Work Text:
Diana always arrives early, just to have the pleasure of presenting Anne with a bushel of blueberries on the table. The woman never fails to go moon-eyed at the sight of such bounty, to be shocked and yet overwhelmed with bliss by the sight of such simple fare.
This is why Diana loves her, and why she’s so terrible at hiding the not-well-kept secret.
***
“What do you think of this?” Anne wonders, her scrapbook balanced against the slanted easel of her bosom. She and Diana are lying in the middle of a woodland glen, their picnic half-eaten, sipping on the last of the winter’s cider in the early summer sun, Anne scratching away at her pad. “Ariel came riding into the cluster of knights with a flaming sword…”
Diana listens in drowsy silence. Anne had taken the pencil up again thanks to their trips. Gilbert had been amazed to see her writing whenever she could eke out some extra time between babies, socializing and committee meetings. He encouraged it heartily. Said he didn’t understand why she’d stopped. “Some day,” he said, “my Anne will make the finest poetess in all of Ingleside.” He quietly credited Diana with the inspiration of it all. Diana did not know what to make of such kindness.
***
Anne Shirley makes love like a lioness. A very caring lioness, to Diana’s estimation – though she has felt Anne’s teeth many times she has never felt the sting of a wound.
She does not wonder how Gilbert feels, to share her with Diana, to know the scent of Diana’s soap on Anne’s skin, to see the strawberry marks left behind by her loving but timid teeth.
***
“Sometimes,” Anne observes, watching the stars shoot over their heads, “I feel like Persephone.”
Diana knew exactly what that meant.
***
They are spared a train station parting; there will always be another summer, another tea, another letter. There is laughter over cradles and long talks as they walk through town, walking three abreast, chins up.
She and Gilbert nod toward one another on parting, a sign of respect. They don’t need to say a single thing, understanding so well the pull and power of Anne Blythe, angel and devil, minx and saint.