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Chapter Text

Housewarming

noun:

             a party to celebrate a person’s or a family’s move to a new home

Anne hummed a tune of her own design as she arranged the fresh flowers, determined that each petal have its moment of radiance in the centerpiece.

“Are you quite done with your arrangement?” Marilla asked from her place at the stove. She’d been busy most of the afternoon making a sublime soup and fresh bread for Bash and Mary to enjoy once ensconced in the cozy walls of their newlywed abode.

Anne was certain that the new lifemates would be famished when they arrived, having spent the last three days since their wedding closing up Mary’s house in the Bog before catching the train back to Avonlea. With Marilla’s permission, Anne had been given the task of making the table presentable for the pair, allowed to dress the counter as she saw fit. She’d covered the ashen wood in a lace tablecloth of cream that she lined with pine needles to give the space a crisp forest scent. Her final touch was the platter of flowers, filled with snowdrops and lungwort, but something was missing.

“Something blue,” Anne said, thinking of the bridal rhyme, and quick as a shot, she was bouncing out of the kitchen and headed towards the little family garden just outside the back door of the Blythe homestead. Passing the neat rows of early spring sprouts, Anne scuttled towards the fence where a hyacinth bush thick with blue flowers roosted. She made quick work of snapping the stems of the pretty flora, filling her arms with the lush blossoms.

A steady thumping accompanied Anne’s work, the rhythmic clash of metal and timber telling her that Gilbert was still cutting wood. Doing her very best to be subtle, Anne dared to peek at her schoolmate out of the corner of her eye, watching as he mindlessly chopped one log after another.

Although it was only March and winter had yet to relinquish its hold on the island, Gilbert had removed his flannel jacket and was working in just his shirt. Dark patches of sweat stained his collar and made a trail down past his shoulders; shoulders that stretched the blue cotton over hidden muscles in his back and arms every time he lifted the axe over his head.

Anne couldn’t see his face, but she could guess it was pink from the work and the chill. She could imagine his dark brows knit together in concentration, his nose scrunching as he considered the log he’d just laid down, thinking of the best angle to strike it from, and his smile (such a wonderful smile!) that was surely making his face radiant when he successfully cleaved the wood in two with a single swing.

Gilbert was much stronger than Anne would have guessed and seeing that potency on display just now was both surprising and bewilderingly enticing. Without meaning to, Anne turned her full attention to Gilbert’s oblivious figure. Alone in the privacy of the garden, she felt safe enough to take her time examining Gilbert, her grey eyes memorizing him as if he were a page filled with all her favourite words.

Anne had never given much thought to Gilbert’s body, or to any body of the male species for that matter. She wasn’t yet fifteen, still far too young to be considering boys and their appearance in a romantic light. Besides, none of the lads in Avonlea had ever really captured her attention in that way. But suddenly, in the quiet solitude of the little back garden, Anne found herself very curious about the male figure, and perhaps what was most startling was that it was Gilbert of all boys that she was curious about!

Watching him as he continued cutting wood, Anne realized that Gilbert was tall, taller perhaps than he had been a few months ago at Christmas. His hair was longer, too, the dark curls sweeping over the shells of his ears and far over his brow. His shoulders were broad, probably from the year he’d spent shoveling coal on the S.S. Primrose, and his waist was trim, with not even a handful of childhood chubbiness to be pinched, and his backside…

And now Anne was staring at Gilbert Blythe’s trouser clad rear end as he bent forward to collect the wood he’d chopped, scandalizing herself when she thought that his bottom was certainly one of the boy’s more alluring assets, next to his eyes, and smile, and hair.

It really was a wicked thing to think, and it disturbed Anne that she should ponder on Gilbert’s body that way when he wasn’t anything more to her than a school rival and neighbour. The pair were barely even friends! In fact, most days, Anne thought of Gilbert as just some silly, stupid boy.

A silly stupid boy who was going to be spending the next seven days at Green Gables.  

“Anne!”

Jumping up as quick as a hare, Anne bolted inside the house, missing Gilbert’s perplexed expression as he watched her practically fly for the door to heed Marilla’s call. Profusely apologizing for lollygagging, Anne returned her ardent attention to the dinner table’s centerpiece, arranging the hyacinth shoots artfully among the rest of the flowers. She was just completing her tableau when Gilbert entered the kitchen.

Like she’d suspected, his face was flushed, the curls along his brow slick with sweat. He was carrying two baskets filled with kindling and now Anne was having to deal with the muscles of Gilbert’s arms, bulging as he lifted his heavy cargo over to the stove, the seams of his shirt practically screaming with the strain of containing his growing body.

“It smells divine, Ms. Cuthbert,” Gilbert praised with warm sincerity. The older woman preened under his sweet attention, offering him a taste of the soup which he gladly accepted. “I think I saw Mr. Cuthbert coming around the bend.”

“Then you’d best get changed and grab your things,” Marilla instructed. Gilbert was swift to do as he was told, passing by Anne to make his way to his bedroom.

“Your centerpiece is pretty,” he told her, quietly and quickly, leaving Anne gasping in his wake. She wasn’t sure Gilbert had ever complimented her before, and she was at a loss over how to react. In truth, Anne was at a loss over how to feel about the whole impending situation of Gilbert’s temporary residence at Green Gables, and she tugged on one of her braids as she tried to wrap her mind around it.

It was all Gilbert’s fault, of course.

On the train from Charlottetown after the Lacroixs’ wedding, Gilbert had requested the help of the Cuthberts to prepare his house for the newlyweds. He’d wanted to make the space welcome and special for the pair and knew he lacked the imagination to achieve that goal on his own (and if he’d happened to give Anne a meaningful look when he’d mentioned imagination, Anne surely didn’t notice). Marilla had commended Gilbert on his thoughtfulness and promised the family’s services. So it was that Mathew, Marilla and Anne found themselves being welcomed to Gilbert’s house after church that Sunday. While the women had gotten straight to work making food and tidying up, Gilbert had begun the task of getting a decent woodpile ready while Mathew had gone to the train station to collect the lovebirds.

Soon, all of their efforts would be rewarded with Mary and Bash’s surprise and appreciation, but there was something more to Gilbert’s wedding gift than a hot meal and fresh bedding.

The young man in question returned to the kitchen, tripping Anne out of her musings. He’d changed into a grey shirt, free from sweat stains, and a woolen vest of chestnut. His face had been scrubbed clean as had his hair, and he was fiddling with a button at his cuff, struggling to get the little fastener to close.

“Let me,” Anne said, and Gilbert was glad to hold out his arm while Anne efficiently secured his button, taking a moment to straighten his cuff as well, her fingers brushing the warm skin of his wrist. The spark that seemed to jolt between them when they touched left Anne suspecting that that was exactly what electricity felt like, sharp and sudden and powerful enough to light the room. Her breath caught in her throat, and when she looked up it was to find Gilbert looking at her, the tender expression on his face reminding her of Christmas when they’d blown out the candles in the tree.

“Thank you, Anne,” he said, voice as calm as a gentle brook. It unsettled her when he said her name like that, like he enjoyed sounding it out and giving it life. It made Anne’s breathing stutter and her heart skip a beat and she felt foolish for being unable to look away or say something to ease the odd tension that had been coming between them since…well, since the beginning.

The shrill whinny of a horse accompanied by the sound of Mathew’s gentle shushing is what finally shattered the pair’s silent stare-down, Anne turning towards the door while Gilbert lowered his head and cleared his throat.

“They’re here!” Anne exclaimed, giving Gilbert’s wrist a brief, but tight, squeeze between both her hands before hurrying to throw open the door. “Welcome home!” she exclaimed, waving and laughing as she hopped off the porch and rushed to greet the buggy.

“What a surprise! Queen Anne!” Bash greeted, moving to hug the redhead after helping his bride down from the wagon.

“And how was your journey?” she asked, hugging Mary before moving to help with the luggage.

“I’ve got that,” Gilbert said, having snuck up on Anne. He reached around her to grab the suitcase from the flatbed, lifting it effortlessly and reminding Anne for the dozenth time that day of how fit he was.

“Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, get back in here!” Marilla called from the open door. “You silly girl, running outside at this time of year without a hat or coat. You’ll catch your death.”

“Sorry,” Anne answered back, shrugging her shoulders unapologetically before looping her arm in Mary’s and walking her up the path to the house.

The next half hour was a cacophony of glad greetings, and luggage moving, and house touring. There was unpacking, and putting away, and compliments, and awed delight as the newlyweds recognized and appreciated every effort their neighbours had made to make them feel at home.

Though he ended up doing more heavy lifting and rearranging rather than fully participating in the welcome party, Gilbert felt as light as a feather seeing his house, so drab and lonely since his father had died, suddenly dazzling with a warmth that had been missing for years. Gilbert suspected it was Mary, the new mistress of the Blythe (now Blythe/Lacroix) homestead, giving the old walls that much needed feminine shine. It made him think of Anne and the table she’d spent the afternoon assembling, using nature to transform a dull piece of wood into a work of art. Anne was creative that way, and Gilbert knew Mary was, too. He couldn’t wait to see how she would change the old farmhouse, making it a home for their new, lovely little family (one that may very well see some growth in the coming years, or so Bash had proclaimed hopefully), but that would come in due time.

“Well, I think it’s time we be off,” Marilla instructed, nodding towards the Lacroixs before ushering her brother and daughter to the door.

“Won’t you stay and join us?” Mary asked, gesturing to the pretty table, confused when the Cuthberts continued to put on their hats and coats.

“I don’t believe we will, but thank you,” Marilla answered kindly.

“We just came to help with the surprise,” Anne added, flashing Gilbert an impish grin before bouncing out of the house after Mathew, Marilla trailing behind her.

“What’s your girl on about a surprise?” Bash asked, eyeing Gilbert suspiciously. The young man felt as giddy as Anne, unable to keep himself from grinning widely as he, too, put on his coat.

“I’m taking a holiday,” Gilbert announced, picking up his father’s old suitcase that he had packed and stashed by the door before church that morning. He took a moment to enjoy the bewildered looks Bash and Mary flashed at him, eyes large and mouths agape. Their reaction made the sixteen-year old feel rather theatrical, so he posed a touch dramatically in the doorway, chin held high and chest puffed out as he gestured with his free hand to the yard and explained himself. “I’m off to Green Gables. For a week. The house is yours.”

“Oh, Gilbert…” Mary breathed, placing a gloved hand over her heart.

“Happy honeymoon,” he teased cheekily, winking at Bash and feeling very accomplished when he watched his friend blush and sputter, with no witty comeback to toss his way. Clapping the man on the shoulder and nodding to Mary, Gilbert put on his hat and sauntered out of the house, whistling all the way to the waiting Cuthbert clan.

~*~

“Anne, will you show Gilbert up to his room.”

“What?! Why me?”

Anne didn’t flinch when Marilla gave her a look so severe it could strip paint. Instead, she huffed in defeat and left the dining room, making her way up the stairs. Gilbert didn’t take offence to Anne’s grumbling retreat, and in fact was glad to be alone with Marilla for a few moments.

“Here, Ms. Cuthbert,” he said, holding his hand out to her, some silver coins shining in his palm.

“I told you this morning that that won’t be necessary,” Marilla said firmly.

“I’m imposing on you,” Gilbert insisted. “You didn’t have to go along with my plan for Bash and Mary to have the house to themselves for a while. I’d like to pay you, just like any other boarder would.”

“But you’re not a boarder, Gilbert Blythe,” Marilla said, taking the young man’s hand in hers and curling his fingers around his money before giving them a firm tap. “You’re a guest of Green Gables.”

Her words struck a chord with Gilbert, making him feel peaceful.

“Thank you, Ms. Cuthbert,” he said humbly. “I’d still like to do something to earn my keep; return your kindness.”

“Well, I don’t suppose I can stop you from giving Mathew and Jerry a hand on the farm while you’re here,” she sighed, turning away from the boy to gather her mending basket, intending to do some needlework before preparing dinner. “But I won’t have it if you fall behind in your studies. Your education is important, Gilbert.”

“Yes, Ms. Cuthbert,” he replied, feeling suddenly like a beloved son again.

All at once, Gilbert understood why Anne was so keen to seek and retain Marilla Cuthbert’s approval, for when you were in her esteem you knew you were cared for beyond all measure. It made Gilbert feel energized and honoured, and he was certainly motivated to pursue his studies with earnest vigour if it meant so much to Marilla that he be successful.

Pocketing his coins, Gilbert left Marilla to her sewing and made his way upstairs. Green Gables wasn’t a terribly complicated house to get around, and he only had to make a left on the landing before he spotted Anne. She was leaning against the wall beside a closed door, arms crossed and expression crosser.

“What took you so long?” she asked, a crumb of attitude in her tone.

“Just talking with Ms. Cuthbert,” he answered, believing Anne would give him a spectacularly verbose piece of her mind if he confessed he’d tried to pay for his week at Green Gables. It was better to avoid the subject all together and just settle in. “Is this me?” He gestured with his head to the closed door between them.

“Oh! Yes.”

Oddly skittish, Anne moved to open the door, and Gilbert waited for her to cross the threshold before following.

The bedroom was plain and functional. There were two windows dressed in white sheer curtains, their sills cushioning small clay pots of mint that gave a fresh tang to the air. Between the windows was a bed, the mattress turned, the pillow fluffed, and the quilt bright from the wash. A small bedside table was home to an oil lamp atop a doily. The dresser on the far-left side of the room served as a vanity as well, with a mirror and washing bowl adorning its surface.

“There’s more blankets and some candles in the trunk,” Anne said, pointing to the dark oak chest at the foot of the bed, determined to not look at Gilbert as he took in his bedroom. She’d spent part of her Saturday helping Marilla air the room out, pretending she wasn’t bothered that she was making up a bed Gilbert would be sleeping in. It would be no different than when the grifters had boarded at Green Gables last fall, she told herself, trying and failing to believe that sentiment.

Because whenever it came to Gilbert Blythe, everything was different.

It felt forbidden to be alone with Gilbert in the place he would be sleeping, not fifteen paces from her own bed. Thinking of their proximity, it was suddenly hard to swallow.

“It’s nice,” Gilbert said sweetly, placing his suitcase on top of the chest and opening it so he could begin unpacking. Unable to help her curiosity, Anne peeked at Gilbert’s things while he busied himself at the dresser. Most of what he brought had been clothing, shirts and trousers folded neatly one on top of the other. There were belts and suspenders, and a jacket she recognized as the one he wore to church. She also spotted his schoolbooks, and some other tomes whose titles she couldn’t make out. There were pens and pencils and notebooks tucked into the pocket lining of the case, as well as balled up socks and a handkerchief with his initials stitched beautifully in one corner of the soft ivory linen.

Consumed with snooping, Anne never realized that Gilbert had noticed her prying. The sixteen-year old lingered at the dresser, having already organized the shirts he’d been putting away. He didn’t want to move and disturb Anne’s concentration, for it pleased him, in a way he couldn’t quite explain, that she was curious about him. Seeing the proof that Anne did think of him, even if it was only to know about his clothes, made the young man smile to himself, his heart atwitter.

Anne’s grey eyes continued to peruse Gilbert’s belongings with intense attention, until they paused and grew big with alarm when they found the crisp white fold of a leg on a pair of long underwear.

“Marilla didn’t know if you shave,” Anne found herself sputtering suddenly, turning away from the open suitcase and willing her face not to breakout in a horrid blush, embarrassed that she had seen Gilbert’s…underthings. She should have just left the room, but Anne’s mouth always did have a way of carrying on without her consent, and why she should think of Gilbert shaving of all things made her cringe at how odd of a thought it was to give voice. “That is to say,” she continued, trying to salvage her dignity, “we didn’t leave out any soap or a razor.”

Gilbert watched Anne as she seemed to fret over her outburst, but her comment hadn’t bothered him, just as her inquisitiveness hadn’t either.

“I brought my own,” he offered, going to his suitcase and pulling out a small shaving kit from underneath his clothing. “But it was kind to think of it. Thank you.”

Anne immediately snapped her head in Gilbert’s direction, grey eyes rapidly roving across his jaw, seeking the evidence of whiskers. Her imagination began to bloom with vision after vision of Gilbert with a beard, a mustache, stubble. The images came to her so fast she had to blink spastically in order to refocus on the boy in front of her.

“When did you start shaving?” she asked, her tone both astounded and accusing, as if she were cross he’d go and do something so grown up.

Fidgeting under her stare, Gilbert couldn’t help raising a hand to the side of his face, rubbing his palm along his jaw that was smooth for the moment, but was sure to be rough with little dark hairs come morning. Watching Gilbert touch his cheek and realizing it was the same one she’d slapped her slate across the day they first met, Anne was seized by her own compulsion to stroke the fine hair at the end of her right braid.

The two young people considered one another in anxious silence and it felt oddly like the time they’d competed in their first spelling bee at school (thrilling, stimulating, determined) and like that suspended moment in front of the Christmas tree a few months ago (tender, intimate, arousing). Hazel and grey tickled across brows and noses, traced the cut of jaws and the curve of chins, finding hidden dimples and not so hidden freckles before focusing on lips, how they were shaped and coloured and seemed rather hypnotizing when the tip of pink tongues peeked out to dampen them.

Anne looked away first (Anne always looked away first), and headed for the door, meaning to let Gilbert continue unpacking in peace and intent on finding a task that would distract her from the strange spooling warmth that seemed to rove throughout her body like an ocean current.

“I hope you enjoy your stay at Green Gables,” she said just before leaving the room, never turning back to look at him as she disappeared down the hall. Gilbert waited a moment, watching the open door with a hungry yearning to see her face again, but Anne never came back. He would be lying to say he wasn’t disappointed that the redhead had practically fled from him, but the pang of remorse soon fled when he remembered that he’d see Anne again in only about an hour at dinner.

In fact, for seven days, he’d get to see Anne more than he could have ever thought possible.

And wasn’t that simply wonderful.

Chapter Text

Habituate

  verb:

             to make or become accustomed or used to something

Gilbert’s first sleep at Green Gables was not restful.

Much like his first night (and his second, and his fifth, and his eleventh) on the S.S. Primrose, the unfamiliar surroundings made slumber an elusive bedfellow. Besides not being used to the feel of the mattress against his back or the scent in the room, there was the matter of the dreams which had visited Gilbert on and off throughout the night, each vision a restless recurrence of wildflowers and storm clouds and red hair. It seemed Gilbert was waking every hour of the night, his body jolted into alertness by his dreams, and then he would stare into the darkness of the room and wonder how Anne was sleeping before realizing he could simply walk down the hallway to find out.

And though he never did, a part of him really wanted to.

That desire, not just to see Anne but to see what she looked like while ensconced in peaceful sleep, made Gilbert feel uncomfortable, like an itch he couldn’t get at to scratch away. He knew it was both wildly disrespectful and harmlessly natural to be curious about a girl in her bed, thinking of what she might look like with the quilt slipping down her middle, the collar of her nightgown gaping open over a creamy, freckle filled shoulder, and her red hair (her magnificent hair!) tossed about her head in loose abandon, its beauty as feral as the daisies she loved to weave among the tresses.

With his imagination clinging to those visions, it wasn’t any wonder Gilbert hadn’t been able to sleep.

It was at least another hour to dawn when the sixteen-year old decided to simply get up and start his day. He moved quietly throughout his room as he prepared himself for the morning, washing and shaving and combing his hair before dressing, grabbing his school things, and making his way downstairs.

It was still a bit too early to head for the schoolhouse, even to attend his extra lessons. Ms. Stacy was proving a tremendous support to Gilbert, helping him to not only catch up in his general schooling, but also getting him a head start on the subjects he would need for his vocational aspirations. In fact, Gilbert and Ms. Stacy had mapped out an academic plan that would see Gilbert applying to Redmond College in two years, earning his Bachelor’s Degree in Biology in four, and then applying to the college’s medical school where it would be another three years before he could call himself Doctor Blythe.

The road would be long, the journey filled with unknowns and ambushes and divergences. There would certainly be ruts to get over, and it wouldn’t always be easy to pass those bumps and holes, but it would be worth it. Gilbert tried to remind himself of that as he yawned, long and hard, over the pot of porridge he was stirring, keeping a constant, monotonous motion so as to avoid lumps. He could already tell his concentration was waning, his brain balking at the additional lessons Ms. Stacy would heap on him, just as she did every Monday.

“What are you doing?”

The voice, whispered and husky, gave Gilbert a start. He jumped, almost burning himself in the process, and looked to his left.

Anne was leaning against the wall. She was in her nightgown, though all Gilbert could see was the rippled collar against her throat because she’d wrapped herself in a moss green robe before coming downstairs. Her hair was still in her braids, though much of it had fallen out of the plaits, the red tresses sticking out every which way, making Anne seem like a wild pixie come in from the fields to enchant the household with her nature magic. But then Gilbert noticed the dark smudges under Anne’s eyes, and the way she seemed lethargic as she leaned against the wall, arms crossed but loose in their hold, and it made him wonder if Anne hadn’t slept too well, either.

“I’m making breakfast,” he answered, swallowing hard as he outlined her figure with a sweeping glance. Her slim frame was decently covered from throat to ankle, and the outfit shouldn’t have made Gilbert’s heart stutter. But rattle in his ribcage it did, because Anne Shirley was standing in front of him, still drowsy with sleep, in clothes she’d worn to bed, and perhaps best of all, she was barefoot, her pretty pink toes peeking out from the bottom of her robe.

“Do you normally eat breakfast in the middle of the night?” she quipped, thoroughly unimpressed and shifting against the wall as if to stretch a kink in her back.

“It’s hardly that.”

“The sun isn’t out yet.”

“But it will be soon,” Gilbert observed, focusing on the breakfast he was tending. “Go back to bed,” and his voice cracked when he said ‘bed’, but he tried to cover it up with a fake cough, “if you’re still tired.”

“What are you making?” she asked, avoiding his suggestion and padding to the stove.

“Porridge, and I’ll fry some bacon, too, just before I go.”

“Marilla usually makes eggs,” Anne said, more to herself than to him, as if she was working out a geometry problem. “Wait! What do you mean ‘go’?”

“To school.”

“This early?”

“Every Monday,” Gilbert replied, feeling confident enough that his porridge was lump-free to leave it to thicken while he turned to the butcher’s block so he could cut the bacon. “It’s part of the advanced lessons Ms. Stacy has created to help catch me up and get me ready for college. I started doing them with her almost three weeks ago.”

Anne recalled that three weeks ago had been the town hall meeting when the denizens of Avonlea voted to keep the liberal, and perfectly revolutionary, Muriel Stacy as their village teacher. Anne had been exuberant with joy that Ms. Stacy would stay, and now that she had selected her vocation, she was keen to get started on her college preparation studies.

And if that meant she would be learning with Gilbert, all the better really, since vying with the boy for marks in school kept Anne on top of her studies, not to mention it was invigorating to compete with a noble and worthy adversary.

Gilbert was smart.

Besides his handsome looks and chivalrous character, his intelligence had been one of the first things Anne had noticed about him. And because Anne knew she was not pretty, nor did she think of herself as a particularly charitable person, the only arena in which she could hope to face-off and triumph over all her peers and not just Gilbert (but most especially Gilbert) was her intelligence. Anne prided herself on her mind and imagination and knew that she would leave Avonlea school with the top marks in the class, and that Gilbert Blythe was truly the only hurdle she had to pass in order to reach her goals.

However, the competition between them was hardly fair if Gilbert was being given a head start in their scholarly race.

“So every Monday you have to walk to school in the dark? Is Ms. Stacy even there?” Anne asked incredulously, anxious that Gilbert was permitted to be so independent and get an unfair lead in his advanced studies.

As she interrogated the boy, she started mulling about the kitchen, needing to move to not only wake up fully, but to help focus her panicked thoughts. So, Anne grabbed a pan and placed the slices of bacon Gilbert had cut inside, but before she had a chance to do it herself, he was nabbing the skillet and putting it on the stovetop.

“I’ve got it,” he said. “Don’t want you getting burned.”

“I know how to make bacon,” Anne groused.

“Do you know how to make toast, too?”

Rolling her eyes, Anne got to work cutting thick slices of bread before placing them, one at a time, in the toaster rack to cook alongside the bacon. Anne and Gilbert cooked in silence, sometimes bumping into one another as they milled about the stove, bounding between the range and the butcher’s block for more bacon or more bread. When Gilbert was looking for a dish to place the cooked bacon on, Anne got it for him without his having to ask, and when she wanted to butter the toast she had already made, Gilbert beat her to the punch. They worked well together in the little kitchen, helping one another, sensing what their partner wanted and then offering a hand to get the task done. It was strange in its easy synchronicity that the two adolescents, who had never even made tea together, could organize a simple breakfast for the first time without incident or tragedy.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Anne said as she filled the teapot with water while Gilbert collected the slop buckets for the pigs from the cellar. “Is Ms. Stacy really meeting you at school this early?”

“She isn’t,” Gilbert admitted.

“But how are you getting into school, then?”

“Well…promise you won’t tell?” he asked gently. “Not even Diana.”

It was hard to agree to keep a secret from her bosom friend, but Anne had kept Cole’s secrets from Diana, and she was truly very curious over Gilbert’s mystery. Besides, once in her life, Anne had fretted that she’d never have anyone with which to share secrets and promises, and if she agreed to Gilbert’s conditions, that would make three people whose steadfast trust and kinship she had gained. That small number amounted to a gargantuan miracle to the fourteen-year old.

“Gilbert Blythe,” Anne said, standing tall beside him and feeling more awake than she had a few minutes ago. Placing a hand over her heart, she looked Gilbert in the eye as she spoke. “I swear to you upon the sea salt winds and the valleys of pastel lupines, on the blue heron’s melancholy echo across the Lake of Shining Waters and the blooms that line the White Way of Delight, on the green gables of my home and on the name of my beloved Princess Cordelia, I promise that I will keep your secrets even from the ghosts of the Haunted Woods. This is my most solemn and firm vow to you.”

Anne felt refreshed after she spoke, the poetic words vibrating through her body with the same exhilarating effect as tea with three lumps of sugar. She waited for Gilbert’s response with unusual patience, pleased when she saw how transfixed and mesmerized the boy seemed to be with her grandiose speech.

For his part, Gilbert was indeed impressed and charmed by Anne’s great show of fidelity, but he was even more stunned at how matrimonial her pledge had sounded. For a flash of a second, the Anne standing before Gilbert transformed into an older version of herself in a white gown and a veil with purple blossoms in her hair. As soon as he blinked the vision was gone, but the image remained burned in his mind, something for him to admire and cherish every day afterward until what he imagined might materialize into solid reality.

Anne gave Gilbert an impatient, expectant look, and he realized that he had yet to move or speak. Relaxing in the silence, Gilbert put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a brass skeleton key and held it out in his open palm for Anne to observe.

“Ms. Stacy gave me a key to the schoolhouse,” he confessed.

“Gilbert –” Anne gasped, eyes round and mouth curved in a frown of indignation.

“Ms. Stacy doesn’t meet me for my early lessons, but during the weekend she compiles extra homework and lesson plans for me that she leaves on my desk for me to start on Mondays. I have all week to finish the assignments, but I have to do it at school – I can’t take them home. She gave me the spare key so I can use the mornings to get the projects done without interrupting my regular coursework. She also gave me very specific instructions that I was not to tell anyone about the key.”

“Of course not,” Anne replied, equal parts awed and begrudging of the key in Gilbert’s palm. “Isn’t it marvelous?” she asked, fingers fidgeting to reach out and stroke the key. “Ms. Stacy has just narrowly avoided a disgraceful and unjust dismissal for her radical teaching methods and perceived incapacity for propriety and discipline, and now, in devoted support of your ambitions – and her own moral compass as a teacher – she is once more breaking conduct and risking everything for the sake of the betterment of her students.” Anne had to take a deep breath after her explanation, face flushed and eyes shinning. “She really is amazing.”

“She really is,” Gilbert agreed, nearly as out of breath as Anne was. Besides getting caught up in her impassioned words, Gilbert had never considered just what Ms. Stacy was risking by handing him a copy of the schoolhouse key, and the realization was making him feel a bit anxious. He closed his fingers over the key and put it back in his pocket with a bit more reverence than he had in the past.

The next fifteen minutes were spent in comfortable silence, Gilbert finishing frying up the bacon while Anne propped herself up on the butcher’s block, munching a piece of toast and watching as he cooked.

Anne hadn’t believed it would be too odd having Gilbert at Green Gables only because she had grown accustomed to boarders in her house. The fact that their latest guest was Gilbert Blythe shouldn’t have had any bearing on the situation, and yet it did, but not in the way Anne had anticipated. She’d thought she would have to get used to his presence, needing to remind herself every day that Gilbert was just down the hall, or in the barn, or at the dinner table. But Anne didn’t need a reminder that Gilbert was staying at Green Gables; she needed to remember that he hadn’t always been there in the first place.

Though they’d only shared an evening and now a very early morning together, the comfort and ease of being under the same roof, going about their normal routines, helping each other with chores, was almost enough to make Anne forget that by Sunday, Gilbert would be gone and things at Green Gables would go back to normal.

And how strange it was to think that Gilbert being gone didn’t feel normal at all.  

“Do you think Ms. Stacy will give me a key when I start my advanced lessons with her?” Anne asked casually, hoping to distract herself from thoughts of Sunday. She slipped from the table and padded towards the stove to regard the porridge, waiting for Gilbert’s reply.

“I couldn’t say,” he answered, placing the last of the bacon on a plate before draining the fat into an old coffee can and putting the skillet in the sink. “She might just instruct you to go to school with me, since I already have one.”

Gilbert hid his grin when he saw Anne grimace, wondering if it was the thought of the early mornings or the possibility of walking with him that made her pout. While he had learned quickly that Anne was not exactly a morning person, she did seem to radiate like a sunrise once she’d shaken off the cozy fog of sleep. The idea of walking with Anne in the early morning seemed a splendid thing to Gilbert. He’d get to see her before dawn, shadows of indigo and sapphire twilight bundling around them as they crossed the fields and forest, the sun only just winking awake as they approached the schoolhouse and painting Anne’s pale skin in warmth and breathing fire into her red hair.

It would be Gilbert’s absolutely ideal way to begin each day.

“I should get going,” he said softly, taking a fat piece of bacon and eating it quickly. “It should be ready if you’d like some,” he said, referring to the porridge Anne was still inspecting.

“It’s not really my favourite,” she confessed, feeling like she was being ungrateful for Gilbert’s breakfast efforts.

“I saw Ms. Cuthbert had some jarred peaches,” he commented, putting on his coat and scarf, “and some honey. Try it with those. That’s how I like it.”

“Why aren’t you having any?” Anne asked, following Gilbert to the front door, worried that he’d only eating a single strip of bacon for his morning meal.

“I made it for you.”

And with that confession, Gilbert put on his hat, grabbed the slop buckets, and was out the door.

By the time Marilla and Mathew were awake, Anne had set the table for breakfast and was getting dressed. She’d already eaten (and discovered that, while peaches and honey did not make porridge taste any better, bacon and maple syrup made a world of improvement on the grey gruel), and bid her guardians a hurried farewell, dashing for the schoolhouse with her books and lunch basket in hand.

When she entered the building, Gilbert was the only one inside. It was still too early for most of the Avonlea students to be at school and those that were there preferred to congregate outside and play. Gilbert flashed Anne a smile in greeting, but it changed into a perplexed expression when she set a checkered cloth wrapped bundle before him.

At her silent encouragement, Gilbert unfolded the cloth and discovered a tin coffee cup filled with porridge topped with soft peaches and honey. There were also a few more strips of bacon, and half a piece of dry toast nestled in the package. The porridge was steaming, meaning Anne had hurried to get the food to him while it was still hot, and the consideration had Gilbert feeling both heartened and bemused.

“Breakfast is important, and how are you going to concentrate if you’re hungry?” Anne lectured when he continued to stare perplexedly at the food. “It wouldn’t be any fun beating you in lessons if it’s just because you’re delirious with starvation.”

Gilbert chuckled then, enjoying Anne’s exaggerated reasoning for her thoughtful gesture. Taking up the spoon that was hooked through the handle of the cup, Gilbert held it up like a sword and saluted Anne with a smirk and sparkling eyes.

“Fair and square,” he promised.

Anne nodded, not smiling or frowning, and waited until Gilbert took his first bite of the porridge before leaving to join Diana outside. Gilbert watched her go, then took his cup of porridge and walked over to one of the windows so he could observe Anne as she conversed with Diana and welcomed Ruby when she arrived in the yard. Anne made a fantastic show of greeting each of her friends, caring for them with a warmth that was unmatched even by the sun.

And though they’d not said it aloud, Anne and Gilbert were friends, and their actions more than confirmed their caring for each other. It had been a long time since someone had really cared and worried over Gilbert. He’d been so long on his own now that he’d forgotten what it was like to know that there was a person alive in the world sparing a thought on you and your well-being. It was humbling and heartening, and Gilbert realized he would have to get used to being fussed over.

But if it was Anne Shirley-Cuthbert doing the fussing, he was sure he wouldn’t mind. 

The proof was in the porridge, after all.

Chapter Text

Debate

  verb:

argue about (a subject), especially in a formal manner

“Anne’s birthday is Sunday?”

“Oui. She did not say?”

“No, she didn’t,” Gilbert answered, continuing to help Jerry move the hay throughout the barn in a mechanical fashion as his mind fretted over what he could do for Anne’s special day.

“Could you look at the card I made for her?” Jerry asked, sounding bashful. “I want to make sure I spelled all the words right. She’s been teaching me.”

“Has she? That’s kind.”

“She’s a kind girl,” Jerry replied with a shrug, and not for the first time, Gilbert wondered if the Baynard boy wasn’t holding a torch for Anne. He didn’t want to ponder on why the thought of Jerry and Anne courting made him want to clench his jaw and snap the pitchfork he was holding in half, so instead he held his hand out and waited for the black-haired boy to pass him the birthday card.

It was a simple gift of ivory paper with a red ribbon pasted along the boarder and a painting of a daisy on the front that Gilbert suspected either Jerry or one of his sisters had made. Inside, a happy greeting was printed in large, inelegant letters that read across the card in a crooked line.

Dear Ann

Bon Anniversaire

From Jerry

The words weren’t poetic, and the packaging wasn’t pretty, but the sentiment was genuine and heartfelt and that was all Anne would care about when presented with the card. She would love it.

“It’s nice,” he said, handing the card back to Jerry, “But you forgot the ‘e’.”

“Eh?!” Jerry exclaimed, opening the card and looking it over. “Where?”

“Her name,” Gilbert explained, putting his pitchfork aside. “It’s Anne with an ‘e’.”

“She never told me that,” Jerry muttered to himself, scratching his head and not bothering to say goodbye when Gilbert left the barn. It was overcast that morning, the land awash in a grey dullness that seemed to mirror Gilbert’s mood as he walked into Green Gables to collect his schoolbooks.

“I’m off!” he shouted into the house.

“Have a good day, Gilbert,” Marilla called from the kitchen. “Anne’s already gone so you needn’t wait for her.”

Hearing Anne’s name gave Gilbert pause, and he idled by the door, debating with himself before finally going to the kitchen where Marilla Cuthbert was kneading dough.

“Is it really Anne’s birthday on Sunday?” he asked without preamble or warning. Marilla paused in her kneading, surprised by Gilbert’s question.

“Yes. She’ll be fifteen. How did you know?” she asked.

“Jerry told me,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his head, a quirk Marilla had come to learn meant the young man was pondering something, and that something was usually her red-haired daughter. Owing to her fondness for the memory of his father, Marilla was uncharacteristically patient with Gilbert as he attempted to put his heavy thoughts into words.

“Is there anything you think she might need…or want?” he finally asked.

“Gilbert,” Marilla sighed, heart swelling to its limits with affection for the boy, “you don’t have to trouble yourself with a gift for Anne.”

“But if I want to?”

And there it was, that earnest desire to make Anne happy that left Marilla with no doubt that she was looking at the boy (nearly a man) who would ask for her daughter’s hand one day. She also had no misgivings that Anne would accept Gilbert wholeheartedly, for she had already seen how Anne regarded Gilbert with equal parts disdain and admiration, her emotions confused, as they always were when it came to matters of youth and love. There would be time to sort things out, though. Anne was still young yet, as was Gilbert for that matter, and at the moment their educations were their priorities. Of course, that didn’t mean the odd diversion from the path of academia to the path of romance wasn’t advisable, so long as it was only a quick stroll.

“I suppose I can’t stop you,” Marilla answered, smiling at the boy and hoping he could see how pleased she was he was thinking so kindly of Anne. “I’m afraid I don’t have any gift ideas to share, but you can never go wrong if it’s something from the heart.”

Marilla watched as Gilbert absorbed what she said, her words connecting with him as he gave her that precious Blythe smile and nodded.

“Thank you, Ms. Cuthbert.”

~*~

“Can anyone tell me what ‘rhetoric’ means?”

To no one’s surprise, only Gilbert and Anne’s hands shot up at Ms. Stacy’s question.

“Gilbert,” the teacher said, gesturing for the young man to continue. Knowing Anne was scowling behind his back, and unable to help enjoying that he rattled her so, Gilbert stood to address his instructor.

“Rhetoric is the ability to use persuasive speech in order to win an argument.”

“Very good, Gilbert, but not quite the definition I was looking for. Anne, can you add to Gilbert’s answer.”

Standing as well, Anne held her shoulders back and her chin high as she spoke.

“My understanding is that rhetoric is the language used to persuade someone to your way of thinking. It’s not so much about winning an argument as it is getting your audience to side with you.”

“Bravo,” Ms. Stacy stated, and Anne turned to peer at Gilbert who gave her a congratulatory nod. “Anne and Gilbert are both correct. When we say we are using rhetoric, we mean are using words to try and convince someone to our way of thinking. Rhetoric does come up often in arguments of all manner of subjects, so today, I would like us to break off into two groups and prepare a speech on opposing sides of a subject that one member of your teams will present to the rest of the class.”

The next half hour saw Ms. Stacy breaking down some of the history of rhetoric, as well as grammatical rules, tips on presenting, and thorough descriptions of the ways one could appeal to their audience. Since Anne and Gilbert had been the only students with some knowledge of what rhetoric was, they were placed on opposing teams, with the intention that neither side would have an advantage over the other since they would have a novice expert on the subject. Once teams were selected, the subject they were to deliberate was announced.

“Is the sky blue?”

The students murmured, confused by their teacher’s words.

“But, Miss, the sky is blue,” Josie Pye said, as if it were the most obvious fact.

“Is it now?” Ms. Stacy said with a twinkle in her eye before going to her desk and taking a copper penny out of the top drawer. “In the spirit of fairness, I’ll flip a coin to see which team gets to argue for or against the sky being blue. Josie, I’ll let you call it. Heads or tails?”

“Tails!” the young girl cried just as Ms. Stacy flipped the coin in the air, caught it in her hand and slapped the coin to the top of her wrist.

“Tails it is.”

Josie’s team cheered when she announced they would take the affirmative stance, the blond sticking her nose up at Anne whose group seemed a bit dejected to have lost the coin toss and the preferable side of the argument. And yet, when the two teams began to articulate their cases and organize their thoughts, Gilbert looked over at Anne and could see that she was relishing the challenge of having to shoulder the opposing side. It was like looking at the inner workings of a clock where he could see the gears and springs and know they were working, but unable to tell what it was they did or how they made time tick minute by minute. And though he was certain Anne’s team would come up with a passable argument in favour of the sky not being blue, he was just as certain that his team would win.

When the time came for the debate to begin, Gilbert’s team went first. They picked Charlie for their speaker, the young man eager to stand before his classmates and deliver their argument.

“The sky is blue,” Charlie began, “and this is due to scientific fact. We know that colour comes from light – that is to say, the sun – and that this light can be divided into waves which create colour. From the excellent lesson Ms. Stacy presented just last week on prisms,” and Charlie gestured to their teacher and gave a respectable bow, “when the sunlight enters the atmosphere, gasses in the air bend the light into these waves of different colours that our eyes and brain then interpret. Because the waves that make blue are so small and numerous, the sky – which is so vast and full of the necessary atmospheric gasses – appears blue to our eyes. It is simple science. The sky is blue and will always remain as such. Thank you.”

The classroom gave a polite round of applause for Charlie’s efforts. Though his delivery left something to be desired – not once had Charlie changed the inflection of his monotonous lecture tone – he had made the group’s thoughts on the subject clear and concise, and not once did he have to look down at the notes he had taken. As far as representing the group and communicating their viewpoint, Charlie had been perfectly serviceable.

“Alright, who will speak for the next group?” Ms. Stacy asked, not at all surprised when Anne stood and took her place at the front of the class.

“The sky is blue,” Anne opened, and to the credit of her bold statement, some of her classmates gasped aloud that she seemed to be sabotaging her own argument. The reaction seemed to be what Anne wanted, for she smirked, and Gilbert held his breath as he waited for her rebuttal to continue. “But is it fair to say the sky is only blue? When you wake in the morning and the horizon is painted gold and bronze as the inky violet of night disperses at the dawn of a new day, is the sky blue? When a storm sweeps over your fields and the clouds hang low and grey, filling the air with mist and turning everything frosty and damp, is the sky blue? When it is dusk over the ocean and the waves sparkle with shades of pinks and mauves and carrot –” here she stumbled over her words, glancing at Gilbert and silently daring him to tease, but the boy was just smiling at her, waiting on pins and needles for Anne to continue. “And those colours are mere reflections of the grand painting in the sky, can you truly say, even with scientific surety, that the sky is blue? I think not. I think, perhaps, it is better to say the sky is a canvas, able to hold every colour of the rainbow, changing hues at her leisure, blue just happens to be her favourite. Thank you.”

The applause that followed Anne’s poetic and passionate speech had dust falling from the rafters. Gilbert was the first to stand, clapping loudly and proudly, his peers following his example (except Josie who was sulking with her arms crossed tight over her chest, and Billy who looked confused, like he hadn’t understood a word of Anne’s case) as they showered Anne with compliments on her vernacular and poise and presentation.

“Well, I think it’s safe to say that the room has sided with team ‘the sky is not blue’, correct?”

The children cheered their agreement to Ms. Stacy’s announcement, and Anne preened under the flattering attention.

“Excellent,” the teacher said. “Now, let’s explore why we have decided to agree the sky is not blue.”

The rest of the class time was spent exploring logos and pathos and ethos, and how variables such as speaker integrity, tone, conviction and listener awareness all contributed to how rhetoric worked on both its audience and its speaker. When Ms. Stacy dismissed class at three o’clock, her students’ heads buzzing and near bursting with the new knowledge she had planted, she asked Anne and Gilbert to stay behind.

“I’m planning to put together a debate team in the new school year,” she confided when the three were alone. “And I strongly encourage you both to join.”

“Absolutely!” Anne exclaimed without thought, so pleased to be asked personally that she didn’t even mind that she had to share the invitation with Gilbert.

“I would like to, Ms. Stacy,” Gilbert started hesitantly, “but I have to help at the orchard –”

“Of course, I wouldn’t presume to take you away from your responsibilities,” Ms. Stacy assuaged. “Once we had all of our members we would devise a schedule that worked best for the majority. And attendance exceptions could be permitted from time to time. But being on the debate team would not only work to improve your oratory and rhetoric skills, it would also make an outstanding highlight on your academic record when applying to college.”

Gilbert nodded as he silently contemplated Ms. Stacy’s suggestion. He was grateful she was still trying to help him, giving him every opportunity to earn his seat in college. And he truly did enjoy the rush of a good argument with intelligent people. Considering Anne was one the most clever and intellectual persons he did know, Gilbert could see himself not only thriving in a debate club, but also having some fun as well. As long as the meetings didn’t interfere with his chores on the farm or his apprenticeship with Dr. Ward, Gilbert thought it was at least worth a try to join.

“Alright, Ms. Stacy. Count me in.”

“Excellent, Gilbert! I am pleased to have my two brightest students be my first members,” she exclaimed, clapping to herself. “Now, we have until September before we’ll formally create the club, but I already have our first subject selected and I don’t mind giving you two an advantage. We’ll be discussing women’s suffrage.”

And before Anne could get carried away with excitement over the topic, Ms. Stacy dismissed the pair and wished them a good evening.

Walking back to Green Gables, Anne was almost skipping, paying no mind to the mud as it splashed up her boots under her exuberant steps, vibrating with too many ideas at once.

“I wish I could join the suffrage movement,” she confessed. “Marilla does her part as an invested citizen and reads pamphlets and notices printed by the premier’s office, and she let’s me look at them, too, when she’s finished. She even went to Charlottetown two years ago to attend the premier’s discussion before the election and related each of his platform promises to Mathew and me, telling us what she agreed and disagreed with, even coming up with some suggestions for better policies herself. But all those efforts just seem so wasteful! Women can inform themselves about party leaders, and laws, and legislation, and through keeping ourselves informed we naturally would come by our own unique opinions on such matters, but we do not have a voice in parliament, and we cannot cast a vote. In fact, I think I will make that my first point in favour of suffrage. What will your counter-argument be?”

“Only that I agree with everything you just said and concede defeat.”

Anne stopped in her tracks to regard her walking companion. Gilbert stopped, too, turning to look at Anne as she looked at him, trying to read her concentrated expression.

“You believe in suffrage?” she asked, surprise painting her features.

“Did you think I didn’t?” Gilbert answered, taken aback that Anne was so astonished at his political leanings.

“I just never expected it,” she admitted, shy and honest and unable to look him in the eye.

“Why?”

“Because you’re a boy,” she said quickly, beginning to walk again and not looking to see if Gilbert was keeping up with her. “The world is so much more open to you. I thought you might be selfish with that freedom.”

Even as she said the words, the assumption felt wrong.

Gilbert Blythe didn’t have a selfish bone in his body, and Anne knew that just as she knew the seasons.

“Before I left Avonlea, you might have been right,” Gilbert admitted bashfully, turning away from Anne as if ashamed. “I never really gave any thought to inequality before I met Bash. It seemed everywhere we went: on the ship, in America, even in Trinidad where he was from, and now here, he faces so much…abhorrence, and all because he’s different. When I started seeing his struggles, suddenly I was seeing them everywhere, including with women.” He turned back to Anne then, his expression serious as he spoke his next words. “I think that the unfair treatment of women, not just in Canada but everywhere, is reprehensible. It’s not just that women should be able to cast a vote, they should have laws that protect them, and more than that, they should play a part in the creation of those laws. And it should be more than women. Everyone, no matter their creed, or religion, or sex, should have a say in how they are governed.”

“Gilbert that’s…”

Anne was at a loss for words, her soul positively blown away by Gilbert’s sincere comments. She was sorry she had ever thought badly of his convictions, and silently admonished herself for it, wondering why she so often felt desperate to find fault with the boy at her side. Perhaps it was because Gilbert was just too good to be true, and so she was always searching for something she could recognize as a blight to their remarkable compatibility.

Anne Shirley-Cuthbert and Gilbert Blythe both valued education, were fairly close in intelligence, had aspirations of college, and had chosen vocations that would make a difference in the lives of others. They knew heartache, and loneliness, what it felt like to lose someone you love and how to carry on without them. They were orphans, and yet they had picked their new families, had picked their homes, and their friends, and it was impossible for Anne to deny the truth of her and Gilbert any longer.

They were kindred spirits, perhaps more alike and equal than even her and Diana.

It was a terrifying and amazing thing to realize, like jumping into a cold pond on a hot summer day, both a balm and a shock. It startled her that she related to Gilbert so strongly, and Anne wondered when she started seeing him as something other than ‘that-boy-who-called-her-carrots’. Of course, the first time they’d met, he had been her knight, slaying dragons the likes of Billy Andrews and offering her protection, so perhaps it was inevitable that, someday, she would see Gilbert for the true friend he was.

Anne was awash with a myriad of feelings, breathless with too much emotion. She felt as if she wanted to give voice to everything she was thinking, but just as much, she wanted to horde her sentiments and keep them close to her heart. So rather than speak, she gave Gilbert what she hoped was a kind and lovely smile before nodding and beginning to walk again for home.

They spent the rest of their time in silence until they crested the hill that overlooked Green Gables when Gilbert cleared his throat and spoke.

“You don’t have to suppose you know things about me,” he said softly, as if he were whispering a secret. “You can ask me. I promise to always answer truthfully.”

“Alright,” Anne replied, treating the offer as the delicate gift it was. Her answer must have pleased Gilbert, for he smiled at her and held the gate open so she could pass by. They were nearly at the house when he spoke again.

“And you can tell me things about yourself…if you wanted to.”

Anne paused at that statement, planted at the bottom of the stairs while Gilbert bounded up the porch to hold open the door. He turned to look at Anne, waiting patiently, his hazel eyes seeming greener under the cloudy sky, and his smile as congenial and easy as it had always been.

“Do you really want to know things about me?” she asked, feeling exposed and shy, eager to share but at the same time reluctant because it was Gilbert and there was no one in all of the world she wanted to confide in and hide from more. When his lips quirked into a crooked grin, Anne felt her throat go dry.

“I want to know everything about you,” he said, and because he had just promised to always be truthful with her, Anne believed him.

She didn’t trust him, yet, not completely, and certainly not with the dark secrets of her heart. Gilbert said he wanted to know her, but Anne wasn’t sure she wanted anyone in the world to know about her past, the sick babies, and the cross nuns, and the cruel beatings. Those were her burdens to bear and she did not want others to feel they had to help her or worse, pity her.

But she believed him, and that felt like something much greater than a start.

Taking a deep breath and wondering if she’d be up half the night mulling over everything that had happened, Anne climbed the stairs and slipped through the doorway, Gilbert right behind her.

Chapter Text

Tokens

  noun:

something that you do, or a thing that you give someone, that expresses your feelings or intentions

“Good grief! What on earth happened to you?”

Gilbert shot Anne an unimpressed grimace at her quip, his head looking oddly fat as it was all Anne could see of his body. He had a long, coffee stained sheet covering him from toes to throat, and the ends of the old linen were secured so tightly around his neck it was a wonder he was still breathing.

Putting the basket of morning eggs aside, Anne did not waste the opportunity to relish in Gilbert’s strange and embarrassing predicament, examining him as if he were a curious piece of art. Gilbert did not move as she appraised him, remaining slouched on the stool beside the sink, waiting with the patience of a saint for Anne to get all of her laughter over and done with.

“Enjoying yourself?” he griped when her chortles finally died down.

“More than you will ever know.”

“Leave the boy alone,” Marilla ordered as she entered the kitchen.

“Oh, Marilla, have you taken to torturing our borders, now?” Anne joked. “Unlike the last pair, I don’t think Gilbert’s going to tie us up and make off like a thief in the night.”

“Tie you up?” Gilbert asked, brow crinkling in concern as his posture went stiff with alarm.

“Oh yes,” Anne sighed, diverting her attention to placing the eggs in a pot of water for boiling. “It was those grifters who told us there was gold in Avonlea. When they realized we’d caught on to their scheme, the detestable pair gagged and tied Marilla and me before making their escape.”

“Why am I only hearing about this now?!” Gilbert exclaimed, surprising Anne at how truly distressed he seemed to hear the tale. For a moment she wondered if Gilbert was so upset not because Nathaniel and Mr. Dunlop had tricked them about the gold, but because they’d hurt her.

“Well, you did say you wanted me to tell you everything,” she said softly.

“Not six months after the fact,” he grumbled.

“Hold still, Mr. Blythe,” Marilla chided, cupping his chin so she could direct his head into position before pulling out a pair of long shears from her apron.

Anne visibly flinched when she saw the scissors and gave Gilbert a watery look of pitiful consideration.

“Oh Gilbert,” she sighed. “If I’d known a haircut was your fate, I wouldn’t have teased.”

“Don’t carry on, you silly girl,” Marilla chided fondly, taking the first snip.

A beautiful, perfect dark curl tripped down Gilbert’s shoulders and pooled in his lap. It was all Anne could do not to recite a heartfelt eulogy in tribute to that precious curl as she watched Marilla efficiently trim Gilbert’s hair into a fashion that was certainly more respectable and less shaggy.

By the time his cut was done, Anne had breakfast ready. Along with Mathew and Jerry, the little family sat at the table and ate their meal, sharing plans for the day between passed sausage and toast. Anne kept sneaking glances at Gilbert as they ate, studying his haircut and wondering why she felt like crying.

Gilbert didn’t look bad. In fact, it was the total opposite.

The shorter curls seemed to make the cut of his jaw and the firmness of his chin stand out, as if the last vestiges of boyhood had fled his face, leaving behind a person that was both familiar and strange to the fourteen-year old. Since she had known him, Gilbert had always been one step ahead of Anne, in school, and friendships, and adventures in the world. Now, it seemed he had gone and grown up into a man over the course of breakfast, his chiseled maturity etched in his handsome face.

“Does it look bad?” Gilbert wondered, breaking Anne’s concentration as he patted down his shorn curls, eyes crinkling with uncertainty, but smile crooked and charming as always. And it was in that smile that Anne knew, while Gilbert’s body was changing, he hadn’t, and she hoped he never would. Breathing a sigh of relief that he was still only that one step in front of her and not leagues out of her reach, Anne returned his smile and spread jam on a piece of toast.

“It looks nice – fine! I meant fine.”

Breakfast was finished not long after, with all at the table thanking Anne for the meal before mulling about to start their day.

“Off with you,” Marilla said when Anne attempted to collect the dishes. “Go fix your hair, then it’s time for school.”

Touching her braids and realizing most of her hair had come loose during her meal preparations, Anne nodded and hurried up the stairs.

Gilbert took up Anne’s vacant place as kitchen helper, collecting the dirty dishes while Mathew and Jerry left for the fields. Though Marilla tried to dissuade him, Gilbert insisted on helping, smiling to himself as he scraped the crumbs of breakfast into the slop buckets. People often protested when Gilbert did house chores, and some (Mrs. Kincannon came to mind) had been stunned into bewildered muteness when they learned that Gilbert quite enjoyed domestic work.

Since it had been only he and his father all of his life, it was necessary that the pair learn how to clean and cook alongside sowing and harvesting. Perhaps Gilbert’s preference for making meals, and mending shirts, and polishing floors to pulling weeds, and building fences, and picking apples, had been an early indicator that he was destined for life away from the farm. He wondered what his father might think of him choosing to become a doctor rather than keep the Blythe orchard in the family. He hoped he would be proud, and that he’d approve of Gilbert’s intentions to sell the land to Bash someday.

“Thank you, Gilbert,” Marilla said, breaking the spell of his thoughts and taking the dishcloth he’d been using to wipe down the butcher’s block from his hands before suddenly, in a vulnerably tender way, she brushed her fingers along his brow.

The dainty caress was the most maternal touch Gilbert could remember receiving, the action making his breath catch. He’d been told his mother had lived long enough to hold him and whisper her dreams for him in the shell of his ear before succumbing to the trauma of his breech birth. While it gave him some comfort to know that she had died happy to hold her son, Gilbert could never hope to have even a memory of those minutes. He felt as if he’d been yearning all his life for that mother’s love that all of his friends were blessed to know growing up. Now, in the quaint kitchen of Green Gables, Gilbert believed he might be experiencing that kindred connection for the first time looking into the gentle blue eyes of Marilla Cuthbert.

“You had some hair,” she said, excusing her action, and Gilbert allowed her the dignity of the lie. He knew there was no hair remaining on his person from his trim – Marilla was too thorough a barber – but she needed to have a reason to be acting so familiar. It made Gilbert wonder what Marilla Cuthbert saw when she looked at him.

Did she see an orphan child like Anne, someone in need of kindness and understanding?

Did she see a ghost of dear John Blythe, gone from this world save for what remained of him in his son?

Did she see a boy, almost a man, that she had known and minded his whole life, growing before her eyes like a beanstalk and causing her many ruminations on age and time?

Did she see a young man that, one day, may be suitable to ask permission to court her daughter, and one day after that, ask to marry her?

Or maybe Marilla saw all of that, and that was why she cared for Gilbert so.

“Go finish getting yourself ready, now,” she instructed, and Gilbert flashed her one of his brilliant smiles before bounding up the stairs two at a time to do as she bade.

~*~

Anne truly, undeniably, unequivocally, loathed her hair.

Her primary complaint was the colour, of course, and even though she had much less hair now because of her horrific failed attempt to eliminate the red from her head forever, Anne couldn’t shake her hatred for the tresses. As her hair had grown back one agonizingly slow inch at a time, she’d foolishly wished it might have transformed into a beguiling chestnut or even a preferable, but not favoured, mahogany. Looking at her reflection in her small wall mirror, hair loose around her shoulders in a tangle, there was no denying that the red was here to stay.

It wasn’t just the colour that Anne was sour over. Her hair was thin and stringy and so straight there was never any hope of a curl lasting in the fiery mane. But when she had her hair out of her braids, as she did now, the waves left by the plaits gave her hope that, someday, she might catch someone’s attention with her hair, and it wouldn’t be to call her ‘carrots’.

Carefully, Anne collected her hair and gathered it atop her head, imagining she was older, perhaps attending Queens, or maybe even graduating at the top of her class. She might wear pretty pearl earbobs, deciding they would look very pleasant with her hair up. But it would be years before Anne would go to Queens, or get earbobs, or be able to wear her hair up, so she dropped the tangled mass and huffed, blowing some of the strands out of her eyes before reaching for her brush.

As she expertly went about styling her hair, she never noticed Gilbert lingering outside her open door. She didn’t hear his breath stutter when she’d pulled her hair up, exposing the nape of her neck to his hungry gaze. She’d never witnessed how, when she released her hair and let the red strands fall to her shoulders, it was all Gilbert could do to stay planted in the hall and not cross over to her and sweep the tresses aside so he could admire her ivory skin and count the freckles that made wonderful patterns along that swan-like column.

In all his fantasies of being with Anne (and Gilbert would only admit to himself that he did have those fantasies) nothing had ever ventured past hand holding and soft kisses, his daydreams chaste with his deep regard for the fiery redhead. But seeing her neck, luminous and graceful and vulnerable to his kisses if he dared, had Gilbert feeling riled up, like he was burning from the inside out.

And it was ridiculous that he should all of a sudden be enchanted with Anne’s neck when he had seen it many times before. In fact, not so long ago, her hair had been cut so short that her neck was left bare for anyone to see, and even now with her tresses growing back she still parted them in braids, always leaving a triangle of skin at her nape exposed. Why seeing her bare skin with her hair pulled up should be so different from those other times, Gilbert couldn’t say. He only knew that, when he watched Anne play with her hair and hold it to her crown, it had almost seemed like the pale column of freckled skin was being offered to him like a scrumptious treat.

It was so easy to imagine planting sweet kisses to the nape of Anne’s neck, wondering how she would feel and taste under his mouth, and from there it was a slippery slope to wondering how other parts of her skin might react to his attentions, and before he could get carried away, Gilbert made haste for his room.

He splashed water on his face and needed several minutes to calm his thoughts and his heartbeat before he felt he could be in mixed company. It was a struggle to banish the images of he and Anne embracing, but banish them he did, at least to the confines of his very private heart. Finally feeling as if his body were back under control, he left his room and found Anne waiting for him on the porch, braids in place and jacket collar pulled up to her cheeks, her face pinched in an irked expression.

“What took you so long?” she demanded. “We’re going to be late! I have never been late, not even when Mr. Phillips was teaching, and I’m not going to start today. We’ll have to run.”

And before he could offer an excuse, apology, or protest, Anne was dashing ahead of him and the only course of action Gilbert had was to take chase.

They reached the schoolhouse just as Ms. Stacy was writing the day’s itinerary on the blackboard, the last two to arrive and so everyone’s eyes were on them, watching keenly as both took their seats after being given a gentle reprimand on punctuality by their teacher.

Their lessons passed uneventfully.

There was maths (algebra, geometry’s evil twin), and history (just how many King James’ were there?), and English (essay structure). Anne was fairly attentive throughout, save for the many broken moments when she would look over at Gilbert, her grey gaze catching at his shorn curls. Unprompted, her imagination would start running wild with visions of Gilbert with his long hair returned, only longer, perhaps pulled back in a ponytail like a pirate, or hanging loose down his neck and across his cheeks, a perfect curtain of dark waves. Or perhaps it would be just long enough to brush his collar, a wild thicket of liquorice twists, just as she’d always imagined Mr. Rochester’s hair to look like.

As for Gilbert, he was unaware of Anne’s musings on his hair, for he was consumed with his own distraction. Like his ginger friend, Gilbert would sneak looks in her direction throughout lessons, biting his lip whenever he spied a sliver of creamy white skin peek from under her collar, begging his brain to stop trying to guess what flavours of nature he might find if he could kiss that neck.

“Mr. Blythe!”

Shaken out of his daydreams, Gilbert almost fell off his bench when Ms. Stacy all but hollered at him from the front of the class.

“I’m sorry!” he replied anxiously, straightening his posture.

“Kind of you to join us,” Ms. Stacy said sardonically. “Perhaps you’ll be so kind to join me after class for a chat?”

The class cajoled and hooted at Gilbert, the room filling with anxious anticipation of his punishment. Blushing, Gilbert took the teasing with good grace and committed to focusing entirely on the remainder of the day’s lessons. When class was dismissed, he waited at his desk, hands clasped on top of his slate.

“I’ll wait for you,” Anne said, coming to his side.

“You don’t have to,” he offered. “I’m probably going to get my ears boxed for not listening.”

“Ms. Stacy would never!” Anne declared, outraged. “The only lashing your ears will get from her is a firm lecture to be more mindful. Daydreaming isn’t something I thought you even knew how to do. What were you imagining that you missed her calling you three times? Was it something wonderful?”

“Yes,” he admitted, but did not elaborate, worried he might be bold or stupid enough to tell her the truth. So he stood from his desk and made for the front of the class, asking Ms. Stacy if she needed help cleaning up as the rest of the students filed out of the building.

Anne couldn’t help feeling sympathetic to Gilbert’s plight, having been on the end of an adult’s disapproval many times in her young life. She wouldn’t wish that shame on anyone, and so often she’d wished she’d had an ally to support her in those times that she felt it her duty to remain behind and be there for Gilbert.

“You’re going to wait for him?” Diana asked when Anne joined her and Ruby in the schoolyard.

“Yes.”

“How nice of you,” Ruby quipped, though she did not sound as if she thought Anne’s gesture very nice at all.

Shooting Diana a wounded expression, Anne was at a total loss over how to deal with Ruby. When the blond girl had first learned that Gilbert would be boarding with Anne for a week, she had nearly hyperventilated with excitement, telling Anne how lucky she was that she’d get to see Gilbert in the mornings and evenings, even claiming she was a bit jealous of Anne’s fortune. But on Monday when Anne had been unable to satisfy Ruby’s curiosity about the sad handsome boy, responding dully to questions about how he looked in the morning (fine), or how he smelled after washing (I didn’t sniff him!), or how he took his breakfast (porridge), the younger girl’s enthusiasm morphed into melancholic disdain to the point she was barely speaking to Anne at all.

Anne had tried to get Ruby to be reasonable, wanting to explain that she wasn’t paying Gilbert any great attention for her sake. After all, Anne didn’t want Ruby to get the wrong idea that she fancied him. Besides, the stupid rules about talking and looking at Gilbert Blythe were all to do with Ruby’s crush in the first place, so it was a bizarre kind of logic that Ruby should now be cross with Anne for trying to abide by the law of dibs.

“See you tomorrow, Anne” Diana said sweetly, not so subtly pinching Ruby’s arm to get the girl to return the sentiment, although half-heartedly and with her face turned away.

Anne echoed their farewell then sat herself on the stairs of the schoolhouse, deciding to rest her face in her hands and daydream rather than read. She was halfway through a rather thrilling fantasy of Princess Cordelia engaging in a duel with a dashing, long haired pirate, their rapiers clashing, witty barbs being flung at one another, adrenaline rising as they fought not just for treasure, but their growing attraction, when Gilbert and Ms. Stacy exited the schoolhouse.

“You’ll take what I said into consideration?”

“Yes, Ms. Stacy.”

“Excellent. Have a good evening, you two.”

And with that, Ms. Stacy was throwing a leg over her motorized bicycle and driving off.

“So, are you in very hot water?” Anne wondered as she and Gilbert began their walk back to Green Gables.

“The words ‘disheartened’, ‘unacceptable’, and ‘contentious’ were said, so I’d say the water’s hot but not boiling,” he answered, and Anne laughed. “It’s really not so bad,” he added, chuckling along with her. “Mostly, Ms. Stacy said she’s worried about me.”

“Worried? Why?”

“She thinks I might be overdoing it.”

“Overdoing what?”

“My studies.”

“You can overdo education?” Anne asked, a bit incredulous at the thought. She was certain she could be learning every hour of the day and never tire from it.

“You can overdo anything if you never take a break,” Gilbert said, though it sounded rehearsed, as if he were merely repeating what Ms. Stacy had said to him (which he was). “I did read that too much strain from any kind of stimuli like work, or school, or home can have an adverse effect on one’s health.”

“How?”

“You catch colds more easily, or you become dull-witted and hurt yourself due to fatigue, or you neglect your body’s needs and succumb to fever.”

“That’s terrible,” Anne remarked, her unchecked imagination conjuring an image of Gilbert, wan and grey in a sickbed drenched in sweat, before she evicted the vision with a violent shake of her head. “What did Ms. Stacy suggest?”

“She’s allowing me to take another week to complete my extra lessons,” he said. “And she made it very clear that I wasn’t to do any scholastic reading outside of school for the next few days.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” Anne said, “because I happen to have a small collection of novels that have absolutely nothing to do with scholastic endeavours. Have you ever read Treasure Island?”

Gilbert was content to listen to Anne discuss the novel all the way to Green Gables, thinking it funny that the girl who was the cause of his diversion was also the cause of his peace. Anne Shirley-Cuthbert really was two sides of the same coin for Gilbert: a bane and a blessing.

“I won’t dare spoil everything,” Anne continued, still caught up in her description of Treasure Island. “But there is one character, a vile, conniving pirate named Long Joh—ouch!”

 Gilbert stopped immediately at the sound of Anne’s distress and turned to see her holding the side of her head and looking at a gnarled branch as if it had done her a great injustice. When he realized that one of her braids was falling loose and there was a small pink scratch along her cheek, he understood why she’d cried out. The branch had obviously scraped her skin, but it also seemed to have caught in her hair and yanked her braid, the green ribbon that had been holding the plait together now dangling from the gnarled limb.

“Drat,” Anne hissed, examining her ribbon and finding it ruined, the branch having torn a hole straight through it. “Marilla won’t be happy with me,” she said, more to herself than Gilbert as she went about undoing her other braid then pulling her hair together in a ponytail at the base of her neck which she secured with her remaining ribbon. “How does it look?”

“Nice,” Gilbert said easily. “May I?”

Anne wasn’t sure what Gilbert was asking permission to do, but she knew he wouldn’t hurt her, so she stayed still as he approached. His fingers were warm where he placed them at the line of her jaw, urging her face to the side so he could examine her scratch. Even though he did not touch the thin welt, the way he looked at her face felt like a caress all its own, and Anne bit the inside of her cheek to fight the blush she could feel heating her skin.

“It’s not deep,” he observed. “It didn’t even draw blood.  You probably won’t see it by morning.”

“It won’t scar, then?” 

“Afraid not.”

“What a relief.”

And with that breathless exchange, Anne slipped out of Gilbert’s hold and made a beeline for Green Gables.

She never noticed that, before Gilbert caught up to her, he had untangled her ruined ribbon from the offending branch and pocketed it. She also never noticed in the coming days when he was reading Treasure Island that he used that ribbon as a bookmark, caressing the jade satin between his fingers as he read the tale of swashbuckling adventure, his heart and mind at ease.

~*~

Dinner that evening was ham, roasted potatoes, and peas. The meal was delicious and before Marilla could even think of tidying up, Anne was banishing her and Mathew to the parlour for an evening of rest. She even refused Gilbert’s help, insisting he take Ms. Stacy’s advice to relax and ordered him to start reading Treasure Island. He eventually relented, smiling at her as he left the dining room and made his way up the stairs, novel in hand, to get comfortable in his room.

As cleaning was not a foreign chore to the fourteen-year old, Anne had the dining room and kitchen sparkling within the hour. After scrubbing pots and drying dishes and wiping down counters, her last task was to sweep the floor. Anne was a very thorough cleaner, which is likely the only reason why she found one of Gilbert’s cut curls caught in the bristles of her broom.

It had fallen under the stove and was warm to the touch as she delicately extracted the clustered hairs. Cradling the curl in the palm of her hand like she might a lost duckling, Anne contemplated the dark hair, trying to imagine where on Gilbert’s head it may have rested. She hoped rather fervidly that it was one of the ones that had sat along his temple, just over his right eyebrow, the one that quirked up whenever he was feeling clever or cheeky.

“Anne! Would you please bring my spectacles? I think I left them beside the herb pots.”

Alarmed at Marilla’s sharp cry, Anne instinctively hid Gilbert’s curl in her pocket, eyes darting around the room as if she were a wild animal caught in a snare and desperately seeking escape. She worried someone might see her with the incriminating token and thought it best to wait until she was alone before disposing of the curl.

But when she finally was in the safety of her bedroom once everyone had retired for the evening, door closed and nightfall concealing her movements, Anne found she couldn’t bear to let go of the curl. For a long time, she stared at it resting in the middle of her palm, thinking it the most perfect curl she’d ever come across. It was soft and shiny and magnificently dark, and it seemed cruel to just throw away something so elegant and pretty.

Anne sighed in defeat, resolved to keeping the curl but completely mortified that she’d made such a decision. She knew what tokens like locks of hair meant, and if Diana or worse, Ruby, ever found out that Anne had Gilbert Blythe’s curl stowed away, she was certain she would die of humiliation and lose her two best friends in the process. They’d probably never even let her explain that she wasn’t keeping the curl for romantical reasons, but rather because she couldn’t bear to tarnish something so beautiful. It was her delicate nature that was drawn to pretty things that compelled her to keep the curl and nothing more.

And when she stored it away, she tucked the lock of hair in the envelope that held the letter Gilbert had written her while at sea, the one she’d scoured the forest floor for hours to find in the wake of Billy’s destruction of her clubhouse, and had done so only because she liked how lovely the word ‘Miss’ looked in front of her name and not for any sort of amourous motivation.

Because the idea that Anne was in love with Gilbert was simply preposterous. 

Chapter Text

Favour

noun: 

an act of kindness beyond what is due or usual

“Please,” Anne begged, and it really was almost killing her to say it.

“Why?” Gilbert asked.

“You would be doing me a tremendous favour and I would be eternally in your debt.”

Gilbert raised a quizzical brow at that, but when all Anne did was scowl at him and wait with a tapping foot for his answer, he shrugged and agreed. When he did, Anne clapped her hands and smiled.

“It’s really out of my way, though,” he groused, annoyed by how excited she was.

“That’s perfect! Ruby will be so happy.”

“And since when is Ruby’s happiness your utmost concern?” he wondered, knowing he sounded snotty and trying to cover up his insolence by taking a large bite of his apple.

“Excuse you, Gilbert Blythe, but Ruby is one of my dearest friends and so her happiness is a constant concern of mine,” Anne replied indignantly, hands on her hips as she regarded the boy who was perched on a boulder by the brook in their schoolyard.

It was a miraculously warm day for March, and all the boys had elected to take their lunch outside, even Gilbert who, more often than not, was holed up in the schoolhouse doing his extra lessons. The girls remained indoors, of course, and Anne was grateful for it meant she might be able to talk to Gilbert without any of them eavesdropping.

The Ruby situation was getting ridiculous.

That morning, upon arriving to class side-by-side with Gilbert, Ruby had started to blubber agonizingly against Josie Pye’s shoulder, refusing to voice what was wrong, but every girl in class looked at Anne as if they knew instinctively that she was the cause of Ruby’s grief. It reminded the redhead of those first terrible days of school almost two years ago and the memories left Anne feeling queasy.

It was difficult having to face the unkind memories of her past, and it made Anne desperate to solve the problem with Ruby and return life to its pleasant ease. Knowing someone was cross at her felt too much like being back with the Hammonds, all anxious and afraid, and since coming to Avonlea, Anne was determined not to let her present life be tainted by her past one. So, without breaking her friend’s trust, Anne did the only thing she could think of that would resolve the matter.

“Would you go ask her? Now?” she asked.

“In front of everyone?” Gilbert balked.

Anne nodded vigorously, knowing the grand gesture would perk the blond up immensely and show the other girls that Anne was a true and benevolent friend and not some snake in the grass dibs-breaker.

“No,” Gilbert said. “I’ll ask after school with you and Diana, but not the rest.”

Anne wanted to protest, but the steely look that had come over Gilbert’s normally lively hazel eyes froze the words on her tongue. It was clear that the sixteen-year old was not exactly happy to go along with Anne’s scheme (and why that didn’t offend her on behalf of her friend, Anne didn’t want to explore), but he was being amiable to say the least, so she’d do well not to push her luck.

“Thank you,” she said wholeheartedly, smiling even as she felt tears (of relief surely, and not dejection) sting the corners of her eyes. Releasing the breath she’d been holding since concocting her plan, Anne left Gilbert to his solitary lunch and returned to Diana, keeping her lips sealed about her plot even as Diana asked why Anne seemed so jittery.

“Surely you mean excited,” Anne corrected, tearing a small corner off her sandwich and nibbling on it, having lost her appetite all of a sudden.

“I mean overwrought,” her friend insisted, nodding at Anne’s knee that was bouncing incessantly, brushing against Diana’s dress. Anne forced her leg to stop moving, and that was when she realized her heart was beating as fast as if she’d just run the length of Prince Edward Island. Perhaps she was a bit jittery, but only because she was so thrilled. “What have you done, Anne?”

“You’ll find out after school. I promise.”

And so, the friends spent the afternoon in an odd, tense bubble, Anne continuing to be fidgety whether it was her toes tapping or fingers drumming, and Diana shooting her bewildered, and slightly concerned, glances. When Ms. Stacy finally dismissed class, Anne vaulted for the cloakroom and was dressed for her walk back home before Diana had even put an arm through her coat. They waited for Ruby, who was always one of the last to be ready to leave school, and who had been even more sluggish in her departure these past few days. When she did join them in the cloakroom, it was only the three girls and Gilbert left, everyone else having dodged outdoors quickly to continue enjoying the lovely weather.

Ruby was painfully slow as she put on her coat, and while she was preoccupied, Diana watched as a strange conversation of expressions occurred between Anne and Gilbert. The pair were making large, expressive eyes at one another across the cloakroom, brows raising and scrunching, noses twitching and lips grimacing until it seemed that Anne had finally won when Gilbert huffed, rolled his eyes, and approached Ruby.

“Excuse me, Ruby?”

A mousy ‘eep’ left the young girl’s lips, and she dropped her hat when she noticed Gilbert was talking to her. Always a gentleman, Gilbert retrieved her hat and dusted it off before placing it back in her hands.

“Thank you, Gilbert,” she sighed, just as awed and smitten as she’d been when he’d done that exact gesture for her after her house had caught fire.

“Sure,” he replied, awkward and fumbling and not at all like the confident young man he so often was. “Um, it’s a really nice day. Would you like to…” He looked over the top of Ruby’s head at Anne, eyes pleading, like a caged animal begging for freedom. Anne returned the desperate look with one of her own, mouthing the word ‘please’ and hoping he would be considerate of her plea. Lips set in a grim line, Gilbert looked down at Ruby and smiled kindly. “Would you like it if I walked you home?”

The question left Ruby gobsmacked, the poor girl succumbing to a coughing fit that had Anne and Diana rushing to her side and Gilbert hovering helplessly in a corner.

“Did Gilbert Blythe just ask to walk me home?” Ruby asked, hands gripping those of her friends, face pink from the shock.

“He did,” Anne assured, petting Ruby’s long hair.

“What should I do?” she hissed.

“Accept his invitation, of course,” Anne instructed before Diana could speak, ignoring the narrowed dark gaze of her bosom friend. “Go on.”

Ruby, nodded, taking several deep breaths to compose herself before bashfully approaching Gilbert and thanking him for the offer. Relieved she was no longer sputtering, Gilbert held the door open for Ruby and the pair left. Anne and Diana watched until they were out of sight, and Anne told herself that the pinching around her heart was from happiness for her friend rather than misery that Gilbert hadn’t even looked back once.

“Anne? Are you alright?” Diana asked softly, squeezing Anne’s shoulder with firm concern.

“Of course I am,” Anne replied, voice watery as tears clouded her vision. “Can’t you tell? I’m so pleased for Ruby that I’m bursting.” She wiped the tears away before they could fall, and Diana let out a little distressed whimper. “Truly. These are tears laced with pure joy, Diana. Did you not see how blissful Ruby was at Gilbert’s invitation? He asked to walk her home, so surely, she must know that I have no intentions towards him, and he only has eyes for her. Things will be better now.”

“Will they?” Diana asked, skeptical.

“Diana, stop.”

“But Anne, I don’t believe that you believe things will be better. To be honest, it didn’t look to me like it was Gilbert’s idea to walk Ruby home.”

“Diana –”

“It isn’t kind to either of them. If Gilbert’s intentions aren’t genuine and Ruby is being given false hope that he –”

“Please, Diana!”  Anne cried, and it was then that the dark-haired girl realized the utter distress Anne was putting herself through. Her best friend was standing ramrod straight, yet her whole frame was shaking with barely imperceptible tremors. She was biting her bottom lip as she so often did for so many reasons, and her fingers had curled so tightly into her palm that her knuckles were going white.

“I’m sorry,” Diana apologized. “Let’s go home.”

Anne nodded and she and Diana made the trip through the Haunted Wood in silence. When they reached their meeting spot, Diana diverged down the path to her house while Anne forged ahead to Green Gables.

She did not walk quickly, and in fact had to stop several times to calm her nerves, or catch her breath, or blink away hot tears. Anne felt as if she were underwater, being pulled below crashing waves by a dark whirlpool of despair, kicking towards the sun but somehow never able to crest the surface and find relief.

She was so sure she’d be elated that Ruby was at last by the side of the boy she held in the highest regard, but as she’d watched them walk away from the school, it occurred to Anne that Gilbert and Ruby made a handsome couple. If they started courting formally, they would be the pride of Avonlea, their wedding the talk of the village, their children sweet cherubs with blond curls, and Ruby the absolute epitome of a dutiful doctor’s wife.

And when that thought had occurred to Anne, it was as if her heart was seized in a vice determined to squeeze every good feeling out of it, leaving her lungs aching with each breath.  She couldn’t understand why she was suddenly so distressed. When she’d first dreamed the idea of Gilbert walking Ruby home to put an end to the girl’s grief, she’d been so sure it was borderline genius that she was certain she’d be marching home in celebration, not shuffling her feet through dirty snow and sniffing back tears all the way to the farm.

When she finally did reach Green Gables, Gilbert was coming up the road from the direction of Ruby’s house, and Anne realized just how long she had dillydallied. 

They met at the gate and stared at one another for a long time, hurt and confusion permeating the air between them, and Anne suddenly realized that Gilbert being cross with her was just as terrible a thing as Ruby’s ire, and she was at a loss over what she could do to fix everything and everyone. When she made no move to apologize and he became annoyed with waiting, Gilbert broke their eye contact and unlatched the gate. He held the gate and the door to the house open for her, just as he always did, but he did not speak or smile, and Anne wasn’t sure how she could hope to repair damage. Dinner was a sombre affair, with neither Anne nor Gilbert eager to fill the air with news of their day, leaving Marilla and Mathew perplexed over what could have happened between the pair.

When Anne retired to bed early, she did not change into her nightclothes or burrow under her quilt. She paced her floor, bare feet padding along the wood, her mind stuck in a carousel of distressing thoughts. She couldn’t shake the image of Ruby and Gilbert. Married. Happy. And then their faces morphed into others.

First, she saw Diana, elegant and accomplished, playing piano for royalty. And by her side, annoyingly proud, Jerry Baynard, singing and making Diana laugh. Next was Cole, taller than ever and surrounded by sculptures, his art and his love. Then she imagined all the rest of her classmates, all in grown up, successful and happy. Their images danced before her like a mocking pantomime, Jane and Josie, Moody and Charlie, all of them living their dreams and not wanting Anne to be part of their futures. They mocked her, excluded her, and abandoned her, leaving her alone.

Then she imagined Mathew and Marilla succumbing to old age, making her an orphan a second time. Thinking of that made her remember Walter and Bertha Shirley, the couple that should have been her parents but who had died instead, leaving their baby to be shipped from one home to the next, each one with a family too full to accept another member. Anne remembered every home she was turned out of, the pain of rejection more acute than any beating she’d received, and suddenly it felt as if the walls were closing in, and her dress was too tight, and her body was too small for how much she was feeling and if she didn’t escape she was sure she’d pass out.

In pure panic, Anne descended the stairs, hurried to the kitchen and bolted out of the back door. She ran like she was possessed, all limbs and no direction, lungs shrinking instead of expanding as she tried to find breath. Her eyes had started shedding tears without her knowing, blinding her as she ran until, finally, she collided with the fence that bordered the main drive. The pain of the impact was almost a relief, for it took her attention away, if only for a moment, from the pain in her soul.

Bracing her hands against the post, digging her nails into the bark as if she might melt into the wood, Anne unleashed a wail torn from the pit of her agony, bending over and howling like a wounded animal. She couldn’t hear the sound she made, her ears buzzing with wasps, and her head pounding as if there were a hammer inside beating against an anvil.

That spinning, suffocating feeling of being trapped underwater returned, and it was hard for Anne to catch a breath as she trembled against the fence. She thought she heard a murmur that could have been her name, and when she raised her head, she saw a figure rushing towards her, a dark shadow in the twilight speeding to her rescue.

“Anne! Anne!”

It was Gilbert. Of course it was.

He was at her side, close enough she could feel the heat of his body, and from the look in his face, she had given him the scare of his life.

“How did you –”

“I was closing up the barn. I saw you running,” he answered before she could finish. “Anne? Are you hurt? Why did you scream like that?”

“Where’s Mathew? Marilla?” she asked, rattled grey eyes darting across the fields.

“He’s fallen asleep in the parlour and I think Marilla already went to bed. Do you want me to get—”

“No!” She grabbed his hand when she cried out, and Gilbert stilled under her touch. “I don’t want them to know,” she sniffled, trying to catch her breath. “I don’t want anyone to know. They’ll say I’m deficient, they all did before, but not the Cuthberts and I never want them to see.”

“Who called you deficient? Why?” Gilbert pleaded, feeling desperate himself to help the shaking girl.

“All of them. From before…before here. Sometimes they haunt me and I can’t…if anyone knows I’ll be left alone again and I’ll die, I’ll just die if I’m thrown out again!”

Gilbert squeezed Anne’s hand hard, her panic over loneliness frightening him because he had an inkling of that wretched feeling, understanding what it meant to feel so alone you wished you were dead rather than have to endure another second of the pain ripping at you from the inside out. Sometimes he still felt that way, overcome with missing his father to the point of nearly leaving Avonlea again.

But there were reasons to stay now.

One of the them (maybe the most important one) was holding his hand and crying.

“Let’s go inside,” Gilbert suggested softly. “You’re not wearing boots.”

“I can’t yet,” she admitted, breathing still erratic.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked carefully. “Would you…want to tell me what happened? To you. Before.”

Anne shook her head.

“I don’t like remembering,” she confessed, voice quiet and guttural, as if it took all of her strength to make such an admission. “I’d rather imagine than remember.”

“Imagine something, then,” Gilbert suggested, taking whatever crumb she was willing to share, remaining by her side and watching her with vigilant kindness. “Tell me a story.”

The silence hung heavy between them for long minutes before Anne took a single quivering breath.

“Once upon a time…”

The tale was a sad one, as was to be expected given Anne’s state of mind. She told a story of the Queen of the Fairies, immortal and bound to the forest, but who fell in love with a human that she could never hope to marry, and so she was doomed to live forever and watch while he grew and aged and died. Then the cycle began again, the immortal queen seeing every human that entered her forest and loving all of them, but never able to keep them. When she finished her tale, Anne was breathing normally again, but she hadn’t been able to stop crying.

“What a sad story,” Gilbert said, “but hopeful, too, in a way.”

“How?” Anne asked.

“Because the Fairy Queen never stopped loving, even when she knew each time she did, it was doomed to heartache,” he explained, digging in his trouser pocket and offering Anne a handkerchief. “It takes so much courage to keep on loving when you’ve known so much heartache.”

Anne didn’t know how to respond, so she dabbed at her nose with the handkerchief, realizing for the first time that she was still holding Gilbert’s hand, or he was holding her, or they were holding on to each other. For a moment, Anne thought she should let go, but the  unnerving fit and the story had left her feeling raw, and Gilbert’s hand in hers felt like a balm to her tortured spirit.

When he started moving towards the house, Anne did not fight him.

They walked back to Green Gables one step at a time, their paces the same, neither leading or following, but going forward together. Once inside, Gilbert walked with Anne all the way to her room, and they lingered in the hall for a moment, eyes roving over the other, asking in earnest gazes if they were alright, if they were still mad…if they were forgiven.

Gilbert smiled, small and sweet, and suddenly, Anne could breathe.

“You’re the bravest person I know, Anne,” he whispered, and with a final squeeze, his fingers slipped from her hold and Gilbert went to his own room, leaving the redhead to watch him walk away again, only this time, when he got to his door, he looked back at her and suddenly the world was right again.

Chapter Text

Tranquility

  adjective:

          free from disturbance; calm

“See you!” Ruby called after Anne and Diana, looping her arm through Gilbert’s as the pair started down the road to her house.

Like the day before, Anne and Diana watched them leave, Anne holding her breath until Gilbert turned his head to look at them over his shoulder. His hazel gaze caught Anne’s grey one, and though the connection lasted a whisper of a second, it was enough to ease the tension in Anne’s shoulders.

“That’s two days in a row,” Diana mentioned as she and Anne began their walk home. “Do you think Gilbert has made a declaration?”

“If he had, Ruby would’ve told us,” Anne said confidently, the thought of Ruby’s announcement of her and Gilbert’s formal courtship making her want to both cry and rip her braids out.

“Perhaps she’ll have something to share with us tomorrow,” Diana pondered.

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” and at this moment Diana grabbed Anne’s hand to stop her walking, giving her palm a delighted squeeze as she pulled a pretty buttercup coloured card out of her coat pocket and presented it to Anne with a bow.

“What’s this?” Anne asked through giggles, taking the card and admiring how smooth it felt against her fingertips.

“Read it,” Diana insisted, so pleased she was bouncing on the heels of her feet. Clearing her throat, Anne held the card aloft and spoke with the same enthusiasm that she read poetry.

“To Miss Anne Shirley-Cuthbert: You are beseeched to join Miss Diana Barry and Miss Ruby Gillis on the afternoon of Saturday, March twentieth, in the year of our Lord eighteen-hundred and ninety-eight, at the Barry homestead for an afternoon tea that is being held in honour of your esteemed birth – Oh! Diana!”

“Keep reading,” her best friend instructed gladly.

“I’m afraid I’ve lost my place and have to start from the beginning,” Anne exclaimed, eagerly reciting the invitation again before reaching where she’d left off. “Please dress in your precious puff sleeve gown and bring nothing but your charming smile. Tea will be served promptly at three o’clock.”

“My mother already spoke with Ms. Cuthbert, so I know it’s alright for you to visit. I have everything arranged that I think I may even surprise you, dear Anne.”

“My cherished Diana, the invitation alone, never mind your wonderful consideration of my birthday, has bowled me over so completely I am certain I am flying! Thank you!”

Anne hugged Diana tightly, grateful that Providence had led her to such a true friend.

The rest of their walk consisted of Anne adamantly asking how long Diana had been planning the birthday tea, demanding details and imagining how splendid the next afternoon would be. She asked incessant questions, but Diana would not spoil the surprise. They parted with hugs and kisses on cheeks, and then Anne practically ran back to Green Gables, the invitation tucked away in her coat pocket.

When she did get home, Marilla and Mathew were tending the cows so there was no one for her to share her invitation with. Bubbling with too much excitement, Anne was barely able to get her homework done before she was being called to help with dinner. Rather than be of much help, the redhead chatted Marilla’s ear off over the tea party, exclaiming her surprise and flattery to be the guest of honour for Diana’s first hosting event, and thanking Marilla profusely for agreeing to let her go.

“I wonder what on earth could be taking Gilbert?” Marilla said, placing the tureen of stew in the centre of the table as she, Anne and Mathew sat down. “His dinner will get cold.”

“Maybe he got distracted on the way back from Ruby’s,” Anne said, rolling her eyes as she buttered a biscuit, her exuberant mood going a touch sour at the mention of the boy.

“Why do you say that?” Mathew asked.

“Because he walked her home.”

The Cuthbert siblings were stunned, each staring at the redhead sitting between them who was doing her best to be casual about her rather surprising announcement.

“What do you mean Gilbert walked Ruby Gillis home?” Marilla wondered sharply.

“What else could I mean?”

“Don’t be cheeky,” Mathew chided gently, and Anne was immediately chagrined, apologizing to Marilla for her rude response.

“He walked her home yesterday, too,” Anne said, as if that excused everything.

“But why?” Marilla asked.

Anne shrugged her shoulders, not wanting to confess that he’d done it as a favour to her and that the reason she’d asked it of him was to appease the pining heart of her good friend. She also didn’t want to betray her immense remorse at having launched the scheme in the first place.

“He asked to walk her home yesterday, and then she asked him to escort her again today,” Anne finally answered sullenly.

“It just seems odd to me,” Marilla went on, cutting into her beef. “I didn’t think Gilbert and Ruby were more than school acquaintances.”

“They aren’t,” Anne confirmed, “but Ruby…she’d like that to change.”

“I see,” Marilla said after a long pause. “And what does Gilbert think of that?’

“I wouldn’t know, I haven’t asked,” Anne replied, her tone once again growing bitter. Truthfully, she didn’t want to ask because she was certain, no matter what the answer was, she’d be upset. “But I don’t see why he wouldn’t want the same thing. Ruby is a wonderful person, so sweet and dear, and so pretty! She’s not as beautiful as Diana – and I don’t think anyone ever could be – but Ruby has her own charming radiance that it would surely be impossible for Gilbert to remain immune.”

“Are you certain?”

The two women turned startled, wide-eyed expressions on Mathew, who blushed and blustered under their attention. He often didn’t partake in their conversations, and certainly not if they were talking about things like boys and girls and courting, so the strange looks from Marilla and Anne were warranted. Still, it was a fair question to ask when it was clear that Gilbert Blythe’s intentions were fixed on Anne and not Ruby. The boy was rather obvious in his affection, much to Mathew’s placid amusement, and so to hear Gilbert was walking another girl home was nothing short of bizarre.

“May I be excused?” Anne asked, unprompted, feeling like a specimen under a microscope as she sat between her guardians. Marilla shot an unimpressed glower at the barely touched dinner on the girl’s plate but gave a small nod. “Thank you. I think I’ll go for a walk.”

“Not too far,” Marilla said.

“And not for long. Come back before it gets dark,” Mathew requested. Anne smiled in compliance, giving both Cuthbert siblings a kiss before departing.

Bundling up in her hat and coat, Anne left Green Gables for the open fields of the Island. The second she took a deep breath, the crisp spring air filling her lungs and making her whole body tingle with life, Anne felt better.

She’d recovered fairly well from her episode of the previous night, but her mood had remained steadily gloomy – save for the flash of excitement over Diana’s invitation – and her appetite hadn’t returned. She’d been nervous at breakfast that Gilbert might say something to her or worse, the Cuthberts, but he’d been his usual congenial self, helping Marilla with breakfast and then staying behind to help Mathew and Jerry with the animals, leaving Anne to make her way to school alone. They hadn’t talked in class, and then Ruby had surprised everyone by asking Gilbert to escort her home, so it had been the longest time in the six days he’d been staying at Green Gables that Gilbert and Anne hadn’t spoken.

For all that their relationship had begun with her slapping him across the face with a slate and declaring she didn’t want to talk to him, Anne found that she missed Gilbert’s voice. It was as if something was absent in her daily routine, and it shocked Anne when she realized that she had become used to Gilbert Blythe.

Continuing her stroll, her own thoughts the only company she kept, Anne tried to focus her mind on more pleasant designs.

She admired the naked trees spread out along the path, imagining when they would be bursting with buds that would bloom and breathe beauty to the White Way of Delight in just a few months. There was something serene in the stillness of nature at this time of year, as if all of the trees and flowers and the grass and water were cocooned in a crystal chrysalis, waiting for the right moment to break free and shine their restored beauty on the earth.

The crunch of gravel and snow beneath her boots and the twittering song of cardinals were all Anne heard for a long while, the melody soothing her thoughts and imaginings. Lately she’d been feeling so wound up, first because Gilbert was staying at Green Gables, and now because he wasn’t there enough. The confused feelings were a nuisance and made Anne feel as if her own head wasn’t on straight. It was comforting to know that nature, the trees and the animals and the very air of the Island, proved a capable medicine to the redhead’s ailing emotions.

Lost in the peace of the waning day, Anne was caught off guard by the sound of a second set of footfalls.

A figure started taking shape at the other end of the lane, and if Anne hadn’t already memorized how tall he was, or how broad his shoulders were, or how his hair curled around his head, the way he walked most certainly would have given away his identity. Gilbert moved towards her with his usual carefree gait, his stride long but with a bit of a bounce, and one hand always crossed over his chest to hold his book bag while the other swung loose at his side.

She moved towards him with a steady stride, taking the time each step afforded her to really examine Gilbert as his features came into focus the closer he got.

Of course, Anne  knew he was handsome, and had known it from the first moment he’d come to her rescue in the Haunted Wood, his shape materializing out of the morning mist as if he were a forest knight come to smite Billy Andrews and claim Anne for the fairies. Even when Gilbert proved to be nothing more than a boy, Anne still thought there was something magic about him. Perhaps it was the way his dark hair curled over his ears, or how the light caught in his eyes making them seem as green as shamrocks, or how he smirked lopsidedly with impish delight when he thought something was comical or endearing.

He was giving her that crooked smile as they drew closer, and while once Anne would have suspected he was laughing at her, now she was fairly certain the reason Gilbert grinned at her was just because he was happy.

They met in the middle of the lane, their boots toe-to-toe. They stared at one another for a quiet moment, suspended in the spring mist. Anne felt she had to look up a tad higher to meet Gilbert gaze and she wondered if he would ever stop growing or if she would ever catch up to him.

“We missed you at dinner,” she said by way of greeting, trying to sound far more disinterested than she was.

“The Gillis’ were kind enough to invite me to dine with them,” he answered, eyes swaying back and forth across her face, as if he were counting her freckles and finding joy in each one he discovered.

“That was kind,” Anne agreed, too stiff and too formal.

“Where were you going?” he wondered.

“Nowhere.”

“Mind if I join you?”

“Haven’t you reached your walking quota for the day?” Anne asked, sounding more heartbroken than contrite. She didn’t like thinking about Gilbert walking Ruby home, how they would have chatted and laughed and held hands. Perhaps there had been declarations made at her doorstep, or kisses exchanged in the shade of the maple trees that lined Ruby’s yard. Was Gilbert going to tell her he was Ruby’s beau? Did Anne even want to hear it?

“Not yet,” he said simply. “But if you’d rather be alone I’ll –”

“It’s fine,” Anne interrupted, again confused by how she was acting. She could feel her heart beating fast in her chest with nerves at being in Gilbert’s presence, and yet her throat was tightening and her lungs squeezed painfully at the thought of losing his companionship when he was offering his company so genuinely. She was sure she was going crazy for how contrary he made her feel, unsure of what she wanted or didn’t want, instead leaving it up to Gilbert to decipher what she meant.

When he nodded and switched the direction he’d been walking, she realized he assumed she did want his company, and it was a relief that one of them seemed to know what she wanted because Anne was at a loss.

Their first dozen steps were silent, awkward, almost like they were strangers.

“How do you think you did on the geography quiz?” Gilbert asked.

And like a curse had been lifted over a fallow land, Anne sprang to life and began speaking animatedly about the Tropics of Capricorn and Cancer and all was right in the world again.

They discussed the quiz at length, playfully trying to trick each other into revealing their answers. They did not laugh, but they smiled, and they walked off the path and into the woods with no destination in mind. The pair basked in each other’s company, reminding themselves that they were friends and they did get along and they did care. No matter that the last day had seen perplexing and bitter feelings pass between them, Anne and Gilbert were able to find their way back to one another.

“Ms. Stacy says I’ll be starting my advanced studies, soon,” Anne announced proudly, turning to walk backwards so she could face Gilbert.

“You must be pleased,” he commented.

Anne smiled, about to confirm his words, when her foot landed on something hard and hollow that shattered under her heel. She lost her footing and was about to fall backward into the dirt when Gilbert reached out and wrapped a big, warm hand around her elbow, pulling her fast and tight against him. Using her free hand, Anne braced herself against Gilbert’s shoulder, for he had jerked her so hard towards him that she’d nearly tumbled into his chest. As it was, her nose was almost touching his chin. She could feel his breath on her brow, the loose hairs at her temple moving with each warm puff. Tilting her head back, Anne looked up at Gilbert to find him looking down at her, expression impossible to read, but his eyes were alight with green nestled amongst the gold and brown, and whatever emotion was flitting through the rich colours was something poetic, and it made her want to surge up on her toes and kiss him.

“Thanks,” she whispered instead, too afraid to move.

“What was that?” he asked, looking at the crumbled shards of pottery under their feet. They stepped back from each other, hands releasing arms and shoulders as they took in their surroundings from the ground up.

Anne knew where they were by the very trees that enveloped them, but she still looked over to the toppled shack of moss and rotten wood to confirm their location

“What is this place?” Gilbert wondered, approaching the broken hut with reverence, as if he were a pilgrim stepping onto holy land.

“It was my story club,” Anne answered, picking up a piece of pottery, the arm of one of Cole’s many statues. The ground was littered with the bodies of his art, so it was no wonder she had tripped over one when she hadn’t been looking.  “I wish you could have seen it, Gil,” Anne lamented. “We’d decorated it like an enchanted palace. There was magic in our club, truly.”

“I believe it,” Gilbert said sincerely. “What would you do in your story club?”

“Share stories, of course,” Anne answered smartly.

“And the statues? Or, what’s left of them, I suppose.”

“They were Cole’s,” she admitted, moving to sit on a fallen log, still holding the piece of statue in her hand, twirling the rough, hard pottery between her fingers. “He was a storyteller, too, but he spoke though his art, not his words. I think for him, the clubhouse became both an inspiration and a sanctuary.”

Anne thought of her dear friend, missing him, but glad that he was somewhere he was safe and able to be himself.

“What happened to your clubhouse?” Gilbert asked, joining Anne on the log, leaving a respectable distance between them, though they certainly could reach out and hold hands if they wanted. Anne folded the broken piece of statue in her palm and closed her hands in her lap.

“Billy Andrews happened,” she answered.

“I see. Was this," he spread an arm out at the broken clubhouse, "the reason for his and Cole’s fight at school?”

“Yes.”

Anne watched as Gilbert clenched his jaw, looking around at the damage one boy’s cruelty had caused. It was as if he had been wronged by Billy’s callous action as well, and Anne was reminded that Gilbert was a kindred spirit, after all, so her pain was his and vice-versa.

Which would mean that their joys would be the same as well.

Shyly, Anne took the buttercup coloured card out of her coat pocket and showed Gilbert Diana’s invitation. He flashed a curious look at her as he took it, and Anne watched him intently as he read the neat writing.

“It’s your birthday on Saturday?” he asked, seeming confused, a smile making his mouth quirk in a lovely way.

“It’s on Sunday, actually,” Anne replied. “But because of church, Diana wouldn’t be able to host a party, so she arranged a celebration for tomorrow instead.”

“Diana is a very thoughtful friend,” he complimented.

“She is the best friend anyone could ever hope to dream up,” Anne agreed, so thankful she had met the dark-haired beauty and was blessed to know her for the rest of their lives. “No one had ever minded my birthday before…”

Anne broke off her train of thought, and Gilbert’s concerned gaze shot over to her. He seemed to know that she was mulling over her past – the time before Avonlea – and he remembered that Anne did not want to dwell on that chapter of her life. For all that she preferred to imagine instead of remember, Anne’s past was still part of how she had become the girl she was today, and though it was painful, Gilbert hoped he could help Anne to accept that her past did not define her and that it need not plague her. She had friends like Diana, and gentle guardians in the Cuthberts, and she had him, too, someone who would slay dragons for her if she asked.

“So your birthday’s March twenty-first? That’s the first day of spring.” He handed Anne’s birthday invitation back to her with a smile. “It suits you.”

“Don’t tease,” Anne huffed, carefully placing the card back in her pocket.

“I’m not,” Gilbert assured, and Anne decided to believe him, though she did regard him warily out of the corner of her eye. “My birthday is October seventeenth, in case you were wondering.”

“Saint Hedwig’s Day,” Anne commented, and she could feel Gilbert glancing at her, full to the brim with questions, but refraining from asking. Though she did not care to remember her past, and cared even less for sharing it, she thought it might not be a terrible thing to tell Gilbert a little. After all, he’d seen her breakdown, so there was not much else she should be ashamed of sharing with him. “The asylum was run by nuns,” she said, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. “They made us recite the saints’ feast days over and over, and rap our knuckles with rulers if we got them wrong.”

“That’s barbaric,” Gilbert exclaimed, one hand raised as if he meant to place it on her shoulder in comfort, but he thought better of it and instead laid his palm on the log in the space between them.

Anne felt cold, wanting the comforting touch Gilbert was prepared to offer but too afraid to ask for it.

“I miss Cole,” she signed suddenly, knowing that if her artistic friend were with her, he would know how to make her feel better without the tension or self-conscious uneasiness that was becoming more prominent between Gilbert and Anne. She would welcome Gilbert’s comfort gladly, but with the dark-haired boy there was something lurking under the caring looks and gentle touches and sincere words that left Anne with her guard up constantly. It was becoming exhausting to always be on alert when Gilbert was around. Maybe it was time to stop being so wary and just be Gilbert’s friend…let him be hers.

“I could tell him ‘hello’ for you, if you’d like,” Gilbert offered easily.

“How?” Anne asked, nose scrunching in confusion.

“My apprenticeship with Dr. Ward is on Saturdays. I’ll be on the first train to Charlottetown tomorrow and gone most of the day. I can call on him and Ms. Barry for you.”

Anne looked at Gilbert in awe.

“You’d really go out of your way like that for me?”

“Yes.”

The answer was simple, sincere, and it made Anne want to do foolish things like spout sonnets, or twirl, or kiss Gilbert on the cheek. And in the peaceful privacy of the forest with only the husk of her clubhouse to witness it, Anne thought it mightn’t be a terrible thing to kiss Gilbert.

On the cheek.

Barely a peck.

And only in deep gratitude (not because she was curious what kissing Gilbert might feel like).

Watching Gilbert watch her, Anne was certain the boy had read her thoughts, for he did lean closer, eyes soft and expectant, lips smiling, but head not turning to accept a peck on the cheek. Gilbert moved towards Anne as if he thought to receive a much different kiss, and in an instant Anne decided that she would kiss Gilbert, on the mouth, as romantical as anything, because in the shade of the forest there was no one and nothing to stop her from acknowledging, just for a moment, what her heart had been declaring all along.

As Anne swayed towards Gilbert, chin raised and lips parting, a crunch of leaves and tiny, harried footfalls disturbed the silence in their little corner of the forest, the pair leaning away to look in the direction of the noise. Gasping, Anne grinned so widely her cheeks hurt as she watched her fox amble into the clearing. Gasping, her hand fell on Gilbert’s, freckled fingers squeezing his as she watched the graceful vixen sniff at the dirt.

“It’s my fox,” she said. “I’d worried Billy had shot her, or that she’d been caught in a farmer’s trap. But she’s still here! Clever thing.” Anne’s grey eyes roved over the fox’s figure, admiring the animal’s dark face, red coat, and fluffy tail. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

“She is,” Gilbert agreed, and Anne was too absorbed in watching the fox to notice that Gilbert had been looking at her when he spoke.

The vixen did not linger, and dashed off into the brush, continuing its hunt and not paying any mind to the boy and girl. Anne felt remarkably at ease to have seen the animal, glad it was alive and healthy and safe. She hoped as the weather warmed up that it would stay far away from the farms and the farmers’ guns. Perhaps it might make a den in the old clubhouse and remain safe for the summer if Anne made the space comfortable with moss and leaves and some old linens from Green Gables.

“We should head back,” Anne said, breathless, forgetting the kiss that almost was and hoping Gilbert would forget, too. It had been a spontaneous decision to kiss him in the first place, not a wise or logical one, and had they gone through with the deed their friendship would surely be over only as soon as it had begun. Besides, there was Ruby to think about, too, and Anne couldn't bear the thought of her friend's heart being broken because Anne was being a selfish fool. Some higher power had brought her fox to the clearing to disturb that almost-kiss, and it was for the best.

Anne stood up from the log, intent to start back for Green Gables but found herself unable to walk away for Gilbert continued to hold her hand. He squeezed it tightly, his fingers calloused and palm warm.

“Can’t we stay just a few more minutes?” he asked. Anne stared at Gilbert, wondering if he was trying to trick her, but there was only genuineness in his expression. The magic of the moment when they could have kissed was gone, Anne knew that and so did Gilbert, and neither dared to pursue it. But the peace in the air was soothing to the two friends, like they were healing the longer they lingered, and so with a nod, Anne sat back on the log.

She sat closer to Gilbert than she had been before, their linked hands resting on the bark between them. And all around the them, the twilight deepened as the wind blew through the trees, the telltale signs of spring perfuming the air, and the magic of the story club saturating the ground.

And in that alcove of broken dreams and renewed hope, two hearts beat as if one.

Chapter Text

Apportionment

 verb:

         to distribute or share out proportionally

Anne wept when she saw Diana’s table.

It was the most beautiful display of elegance and finery Anne had ever seen and she told Diana so as she walked around the table, preening over the embroidered tablecloth, the hand painted china teacups, the lace fringed napkins, and the floral arrangement of pinecones, fir needles, and purple irises.

“Wait until you see the dessert tray,” Diana said, holding Anne’s chair out for her, acting the gentleman for her guest of honor. Anne sat delicately in the cushioned chair, giggling and still reeling from the beautiful effort that was made for her.

“I want to remember this exact, perfect moment for the rest of my life,” she said, closing her eyes as if the action would commit the room and Diana and her feelings to memory forever. Anne was so overwhelmed that she was certain she was glowing.

“I thought we’d begin with some honeyed milk,” Diana said, disturbing Anne’s musings.

“No raspberry cordial?” Anne joked, and Diana giggled prettily behind her hand.

“No currant wine, either I’m afraid.”

“Shame.”

The bosom friends continued to joke and chat, sipping their sweet milk for almost a quarter of an hour before Anne realized something was missing.

“Where’s Ruby?”

“She is running late, isn’t she?” Diana commented, looking at the mantle clock. “I wonder if I should start the tea or if we should wai—”

Before Diana could complete her thought, Ruby entered the parlour, face pinched in an odd expression.

“Sorry!” she exclaimed. “Happy birthday, Anne.”

The friends exchanged hugs and kisses, but Anne, too, noticed something off about Ruby, as if she were hiding something and was working her way towards revealing her secret. If it was time she needed, the distraction of tea and desserts were certainly in her favour. When Diana brought out a three-tier dessert platter bursting with all types of sweet morsels, Anne carried on over the beauty of the food for five minutes.

There were dark chocolate truffles with little wells that held rich raspberry jelly. The lemon tarts were cut into perfect squares, flakes of yellow zest dotting the pale cream top. The scones were fresh and a Barry family recipe. Of course, there were jars of clotted cream and jam, as well as a stick of butter to add flavour. The shortbread was cut into hearts, and the macaroons were fat, fluffy delights filled with pistachios. Finally, there were adorable triangles of cucumber sandwiches, because no tea was complete without a cucumber sandwich.

“It’s so difficult to choose,” Anne lamented, plate in hand and eyes roving across each tidbit.

“So don’t. Have one of each,” Diana insisted.

“Marilla would say I was being gluttonous,” Anne replied, looking a touch guilty.

“A young lady only turns fifteen once,” Diana answered back, her pretty pianist fingers plucking first a macaroon, then a tart, and then a triangle of cucumber sandwich. “I say if she can’t indulge then, when can she?!”

“Diana, I don’t think I tell you enough how perfectly wonderful you are,” Anne said, smiling brightly as she followed her hostess’ lead and placed one of every dessert on her gold-rimmed plate. “Come on, Ruby, help yourself.”

“I’ve given up on Gilbert.”

The announcement was made without fanfare or dramatic tears. In fact, it was delivered so emotionlessly that Anne wasn’t certain she hadn’t dreamed it up. But one look at Diana told Anne that Ruby had indeed just told them that her crush on Gilbert Blythe was well and truly over.

Lowering her dessert plate, Anne reached out to her friend and laid her palm against her brow.

“Ruby, are you quite well?” Anne wondered, worried. Ruby scowled and slapped Anne’s hand away.

“I’m not ill!” she exclaimed contritely.

“Surely you must be,” Diana argued, placing a comforting hand over Ruby’s and rubbing her thumb along her knuckles. “Unless…are you saying this because…was Gilbert…unkind, to you?”

“Of course not!” Ruby cried incredulously at the same time as Anne, making Diana jump in her chair at the double outburst.

“The idea of Gilbert being anything but the picture of a perfect gentleman is ridiculous,” Ruby reported, angrily stirring sugar in her tea before taking a great gulp of the hot liquid.  

“Then why have you changed your mind about him?” Diana ventured cautiously, eyes bouncing back and forth between her friends, worried either would screech at her again.

“He’s not what I expected,” Ruby said, staring into her teacup. “I think I must have loved the idea of Gilbert more than I actually loved him.”

“But what does that mean?” Anne pressed.

“He was very kind, Gilbert always is. And he’s so handsome. When he walked me home, he took me straight to my door and tipped his hat, just like a real gentleman. And yesterday when my parents invited him to have dinner with us his manners were perfect! But…well…”

Anne and Diana leaned in close, holding their breath as they waited for Ruby to continue.

“Well?” Diana urged, impatient to know the truth of Ruby’s feelings.

“Gilbert is so many wonderful things, but…he’s just so boring!”

Anne’s jaw actually dropped at Ruby’s declaration. She was gobsmacked. The idea of Gilbert being boring was preposterous! He was one of the most interesting, funny, pleasant people on the whole Island. What was Ruby thinking?

“The whole time, on both our walks and at dinner, all he did was talk about school, or college, or medicine,” Ruby ranted. “There was no poetry! Nothing romantical. In fact, all of the words he used were so big I didn’t know what he was talking about half the time. What even is prestidigitation?”

“Why was Gilbert talking about magic tricks?” Anne asked, more confused by that than anything else Ruby had said.

“That’s what that means?!” the blond hollered. “I thought it was some kind of tropical disease. No wonder you don’t mind walking with Gilbert, Anne. You understand what he’s saying. And you spend most of the time talking about school, too, or your stories, so you two would have much more to say to each other than he and I.”

Anne didn’t know how to respond to Ruby’s lament, but she blushed hotly under Diana’s scrutinizing gaze.

 “Well, we’re very sorry to hear all this, Ruby,” Anne said in sympathy. “I know you invested a lot of time in Gilbert.”

“Years!” Ruby stressed, reaching across the table to take two pieces of shortbread. “It’s so disappointing!”

“Are you very sure it all has to end?” Anne asked. “Maybe Gilbert was just nervous.”

“No, he wasn’t,” Ruby insisted. “We just don’t have much in common. Oh Anne! I wish I was like you! I wish I was a better student who knew big words and science, and history, and magic tricks so I would have something to talk about with Gilbert.”

“I still don’t understand why he was talking about magic tricks?” Anne muttered under her breath.

“So then,” Diana broached carefully, “I suppose this means your dibs are null and void.”

“I suppose it does,” Ruby agreed, polishing off her shortbread and missing the meaningful look Diana was shooting at Anne, which the redhead was impressively ignoring.

“Well, we’re very sorry, Ruby,” Diana offered, pouring the sad girl more tea.

“Don’t be,” Ruby signed, squaring her shoulders in an act of bravery. “Now that I’m over Gilbert I intend to have several suitors by the time I’m sixteen.”

“Oh yes?” Diana encouraged, and it wasn’t long before Ruby was divulging her plans of being a notorious, but civil and well-respected, heartbreaker, unsure if she would go to college, finishing school, or have a Season, wherein she would charm every man she met before gently letting them down until, at last, she would marry the gentleman of her dreams.

Diana listened politely, continuing to attend to her hostess duties with grace and poise. As for Anne, she stayed unusually quiet, attentive to Ruby’s new romantic plans, but she was suddenly overcome with a hunger she hadn’t known for almost two days, so she occupied herself with the sweet and savory desserts before her.

Each bite was more scrumptious than the last.

~*~

Green Gables was quiet when Gilbert returned well after dinner.

He shook the rain off his coat and took a quick scan of the silent and dark entryway. The only light he spotted was a swaying orange shadow caused by a fire in the parlour. Entering the quaint sitting room, he was pleasantly surprised to find Anne reclined on the sofa, a blanket around her legs and knees pulled up with a book propped against them.

“Hello,” he said, pulling Anne out of the story she was very much absorbed in.

“Gilbert! Hi,” she smiled. “How was your day with Dr. Ward?

“Informative. I think I can safely diagnose spring allergies from here on out. Where are Mr. and Ms. Cuthbert?”

“At the Lyndes house. Marilla practically bullied Mathew to join her so they could have a fourth for bridge.”

Gilbert nodded, approaching the fire to warm his hands.

“What are you up to?” he asked.

“Reading Jane Eyre. I adore this book.”

“Would you mind if I joined you? I have some reading to do as well, but I’m not quite ready to retire,” Gilbert said, enjoying the fire and the coziness of the room with Anne’s always luminescent presence.

“I wouldn’t mind at all,” Anne said gladly, “but maybe you’d like to change first?”

“Right,” he chuckled, drips of cold spring rain slipping from his curls like tears. “I’ll be back.”

Bounding up the stairs, Gilbert made quick work of changing into dry clothes. He was careful to lay a small, brown paper wrapped parcel on his bed, before collecting a spare blanket of his own and tucking some books under his arm before returning to the parlour.

When he entered the room, there was a tray with a bowl of warm beans and a cup of tea waiting for him on the side table beside the chair closest to the hearth. Gilbert looked at Anne, still stretched out on the couch and grey eyes trained on her book, though it felt as if she was aware of him, waiting for his reaction to her thoughtfulness. Feeling especially at ease, Gilbert took the cushion from the chair and dropped it on the floor at the end of the sofa where Anne’s feet were. With the blanket, he made a little nest complete with books and the tray before setting his body down. Sighing in comfort, he tucked into the beans, his soul singing with how warm and savory they were.

“Are you sure you’re comfortable down there?” Anne asked dubiously.

“Very,” he answered, sipping his tea. “This is perfect.”

Anne didn’t speak, but the air around them seemed to move as if she’d said ‘suit yourself’ before returning her attention to her book, this time in earnest. The next half hour was tranquil, like Anne and Gilbert were two snug peas in a pod, safe and secure in a world made just for them. They read and drank tea as the fire crackled and the rain pitter-pattered against the house.

“So, are you going to tell me about your day at Diana’s?” Gilbert asked, taking a break from his book and turning to look at Anne.

“It was splendid!” Anne exclaimed, not minding the interruption to her reading. “Oh, Gilbert, she went to so much trouble for me. Everything was perfect. I had no idea Diana was such a talented craftsman when it came to centerpieces – but I suppose one of the joys of having friends is they can always surprise you – and she was the epitome of elegance as a hostess.”

“You had a good time, then?” he teased, amused.

“The best time,” Anne corrected, before flopping back on the pillows heaped to one side of the sofa. “The dessert tray was a mountain, piled sky high with macaroons and chocolate and puff pastries. I think I ate so much sugar I won’t be able to sleep.”

“I have a sweet tooth, too,” Gilbert confided, glad that Anne’s afternoon had been good, and he was hopeful his next words would be a complement to her fine day. “Cole and Ms. Barry wish you a happy birthday.”

“You saw them!” Anne exclaimed, sitting up again and nearly throwing her novel off her lap in her exuberance. “How did they seem? Tell me, has Cole grown taller? Did he look happier? Is he still working on his art? How is his wrist? And Aunt Josephine is she –”

“Anne! Anne!” Gilbert chuckled, holding up a hand. “I can only answer one question at a time.”

“Preposterous. If I can ask more than one question at a time then you should be able to answer them,” she teased before taking a deep breath and, after a moment’s consideration, asked the question that mattered most. “How are they?”

Gilbert told Anne everything. He wasn’t as verbose as the redhead, but he was able to describe, to Anne’s complete satisfaction, the state of Cole and Ms. Barry’s health and happiness. Anne leaned forward, elbows on her knees and chin in her hands, listening attentively to each word Gilbert said. In the glow of the fire, and with her red hair tied back in a loose ponytail rather than her braids, Anne seemed so at home, comfortable in a way Gilbert hadn’t seen before. It was wonderful that she was so…well, blithe around him.

“I’ll be back at Dr. Ward’s next Saturday. If you wanted to write them a letter, I could deliver it for you,” he offered.

“Thank you, but I do enjoy sending letters though the post. It’s so much more intimate. The anticipation of waiting for weeks and weeks for that treasured square of paper and ink. Seeing your name on the envelope, knowing the words have been penned by someone who’s thinking of you. Unfolding the pages and unraveling a wishing well echoing the voice of a beloved person. I don’t think there is any greater thrill in the world than receiving a letter!”

Anne looked at Gilbert and was spellbound by how the flames of the fire danced in his eyes. He looked flushed, as if he’d been the one to go off on a wild poetic tangent on the beauty of letters. His lips were quirked in a small grin, and he looked so much like he did a year-and-a-half ago in the restaurant in Charlottetown that Anne was certain that expression was meant for no one but her. She wondered what he was thinking when he looked at her like that, but she didn’t have to wonder long because, after licking his lips, he told her.

“That’s exactly how I felt,” he confided softly. “When your letter came on the ship…when the porter announced the mail call and said my name, I wondered who even knew where I was?! Who would go to the trouble of looking for me? I should have known it was you. Somehow you found me, Anne, an entire ocean away. I never thanked you for that.”

“You’re welcome,” she answered, voice hoarse as it swelled with tender emotions for the boy near her. “I missed you,” she whispered, finally giving life to the feelings that would catch her unawares in a cage of gloom during his year away.

“I missed you, too,” he echoed, raw and honest.

That feeling that had come over Anne when they’d sat on the log in the graveyard of her clubhouse the previous night returned. It was a sensation of wanting to be close to Gilbert. Not just physically, but spiritually, like she wanted to stitch their souls together so that they would never be parted. Maybe that’s what she’d been trying to do when she wrote to him all those months ago; she was trying to pull him back to her so she could feel complete again, just as she did now.

The two stared at one another for timeless minutes, and when Anne looked away first (because she always looked away first), there was a pretty blush staining the apples of her cheeks as she flashed Gilbert a pleased, nervous sort of smile before returning to her reclined position and opening up her novel. Gilbert stared after Anne for a few moments more before following her example.

Dr. Ward had loaned Gilbert a medical text that listed, with diagrams, parts of the body. It was hard to concentrate on the names of bones, but Gilbert did his best until a persistent tapping on his shoulder dragged him away from his reading.

“That looks like a medical text,” Anne said, bare foot poking out from her lap blanket and the culprit of the nudging at his shoulder. “I distinctly recall you being instructed to refrain from academic reading outside of school hours. Where’s Treasure Island?”

“Right here,” Gilbert said, holding up the other tome he he’d brought downstairs. “I’m only reading one chapter, I promise,” he said when Anne continued to glare at him with narrow-eyed disapproval. When Anne opened her own book and resumed reading, Gilbert assumed he was being given clemency and went back to his list of bones.

“Gilbert?” she asked a few minutes later, and with a silent chuckle, Gilbert turned down the corner of the page he’d been reading and closed the book, knowing it was pointless to attempt reading it any further tonight.

“Mmm?” he replied, facing his redheaded friend.

“Why do you want to become a doctor?” Anne asked, her own book closed and resting in her lap.

“Why do you want to become a teacher?” he countered.

“I told you, I want to be just like Ms. Stacy,” Anne huffed, annoyed by his response. “But for you…when we talked in Charlottetown, before you went to sea, you said you wanted to choose Avonlea, not feel obligated to stay. And then in your letter you said not even gold would entice you back.” She wanted to point out his spelling error, but for once, Anne was so determined to remain on the subject that she easily avoided the diversion. “Then all of a sudden you were back in school and saying you wanted to be a doctor after being gone for a year. I’m just curious…what changed?”

“I did,” Gilbert confessed. He relaxed his posture and leaned heavily against the sofa, raising an arm to rest on the cushion so he could cup his chin while he looked at Anne. “I saw so much. We sailed up and down the east coast, and once overseas to Ireland and France. It was amazing to me how there were such differences from one port to the next, but there were that many more similarities; people that were happy, and laughing, and falling in love…and people that were grieving, sick, and alone.

“In Trinidad, there was a woman. She was a prosti—a lady of ill repute. She was pregnant and had gone into labour, but had nowhere to have her baby. The house she stayed at; they threw her out. She had nothing, Anne, and she was about to have a baby and was all alone. But I was able to help her.”

“How?”

“It was a breech birth. I know a little bit about those. Bash helped keep her calm and I was able to get the baby turned and then…well, she did all the hard work, really. And just like that, there was a baby in my hands. A living, breathing, healthy baby.” Gilbert got a faraway look in his eyes, his fingers flexing as if he could still feel the weight of that new life in his palms. “Giving that mother her son…it was as if I had opened a book to the exact page I’d been looking for.”

“You decided you wanted to be a doctor,” Anne supplied, awed by how passionate Gilbert spoke, and believing Ruby really was completely wrong because Gilbert Blythe was not boring, no matter how many big words he used. “And that’s the reason you came back?”

“Well, believe it or not, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert,” Gilbert said teasingly, “but a doctor needs more than a partial single schoolhouse education to get his licence. And most colleges won’t take someone just because they’ve got passion and gumption. It seems they require a little thing called ‘test scores’ before they allow you entry, and the bar is set high.”

Anne rolled her eyes at Gilbert’s sarcasm.

“You’re not funny.”

“You’re smiling, so I must be a little funny.”

Anne harrumphed and kicked out her foot, connecting with Gilbert’s arm and sending his resting face falling down onto the sofa cushion with a resounding ‘thump’. She laughed as his overexaggerated grunt, and he laughed with her.

“So, Dr. Blythe, you’ve mentioned ladies of ill repute and breech babies, but was that all there was in Trinidad?” Anne asked, not one to let Gilbert do all the teasing.

Straightening his posture, Gilbert told Anne about Bash’s home.

He told her about the water, so clear and crystalline, it was like looking into the heart of a glacier.

He told her about the white sand beaches, so different from the red rocks he’d grown up with, and the dirt so fine it was like trying to hold the wind between your fingers.

He told her that the sea salt air smelled different than it did back home; there was something spicy about the perfume of Trinidad that got into your blood and under your skin.

He told her how he walked like a newborn foal when his feet touched land for the first time in six weeks, Bash laughing at him as he stumbled on the docks, finding it difficult to know his land legs from his sea legs.

He told her about mangos, and coconuts, and plantains, how everything tasted sweeter or hotter, expanding his palette but making him crave the simple cooking of the Island.

“It sounds amazing,” Anne sighed, enthralled with Gilbert’s stories. “The world is so wide and wonderful, with so much to see and teach us. I wish I could see it all.”

“You will.”

He said it with such conviction, that Anne was sure his words would come true. Part of her wondered if Gilbert might want to go back to Trinidad someday, just for a visit, then he could take her. He could show her all the places he’d just told her about, let her walk in his footsteps along white sand and through curry infused markets. It would be such a grand adventure, and it would be the two of them together, and though she did not want to examine that thought – her and Gilbert alone together – Anne accepted that the idea made her heart race with exhilaration.

“Gilbert?” she asked, shifting forward as if about to divulge a precious secret. “I have something I want to ask you –”

“That’s not like you at all,” he kidded, content to indulge her curiosity, lulled into the most profound comfort by the fire and the sofa and Anne.

“You must promise to tell me the absolute truth.”

The fact she did not take the bait of his teasing surely meant that whatever Anne had to say was of the utmost importance. Gilbert nodded his agreement, brow furrowed and eyes alight with concern as he waited for Anne to continue.

“Why on earth were you talking to Ruby about prestidigitation?”

Gilbert felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him.

For of all the many truths Anne might have asked him, that was certainly not even in the first thousand he could think of. The question was so preposterous and so very much Anne that he couldn’t help throwing his head back, closing his eyes and laughing hard and loud. His shoulders trembled with his guffaws and made the sofa shake. He looped his arms around his belly when it started to ache with his hard chortles, and when he opened his eyes, through the mist of mirthful tears, he saw Anne was laughing, too. Her chin was tucked against her chest and her face was pink as she drew one shallow breath after another between her sweet chuckles.

When they both calmed down, Gilbert did tell Anne about his conversation with Ruby. Then they talked about Jane Eyre, and Treasure Island, and seeing Bash and Mary the next morning at church. They talked until Anne could feel her eyelids grow heavy and her body warm. Though she reclined on the cushions and insisted she was only resting her eyes, it wasn’t long before Anne was breathing evenly, lost to the world of dreams.

Gilbert dared to stay awake as long as he could, just watching her. He was amazed that he was finally seeing what Anne looked like asleep, exactly as he’d wondered that first restless night at Green Gables. She was so much better than he’d imagined because she was real, the most real thing he knew. And perhaps Bash was right, it was time to be a man about his feelings and admit, only to himself, that while his friendship with Anne was something he truly treasured, he wanted it to be more.

He wanted making breakfast and walks through the forest. He wanted shared lessons and secret glances. He wanted red hair, in braids, pinned up, hanging loose and every which way in between. He wanted Anne’s smiles and her laughter and even her temper.

He wanted nights like this, the two of them before a fire, having talked and joked and shared the hours away. He wanted Anne to be his last vision before sleep and his first upon waking.

And above all else, he wanted her to want those things with him.

Gilbert Blythe spent his last night at Green Gables on a hardwood floor before a dying fire, body propped up against a sofa and his head lulling against Anne’s dainty ivory ankle.

It was the most restful sleep he’d had the whole week. 

Chapter Text

Felicitations

 noun:

words expressing praise for an achievement or good wishes on a special occasion

 “I can’t believe they came.”

“What did they think would happen?”

“Serves them right. They don’t belong here.”

“I suppose we shouldn’t be so bothered since we are all God’s children.”

“Did you see how furious Gilbert was?”

“They can worship just as well from the back as they can from the front."

"There was no reason for that Blythe boy to be rude to the minister.”

“If they want to worship, why should it matter? That is, if God loves all of us equally.”

“I’ve never seen one before, let alone two.”

The murmuring was driving Anne mad. Before the minister took to the pulpit to begin his Sunday sermon, the redhead stood abruptly and, in her first act of defiance as a fifteen-year old, marched with her head held high to the back of the church where Gilbert, Mary and Bash had been banished for the service.

“May I join you?” she asked, knowing her actions were causing a scene, but certain that what she was doing what was right, no matter what the gossips of Avonlea might say. She only hoped Marilla would forgive her for embarrassing her in church.

Gilbert and the Lacroixs were eager to shuffle down, welcoming Anne to their outcast pew with nods and smiles which she returned before turning her attention to the minister. The balding man had finally ambled up to the pulpit. He gave a hard, pointed look to the congregation, his black eyes lingering ferociously on the mixed gang in the last pew, before opening his bible and starting the mass.

“Do you think we’re in for a lecture on the evils of disrespecting your elders and showing incivility in the house of God?” Gilbert whispered, recalling the strong words he’d had with the minister when it was clear that that Lacroixs were not welcome to join Gilbert in the pew that had belonged to the Blythe family since his great-grandfather settled in Avonlea.

Anne shook her head.

“Of course not. Surely, he’s going to give a heartfelt sermon on the importance of loving one’s neighbour and treating him as you would treat yourself,” Anne bantered back, having to bite her lip to keep from laughing out loud. Gilbert did huff a concealed chortle at her acerbity and his breath smelled of the peaches he’d had on his porridge that morning.

His last morning at Green Gables.

For some reason, thinking that made Anne’s heart weep so, rather than dwell on Gilbert’s departure, she focused completely on the sonorous sermon.

“Well, you were right,” she said when the mass was through and they were able to take their leave. “An hour long reprimand on ‘you who are younger, be subject to the elders’. Do you think it a coincidence he forgot the rest of that verse stating, ‘clothe yourselves with humility toward one another’?”

“Perhaps you should be up there preaching to us, Queen Anne,” Bash joked, helping Mary with her coat. Shaking her head at the shocking blasphemy of a woman minister – and then immediately thinking it would be rather stimulating to preach the word of God – Anne headed out of the church with Gilbert and the Lacroixs on her heels.

“While I do intend to lecture when I grow up, it will be the classroom and not the pulpit for me,” she replied, waiting with the trio for Marilla and Mathew to join them in the churchyard. It was not surprising that many of the Avonlea families that passed them shot curious looks, but the little band of outcasts paid them no mind. They stood tall and proud, waiting respectfully for the Cuthberts, only moving to greet the elder siblings when they finally emerged from the church. “Marilla, I hope you’re not too upset for the scene I made, but I was –”

“Enough of that, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert,” the older woman said. “I won’t listen to your excuses because none need to be given.”

Anne’s whole body sagged with relief at not being in trouble, and with a smile she started skipping back to the buggy, Gilbert right behind her.

“That went better than I thought,” she confided, petting their mare’s flank. “I was certain Marilla was going to drag me back inside by the ear and make me apologize to the minister before having me say the Lord’s Prayer a dozen times.”

“You should give her more credit,” Gilbert said, turning to look at Marilla as she conversed with Bash and Mary, staring rather intently, as if he was looking for something. “Ms. Cuthbert is one of the best women I know.”

“I’m going to tell her you said so. She’ll either blush or say you’re full of nonsense. My bet is on the later.”

Anne waited for Gilbert to make a witty quip, but he only nodded distractedly, eyes fixed on her guardians and the Lacroixs. She followed his gaze, not seeing anything out of the ordinary, the four adults chatting easily, although there did seem to be a sparkle of mischief in Bash’s dark eyes, but then again, that twinkle was always there.

“Are you glad to be returning home?” Anne asked, guessing that was why Gilbert was staring.

“Hmm? Oh! Yes,” he agreed, facing Anne again.

“Not nervous?” she wondered.

“Maybe a bit,” he said with a rueful smile. “It’ll be different, but it’ll be good, too. I know it.”

“It will,” Anne agreed. “They’re your family, after all.”

Gilbert nodded, amazed that Anne could read him so well. He only hoped he had his guard up enough that she wasn’t able to decipher the secret dwelling in his eyes.

“Well, then,” Mathew said, approaching the pair and rubbing his hands. “Back to Green Gables.”

Anne and Gilbert nodded, moving to the back of the buggy. Gilbert clamored on to the flatbed first before offering a helping hand to Anne. She accepted, awed at how normal it felt to have her hand in Gilbert’s since that evening in the shadow of her ruined clubhouse. Mathew waiting until the pair were seated opposite each other before encouraging the horse into motion. Bash and Mary came up to the path and waved at the departing quartet.

“See you this evening,” Mary called before they were out of sight.

“What does Mary mean?” Anne asked, and she noticed Gilbert seemed just as eager to know the answer, though he did not speak.

“The Lacroixs have invited us to Sunday dinner,” Marilla said, looking over her shoulder, her eyes lingering a second longer on Gilbert before focusing on Anne. “Isn’t that very kind of them?”

“Oh, yes!” Anne agreed, clapping her hands to her chest. “May I make something to bring with us?”

“I’ve already told them I’d make biscuits so you may help if you wish.”

“I wish very much, indeed!” Anne exclaimed, putting her hands behind her head and leaning back, relishing the feel of the first fragrant breeze of spring kissing her cheeks. “What a marvelous day.”

The others in the buggy agreed and it was a pleasant ride back to Green Gables.

Once they’d returned to the farm, Gilbert was quick to give Mathew a hand with the odds and ends that needed attending to in the barn and the fields, leaving Anne and Marilla to fill their afternoon with biscuit making (or biscuit experimenting in Anne’s case as she insisted on adding an array of herbs to her batch). It didn’t seem long at all before Marilla was banishing Anne up to her room to freshen up before they left.

Anne cheerily made quick work of washing her face and fixing her hair, styling it the same way she had on Bash and Mary’s wedding day with braids and the wide blue ribbon that spanned her head like a wreath of water. She took extra care to clean her nails and smooth out the grey dress she’d chosen to wear for their visit, admiring the little flourishes of lace Marilla had agreed to sew along the collar and cuffs. The embellishments were not ostentatious, but lovely and demure, giving Anne an aura of being grown without shattering the reality that she was still young yet. She was not ready for corsets, or sweeping necklines, or jewels, but a little line of starched lace was certainly acceptable.

Looking at her reflection, Anne still did not think herself pretty, but in light of the fact that she was now fifteen, she did think she looked a little more mature than she had the day before. Satisfied, Anne left her room to rejoin Marilla in the kitchen when she heard scuffling coming from Gilbert’s room. Curious, Anne walked down the hall and found Gilbert’s door open, the boy in question organizing his suitcase for his return home.

“Need some help?” Anne wondered, knocking on the doorframe.

Gilbert looked up, startled, as if Anne had stolen him from some deep thought. In a strange frenetic flurry, Gilbert seemed to shuffle the items in his suitcase before closing the lid harshly.

“I’m alright, thanks,” he said brusquely.

“I see,” Anne replied, curt in her suspicion. “All packed, then?”

“Yes,” Gilbert answered, drumming his fingers on his suitcase, hazel eyes darting around the room, as if he were eager to see the back of her. His insolence made the hair on the back of Anne’s neck stand on end, as if she were a cat with raised hackles, ready to pounce and claw the eyes out of the person that offended them.

“Right, then. I’ll go get your handkerchief. You wouldn’t want to leave that behind,” she said, turning around to make a grand, storming exit from his room.

“Keep it,” Gilbert called after her, and Anne didn’t bother to reply to his shout.

She marched back to her room, angry and hurt and tempted to hurl Gilbert’s handkerchief out the window for all that he didn’t seem to care about it one lick. The ivory muslin was folded prettily on her dresser, Anne having washed it tenderly by hand after Gilbert had given it to her the night she’d run out of the house in an overwhelming panic she still couldn’t understand. His sweet gesture of comfort had meant the world to her, making Anne reluctant to return the handkerchief when, every time she ran her fingers along the initials embroidered into the corner, it made her feel safe and cared for.

Clearly, however, Gilbert didn’t think much of the gesture or how it made Anne feel. It probably would be better to toss the handkerchief, but she found herself incapable to doing so. Much like the stasis she was in when determining what to do with Gilbert’s curl, Anne found she was not prepared to forget the simple white square with Gilbert’s initials. She’d decide what to do with it later, but not at the moment because it was nearly time to be off for Gilbert’s house.

Finding herself in the back of the buggy with Gilbert again, Anne refused to speak or even look at the boy as the family made their way to the Blythe-Lacroix orchard. Her cold shoulder didn’t seem to ruffle Gilbert’s mood, for while he didn’t try to get her attention or sulk over her ignoring him, Gilbert was most certainly distracted, his eyes peering at something far away that only he could see, and Anne cursed her interest in the odd intrigue. Mathew and Marilla were acting strangely as well, casting knowing looks over their shoulders at the pair in the flatbed, smiling tightly as if afraid to spoil an important secret. Many times Anne wanted to break the silence and demand she be told what conspiracy was afoot, but she found herself tongue-tied and unable to voice her questions for the full length of the ride to Gilbert’s house. When they pulled up the drive to the stone homestead, Gilbert eagerly jumped from the flatbed and approached the front of the buggy.

“I can take care of the horse, Mr. Cuthbert,” he offered, taking the reins from Mathew and flashing Marilla a puzzling expression. Anne had the distinct feeling that Gilbert was involved in whatever secret the Cuthberts were keeping, and it made her both curious and vexed.

“What’s going on?” she managed to ask as Gilbert led their horse to his barn.

“Come along,” Marilla instructed, walking steadily towards the front door, blatantly ignoring Anne’s query. The young woman turned her perplexed gaze to Mathew, but the older man also refrained from answering her, wrapping an arm around Anne’s shoulders and ushering her towards the house. The pair waited behind Marilla as she knocked, and Anne’s doubts continued to climb when Bash called from inside for the Cuthberts to enter the house rather than come to the door and invite them in. It was certainly bad manners, but Marilla just chuckled and did as Bash instructed, looping the basket of biscuits on one arm and opening the door with the other.

“Surprise!”

Anne’s jaw dropped at Bash and Mary’s combined greeting, her knees nearly giving out on her save for Mathew’s steady hold on her shoulder that gave her the strength to continue standing in the presence of the magnificent scene.

The dining room was dressed from floor to ceiling in paper chains, the colourful circlets dangling in waves along the walls, across the hutch, along the backs of the chairs and even around the window frame. A bouquet bursting with greenery and early spring wildflowers gave sensational colour to the table set for six and Anne recognized the linen and china as the same ones she’d used to prepare the table for Mary and Bash a week ago. A perfume of rich spices filled the air, as did the scent of crab and potatoes, and Anne wondered what was on the menu for the evening, her palate tingling to life with curiosity. There was tea already prepared in a teapot atop the hearth, and even it had something exotic added to enliven the simple blend, the rich scent carrying over the room as it brewed. Finally, there was a banner of bright tissue paper adorning the far wall, the words ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANNE’ painted on the rainbow surface in sweeping cursive with little floral embellishments sprouting from the letters.

“Have we surprised you good and proper?” Bash asked as he approached the company to take their jackets.

“Happy birthday, dear,” Mary said, kissing Anne on the cheek and taking her hand to pull her into the room.

“How…when…why did…I’m stupefied,” Anne finally gasped, her face flushing with pleasure that her wonderful neighbours had prepared a surprise birthday dinner for her.

“Mind your manners and thank the Lacroixs,” Marilla instructed gently, handing Bash the biscuits.

“Thank you isn’t nearly sufficient enough to express how grateful I am to be celebrated in such a way! I’m sure I could write for the rest of my life and never even invent a word that would come close,” Anne proclaimed, smiling and laughing as she slowly spun around the room to capture every detail of décor. She admired the faces of the Lacroixs and the Cuthberts, all smiling at her as they reveled in her enchantment, and finally, Anne’s eyes alighted on Gilbert who had just entered the house to join the party. “Gilbert!” she exclaimed.

Heedless of the hurt she’d been nursing towards him all afternoon, Anne rushed to her friend before he could take his hat and coat off, gripping his hands in hers, never minding the four witnesses to her unbridled affection.

“Do you like it?” Gilbert asked, eager and afraid.

“I adore it!” she exclaimed, squeezing his fingers between hers. “Bash and Mary really are too wonderful to think of me.”

“You deserve it.”

His words were low and sincere, and his hazel eyes seemed alive with an electric magic that drew Anne in like a moth to a flame.

“Queen Anne!”

Startling at Bash’s call, Anne gave Gilbert a radiant smile before releasing his hands and rejoining the adults. “Have a seat,” the newlywed instructed, holding out the chair at the head of the table for Anne. Thrilled, Anne took her place as the rest of the party sat. She felt like her Princess Cordiellia holding court, and it made her sit tall and dignified in her chair (her throne). “Now, tell us, how old are you today?”

The rest of the evening was spent in the pleasant embrace of neighbourly company. Bash had prepared crab callaloo for the occasion, delighting Anne who asked for second helpings, while Mary had made a more traditional chicken and potato stew that Marilla preferred to the exotic seafood. The tea was a special blend of Bash’s, infused with cardamom and nutmeg and served with more milk than water, the thick tincture sweet and flavourful, almost a dessert all its own. When dinner was over, all at the table were well fed and generous with their compliments to their hosts.

“Just one more surprise for the queen of the hour herself,” Bash exclaimed. “Mary, my beautiful bride, come help your husband.”

The couple disappeared around a corner, their guests and Gilbert laughing at their romantic antics. When they returned, Bash was holding something that Mary kept concealed with a dishcloth she held before the surprise like a stage curtain. Then, with a countdown, Mary whipped the cloth aside to reveal a small platter filled with a collection of sweet smelling truffle-like desserts arranged in the shape of a pyramid.

“Toolum for the birthday girl!” Bash exclaimed, placing the platter on the table. “It’s a treat every child in Trinidad knows well.”

“It smells divine!” Anne praised, picking up the topmost ball of sweetness. “Is it like a molasses cookie?” she asked, recognizing the earthy perfume.

“It’s better than any cookie you’ve ever had, I promise you that,” Bash bragged, nodding to encourage Anne to take the first bite. She did enthusiastically, her grey eyes widening in delight as the sweet, sticky texture coated her tongue.

“You’re right,” she said, holding fingers in front of her lips as she finished chewing. “Better than a cookie. Everyone, have some!”

Each member of the little party dug into the treat, exclaiming their glee over the dessert with praise-filled ‘mmms’, or smiles, or nods. Marilla asked Bash for the recipe which was the highest compliment anyone could boast to receiving from the serious woman, and the jovial man was quick to jot the instructions down. Once dessert was done, the Cuthberts lingered for an hour longer, sharing stories of the past, discussing plans for the future and the new crops, and of course Anne and Gilbert debated non-stop about school, before announcing that it had been a wonderful evening, but that it was time they departed.

“Say your ‘thank-yous’ and ‘goodbyes’, Anne. We’ll bring the buggy ‘round,” Mathew said evenly, nodding to Bash and Mary before heading to the door for his hat and coat. Marilla made more of a gesture in her farewell, shaking the Lacroixs’ hands and promising to have them over for dinner soon, but even as she left the house Anne had yet to finish saying her goodbye to Mary.

“I don’t know how I can possibly thank you for making today so splendid,” Anne gushed. “And I know I should say ‘thank you’ since it’s polite, but the words are too small to demonstrate how much you’ve made me feel!”

“Your smile says it all, for me, Anne-girl,” Mary replied, kissing Anne’s brow and petting her hair.

“My wife has the right of it, there,” Bash agreed, picking Anne up in an exuberant hug, swaying her side-to-side while she giggled and rubbed her cheek against his beard.

“Will you make me toolum again, Bash?” she asked.

“Anytime,” he promised, putting Anne back on her feet. “Now go thank my moon-eyed friend before taking your leave. This party never would have happened without him.”

“Gilbert planned this?” Anne asked, having suspected it but wanting the truth confirmed.

“Aye,” Bash said, smiling even as Mary dug her elbow in his side for giving Gilbert’s secret away.

“He didn’t tell me.”

“He’s shy,” Bash retorted, again ignoring his wife’s spasming elbow.

“I suppose I must thank him,” she said softly, taking one last, long look around the room, determined to remember everything from the embroidery on the tablecloth to the colour of the paper banner. Anne wanted to cherish this moment in her old age, something to remind her that she had once been young and loved. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” the Lacroixs echoed, watching with knowing smirks as Anne put on her coat, lingering a while by fiddling with her collar and taking too long to straighten her hat, grey eyes drifting about in search of the last member of their party. When Gilbert didn’t show himself, Anne’s brow furrowed in confusion before she gave a final wave to the newlyweds and went outside.

“There you are,” she exclaimed, finding Gilbert idling in the shadows on the porch just beyond the door. He was wearing a heavy wool sweater, the same one he’d worn the first, and only, time she’d met his father. He filled out the oatmeal jumper much better than he had before, the fabric pulled ruggedly across his shoulders and arms. His curls were askew, as if he’d been running his fingers through them, and his cheeks were the colour of rosebuds. “Gilbert,” she started, looking for the words to thank him for thinking of her, but strangely, Anne’s entire library of language abandoned her, and she found she could not make her tongue form a single phrase. Not looking at all insulted at her silence, Gilbert approached Anne with decided and even steps, only stopping when there was inches of space between them.

Closer than they’d been at Christmas.

Closer than they’d been at Bash and Mary’s wedding.

Each time, just a little bit closer.

Gilbert’s hazel eyes traced the fine curve of Anne’s face, seeing the small changes that had come with her new age, blown over that he’d only met the spirited girl before him when he was fifteen. It was unbelievable that that first meeting in the woods had happened so long, and yet not so long, ago. And no matter how much time had passed, Gilbert swore he’d be content with the hours, however many or few he was granted, of knowing Anne as long as he would always feel the same way he was feeling at that moment.

When Gilbert was looking at Anne, it felt like he was looking at someone he’d always known, like he was staring at the missing piece of his soul returned to him by destiny, or Providence, or maybe his mother’s guardian spirit. Looking at Anne felt right, and safe, and better than anything. Her presence made him feel warm, happy, and so full of goodness that he was sure he must look a fool, but that hardly mattered when Anne was smiling at him, grey eyes shimmering like diamonds in the violet evening.

“Bash just said you planned all this.”

“I only suggested the party. Mary’s the one who pulled out all the stops for the decorations and meal, even asking the Cuthberts,” he said humbly.

“But none of this would have happened if not for you,” Anne insisted. “Is that why you were acting so strange today?”

“How was I acting?” Gilbert asked, knowing he’d been a bit short with Anne, but that certainly wasn’t unusual as their relationship did have a tendency to run hot and cold.

“Like you were keeping a secret,” she replied. “You’re not very good at pretending, you know.”

“Guess my dreams of the stage will have to be shelved,” he joked, making Anne smile.

“Tragically yes. You’ll have to stick to a career in medicine, I’m afraid.”

The air around them had settled, that gentle feeling of being two peas in a pod returning, and Gilbert knew his moment had arrived. Licking his lips and mustering his nerve, Gilbert pulled the small parcel out from behind his back and held it out to Anne.

“Happy birthday.”

“Gil!” she exclaimed, taking the box, eager and reverent. She wondered (and if she had asked Gilbert, she would have been proven correct) if the gift was the reason he’d acted so oddly in his room earlier that afternoon. No doubt he’d been trying to hide it from her curious eyes, and the thought of Gilbert Blythe sneaking presents for her made Anne nervous and giddy. “This is so wonderful, and I feel like such a terrible friend. That’s two gifts you’ve given me, and I’ve never returned the gesture.”

“I’m not keeping score,” he assured. “Open it.”

Making a pleased little squeak that made Gilbert’s spine quake, Anne tore the plain brown paper off the slim box and opened it.

‘She will be positively breathless,’ Cole had promised when he’d taken Gilbert to the pawn shop in Charlottetown and suggested the gift, and the young artist was surely a prophet because Anne had indeed stopped breathing as she raised the pretty fountain pen up to her eyes, not daring to blink for fear it would disappear.

It was impossible, but the pen of possibility was returned to her!

“How –”

“When I was in Charlottetown, I asked Cole what you might like,” Gilbert said eagerly, not wanting to go into detail of how he’d been agonizing over a gift for her since learning of her upcoming birthday from Jerry, and in a fit of desperation had asked Cole for ideas when he’d called on their former classmate the day before. “He said this pen was yours and that you loved it,” Gilbert continued. “He also said you’d selflessly pawned it when trying to save Ms. Stacy’s job, and I thought a noble deed deserved a noble reward in kind.” He was rubbing the back of his neck, nervous as Anne’s attention veered from the pen and her grey eyes turned on him.

They seemed so big in her joy, as silvery as the moon and the lashes dark as midnight. Anne had an astounding vocabulary, but her eyes spoke words not part of any language, words that made him feel hot and excited, but scared and jittery, like his skin didn’t fit right around his body. A tension that seemed to come more and more frequently between them was building, and before Gilbert could decide what to do about it, Anne made the decision for them.

She hugged him.

The embrace was fierce with her exuberance, and Gilbert locked his arms around Anne to keep his balance just as much as he’d done it because he wanted to return her hold. It felt good to have Anne in the circle of his arms, her frame lithe and petite, but strong, too. Being clutched by Anne was its own remarkable feeling as well, for the way she squeezed him to her made Gilbert sure that there could be no greater sense of rightness, and belonging, and home.

“Thank you,” she said against his shoulder, her red hair teasing the skin of his neck and jaw. “I’ve never been given anything so thoughtful or wonderful in all my fifteen years, and I doubt I ever will for as long as I live.”

Her voice tremored as she thanked him, and it seemed that Anne had never been so shy or unsure around Gilbert before. She hugged him for a few seconds longer, which was resplendent, but what was even better was the slow fashion in which she left his embrace, as if each degree of separation took all of her strength to manage. Though she did step out of the circle of his arms eventually, her hands remained at his elbows, then slid down to his wrists, before lingering lightly on his hands, her fingers tickling his palms like the fluff from dandelions until they left him completely.

But Gilbert didn’t want the moment to end just yet.

Boldly, he raised his hand, and for a wonderful, terrifying second, Anne thought he meant to cup her cheek and caress her freckles with his fingertips, maybe urge her closer, maybe whisper something romantical against her lips before sealing his troth with a kiss…but instead, Gilbert wrapped his fingers around her short braid and gave the plait a playful tug.

“See you, Carrots,” he said, laughter in his tone.

She smiled and chuckled with him.

“See you,” she echoed when he released her hair, then dashed off the porch to join her guardians in the buggy (and not allowing herself to panic over how long Mathew and Marilla may have been watching her and Gilbert).

They were barely down the lane when Anne turned back, elated when she saw Gilbert still standing on the porch, watching her leave. He’d noticed her turn and raised his hand to wave goodbye, Bash and Mary coming out on the porch and joining him. Biting her lip to keep from calling out, Anne opted to lean heavily against the back of the buggy seat, waving so exuberantly that she jostled her guardians, Marilla scolding her most of the rest of the ride home.

When they returned to Green Gables it was nearly dark. Marilla shooed Mathew and Anne away and started heating water for hot baths. Anne retreated to her room to wait for her turn in the tub, standing by her window and watching as the sun dipped past the horizon and the moon took her place in the wide, expansive sky. Without meaning too, Anne looked in the direction of the Blythe-Lacroix orchard.

She couldn’t see the house. She couldn’t even tell if there was smoke coming from the chimney. All she knew was that over those fields and brooks and forest, Gilbert was back in his home with his family, and no matter how glad she was for him, she couldn’t help selfishly wishing him back in the room down the hall.

She missed him.

It was different than when she missed him when he left Avonlea. Then, she couldn’t be sure she’d ever see Gilbert Blythe again, believing their farewell in Charlottetown was the last they might look upon each other for many years. She wouldn’t let herself hope they’d meet again, and so she’d missed him the way one misses a memory or the past, with a sense of loss and deep feeling, but an acceptance that nothing can be done to return it to you.

This achy hollow was a new kind of mourning, one that had Anne missing Gilbert the same way she missed the blossoms of the White Way of Delight in the winter, with a desperate longing to see them bloom again and a keen impatience for the seasons to pass and return that glorious beauty to her. She missed Gilbert for the simple fact that, in only seven days, she had grown so used to him, it was natural to seek him in the kitchen, or in the barn, or to wait for him on the porch so they could walk to school. It was truly amazing how much Green Gables had changed while he was there and then change again now he was gone. It was as if his soul was whispering to her from inside the house, nestled in all the pieces of himself he’d left behind.  

There was his letter and the lock of hair still stashed safely in Anne’s bookshelf. Gilbert’s handkerchief was still folded neatly on top of Anne’s dresser, the green stitches that shaped the elegant ‘GJB’ shining like shamrocks in the orange lamplight. And now there was the Pen of Possibility, returned to her by Gilbert’s hand as a birthday gift, handled with care and now seeming to carry some of the boy’s warmth with it.

Anne was certain she would craft the most spectacular stories with that pen, and she knew whenever she used it part of her would always think of Gilbert. The heroes she would dream up on the page were destined now to be tall, strong jawed, curly haired, and hazel eyed. They would be men of great ambition but also great empathy, seeking to make the world better for the outcasts and the lonely. They would tease and laugh often, but have a handsome sadness about them, too.

And perhaps the heroines of Anne’s stories would be spirited suffragettes, or lady-pirates, or adventure seeking schoolteachers, who would cross paths with this lifemate ideal in each tale she authored.

Perhaps those vivacious heroines would all be redheads.

The truth, she supposed, would be determined by the pen.