CHARLIE SLOANE'S HEART
Fiction
by
George Burns
by
George Burns
It was one of those late fall afternoons on the island when the sun, like a visitor who has kept his hat on his lap and is ready to leave so soon after taking a seat, began to sink towards the horizon far earlier than anyone desired or expected. The light streaming through the trees at its odd angle brought out the many shades of brown and tan, burnt red and orange, in all the curling, fading leaves, while the pine needles sparkled as if to say, “We are still here! The forest is ours!” And where the light could not fall, there was a smoky darkness that almost inspired Charlie Sloane to try to make up his own story about who or what lay in the shadows. But it was only he himself standing half in shade and half in light as he worked his knife around the upper curves of the heart he was carving - a heart on the trunk of a white birch, the lines dark against the peeling bark. He didn’t know what he would carve inside the heart, but he knew he didn’t have the courage to write what he wanted to: CS & AS. Maybe he would just carve her name and leave it as a mystery so she would know someone was thinking about her. But what if she thought it was Gilbert Blythe’s handiwork? Despite the fact that she wouldn’t even deign to look at Gilbert these days, Charlie harbored an ever sinking feeling inside him that Anne Shirley would one day fall prey to his charms, whatever they were.
Charlie knew that Anne often passed by this part of the woods in her comings and goings in Avonlea. One day when he was doing his own wandering at summer’s end, he had heard her speaking aloud in deep conversation, with no one else joining in. It was only when he had managed to get close enough to hear her clearly that he understood she was speaking to the birds, the blue jays, chastising them for being so quarrelsome with other birds and creatures. Anne had told her winged audience that she understood their grouchy moods given that their beautiful singing voices had been stolen from them by a forest spirit who was jealous of their noble crests and brilliant plumage, feathers that seemed to be pieces of the sky itself. Charlie had been puzzled listening to her at first, but the more he listened, the more he fell under her spell, and he was soon entranced.
Before Charlie had ever met Anne he had heard her being spoken about, usually in not very kind terms. He had overheard Mrs. Lynde telling his mother that Anne was an odd girl, a mistake and very rude. While his mother had said very little in reply, she had told her children afterwards that she didn’t believe in judging people by what others say - better to use one’s own judgment and give everyone a fair chance to be their own decent selves. His sisters had given each other looks, but Charlie was already intrigued.
When school finally started up once again, Charlie looked forward to seeing Anne up close and finding out what she was like in class, in person. But he assumed she would be taken by Gilbert Blythe’s good looks and intelligence, and it rankled him deeply. The summer had been so much more relaxing with Gilbert away at his cousins. Despite his often enjoying his adventures with Gilbert, Tommy and the other boys, Charlie always ended up feeling overshadowed by Gilbert’s large and confident personality even while they were having a good time. He wished Gilbert would stay with his cousins all year, but that was clearly not in the cards.
Needless to say, the day Anne broke her writing slate over Gilbert’s head in class when he called her “Carrots!”, Charlie was swept off his feet by the forceful demonstration of her unique personality. He had never met anyone like her before, certainly not any girl, and he was enthralled. He wished he had been the one to take up arms against Gilbert’s taunting, but then again, that would have prevented him from seeing Anne in all her strength and courage. Charlie actually liked the color of her hair and the way her face seemed to express so much about who she was and what she was thinking and feeling while at the same time hinting at so much more beneath the surface. It made him happy just to watch her, but he didn’t let himself do it often since he knew everyone would notice and tease them both.
Charlie had just completed the full outline of the heart when he heard voices coming towards him through the woods - female voices. Fearing to be seen and discovered, he quickly and as quietly as possible stepped further into the woods and moved behind some wide evergreens. As the voices approached, Charlie recognized them and held his breath. It was Anne and Diana Barry, who couldn’t be any more different from each other and who were even closer than sisters. They were discussing a book they were both reading. Anne was passionately objecting to one character’s treatment of another, while Diana was futilely pushing back, defending the character’s actions. Charlie had never heard anyone speak about books in this way - he certainly didn’t - and he wondered what book they were reading. The conversation ended abruptly when Anne called out, “Diana! Look at the tree!”
“What tree?”
“The birch. Look at the shape on the bark!”
The girls moved closer to the birch to examine it carefully, and it was Diana who exclaimed, “A heart. It’s a heart!”
“I wonder who carved it,” Anne spoke slowly, enunciating each word.
“Maybe it was always here and we never noticed it,” Diana posited.
Anne pointed to the thin slices of bark that lay at the base of the tree and shook her head.
“No, this is newly done. The artist may yet be near,” she said and then called out, “Is anyone here? Come show yourself!”
Charlie’s eyes widened as he listened to their pondering and heard Anne’s cry. He had only the slightest urge to step out and reveal himself and told himself that perhaps if Anne were alone he would be brave enough to do so. But even that thought terrified him, and he kept as quiet as he could, barely taking breaths.
“How mysterious!” Diana announced. But Anne shook her head in immediate disagreement.
“This is not a mystery at all. It’s very clear what’s happened here.”
Charlie froze at this and wondered if he had been seen. He even closed his eyes as though that would better hide him from their sight.
“How can you know what happened, Anne?” Diana asked, looking askance at her closest friend.
“Well,” Anne began, shifting into her storytelling voice, “There was once a handsome and shy young man who wandered the woods looking for beauty, truth and true love. One day he came upon a lovely, young wood sprite singing songs with the trees and the wind, and he fell passionately and hopelessly in love with her.”
If Diana and Charlie could have seen each other at this moment, they might have noticed a very similar expression on their faces, one of total enchantment and belief.
Anne continued. “The young man returned to the same spot day after day, as did the wood sprite, but kept his distance, not wanting to frighten off his beloved. One day, the youth’s ardor overtook him, and he felt compelled to proclaim his love for the young sprite. But just as he gave voice to his feelings, her father, a powerful elven noble, appeared and saw and heard everything. The sprite looked at her suitor with eyes that returned his love, but before the sprite could say a word, her father cast a spell on the young man, who found a white birch - a tree as chaste as the young man himself - suddenly and quickly surrounding him. It was too late. The elven father carried off his daughter who was utterly distraught as she looked back at the tree and wept. Her only solace was the heart that slowly appeared in the bark of the birch communicating in the only way he could the young man’s never-ending love for the beautiful spirit.”
Anne was silent and solemn as she finished her story, almost as though she believed it herself. Diana stood close by her, quietly thinking and then suddenly shook her head with a smile.
“Oh, Anne! You live in such a different and wonderful world in your mind. How did I ever manage without you?” And with that, she embraced her dear friend who smiled a half smile as though part of her was still very much in her tale. The two girls continued their walk, arm in arm, talking once again about all manner of things, while Charlie remained motionless, hearing nothing, overcome by the myriad feelings stirred by Anne’s passionate imagination. He felt both elated and full of grief, as though it was he who was trapped inside that tree. Suddenly, he found himself gasping for air and almost choking. It was only when he finally got his breath back that he realized the girls had walked on. He could almost hear the crunching of the leaves underfoot as they moved further away, and he was struck by the thought that this was his moment. He must do or say something or be forever silenced. Anne had seen his heart and she must know it was his for her. Charlie tried to call out, “Anne!” - but managed only a raspy squeak. He cleared his throat and spoke her name aloud, not a call but in a voice that he might have used if he were addressing her only steps away. He knew it couldn’t be heard, so summoning up all his courage and all his strength he yelled up to the treetops, “Anne! I like you so very much!” - and collapsed into a pile of leaves exhilarated.
“Did you hear that?” Anne interrupted her friend in mid-sentence.
“What?”
“I thought I heard someone calling,” Anne said as she looked back at the path they had just followed. Both girls stopped and listened.
“Perhaps,” Diana said with a sly grin, “it was your poor suitor trying to break free from his wooded prison.”
Anne smiled back at her. “You are making a joke of my tale.”
“I love your stories, Anne” Diana confessed. “If only I could see the world that you see. Having you share it with me is the next best thing.”
And so saying Diana took Anne’s arm in hers, and they continued down their path together.
At almost that very moment, Matthew Cuthbert was strolling home nearby, lost in thought and looking forward not only to his supper but also to hearing about whatever new adventures his Anne had been up to that day. He smiled to himself thinking about all the joy she had already brought into his life and Marilla’s. Suddenly stopping, Matthew looked up into the slightly swaying trees and listened. For a moment it almost seemed as though the woods were echoing his very thoughts.
Charlie knew that Anne often passed by this part of the woods in her comings and goings in Avonlea. One day when he was doing his own wandering at summer’s end, he had heard her speaking aloud in deep conversation, with no one else joining in. It was only when he had managed to get close enough to hear her clearly that he understood she was speaking to the birds, the blue jays, chastising them for being so quarrelsome with other birds and creatures. Anne had told her winged audience that she understood their grouchy moods given that their beautiful singing voices had been stolen from them by a forest spirit who was jealous of their noble crests and brilliant plumage, feathers that seemed to be pieces of the sky itself. Charlie had been puzzled listening to her at first, but the more he listened, the more he fell under her spell, and he was soon entranced.
Before Charlie had ever met Anne he had heard her being spoken about, usually in not very kind terms. He had overheard Mrs. Lynde telling his mother that Anne was an odd girl, a mistake and very rude. While his mother had said very little in reply, she had told her children afterwards that she didn’t believe in judging people by what others say - better to use one’s own judgment and give everyone a fair chance to be their own decent selves. His sisters had given each other looks, but Charlie was already intrigued.
When school finally started up once again, Charlie looked forward to seeing Anne up close and finding out what she was like in class, in person. But he assumed she would be taken by Gilbert Blythe’s good looks and intelligence, and it rankled him deeply. The summer had been so much more relaxing with Gilbert away at his cousins. Despite his often enjoying his adventures with Gilbert, Tommy and the other boys, Charlie always ended up feeling overshadowed by Gilbert’s large and confident personality even while they were having a good time. He wished Gilbert would stay with his cousins all year, but that was clearly not in the cards.
Needless to say, the day Anne broke her writing slate over Gilbert’s head in class when he called her “Carrots!”, Charlie was swept off his feet by the forceful demonstration of her unique personality. He had never met anyone like her before, certainly not any girl, and he was enthralled. He wished he had been the one to take up arms against Gilbert’s taunting, but then again, that would have prevented him from seeing Anne in all her strength and courage. Charlie actually liked the color of her hair and the way her face seemed to express so much about who she was and what she was thinking and feeling while at the same time hinting at so much more beneath the surface. It made him happy just to watch her, but he didn’t let himself do it often since he knew everyone would notice and tease them both.
Charlie had just completed the full outline of the heart when he heard voices coming towards him through the woods - female voices. Fearing to be seen and discovered, he quickly and as quietly as possible stepped further into the woods and moved behind some wide evergreens. As the voices approached, Charlie recognized them and held his breath. It was Anne and Diana Barry, who couldn’t be any more different from each other and who were even closer than sisters. They were discussing a book they were both reading. Anne was passionately objecting to one character’s treatment of another, while Diana was futilely pushing back, defending the character’s actions. Charlie had never heard anyone speak about books in this way - he certainly didn’t - and he wondered what book they were reading. The conversation ended abruptly when Anne called out, “Diana! Look at the tree!”
“What tree?”
“The birch. Look at the shape on the bark!”
The girls moved closer to the birch to examine it carefully, and it was Diana who exclaimed, “A heart. It’s a heart!”
“I wonder who carved it,” Anne spoke slowly, enunciating each word.
“Maybe it was always here and we never noticed it,” Diana posited.
Anne pointed to the thin slices of bark that lay at the base of the tree and shook her head.
“No, this is newly done. The artist may yet be near,” she said and then called out, “Is anyone here? Come show yourself!”
Charlie’s eyes widened as he listened to their pondering and heard Anne’s cry. He had only the slightest urge to step out and reveal himself and told himself that perhaps if Anne were alone he would be brave enough to do so. But even that thought terrified him, and he kept as quiet as he could, barely taking breaths.
“How mysterious!” Diana announced. But Anne shook her head in immediate disagreement.
“This is not a mystery at all. It’s very clear what’s happened here.”
Charlie froze at this and wondered if he had been seen. He even closed his eyes as though that would better hide him from their sight.
“How can you know what happened, Anne?” Diana asked, looking askance at her closest friend.
“Well,” Anne began, shifting into her storytelling voice, “There was once a handsome and shy young man who wandered the woods looking for beauty, truth and true love. One day he came upon a lovely, young wood sprite singing songs with the trees and the wind, and he fell passionately and hopelessly in love with her.”
If Diana and Charlie could have seen each other at this moment, they might have noticed a very similar expression on their faces, one of total enchantment and belief.
Anne continued. “The young man returned to the same spot day after day, as did the wood sprite, but kept his distance, not wanting to frighten off his beloved. One day, the youth’s ardor overtook him, and he felt compelled to proclaim his love for the young sprite. But just as he gave voice to his feelings, her father, a powerful elven noble, appeared and saw and heard everything. The sprite looked at her suitor with eyes that returned his love, but before the sprite could say a word, her father cast a spell on the young man, who found a white birch - a tree as chaste as the young man himself - suddenly and quickly surrounding him. It was too late. The elven father carried off his daughter who was utterly distraught as she looked back at the tree and wept. Her only solace was the heart that slowly appeared in the bark of the birch communicating in the only way he could the young man’s never-ending love for the beautiful spirit.”
Anne was silent and solemn as she finished her story, almost as though she believed it herself. Diana stood close by her, quietly thinking and then suddenly shook her head with a smile.
“Oh, Anne! You live in such a different and wonderful world in your mind. How did I ever manage without you?” And with that, she embraced her dear friend who smiled a half smile as though part of her was still very much in her tale. The two girls continued their walk, arm in arm, talking once again about all manner of things, while Charlie remained motionless, hearing nothing, overcome by the myriad feelings stirred by Anne’s passionate imagination. He felt both elated and full of grief, as though it was he who was trapped inside that tree. Suddenly, he found himself gasping for air and almost choking. It was only when he finally got his breath back that he realized the girls had walked on. He could almost hear the crunching of the leaves underfoot as they moved further away, and he was struck by the thought that this was his moment. He must do or say something or be forever silenced. Anne had seen his heart and she must know it was his for her. Charlie tried to call out, “Anne!” - but managed only a raspy squeak. He cleared his throat and spoke her name aloud, not a call but in a voice that he might have used if he were addressing her only steps away. He knew it couldn’t be heard, so summoning up all his courage and all his strength he yelled up to the treetops, “Anne! I like you so very much!” - and collapsed into a pile of leaves exhilarated.
“Did you hear that?” Anne interrupted her friend in mid-sentence.
“What?”
“I thought I heard someone calling,” Anne said as she looked back at the path they had just followed. Both girls stopped and listened.
“Perhaps,” Diana said with a sly grin, “it was your poor suitor trying to break free from his wooded prison.”
Anne smiled back at her. “You are making a joke of my tale.”
“I love your stories, Anne” Diana confessed. “If only I could see the world that you see. Having you share it with me is the next best thing.”
And so saying Diana took Anne’s arm in hers, and they continued down their path together.
At almost that very moment, Matthew Cuthbert was strolling home nearby, lost in thought and looking forward not only to his supper but also to hearing about whatever new adventures his Anne had been up to that day. He smiled to himself thinking about all the joy she had already brought into his life and Marilla’s. Suddenly stopping, Matthew looked up into the slightly swaying trees and listened. For a moment it almost seemed as though the woods were echoing his very thoughts.
George Burns is a lifelong educator who has written extensively about schools and children, and has written stories for and told stories to children his entire career. He has recently been writing fiction for adults as well, and his story "North Fifth Street Rag" will be published in the Spring 2020 issue of The Wallace Stevens Journal.
Author's statement: After spending the last two years only reading books (dozens of them) by female authors, I realized I should make sure to include books for younger readers that were too advanced for my third grade students but that I wouldn't have read myself when I was an adolescent. So I borrowed my grown-up daughter Rachel's copy of Anne of Green Gables and immediately became as entranced as Charlie Sloane was by Anne's lively, intelligent, spirited, kind and immensely creative character. It was only a few weeks after reading it that my daughter, a wonderful and talented poet, told me about the All Things Anne issue, and I knew immediately that I wanted to enter the world of Avonlea and offer a contribution. I am thrilled to have my story included here.
Author's statement: After spending the last two years only reading books (dozens of them) by female authors, I realized I should make sure to include books for younger readers that were too advanced for my third grade students but that I wouldn't have read myself when I was an adolescent. So I borrowed my grown-up daughter Rachel's copy of Anne of Green Gables and immediately became as entranced as Charlie Sloane was by Anne's lively, intelligent, spirited, kind and immensely creative character. It was only a few weeks after reading it that my daughter, a wonderful and talented poet, told me about the All Things Anne issue, and I knew immediately that I wanted to enter the world of Avonlea and offer a contribution. I am thrilled to have my story included here.