Chapter Text
1.
The moment he had realized that the girl with the ever so brilliant—ever so bewitching nature was about to flee from the scene he had unintentionally caused with that neglected cherry apple and that inadvertent insult, with her tears a few seconds away from falling, Gilbert Blythe found himself tempted to run after the girl to apologize for his shortcomings, but stopped himself, realizing that more violent acts were more likely to occur instead of the hopeful prospect of forgiveness. Their schoolmaster found the situation completely tiresome, seeing as the class continuously refused to heed to his warnings. However, after Mister Phillips had finally settled the commotion in his classroom caused by the orphan girl he had apparent prejudices with, he resumed the order of their typical, Tuesday afternoon, and proceeded to propose more sums for his students to solve, leaving Gilbert to settle his own internal qualms alone. As the clock struck four, they were dismissed, and no further consultations were arranged to discuss the events that occurred just a few hours ago.
Gilbert attempted to catch the attention of their teacher, hopeful that he might offer some advice but found him too engaged with his conversation with Prissy Andrews, their distance a little too inappropriate for the ideals of the community. Gilbert, however, was too engrossed with his own matters to notice the impropriety occurring before his eyes and quickly grabbed his belongings to try and settle the disastrous event that he had caused. Taking the route straight to Green Gables, he desperately tried to rehearse his apology, repeatedly whispering his anxieties to the wind, but upon his arrival to the Cuthbert’s property, he was greeted by a departing Diana Barry, bearing a troubled look, and looking a little baffled to encounter Gilbert on her way home.
“Diana—,” he tried to start, but his earlier rehearsals failed to profess his guilt. Thus, he was now finding himself reproaching his cowardly and impertinent disposition, for if he was already failing to address his regrets to her friend, what more when he would be facing Anne herself? Diana, however, had noticed his anxieties and rescued him from it.
“I suspect you’re here to apologize to Anne, but I fear this isn’t the right time, Gilbert. She’s—,” she paused, and offered a sad, sympathetic smile for his efforts, “she’s not ready to see you yet. Why don’t you come back tomorrow?” Diana Barry gave him a light pat on his shoulder, posed another kind smile, and left him alone with his thoughts. He felt relief, that's for sure and certain, however, he continued to dread about the possible outcomes that would transpire when he would finally confront this matter.
How could I be so stupid? he harshly mused, finally stopping himself from holding his breath, and eventually forced his way home. He just wanted to reach out to the girl who had an entrancing way with words, as if she was singing every syllable she voices; the girl with a delicate smile when she introduced herself, and apologized for her earlier display of incivility, reflecting a sincerity that spoke more than the beams of some in their small community; and the same girl with big, expressive eyes, capable of forming an assortment of beauty at its highest possible peak. When he recounted the events to his father during their afternoon tea, he received a face of displeasure from the last person he wanted to disappoint and drowned himself further with his guilt.
“Women are not playthings, son,” John Blythe maintained, stifling his coughs to deliver an important lecture, “they are people, and they deserve your respect as any other. If you do find yourself fancying the girl—”
“—I don’t—,”
“—there are better ways to catch her interests, but you have to apologize whether you like her or not. She deserves as much. If she doesn’t accept right away, give her time because it was you who was at fault, but continue to be respectful. Be the best person that you can be, and I’m telling you, son, if it’s meant to be, she’ll fall straight into your arms,” his father provided, finally having the chance to cough up his phlegm, with his diligent son offering a wet cloth at his disposal.
“I don’t think she’s the kind of person who’ll willingly fall into my arms, dad,” Gilbert pondered, caressing the cheek that could still evoke the temper of Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, but immediately pointed out his father’s misconception of Gilbert’s sentiments to the girl. John Blythe released a rather boisterous laugh—something he had not done in a while, and Gilbert experienced a warmth flow through his body after seeing a short glimpse of his dad’s previous self before his illness took over, but also felt his face heat up, considering the thought that he was being teased by his own father—and about a girl too!
“I’ll tell you right here and now, son,” his father offered after hacking a new set of phlegm from his sudden outburst, “if you think a girl’s voice is enough that you can hear melodies in its place, you’re already a lost cause, my boy.” Gilbert Blythe tried to ignore another stream of unwelcomed warmth rush through his cheeks and asked his teasing father if he wanted another cup of tea.