What's In A Name

Chapter Four---What’s in a Name?

Mathew leaned against the picnic table, watching the strange little girl with wary amusement.
“I don’t suppose you have a name, do you?”

Mathew, tongue in cheek added, “I suppose I could just call you Plain Girl. How does that sound?”

Chris gasped, horrified.
“Oh no, Sir, you may not! That would be perfectly, dreadfully, awful�"worse than awful. Positively tragical! There’s no scope for the imagination in it at all.”

She drew the phrase out again, more dramatic this time:
“Scope to the imagination. I read that once in a book, and I’ve used it ever since.”

“Would it be beyond my scope of imagination to wishing you would go away?” Mathew asked.

She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes.
“Is it true? Do you really want me to go away? I can, if that’s what you want. But it would fill my life with the most horrible despair, not to mention hopelessness and dread and�"oh!�"maldiscordance.”

“Mal… discordance?” Mathew repeated, stifling a laugh.

“Yes,” she insisted, placing a hand on his shoulder with tragic gravity. “You wouldn’t want to be responsible for maldiscordance, would you?”

Mathew chuckled. “Well, no. I wouldn't want to be responsible for that. Maybe if you just told me your name, I’d know what to call you. I might even let you stay.”

Chris straightened with a solemn dignity.
“My name… I would like it very much if you would call me Anne. Anne�"with an E. Isn’t it the most perfectly romantical name?”

“Well…” Mathew raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that something you should already know? If it’s really your name, why would you have to ask?”

Chris dropped her gaze, caught in her own web.
“Hmm. Well, it’s not exactly my real name. Not officially. But sometimes I imagine it is. Anne of Green Gables�"that’s me. Only…”

She lifted a lock of her chestnut hair, letting it fall across her face.
“What color would you say this is?”

Mathew studied her hair. “Brown. Definitely brown.”

Chris sighed in disappointment.
“Just plain brown. I had imagined it radiant red, like Anne’s. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t make it so. Anne couldn’t imagine away her red hair, and I can’t imagine mine into red. Quite the conundrum, don’t you think?”

“You mean Anne of Green Gables?” Mathew smirked. “Why would anyone want to be like her?”

Chris’ voice dropped to a squeak.
“You… you know about Green Gables?”

“Had to read it in school,” Mathew shrugged. “Thought it was kind of goofy. But now that I think of it… Anne was a lot like you.”

Chris placed a hand to her chest and swooned.
“Kindred spirits! That’s what we are. Except… well, she lived a hundred years ago. She’s not real, of course�"just a character in a book. But oh, when I read it, she is real. Sometimes it feels like I’m living her life�"just a hundred years later. I bet you think that sounds odd, don’t you?”

Mathew shifted uncomfortably.
“As honestly as you can�"please, just tell me your real name.”

The girl sighed.
“Chris. It's just plain, unromantic, undesirable Chris. But I would like it so much more if you’d be willing�"out of the kindness of your heart�"to call me Anne. It has been my lifelong dream.”

She crossed her hands behind her back, looking skyward in tragic despair.
“Otherwise, I fear my dream will be nothing more than a faded memory, lost in a fog of dreariest despairs. Surely you wouldn’t place such a sorrowful burden on a poor orphaned girl?”

Mathew blinked. “Orphaned? You’re an orphan?”

“Well… not technically, I don't suppose,” Chris admitted. “My parents died when I was very young. Nobody really wanted me. Taking in another child is such a terrible responsibility. My poor grandparents, Mary and Richard�"don’t you think those are perfectly wonderful names?�"well, they got stuck with me. I’ve lived with them ever since. They tolerate me, especially Richard. But truly, it’s almost like being an orphan.”

She paused, brightening.

“If we're going to spend some time together, like you said, then I should know your name too, don’t you think? It would be utterly rude otherwise�"like peanut butter and jelly without any bread.”

The boy chuckled despite himself. “It’s Mathew. My friends call me Matt.”

“Oh no, Sir! Just plain Matt won’t do. You’re Mathew, and there’s no getting around it. A good, proper, romantical, and biblical name. Yep, right out of the Bible it is. I think it's perfectly perfect!”

She tilted her head. “Do you have a last name? Surely you must. It wouldn’t be proper not to.”

“James,” he said. “Mathew Luke James.”

Chris clasped her hands dramatically, but before she could utter another word, Mathew placed a finger over her lips.

“Yes,” he commented, “all good, proper, romantical, and biblical names. Just perfectly perfect.”

Chris’ eyes widened in surprise. “Why yes, how did you know that? Are you reading my mind already?”

Mathew shook his head, laughing. “Something like that.”

“Well,” she said,”I see there will be keeping no secrets from you-you mind reader you.”

Chris drew herself up proudly.

“Mathew,” she quizzed, “don't you want to know what my last name?”

“No,” he answered sharply.

“Well, whether you want or not, I'm going to tell you anyway.

My last name is Adams. It's dreadfully dull, I’m afraid. I pretend it's Carlisle, sometimes. Lady Contessa Carlisle of Queens! That’s me. Don’t you think it has a wonderfully grand ring?”

Mathew frowned. “No. Adams is fine, and very respectable. One of the founding father's of our country was an Adams.”

Chris wrinkled her nose. “Respectable, perhaps, but no color to it. James... there's a name proper name with color.”

Mathew placed a hand lightly on her head. “It doesn't matter what a person's name is just as long as he or she has one. Chris is a fine name. It comes from Christine. It means Christlike. Hard to imagine you being Christlike, considering how much you talk.”

Chris grinned.
“It’s true what you say. I assure you, however, I’m anything but Christlike. I try, but I always fail. It’s a terrible burden for a little girl to carry. Wouldn’t it be far better to be Anne�"with red hair and freckles�"than to be stuck with a name like mine?”

Mathew leaned back against the picnic table, bewildered, amused, and�"though he wouldn’t admit it�"just a little bewitched.

What he had come here seeking was solitude.

What he found instead was Chris.

The End

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Author's Note

Well, I hope you enjoyed that.