat for a long time, allowing himself to remember the feeling of his lover beside him for the first time in many years.

Then he thought of Anne Shirley gazing raptly at the beauty around her and he decided that he would do everything he could to keep that cheerful, affectionate spirit in his house.  Marilla was a good woman and had cared for him all these years, but she never really needed him. It had been far too long since he had another living soul to cherish deeply in his heart.