Gilbert - emololo - Anne with an E (TV) [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter 1: Whatever Satisfies the Soul is Truth

Chapter Text

Gilbert cheerfully walked out of his orchard home, whistling with a spring in his step. He had double-checked his school bag last night, ensuring he had his slate and the current readers. This morning, he was bustling around the house, whistling and whirring around.

“You’re sure chipper this morning.” John Blythe said with a smile as his son swiftly placed the tray laden with toast and hot tea by his bedside.

“Just happy to be going back to school,” Gilbert called back, already out of the room and packing a piece of bread and an apple in his bag for lunch. As much as he had loved the sense of adventure brought by the train ride across the country, exploring the different landscapes with his father, marveling at the craggy peaks of the Rocky Mountains — he was ready to go back to school. His stomach swooped as he thought about seeing his old friends and spending time with them. It had been almost a year since he had spent any time with someone his age. To be able to go back to somewhere he excelled, where he was well-liked and well-known? That is all he truly wanted.

There was a knock at the door. Gilbert rushed over, opening the front door with a large smile.

“Good morning, Mrs. Kincannon.”

“Well, good morning to you, Gilbert.” Mrs. Kincannon replied, a little caught off guard by his enthusiastic hello. A plump, kindly woman, Mrs. Kincannon was a maternal type who bustled around the house to help with the everyday house chores, cooking meals, and nursing Gilbert’s father. “Off to school?”

“Yes, I must be on my way,” Gilbert replied happily. He grabbed his bag and cap and rushed out the door.

He walked at a comfortable pace, looking around at the trees flanking the familiar path. It was strange how a place kept existing once you left it. He was pondering on the other possible changes that had occurred in Avonlea when he heard a shout from up ahead.

Frowning, Gilbert jogged forward, slowing down when he heard the small, scared voice.

"I’m sure I didn’t mean to be nasty.” There was an uneven crunch of leaves as the owner of the voice took a step. Gilbert walked closer and slower, not wanting to create an awkward situation.

“Is that why she was crying all night? My parents say that’s slander.” Gilbert turned a corner and saw the figures down the path — a boy around his age, but larger than him, and a small girl. “You want to get slandered?”

With a start, Gilbert realized the boy was his old friend, Billy Andrews. He frowned, getting a sinking feeling that he might need to interfere in what was unfolding.

“Sorry. I truly meant no harm. I…” the girl said timidly, stepping back as Billy just took a step closer.

Billy began to chuckle humorlessly and the girl stumbled back again, this time dropping her books and slate.

“I’m gonna teach you a lesson, Fido,” Billy said, his tone turning aggressive. “You’re a bad dog. Bad little dog.”

Anger and disbelief swirled in Gilbert’s stomach. He walked forward, calling out.

“Hey, Billy!”

Billy slowly turned around at his hello. Trying to walk as casually as he could, Gilbert walked closer to the pair. “How’s it going?” He glanced at the girl who was standing shocked still and looking at the ground.

Billy replied with disappointment, “Hey, Gilbert.” A guilty pout was on the boy’s face.

Walking up to him, Gilbert put his hands in his pockets. “Man, it’s-it’s, um, it’s good to be back.”

“Uh…” Billy was looking at the frightened girl. Finally glancing back to Gilbert, he said, “Yeah. Yeah, welcome back.”

Gilbert ducked his head, then looked back up at Billy. Using his most casual tone, he said, “Yeah, it’s good to see you, buddy.”

A moment passed, none of the members of the trio knowing what to say.

Gilbert broke the silence.

“So you guys, uh, playing a game or something, right?” He looked between Billy and the girl. She stood as still as a statue, obviously terrified. “Looks fun, but we should probably get to school, eh?” He playfully hit Billy on the arm, hitting him a little harder than he would a friend. “Hate to be tardy...Mr. Phillips sure gets his dander up about that.”

“Yeah, I was just about to get going,” Billy said dumbly.

Billy leaned forward toward the girl and sneered. “See you there.” Then he turned and began to walk noisily down the path toward the school.

Gilbert took a step toward the girl, finally having a moment to look at her properly. The first thing he registered was her bright red hair fashioned in two long braids. Her hair seemed to shine against the background of the dead trees around them. It reminded him of the harvest, like the golden-red of an apple against a bushel or the red-orange of a carrot in the freshly turned earth. She wore a straw boater hat and a plain gray frock with a white pinafore on top. Her freckles were standing out starkly against her pale face, which he guessed was even paler than usual at the moment. He didn’t recognize her — she must have moved in during the past year. A little bit of warmth and excitement filled Gilbert.

He had never gone through the phase of thinking girls were gross or had cooties. In fact, he always enjoyed charming them to no end, making them giggle and look up at him through their eyelashes. It was interesting what simple things he could do to get them to blush so prettily. And this girl was pretty, that was for sure and certain.

The girl remained standing in the stiff position she had been in for the past few minutes.

“You all right, Miss?”

The girl gave a little start and bent down quickly to pick up her lunch basket and belted school materials.

“School—” she muttered and walked swiftly past him down the path.

“You’re welcome,” Gilbert said as his head followed her move past him. He took a step forward, then another. He wanted to see what he could do to get the girl to smile, to blink those pretty blue eyes at him, and blush. Walking forward with a co*cky swagger, he called out after her “Need anything else? Any dragons around here need slaying?”

“No!” The redhead called back, not slowing down her pace. “Thank you!”

Hm. Brushing off the sheepish, embarrassed feeling that began creeping over him, he called again, “Who are you?”

No reply. Curiosity got the better of him as he began to jog after her. “Hey, who are you?”

The girl remained walking ahead of him with exaggerated purpose. Getting closer to her, Gilbert called, “Uh, miss?” He heard what could have been an amused exhale come from her and walked even closer, almost beside her. “Uh, what’s your name, miss?” She continued looking ahead and ignoring him, her face still pale and her jaw clenched. With a twinge of annoyance Gilbert asked, “What, you can’t tell me your name?”

They were approaching the schoolhouse now. He was still walking slightly behind her until they got to the steps which he hurried up, getting to the top step first. With a ghost of a smile, he looked her up and down.

Feeling a bit guilty at his annoyed tone from before, he hurriedly said, “Here, here, allow me.” and opened the door of the schoolhouse for her.

Hesitating for the tiniest sliver of a second, she said “Thank you.” so quietly, he could've missed it. She walked through the open door. He looked after her for a moment, taking in his small victory at getting her to say something. Without closing the door after him, Gilbert walked after her into the coatroom.

“I’m sorry if I was rude.” The girl turned to him, speaking more confidently with a weak, apologetic smile on her face. “I’m Anne.” She looked him directly in the eyes.

His stomach swooped again, an unfamiliar feeling. He never got nervous talking to girls. Must be out of practice, he thought to himself.

“Uh, I’m—”

“Gilbert!” Moody Spurgeon came over and hit him playfully on the arm. Charlie Sloan was close behind, putting his arm around Gilbert’s other shoulder and slapping his back, welcoming him in.

“Hey!” Gilbert said, genuinely happy to see old friends.

Gilbert saw out of his periphery that Anne had turned around and rushed out of the schoolhouse. Disappointment flooded into his stomach. She had just started to talk to him!

“How was the District of Alberta?” Moody asked in wide-eyed wonder. “Did you see the Rocky Mountains?”

Laughing at Moody’s sincerity, Gilbert replied, “They’re pretty hard to miss.”

“Were they big?”

“They’re mountains.” He, Moody, and Charlie all burst out laughing.

“Is your dad feeling better?” Charlie asked. Gilbert felt his face grow somber.

“Uh, we’re both glad to be back home.” He was trying to keep his tone as light as possible and according to Charlie and Moody’s lack of reaction, he assumed he was successful.

“Why were you walking with that orphan girl?” Charlie asked out of the blue. Gilbert paused while taking off his hat and scarf.

She was an orphan — that explained why he didn’t recognize her. She must have been adopted while he and his father were away.

“Why not?” he asked, confused and a bit incredulous, messing with his curly hair after removing his cap.

“She’s a loon,” Moody responded.

“Says you,” Gilbert replied quickly, trying to maintain his light tone.

“Hope you didn’t get any asylum cooties.” Charlie continued his nose wrinkling.

Looking between Moody and Charlie, Gilbert saw that they were actually being serious. What idiots. Drawing as sober a face he could, Gilbert pointed to Charlie’s sweater, “Uh oh. There’s one!” Charlie reflexively looked down and Gilbert’s hand raised to playfully hit him in the face. The rest of the boys laughed while Charlie blushed, laughing reluctantly.

“Besides, I don’t care where she’s from,” Gilbert replied coolly, wrapping up his scarf and hat into a bundle. “A cute girl is a cute girl.” He smiled unabashedly and gave a friendly pat to Moody.

Lucky for Gilbert, Anne’s seat was nearly parallel to his. She was fascinating to watch, as she would always have some sort of visible reaction to the lesson.

Mr. Phillips began to walk slowly down the aisle of the schoolhouse. Gilbert had noticed that the mustachioed teacher had been spending much of the day teaching from the back of the classroom, often standing near the desk of Prissy Andrews. This observation combined with the incident earlier in the woods made Gilbert curious about the situation. He made a mental note to ask Moody or Charlie about it later.

“Open your readers to page 32.” Mr. Phillips announced. “We will read aloud Barry Cornwall’s poem, ‘The Fisherman.’” Movement caught Gilbert’s eye as Anne lifted her head excitedly, grinning. She turned to the very pretty Diana Barry and began whispering. Diana smiled half-heartedly at her, whispering back.

Gilbert was not the only one to notice the girls’ exchange.

“Diana Barry, stand and begin.”

The dark-haired girl hesitantly stood up, but squared her shoulders back and held her head tall. Looking down at her reader, she cleared her throat and began.

“A per-i-lous life, and sad as life may be,” Diana read disjunctively, “Hath the lone fish-er on the lonely sea—”

“Perilous, indeed. Sit down.” Mr. Phillips interrupted abruptly. Diana smoothed her blue skirt and sat down, a slight furrow in her brow. Gilbert saw Anne look over at Diana and give her a comforting smile.

“New girl.” Mr. Phillips drew her attention away. “Up. Continue.”

Gilbert waited for Anne’s face to fall, but to his surprise, she gave a small smile and stood up quickly, obviously excited. She took a deep breath before exclaiming loudly,

“O’er the wild waters laboring far from home.” Her voice quivered with drama at the end of the line as she looked up from her book. Raising her hand like an orator of ancient Rome, she continued,

“For some bleak pittance e’er compelled to roam.” She took another deep breath as quiet chuckles echoed through the room.

“Few hearts to cheer him through his dangerous life, And none,” she emphasized this word with a striking motion with her hand, “to aid him in the stormy strife.”

Who was this girl? Gilbert looked on at her, a slight smile on his face as he took in the sight of the seemingly shy girl he had met earlier, who was now proclaiming this poem with zero inhibition.

“Companion!” she exclaimed even louder now, raising her arm higher, “of the sea and silent air. The lonely fisher thus must ever fare.”

“She’s good,” Gilbert whispered to Charlie, “Invested.” Charlie laughed under his breath, oblivious that his friend was not making fun of her, but rather sincerely enjoying this surprising performance.

“Without the comfort, hope, with scarce a friend,” Anne read on, emotion filling every syllable. “He looks through life and only sees its end.” At these last words, she threw her hand over her heart and bowed her head in dramatically staged grief. At this last movement, the class burst into giggles as Anne looked up with an excited grin, laughing with her peers.

“Sit down!” Mr. Phillips said sharply over the laughter of the class. “Sweet merciful Lord,” he mumbled under his breath. Gilbert grinned at Anne as she sat down happily next to Diana, who was giving her polite applause. The girls sitting in the back of the class continued giggling. Gilbert looked over at them and noticed by their whispers and catty expressions that they were not laughing with Anne but at her. Anne had seemed to make this realization at the same time as Gilbert and her joyful smile slid off her face. She turned forward and stared at the bench in front of her desk, silent and passive. A rush of sympathy hit Gilbert as he looked at Anne’s transformation back into the timid girl from the woods. He couldn’t help shooting a dirty look to the gaggle of girls who were continuing to whisper cruelly.

“Josie Pye.” Mr. Phillips said flatly. “Read Campbell’s Pleasures of Hope, ‘The Downfall of Poland.’”

Josie stood, reading as if she was bored out of her mind, “Oh sacred truth, thy triumph ceased awhile…”

Gilbert tuned out the drone of the fussy blonde girl, settling down as he contented himself to watch Anne for the rest of the lesson.

Lunchtime came and Gilbert didn’t see Anne with the other girls who were crowded in a circle in the corner of the classroom. He walked out to the yard where the boys were running around, roughhousing, and hitting sticks against logs. Sighing, he looked side to side, doing a double-take at the spot of red that caught his eye. Anne sat alone on a log next to the creek that ran beside the schoolhouse.

He sauntered over to her, trying to appear as casual as possible. Pulling an apple out of his pocket, he approached her until he was standing right over where she sat.

“Hey, um, I, uh, thought you might like to try one.” He extended the apple to her expectantly. She looked forward, ignoring him completely. What was happening? She had apologized for ignoring him earlier and they had conversed, at least for a second!

“They’re from our orchard.” Gilbert tried again. “They’re real sweet.”

She remained sitting and staring straight ahead, her eyes darting to him for a second. Through completely clenched teeth and lips, she said,

“Please go away.” Her eyes darted to something behind him then back forward.

“I beg your pardon?” Gilbert asked genuinely, leaning forward slightly to see if he misunderstood.

Darting her eyes once more, she continued through her teeth, “You need to walk away right now.”

Gilbert looked side to side. Was Billy standing behind him? Confused, he said, “I’m-I’m sorry. I, uh—”

Standing up violently, Anne loudly exhaled and yelled, “I’m not supposed to be talking to you!”

Startled by this sudden, inexplicable movement, Gilbert laughed uncomfortably. “Why not?”

Making an exasperated “ugh,” Anne picked up her lunch basket and walked away, leaving Gilbert more confused than ever. He stood there awkwardly, the apple in his hand still extended towards where she was sitting. He sighed, scuffed the dust with a small kick, and walked back to join the boys in the front of the schoolhouse.

After lunch was maths lessons. Gilbert was a bit rusty but found that many of the concepts came naturally back to him. He still finished the problems written on the chalkboard before his whole row. Unsure of what to do, he looked back at Anne. She was frowning and biting on her lip as she looked from the chalkboard back to her slate. Very reluctantly, she dragged her chalk to her slate, copying down the problems from the board. After looking over at Diana’s slate for the third time, she shook her head slightly and did not write anything else on the slate.

He realized that he was not being subtle with his staring at her, but she would not look back at him. Gilbert looked to the front of the classroom where Mr. Phillips was writing on the chalkboard. A combination of annoyance, sympathy, and inexplicable nerves led him to grab a nib of chalk and throw it across the aisle to get Anne’s attention. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say to her, maybe help her with the problems that she obviously did not understand, or perhaps give her the apple he tried to at lunch. She stopped writing on her slate and clenched her jaw at the sound of the chalk clattering off her desk and across the floor, looking dead ahead of her. Why wouldn’t she look at him? Did he do something? Reflecting on his actions to her, Gilbert saw nothing possibly offensive. With this validation, he tried throwing the chalk again. Taking a deep breath, she looked ahead once more.

Okay, Anne. He could play at being stubborn too. Getting up very slowly, he stood from his seat. He double-checked that Mr. Phillips was still looking at the chalkboard before tip-toeing across the aisle where he bent over Anne’s desk.

“Whoops.” He said softly, placing the apple on the corner of her desk. Looking back at Mr. Phillips, he lowered himself to be eye level with Anne. She still would not look at him! In fact, she had an expression of barely maintained fury on her face.

“Hey,” Gilbert said again, trying to use his most gentle and kind tone. Why did he care this much about this girl acknowledging his existence? At this point, it felt like he was in too deep, that he needed to prove that she could look at him and speak so that he knew he wasn’t crazy. When he received the same lack of response, frustration flared inside him. Gilbert impulsively grabbed onto one of her braids and pulled, calling her what he had thought of when he first saw her.

“Carrots!”

Before he could register what was happening, he heard an immediate scraping of her bench against the wooden floor.

“I’m not talking to you!” Anne shouted, grabbing her slate and slapping Gilbert across the face with it. Caught off guard by the surprising speed and flash of pain, Gilbert stumbled a step back. The apple he had placed on her desk rolled onto the ground. Gasps echoed throughout the class at the sudden outburst and Mr. Phillips turned around, absolutely appalled. Laughter at the unthinkable act Anne had just done began as she looked down at the cracked slate in her hands.

It had not hurt too bad, though it was enough for Gilbert to rub his face tenderly as he cheekily replied, “You just did.” He walked back to his seat feeling Anne’s eyes following him. As he sat down, she stared at him with a horrified, embarrassed expression on her face. He couldn’t help the small feeling of satisfaction and victory that overtook him.

“Shirley!” Mr. Phillips yelled, silencing the room. “Get up here, now!”

A moment passed, everyone holding their breath.

All of a sudden, Gilbert didn’t feel victorious anymore. The anger in Mr. Phillips' voice and Anne’s timid walk to the front of the class drained the moment of any playfulness or humor.

“What a vicious display!” Mr. Phillips continued, erasing the math problems from the chalkboard. “Is that what they taught you in that orphanage?” Huge waves of guilt washed over Gilbert as he saw her trembling at the teacher’s shouts.

“Unacceptable!”

Anne flinched at this exclamation, reminding Gilbert of the skittish horses at the auction house that would frighten at any loud noise. Oftentimes, this was because they had been broken by abuse rather than tamed properly and gradually. Gilbert’s heart sank even lower.

She finally got to the front of the room where Mr. Phillips gestured for her to face the class. As he wrote on the board, “Anne Shirley has a very bad temper,” she turned around slowly, looking very close to the verge of tears.

“Now stand here and stay put.” Mr. Phillips said sharply. “And the rest of you pipe down!”

Gilbert looked around at the class to see his peers’ reactions. He saw Ruby Gillis and Josie Pye exchanging gleeful, shocked faces as Mr. Phillips continued to lecture.

“Let this serve as a lesson to you that we do not tolerate such displays of temper, here in a civilized society.”

“It was my fault.” Gilbert interrupted, standing suddenly from his bench. “Sir, I, um...I-I teased her.” He finished lamely, cursing himself for not planning what he was going to say.

“Quiet, Blythe. That is hardly an excuse.”

The class broke into giggles again until Mr. Phillips admonished them. “Quiet, all of you, and return to your lesson.” Gilbert, still standing, sat down hesitantly, feeling quite defeated and guilty. He couldn’t help but look at the small red-headed figure at the front of the class, standing quite similar to how she was after the Billy incident that morning. She looked so helpless and pale, Gilbert had the instinct to give her a hug and tell her everything was going to be okay.

Before he could investigate that strange train of thought, Anne did yet another unexpected act. She had suddenly begun to walk forward, away from the chalkboard. What was she doing? Gilbert felt his heartbeat quicken for her, worried for more yelling in her direction from Mr. Phillips. She was halfway down the aisle before the dreaded sound.

“Now where do you think you’re going?” Mr. Phillips boomed. She ignored him, continuing to walk down the aisle. She sped up to the coatroom, quickly grabbing her hat off the hook. Slamming the door open, she ran out of the schoolhouse and down the road.

Mr. Phillips let out an exasperated noise before turning back to the chalkboard.

Wow, that girl was unpredictable. Gilbert couldn’t help but be impressed at her bravery as he turned back to his slate to work on the new math problems Mr. Phillips had written on the board.

Gilbert hung his hat and scarf by the door. He then promptly threw his bag on the kitchen table and dropped his head in his hands. How could he have been so stupid? He had half-listened to his lessons because he was too busy looking at this girl he had barely met, who apparently hated him with all of hell’s fury! Why did he have to pull her hair? He shouldn’t have done that. He should have dropped it after she rejected his apple at lunch. So much for his old confidence and charm. Anne had made him flounder and caught him off guard in every way possible.

“Son?” He heard his father call. “Is that you?”

Lifting his head slightly, Gilbert called back, “Yes.”

“Come tell me about your first day back.”

Ugh. Reluctantly, Gilbert stood up and walked into his father’s room, where he promptly collapsed in the armchair next to the bed.

“That good, huh?” His father chuckled before coughing and wheezing for about thirty seconds. “Well go on, let’s hear it.”

Before he even began his tale of woe, Gilbert felt his face grow warm. His father’s weak laughter began again.

“It must be really bad. Let me guess — does it have to do with a girl?”

Gilbert’s blush deepened and he began telling his father about his day. After hearing about the encounter with Billy Andrews in the woods, his father made a sound of disgust.

“Like father, like son. Harmon was always a cad.”

Gilbert was surprised to hear this coming from his father. After all, he had spent summers playing hide and seek with Billy in their orchard when he was younger, never hearing anything about his father’s ill will toward Mr. Andrews. Wanting to get the rest of the story off his chest, however, Gilbert continued.

“And then I asked her if she was alright and if, um, and if…” Gilbert flushed. He realized how stupid his words were now that he was repeating them.

“Get on with it, son. What did you ask?”

“I asked, um, if she had anymore, um…” Gilbert gulped. “Dragons that needed slaying.” Gilbert saw his dad’s face break out into a huge smile, ensuing another bout of laughter that ended in phlegmy coughs. He hadn’t even gotten to the slate part yet. Oh god…

He told his father about the walk to school, the polite introductions, her impressive poetry reading, and then the inexplicable lunch debacle.

“Hm…” Gilbert’s father frowned. “That is a rather strange change of attitude. And you’re sure you didn't say anything else to her?”

“Positive! We had a perfectly polite introduction in the coatroom and then it was lunch and all of a sudden I was a villain!”

“Interesting… who did you say was her adopted parents?”

“I think I overheard that she was from Green Gables. So that must be the Cuthberts, right?”

His father’s face took on a strange expression.

“Very interesting. Continue, Gilbert.”

It was getting to the worst part of which he was so ashamed. He tried to get it over with as quickly as possible, rushing the words out.

“And then she just grabbed her hat and out she went, running down the road. And I feel just awful about it. I don’t know what came over me! Why couldn’t I have just left her alone? I wasn’t thinking. And the other kids, dad, you should have heard them. They were saying the most vile things about her, and not very quietly either! I think part of me felt bad for her and the rudeness of everyone else and so I was trying to befriend her? But, then I feel stupid because I know that wasn’t my original motivator. She looked so pretty with her hair... and, and I was being childish and wanted to… to win her attention because she was the first girl ever that I couldn’t get to speak to me and smile!”

The words were flowing out of Gilbert now, he couldn’t stop even if he tried.

“And I don’t know how to say sorry or if I even should because obviously she just hates me and maybe I should just let it be and allow myself to be hated because I sure deserve it. God! I’m such a cad. I’m worse than Billy Andrews!”

With this last exclamation, Gilbert threw his head onto the side of the bed. He felt the bed shaking.

“Dad?” He looked up, worried that a bad coughing fit was coming on. Instead, he found his dad chuckling, looking at him with a mixed expression of sympathy and exasperation.

“Well then.” His dad said and continued to laugh.

Gilbert felt his blush spread to the tips of his ears. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said all that, at the end.”

“Are you kidding?” His father pushed himself to sit up straighter in bed. “This is the most I have laughed in God knows how long. Gilbert,” His father reached over and ruffled his hair, “You are dead gone for that girl, aren’t you?”

Gilbert’s eyes widened, his face growing so hot that he felt feverish.

“No! I mean, no, she is pretty, but so is… Diana and, and Josie!” Gilbert replied hurriedly.

“But you don’t go offering to slay Diana’s dragons, do you?” His father responded, his eyes twinkling. “Or pull Josie’s braids?”

“Josie doesn’t wear braids,” Gilbert mumbled, knowing that his father was right.

His father chuckled again before coughing for a bit. Gilbert sat there, staring into space, feeling completely lost.

“So, what do I do?” Gilbert finally asked.

“She sure sounds a lot like Marilla.” His father’s face turned back to that strange, maybe wistful expression. Shaking himself, he looked back at his son. “Gilbert, what is your instinct?”

Gilbert sat there, thinking very hard. Finally, he said quietly, “To apologize.”

His father smiled at him warmly, patting his hand. “I think that sounds like a fine idea, son.”

Gilbert sat up straighter, a hint of a smile on his face. “Maybe I could wait by the fork to Green Gables and talk to her on the way to school?”

His father laughed, squeezing his hand now. “Trust your instincts, son. They will get you where you need to be.” Laying his head back on the headboard, Gilbert’s father closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Well, that was quite more excitement than I was expecting. Let me rest, son, I’ll be awake for supper.”

Gilbert nodded and squeezed his dad’s hand in return. He rose and left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. As he walked down the hall, another stroke of genius hit him. Gilbert hurried off to the cellar, ready to pick the best, most crisp golden-red apple to bring to the fork of the road the next day.

Chapter 2: I Stop Somewhere, Waiting For You

Chapter Text

Anne hadn’t come back to school. Gilbert had left his house a half-hour early for the rest of the week to wait by the fork to Green Gables. He had sat on a nearby stump until it was absolutely necessary for him to go to get to school on time. Every day he felt worse and worse.

Why wasn’t she coming back?

Friday came and it was time for him to leave his stead to get to the schoolhouse. He dejectedly rose from the stump and ambled down the road. Shuffling his feet, he began to kick at any loose rocks or twigs that lay on the path. He was trying to do the right thing! His heart sank when he realized that maybe the truly right thing was to leave her alone and let her be at Green Gables.

It was just one day that you saw her. He told himself. Just stop thinking about her.

If only it were that easy.

At school, Gilbert tried to dive headfirst into his lessons. He raised his hand to give correct answers and made his best effort to complete his maths problems in record speed and accuracy. At lunch, he sat on the steps of the schoolhouse alone, watching Moody and Charlie play catch.

“Gilbert! Wanna play?” Moody called as he threw a massive curveball to Charlie, who missed with a large margin of error.

“No, I’m good watching today. Thanks though!” Gilbert called back, biting into the second apple from his bag, the one he had not intended for himself.

When he arrived home, he set down his things and looked around for something to do. He saw the straw broom in the corner of the kitchen and hurriedly picked it up to sweep.

“Gilbert!” His father called from his room. “Did your Anne walk to school today?”

Disappointment filled Gilbert’s voice. “No. I don’t know if she’s coming back.”

His father did not reply. Shaking his head as if to physically shed the thoughts of her brilliant hair and cute freckles from his mind, Gilbert threw himself into chores, even ones that didn’t need doing. By the time the sun set, he was absolutely exhausted. He changed into his nightshirt and crawled into bed, burrowing under his flannel blankets. The second his head hit the pillow he was asleep.

The loud, urgent ringing of bells woke Gilbert. Confused, he looked out of his bedroom window. An orange glow and black smoke were emanating from somewhere closer to town.

A house fire .

Scurrying out of bed as quickly as he could, Gilbert pulled on his clothes from the day before that laid scattered across the floor. Running downstairs, he put on his boots, hopping on one foot and then the other. He grabbed his warm red coat, scarf, and cap off of the hook and slammed open the front door.

“I’ll be back when I can, Dad!” Gilbert called out to his father before rushing out the door, closing it quickly behind him. He decided that it would be faster for him to run on foot rather than take the time to saddle the horse in the barn. Sprinting as fast as his legs could take him, Gilbert ran through the woods toward town. His chest ached with every gasp of freezing air he inhaled as he continued to run. The trees began to thin and he saw the glow up ahead. Slowing down slightly as he ran into the front yard, he realized that this was the Gillis’ house. Ruby and her sisters were standing in the yard with their mother, who was comforting a swaddled infant.

Good, everyone seems to have gotten out unscathed.

They were staring up at their large white house with big glass windows, now ablaze. It looked as if the fire originated on the second floor. The heat had already caused one of the windows to shatter. Sparkling shards of glass were scattered across the front lawn.

“Gilbert! Help me with these buckets.” Gilbert wasn’t even sure who was yelling at him, but he ran toward the voice to help. A line of citizens of Avonlea had begun to form, passing buckets to and fro to continually dump water onto the fire as the fire engine had not shown up yet. The cacophony began to grow as more townspeople arrived to help.

“Get the ladder, hurry up!” Someone yelled as two men grabbed a large wooden ladder, hoisting it to assist in getting water to the roof. Gilbert ran forward to help put the wooden ladder in place and realized that he was the best candidate for the job. He was the youngest, most agile, and small enough to reach into the window to pour water inside the house. Without a second thought, he began to climb the ladder.

The intense heat radiated onto his face as he climbed onto the roof. Icy fear filled his veins but he took a deep breath and accepted a bucket of water from Billy Andrews. He poured it quickly on the blaze and it instantly evaporated into steam, burning Gilbert’s eyes. Blinking tears, he reached out his hands blindly for another bucket, this time leaning away from where he poured the water.

A strange, high-pitched noise distracted Gilbert and he looked to his right to see where it was coming from. It seemed to be coming from the window itself. He looked at the translucent shine of the bottle glass for a mere moment before realizing what was about to happen.

“Stand clear!” He shouted as the second window burst, glass shattering everywhere. Screams from down below echoed in his ears.

“Get some more buckets for Gilbert!” A man shouted, pulling Gilbert’s focus back to the matter at hand. More buckets were sloppily passed up the ladder to him, which he poured as carefully as he could into the blown-out windows.

“Let’s go, let’s go!” His face was now covered with soot. The water seemed to be evaporating even faster as the fire had begun to grow despite their best efforts. Where was that damn fire engine?

“Hey! Keep the water coming! Come on!” Gilbert yelled more desperately as he felt the heat of the blaze intensify. He continued the monotony of taking the full buckets of water, pouring them on the fire, then passing them back down. Though he knew their efforts were fruitless, he could not give up. They just had to hold out for the fire engine that would come any minute now.

Movement inside the house caught Gilbert’s attention. Fear clutched his heart. Had they not gotten all the children out? Without looking down, he reached for the bucket of water, pouring it inside as he craned his neck as far as he could without getting burned. There were sounds of slamming doors and coughing coming from inside. Gilbert was in half a mind to climb through the jagged broken window when he saw something he couldn’t believe. Suddenly, a familiar small figure with red hair had appeared in the hallway.

“Anne?!” Gilbert yelled, seeing her amongst the flames as she slammed the door to the room he was outside of.

What was she thinking?

Looking at the shards of glass and the wall of fire that was growing ever larger, Gilbert realized that he could not climb in through the window. He felt a nudge at his elbow and gave a start, grabbing the bucket Billy was trying to hand to him and pouring it on the flames.

After a couple more pours, Gilbert began to notice the flames shrinking. Excitement coursed through him.

“It’s slowing down, keep them coming, come on!” Gilbert cried, urging everyone to not give up. Another ladder was put up next to Gilbert where a man holding a large hose was ascending it quickly.

“I would step back a bit, son!” The man yelled over the sound of the blaze. Gilbert shimmied down the ladder and watched in awe as the hose shot a deluge of water onto the flames. Steam was billowing off of the roof just as thick as the smoke. He breathed a sigh of relief before remembering his sighting of Anne. Gilbert turned around in a panic, scanning the crowd for a flash of red hair. Across the yard, his eyes landed on a soot-covered figure, hobbling out of the house and collapsing onto the grass.

“Anne.” Gilbert breathed and began to run over to her.

Marilla Cuthbert was much faster as she ran to her daughter’s side and cried. “Anne, oh Anne!” A few other women were close behind. Seeing the small girl was surrounded, Gilbert stopped to observe the scene from a distance. Matthew Cuthbert frowned as he watched on from across the yard, helping with the pump of the fire hose. He leaned down and muttered to a boy in an oversized, frayed coat. The boy nodded and ran over to the group of women and looked at Anne before yelling back to Matthew in a thick French accent. “She’s alright!”

Relief flooded Gilbert as he heard her cough and wheeze. “I’m sorry, I’m alright, I’m alright.”

Marilla held Anne’s shoulders, asking desperately. “What were you thinking?”

A very well-founded question , Gilbert thought. There was no logical sense to her being in the house.

Rachel Lynde, a round, very outspoken woman, was patting Marilla’s arm comfortingly. Gilbert had noticed before that she always seemed to be at the right place at the right time to have the most exciting gossip to discuss. This time was no different. Anne choked for air. “Did it work?”

“Anne, why did you run inside?” Marilla was visibly shaken.

“Did it slow it down?” Anne swallowed thickly.

“What were you thinking?”

“Fire,” Anne gasped. “Fire needs oxygen. Closing windows and doors deprives it.”

“Oh, my word.” Rachel Lynde breathed.

“Anne slowed down the fire!” The boy with the french accent yelled for all to hear.

“However do you know that?” Marilla asked.

“It was Anne! She did it!” The boy shouted and ran happily back to Matthew, giving him a fatherly hug.

“The fire manual in the orphanage.” Anne swallowed. “There wasn’t much else to read.”

Marilla gave an uncertain laugh before wrapping Anne up in a blanket and hugging her, kissing her head. Diana Barry wrapped her arms around Anne from the other side, leaning her head on her shoulder. Gilbert once again stood in awe of the sheer bravery of that girl. She had literally run into the burning home of a girl who was cruel to her at school, risking her life to save their house and livelihood. He wished he could approach her to thank her or say that he missed her at school, but he knew the effort would prove futile. Besides, he didn’t have the energy to be completely ignored, or worse, by her.

“We owe you all a great debt of thanks.” Mrs. Gillis said gratefully. All of the volunteers that remained stood in a line that spanned the whole of the Gillis’ front yard. “Especially dear Anne.” Anne smiled while Marilla looked down at her proudly. “Risking your life for us, and taking such quick action.”

Mrs. Gillis continued. “And, ladies, thank you kindly for agreeing to take the children. Especially since school won’t be in session. You’ll have your hands full.” She paused, looking behind her. “Ruby? Come here, please.”

“It’s no trouble at all, we are happy to have her,” Marilla responded with a smile.

Gilbert felt strange observing a scene obviously not involving him, but he couldn’t tear his eyes off of Anne, her face completely covered in gray ash. She was inexplicably grinning from ear to ear. Her reactions did not follow any line of logic that Gilbert could follow.

“Now, Anne and Ruby can get to know each other better.” Mrs. Gillis said, patting Ruby’s shoulder.

“What? No. Mother!”

Gilbert felt a flash of anger. Anne had just risked her life to protect Ruby’s home and she dared to still make her cruel, petty comments? He shook his head.

“Ruby…” Mrs. Gillis warned.

“I don’t want to stay there,” Ruby whined.

“My, my.” Rachel Lynde muttered.

“Calm yourself.” Mrs. Gillis scolded.

Ruby stomped her foot. “Why can’t I stay with Diana?”

“That’s enough! The plan is set.” Mrs. Gillis looked around apologetically.

“I’ll never live it down, please don’t make me!” Ruby was begging, tears welling in her eyes.

Mrs. Gillis exhaled with impatience. “I won’t have any more of this. After the events of the evening, you should be grateful to have a bed to sleep in at all.”

“Hear, hear.” Rachel agreed, nodding at Marilla.

“I apologize.” Mrs. Gillis said, embarrassed, and walked away.

“It doesn’t matter what the other girls think, Ruby.” Diana said gently.”It matters what you think. And I, for one, think Anne is marvelous and brave. I’ll visit soon, alright?”

Anne grinned and hugged Diana as Ruby continued to cry.

“It’s alright. Don’t worry.” Anne said comfortingly. “I’m sure no one will think you’re my friend.” Ruby, still crying, looked up incredulously at Anne. Gilbert felt his heart ache at Anne’s words to Ruby. Anne was still comforting her, despite Ruby being nothing but catty and rude. He couldn’t help wonder how she could be so distant and dismissive of him, yet so kind and forgiving to Ruby.

“All right, we should be off,” Matthew said, and they all climbed into the small Cuthbert wagon. Gilbert realized it was time for him to take his leave as well and began to walk home slowly, exhausted from the night of fire fighting.

Anne and Ruby walked up to the Gillis house, each carrying a handle of the basket full of freshly baked scones.

“Good morning, Minister. I’m learning to bake. Would you care for a scone?” Anne asked.

Gilbert turned his head at the familiar voice, looking down at the redheaded girl from the roof. Next to her was Ruby Gillis who was staring right at him . His eyebrows shot up and he quickly turned back to hammering the new roof.

“Don’t mind if I do!” The minister responded. “This is some heavy work.” The old man dabbed his forehead, despite having been standing around doing just about nothing the entire morning.

“Hey, look, it’s the freak and her new twin sister,” Billy said cruelly.

When did Billy turn into such a nightmare?

“As long as they bring food, I don’t care if it’s Quasimodo,” Gilbert replied jokingly.

Not looking at her footing as she gazed up at the roof, Ruby tripped, falling flat on her face.

Billy started to laugh. “That was great!” He continued his laughter, pointing at Ruby on the ground. Gilbert frowned and began descending from where he was perched. Despite his annoyance with Ruby, he would not feel right about ignoring her when she needed help.

“Ruby, are you all right?” Anne asked with concern. Ruby just began to sob. Her hat had fallen off her head and her stockings were covered with twigs and leaves.

Chortling loudly, Billy called to Gilbert. “Girls are so useless. Guess you should have stayed home in the kitchen, eh?”

Gilbert looked at Billy incredulously, not wanting to dignify his statement with a response.

Turning from Ruby, Anne looked to the scaffolding at Billy and yelled. “What is wrong with you?”

Gilbert hid a smile — there was the unexpected bravery again.

“Go home and bake cookies!” Billy replied dumbly.

Idiot.

Anne raised her eyebrows in disbelief, but before she could answer, Gilbert responded, “Headline: they already did.”

“This is Ruby’s property, or did you forget?” Anne called out hotly.

“Why don’t you shove off, and leave the men to their work?” Billy shouted.

Gilbert began descending the ladder from the roof.

“Why don’t you give me that hammer and I’ll finish the job myself if you’re too busy being a bully to get it done?” Anne yelled back, the men laughing at her sleight to Billy. Gilbert smiled even wider to himself as walked over to the two girls, not doubting the sincerity behind her words.

“Hey, here,” Gilbert said as he offered a hand to Ruby, helping her off the ground. “You all right?” She gazed at him, not saying a word. He bent down and picked up her hat, brushing the bits of leaves off of it. “There you are.” He looked over to Anne, down at the basket, then back to Anne. It was good to see her — he needed to make sure he had imagined her correctly. She was even cuter than he remembered.

“Thank you, Gilbert.” Ruby finally said in a dazed voice.

“Yeah, of course. Thanks for, um,” He looked over at Anne, the corner of his mouth rising. “Coming by to help feed the beasts.” She met his gaze for a second then looked away immediately.

“Much obliged,” Matthew said, approaching the small group and the basket, rubbing his hands together for warmth before grabbing a scone. Gilbert held his gaze at Anne for a few moments before looking away as her father approached.

“Matthew, will you please bring the basket home later?” Anne asked matter-of-factly.

Ruby gazed at Gilbert, a very silly smile on her face.

Had she hit her head when she tripped?

Gilbert reached back, ducking his head and rubbing his neck in order to not meet the blonde girl’s intense stare.

“I better, if I know what’s good for me,” Matthew replied with a chuckle.

As Matthew took his leave, Gilbert stood up straighter, looking at Anne and smiling, scratching the back of his head.

“Um…” He began hesitantly. Anne looked at him hopefully, before glancing at Ruby and ignoring him once again.

“Come on, Ruby. Let’s get you home.” Anne said, walking past Gilbert to take a hold of the girl’s arm. Gilbert’s hopeful smile slowly disappeared as Anne continued to walk away, not looking back. Ruby, on the other hand, kept walking forward and staring back at him with that same goofy expression.

He shook his head and returned to the roof, kicking himself for not saying anything else to Anne.

Gilbert came home exhausted. He walked straight to his dad’s room and slumped into the chair at his bedside.

“How’s the roof coming along, son?” Gilbert’s father was sitting up and drinking a cup of tea.

“Good.” Gilbert stared off into space for a while, only responding to his name the third time his father said it.

“Good grief, boy. What’s gotten into you?” Gilbert gave his dad a look of despair before putting his head in his hands.

“It’s that Cuthbert girl, isn’t it?”

Gilbert nodded, his head still in his hands.

“Well now. I’ve known better not to ask about her for the past week, knowing you would come out and tell me anything you wanted to in your own time. It seems that you need to get something off your chest, son.” His father began to cough, holding a handkerchief shakily to his mouth. “Apparently,” He cleared his throat. “So do I. Ha!”

Gilbert couldn’t help smiling at his father’s dumb joke.

“Well, you know she hasn’t come back to school.”

Gilbert’s father nodded solemnly.

“I saw her on the night of the fire. She was in the house.”

“Pardon?”

“She ran into the house to close all the windows and doors to drown the fire.” Gilbert heard the awe in his own voice. “Ruby Gillis has been a cow to her and Anne risked her life to save the Gillis’ house.”

“Well, I’ll be.” Gilbert’s father chuckled. “She really is something, isn’t she?”

Gilbert leaned back in his chair. “She stopped by today to give out scones to the men at the house.” He paused for a moment, wondering how to phrase his next words without dying of embarrassment. John Blythe sat patiently, looking at his son.

“Dad, I can’t stop thinking about her,” Gilbert said quietly. “I just want to be around her more so that I can see the way she sees things. She doesn’t make sense in the most, the most...interesting and intriguing way. And… she hates me.” Gilbert sighed, putting his head back into his hands.

“Now, son.” Gilbert’s father placed a hand on his shoulder. “There is no heart that cannot be won with kindness and chivalry. Blythe men pick fiery women who keep them on their toes. She’s younger than you, she will realize, in time, what a good man you have become.” He patted his son’s shoulder.

Gilbert’s heart warmed with pride. His father had never called him a man before. It seemed very grown-up. Then again, Gilbert had been forced to grow up more than he’d liked in the past year. More than half the time, he felt like the parent in his relationship with his father.

“You have your mother’s smile.” There were tears in his father’s eyes. “She would be so pr—” His words were cut off by another coughing fit.

Gilbert sat patiently, waiting for it to stop after a few seconds. His father grabbed his wrist tightly and Gilbert looked up, realizing that the coughing was only getting worse. Standing up quickly, he ran to the kitchen pump and got a cup of water. He rushed back to his father and held it up to his lips, helping him drink. Finally, his coughing subsided into wheezing gasps. John Blythe’s chest was heaving up and down as he held out the handkerchief he had been using to cover his cough. Gilbert looked at the white cloth that was now stained with bright red swaths of blood. Trying not to show the worry on his face, Gilbert helped his dad lay down fully and tucked him into bed.

Gilbert was glad to be back at school. The week of manual labor at the Gillis’ home had been rather dull, except for that one, particularly exciting afternoon. Plus, he liked how normal school felt — it was a nice distraction from the dismal mood that had settled over his house. Moody threw a piece of paper crumpled into a ball onto Gilbert’s desk, bringing him back into the moment. Gilbert chuckled, grabbing it to throw it back in his face when he saw Anne standing in the doorway to the school, nervously holding her books and slate. He smiled widely before he could stop himself.

Diana turned around and happily exclaimed. “It’s Anne!” Ruby and Diana both got up and hugged her, looping their arms through hers. Gilbert was surprised to see Ruby hug her and realized Anne had unknowingly followed his father’s advice of being kind even to those who seem to hate you.

“Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, take your seat.” Mr. Philipps said sternly. Her two friends, arm in arm, walked her to her old seat next to Diana, across the aisle from Gilbert.

Gilbert hid another small smile, looking down at his hands, before stealing one last glance at her as Anne sat down. She put her books in an orderly stack, sat up straight, and folded her hands in front of her. He knew she would not likely talk to him, let alone meet his glance. That didn’t stop the warm feeling that was spreading from his stomach all the way out to his fingertips as he thought about getting to see her every day for the rest of the school year.

Chapter 3: Afoot and Lighthearted I Take to the Open Road

Chapter Text

Cheers erupted throughout the classroom.

“Boooooo!” The students were yelling at their classmates on the opposite side of the room.

“Too easy, too easy!”

“Spell ‘amorous.’” Mr. Phillips called, turning slowly and walking towards Prissy Andrews, who refused to meet his gaze.

Tillie, a rather impudent girl with light brown curls, responded. “Amorous. A-M-O-R...U—”

“Ughhhh,” Mr. Phillips groaned, “Wrong! Sit down.” Even more noise came from the class.

Tillie hurried to her seat.

“Spell ‘gorgeous.’” Mr. Phillips stared harder at Prissy as she turned to look out the window, shifting uncomfortably.

Moody cleared his throat. “G-O-R-G-I—”

“Ugh! Sit down, you butcher of beauty.” Mr. Phillips snapped at Moody, who walked back to his seat. This left Anne and Gilbert at the front of the class.

“‘Ostracize?’”

Gilbert paused for a moment. “O-S-T-R-A-C-I-Z-E.”

Still annoyed, Mr. Phillips replied. “That would seem to be correct.” The boy's side cheered as Gilbert smiled widely.

Prissy opened a book and began to read, a slight furrow in her brow.

“‘Haughty.’”

Ruby lifted a piece of paper with the words “GO ANN!” scrawled across it. Diana looked over, saw the sign, and ripped it out of Ruby’s hands.

“It’s with an ‘E.’ Do you not remember her whole speech her first day?”

Ruby sheepishly added a small ‘e’ to the end of her friend’s name and began waving the sheet of paper again, cheering happily.

“H-A-U-G-H-T-Y.” Anne spelled quickly.

“‘Callous.’”

“C-A-L-L-O-U-S,” Gilbert responded, another round of shouting beginning from the class. Anne glanced over at Gilbert, catching his eye before quickly looking away. Gilbert’s eyes remained on her while it was her turn. Silly as this spelling bee seemed, Gilbert was thrilled to be this close to her, for her to be okay with interacting with him in this small way. Plus, he had to admit that he really liked being top of the class and definitely had a competitive nature.

“‘Penitent.’”

“P-E-N-” Anne began, shifting her arms to fold uncomfortably in front of her. “I-T-E-N-T.” The girls cheered.

“‘Intentions.’” Mr. Phillips said softly.

“I-N-T-E-N-T-I-O-N-S.” Gilbert spelled. The boys cheered once more, banging their hands on their desks.

Anne took a deep breath, unfolding her arms, gripping the desk behind her. As they cheered, Gilbert looked over to Anne, looking her up and down with a co*cky smile on his face, raising his eyebrows in a motion of friendly competition. She ignored him, per usual.

“‘Persevere.’” Mr. Phillips said in that same soft tone.

Gilbert kept looking at Anne and noticed she was shifting her weight from left to right foot and looking rather green. Her arms were crossed awkwardly in front of her, almost clutching her stomach. She looked like she might get sick. He could only imagine what Josie Pye and Billy Andrews would say if she were to vomit in the middle of class. Worry crept into Gilbert’s mind, beginning to overshadow his motivation to win.

“P-E-R-S-E-V-E-R-E.” Anne spelled, not as enthused as she was at the beginning of the spelling bee. She exhaled and looked down to the ground, obviously very uncomfortable.

“‘Engagement.’” Mr. Phillips looked Prissy right in the eyes. She looked up for the first time to meet his gaze.

A moral quandary raged in Gilbert’s brain. He made an impulsive decision. “E-N-G-A-G-M…” Anne looked over, a look of quiet triumph on her face.

“That is incorrect.” Mr. Phillips announced.

Gilbert closed his eyes and nodded with a shy smile on his face. He looked over at Anne, looking her up and down once more.

Cheers kept coming from the girls’ side.

“Wooooo!!!”

“Go, Anne!”

“Anne, you won!” Diana cried out, smiling and clapping the loudest.

Anne smiled timidly, walking forward, her arms still crossed in front of her.

“Congratulations, Anne,” Gilbert said, reaching his arm out to touch her elbow. “I should have added the ‘E.’” He smiled cheekily down at her, to which she responded with a quick nod before turning to walk back to her seat. His hand was shaking slightly, his nerves about the slight touch showing visibly. This was getting ridiculous. He watched her return to the desk before reluctantly tearing his gaze off her. She sat down, breathing out slowly.

Gilbert approached the house, his feet crunching in the fresh powdered snow, carrying in extra firewood. He placed it into the stove, then walked over to the cutting board, slicing a piece of bread to set on to toast. He poured the kettle of hot water into the carafe of coffee grounds, then poured the hot coffee into a ceramic mug. He hurriedly picked up the food tray and carried it into his father’s room, earning a gruff “Thank you.” His father began to cough with a wheeze from the effort of the two words as Gilbert rushed out of the room to grab his school things, only pausing briefly to listen worriedly to the sound of his father’s labored breathing. It had only gotten worse in the past week, blood-soaked handkerchiefs becoming a norm. He hurried into the kitchen, wrapping a piece of bread in a tea towel and stuffing it into his bag.

“Mrs. Kincannon will be here shortly!” Gilbert called out to his father, buckling his bag shut.

“I’m fine, you go on to school, son.” His father responded, his voice sounding stronger than before. Gilbert hesitated, looking at the doorway of his father’s room back to his bag before walking quickly to the doorway, peeking inside.

“And, um, I’ll be home straight after school.”

“All right. Thank you, son.” His father replied, beginning to cough once more and clutch his chest as Gilbert pulled on his coat and scarf and walked out the door. He began to jog through the snow, the ice crystals stinging his face as the flurry of snow continued falling.

“Well, good morning, Mrs. Kincannon.” Gilbert paused briefly to speak to the woman approaching the house.

“Gilbert, you’re late for school,” She said, a hint of concern in her voice.

“I promise I’ll get your wages next week,” he responded, ignoring her complaint.

“No worries. I know where you live.” With a hint of a smile, they both continued walking, her toward the house and he in the opposite direction. He began to run again, trudging through the foot of snow on the way to school.

“Which districts comprise the Prairies?” Mr. Phillips asked, pacing in front of the map of Canada. “Gilbert?”

Gilbert stood up from his seat. “Um… The districts of Athabasca, Alberta, Saskatchewan, and Assiniboia.”

Ruby excitedly began to whisper to Josie while Mr. Phillips remarked, “Now, that is a clever student.” The rest of the class murmured in agreement. Gilbert ducked his head and sat back down at his desk.

“Anne,” She had been looking down at her hands, a pained look on her face. “Which provinces comprise the Atlantic Maritimes?”

She sighed slowly, closing her eyes and wincing as she stood up and stepped into the aisle from her bench. Her hands went tightly clasped straight behind her back. Gilbert wondered how Mr. Phillips could be so mean and force her to answer when she was obviously in extreme discomfort.

“I’m sorry. What was the question?” Anne asked, a bit out of breath.

“Oh, could you not hear me?” Mr. Phillips replied.

A moment of silence passed. Gilbert looked back and forth between the redhead and the teacher.

“Was I not speaking loudly enough?” he shouted.

“I’m sorry. I just…” Anne said quietly, barely above a whisper.

“The Atlantic Mar-i-times!” Mr. Phillips shouted impatiently.

Giggles and whispers spread throughout the class as Anne became more flustered. She opened her mouth to answer, but she wavered, no words coming out.

“Sometime today.” Mr. Phillips said, causing louder giggles to break out from behind her. She swallowed, her eyes darting upward, blushing furiously.

“Fine, sit back down Ms. Cuthbert.” Mr. Phillips said curtly. “Moody Spurgeon, what are the provinces in the Atlantic Maritimes?”

“Worst day ever!” Anne proclaimed to Diana, piling her things and placing them on the shelf in the coatroom to don her winter clothes.

Gilbert entered the coatroom, grabbing his coat and his scarf off of the hook.

You can do this .

“Nice boys never say people eat insects.” He said casually, looking back toward Anne and Diana.

“I beg your pardon?” Diana replied, looking confused.

“It’s a mnemonic device. It helps you remember things, right?” He slipped his arms into the sleeves of his coat. “That’s the, uh, Maritimes.”

He began to count on his fingers. “New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, PEI. ‘Nice boys—’”

Anne turned swiftly to her friend. “Diana, could you please tell Gilbert Blythe that I don’t need his help?”

Couldn’t she see how much he wanted to be her friend? He was trying to be nice!

Gilbert exhaled. “Why don’t you just tell me yourself? I’m right here.”

“I suppose I just did,” Anne said nastily, before turning around to pick up her things.

Fine, if she wanted to be competitive, he would play along.

“Mnemonics is spelled with an ‘M.’” Gilbert replied cheekily, fixing his cap on his head. “Not that you need my help or anything.”

Anne rolled her eyes.

“Have a good weekend.” He chuckled.

“You too,” Diana responded with a dimpled smile. He smiled at her, looking her up and down before walking out the door of the schoolhouse. Anne looked at her in disbelief.

“Sorry,” Diana mumbled.

Gilbert poured a hot cup of tea for his father before sitting down in the caned chair beside the bed.

His father exhaled slowly. “Must be Saturday.” He took a sip of his warm drink. “Nice to have you here, son.” Gilbert gave him a weak smile.

“Will you read my favorite?”

Holding his own mug in one hand and the book in his other, Gilbert began to read: “Afoot and light-hearted, I take to the open road. Healthy,” His voice caught and he took a deep breath to regain control. “Free, the world before me. The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.”

“Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune, Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing, Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,” Gilbert paused to maintain his composure. “Strong and content I travel the open road.”

A slight snore came from his father. Gilbert looked at him, softly closing “Leaves of Grass.” The shadows under his eyes were growing darker, his sockets becoming sunken. The skin of his face was gaunt and much too pale. His lips were colorless and Gilbert could see the structure of his skull and clavicle far too well. Seeing his father like this, his brave, adventurous soldier of a father, bedridden — it was too much. He looked so… so… corpse-like. It felt as if Gilbert had swallowed an anvil as his tears betrayed him, silently falling down his face.

The wind whistled through the cracks of the old barn. Mrs. Kincannon approached the doorway, carefully trudging through the snow. Gilbert stood next to their horse, brushing her slowly and thoughtfully.

“Not going to school today?” Mrs. Kincannon asked gently.

“I feel like I should…” Gilbert brushed the mare with a few more strokes before looking at the nurse. “I should stay close.”

Mrs. Kincannon looked at the young boy's earnest face and reached out, touching his arm comfortingly for a moment before turning around and heading back into the house.

Anne stood at the schoolhouse window, clapping the chalkboard erasers together. It seemed to her that Mr. Phillips had it out for her and would punish her at any given chance.

“Anne.” Mr. Phillips called impatiently, snapping his fingers. She turned and walked towards him, depositing the erasers on the desk.

“Take these lessons to Gilbert Blythe. He’ll be missing class for a time, and I don’t want him falling too far behind. He’s my best student.” He extended two large books with a couple of folded-up pieces of paper to her.

She walked through the snow towards the stone house, lifting her knees higher than usual to avoid throwing powder all over her and Gilbert’s school materials.

“Why does everything happen to me?” Anne muttered as she climbed the steps of the porch. Sighing, she knocked on the glass panels of the door, “Gilbert?” Knocking again, she called louder, “Gilbert Blythe?” Still, with no response, she knocked again before pacing back and forth on their porch, muttering “Life is so unfair,” with a fair bit of sighing. Every time she passed the door she would knock against the door with a loose fist. She heard the door latch hitch, mumbling, “Finally—” before shutting her mouth in surprise.

Answering the door was not Gilbert Blythe, but a man who she would guess was about Marilla’s age but looked much worse for wear. He was dressed in a long nightshirt and a sweater, with deep purple circles under his eyes. He was hunched over and breathing heavily as if he just had exerted himself greatly.

He stepped slightly onto the porch while leaning on the door frame, gasping. “Sorry to make you wait.” Anne was stunned, hoping her face didn’t betray her to make the situation any worse than it already was.

“Gilbert…” The man breathed a couple of breaths before continuing, “is out back chopping wood.” After breathing for a few more seconds, the man looked down at Anne’s braids and back at her face, smiling. “What wonderful red hair.” Realization set into his eyes as he looked at her with new interest. “You’re the Cuthberts’ new charge, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Anne replied, feeling rather stupid.

“I’ve heard nice things about you.” The man chuckled and then sighed. “And how is Marilla? Still feisty, I hope?”

Anne could not think of a single thing to say and was excused by Gilbert’s concerned call.

“Dad, what are you doing? You shouldn’t be walking.” He climbed the steps of the porch, dumping the firewood in the bin.

“My son worries too much.” Gilbert walked over, putting his arm around his father to support him instead of the doorframe. “It seems this young lady has urgent business with you. I’ll go inside now.”

“I’ll fetch your chair,” Gilbert said quickly, moving to go inside.

“No, I-I-I’ll go on my own.” Mr. Blythe said, stopping his son gently with a hand to his chest. “Thank you, son.”

Leaning toward Anne, Mr. Blythe smiled, “It was nice to meet you. Give my kind regards to Marilla.”

Finding her voice, Anne replied warmly. “I will. Of course, Mr. Blythe.” Gilbert’s father shuffled down the hallway and out of sight. Gilbert watched him go before turning back to Anne, glancing at her and the books she held in her arms.

“Those for me?” Gilbert asked, gesturing at the materials.

A nervous laugh escaped Anne as she picked the books up out of her basket and handed them to Gilbert. He accepted them, holding them close to his chest.

“Well, uh,” He looked behind her at the snow flurry before looking back to her, “It’s kind of you to bring them by.”

“Mr. Phillips doesn’t want you falling behind,” Anne replied, trying her best to remove any of the annoyance she had felt when first given this task.

Gilbert laughed slightly. “I don’t, either.” He raised his eyebrows, smiling cheekily. “If you’re gonna beat me in class, I want you to do it fair and square.”

Anne exhaled, replying, “Yes. Exactly.” Her tone of competitive annoyance had crept back in.

A moment went by.

“Um… thank you,” Gilbert said, patting the books with his other hand. “I’ll see you.” Anne nodded and turned around, picking up her basket and books and walking back down the stairs toward Green Gables.

She came by every day for the next week. Gilbert made sure he was in the house at 3 o’clock to ensure that he could answer the door when she would knock. It was by far the highlight of his day to see her. They would chat on the porch together, mostly Gilbert asking about the happenings of school and Anne giving very in-depth, superfluous answers. She was enthusiastic and excited about the most mundane-seeming things. After their talks, Gilbert found himself being more mindful of his surroundings. He would often walk outside to look up at the ethereal falling snow or notice some illusion nature created, such as how the black branches of trees seemed to draw cracks in the white sky.

To his pleasant surprise, the lessons Anne brought were often accompanied by something else. The first day, it was a sprig of holly tied with a small branch of pine on top of his books. The second day, it was a seashell. The third, she had added her own notes to the margins of the lesson Mr. Phillips had sent, some helpful and some very funny at Mr. Phillips’ expense. Friday, she brought a basket of baked goods, including a fresh loaf of bread, strawberry tarts, and plum puffs.

He took the basket from her, looking from her, to it, and then back to her.

“Anne...I don’t know what to say. Thank you so much.”

“Marilla did most of it.” She replied quickly and wide-eyed. “I just helped with the strawberry tarts.”

“I am very excited to try them.” His eyes sparkled at her. “But, I meant thank you for, for everything. Your little gifts have been very much appreciated.” Gilbert looked into her blue eyes, noting how glacial they looked in the snow. She looked down, blushing deeply.

“Also, your notes were very helpful.” He added. Looking back up at him, she bounced on her toes.

“Really? I tried to add what I thought were the more important bits.”

“Yes, the status of Mr. Phillips’ mustache curls seem to be of the utmost importance to my education,” Gilbert responded seriously. Anne let out a small giggle and Gilbert laughed along. Their laughter trailed off together, leaving them looking at each other, standing rather awkwardly on the front porch.

“I better go,” Anne said.

“Yeah, okay,” Gilbert responded.

A moment passed, neither of them moving.

“See you.” She said softly, turning around and rushing down the steps.

“See you,” Gilbert replied, watching her figure grow smaller and smaller until it disappeared in the white landscape.

Chapter 4: Nothing Can Happen More Beautiful Than Death

Chapter Text

Gilbert was sitting by his father’s bedside, taking notes from the book he had open on his lap. His father watched him work on his homework silently.

“You know what I…” His father groaned.

“Can I get you something?” Gilbert asked quickly, eyebrows raised in concern.

His father weakly held up a hand in protest. Mrs. Kincannon opened the bedroom door, bustling in to take away dirty linens.

“You know...what was the best thing about getting sick?” He paused to take a breath. “Travelling west again.”

“I’ll fetch you both some tea.” Mrs. Kincannon interrupted. Gilbert nodded and tried to give her as pleasant of a look as possible.

“The train,” His father continued wistfully. “God, I love a train...And those Rocky Mountains?”

“They’re amazing.” Gilbert’s voice cracked.

“Did my heart good.” His father took a deep breath. “It’s a big world, son. Remember that.” He exhaled and laid his head back on his pillow. Gilbert clenched his jaw and tried with all his might to keep his face neutral and calm.

Needing some fresh air, Gilbert walked out to the barn. He wanted to do something with his hands, something that didn’t require any thought. Looking around wildly, he picked up a hammer and began to hit the metal hub of the wheel of their plow. He hit it, again and again, trying to get out the anger that was filling him. How come his entire family was going to be taken away from him before the age of 16? How could his father leave him like this?

“Gilbert!” Mrs. Kincannon screamed. “Gilbert!” Raising his head, Gilbert’s heart plummeted into his stomach. He got up and began to sprint back to the house, already knowing what he would find.

Gilbert wretched violently into the privy before sliding down the wooden wall of the outhouse, shaking uncontrollably. He didn’t know what he had expected walking into his father’s bedroom, but it certainly wasn’t the cold waxen shell that was lying in the bed. It looked like a badly done sculpture of his father by someone who had seen him once and was creating his image by memory alone. His characteristics, while they could be considered peaceful to some, were distorted and strange. One of his hands was holding the portrait of Gilbert’s mother that was often on the bedside table; the other was clutching a bloody handkerchief. Without thought, Gilbert reached out and grabbed his father’s hand, only to withdraw quickly at the frighteningly cold temperature of the strange, loose skin of his father’s body. Gilbert sprinted out of the room, down the hall, and out the back door to the outhouse where he now sat, wanting to never get up again, especially not while the body was still in the house. After a while, he heard crunching steps and a gentle knock on the door.

“Gilbert, dear,” The strained voice of Mrs. Kincannon was muffled through the wooden door. “I’ve sent for the coroner. He will be here soon.”

Gilbert attempted to respond, but only a strangled grunt came from his mouth.

“Do you want to say goodbye before he’s taken away?”

He shook his head violently. Then, realizing that Mrs. Kincannon could not see him, he choked out his response. “No.”

There was a pause. “Alright, dear.” He put his head in between his knees and closed his eyes, at that moment wishing he could fall asleep and never awaken again.

There was a rapt knock on the door. Sighing, Gilbert walked over and opened the front door, surprised to see Mrs. Rachel Lynde standing on his doorstep, a crock full of stew in her hands.

“Hello, Gilbert.” Rachel greeted him extremely matter-of-fact. “May I come in?” She lifted the stew slightly in a gesture of urgency. Gilbert opened the door wider and stepped back, not saying anything in response. The woman nodded curtly and bustled in, setting the crock on the table gently before turning around and clapping her hands.

“So!” Rachel exclaimed. “When is the service? The church ladies and I would be happy to help with flowers, but I do need a date and location to coordinate with them. I’m assuming our minister will be presiding — have you contacted him? He’s a very busy man.”

Gilbert blinked at her, his eyebrows drawn in confusion. She looked at him expectantly.

After another moment of silence, Rachel continued. “Also, where is John to be buried? I believe I spied a little family plot a bit south of the house. Depending on where the graveside service is, we’ll also need to arrange the reception for guests after the burial. The church ladies can help with finger sandwiches and punch, but, again, I do need a date and location.”

Was this all Gilbert’s job to plan? He figured his father would have left instructions with his lawyer or Mrs. Kincannon for this kind of thing.

Clearing his throat, Gilbert rasped. “Have you talked to Mrs. Kincannon about this?”

“Oh yes, dear, she said she had received no instruction on how to follow after John’s death. She had assumed he had given you some direction.”

His head spun. He didn’t know how to plan a funeral, let alone deal with his father’s affairs! Gilbert shook his head.

“I think I need to go to Charlottetown to...to speak to my father’s lawyer.”

“Well,” Rachel exhaled. “I suppose that is a good idea. I would try to catch the next train out of Bright River, Gilbert. Much to do before John’s laid to rest!” She made her way to the door, fixing the tie on her woolen cloak.

“Wait!” Gilbert was panicking. “Wait, Mrs. Lynde.”

She looked up at his face, which was pale and drawn with dark circles under his eyes. Her expression softened.

“Yes, Gilbert?”

“I don’t…” Gilbert began. “I don’t know what to do. What do I do?” To his embarrassment, tears were welling up in his eyes, threatening to spill over.

Mrs. Lynde stared at him for a moment before untying her cloak and hanging it on the hook beside the front door.

“Do you have a sheet of paper and a pen, Gilbert?” She drew a chair from the kitchen table and sat down.

Hastily wiping his eyes, Gilbert nodded and rushed to his room where his school things were. Grabbing his pen and notebook, he returned to the kitchen with the materials and put them on the table.

Mrs. Lynde nodded at him to sit down. With a gentle tone, she asked. “Did John give you any sort of instruction?”

Gilbert shook his head. “I know he wanted to be buried at the family plot. And I know he has a lawyer in Charlottetown, Mr. Quinn, I believe?”

The woman nodded again solemnly. “Anything else?”

Gilbert shook his head, looking down at his hands.

“John Blythe,” Rachel Lynde chuckled. “His head was always somewhere else on the map and not on the imminent future.” Gilbert managed a weak smile.

“Well, you should go to Charlottetown and get all the information you can from John’s lawyer.” Rachel began, returning to her matter-of-fact tone. “Hopefully, he will have instructions. If not,” She looked at Gilbert and then to the pen, urging him to pick it up and begin writing. “You will need to do this on your own.”

“First, you need to plan the funeral and make burial arrangements. This includes reaching out to the coroner and mortician, buying a casket, getting a headstone engraved, making sure the minister is available, and commissioning a gravedigger. Once you have a date, the church ladies and I can take charge of the more womanly aspects, such as planning the food, decorations, and flowers.”

Gilbert’s hand was flying across the page to jot everything the matronly woman was saying.

“For the service, you need to pick any significant scripture, prayers, or hymns your father enjoyed. You’ll need to decide if you want to speak or have another person deliver a eulogy, or just the minister to give a sermon. Reach out to any family or close loved ones that are not in Avonlea — we can make the announcement at Sunday service so you won’t need to worry about invitations there.” Rachel took a deep breath and waited while Gilbert finished scribbling down her instructions.

“Even if John didn’t leave instructions for his service, he’ll have left his will with his attorney. They should be able to help you with the transfer of assets and so on. For taking care of logistics, such as bank accounts and life insurances, you’ll need to ensure you get a copy of John’s death certificate to transfer or close accounts in your name.”

Gilbert blindly wrote, not really absorbing what she was saying. He was trying to ignore the pounding in his head that was increasing with every item he added to his list.

“Then all of your father’s assets will likely be in your name and you will decide from there what to do.”

Gilbert looked up and blinked. “What do you mean ‘what to do?’”

“I mean, dear boy,” Rachel said slightly impatiently, “You will decide where your money goes — what investments to make, if you’d like to sell parts of your land, which crops to plant, etcetera etcetera.”

Oh.

He had been dreading his father’s passing based solely on his love for him. He had not realized how much responsibility was transferred to him the second his father stopped breathing.

Gilbert slumped in his chair and hung his head.

How am I supposed to do this alone?

He had known that the farm was likely to be left to him, but he hadn’t thought much about the consequences of that. Farming, while it had been a huge part of his life up to this point, was not what he wanted to do as a vocation. Misery flooded him as he sat there, not knowing what to do or say. He felt a pat on his hand. Looking up, he saw Rachel leaning over the table to give him the gesture of comfort.

“There, there. It will be alright. Many folks in Avonlea will be happy to help out with your land and whatever else needs going on. I’ve already started a sign-up for donations to help with the service.”

Gilbert gave the woman a weak smile. She was not the most gentle, kindly woman, but she usually acted with the very best of intentions. And her advice had at least given him an idea of what was to happen now.

“Thank you, Mrs. Lynde. For the stew and the help and the… advice.”

The woman gave Gilbert a warm smile. “Anytime, dear. I will be expecting to hear from you tomorrow to begin planning the service.”

Gilbert nodded and stood, opening the front door for her.

“Goodbye, now!” She called as she walked with purpose down the steps.

He waved goodbye, not being able to force any more words out.

The following week was a blur. His father had left his will with Mr. Quinn, but little else in regards to funeral or burial instruction. Unsurprisingly, everything had been left to Gilbert. The lawyer gave Gilbert a list of contacts to reach out to in order to consolidate all of his father’s finances. Luckily, there was nothing too complex and he was able to speak to every banker and loan officer that he needed to all in that one afternoon. Gilbert stopped by the teller on the way to the train, taking out enough money to pay for the gravedigger and other funeral services. When he got home, he took off his boots and collapsed in bed, still fully dressed.

The next day, Gilbert awoke feeling exhausted. He ran his fingers through his messy hair and put his cap on, hoping it would cover the absolute rat’s nest on top of his head. He kept the clothes from the previous day on, throwing his red woolen coat over, before walking to Rachel Lynde’s house with all of the information and money he had gathered the day before. He followed that pattern every day leading up to the service, avoiding going home until the last possible second, trying to find any errand to do.

The night before his father was to be buried, Gilbert realized he did not have any nice black clothes. He hesitantly walked from the kitchen into his father’s room, which he had been avoiding since he had seen the corpse on the bed. Trying his best to avoid looking at the mattress, Gilbert walked over to his father’s trunk. The smell of mothballs and tobacco wafted toward him as he opened the lid slowly. Sighing with relief, he found a woolen, black coat at the top of the trunk. He picked it up carefully and held it to his face, the smell of his father clinging to the pilling fabric. Hugging it to his body, he took the coat with him upstairs to his own bedroom. For the first time that week, he changed into his nightshirt and laid in bed, curled up with the coat like a child with a favorite stuffed animal.

The cold seemed fitting for the day. The stark contrast of the black of the trees and scrub against the white of the snow. Everything seemed clear about this day, especially the one thing Gilbert was struggling to accept — his father was dead. He had been keeping distracted from this fact by throwing himself into the work of planning the service with Mrs. Lynde and doing odious chores around the farm. However, as they had sung “How Great Thou Art” and marched in the procession following the black carriage carrying his father’s casket, Gilbert was forced to address that John Blythe had been alive and then suddenly, was not.

During the graveside service, he knew he must have been radiating hostility because no one approached him to talk afterward. He got several pats on the arm and shoulder, which he did not acknowledge. Gilbert did not want to be warm, did not want to be comforted. He craved the discomfort, hoping it would push him to feel something, anything. The only feeling he felt was emptiness, his chest feeling so cavernous it ached.

As the mourners of the procession walked to the house for refreshment, Gilbert remained on the cold marble bench in front of the small Blythe family graveyard. He stared at the grave digger shoveling freshly turned earth back into the hole where his father’s casket lay. There was a solid pitter-patter with every load of dirt that fell on the wooden casket. He waited for something to break, for the tears to come. Nothing.

The whole day felt utterly mundane. What good was walking with the whole town to put his father’s dead body into the ground? What good was hearing the minister’s unfeeling, generic sermon? This performance was for everyone else to feel some semblance of control over their mortality, getting a glimpse of how they would be treated once they had passed on. Then, once they cried and said their generic condolences, they would return to their homes where they could be with their families and think of the funeral as nothing more than an event that came and went. Did it not mean anything that Gilbert’s entire world had shifted, that he felt that he was free falling without knowing where he was going to land? He didn’t think of himself as a man, not like his father, or Mr. Cuthbert, or Mr. Quinn. He was a boy, barely out of childhood. He didn’t know how to run a farm or a house for that matter. The whole situation did not make sense. How was everyone acting the same as before? Did they not feel the earth shatter when John Blythe took his last breath?

The snow began to fall and he looked up, startled. The clouds had finally started to crumble, tiny snowflakes tumbling down. Gilbert took off his glove and held his hand up to catch one. A white fluff landed right in the middle of his palm. He watched as it melted, turning from white to transparent. He turned his hand to one side, letting the large droplet of water roll off until it dripped down his arm.

Why wasn’t he crying? Wasn’t he sad that his father was dead?

What kind of monster doesn’t cry at their father’s funeral?

Guilt washed over Gilbert, feeling as if he was adding one more item to the list of things he had done to disappoint his father’s spirit. He couldn’t even act sad correctly. If he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t even sure he was sad. He was hollow. So many things felt unknown and unsure now. All Gilbert could tell was that the sky was white and the wind was sharp and his dad was dead.

Dead.

Gilbert’s father was gone. He had finally traveled to where Gilbert could not follow.

Done waiting for the tears that would never come, Gilbert got up and began to trudge through the snow towards the house. He looked at the ground as he walked, only looking up when he was about 10 meters away from the door. He could see the movement in the windows and hear the rumble of lowered voices. Rachel Lynde and Mrs. Kincannon were walking around with silver trays laden with finger sandwiches and other hors d'oeuvres. He stopped, staring at the socializing mourners. He could not face them. Once he entered the house, where would he go? How would he act? He would be expected to converse with his guests. The last thing Gilbert wanted to do at that moment was exchange pleasantries with the whole town of Avonlea, hearing about how great a man his father was before he got sick. No, no he couldn’t do it. He turned on his heel and walked away from the house. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew where he definitely was not.

He heard the door of the house open and close. He continued walking, hoping that it was just guests who were leaving. Hurried footsteps crunched in the snow behind him as he heard a familiar voice, “Gilbert!”

He would have gotten butterflies had she called out his name and chased after him under normal circ*mstances. But these were not normal. His brain seemed to have disconnected from any part of him capable of feeling something as silly as a crush. He continued walking, not slowing down.

“It was a lovely service,” Anne said, catching up to him. “It seemed fitting somehow. Everything was so white and still.” He mentally noted that he had thought the same thing about the day. In another world, Gilbert would have let out a small chuckle at their similar train of thought. He continued walking, not acknowledging the girl walking beside him.

“I’ve always thought the minister prays quite mournfully, so this suited him nicely.” Anne continued. “Baptisms must be grim.”

What was happening? This girl, who rolled her eyes and refused to talk to him in public on a normal basis, was now walking beside him, making light-hearted comments about the minister that had prayed over his dead father’s grave not even an hour prior. Gilbert kept walking, still not addressing Anne.

She was not deterred by his silence. She pulled on her gray hat and said lightly, “Being an orphan has its challenges, but you already have so many advantages, you’ll be much better off than I was.”

He looked at the copse of trees they were heading toward. He wanted to climb a tree, high into its branches, and hide. And there was nothing, and no one, to stop him.

“I didn’t know my parents. They died when I was a baby, so I couldn’t fend for myself the way that you can.”

A hint of a frown appeared on Gilbert’s previously passive face. The cavern in his chest was throbbing with every footstep. He really needed to get to a tree, anything to escape this strange, one-sided conversation.

“And I don’t remember my parents at all, but you’ll always be able to remember your father,” Anne said sincerely. “You know, when you think about it, you’re really very lucky.”

The throbbing in his chest turned to ice, frozen solid. He whipped his head around in disbelief, staring at the genuine smile on Anne’s face.

“You think I’m lucky?” Gilbert asked incredulously, looking her straight on.

“Compared to me? Yes.” Anne answered simply, still with her infuriatingly sincere smile on her face.

Breaking through the emptiness, a flash of red hot anger rushed through him. “And why is this about you?” Gilbert snapped. Her face fell as she replied quickly, “It’s not, I was just trying to—”

“See you.” He said shortly, turning on his heel and continuing his journey to a good lonely tree. He walked away from a shocked Anne, standing still as a statue. Thank God she wasn’t following him.

Who did she think she was? This candid, painfully honest girl had come out of nowhere and made Gilbert’s life even more complicated than it had been before. Before Anne, he had always been able to flirt with girls successfully, making them blush with his up and down glances and coy smiles. He had been friends with the boys in his class before, remembering playing ice hockey with Billy Andrews and Moody Spurgeon when they were younger. He was always polite, if not charming, to everyone, no exceptions. She had messed all that up. She just would not act normal. No one else would have dreamed of walking beside him on the day of his father’s funeral, calling him lucky? Was she kidding? She didn’t know him. She didn’t know how his mother had died giving birth to him. She didn’t know of the fever that took his older brothers, leaving him and his father alone. She didn’t know how it was to lose a parent, she’d never had them to begin with!

At this last thought, a wave of guilt swept over him. He was doing the exact same thing that she had done to anger him. How could he compare their lives? He knew that it wasn’t a competition to see who had the most tragic life, who had the right to feel the most grief. Gilbert recalled that first day when Mr. Phillips had yelled at her and she flinched violently as if expecting a blow. He remembered going to the general store to pick up some groceries and overhearing a conversation between Rachel Lynde and Mrs. Gillis.

“Oh yes, the poor dear.” Rachel was saying softly. “At first, I was so scandalized by the whole affair with Prissy Andrews, I didn’t think why she must have thought that way. Really, to think of a young thing like that, knowing of such things. Marilla says that she was...exposed to... intimate relations at a young age.”

“Oh my.” Mrs. Gillis breathed. “I cannot even imagine. Poor Anne.”

“Well, you know how those asylums are.” Rachel continued. “Girls not older than your Ruby being with child is commonplace. And, it is certainly rare for a sweet couple like our Matthew and Marilla Cuthbert to adopt. I’ve heard of many young orphan girls being adopted to act as a… plaything for the man in the relationship...”

Gilbert’s stomach twisted painfully at the memories. He knew that Anne’s childhood was full of unimaginable horrors. The image of Anne’s face full of naive sincerity swam before him. She had been, in her own Anne way, offering a hand of comfort and friendship. The week before his father’s death, she had sneaked in little gifts to his homework just to make Gilbert smile. She was trying to tell him that she knew how it was to be an orphan, maybe even offer some advice. And in her infuriatingly optimistic way, she had tried to help him by trying to find a bright side to this terrible situation. With a start, he realized that she might have been reaching out to a friend, an empathetic one who would finally understand her plight. More guilt began to flood the cavern in his chest.

He had reached the tree line. He stared up at the crisscrossing branches, their dark lines fracturing the white of the sky. A flash of spiteful anger once again coursed through his veins. He was stuck here pitying Anne when he had just told her off for making this day about her! The weight of his grief landed back on him, twice as heavy. He was done with thinking about her. How could he when his father was dead and the world was upside down?

His conflicting guilt about the hateful anger he felt toward Anne and the lack of emotion he felt about the loss of his father combined into a tumultuous storm inside his cavernous chest.

He couldn’t handle it anymore. He started kicking and punching the tree closest to him, relishing the stings and bruises in his knuckles and toes. He yelled, letting his fury out on the old oak tree.

After about a minute, Gilbert stopped, breathing heavily. He looked down at the extremely scuffed leather of his boots and gloves from his attack on the tree. Something inside him finally broke — he let out an involuntary cry and began to sob. He fell to the forest floor, curling up on the cold frozen ground. Sobs wracked his entire body. Hot tears rolled down his cheeks as he felt his face distort with grief, his muscles contorting his mouth open with despair and pain. His cries seemed to have a rhythm, harmonizing with the throbbing words that pounded in his head: He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone.

Chapter 5: I Am Large and I Contain Multitudes

Chapter Text

A few days had passed since his father’s funeral. Gilbert had been sitting on the couch staring at the wall for who knows how long. He’d had to get up and get dressed to do the chores, but even taking his time to be twice as thorough as usual, he finished too soon. So he sat, the emptiness of the house reflecting the emptiness inside of him.

A knock at the door startled him out of his reverie of oblivion. He walked over to the door, opening it a crack before seeing Ruby and Diana standing in front of him, and Anne behind them. It appeared she was trying to seem as small and unnoticeable as possible. He felt a twinge of guilt at the way he had acted in their last interaction.

“Hello, Gilbert.” Ruby smiled charmingly up at him. “May we come in for a moment?”

“Oh...uh...yeah, yeah of course,” Gilbert opened the door all the way, stepping back to let them in. Anne walked past him staring at the ground.

He stood awkwardly for a moment with the girls grouped into the small kitchen. Unsure of what to do, he sat down at the table and gestured at the other seats of the table, but Diana shook her head.

“Oh, no, we aren’t staying for long. We just wanted to drop this off.” She and Ruby reached into the large basket they had been carrying together and pulled out a ceramic dish. They placed it gingerly on the table, pushing it toward him and smiling expectantly.

He looked at them for a moment before realizing they expected him to take the lid off of the dish. Doing so carefully, the lifted lid sent a waft of a delicious smell toward him. He placed the lid down gently and looked at the dish — shepherd’s pie. It was such a large serving for him alone in the house, how would he finish it by himself? He felt a lump in his throat and forced it down. There was no way he was going to cry in front of them. In front of Anne.

“We’re sorry to intrude, but we wanted you to have that,” Ruby said with exaggerated sweetness. He nodded, still not convinced he could speak without giving away any emotion.

“We’re sorry for your loss,” Diana said gently.

“It’s a shepherd’s pie,” Ruby interrupted. “We made it together especially for you.” He was trying to be polite but the way Ruby was looking at him made him feel uncomfortable. Again, he nodded lamely again.

“Thank you.”

He glanced at Anne who had been standing silently behind them, her face red and her eyes slightly bloodshot. Had she been crying?

“We hope you like shepherd’s pie,” Diana said warmly.

“Everyone likes shepherd’s pie,” Ruby snapped at Diana before turning back to smile at Gilbert. “We hope it’s a comfort to you, Gilbert.” The way she said his name, like she was laying it down on a pillow, made him feel slightly nauseous.

“Anne made the topping.” It seemed Diana could sense his discomfort and was trying to change the subject. He looked Anne in the eyes for the first time. He was surprised at how terrified she looked. “She’s a good cook.” Diana smiled.

“But, I would make a terrible wife!” Anne blurted out. Diana and Ruby’s heads turned to look at her in disbelief. Gilbert frowned, not knowing what to do with this outburst. That was definitely not the direction he thought this exchange was going to go. Anne exhaled shakily and turned, yanking open the front door and running out.

There was an awkward silence as Diana and Ruby turned back slowly, unsure of what to say. Gilbert figured he’d had enough.

“Well, um,” He put his hands on the table, standing up. “Thank you for stopping by.” The girls nodded and he gestured at the door to politely indicate them to leave.

What had just happened? That was a question he found himself asking after most interactions with Anne. The last time they had spoken, she had been unthinking and insensitive and he had been impatient and unkind. And now she came to his house, seeming as if she wanted to be anywhere but there, and blurted out what kind of wife she would be? And then ran away? He shook his head. He really, really wished his dad were there. He would have some wise, vague advice that would put Gilbert on the path to somewhat understanding that girl. But, he wasn’t there. And Gilbert had no clue what to do.

“Just let me know, Gilbert!”

Gilbert nodded curtly and kept walking. If one more person asked him if he would be willing to sell his land, he was going to start throwing punches. He was fifteen! How was he supposed to masterfully negotiate with these fully grown men? He wasn’t naive — he knew that he was the perfect candidate for being taken for a fool and selling his land for way less than it was worth. Plus, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with the property anyway. It was his home. And he got sick just thinking about selling the plot where his father was buried.

He may be the last Blythe left, but he couldn’t bring himself to sell the Blythe family homestead. He just couldn’t. And maybe that made him stupid or weak, but he somehow felt as if a legacy had been entrusted to him, for him to carry on his shoulders alone. He couldn’t put another item on his father’s list of disappointments.

Gilbert got to the general store, stomping his boots to shake off the mud and snow at the door before entering. The familiar smell of tobacco and sawdust filled his nose. He walked over to the shelves with the cleaning supplies. He had run out of everyday chores to fill his entire days and was beginning the more difficult, once-every-five-years kind of cleaning. As he was wondering which type of stove polish was best, he heard a low, gentle voice behind him.

“Hello, Gilbert.” Matthew Cuthbert, wearing his frayed coat and hat, was standing slightly awkwardly by the shelves.

“Good day, Mr. Cuthbert.” Gilbert tried looking him in the eyes, but the man’s earnestness reminded him too much of Anne, which brought along the cacophony of emotions he associated with her. He looked back down at the bottle of stove polish.

“So, uh,” Matthew began, “Bit of a cold snap, eh?”

If Gilbert was certain of one thing, it was that Matthew Cuthbert was not one for small talk. And at the moment, there was nothing Gilbert would rather do less than exchange pleasantries .

“True enough.” He said shortly, hoping Matthew would catch the hint and go away.

“Uh, the other day at the, um…” Matthew took off his hat and rubbed his forehead. “Uh, I-I noticed that you had to leave a couple fields go fallow.”

Ugh. Really? He had expected it from some other folks in town, but not Matthew Cuthbert. He didn’t want people walking on eggshells around him, but he also didn’t appreciate everyone trying to buy his land, not two weeks after his father was in the ground!

“I haven’t decided yet.” Gilbert clenched his jaw, still refusing to look at the man.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’ll let you know if I’m going to sell.” Gilbert glanced at him, then back at the shelf.

“Ooh…” Matthew sounded shocked and concerned. “No, no. No, I just, um…”

Gilbert looked up at him, relieved that he hadn’t misjudged Matthew’s character.

“I, um…” Matthew continued uncomfortably. Gilbert wasn’t sure if he had ever heard the man speak so many words in a row. “I only wanted you to know that me and my hand Jerry, we’d be real happy to help out.”

Gilbert tilted his head in surprise.

“We’ll come on over in the spring, if-if you like, get you back up and running.”

The man’s idea was so thoughtful — it was the first time Gilbert felt that anyone actually meant their offers of help. He smiled slightly at the man.

“That’s very kind,” Gilbert said, not sure where he was going with his reply. He wasn’t even sure he would be in Avonlea in the spring. He wasn’t sure if there was anything left for him here.

He decided to be upfront. “Truth is, uh...I never really wanted to be a farmer.” It was Matthew’s turn to tilt his head, this time in lack of understanding. They stood there awkwardly for a moment.

“Well,” Gilbert broke the silence. “I’d best get to it.” He turned around and began fiddling with the soap and polish until the man had walked away.

After picking up some groceries along with his cleaning supplies, Gilbert packed all of his wares into a canvas bag and hefted them over his shoulder. He walked home slowly, dreading the silent, empty house that awaited him. He would never admit it to anyone, but he was scared to be sleeping alone in the dark house. His childish fear made him even angrier at himself, angrier at his dad for leaving him.

“Hey, Gilbert!” A brutish voice called him out of his thoughts. Billy Andrews and two of his cronies were jogging to catch up to him. Gilbert rolled his eyes and kept walking.

“How’s it going, Blythe?”

“Fine,” Gilbert responded shortly.

“You’ve gotta come back to school, bud. That ugly orphan’s out of control.”

“What do you care?” Gilbert’s annoyance began to turn into anger at Billy’s cruel words. Despite his complicated feelings about Anne, he would never forget how scared she had looked in the woods after Billy had threatened her.

“We need a guy to show her she’s not so smart,” Billy replied as if it were obvious.

“She’s smart. Deal with it.”

“Why you gotta be like that, bud?” Billy laughed stupidly.

“Why don’t you bust out a book and take care of it yourself?” Gilbert snapped.

“Yeah right,” Billy said. “Good one, bud.”

Gilbert’s anger was now difficult to contain. “I’ll give you a tip, OK?” He stopped walking and put his hand on Billy’s chest to distance himself.

“Yeah?”

“I’m not your bud.”

Billy’s cronies looked at each other, confused. Billy’s idiotic smile remained stubbornly on his face.

“Yeah right.”

Gilbert’s self-control waned. “And if you ever hassle Anne again, you’ll regret it.”

Billy was not catching the hint. “Yeah, right.” He laughed again.

“Yeah, right,” Gilbert responded curtly. He turned around to walk back home, shaking his head at the imbeciles he used to consider friends.

“Hey, what’s your problem?” Billy and the two boys were continuing to follow him.

Okay, this was getting ridiculous. In angry disbelief, Gilbert turned around and took a step toward Billy.

“Ask me that again.” Gilbert took another step forward. “No, seriously. Go ahead.” He was seething with rage.

Billy frowned slightly, obviously very far behind on realizing the escalation of this situation. “Why you gotta be like that?”

“Ask me!” Gilbert yelled. After a pause, Gilbert turned on his heel and began to march back towards his house.

“Come on, buddy. I don’t get you.” Billy called after him. “Seriously, what’s your problem?”

He’d had enough. Turning around quickly, he threw his canvas bag into the arms of Billy before punching him in the face as hard as he could. Billy fell but recovered quickly, throwing the bag to the side and running at Gilbert, knocking them both to the ground. Using his momentum, Billy got on top of Gilbert and punched him back, hard. The pain gave Gilbert an adrenaline rush, which he used to grab Billy’s collar and roll him over. He straddled the larger boy, punching him in the face again and shoving his blonde head in the snow as he stood up. Gilbert feinted lunging at Billy and the boy scrambled backward in fear. Breathing heavily, Gilbert walked backward to ensure they could not attack him from behind, only turning around when he was far ahead of the trio of morons.

The wind whistled across the barren field of snow as Gilbert approached his home. To his surprise, there was a figure standing by the Blythe family graveyard. As he approached, the person turned around and he realized it was Marilla Cuthbert. Wow, he really could not get away from the Cuthbert family today. He was very appreciative of both Matthew and Marilla’s generosity and kindness to him, but he really didn’t want to think about their daughter. The only thing worse than the emptiness that he had begun to be accustomed to was the confusing feelings that he felt about Anne. He forced the feeling that came over him at the thought of her name down deep into him, imagining burying it and packing the dirt on top just as the gravedigger did to the coffin of his father.

“Gilbert. I’m sorry to intrude.” Marilla had a look of deep concern etched into her face.

“Oh. No, not at all, Miss Cuthbert.” Gilbert fidgeted with the hem of his coat. “Please… take your time.” The wind blew against him and stung his face. He realized he probably had the beginnings of some bruises from the punches Billy had been able to get in. Gilbert touched his face self-consciously, trying to turn his head subtly as to not draw notice from Marilla. His gaze wandered to the white headstone he had chosen with the help of Mrs. Lynde.

JOHN BLYTHE

BORN APRIL 24, 1835

DIED NOVEMBER 18, 1896

“I wonder how he feels about being so stationary.” Marilla mused. “John was a traveler at heart.” Gilbert stepped closer to her. He knew she and his father had been friends, but... there was a reverent fondness that was in Marilla Cuthbert’s voice that intrigued him.

“I believe the military moved him around a lot in his early years.” Gilbert walked even closer to the woman until he was standing right next to her, in front of the mound of dirt where his father had been buried.

“He had the life he wanted then. Full of adventure.” Marilla wore the same wistful expression his father had when Gilbert had first spoken of Anne.

Gilbert looked forward to the headstone, clenching his jaw.

“I’d heard he’d settled in Alberta?” The woman looked over at Gilbert.

“Um,” Gilbert’s voice was weak. “We were a… large family for a while.”

He paused for a moment, then shrugged. “I’m the last. The only.” He chuckled half-heartedly, feeling rather awkward at sharing such personal information.

“I’m sorry.” She responded kindly.

“No, it’s uh…” Gilbert trailed off and Marilla seemed to understand how impossible it was to respond for such things that were not truly anyone’s fault.

“We moved back here right after I was born.” Gilbert laughed softly. “The Prodigal Sons. That’s what he used to call us.” He was surprising himself with how easily these words were coming out. For the first time since his father passed, he wanted to keep talking.

“He took me back there recently. Alberta.” He looked off into the distance, imagining the rocky landscapes he had experienced with his father. “He wanted to see it again. It’s beautiful.”

“In school, back when we were acquainted…” Marilla began, a small smile on her face. “John talked of big cities, of other parts of the world. It seemed…” She trailed off, thinking. “Impossible.”

“Sounds good to me.” Gilbert’s voice cracked slightly. He had been thinking more and more about how he did not want to live here alone at the homestead, farming by himself and dealing with the ins and outs of agricultural business.

Marilla looked at him thoughtfully. “You resemble him in many ways.”

Gilbert smiled, probably the first genuine smile he had given since his father’s passing.

After a long pause, Marilla continued. “There was nothing he could say to talk me into leaving. I wish…”

Wait, what?

“He… he asked you to go with him?” Gilbert asked after a beat, shocked.

Marilla gave a small nod. “I’ll always be grateful to him for thinking I’d be brave enough.” Her face turned forlorn as if remembering a distant painful memory. “Obligation...can be a prison.”

Gilbert found himself frowning, thinking of his own feelings of the cage obligation seemed to be building around him.

“I’ve always wondered…” Marilla trailed off. Gilbert looked at her, confused by the many emotions this small conversation had brought upon him. His father had wanted to travel the world with Marilla Cuthbert?

What if she had gone with him?

He realized, with a start, he would probably not exist. And Anne would probably not have a home. It was strange how the choices made from tragedy had such a resounding effect on the future.

“I’ll take my leave.” Marilla interrupted his wandering thoughts. “Please reach out to us if you need anything at all.” Just like her brother, there was nothing disingenuous about her offer and only kindness in her eyes.

“Thank you, Miss Cuthbert.” She gave a small nod of goodbye before turning and walking back toward Green Gables, her shawl wrapped tightly around her. Gilbert watched her walk for a moment and then turned back to look at his father’s headstone. Would he have wanted his last living son to feel trapped by obligation? He remembered his father’s last words to him.

It’s a big world, son. Remember that.

Chapter 6: Now, Voyager, Sail Thou Forth, to Seek and Find

Chapter Text

“Now, are you sure Gilbert?” Mrs. Kincannon asked again, putting her hand on his cheek.

“Quite.” Gilbert cleared his throat. He was grateful that she was willing to help him with his task at hand, but did not appreciate how much she was questioning his choices. After all, wasn’t he the man of the house now? Wasn’t this exactly what he had the right to do now that the homestead belonged to solely him?

His mind was made up and his plan was already in motion. He had contacted a boarding house near the port of Charlottetown and reserved a bed for himself. Over the weekend, he had traveled to Charlottetown by train, asking the port master if it was possible to get work to save up to work on a steamer.

The round, mustachioed man had only replied with a grumble. “If you’re willing to do the work, we always need more men.”

That was enough for Gilbert. He needed to get out of Avonlea, away from this dark lonely house haunted by his father’s ghost, away from the responsibility of a farm. He was certain that his father wanted him to explore the far corners of the world, just as he had. Maybe even get farther. To do that with his lack of funds, was to save up his wages from a job at the docks and then get hired by a passenger steamship. Preparing for this new journey had distracted him from his grief and he was glad that the emptiness inside him had begun to feel less achy and cold.

Now, he and Mrs. Kincannon were preparing the house to be vacant for a while. They had swept and scrubbed all of the floors. Gilbert had bought some meters of white cotton to lay down sheets over the furniture. His small carpet bag with a change of clothes, his notebook and pencil, and a small moleskin bag to store his wages were sitting by the front door.

As Gilbert and Mrs. Kincannon raised the benches onto the kitchen table, he was thinking of anyone he would like to say goodbye to before leaving for Charlottetown. The only person he wanted to see again, against his better judgment, was sure to hate him spitefully by now. That much was clear by the way she had stormed out of his house. Anne would probably slam the door in his face if he tried to go to Green Gables. And Gilbert could not handle that.

“I think that is the last of it, Mrs. Kincannon. Thank you so much for all of your hard work.” He clapped his hands. “I will deposit your wages in the bank in Charlottetown when I arrive tonight.”

The woman nodded and smiled warmly. She then reached over and patted him on the shoulder.

“Good luck, Gilbert. I wish you the best. Make sure to remember Avonlea while you’re off on this new adventure.” Gilbert put a hand over hers and squeezed.

“I’ll never forget my home.”

Work at the docks was hard, but Gilbert relished the lack of attention he received from those around him. He had grown tired of receiving the pitiful looks the residents of Avonlea had nearly perfected. He loved being by the sea, the smell of salt and freshness blowing through the small window of his boarding house room. With all of the manual labor he was doing, he felt as though all he did was eat, sleep, and work. The repetition and routine of it were comforting to him. He knew what to expect from each day. He soon became a favorite of some of the wealthier importers in Charlottetown, probably since he never came to work drunk like most of the men did. They would often assign him tasks of deliveries into town. He appreciated the easier jobs of delivery and was careful to follow their instructions carefully to maintain his status as favorite.

He had begun to stop keeping track of the days. Time didn’t really matter as much anymore now that there was no one waiting for him at home. One day, probably around a month into his residence in Charlottetown, he had been given the task of delivering some tools to help with the repair of a skiff. He hefted the wooden box onto his shoulder and made his way down Main Street to get to the other side of town. Despite the snow on the ground, it was a warmer day today than it had been in quite a while. Gilbert was determined to enjoy it. He walked slowly down the street, looking into the storefronts to marvel at the different displays. Something caught his eye in the window of the pawnshop next to the general store. It had been so quick, he had almost missed it. A flash of red…

Looking into the window of the shop, Gilbert inhaled quickly. There she was. In her gray cap, standing at the counter and looking fearlessly at the intimidating owner of the store as he counted out some money and handed it to her. She nodded and folded the money carefully before stowing it away in her coat pocket. Gilbert tilted his head in confusion. She must have sold something quite valuable to have received that sum. She put her hands in her pockets and walked toward the door, opening and closing it quite matter-of-factly. She turned around and her eyes met his. Gilbert held his breath, hoping that she didn’t hate him, that she wouldn’t run away.

Her eyebrows knit together for a second before letting out a shaky laugh.

He breathed out a sigh of relief and beamed.

“Anne.”

“Gilbert.”

She exhaled his name at the same time. Her face took on a breathless smile.

He took her all in, her red hair braided down her shoulders, eyes the same blue of a springtime sky. He noticed she seemed to be more drawn and her freckles stood out starkly against her pale skin. She was so pretty, he couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Hello,” Gilbert said lamely, confusion laced in with his voice.

“Gilbert,” Anne repeated in that same wonderfully breathless voice. She stammered, looking for words that were obviously escaping her.

Had he rendered her speechless?

Gilbert’s heart pounded against his chest as he waited for her to speak. His brow furrowed as he saw she was taking quick, shallow breaths and becoming paler by the second.

“I think I need to sit down. I...” Anne was quite breathless now and Gilbert became concerned.

“Sure.” He tried to reply as casually as possible in an effort to not alarm her. He put his hand on her back in fear that she was going to faint. There was a pub a couple of doors down that he knew of that served warm sandwiches and tea. Gilbert guided her to the small brick storefront, the words on the windows embossed in gold, reading “P. Herald’s Pub.” He opened the door for her and she entered and stood waiting for him inside.

“Please, sit down.” Gilbert gently urged her, taking her elbow and guiding her to a bench at an empty table. She complied and sat down quickly, still breathing too shallow. He would have been blushing furiously if he had touched her like this under normal circ*mstances, but he was too genuinely worried to think about anything but helping her feel better.

“Hey,” Gilbert said gently, sitting down next to her. “I’ll be right back okay? I’m going to order us some tea.”

She swallowed and nodded. He rose and walked to the bar, looking back to make sure she was alright before turning to the bartender.

“Can we get two chamomile teas and some bread with cheese?”

The barkeep simply nodded, finished wiping out the glass he had been working on, and walked through the swinging back door of the shop. He returned in a moment with two silver plates consisting of two slices of bread and a few slabs of cheese. Setting them down in front of Gilbert, he turned around and grabbed two mugs before pouring amber liquid out of a ceramic teapot from the stove.

“That’ll be 52 cents.” The man behind the counter said gruffly. Gilbert counted out some coins from his pocket and handed them to the bartender. With some difficulty, he managed to pick up both plates and mugs and brought them carefully over to the table where Anne still sat. Placing them as gently as he could on the table, Gilbert took his seat on the bench opposite Anne. She was looking at the table in a daze.

“Anne,” Gilbert said quietly. No response. He grabbed her hand and repeated her name. She gave a little start and looked at him.

“Please eat something.” Gilbert hurriedly took his hand off of hers, but still looked at her. She was starting to really scare him. She gave a small nod and picked up the piece of bread, tearing small chunks off to eat slowly. Gilbert took a sip of his tea and put it down.

He cleared his throat. “So, uh… what are you doing in Charlottetown?”

Anne looked up at him miserably.

You’ve upset her even more, idiot.

Seeing her expression, Gilbert began speaking again quickly. “You don’t have to tell me. I just—”

“No,” Anne interrupted quietly. “No, it’s alright. I probably need to get it off my chest anyway.” She let out a small humorless laugh. Gilbert’s eyebrows frowned in concern. They sat in silence for a moment before she took a shaky, but deep, breath.

“We might have to sell Green Gables.” She said softly. “Horrible things have happened.” He nodded and waited for her to elaborate.

“Our main crop export went down with a ship in the Atlantic. It was how we were going to pay for, well, everything from this year. Matthew had found out about this and went to the bank and mortgaged Green Gables to be able to afford all of our debt. Then, he...he…” A tear rolled down her cheek. “Marilla and he were arguing over the books. And he just fell down. And wouldn’t wake up.” She wiped the tear away and shook her head. “The doctor said he had a heart attack. Apparently, Matthew was very lucky he didn’t d—” She took a deep breath, unable to complete her sentence, before continuing. “The doctor told us that he wouldn’t be well enough to work our land for months.”

“Oh, Anne…”

“Marilla and I decided to take matters into our own hands. We are, after all, as capable of dealing with finances as a man.” She lifted her head slightly and said this with more strength in her voice. Gilbert gave her a small smile.

“When we went to the bank and they found out that Matthew had fallen...ill, they decided to recall the new loan.” She hiccupped. “That evil, selfish worm of a banker said that their investment was in Matthew, and now that he was incapacitated, the loan needs to be repaid by the end of the month. And the money is all spent, it’s gone. So…” She lifted her hands helplessly. “I’m here. Trying to sell what we can to save our home.”

“Anne, I’m so sorry.” Gilbert felt he was at a loss. A moment of silence went by.

“ Every moment of light and dark is a miracle, ” Anne responded solemnly.

“‘Leaves of Grass.’” Gilbert couldn’t help but smile at her. “My dad loved Whitman.”

“His poems are so tragically hopeful.” Anne sighed. “The words seem to peer into your soul and draw out its deepest truths and desires.”

Gilbert nodded, trying to swallow the lump in his throat before speaking again. He was amazed at her resonant, beautiful way with words.

“I’m sorry, I’ve made this all about me,” Anne said quickly. She inhaled sharply and her face turned pink.

It took Gilbert a moment to realize why she was blushing. He cringed as he remembered his voice.

And why is this about you?

“No, no, I asked. And I care about your life and…” Gilbert cleared his throat. “And the Cuthberts have been nothing but kind to me. I like knowing what’s going on back in Avonlea.”

Anne nodded with a hint of a smile. “So, you like working on the docks?”

“It’s a means to an end.” He paused, hesitating. “I hope to get hired on a steamer soon.”

Anne was looking at him, listening with her arms folded. Sincerity filled her face and he realized that he had no doubt that she genuinely cared about what he had to say.

“May I ask,” She began. “What about your farm?”

Gilbert was surprised that he didn’t feel the usual rush of defensive anger at this question. Perhaps it was because he was sure that she had no ulterior motives.

“I don’t have to decide right now. I want to see some of the world first.” Gilbert thought for a second. “If I come back to Avonlea… I want it to be my choice, not an obligation. It’s what my dad would’ve wanted.”

She gave him a sad smile.

Is she sad that I’m leaving?

Immediately, he pushed that silly thought out of his head.

“Anne, I’m really sorry to hear about Mr. Cuthbert taking sick and all those troubles.”

She sighed. “It still seems unreal. Even though I just sold all our… Everything. But, thank you.” She flashed him another sad smile.

“He’s a good man,” Gilbert responded. “He offered to help me with my land come spring.”

Anne grinned wider, the traces of sadness disappearing. “I love him with all my heart.”

Gilbert grinned back, enamored at her honest affection for her adopted father.

“I don’t know what I’d do if…” Her voice trailed off and the brief look of joy slid off her face. A moment passed.

“I owe you an apology.” She blurted out suddenly.

“No, you don’t,” Gilbert responded emphatically. It was only then that he realized he had completely forgiven her and how grateful he was that we had gotten to see her again.

“Yes, I do.” Anne insisted.

“I should apologize to you.” He countered.

“No, you shouldn’t.”

“I was rude.”

“But it was my fault.”

“Can we,” Gilbert started, slightly frustrated, “ please not argue for once?”

Anne held firm and answered in kind. “Can you stop contradicting me?”

Even when she was apologetic, she was stubborn. Gilbert smirked against his better judgment, acknowledging his defeat.

“Gilbert…” Anne began, her voice filled with emotion. “I am very sorry that I wasn’t more sensitive about your father, and what losing him really meant for you.”

Gilbert took a moment, absorbing her meaningful words.

“It’s water under the bridge.” He gave her a small smile.

“I know so much more now than I did then.” She took a beat and sighed. “Anyway…”

“Anyway…” His repetition trailed off. Gilbert and Anne locked eyes. For a few seconds, neither of them managed to break the contact between their stares.

“I should…” Gilbert coughed. “I should go. Work.” She gave a little start and nodded. They both rose from their seats and began to button their coats. They walked out into the cold. Snow had begun to fall, but Gilbert didn’t mind the end of the brief moment of warmth. He started to put on his work gloves.

“I’ve missed you,” Anne said softly.

Gilbert’s stomach swooped. “Yeah?” He looked her up and down flirtatiously.

“At school.” She rushed. “There’s no one to compete with.”

“You want to spell out a few words for old time’s sake?” Gilbert asked cheekily.

His heart warmed as she laughed.

“How about...truce?” Anne extended her hand.

Gilbert reached out and shook it. “T-R-U-C-E.” There was a brief moment when neither of them let go of the other’s hand and his heart began to race.

“Moody would’ve gotten that wrong.” He laughed, partially to hide the slightly flustered expression that he had felt materialize on his face.

She laughed along easily. “He would’ve!” He grinned at her before turning to pick up the wooden box of tools.

“Get away from her!” Someone shoved him, hard.

“Woah, back off!” Gilbert exclaimed as he stumbled back. Anne stopped him from falling to the ground and she took his arm, pushing him behind her protectively.

“Stop, Jerry! Stop! Stop! I-I-I know him.” Anne called out, alarmed. Gilbert heard a sharp intake of breath. “Jerry, what happened to you? Are you all right?” Her tone had turned panicked. Gilbert looked at the face of the boy who had pushed him. His face was bruised and scraped — it looked like someone had mugged him. He felt a rush of shame at the jealousy that had reared its head inside him at the sound of Anne being concerned for another boy.

“I’m fine.” The boy muttered.

Anne sighed, grabbing a hold of the boy’s, no, Jerry’s arm. “Come here, come here.” She guided him to a bench and gently told him to sit down.

The boy slumped down, his head hung in shame.

“Okay, what happened?” Anne asked, worry filling her voice.

“I’m so sorry. They took it.” The boy seemed like he was about to cry. “The money. Bad guys took the money.” He took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry.”

Anne looked at him with sympathy. “We need to get you to Miss Barry’s.”

“I don’t like the city.” Jerry shook his head at Anne before looking up at Gilbert. “I remember you now from the big fire.”

Realization dawned on Gilbert. The small French boy who had yelled that Anne was alright. He stood up from the wooden bench and extended his hand. “I-I’m Jerry.”

Gilbert took his hand and nodded. “Gilbert.” His eyes lingered on Jerry’s swollen face before he looked back at Anne.

“Need my help with anything? Anything I can do?”

Anne looked at him with a soft expression. “Just, take care of yourself.” She took a deep breath. “Come home someday.”

“Yeah.” Gilbert nodded, ignoring the sadness that had begun to fill him at the thought of not seeing her for a long time. “Hope everything works out.”

“For you, too.” She replied earnestly. Color had returned to her face, complementing the vibrant auburn of her hair. Her eyes were so sincere and full of emotion, he couldn’t be the one to look away first. He was surprised at how long she was looking back at him, wondering if she was thinking about them embracing, their faces so close that their noses were touching—

“ Au revoir. ” Jerry’s blunt goodbye knocked Gilbert out of his reverie. He shot Jerry a dirty look before picking his things up off the ground, giving Anne a half-hearted smile.

“Ah, yes. Bye.” He said lamely, walking backward for a moment to keep looking at her.

“Bye.” She breathed, barely a whisper. He turned around and walked away, wishing that Jerry had not shown up at all.

Chapter 7: I Tramp A Perpetual Journey

Chapter Text

“Feed the lady, Trinidad! No one payin’ you to take a vacation!”

Gilbert looked up from shoveling coal. The fireman was yelling...again. Despite the fact that he had to work in the same dirty, hot boiler room as the rest of them, he was the boss over the trimmers down in the belly of the S.S. Primrose. And he definitely took advantage of his small claim to power. The fireman seemed to have it out for this specific man, who got yelled at more often than anyone. He called him “Trinidad,” but Gilbert had heard his name being called by some of their fellow trimmers — Bash. Gilbert felt sympathy toward Bash, who had stopped for one moment to wipe some of the sweat from his forehead.

He looked around at his fellow trimmers, all following the repetitive motions of scooping coal, shoveling it into the furnace, and back again. It created a sort of rhythm that reminded him of bailing hay at harvest. Without thinking, Gilbert began to loudly sing one of the harvest songs from his childhood.

“Oh, when I was a little boy

My mother often told me

Way haul away

Haul away, Joe…”

As he sang, he walked jovially to another furnace door. Bash followed him quickly with his wheelbarrow of coal.

“Don’t make that man vex.” After a pause of consideration, Bash added, “Or me.” Bash’s accent, even when cross, was melodic. It went up and down like the swells of waves in the Atlantic.

Gilbert smiled and shook his head, beginning to shovel once more and sing even louder.

“And if I never kiss the girls

My lips would grow all mo—”

“Ain’t funny.” Bash said, pausing to give Gilbert a dirty look before throwing another shovel full of coal into the furnace.

Gilbert stood up straight and looked at him. “I wasn’t trying to be funny.” After thinking for a second, he chuckled. “Well… maybe a little.”

The fireman yelled from across the room. “Maybe you boys want some different job?! That what you want?”

Bash looked up, frightened. “Sorry, sir!”

“Sometimes the music in my soul just needs to come out,” Gilbert called back cheekily.

This did not seem to appease the fireman. “You want the slit trench? That suit you better?”

Gilbert was laughing, reminded of better times when he and his father would call out teases and sarcastic insults to each other to pass the time as they worked out in the fields.

“We’re good, sir!” Bash shot a dirty look at Gilbert. “Everything fine.” He picked up his shovel and walked back over to the boiler the fireman was tending. “Coming to you, sir!”

Gilbert picked up the handles of the wheelbarrow and called out. “I suspect latrine duty would be particularly repugnant.”

Bash took a step forward as Gilbert poured the coal onto the ground. “Don’t act dotish now.” He warned.

“What’s that? You want no job? That it?” The fireman looked between the two of them angrily.

Bash replied quickly. “We goin’ real good, sir. We does like to make she go. This work be a privilege.”

The fireman looked Gilbert in the eye. “No more jawin’.”

Gilbert nodded and looked down at the coal as he shoveled with more intensity than he had before. He hummed the rest of his shift, earning many dirty looks from Bash.

Gilbert sang to himself as he got settled into his hammock. “And if I did not kiss the girl...My lips would grow all moldy, Way haul away, Haul away, Joe.”

Bash hissed from his own hammock across the aisle. “Two days of this? Fireman’s not the only one who don’t appreciate that song.”

“I was just joking around,” Gilbert replied defensively.

“Well, don’t.” Bash took off his work boots, laying them carefully beneath the hammock.

“You’re right, you’re right.” Gilbert relented. “Fireman is an easy target.”

Bash sat still for a moment before looking back at him. “That’s not why.”

Gilbert tilted his head. “What’s eating you?”

Bash looked ahead, avoiding Gilbert’s gaze. “I been trimmer for 10 years. More.” Finally, he looked Gilbert in the eye, serious. “This is all I have.”

“I can’t move up, this is it for me. And there ain’t nothin’ for me on dry land — You’re a white boy… you got options. You’re a tourist, Blythe. I need this. Don’t lose this work for me. Understand?”

“Yeah.” Gilbert nodded, feeling foolish. “Yeah, I’m sorry.” He laid back in his hammock, not being able to look Bash in the eye. Gilbert was one of the few white boys who worked down in the furnace — everyone else was black. He hadn’t even considered the possibility of the ship being their home, not having anywhere or anyone to go to onshore.

After a minute, Bash called out. “And you don’t sing worth a damn.”

Gilbert shook his head, smiling, and sat up. “Says you!”

They both laughed and Gilbert felt the tension in his body release. Maybe he could have a friend on this ship after all.

The next day before his shift began, Gilbert snuck up the stairs to the main deck. He hadn’t breathed fresh air in over five days and felt that he might combust if he didn’t for any longer. Slowly opening the door, he gasped quietly. The wind felt amazing and the smell of the ocean was just as fresh and thrilling as ever. He walked over to the railing and put his hands on it, looking out over the vast blue expanse. Somewhere across this ocean was the Statue of Liberty, the Ivory Coast, Europe. He wanted to go everywhere that the sea could take him.

Suddenly, his thoughts betrayed him.

Prince Edward Island is across this ocean. Avonlea is across this ocean…

...Anne is across this ocean.

Gilbert shook his head. He was trying to not think about her. In fact, he was angry at her. He wanted to see the world without a thought of responsibility, his only worries being the Fireman and his stomach’s handling of foreign delicacies. Yet, at the most inopportune times, thoughts of her and those eyes the color of the shallows in Jamaica would drift through his mind and he would feel...homesick. The simultaneous desires of traveling the entire world and being back in Avonlea waged war in his mind. Home, with its sweet smell of apple and pine. Home, where he could walk through a meadow holding hands with a girl, her red hair loose around her shoulders…

Stop.

He could not create this false, idyllic image of what home was. If he returned to Avonlea, he would be met with the same problems, the same empty house, the same beautifully strange girl who hated him. He didn’t know what he wanted to be in the distant future — he just wanted to exist and experience the world around him. This journey was a salve to his soul, healing him from the worries of being an orphan. It wasn’t so lonely to not have a family when everyone around you didn’t either. That shared experience — it created an unspoken brotherhood between the working men in the belly of the S.S. Primrose.

Gilbert eagerly stepped off of the skiff onto the dock. They had finally landed in the City of Port of Spain. He heard music made up of wonderful rhythmic drums and melodic voices like Bash. He stared at the capital city, his eyes squinting in the glaring sun. Gilbert laughed in awe, taking in the green mountains, the beautiful brick buildings with white trim, and the delicious, foreign smells.

“Boy, stop skylarkin’,” Bash called from the skiff. Gilbert turned around, realizing that they were meant to be carrying barrels to the port master. He rushed over to Bash, who handed Gilbert a barrel before grabbing his own and placing it on the dock.

“Wow, this place looks amazing!” Gilbert said enthusiastically.

Bash chuckled. “Just the beginning, my friend.”

Gilbert glanced at Bash, surprised to see the frown on his friend’s face. “You look underwhelmed.”

“What you want me to do, dance?”

“It’s been two years.” Gilbert shrugged.

“Yes, I’m very happy to be home. But you?” Bash pointed at him. “You’ll cry when you have to leave. Trinidad will get into your soul.”

Gilbert nodded, grinning.

Bash leaned over to lift his barrel. “Now we have to get these barrels where they’re going.”

Gilbert followed in suit, only to lurch violently to the side. He looked around to see if anything had hit the dock. Seeing nothing, he picked up the barrel. To his embarrassment, his legs began to shake and he could not walk in a straight line.

The barrows of coal are heavier than this. What’s going on?

Bash looked over and grinned, putting his hand on Gilbert’s back for support. “Oh! Sea leg and seashore ain’t friend, you know.”

“I just need to…” Gilbert shifted the weight of the barrel in his arms. “Get my balance.”

Bash let him walk first, chuckling. “You need more than that with your mawga self. You catch a stiff wind, you’re gone.”

Slightly annoyed, Gilbert replied. “I’m not that skinny.”

“I’ll find you some good Trinidadian bush medicine.” Bash comforted.

They walked side by side, holding their barrels. The bustling market began a short walk from the dock, filled with exotic fruit, roasted meats, and steaming pots of stew.

“When I was a boy, I would come down here every day.” Bash said nostalgically.

Gilbert looked around at the many different types of people in the market. It seemed there was someone from every nation he’d ever heard of selling their wares, drinking jovially, singing freely.

“I had no idea such a place could exist,” Gilbert said in wonder.

“Bet you never thought you’d find yourself this far from…Hey, what the name again?”

“Avonlea,” Gilbert responded enthusiastically.

Bash continued his narration. “I used to shop here for my mom. Every ingredient she cooked with had to be fresh. Nothing stale in her kitchen.”

Gilbert’s stomach grumbled ravenously. “All these smells are making me hungry.”

“You have anything good to eat up on Prince Edward?”

They reached the wagon that was to carry off their barrels. Gilbert handed his barrel off to the man standing to receive the cargo. “I like potatoes.”

“C’mon, potatoes?” Bash seemed scandalized. “Give me something to work with here!”

Gilbert thought for a moment. “Well... Mrs. Kincannon would serve crab every once in a while.”

“Now we’re gettin’ somewhere! How’d she prepare it?”

“Boil it, I think. Add some salt.” Gilbert honestly had very little recollection of how she had cooked it.

“That’s it?” Bash shook his head in disbelief. “Crab with… salt?”

Gilbert felt slightly embarrassed. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing. Crab nice when you cook it up right.” Bash placated. “Like Mommy’s crab callaloo. Sunday food. She’d boil down a pile of dasheen leaves in coconut milk, throw in some onions, garlic, okra, a pigtail, and then the crab. Add a whole pimento pepper and let it simmer.”

Gilbert watched Bash as he animatedly described his mother’s cooking from his childhood.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a hot pepper in my life.”

“Yeah, you?” Bash snickered. “Your little dry-up body would go to war against itself!”

Shaking his head at Bash’s teasing, Gilbert laughed along. “I think I could handle it.”

As they walked further into town, Bash’s spirits seemed only to rise. He couldn’t help but reminisce and Gilbert loved to listen, marveling at how different the two of them had grown up.

“Mommy’d say, ‘Bash, come for a taste.’ I’d tip my head back and she’d feed me a spoonful.” He smiled wistfully. “I can almost taste it now, sliding down my throat like spicy green medicine.”

Gilbert’s stomach grumbled. “Sounds delicious.”

“Oh, it was. But it was always just the one taste.” Bash sighed. “Then she’d serve the family…and I’d be given the scraps that were left.”

“Why didn’t you eat with the family?” They slowed as they reached the main street.

Bash looked at a family walking down the street, the mother with a parasol and father with a top hat, the children dressed in lovely ruffled clothes, a pram being pushed by a black maid.

“It wasn’t my family.”

“Whose family was it?”

Bash paused. “The white people she worked for, Blythe.”

Gilbert looked down, blushing at his naivety. “I feel like an idiot. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. Still got more flavor from one spoonful every Sunday than you had in your whole life, from the sounds of it.” Bash bantered. “Crab with — here it comes — the secret ingredient: salt.”

They both burst into laughter, continuing their stroll down the street. They approached a hotel cafe, a gorgeous red dun mare tied in front.

“Oh, wow. What a beauty.” Gilbert rushed over to the horse and stroked her mane. “I used to ride one just like her.” He turned around and saw Bash was standing a fair distance away from Gilbert and the horse.

“Come on over here, Bash. She’s friendly.”

Bash remained standing where he was. “I have a thing about horses.”

An unfamiliar voice called out. “You, boy, since you’re already sniffing around my horse, go on to the stable and fetch her some feed.” A man in a beige seersucker suit and boater hat strolled over from one of the cafe tables.

With a start, Gilbert realized the man was not talking to him, but to Bash. If anyone had been “sniffing around the horse” it was himself, not his friend.

Bash stood up straight where he was and looked at the man in the eye, not saying a word.

The man chuckled. “Angling for a tip before the job’s even done?”

“I am not your boy. I am a free man, sir. Since 1834.” Bash’s voice was stern, but not angry. “I’m sure you can find assistance inside the hotel.”

Gilbert looked on, glancing between the man and Bash. What kind of pompous, entitled, presumptuous dough head would talk to anyone like that? They walked on, strolling past several storefronts. Gilbert looked back angrily at the cafe.

“That was messed up. He just assumed you were a servant.”

“Way things are. If we cried every time that happens, the whole of Trinidad would be flooded.”

Gilbert swallowed and nodded. He could not process the complete injustice of it all.

“Now let’s get us to a better neighborhood. You still need some medicine.” Bash said lightly, elbowing him. Gilbert forced a chuckle and followed his friend.

As they ambled through the winding streets of Port of Spain, Gilbert found himself complaining about his hunger more and more with each delicious smelling food stand they passed.

“Patience, boy. Don’t cry. Hold this for now.” Bash handed him an ovular fruit, the skin a gradation of yellow, red, and green. “It’s a mango. Prepare for an experience.”

Gilbert bit into it hungrily, surprised at the buttery texture, as he had been expecting the crisp crunch of an apple. The texture seemed to reflect in the taste as well, as the taste of the mango was sweet but softer and more complex than the clean sharpness of the harvest at Blythe orchard.

“It nice, eh? Don’t swallow the skin. Spit it out.” Bash warned.

Gilbert swallowed his entire bite. “If it’s not gonna kill me, why would I waste it?”

Bash shook his head and laughed, motioning for Gilbert to follow him as they walked on.

They turned onto a more private road that was only wide enough for one carriage. Gilbert looked around in wonder as the road was flanked by lush green jungle, made up of strange trees and fronds he had never seen before. As they walked further, a gorgeous yellow and white plantation-style house came into view.

“You traded this for a boiler room?” Gilbert marveled.

Bash’s voice was soft. “To trade, you have to have a choice.”

Suddenly, they both heard the sound of clopping hooves and chuffing horses approaching. Bash turned around in fear, pushing Gilbert into the jungle before following closely behind. They watched as two white men passed on horseback, riding toward the house. Bash held his finger up to his mouth and signaled Gilbert to follow him. They crept through the dense greenery until reaching the back of the house.

In the backyard, there was a stone patio with neat laundry lines and a table with silverware that had been sorted and wrapped in cloth napkins. Bash stood up straight and walked toward the patio. Gilbert realized there was a woman between the laundry lines, taking down linens to fold and press. They approached, Gilbert hesitantly walking a step behind Bash.

“Hi, Mom,” Bash called.

The woman turned around in surprise. “Sebastian!” She wiped her hands on her apron. “Boy, you trying to kill me?”

She walked closer, turning around to check the kitchen door. “Anybody see you?”

Bash shook his head.

“Come, come, come, come.” She extended her arms and Bash walked to her. She let out a sigh of relief as he hugged her as if she had been holding her breath since he had left and only now could breathe fully.

Gilbert watched the tender scene, his heart hurting. He was so happy for his friend, but the ache reminded him that he would never have this kind of reunion with his own mother. Bash’s mother opened her eyes as she was hugging him and locked eyes with Gilbert. She exclaimed softly under her breath.

“Who is this boy you bring here looking like a wet fowl?”

She called out to Gilbert. “What name they christen you?”

Gilbert gave a start and took off his cap, approaching her with caution. “Uh, Gilbert Blythe… ma’am.”

“Well, I never. You must be the first to ever call me ‘ma’am.’” Bash’s mother let out a laugh. “Where you from?”

“Prince Edward Island… Canada.”

She looked him up and down. “They don’t feed you on that boat, Gilbert Blythe?”

Gilbert looked at Bash, whose smirk was growing bigger by the second. “Sebastian has promised me the best in Trinidadian bush medicine?”

“I see.” She looked at Bash and patted his arm before bustling inside, chuckling as she went.

When she was out of sight, Gilbert said in his most serious voice. “Sebastian is so much more elegant than Bash.”

Bash turned. “Hush your mouth.” Gilbert began to snicker as Bash’s mother walked out with two dishes full of food.

“I just made it.” She said happily, setting the dishes down on the table. “My mind told me I might soon get to see my one son.” She placed both her hands on either side of Bash’s face, beaming at him. Gilbert sat down at the table eagerly, ready to finally eat.

A small white boy in a sailing outfit ran out of the kitchen into the backyard.

“Hazel!” She turned and smiled at the child, hefting him up and settling him on her hip.

The boy looked at Bash and pointed. “Is he stealing?”

“No, Doux-Doux. Remember Jesus say we have to help people. The men just hungry.” Bash’s mother’s voice was comforting, but it was different from before the child ran out. More forced, less warm.

Gilbert worriedly looked up at Bash.

“Okay, you have your food.” His mother continued in the odd voice.

Bash blinked in surprise. “Uh… we could come back tomorrow.”

“Nah, that is enough charity. If you come here again, you’re looking for trouble.” She turned around to go back into the house, still holding the boy. “Come, Doux-Doux.”

Bash stood there silently. Gilbert glanced at his food and then back to Bash, standing up slowly and feeling a combination of sympathy and awkwardness. He refused to meet Gilbert’s eyes as he turned around and grabbed the dish of food before heading back into the jungle. Gilbert grabbed his dish as well and followed Bash until they found a nice clear spot to sit. They sat down and began to eat in silence.

Wanting to break the tension, Gilbert picked up a slice of a star-shaped vegetable. “What’s this?”

Bash glanced over. “Okra.”

Gilbert popped it into his mouth and nodded in approval. “And, uh… what’s this?” He was holding up what looked like a flower stem or small weed.

“A stick of thyme. Seasoning. The ‘bush.’” Bash was speaking completely monotone, seemingly drained of any emotion.

“And uh… this?” He held up a lump of something.

Looking at what Gilbert was holding, Bash replied. “A cornmeal dumpling.”

“Hmm. Amazing. If this is medicine… I wish I was sick every single day.”

Bash looked at him as he took another bite. “Glad to see you’re enjoying the fruits of slave labor.”

Gilbert’s stomach dropped. He swallowed slowly. “I thought slavery ended here over 50 years ago.”

“My family never left that plantation. Not Granny… not Mom. She raised them children.” Bash looked at Gilbert with deep sorrow in his eyes. “I hardly know her.”

Gilbert put his dish down. He suddenly had lost his appetite.

By the time they returned to the ship, the sun had set. The whole walk back was done in silence, as Bash had seemed deep in thought and Gilbert hadn’t wanted to disturb him. They joined the rest of their crew in the large hall where their hammocks were hung. Gilbert climbed into his hammock and took off his boots, using his handkerchief to wipe the sweat off of his brow and neck. He was not used to the humid heat of the Caribbean. Across the aisle, Bash laid in his hammock staring at the ceiling.

Gilbert sighed. “Bash, do you wanna talk about it?”

Bash ignored him.

“Bash.” Another moment of silence passed. “I know you’re not asleep. Your eyes are open.”

It seemed to Gilbert that Bash always ended up joking about serious topics, maybe as a way to cope. Perhaps humor was the way to go to urge him out of his shell.

“Sebastian?” Gilbert grinned.

A man several hammocks down lifted his head. “Your born name is Sebastian? Sounds like you should own this boat. And here I thought Bash meant you like to rough a feller up. Good to know.”

Bash glared at Gilbert. “You have ruined my reputation. I could hit you two tap myself.”

The threat of being hit in the face brought back a strangely fond memory.

“There was this girl back in Avonlea.” Gilbert looked into the middle distance. “Anne.”

His heart began to beat faster just saying her name out loud.

“One time I called her ‘Carrots’ and she whacked me over the head.”

Bash nodded in approval. “I give her right on that.”

“She’s a redhead. Fiery temper.” Gilbert smiled, remembering his dad’s words.

Blythe men pick fiery women who keep them on their toes.

“She should’ve done more than whack you.”

“Wonder if I’ll ever see her again,” Gilbert said, more to himself than to anyone else.

Bash met his eyes. “How long you plannin’ to stay on this ship?”

“I don’t know. I want to go wherever the spirit moves me. That’s what my dad used to say.”

Bash looked back up at the ceiling. “I feel like we’ll be crackin’ coal forever. Like them pistons in the engine, always going and going and going nowhere… I’m trapped here.” He spit out those last words angrily.

Gilbert nodded and sighed. “I felt trapped in Avonlea. If I go back home, I may never be able to leave.”

The man on his row of hammocks lifted his head again. “Boy, you call that a problem?” He gestured his hands outward. “Some of us ain’t have no home.”

Oh.

Gilbert had found himself, once again that day, wanting to eat his words. So much of what he felt was a burden — the homestead, his land, the financial responsibility — was what many of his crewmates dreamed of. At least he knew that his mother and father had loved him, wanted him at home. They had even left him a legacy. And he had shrugged it off. There was so much that he took for granted about Avonlea. He recalled Bash's words from the week before.

You’re a white boy… you got options. You’re a tourist, Blythe. I need this. Don’t lose this work for me.

Even as these guilt-ridden thoughts plagued his mind, Gilbert felt a pit of anxiety in his stomach when he thought about the prospect of returning to Prince Edward Island. He rolled over, determined to only think of palm trees and white sand beaches as he fell asleep.

Chapter 8: But Where is What I Started For So Long Ago? And Why is it Yet Unfound?

Chapter Text

“Blythe!”

Gilbert turned around to see the Fireman walking toward him carrying a canvas sack. He wasn’t due for his shift for another two hours. If the boss wanted to talk to him outside of his shift, he figured it could only be bad news.

Ugh, what did I do this time?

Fireman dug through the sack until he got what he wanted — a slightly crushed envelope.

He extended it to Gilbert gruffly. “Mail came for you.”

Gilbert felt a wave of relief, followed instantly by extreme curiosity. He didn’t know anyone who would write him a letter, let alone find his location. He hesitantly reached out, took the letter, and looked for the return address. His stomach gave a massive swoop and he instantly felt his palms get sweaty. There on the envelope, it read in neat cursive:

Return: Anne Shirley-Cuthbert

Green Gables, Avonlea

Prince Edward Island

Dominion of Canada

To: Gilbert Blythe

℅ S.S. Primrose

Port of Call

Port of Spain, Trinidad

His mind went blank with shock.

Anne wrote to me?

Gilbert turned around and walked swiftly to his hammock. He tried to keep his face neutral, not wanting to draw any attention to himself. He sat down slowly and stared at the envelope once more, reading his name in her handwriting. She wrote her letters slightly at a slant with uneven loops. Her cursive created a sense of unique whimsy, accurately depicting the character of the writer.

His hands shaking slightly, he began to open the envelope as carefully as he could, not wanting to rip anywhere she had written. He slipped the piece of stationary out of its sheath, placing the envelope beside him on the hammock. Unfolding the paper slowly, he held it as if it were something valuable and delicate, lightly balancing it on his palms.

Dear Gilbert,

I hope this letter finds you well. I can imagine being on a ship is ever so thrilling. I often wonder where you are now and if you’re having many exciting seafaring adventures. I hope so.

Something astonishing has —

“Hmmm.” Bash had grabbed the envelope and was reading it, turning it over to admire the high-quality paper. Without looking up from the letter, Gilbert snatched it out of his friend’s hands. He could feel Bash looking at him.

“Fancy.” Bash noted with amusem*nt. Gilbert ignored him, not wanting to interrupt his reading. He began to read once more:

Something astonishing has happened here in Avonlea. Our boarder here at Green Gables, a geologist, has discovered that gold exists in the soils of Avonlea! Apparently we are all going to be wealthy from the discovery as soon as we get our soil tested and we start extracting it. There will be a gold mine and everything!

I’m writing to you specifically because there may be gold underneath your land and I don’t want you to miss out on the opportunity. The cost for testing the soil is substantial. $150.00. But Mr. Barry has offered financial assistance to those who need it. Would you like me to tell him that you would like to participate?

Please let me know at your earliest convenience.

Kind Regards,

Anne Shirley-Cuthbert

Bash called from his hammock across the aisle “So what it say?”

Gilbert reread the entire letter before answering. “There’s gold in Avonlea?”

Bash’s eyebrows shot up. “Gold?”

Before Gilbert could do anything, Bash was up and out of his hammock grabbing the letter out of Gilbert’s hand.

“Hey!”

Bash danced away, reading out loud. “‘Dear Gilbert, I can imagine being on a ship is ever so thrilling. ’” He wiggled his eyebrows at Gilbert.

“Give that back!”

Bash ignored him. “‘I often wonder where you are now and if you’re having many exciting seafaring adventures. I hope so.’ She wonder where you are, eh?”

“Bash!”

The man laughed, reading the rest of the letter to himself.

Bash exhaled dramatically. “Well, Blythe, it’s been a good run. I will miss your mawga self when you’re gone —”

“Woah, woah, woah.” Gilbert stood up, grabbing the letter out of Bash’s hands. “Who says I’m leaving?”

Bash looked at him and blinked. “What you mean? The only girl you ever talk about wrote you from across the world and tells you about gold on your land… and you thinking of not leaving?”

Gilbert huffed, folding the letter and putting it into the envelope before placing it gently in his carpet bag.

“This Anne — she the girl who whacked you in the head for being a moke ?”

“One and the same.” Gilbert sighed, climbing into his hammock and putting his hands behind his head.

Bash continued to look at him in disbelief. “And none of you wants to go home and see your girl?”

“She’s not my girl.”

Bash chuckled and held his hands up in defeat. “Okay, okay.”

Gilbert looked up at the ceiling, thoughts running through his head. His stomach felt sick from this disruption of his plans.

Why would she go through all that trouble just to write to me about this? She did say she thinks of me often… but that could’ve been just a polite greeting. And anyway, gold seems pretty far-fetched on PEI. And they haven’t even tested the soil. So it could be a huge waste of time.

After a while of bouncing thoughts of Anne’s motivations and the prospect of gold through his head, he shook himself.

If there is gold, it’ll be there whenever I want to go back. And the fact that she wrote to you doesn’t mean anything. We’re friends — she would do the same for anyone else.

Gilbert resigned himself to these thoughts, a feeling of hesitant ease settling over him. He chose to ignore the slight disappointment that hovered in the back of his mind and instead pulled out the letter from his bag to read again, letting himself enjoy the butterflies in his stomach that came from reading her words.

“Blythe, you ready?” Bash slid into the barstool before ordering. “One rum, one babash.”

Gilbert swallowed and nodded, trying his best to put on a brave face. He had admitted to Bash that he had never drunk alcohol and Bash practically dragged him to his favorite seaside bar, insisting that Trini rum was the best in the world.

The bartender slid them their glasses full of amber liquid. Bash raised his glass to Gilbert, who was bracing himself for his first sip. They put their glasses back at the same time. Gilbert coughed, his face scrunched together as the alcohol stung going down his throat.

“Ooh! Oof.” He squeezed his eyes closed before opening them to a smiling Bash. “You sure that’s not gonna kill you?” He gestured at Bash’s glass.

“No,” Bash replied happily. “That’s what makes it good. The danger. Got to taste death to feel alive, Blythe.”

Intrigued, Gilbert reached his hand out to grab Bash’s glass.

Bash withdrew his glass out of Gilbert’s reach. “Not for you, though, first-timer. Babash — local delicacy. You’ll be sprouting like a weed.” He chuckled as he took another sip of babash.

Gilbert smiled, shaking his head. “Man, seeing the world, trying new things. What could be better?”

“Gold.” Bash looked him straight in the eye. “Some girl tell you there might be gold on your land and you’d rather move coal.”

“I wouldn’t say that girl’s the most reliable narrator.” Gilbert looked down, laughing and shaking his head, remembering Anne’s passionate poetry readings and proclivity of long, dramatic words.

Bash kept looking at him. “You are crazy! If I had somebody pretty back home, gold or no, I’d be up outta here.”

Realizing he was still grinning from his memory of her, Gilbert collected his face into a hopefully neutral expression. “It’s not like that with Anne. She’s just a friend.”

Bash barked out a laugh. “Yeah, a friend that make you smile and act like a moke . Be a man.”

Gilbert raised his head and replied, jokingly defensive. “I am.”

“Only a boy can’t admit when he’s gone over a lady.” Bash pointed at him accusingly.

Gilbert desperately wanted to change the subject, as his feelings were too complex to think about on this beautiful day in the Caribbean.

“Would a boy stare danger right in the eye?” Gilbert smiled mischievously. “And swallow it?”

“Hey. No, no!” Bash’s warnings fell on deaf ears as Gilbert had grabbed the half-full glass of babash and swallowed it in one gulp.

It burned like rotten acid going down his throat. He let out several noises of disgust before feeling the liquid curdle in his stomach. He ran outside and vomited, clutching his stomach and groaning.

He felt Bash pat his back. “There there, doux-doux. You’re a man in truth.”

Bash went inside and grabbed their things, laying a few coins on the bar before returning to Gilbert.

“Come, come.” He put his arm around Gilbert’s shoulders and guided the sick boy away.

After a full day of queasiness, maddening teases from Bash, and an extraordinary sunset, Gilbert was ready to go to bed. Bash had collapsed in his hammock, falling asleep instantly. Despite his exhaustion, Gilbert could not relax. The words of Bash’s remarks echoed in his head. He realized, feeling rather stupid, that she had sent him that letter as a friend. And friends reply to friend’s letters.

Replying isn’t forward or suggestive of anything other than friendship. He thought to himself.

Gilbert sat up suddenly and pulled out his notebook and pencil. Carefully, he ripped out a sheet of paper and laid it on the notebook to bear down on. He sat there for a moment, pencil in hand, unclear on how to begin. He set his pencil down, writing the words “ Dear Anne .”

After five crumpled sheets of paper and lots of proofreading to ensure no spelling errors, Gilbert was satisfied. He read over the message once more.

Dear Anne,

It is very nice to hear from you. I never expected to receive a letter from you (or anybody) especially here in Port of Spain, Trinidad. You did some excellent sleuthing - thanks for finding me - you’d make a good detective. I am enjoying the seafaring life very much. My shipmate Sebastian was born and raised here on the island and has taken it upon himself to show me around. I have enjoyed meeting the locals and trying their foods. Other than that I have just been working hard.

The news of the gold is very exciting, I can only imagine the commotion it must have caused. Currently, I have no plans to return to Avonlea, even if there’s gold on my property. I figure it will still be there if and when I return. For now, my trip will continue indefinately. I would like to see you again someday but I can’t imagine it will be anytime soon. I hope you understand. As you know my father wanted me to see the world, and so… I am!

Please send my warmest regards to everyone in Avonlea.

Sincerely,

Gilbert Blythe

He nodded, then shrugged.

Good as it’s gonna get.

Gilbert gently folded the paper in three and put it in his carpet bag. He would grab an envelope from the ship commissary tomorrow. Laying back down, Gilbert finally felt the knot in his stomach loosen and promptly fell asleep.

The next day, Gilbert and Bash walked down the main street together, Gilbert clutching an envelope set for Green Gables in his hand.

“Make haste sending that love letter, Blythe.”

Gilbert scoffed. “It’s not a love letter.”

“Right. I forgot.” Bash joked.

“I’m serious. It’s not a love letter.”

They entered the small wooden building labeled “Port of Spain Post Office.” A polite-looking older man was standing behind the counter.

“Post to Prince Edward Island, Canada please.” Gilbert slid the envelope across the counter, blushing when he read "To: Miss Anne Shirley-Cuthbert" written in his handwriting. The man nodded.

“25 cents.”

Gilbert dug in his pocket, pulling out a quarter and setting it down on the counter. The man nodded again and grabbed the envelope, placing it in a cubby that read “Over 400 Miles.”

“Um, sir?” Gilbert asked hesitantly. “How long does international postage like this take to be delivered?”

The man shrugged. “Depends on the ships at port. Best guess, a month.”

“Thank you. Uh, thank you, sir.” Gilbert tipped his cap and walked out the door, Bash following close behind.

As they walked back out onto the street, Bash elbowed Gilbert. “How long they say till she gets your love letter?”

“It’s not a love letter.” Gilbert sighed. “Maybe a month?”

A woman’s scream pierced the air of the bustling market. Bash and Gilbert whipped around, looking wildly for where the sound came from.

“Ah! Please!” A very pregnant woman was laying on the ground, sobbing. Another woman stood over her in a doorway, dressed in a strange combination of clothes of a servant and those of a lady.

She pointed her finger at the screaming woman. “You, you don’t come back here again!”

“Please!” The pregnant woman cried harder. “No, plea— ”

The door slammed shut.

Gilbert and Bash ran to her, both leaning down to help her up.

“What’s wrong? What is it?” Bash asked the woman wildly. Gilbert looked down and saw the front of her skirt where her legs began to be soaked through.

“She’s in labor!” Gilbert said, panicking. He looked back at her face. “Miss, where’s your family?”

Her only response was a wail of pain.

Bash replied angrily. “She ain’t have one, and her brothel mother just threw her out!” He turned around and started pounding on the door. “Hey! Open this door! You can’t do this!”

Gilbert knelt on the ground to be at eye level with the woman. “Miss? Is a doctor on the way?”

She looked at him, not answering and fear in her eyes.

“Open this door!”

“Miss?”

With a cry, she pushed herself to her feet and began to stumble away, clutching her swollen belly.

“You can’t do this! Open the door!” Bash bellowed, knocking on the door with loud booms.

Gilbert looked helplessly between the woman staggering down the road and his friend attempting to get the brothel open. After a second’s deliberation, he ran after the woman.

He followed her down an alley into a small dirt courtyard.

“Miss?”

Gilbert saw her duck in a small thatched hut. He ran to the doorway, bending down to fit.

“Miss.” He took off his hat. She looked at him, sobbing and shaking her head.

“I know you must be scared.” She cried, holding her belly and trying to turn away from him.

“What’s your name?” He asked gently, taking a step inside the hut.

“Ru… Ruth.”

“Ruth, I’m Gilbert.”

She leaned forward, screaming as another contraction began.

The gravity of the situation began to sink in and Gilbert stood up straight. “Your waters have broken.”

“Yes!” She groaned in agony. Gilbert ran out of the hut and began to tear the linens off of a nearby clothesline.

Bash ran into the courtyard, panting. He looked back and forth, confused, between the hut and Gilbert.

He rushed over to Gilbert. “We have to get help.”

“No time. This is happening now.” Gilbert hurriedly folded up the linens. “I need your babash.”

Bash stared at him.

“I need to sterilize!” Gilbert urged.

“You crazy? You ain’t delivering that baby.” Bash was yelling. “What on the green earth makes you think you —?”

“I’ve done it before!”

“On a farm! Cows! This is different!”

“I know that!” Gilbert shouted in desperation. “You can go and find help, or you can help me in here.”

Bash blinked, stunned for a moment, before handing Gilbert his flask. Gilbert nodded and ducked into the hut. He hurriedly removed his bag, set down the linens, and took off his vest.

“What are you doing?!” Ruth cried.

Gilbert rolled up his sleeves.“Ruth, your baby’s coming now.”

Terror filled Ruth’s voice. “No. No, you stay away from me!”

Bash entered the hut, his hands raised in submission as he slowly approached Ruth. “We’re here to help.”

“You keep that white man away from me!!” Ruth was sobbing.

Gilbert’s heart broke at hearing how frightened she was of him. Unfortunately, he knew it must be a well-founded fear from her past experiences in the brothel.

“I know. This pasty fella trying to come at you?” Bash was trying to talk calmly. “I was not sure when I met him neither. He’ll talk your ear off and don’t know much about the world. But he knows birthing.”

Ruth’s cries were beginning to subside. Gilbert laid out a quilt from the clothesline on the ground.

“He’s my brother and I trust him.” Bash insisted. “If your baby’s comin’ he can’t leave you. I can go for help.”

“No!” Ruth reached and grabbed Bash’s arm. “No, no, no, no, no…”

Bash put his hand on top of hers. “We’re here for you, in truth, if you’ll have us.”

Another contraction began and Ruth cried out in pain, gripping Bash’s hand with a vice-like grip.

“Wh-what now, Blythe?” Bash looked alarmed. Gilbert’s mind went blank with panic. Ruth’s screaming became intense.

“Blythe!”

Gilbert thought about his father’s lessons, teaching him how to birth a calf.

What was the first step?

“Dilation! I need to see that her body is prepared. Help her down here!” Gilbert gestured to the quilt.

Bash put his arms around Ruth, lowering her gently onto the ground.

“Ruth, I’m gonna need you to lie down. Alright?” Gilbert poured the babash over his hands and arms. “Get behind her. Support her.” He ordered Bash, who immediately climbed behind Ruth. Bash sat down, letting her lean back into him. “Good.”

Ruth continued to sob, her breathing became labored. Gilbert knelt down, fighting the sheepish feeling that was coming over him. He grabbed the hem of her skirt.

“Begging your pardon, miss?” She looked at him and nodded.

He lifted her skirt to her knees, attempting to keep her as covered as possible. She appeared to be fully dilated to ten centimeters.

“Alright. It’s time. Alright, uh…” Gilbert overcame any sense of propriety he had and reached into the birth canal to find the baby’s head.

Gilbert’s stomach dropped and his heart began to race in fear. Instead of a head, he had found what was undeniably a tiny foot.

Noticing the alarmed expression on Gilbert’s face, Ruth cried. “What?! What is it?! What?!”

Gilbert opened his mouth and no words came out. He looked to Bash who gave him a nod of reassurance. Gilbert took a deep breath. “Your baby’s breech.”

Ruth sobbed, her hair plastered to her face with sweat. “What is that?!”

“It-it’s not in a deliverable position. I’m gonna need to adjust it.”

Gilbert felt her stomach, finding the small round bulge that was her baby’s head. He pushed tenderly onto the head, turning the tiny body so its head would be the first to come out. Ruth’s screams were more shrill and agonizing than any before.

“Hold onto me, Ruth!” Bash cried. Gilbert continued to press on her belly to rotate the baby.

Gilbert felt tears prick his eyes as he thought about the way his mother had died giving birth to a breech baby. Him.

“Ruth,” Gilbert said breathlessly, continuing his movements. “Ruth, do you want to know something? I was a breech baby, too! And… and I lived to tell the tale.”

She nodded, her cries slowing once more.

“He was in his mother just like your baby is in you now.” Bash gripped her hand. “Look at him! Strong, strapping lad. Well, he kind of skinny, but…”

Another scream of agony drowned out whatever else Bash was going to say about him. Gilbert determinedly pushed her stomach in strategic places, praying in his mind that this wouldn’t be like his own birth, that Ruth and her baby would live. After a few painful minutes of repetitive motion, Gilbert checked the birth canal again. He let out a sigh of relief and excitement as he felt a small round head.

“It’s moved! The baby is ready! You’ll have to start pushing now!”

Ruth shook her head, her face covered in sweat. “I can’t, I can’t! It hurts!”

“Yes, you can!”

“Push, Ruth. You’re doing so well!” Bash encouraged.

“Ready? Push!”

She yelled in pain but did as they told her.

“Push!”

She pushed again, this time Gilbert could see the baby crowning.

“Push!”

Her entire body was shaking with exhaustion. After five more pushes, Gilbert was supporting the baby’s entire head.

“Almost there. One more, one more! Push!”

Ruth gave all of her remaining energy into pushing that one last time.

To Gilbert, time seemed to slow down. He caught the tiny body in his hands, quickly wiping off its nose to expel any excess mucus or amniotic fluid. And then, the most magical sound.

The baby began to cry.

Gilbert exhaled in relief, grabbing one of the linens to wrap up the beautiful newborn baby girl. He held her out to Ruth, whose face had transformed into one of pure joy. She gasped as she took her baby girl from Gilbert’s hands, looking at its face with the utmost adoration. Gilbert’s tears were falling freely as he marveled in awe at the beautiful scene of the mother and daughter.

Bash rubbed his hands up and down Ruth’s arms. “You see that face? She’s beautiful.”

Ruth looked up at Gilbert, tears of happiness welling in her eyes. “Thank you.”

Gilbert laughed in elation. He had never felt this much emotion. Wiping his hands on a piece of linen, he shook his head at the overwhelming feeling of humility, gratitude, and fulfillment that had settled over him. The cavernous hole in his chest that was left by his father was no longer aching. In fact, it felt as though it had been filled.

At that moment, everything clicked into place. He didn’t feel like pushing off thinking about the future or abandoning his responsibilities. The meandering road he had felt lost on had suddenly turned into a straight path with a clear destination. Gilbert knew he wanted to help people, to heal people, to give them the chance at life, for the rest of his days.

“Come on, change, boys!” The fireman called. Bash set his wheelbarrow down, taking a deep breath. Gilbert walked over to him, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief.

Bash hit Gilbert’s arm. “Wouldn’t mind having one of those. A strugglin’, wailin’ little fella. Throw the ball with. Bouff when he backchats.”

Gilbert smiled, imagining tiny versions of Bash running around in their rompers, giggling and getting into mischief. “I could see that for you.”

“Got no way to raise him up right.” Bash sighed. “You need land for that.”

They reached the water barrels and each took a turn sipping from the ladle of the drinking barrel and rinsing their arms in the washing barrel.

“What kind of strange child were you anyway, Blythe?” Bash teased. “Needing to know about your own breech birth.”

Gilbert felt a pit in his stomach. He never liked talking about his mom, it always brought about waves of sadness and guilt.

“I didn’t want to know about my birth. I wanted to know about my mother.” Gilbert set down the ladle. “So I asked my father.”

Bash tilted his head, confused.

“She died giving birth to me.” Gilbert ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously.

“Sorry. My brain is slow.” Bash said softly, rubbing the back of his neck in turn.

“That’s alright.” Gilbert let out a small laugh. “Didn’t want Ruth to know that part.”

Bash nodded and looked down.

Gilbert shook his head. “I don’t want to be a farmer.”

“You said that before. Now you’re sure?”

He nodded confidently.

“Guess there’s other things calling out to you. Eh… Doc?”

They both chuckled and Gilbert smiled, excited about what the future held for the first time in his life.

Chapter 9: Henceforth I Ask Not Good Fortune. I Myself Am Good Fortune

Chapter Text

“Psssst.” Gilbert hissed at Bash from across the aisle. “Bash, are you awake?”

Bash’s head popped up from the side of his hammock, exaggerated annoyance on his face. “What is it now, Blythe?”

“Bash, I have an idea.”

“An idea, eh? Is it to stop being a moke and go kiss your girl back ho—”

“No!” Gilbert said forcefully. “I mean kind of. The going home part! Not the… kissing.”

Bash laughed. “Okay, I’m listening. You want to go home? To Avonlea?”

“Want is a strong word…” Despite Gilbert’s doubtless desire to go to medical school, his feelings about returning to the Blythe family homestead were, at best, mixed. “But need is another word completely.”

Bash tilted his head, waiting for more of an explanation.

“Bash, do you want off this ship?”

Bash’s eyes grew wide. “Don’t be dotish now. You can’t be pulling my leg about this sorta thing.”

“I’m not.” Gilbert was sincere but very nervous. He let the words rush out of him. “I do not want to return to an empty house and the land is far too much for me to tend alone while I save up for medical school. So, I was thinking… you could come live with me? On Prince Edward Island? We could be...business partners. Equals. And you could have land! So little monstrous versions of you can run around the orchard someday. We could even save up to test our soil for gold! The winters are pretty cold, especially for you who thinks of our highest temperatures as your lowest. You’d have to help tend the land and it won’t be the easiest to get the farm back up and running…”

Gilbert trailed off as Bash had leaped out of his hammock and began to woop, dancing toward Gilbert.

“Blythe, you gotta be serious right now.” Bash sang. “This your last chance to fess up before I lock you in the latrine after a bouff to the head.”

“I’m being completely serious.” Gilbert couldn’t help laughing at the absurdness of Bash’s movements.

He shimmied to Gilbert’s hammock and grabbed him, planting a dramatic kiss on the crown of Gilbert’s head. Gilbert smacked him away, but the touch didn’t even register with Bash.

“Then, my brother,” Bash grinned. “I will swim all the way to Canada from here.”

Gilbert stood on the top deck and looked out over the ocean.

I’m coming home, Dad.

He breathed in the fresh ocean air, trying to ground himself. He couldn’t bear to crush Bash’s excitement, but Gilbert had been feeling very nervous ever since they had decided to go to Avonlea. He wasn’t sure how far behind he was in school or how people would treat him now that his father’s death was further in the past. He hoped the citizens of Avonlea would be kind to Bash, welcoming him with open arms. But, he wasn’t sure.

And then, there was the Anne problem. Gilbert had stopped trying to suppress his nerves and excitement about seeing her again, figuring that was only counterproductive. At this point, he had no idea how she felt about him and what it would be like when he returned.

But he also knew one thing: he was a man now, no matter what Bash said. And men pursued girls they lov-liked. He had made the decision to quietly stop being a moke and not hide his feelings around her. Of course, he didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable, but he did want her to see more of how he felt. The decision felt easier once he had experienced Trinidad. After seeing the heartbreak of his friend as the result of a mother’s fleeting love, after helping bring a new life into this world while saving another’s? The scale of life’s problems became much sharper and in focus.

It was easy to be proud of himself for making that decision until he thought about the reality of being less than a week away from docking in Charlottetown. Then, he felt as if he had just chugged a glass of babash.

“What of you? I like our change of plans, Doc.” Bash, covered in soot, walked casually up to Gilbert, leaning his arms on the ship’s railing. “Canada. Excited to go.”

Not wanting to go into his confounded emotions about returning to Canada, Gilbert changed the subject. “You’re daring, coming to this level of the deck. Fireman hears about you coming up here, you can expect trouble.”

Bash’s smile remained. “I can live down trouble.”

Gilbert scoffed.

Bash continued, looking over the horizon. “I want to see where I’m headed for once. Feel the wind on my face. Avonlea ahead of me.”

Gilbert took a deep breath, willing the nausea that came over him at the mention of Avonlea to go away.

His friend remained looking out at sea, meditative. “Ten years on this ship humpin’ coal. I earned this.”

“Besides,” Bash’s tone changed to joking. “What they gonna do? Sack me? Toss me overboard? Worst-case scenario, I get the latrine.”

Slightly forcing his laugh, Gilbert replied. “If my choices were that or latrine duty, I might take my chances with the Atlantic.”

“Choices.” Bash returned to his contemplative stare at the sea. “I like that word.”

He looked at Gilbert, eyes shining. “Things are going to change startin’ right now.”

“Yeah.”

Gilbert ruminated on this concept Bash spoke of: choices and change. And he realized that Avonlea would treat him only as good as he allowed himself to be treated. Things were going to be different. His best friend, his brother, would be with him every step of the way. He was going to choose to go after things in his future — medical school, Anne. And it wouldn’t be easy, but he could choose to do it. The possibilities of what laid ahead didn’t have to be amorphous and overwhelming; they could be clear and exciting because he could choose his destination. Hope began to lift Gilbert’s spirits as he returned downstairs, due for his shift in the next hour.

Bash never came to the boiler room for their shift. Gilbert knew this could only mean one thing — Fireman had caught Bash on the upper deck. Cursing under his breath, Gilbert began to break up and shovel coal by himself, feeling lonely without his best friend beside him.

Gilbert walked back to the hammocks, exhausted due to the hours of tiresome manual labor. After staring into space for an unknown amount of time, he smelled Bash before he heard him. He looked over to the man who was covered in muck.

Gilbert sat up with an amused smile. “How was latrine duty, dear?”

“Boy, haul you tail.” Without warning, Bash threw his shirt at Gilbert. It landed right on his chest, smelling absolutely foul and sulfuric.

“Ugh!” Gilbert let out a noise of disgust before throwing the shirt back angrily. He felt the smell stay on him despite the shirt being away. “Bleh!”

“Still worth it.” Bash laughed at Gilbert. “Have to make that hay while the sun shine. Ain’t that what you farm boys say?”

“You know what else they say? Don’t put the cart before the horse.” Gilbert retorted. “This is gonna be a long few days.”

“Lucky for me,” Bash began, stripping to his underthings. “I can’t smell it anymore.” He chuckled as Gilbert continued to wrinkle his nose at the stench.

After three days of working without Bash, Gilbert had determined he was not willing to spend any more shifts alone for the remaining time he had on the S.S. Primrose. Knowing that Bash had been punished for the rest of the trip to Charlottetown, he decided the only way to have his best friend’s company was to do something annoying enough to get assigned latrine duty.

Before they left Trinidad, Bash had insisted they go to the market and buy fresh spices.

“You can’t live with salt as the only flavor you taste, Blythe.” Bash had teased. They had picked several glass vials of different herbs and spices, including curry, paprika, thyme, and allspice.

As Gilbert got ready for his shift, he slipped one of the vials of thyme into his pocket. He then walked to the boiler room with the rest of his crew of trimmers. After a few minutes of quiet shoveling, Gilbert began to sing as loud as he could.

“Oh, when I was a little boy

My mother often told me

Way haul away

Haul away, Joe…”

“BLYTHE!”

Gilbert secretly smiled and walked over to where the fireman stood at the boiler.

“I warned you about your singin’,” Fireman growled. “Latrine! Until next port.”

“Yes, sir,” Gilbert replied solemnly, trying to keep his look of satisfaction subtle.

He walked to the latrine, entering quietly so he could try and scare Bash. Unfortunately, his plan failed after two steps in the door as the smell was overpowering.

“Oh! Ugh.” Gilbert held his hand up to his nose, trying to avoid the stench.

Bash turned around and laughed. “Boy, what you doing here?”

Gilbert tried to hold his breath while he replied. “Fireman sure hates my singing.”

“You got yourself in trouble so you could come help me?” Only Bash’s eyes were visible, as he had a handkerchief tied around the lower half of his face. Despite that, Gilbert could tell he was grinning.

“Here. Hurry.” Gilbert walked quickly over to Bash, pulling out his vial of thyme. “Put some of this under your nose. It’ll help the smell.”

Bash held his hands up, afraid to touch the herb because of his already muck-covered hands.

“Allow me.” Gilbert chuckled, dipping his pinky into the vial and patting the thyme onto Bash’s upper lip. “One of our neighbors back home is a pig farmer.”

Bash’s eyes lit up in recognition. “Thyme! Trinidadian bush medicine? Nice trick, Doc.”

Gilbert nodded and smiled as he applied his own bush medicine under his nose. “Self-preservation.”

“We have a saying: ‘This plant don’t ask to grow.’ Thyme’s hardy, yeah? Doesn’t need minding. Grows where other plants cannot. Hopefully like me, in Avonlea.”

Leaning on the handle of his shovel, Gilbert looked at Bash. “Two more days. Still worth it?”

Bash met his eyes, jokingly annoyed. “Get to work.”

The next two days passed impossibly fast. Gilbert was already packed — he had brought so little that he always kept his carpet bag full with all of his belongings. Bash had been awake the whole night before they set anchor in Charlottetown.

“Remember it’s gonna be cold,” Gilbert warned as they walked up the steps to the deck of the S.S. Primrose for the last time. “Is that all you have to wear?”

Bash stared at Gilbert. “Blythe, I’m wearin’ all the clothes I own. There’s no use for that,” He flicked Gilbert’s scarf playfully. “For an islander.”

“Hey, I’m an islander too.” Gilbert pretended to be offended. “Sorry if we don’t have palm trees, oceans as warm as bathwater, white sand beaches…”

Shoving him up the rest of the stairs, Bash laughed freely.

As they stepped onto the dock, Gilbert couldn’t help but notice the similarities between this and their arrival in Trinidad, just with their roles reversed. Bash was quick to jump out of the skiff, taking in the bustle of Charlottetown. Gilbert, on the other hand, got out with reluctance before immediately trudging along toward the train station, knowing Bash would catch up.

Bash stared out the windows of the train watching the black and white blur of the winter landscape pass them. Gilbert looked down at his hands the entire ride to Bright River, only then remembering that his father had died almost a full year before. He thought of the horror he felt that day seeing his father’s lifeless body, the overwhelming sorrow, the tears that would come randomly.

“Blythe.” Gilbert looked up, startled. “You ok?”

Gilbert forced a smile. “Yeah. Just tired.”

They arrived in Bright River and promptly found a carriage to drive them to Avonlea. The entire ride was silent, but not unpleasant. Bash continually blew hot air into his hands and rubbed them together. Gilbert was reminded of that feeling when he had returned home from Alberta, the strange wonder of how things keep happening in a place, even when you leave.

They pulled up to the Blythe homestead and Gilbert handed their driver some coins.

“Thank you.” The driver gave a small nod and flicked the reins, driving away. He and Bash stood in a foot of snow, staring at the house. An unexpected feeling of comfort and nostalgia came over Gilbert as he looked at the home he had grown up in. That feeling was snuffed out when he looked over at the small family graveyard. He stared at it, the white of his father’s headstone already slightly dinghy. Gilbert waited until he was sure he could talk without giving away his strong emotions.

He looked over at Bash. The poor man, in his threadbare clothes, was standing with his hands in his pockets, shivering. Gilbert chuckled and put an arm around Bash’s shoulders, guiding him through the front yard toward the door.

“Welcome home.”

Bash replied through chattering teeth. “Welcome home to you too.”

Chapter 10: Who Troubles Himself About His Ornaments or Fluency is Lost

Chapter Text

The soft morning light of winter filtered through Gilbert’s window. He rolled over and stretched. Opening his eyes, he jolted upright. He was not in his hammock on the S.S. Primrose, he was in his bed in Avonlea. And he was going back to school today.

Anne will be at school.

His stomach seemed to wrap around itself with anxiety. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he stepped onto the cold wooden floor. Immediately, Gilbert began to shiver. The months of no heating in the house made for a rather frigid environment. He got dressed putting on clothes that had remained home during his travels. Even these were freezing — Gilbert rubbed his hands together and tried to warm his arms as he stomped down the stairs. Automatically, he went to the cupboard to get out bread for toast and was startled to find it empty.

Guess that means no breakfast.

Sighing, he walked over to his school bag and ensured his materials were packed. He was sure he would need to buy several new books to catch up, but hopefully, Mr. Phillips would help him with that. Donning his winter coat and scarf, he slung his bag over his shoulder and walked out the door.

The air was particularly cutting, his lungs searing with every inhale. He walked on the path in the woods, heart pounding with every step. No one was expecting him, why was he even going today?

He stopped at the thought. After a moment’s consideration, he began to walk again. The only thing that sounded worse than going to school and seeing Anne was not going at all.

The rustic white building soon came into view. Gilbert stomped his boots on the top step, ridding them of all the icy sludge that had accumulated in his treads from the muddy walk. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door.

Gilbert tried to walk in as casually as possible, acting as though he had been coming every day that school year. He gathered his winter coat and scarf to hang them on the hooks in the coatroom and took out all of his materials from his bag.

“Gilbert?!”

He raised his head at the sound of his name only to see Moody and Charlie barreling towards him.

“We didn’t think you were ever coming back!”

“How was working on a ship?”

“Did you ever see pirates?”

“What ports did you go to?”

“I can’t believe you’re back!”

The flurry of questions caught Gilbert off guard and he laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. The commotion had also caught everyone’s attention and he found himself being pushed forward, all of the boys circling him. He was startled at slight changes in the appearances of his classmates. Moody’s round face had begun to slim. Charlie and — was that Cole Mackenzie? — looked as though they had been stretched vertically, each of them having grown a foot since last he saw them. Billy was virtually the same, perhaps having a slightly more defined jawline.

“Okay, okay.” Gilbert chuckled, his heart warming to his eager interrogators. “One at a time, please.”

“What did you do on the ship?” Charlie piped up.

“Shovelled coal, mostly. Unless I had irritated the boss too much, then cleaned out the latrines.” He wrinkled his nose as the other boys guffawed.

“Why did you come back?” Billy smirked and folded his arms.

Annoyance crept into Gilbert’s mind. “I have decided that I want to be a doctor and I’ll need my school certificate to apply to medical school.”

‘Oooooohs’ filled the room as all the boys' eyes grew round in admiration (except Billy’s, of course).

Moody gasped. “You don’t know about the gold fiasco!”

Without thinking, Gilbert replied. “Oh, I know about that. Anne wrote to me.”

All of the girls' heads whipped around from the other side of the room. After a moment of dead silence, so many whispers began that they created a sound similar to wind blowing through the trees.

Gilbert blushed. He wanted to be more open to Anne about his feelings, not to everyone else. He was worried he had given material for gossip, something that would surely hurt Anne more than himself. Scanning the heads on the other side of the room, he couldn’t see any red. A mixture of disappointment and relief came over him.

“So that ugly orphan boasted to you about all of us losing our harvest money?” Billy called. Gilbert clenched his jaw, remembering his warning to Billy.

If you ever hassle Anne again, you’ll regret it.

Seeing as he had the attention of the entire class, Gilbert decided to not punch him in the face, instead shooting him a nasty glare before turning to Moody.

“Catch me up. I’m not sure I have the most updated version of the story.”

Moody nodded, clearing his throat. “So the man who was claiming to be a geologist and said he had found gold in the soil? He was completely lying — he conned the whole town into giving him and his accomplice $150 each for testing and then made a run for it. The men chased them down on horseback, but only got the accomplice. The ‘geologist’ got away. So… some families are struggling this winter.” He ended his rant softly, looking at the floor.

“Oh,” Gilbert responded. “Well, that’s too bad. I’m very sorry to hear it.”

A collective gasp sounded from the girls’ side of the room, their heads all turned toward the coatroom. Sporadic giggles mixed with noises of shock echoed through the small classroom as the girls parted to let someone through. Gilbert took a step forward and his heart caught in his throat.

Anne was walking through the crowd of students, purposefully avoiding all eye contact. Her red hair had been cropped short, a similar length to a boy’s. It didn’t look bad — it reminded Gilbert of the women he had seen at port in New York City who wore their hair short and dressed in trousers. They wore masculine styles but still were undoubtedly feminine. The blue ribbon tied on her head only accentuated the blue of her eyes. He smiled with the knowledge that Anne was unknowingly wearing a very chic hairstyle.

She lifted her head and met his gaze. Her face drained of any color and her expression turned to one of wide-eyed fear.

“Anne.” Gilbert stepped closer to her.

She blinked. “You’re back.”

“Yes.” Gilbert smiled. “Hi.”

“There’s no gold!” She sounded petrified.

“I-I know. I heard. That’s not why I’m here.”

Anne let out a small sigh of relief. The color, however, did not return to her face.

“It’s really good to see you.” Gilbert tried his best to infuse words with sincerity.

Because it was. She looked just as pretty as before, just in a bit of a different way. With her slightly pointed features, big eyes, and this new hair the same vibrant shade of red, Gilbert was reminded of the beautiful, spirited sprites from Shakespeares’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. He decided the hair suited her, matching her whimsy. Though he admitted to himself, he did miss her braids. He hoped it had been one of Anne’s adventures that had resulted in her short hair and not injury. If it was the former, Gilbert wanted very badly to hear the story.

Mr. Phillips walked out of his office to his desk, sighing. “Open your readers to page 20.”

“What has she done with her hair?” A girl’s whisper carried throughout the classroom.

“Look at her!” Billy was not trying to keep his voice quiet.

Gilbert felt a bit disappointed at the short greeting they shared, how scared she had been. He sat down and looked across the aisle. Anne was staring down at her hands and looked like she might cry. Diana’s hand was comfortingly resting on her shoulder.

“It appears,” Mr. Phillips’ voice took on an unsettling amused tone. “We have a new boy in class today.” He walked down the aisle, gesturing at Anne.

“Are you sure you’re sitting in the right place, young man?”

Billy and his cronies chortled loudly. She looked up at their teacher, her eyes blazing with anger, before shooting the boys a furious glare.

Josie Pye whispered loudly to Tillie Boulter. “You know she had all her hair cut off due to lice. She can’t help it, she’s of orphan stock.”

Anne blushed furiously.

Gilbert clenched his jaw, feeling helpless. He had just returned to school and felt that he could not say anything to get him in trouble, not yet.

Regret for not defending her rushed through him as he saw her hands shaking uncontrollably as she opened her reader.

They didn’t speak for the rest of the day. Diana, Ruby, and Anne had sat by themselves at lunch, Anne obviously still embarrassed and upset. He tried to say goodbye to her, but she just gave a jerk of a nod before walking swiftly away toward Green Gables.

Gilbert exhaled in relief as he entered the front door of the house. It still wasn’t as warm as he would have liked, but the shelter from the cold wind was very welcome.

Bash was sitting by the stove, wrapped up in two quilts and holding his hands over the fire.

Gilbert chuckled while taking off his gloves. “I warned you about the winters here.”

“Nah. Not like this, Blythe. Not like this.” Bash looked up at him, half-crazed. “This sun isn’t even real. It don’t give you no heat, no… warmth, no nothing. It just shine on you like some faraway lantern in the sky.”

Gilbert took off his coat and scarf, hanging them on the hooks beside the front door.

“And the air!” Bash continued. “How can I do any work if the very air I breathe is out to kill me?”

Gilbert sighed and looked at his friend. He was not dressed for a Canadian winter. Thinking, Gilbert realized that anything that he owned would be too small for Bash. That left only one option.

“Let’s get you situated.” Gilbert walked over to his dad’s bedroom, opening the door quickly before pausing in the doorway. Everything was as he left it — the bed neatly made, the mortar and pestle on the nightstand, his father’s wheelchair tucked in the corner. The blue-green walls reflected the winter light, creating a feeling of cold more tangible than in the rest of the house. Dust particles floated in the air like mist. He forgot momentarily why he had entered the room and just stood there, taking in where his father had last been alive. After a minute, Gilbert shook himself and walked over to his father’s trunk. He pulled out the thick, soft cardigan that his dad had worn almost nonstop after they arrived from Alberta.

Bash had made his way to the doorway, watching Gilbert attempt to act nonchalant about being in this room, the room that contained most of the evidence of his father’s illness. Gilbert remained kneeling by the trunk, holding his father’s cardigan and staring at it. Noticing Bash for the first time, Gilbert stood up quickly before extending the sweater to Bash.

“Dad would be happy that it’s being appreciated.”

Bash looked at Gilbert and didn’t reach out to take the sweater.

“And,” Gilbert smiled. “You’re pathetic.”

Bash grinned and took it from Gilbert. He then looked up at the sky and sighed. “Thank you, Mr. Blythe.”

He stuffed his arms quickly through the knit fabric, his face relaxing at the immediate warmth.

Gilbert gestured for them to exit the room and they did, closing the door behind them.

“So!” Gilbert pulled a chair next to Bash by the stove. “What did you get up to while I was in school?”

“I went to the barn to see what we are workin’ with. Before I nearly froze to death.”

Gilbert laughed. “You are so dramatic.”

Bash began to get the crazed look in his eye once more before hitting Gilbert in the arm.

“Ow!”

“You deserve that.”

They both laughed, Gilbert rubbing his arm that was sure to be bruised.

“Blythe,” Bash began with a more serious tone. “How long you think til we get the farm runnin’?”

“I’m not quite sure,” Gilbert admitted. “But, I think it would be best for me to help you through two harvests, just so you have better experience before I go to medical school. I have a feeling our first one will give less than our normal bounty just because no one has been taking care of the trees.”

Bash nodded thoughtfully. “That makes me feel better. I did pickin’ as a boy, but I have a feelin’ cacao is different than your apples.”

“Maybe not so different,” Gilbert responded. “They both grow on trees.”

“Maybe not so different.” Bash smiled at Gilbert. “Just like our islands. Different in appearance, same in heart.”

Gilbert beamed at his friend, feeling glad that Bash didn’t hate Avonlea. He didn’t know what he’d do if he was left alone in the house again.

“Blythe, we need some food. I can feel my stomach beginning to eat itself.”

“Ah, yes.” Gilbert stood up. “Let me go change my stockings and I can go pick up some groceries from town.”

He hurried up the stairs to his bedroom, sitting on his bed and peeling off the slightly frozen socks from his feet. He threw them into the dirty laundry and rummaged through his dresser before he found another pair of woolen socks.

“Blythe! There’s a very surprised lady here to see you.”

Gilbert looked up, surprised at Bash’s call from downstairs. He quickly pulled on the new socks and hurried to the front door. Standing in the doorway and holding a basket was Marilla Cuthbert, looking quite confused and flustered.

“Miss Cuthbert! What a pleasant surprise.”

“Hello, Gilbert. Welcome home.” She smiled warmly.

“Thank you,” Gilbert replied cordially. “I see you’ve already met Sebastian.” He turned and met Bash’s eyes that were full of laughter. Gilbert had to purse his lips and hold his breath to keep from laughing out loud. “Won’t you come in?”

“Oh, thank you, I-I just came by to see if you’d like to join us for Christmas dinner at Green Gables.”

“That’s… very kind of you to offer.” Gilbert was touched that she had thought of him.

What about Bash?

He had seen how she was stiffer than usual in her mannerisms, no doubt because of the black man standing in the Blythe home. She had just invited Gilbert, not looking at Bash at all. And he was not going to leave his brother home alone on Christmas.

Gilbert looked around, not meeting Marilla’s eyes. There was an awkward silence. Understanding came over Marilla’s expression and she turned to Bash.

“An-And, of course, you’re welcome to join us… Sebastian.”

Gilbert looked back to Bash, trying his best to not laugh at the slightly ridiculous nature of this interaction.

Bash gave Marilla a friendly smile, refusing to look at Gilbert. “I’d be delighted.”

“Oh,” Marilla was smiling slightly too wide to be completely genuine. “Very well then.”

“Good day.” Gilbert bade farewell as she turned around to leave. He really was trying with all his might not to laugh.

Making sure she was across the yard, he closed the door and turned to Bash. They both howled with laughter at the same time.

“You think she ever met a black person before?” Bash asked, wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes.

“Honestly, I have no idea,” Gilbert was doubled over, holding onto a kitchen chair for support.

“Christmas is going to be… fun.” Bash said before bursting out into a fit of giggles.

“Yeah,” Gilbert’s laughter slowed, turning into a dreamy smile.

“What that face about, Blythe? Is it about a certain redhead with a fiery temper?” Bash wiggled his eyebrows.

Gilbert blushed. He didn’t want to talk to Bash about Anne until he had a better reading on how she felt about him.

Bash gasped. “Cuthbert… are we goin’ to her house for Christmas dinner?”

Gilbert cleared his throat, willing the heat away from his face. “Well, Anne is the Cuthbert’s daughter, so I assume she will be there.”

“Oh ho ho!” Bash did a little dance on his tiptoes. “Christmas is gonna be fun!”

Gilbert rolled his eyes and quickly began to lace up his boots.

“Did ya see her at school? Was she as pretty as you remembered?”

“Yes, I saw her.”

“And?”

“She looks well.”

“Well?”

“Yes, well. She cropped her hair quite short and some people were quite cruel, including our teacher.”

“Good thing her handsome knight was there to rescue her, eh?”

Gilbert looked down, ashamed. Bash balked.

“Oh, Blythe, you didn’t say anything mean?”

“No, of course not!” Gilbert was annoyed that Bash could even think that was a possibility. “I, well, I didn’t say anything. I should have stood up for her… like I would for any other friend! She looked very upset.”

Bash walked over to Gilbert and slung an arm over his shoulder. “It is a good thing we’ll have Christmas for you to make it up to her.” He winked.

Gilbert cleared his throat and shrugged Bash’s arm off of him. “Well, best get to the store before it’s too late.”

Bash only laughed. “Go on, you moke .”

Gilbert hefted the canvas bag now full of groceries over his shoulder, shifting it to make the weight more comfortable. He was walking down the several storefronts in Carmody, looking at the window displays. Now that he was going to be spending Christmas at Anne’s house, he wanted to get her a Christmas present. But what do you get the girl you’ve barely seen since your return from a year-long sea voyage? And even more, what do you get her if her name is Anne Shirley-Cuthbert?

At the end of the street was an especially battered wooden structure. A small wrought iron sign hung from the eaves, reading “Wordsmith Print & Books.” His pace quickened. Gilbert knew there would be something in there perfect for Anne.

The sound of a tiny bell rang as Gilbert stepped into the empty store. The smell of parchment and ink, alongside the small woodfire stover behind the counter, created a cozy atmosphere that made Gilbert’s eyes sleepy. He blinked and walked down the first aisle, scanning the bookshelves. It was mostly weekly journals and farmer’s almanacs. Those would not do.

At the end of the aisle, there was a small display labeled “Thumb Books: Carry the Written Word Wherever You Go.” There were small stacks of books, all of which could easily fit in his palm. In the very center, a red cover with gold embossed letters stuck out to him. Martine’s Thumb Dictionary. He picked it up carefully and turned the pages. It truly was a tiny dictionary with small print, chocked full of extravagant descriptive words that Anne was sure to love.

Gilbert left the store having spent the rest of the money he had brought with him, but he didn’t mind. When he got home, he immediately cut a piece of butcher paper and found a roll of twine. He snapped his fingers, very proud of himself at the idea to write her a message on the front cover page. Using his nicest fountain pen, he carefully wrote,

“So you can beat me fair and square - Gilbert.”

He hoped she would remember their playful conversation from when she was bringing him his lessons. Carefully wrapping and folding the brown paper around the small book, he wrapped the twine around it, tying it into a bow. He messed with the bow for a while, never seeming to get the loops right. Finally, he gave up. He knew she would know how to make something look beautifully packaged, but alas, he had tried his best. Sighing, he stuffed the small package into the pocket of his winter coat so he would not lose it. Gilbert laid back on the sofa in the parlor, exhausted, but happy.

I can’t wait for Christmas.

Chapter 11: There Is No God Any More Divine Than Yourself

Chapter Text

Urgent knocking at the door woke Gilbert who had fallen asleep on the parlor sofa. He groaned and got up, feeling quite unkempt as he had slept all night in his clothes from the day before. He walked quickly to the front door, accidentally knocking into a wall before opening it.

“Ah, good, I had heard you were back.”

Without an invitation, she pushed the door open further and walked in. Gilbert frowned and looked back at the now-empty doorstep. He shook his head, still trying to clear up the sleepy fog that had settled in his brain. Closing the door hesitantly, he looked back at Rachel Lynde who seemed to be inspecting him. She looked him up and down and caught him with a glance of disapproval. Gilbert self consciously ran a hand through his bedraggled curly hair, knowing full well it would do nothing to make it look neater.

“Hello, Mrs. Lynde.” Gilbert had finally found his voice, still thick with sleep. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, clean yourself up, that’s a start.” She shook her head, looking at him again. He looked down uncomfortably.

“It can wait, however. I have a pressing matter to speak with you about.”

Gilbert tilted his head, now even more confused. The woman gestured impatiently to a kitchen chair as she took a seat at the table. He slowly pulled out the chair and sat down.

“Gilbert,” Rachel Lynde’s face was somber. “We are in desperate need.”

Gilbert knit his eyebrows in concern. “How can I help?”

“We need someone to help with the carpentry and build the rigging.”

“Of what?” Gilbert was officially confused now. He thought that they weren’t building the gold mine in Avonlea, so why would…?

The woman let out a noise of irritation. “‘Of what?’ he asks. The Christmas Panto, Gilbert Blythe! We are very short on backstage technicians and you are going to help with the rigging. Alright?”

“Uh…” Gilbert blinked.

“You must have known we were doing the Panto this year? All of your classmates are in it! Josie, Billy, Moody, Diana, Ruby, Anne, Charlie, even Mr. Phillips!”

“I’d be more than happy to help, Mrs. Lynde.” Gilbert was much more enthusiastic to offer to help if it meant being able to watch rehearsals of his friends. Of course, it wasn’t because it gave him an excuse to be in the same room as Anne…

“Oh, good. Good boy.” Mrs. Lynde patted his shoulder from across the table. “Well, that’s settled. Meet at townhall after school today to get started.” With that, the woman stood up and walked out the door.

“Goodbye, Gilbert!” She called behind her.

“Good day, Mrs. Lynde!”

Gilbert shut the door and exhaled loudly. What had he just gotten himself into?

“Alright, on the count of three, we’re all going to sway to the left. Ready? One, two, three!” Anne gracefully shifted her weight to her left side, pointing her toe on her right foot, and lifting her hands into the air. “Uh, other left, Charlie.”

Charlie Sloane blushed and quickly switched to the other side, bumping Moody in his hurry.

“Hey!”

Gilbert hid a smile as he observed the dance rehearsal. He was on the other side of the room, sawing a large plank of wood into the shape of a lightning bolt. Already, he had sawn too far and had to modify the shape because he had been too busy looking at her.

“Alright, let’s try that again. One, two, thr—”

“Gilbert, chop-chop!” He shifted his eyes immediately to see a bristling Mrs. Lynde approaching the carpentry station. “You’ve been working on that one piece for far too long. Best to pace yourself better, dear.” She gave him a passive-aggressive smile and moved on to help the minister with his lines.

“Anne! There she is! Hi, Anne!”

Diana, Ruby, Tillie, and Jane ran across the room to greet their friend. The smile that spread across Anne’s face upon seeing her friends radiated pure warmth and joy.

“Hello, my fairy princesses!” She excitedly hugged Diana, then grabbed the rest of the girls’ hands and squeezed them with affection. “Being a tree is so exciting.” Her authentic brightness seemed to permeate the other girls around her, their smiles becoming more true, their stances more comfortable. They reluctantly bid her farewell and ran onto the stage.

Apparently, her dance rehearsal was over as all the other trees were leaving, each one rubbing her head as they walked by. She remained standing there for a moment, her sincere smile turning into one that didn’t quite meet her eyes. The repetitive motion had knocked her hair ribbon off her head onto the ground and she made no move to pick it up. Gilbert began to put down his saw to go pick it up for her when her father, Matthew Cuthbert, beat him to it.

Anne chuckled sheepishly as Matthew questioned the reasoning behind the touching of her short hair.

“Uh, they’ve decided it brings good luck.” She looked forlorn for just a moment before brightening once more and giggling. “Childhood is not without its challenges.”

She grabbed Matthew by the hand and pulled him over to the piles of fabric that had been collected for the costumes.

How does she do that?

Gilbert went back to sawing the lightning bolt, which now had several more zigs and zags than originally anticipated. As he looked down at his work, his thoughts remained with Anne. She was so resilient, like a hearty sprout that would pop back up no matter how many times it had been trodden on. It seemed to trickle into every action she made. She had forgiven the girls who were originally horrid bullies to her, now animatedly holding their hands and emanating such genuine love for them. The thought that had plagued him before leaving for work on the S.S. Primrose returned:

How can she forgive everyone except for me?

“Okay, with the number of blocks we have, we should be able to switch out 3 flown pieces between act 1 and 2…” Gilbert was muttering to himself, counting and recounting the fly bars above the stage, checking it with the numbers he had written down on his clipboard.

He was trying his best to ignore the consistent high-pitched giggling that was coming from the front of the stage. Diana, Ruby, Jane, and Tillie were all tittering and complementing Cole as he worked on painting the main large set-piece.

“You’re so talented, Cole.” Tillie sighed.

“I love that bird so much,” Ruby fluttered her eyelashes, “No one in the whole class can paint like you, Cole.”

Every so often, Gilbert would look over to see if Anne had shown up to rehearsal, but to no avail.

Did she notice me looking at her yesterday and get uncomfortable?

He shook himself and restarted his count.

“Come along, ladies,” Rachel Lynde called, waving them up onto the stage. “There’s no need to watch paint dry.”

The girls slowly walked up the stairs to the stage.

“Cluster around, girls. Cluster.” Rachel ordered. “Let’s begin. Take your positions.”

Gilbert moved all the way downstage as to not be in the way of their rehearsal. Diana stood at center stage, the other girls standing and kneeling at different heights around her.

Diana began to sing, her voice light and sweet. “ There once was a magical island, A magic fantastical island, Where a golden tree did grow—”

“No, start again,” Rachel announced impatiently.

Gilbert started to categorize which set pieces would go where on the stage and which would need to be removed and replaced during the intermission.

No, the papier-mache potatoes will have to get taken down, they’re using the sturdiest blocks. But what about the clo—”

The sound of wood creaking and breaking made Gilbert look up from his logistics sheet. To his horror, he saw Cole Mackenzie falling off of the tall wooden ladder he had been perched on. Billy Andrews stood off stage with a large plank of wood, smirking. Cole landed with a thump before rolling off the two-meter stage. There was a sickening crack and a scream of pain.

Gilbert threw his clipboard down and ran to the boy, now writhing in agony on the ground. Cole was clutching his wrist which was turned at an odd angle.

“Cole, are you alright?” Gilbert knelt beside the injured boy.

“Oh, goodness me!” Diana ran over, sitting on the opposite side of Cole.

“Cole!”

“Stay still. Don’t move.” Gilbert said to the boy sternly before doing a full-body scan, looking for any other visible injuries.

“Is he alright?!” Rachel Lynde cried, finally recovering from her shock and walking towards them.

“His wrist is definitely broken. I don’t know what else.”

“Oh, poor Cole.” Ruby sighed.

“It was an accident!” Billy blurted out.

“Oh for heaven’s sake.” Rachel Lynde was positively pink in the face with distress.

Gilbert glared at him with incredulity before continuing his check on Cole.

“I swear!” Billy insisted.

He did not acknowledge Billy’s defensive lies anymore, seeing that Cole was the top priority. Billy could be taken care of later.

Christmas Eve turned out to be quite frigid, even by Gilbert’s standards. The entire walk from their home to Green Gables was silent, as both Bash and himself were clenching their jaws from the cold. Bash was wearing clothes from the Blythe family — a plaid scarf of Gilbert’s and the black woolen coat of his father’s that Gilbert had worn to the funeral.

Finally, they got to the front door of Green Gables. Hung on a nail was a wreath made of boughs of pine, white ribbon bows, pinecones, sticks of cinnamon, and seashells. It seemed to sing Anne — he knew she was the one to create such a unique Christmas decoration. Bash elbowed him and Gilbert cleared his throat before knocking on the door. His heart was beating out of his chest.

Matthew opened the door, nodding politely at Gilbert before doing a double-take at Bash. He stared a moment at him, speechless, before turning helplessly to Marilla. She walked forward.

“Merry Christmas to you both!”

Bash and he nodded, both wishing they could exchange these pleasantries inside.

“And to you.” Gilbert was trying his best to keep his teeth from chattering.

“Do come in.” Marilla stepped back and gestured inside, shooting Matthew a dirty look.

Bash and Gilbert rushed inside at this invitation, removing their hats.

“Matthew, this is Sebastian.” Marilla beamed at Bash, obviously having recovered at her original shock from the sight of him.

Matthew finally found words. “Pleased to meet you… Sebastian.” They shook hands and Bash gave him a wide smile.

“Please, call me Bash.”

Matthew’s stare of confusion returned before looking to Gilbert for reassurance, which Gilbert pretended not to notice.

“Oh, what a lovely home.” Bash looked around the parlor that did seem quite cozy. A fire was crackling happily in the hearth and the Christmas tree’s candles were lit, the boughs dripping in decorations of beads and tinsel. “Nice and warm.” Bash flashed a playful smile at Gilbert, who shook his head in response to the tease.

“Let me take your coats.” Marilla approached Bash first.

“Oh. Uh…” Bash hurriedly took his scarf and coat off and handed them to Marilla. “Thank you.”

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Bash walked over to Marilla and dug his hands into one of the pockets of his coat. She looked between him and the coat dubiously. He pulled out one of the glass vials they had bought in Trinidad and extended it out to Marilla.

“My, how very kind of you.” Marilla was taken aback.

“It’s curry.”

“Curry?” Marilla’s eyebrows knit in confusion.

“Yes, it’s a blend of fantastic spices.”

“Oh. Why thank you.”

There was a moment of awkward silence.

“It’s good for stews.” Bash smiled.

“How nice. We eat a lot of stew here.” Marilla turned around to face Gilbert and grabbed his coat from his arms. “Oh, won’t you both sit down?”

“Thank you.” Gilbert nodded at Marilla and walked toward the parlor, gesturing for Bash to follow him. They shared a knowing look between them, one that almost made both of them burst into laughter. The awkwardness of their interactions with the Cuthberts so far had distracted Gilbert momentarily from how nervous he was to see Anne.

Where is Anne?

Marilla joined them in the parlor, sitting down in an armchair next to the sofa the two had sat on.

“Uh, I wonder what’s become of Anne.” Matthew remained standing uncomfortably, leaning slightly on a cabinet.

“Hmm.” Gilbert made a non-commital noise, instantly wanting to bury his head in one of the sofa cushions. Why was this so hard?

Bash only made things worse. “I’m looking forward to meeting Anne. I’ve heard so much about her.” He looked at Gilbert, an amused smirk on his face. Gilbert laughed and shook his head in disbelief that Bash would tease him in front of her parents.

As if on cue, the small sound of steps came clicking across the solid wooden floor. Anne entered the parlor and Gilbert stood up eagerly. He found himself at a loss for words. She looked… enchanting . Her dress was a soft blue with delicate lace embellishments. The white stockings she wore were tucked into a sensible pair of brown boots, which only made Gilbert more fond of the ensemble. The way she was dressed, Anne could go to an opera or run through the mud in the woods. Attend a ball or pick wildflowers in a meadow. She looked so, so… Anne.

Her eyes widened in awe, emphasizing how well her irises and dress matched. Gilbert’s heart thumped and he was silent as she approached him. It was only him and her, no one else was visible, they were alo—

“You’re Sebastian. Oh, how thrilling.” She walked right past Gilbert, not acknowledging him in any way.

Gilbert’s fantastical bubble instantly popped. Anne hadn’t been looking at him that way, she was looking at Bash.

“I’ve read so much about the ancient kingdoms of Africa and the Moors of Spain…” Anne began.

Gilbert was frowning in slight embarrassment now, trying unsuccessfully not to look at her.

“But I’ve never actually met a colored person before...”

Gilbert’s eyes snapped to Bash’s face, which was wide-eyed in surprise. He looked back to Anne, whose sincerity was undoubtedly real.

“Or not one of your complexion. Your skin is absolutely extraordinary. It’s a rare pleasure to meet you.” Anne extended her hand and, for one second, Bash continued to look at her, astounded. He looked down at her hand and a grin slowly spread across his face. She laughed softly, the sound making Gilbert feel warm.

“A pleasure to meet you too, Anne of Green Gables.” Bash shook her hand and laughed with her.

“Who’d care for some supper?” Marilla stood up from her chair, looking expectantly at each face in the parlor.

“Oh, everything smells so good.” Bash replied genially.

“Ever tried mince pie?” Anne looked excitedly up at Bash’s answer to Marilla’s inquiry.

“No,” Bash looked at Anne, grinning. “But my nose tells me I’ll like it.”

She looked up at him, beaming.

What I would do if she looked at me like that…

“Anne, please blow out the candles on the tree,” Marilla said matter-of-factly.

Anne turned on her heels and walked to the Christmas tree, again, not acknowledging Gilbert’s existence. The weight of the tiny package in his pocket began to feel heavier and heavier. He began to question if he should give her the present at all, what if it made her feel uncomfortable?

Friends can give friends gifts.

Gilbert took a deep breath, turning to make sure the adults had left the parlor. He took the package out of his pocket, tightening the bow and straightening the loops before turning back to Anne.

“Anne.”

He already hated himself. Her name came out of his mouth strangely, as if he had never heard of the word before. She turned and set down the brass candle snuffer. She looked up at him curiously.

“Merry Christmas.” He held his arm out stiffly, extending the brown paper package to her. She took it gently, holding it delicately with two hands.

“But, uh, I don’t have anything for you.” Her face took on an expression of worry.

“That’s alright.” Gilbert smiled which she returned. He had never noticed her dimples before, maybe because he had never been close enough to a smile of hers. He was struck by how small she was, how if they hugged, his chin would fit perfectly over her head, her face leaning on his chest and hearing his heartbeat…

Anne broke their eye contact first, moving to blow out the candles on her side of the tree. He decided to help her and began extinguishing the tiny flames on his side. He blew out one candle, then another, and then — Anne and he had both gone for the last candle, blowing at the same time. His heart stopped. Gilbert looked at her, swallowing nervously. Their faces were inches apart, and he noticed that her eyes were multi-dimensional, a navy ring around her iris, a gradient of cerulean leading to her pupil. She stared back, her lips parted in surprise. He let out a small laugh to which she responded with an exhale accompanied by a quick smile. A couple of seconds went by before Anne gave a little start and quickly placed his gift to her under the tree. They walked wordlessly to the dining room and sat down at the table.

The food looked absolutely divine. There was mince pie, honeyed ham, freshly baked rolls, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and the traditional Christmas oranges. Gilbert hadn’t had a full feast like this in years. The glow of the candlelight, the smell of the meal, Bash sitting across from him, the Cuthbert’s authentic generosity, Anne — Gilbert hadn’t realized how much he had missed the domesticity of it all. He felt warm all over, comforted by the feeling of safety, the feeling of home.

“Anne, would you say grace?” Marilla asked quietly. Anne nodded with a subdued smile. The three Cuthberts reached out their hands and Gilbert took Marilla’s and Bash’s respectively, while Bash held Gilbert’s and Anne’s. She bowed her head and began to pray.

Gracious Heavenly Father. We are infinitely and boundlessly grateful for our countless blessings. I, for one, am so very glad you sent me the miraculous Matthew and Marilla Cuthbert. The parents who were waiting for me without any of us knowing it. I love my life absolutely and completely. Thank you also for bringing Gilbert safe back from sea, for giving him a brother, and us a surely dear friend, in Sebastian LaCroix. We thank you for the blessed abundance that brought us this food, for the kindred spirits that sit at this table, for the beauty of fresh falling snow, for the glory of the woods and the meadows. Please, oh divine Heavenly Father, bless those who do not feel the warmth of familial affection and friendship, that they may feel your illustrious, unending love on this Christmas Eve. Especially those at St. Alban’s Orphanage. Please, bless those children with a spark of hope that will never burn out. Bless the matron to have a heart softened to gentle kindness. And glorious Heavenly Father, before I end our correspondence temporarily, please bless Gilbert Blythe and Sebastian LaCroix with overwhelming prosperity, in the ways of the material and the non. Amen.

Gilbert opened his eyes. He released his hold on the hands of Marilla and Bash to stare in wonder at Anne. Matthew and Bash seemed to have similar reactions. Gilbert had never truly felt his heart move in faith before, but that changed with Anne’s prayer. He felt his heart expand with the fullness of her beautiful words of goodwill.

“Now, Anne, you mustn't ramble to God.” Marilla scolded, her words softened by the tears that shone in her eyes. “But thank you for the special Christmas prayer.”

Anne gave her mother a shy smile before turning to Bash. “Sebastian, would you like me to fill your glass?”

He paused, still processing the profound and earnest prayer. “Uh, yes, yes of course. Thank you, Anne.”

She reached over and picked up the pitcher of milk, which gave an unspoken cue to start dishing up. Gilbert loaded his plate with everything on the table, very excited to eat something that wasn’t toast or oatmeal.

“So, Gilbert,” Marilla began. “Tell us how you and Sebastian became friends on that ship.”

Gilbert thought for a moment. “It must have been my singing. That right, Bash?”

Bash chuckled and shook his head. “Your ‘Haul Away Joe’ plagued our entire crew and made Fireman right mad. But, someone had to be nice to the skinny pasty boy.”

Gilbert feigned offense and the whole table laughed.

Bash’s tone softened. “I knew Blythe was my brother once we were in Trinidad.”

Gilbert looked up, surprised and touched by Bash's sincere words.

“And that must really say something about him because he had the most shameful case of sea legs I ever seen.”

Gilbert shook his head as Anne and Bash laughed in delight.

“Sea legs?” Marilla said incredulously. “I’ve heard tell from fishermen around these parts, but I didn’t know it was true.”

“Oh, it’s true,” Gilbert assured. “As Bash here has delighted in pointing out to me.”

“He was a sight to behold,” Bash responded grinning.

“Have you been to many exotic ports of call? Please, do tell us.” Anne looked only at Bash, full to the brim with curiosity.

“New York, Boston, Maine, Jamaica, Canary Islands…”

Anne grew more enthralled with each listed port. Gilbert loved watching her forthright reaction to it all. She never hid what she thought, she was too brave.

Braver than me.

“Do you have a favorite?” Anne practically whispered, reverent at the idea of international travel.

“My island, of course.” Bash replied easily.

“I can understand that. In fact, the Christmas Panto is about our magical island.”

“Panto?” Bash asked, confused.

Gilbert intersected. “Pantomime. The play I’ve been helping with.”

“It’s going to be wonderful.” Anne met his gaze directly, smiling the same dimpled smile she gave him by the tree. He felt his breath hitch and looked back at her, hoping beyond hopes that he wasn’t making a foolish expression. “And the costumes are to be fantastical, thanks to Marilla.”

Marilla playfully admonished Anne. “Oh, hush now.”

“Sounds like Carnival.” Bash looked to Gilbert. “Why you didn’t tell me more about this?”

“Because you said you wanted to stay in the house until spring!” Gilbert jokingly retorted. The table burst into laughter once more.

“But, now that you mention it,” Gilbert became more thoughtful. “I could really use your help with the rigging. What do you say?”

“Why not?” Bash nodded happily. “I’d like to know more about this magical island.”

Anne grinned with excitement. She grabbed her glass and held it out to Bash.

“To the island.”

“To the island.”

They clinked their glasses together cheerfully. Gilbert held out his own glass to toast.

“Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas!” Anne looked him straight in the eye as she toasted him back. She looked away to Matthew as they drank, but Gilbert looked at her over the rim of his glass, unable to look anywhere else.

Gilbert felt content, his belly full, the house warm, the company good. He couldn’t believe Anne claimed she hadn’t gotten him anything — she had given him the most wonderful, all-consuming feeling of home on Christmas.

Chapter 12: The Strongest and Sweetest Songs Yet Remain to be Sung

Chapter Text

Backstage was chaos incarnate. If you knew what you were listening for, you could pick it out of the myriad of sounds. There was the pianist warming up, the minister nervously practicing his lines, Anne repeating the dance steps to the trees, Diana singing softly, Rachel Lynde yelling for Josie Pye, and the deep rumble of the audience chatting while they awaited the play to begin. Gilbert had no idea what he would have done without Bash, he was overwhelmed already.

“We’re minutes away!” Rachel Lynde yelled to no one in particular.

He knelt down next to Bash to untie the ropes of one of the backdrop changes. They needed to prep it to be ready to scroll quickly.

“Oh! I see you’ve hired a hand. Good thinking.” Gilbert looked up, startled to realize Mrs. Lynde was speaking to him.

“Oh, no, this is my friend Sebastian. He offered to help with the play.” Gilbert responded quickly.

“Well,” Rachel looked from him to Bash disapprovingly. “Well, well, well.” The coughing of a very ill-looking Josie Pye distracted her from further judgment on the two of them.

Gilbert shot Bash an apologetic look, to which Bash just chuckled. “It’s okay, Blythe. There are so many white people here, they not all gonna be winners.” Gilbert laughed and continued to work with Bash on the backdrop.

“You look like you’ve been widowed.” Rachel said frankly to Josie, who simply coughed in return.

“Josie… where’s your shovel? Where’s your pivotal prop?!” Rachel’s voice was beginning to escalate into panic.

Josie croaked. “I left it at home.”

“Oh, my word,” Mrs. Lynde clutched her heart through her clipboard and gasped. “You’ve lost your voice!”

She turned and began to pace. “Oh, my, my, my, my. Oh my, oh my, oh my! Think, think, think, think, think…” She began manically tapping her forehead with her eyes squeezed shut.

“ANNE!” Rachel practically screamed, causing the girl dressed in a brown jumper and a hood with leaves to jump. “Get over here. Quickly!”

Rachel glared at Josie before turning back to Anne. “You’re gonna take over from Josie. You’re going to play The Boy.”

Gilbert looked up at these words and saw Anne’s face lit up with excitement.

It’s a shame, she looks so cute as a tree.

“Somebody get me a script!” Rachel Lynde shouted desperately to everyone and no one.

“Oh, Mrs. Lynde, it would be an honor to play the part!” Anne gushed. “I already know the lines.”

Someone had indeed gotten Rachel a script and she shoved it forcefully into Anne’s hands.

“Word perfect.” Rachel rapidly hit the script with her fingers. “Study, child, study!”

Whirling around to Josie, Mrs. Lynde sighed. “And you...Tree!” She bustled off, no doubt to yell at multiple people and get Josie a costume.

Anne stepped forward to the sick girl. “The tree’s a lovely part, Josie. I’ll teach you all the moves for the dance that we have, then—”

Josie rolled her eyes and walked away dramatically. Anne looked mildly surprised but unbothered as she looked back down at the script.

Rachel Lynde ran back to Anne and grabbed her. “Shovel! Where am I gonna get you a shovel? The play falls apart without a shovel!” She sounded so hysterical that he and Bash were stuffing their fists in their mouths to stop from laughing.

Anne put her hand on Mrs. Lynde’s shoulder. “I will get a shovel, I promise. ” She then proceeded to sprint through the door that led to the auditorium.

Rachel nodded and looked at the clock. “Three minutes! Places!”

“Thank you three!” Everyone called back.

Gilbert and Bash went to stage right and left, respectively and took their places at the ropes.

Anne was back, breathing heavily and holding a cap, flannel, and overalls. “Jane! Ruby! Please help!” They ran to her side and pulled her behind the curtain. Gilbert looked away quickly as he realized she was changing her clothes, clearing his throat self-consciously.

“Places! Final call!” Rachel Lynde scream whispered. Jane and Ruby ran out from the hiding spot and stood behind Diana, who was taking deep breaths.

“Break a leg!” He heard Anne call softly, still hidden from view.

The beginning chords of the play sounded and Gilbert met Bash’s eyes from across the stage and nodded. They both pulled the ropes to draw the curtains open and Billy Andrews walked onto stage dressed as an owl, flapping his arms. The crowd responded with scattered laughter, but all Gilbert could think of was the smug look on his face after “accidentally” knocking Cole off the ladder.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Billy called out. “Welcome, one and all, to the Tale of the Magical Island.” He took a step back. “Hoot, hoot, hoot!”

Diana took one last deep breath and stepped onto the stage, followed by Ruby, Tillie, and Jane, each clad with a pair of fairy wings.

Billy began to sing, hopping slightly from left foot to right.

“ There once was a magical island,

a magic fantastical island ,”

Diana sang, sweeping her wand elegantly.

“ Where a fairy queen did rule, ”

Gilbert whistled to Bash, who immediately began to raise a sandbag, lowering the new backdrop that showed rows of plowed fields.

“ The people worked hard,

in farm orchard and yard,

They harvest and sow,

They garden and grow. ”

Gilbert worked quickly to lower the large papier-mache potatoes and carrots to hang behind the scene, Bash controlling the corn and radishes.

“They harvest!” Diana called. “We harvest!” The chorus responded.

“They sow!” Billy cried. “We sow!” Came the chorus’s answer.

Mrs. Lynde was standing at the very edge of backstage, mouthing along with the words and doing a smaller version of the choreography.

“They garden!” “We garden!”

“They grow!” “We grow!”

Anne hurried out from behind the curtain now, adjusting one of the straps of her overalls. She caught Gilbert’s eye and smiled giddily.

“ We harvest, we sow,

We garden, we grow,

All manner of things,

The bounty of kings,

There’s no need to spend

For our coffers won’t end… ”

“Our island is splendid!” Diana exclaimed. “And much recommended!” Billy replied.

The musical interlude began and the chorus began to walk around the stage. He didn’t have a scene change for a couple of minutes, so he unconsciously decided to stand next to Anne to see a better view of the stage.

“There once was a magical island,

A magic fantastical island,”

Anne’s arms were folded, her fingers over her mouth as she was grinning at her friends on stage.

“Where a golden tree did grow…”

Diana's voice rang out confidently.

“Oh, isn’t Diana the most exquisite fairy queen?” Anne whispered to Gilbert.

“Mmm,” Gilbert replied and nodded his head, not knowing if agreeing or disagreeing would make her have a bad reaction.

The hand on her mouth went back down to hold her arms around herself tightly, her foot beginning to tap incessantly.

“Are you nervous?” Gilbert whispered.

She shrugged in response, never taking her eyes off of the stage.

“Well, if you are,” Gilbert leaned closer, “You have nothing to worry about. You’ll do great.”

Anne looked up at him. “You really think so?”

“I know so.” He met her eyes directly. She beamed up at him, her eyes shining.

She suddenly reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing it tight. “Thank you, Gilbert.”

His heart skipped a beat as he squeezed her hand in return.

“A magic fantastical hoooooome.”

The song ended with a drawn-out note and applause immediately began, especially proud cheering coming from the parents in the crowd.

That was his cue. He reluctantly let go of Anne’s hand and returned to the rigging, raising the vegetables back up into the eaves. Out of his periphery, Gilbert saw Anne straighten herself and exhale before walking onto stage confidently, her head held high. She stood next to Diana, her hands on her hips. There was a moment of silence and Diana began to signal with her eyes down toward the stage. Anne realized what she was saying and quickly knelt down, clearing her throat. The audience laughed lightly.

“Because you have been hardworking and good, I bestow upon thee this golden apple tree.” Diana declared, swirling her wand toward his classmates who were laying on the ground. The piano played a magical sounding arpeggio as the remaining trees roiled themselves up, each holding several cut-out golden apples. Moody, of course, was two seconds behind everyone else. Gilbert grinned.

“Now rise, dear boy.”

Anne stood and placed her hands on her hips once more. “I promise thee faithfully to always protect this tree, for the sake of our beloved island.”

The crowd let out a simultaneous “Aw…” and applauded.

Anne walked to stage left and picked up the watering pail that had blue ribbons tied to the spout to look like pouring water. She began to “water” the golden apple tree.

The minister entered the scene from stage left and the audience began to howl with laughter. Gilbert had to admit the hilarity of seeing the minister in drag. His face was painted, practically white with circles of rouge and exaggerated red lips. He wore a pink gown with large bosoms and hips and had feathers in his wig, a red, curly up-do. He fanned himself with a large feather and struck several poses, each one rousing more laughter from the crowd.

“Boy?!” He pointed dramatically to the tree made of five grinning schoolkids. “See that golden apple dangling from the tree. Pray, dear lad,” The minister paused for effect. “Do pass it to me.”

“Fair dame, the apple is not ours to take,” Anne exclaimed passionately. “Remove thee the fruit and great trouble we’ll make!”

“Oh come now!” The minister pronounced. “Just one...teeny...apple?” Between each of his words, he took a step closer to Anne, swinging his hips. The audience was losing it, cackling at the absurdity of it all.

Ominous chords began from the piano as Anne walked to the other side of the tree. The minister snuck behind the tree, hiding in a curtain when Anne turned around. After she went back to her watering, he snuck to a branch on tip-toe.

“Look out! Look out behind you!” A voice called from the audience — maybe Cole?

The minister picked the apple and Gilbert whistled to Bash, who lowered a blood-red curtain of fabric as the backdrop. The trees turned their cut-out apples over, now black instead of gold. Rachel’s husband, Thomas Lynde emerged onto the stage, wearing a red costume with huge claws. A mix of boos and laughs erupted from the crowd. A song with violin, tambourine, and quick staccato chords from the piano began and Mr. Lynde, the lobster, began to sing.

“ I’ve come from a land

Far beneath the sea,

Of magic and mischief

and devilish glee… ”

The trees were shaking their leaves in fear. The previous fairy princesses were on both sides of the stage, rippling pieces of red fabric across the scene.

“ I know your dark thoughts,

You’ve been eyeing that tree,

Ah… you’re holding an apple

Pray pass it to me.”

The minister shakily handed the apple to Mr. Lynde. The kids on stage chanted.

“Devil lobster!” *clap clap*

“Devil lobster!” *clap clap*

Gilbert and Rachel Lynde, alone on stage right, sang and clapped along.

The minister gasped. “ What creature is this?! ”

Anne shrieked. “ Who is this monster?! ”

Bash caught Gilbert’s eye from across the stage and grinned, also singing and clapping along. The audience joined in as well.

“Devil lobster!” *clap clap*

“Devil lobster!” *clap clap*

Thomas Lynde walked to centerstage and held out his claws.

“ I’m a phenomenal abominable whelk. ”

The Spanish rhythm began again.

“You wanted that dress with its ribbons and bows,

You wanted that apple, you saw how it grows!

You thought you could take it!

That’s not how it goes.”

Mr. Lynde put one claw around Anne’s neck, who began to dramatically hyperventilate in terror.

“ You picked the wrong apple,

You’ll reap what you sow. ”

He threw her back and she ducked under his claws as he tried to catch her again.

“Devil lobster!” *clap clap*

“Devil lobster!” *clap clap*

Thomas looked at Rachel off stage and smiled wickedly. She grinned and clapped her hands together silently at him. Gilbert had always admired the love and playfulness of the Lynde’s relationship. Even after ten children, they seemed to be as happy around each other as ever.

“ I’m simply shimmering with sin! ”

The song ended with this yell from the devil lobster himself, resulting in loud boos from the audience. Rachel was laughing and clapping enthusiastically.

The minister and Anne huddled together on stage right, pleading together. “Dearest fairy queen, we beg for your aid and forgiveness. Please send us a hero to vanquish our foe!”

Diana fluttered onto the stage, the audience emitting a fond sigh. “Your wish is my command!”

She waved her wand and Mr. Phillips pranced onto the stage, dressed as a prince. He wore a cardboard and linen horse that hung on his shoulders to look like his noble steed. Slowly setting the horse down, the teacher stepped out of it and struck a princely pose. The audience chuckled. He unsheathed a sword and looked to Mr. Lynde.

“Get back to the waters from whence thy came! I shall banish thee to darkness in thy fairy queen’s name.” Mr. Phillips recited in a Shakespearean manner. “You think you can turn our land into rot? I’m the unconquerable prince, lest you forgot.” He did a pelvic thrust on his last word, which brought about peals of shocked laughter.

“Unconquerable?” Mr. Lynde sneered. “Ha!” He grabbed onto the sword with one of his claws, breaking it so that the point hung uselessly from the hilt. “Argh!” He chased Mr. Phillips around the stage. The prince grabbed his horse and ran off, screaming.

Cheering and applause thundered as everyone filed off stage. Billy the owl came out once again.

“Hey, that’s enough!” The clapping continued. “Quiet down!”

Exasperated, Billy whistled.

Gilbert would have noticed it was Billy whistling and not Bash if Anne hadn’t just given him a blinding smile, which put his mind off of the task at hand for a moment. Upon hearing it, he assumed it to be a signal and lifted the rope for the block with the lightning bolt (which so happened to also be the product of Gilbert’s distraction). There was a grunt of pain and two loud thumps and Gilbert rapidly looked onto the stage. The wooden lightning bolt had hit Billy’s head and he collapsed onto the stage, not moving.

sh*t.

The crowd laughed along, thinking it was part of the show. Bash met his panicked eyes and they were instantly on the same page, hurriedly closing the curtains.

Gilbert rushed to Billy’s side, Bash doing the same. Of course, Gilbert had wanted to hit him in the head, but not like this. Billy groaned holding his hand to his left temple.

Gilbert felt himself being shoved aside as Mrs. Andrews knelt where he had been. “I’m here, I’m here. Get him out of this wretched thing!” She began to unbutton the hood of his owl costume before glaring at Bash. “Is this your doing? You savage brute! Shame on you!”

Bash looked into the angry woman’s eyes, only sadness in his expression.

Mrs. Andrews hauled Billy up and shoved him into Gilbert’s arms. Gilbert held onto Billy as he walked him to the stage door, looking back at Bash in concern. Bash simply stood there, not acknowledging Gilbert at all.

Mrs. Lynde blocked the doorway with her body. “Do you mind if I take the costume? The show must go on!” Mrs. Andrew sighed and nodded. Gilbert took this moment to go, leaving Billy with the two women.

He saw Bash had returned to his post on stage left. Mrs. Lynde was still distracted helping Billy when Gilbert saw they had one minute until the band was to start playing again.

“Oh, Matthew, you’re my hero. Thank you! I’ll tell Mrs. Lynde.” Anne rushed past him holding a shovel. Gilbert looked back to see Matthew standing by the stage door. He gave the man a smile who nodded in reply.

They were about to open the curtains when Gilbert realized there a prop missing on stage. “Bash set the black hole!”

Bash rapidly grabbed the large hoop of dark fabric and placed it on stage, but Gilbert could see his playful excitement was gone.

They unveiled the curtains and Anne stood on the stage, pretending to dig into the ground with her newly acquired shovel. The golden apple tree remained shriveled, the trees hiding their faces and holding black apples. There were thunder clouds hanging from the eaves. Thomas Lynde came out, sneaking up behind her.

“Ahhhhhhh!”

He tried to grab her but with a shout of defeat, two farmers leaped out of hiding places and pulled the hoop of black fabric over him.

Bash and Gilbert pulled the ropes to lift the clouds and lightning into the eaves, lowering down a wooden sun and the idyllic farm background from the first song. Anne stood proudly, leaning on her shovel. The tree rose, smiling faces, and the apples golden once more. The crowd applauded in triumph.

“Without Billy, how are we gonna finish the play?!” Mrs. Lynde spotted Matthew. “Oh, salvation!”

She ran over to him, taking his hat off and ripping his arms out of his jacket. “Put this on!” She urged, shoving the hood onto his head.

“No, no, that’s enough of that.” Matthew looked to Gilbert for help, who only shrugged. Once Rachel Lynde set her mind to something, there was no use arguing.

“Would you just stay still?” Rachel asked, obviously annoyed.

“I won’t have part of this.” Matthew began to take the hood off.

“We need an epilogue!”

“Rachel!”

She wrapped him in the feathered cape and looked him in the eye.

“Anne rose to the occasion, now it’s your turn.”

Everyone backstage began to mutter confusedly.

Rachel grabbed Matthew’s arm and pulled him to the edge of the stage. “The owl has to finish the play! All you have to do is read! Go!” She pushed the script against his chest, simultaneously shoving him onto the stage.

The sound of chattering and scattered laughter came from the audience at the sight of Matthew Cuthbert in costume and on stage. Gilbert watched the man in concern. Matthew just stood there, looking at the audience.

Then, he dropped the script onto the stage.

Uh oh.

Gilbert looked at Bash and they solemnly nodded to each other. They got ready to close the curtains.

Suddenly, Matthew raised his arms, spreading the cape to look like wings.

“And they all lived happily ever after!”

There was a moment of shocked silence before the cheering began.

“Well done, Matthew!”

“Bravo!”

Everyone who was in the play walked out onto the stage for bows. Anne approached Matthew, laughing in amazement. He grabbed her hand and they lined up, bowing together with the rest of the cast. The audience was on their feet, giving them a standing ovation. Matthew put his hand on Anne’s back and gestured for her to walk up and give her own bow. She did so hesitantly, giving a deep curtsy, before rising, turning to Diana, and laughing freely.

The violins switched from the upbeat tune to the warble of God Save the Queen. Several of the men pushed a throne made of vegetables and hay onto the stage, Mrs. Lynde sitting upon it. She was dressed in the black gown and blue royal sash of Queen Victoria.

“Today, in the wake of my very own Diamond Jubilee,” Rachel pronounced in her best British accent. “I hereby bless all of Avonlea! God bless you all.” She smiled at the crowd. “And God save me!” She raised her hand and began to cackle at her own joke, which in turn, caused everyone else to laugh along with her.

As the cast led the audience in a rendition of Deck the Halls, Gilbert jogged behind the backdrop to Bash’s station.

“Hey Bash, you alright?” He touched his brother’s elbow.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Bash looked straight ahead, not meeting Gilbert’s eyes.

“Don’t be like that.” Gilbert pleaded. “Talk to me.”

“Later.” Bash replied. He stood up and began to tie the ropes off.

“Bash…”

“Blythe.”

Gilbert got the message from the seriousness of Bash’s expression. He walked back to his station, feeling discouraged. His shoulders slumped as he angrily tied up the ropes. There was a tap on his shoulder and he spun around impatiently. Anne took a step back, startled. Gilbert’s face instantly softened.

“Anne,” He breathed. “You did amazing. Really. Like, wow.”

‘Like, wow?’ Get it together, Blythe!

“Is everything alright?” She asked softly.

“Um, yeah, everything’s fine,” Gilbert replied, rubbing his neck self-consciously. “I-I meant what I said. You were a great, um… Boy?”

Anne met his eyes and snorted. “Why thank you.”

“Sorry,” Gilbert mumbled, looking at the ground.

“No need for sorries. I actually didn’t come over here just to receive your eloquent praise.” Anne teased.

Gilbert relaxed a little and looked back at her.

“I wanted to give you a Christmas present.”

His heart began to race.

“Anne, you really didn’t have to—”

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper, neatly folded together, extending it out to him. His name was written on it in quick uneven loops.

“Merry Christmas, Gilbert.”

He took the paper hesitantly and gave her a small smile. “Merry Christmas, Anne.”

When they got home, Bash went immediately to his bedroom and shut the door. Gilbert thought about following him but refrained. He probably needed some space. Hopefully, they could talk tomorrow.

Gilbert walked slowly up the stairs to his own bedroom. As he began to undress, he heard the crinkle of the paper in his pants pocket. Anne’s gift! He had completely forgotten! Pulling it out of his pocket and unfolding it gently, he was confused as to what he was looking at. There seemed to be random letters that did not make words, a grid of the alphabet at the bottom of the page. There was one word she had written at the top: Cryptogram.

It’s a puzzle!

He sat down at his desk eagerly, lighting a match for his lamp and grabbing his pen. No longer tired, he stared at the sheet of paper.

QUPHB DOM JOY QUI TKEQKOHPYD KQ KN SOHTIYJMA UOSIWIY, K TO HOQ HIIT KQ QO VIPQ DOM JPKY PHT NFMPYI.

PJQIY PAA, DOM UPQI XKNNIT P DIPY OJ NEUOOA.

VD QUI SPD, KHTIJKHKQIAD TOIN HOQ UPWI PH P. VMQ PHHI TOIN UPWI PH I

XIYYD EUYKNQXPN, LKAVIYZ.

DOMYN QYMAD,

PHHI NUKYAID-EMQUVIYQ

The last phrase — that must be her name! He excitedly wrote “Anne Shirley-Cuthbert” above each letter, filling in the alphabet grid, realizing that it was a cipher that he had to create.

After an hour or so, Gilbert filled in the last letter proudly. Then, he read her message:

THANK YOU FOR THE DICTIONARY, IT IS WONDERFUL. HOWEVER, I DO NOT NEED IT TO BEAT YOU FAIR AND SQUARE.

AFTER ALL, YOU HAVE MISSED A YEAR OF SCHOOL.

BY THE WAY, INDEFINITELY DOES NOT HAVE AN A. BUT ANNE DOES HAVE AN E.

MERRY CHRISTMAS, GILBERT.

YOURS TRULY,

ANNE SHIRLEY-CUTHBERT

Chapter 13: The Future is No More Uncertain Than the Present

Chapter Text

Gilbert took a deep breath and approached Mr. Phillips’ desk.

“Good morning, sir. May I have a word?”

“I believe you just did.” The teacher drawled, not turning around from the chalkboard.

Gilbert breathed again, trying to maintain his composure. “I know I have missed about 8 months of instruction, however, I believe I can catch up so I can graduate with my class, with some guidance.”

Mr. Phillips ignored him.

“I have a strong work ethic, sir, and I’ve chosen my vocation.” Gilbert paused. “Medical school, sir, I know it’s for me.”

“Riveting.” Mr. Phillips replied sarcastically, still not turning around to give Gilbert any semblance of attention.

“So I was hoping you could offer me some extra help outside of class so that I can catch up, make up for the time that I missed.” Gilbert’s heart was pounding with frustration, but he kept his tone polite.

The teacher turned around and looked over Gilbert’s shoulder, his expression becoming a disturbing smile. Mr. Phillips did not acknowledge that he had heard what Gilbert had just said. Gilbert looked behind him and saw Prissy Andrews in the back row smiling demurely back at their teacher before noticing him and putting her eyes back towards her book.

No longer hiding his anger, Gilbert snapped. “It could also be an opportunity to prove wrong all those who think you don’t care all that much about your teaching.”

Mr. Phillips’ eyes flashed back to Gilbert’s, his nauseating expression turning into a grimace.

Reigning in his temper, Gilbert looked at the desk, no longer being able to look his teacher in the eye. “I’m only asking for a small portion of your time, sir.”

“Is that all? My time?” Mr. Phillips began softly. His tone was gradually changing, every word getting louder and angrier. “Tell me, should your father...”

At the mention of his dad, Gilbert jerked his eyes up to meet the teacher’s, clenching his jaw so hard his teeth hurt.

Mr. Phillips continued as if he didn’t notice the rage that had come over his student. “…your father simply give his crops away because someone wants them? Feels he deserves them? Hmm? Hmm? He should not. Time is money, Mr. Blythe.”

Gilbert stood stock still, holding his breath in disbelief at the audacity of the man in front of him. The teacher sat down in his seat, obviously pleased with himself.

“My father’s dead, sir,” Gilbert replied loudly, the whispers of his classmates instantaneously silenced as they all turned their heads at the sudden outburst.

Mr. Phillips blanched. “Yes, well… the metaphor still plays.” With that, he gestured at Gilbert to go back to his desk.

Gilbert turned on his heels, seething. He walked swiftly and angrily back to his desk, sitting down forcefully before slamming a book out of his bag. Glaring at Mr. Phillips, he began to read and work on his own version of catch-up work, not caring about anything further that man had to say. He felt his peers’ eyes on him, one pair lingering the longest. Normally, he would have loved to meet the pair of blue eyes across the aisle and smile, hoping for one in return, but his fury at Mr. Phillips overcame any other inclination or instinct he had. He knew he had to prove the teacher wrong — he, Gilbert Blythe, an orphaned islander farm boy, could be a doctor who made a difference, a doctor who changed the world.

Hefting his bag onto the kitchen table, Gilbert was sure that he had taken over half of the small school library’s books home with him. He had instantly grabbed any book that would help him catch up with the rest of the class. And then, he went back through the bookshelf, looking for any interesting books on biology or medicine. Organizing the books into stacks by subject, he carried them upstairs into his room and placed them on his desk. Gilbert put his hands on his hips, exhaling in satisfaction at his small collection.

“Any of those books got love poems?” Bash was leaning in the doorway.

Gilbert rolled his eyes, not dignifying Bash’s comment with a response.

“Seriously, boy, what you gonna do with all of those while going to school, helping me, and loving Anne?” Bash’s eyes twinkled.

“I need to catch up to graduate on time, Bash,” Gilbert replied coolly. “I’m creating my own study plan since Mr. sh*thead Phillips won’t…”

“Woah, woah, Blythe. Don’t go turnin’ into a sailor now.”

“Do you need anything, Bash?” Gilbert sighed impatiently.

Bash’s eyes opened in surprise before his expression turned stoic. “No, no. You go on with your plan, Blythe. I’ll get out of your hair.” He turned around and went back down the stairs.

Gilbert huffed and looked back to his books, taking a deep breath before grabbing the first one off the closest pile and beginning to read.

Gilbert fell into a daily routine. Get up early, do the homework due for that day, go to school, read during lessons and lunch, go home, do chores, eat a silent dinner with Bash, go upstairs and do catch-up work until late, sleep, repeat.

He was on step number four of the days’ tasks. It was time for grammar lessons, which Gilbert had already reviewed two mornings previously. He yawned widely and rubbed his eyes as he opened his book An Introduction to the Study of Experimental Medicine and began to read at his desk while Mr. Phillips droned on about definite and indefinite articles.

“When we meet a fact which contradicts a prevailing theory, we must accept the fact and abandon the theory, even when the theory is supported by great names and generally accepted—”

“Perhaps the good doctor can tell us the answer.”

The giggles of his classmates brought him into the present. Gilbert lifted his head from the book and stared into Mr. Phillips’ eyes.

He replayed the last moment in his mind, trying to hear what his subconscious had been listening to as he had read.

And a word or phrase that makes specific the meaning of another word or phrase?

“The answer is modifier, sir,” Gilbert replied coldly. “And I managed to learn that with no extra time from you.”

Soft exclamations and “ooos” echoed from around the classroom at this blatantly disrespectful correspondence between a teacher and student.

However, there was nothing that Mr. Phillips could punish him for, as he had given the right answer.

“Correct.” The teacher muttered disappointedly.

Mr. Phillips didn’t call on him for the rest of the day.

When class was dismissed, Gilbert closed his book and began packing up his bag. After doing so, he walked to the cloakroom, putting on his thick coat and scarf.

“The good doctor?”

He turned around to see Anne standing behind him, looking at him with a mixture of disbelief, annoyance, and… teasing?

Gilbert chuckled lightly and cleared his throat. “Someday, I… hope I get there. In the meantime, it feels good to know what I want.”

They hadn’t talked since the night of the Christmas Panto. He felt a little embarrassed talking with her about what he wanted for his future since more often than not, he would automatically picture her in it with him.

Anne nodded solemnly. “You’ll get there if you…” She paused and contemplated. “Go where your passions lead you.”

He coughed in response. She turned on her heel and began to walk and giggle with Diana. He tilted his head slightly in confusion and laughed at the Anne-ness of her encouragement. Gilbert didn’t dare hope that she was insinuating anything other than medicine with the use of the word passions...

When Gilbert retired to his room that night, he didn’t sit down at his desk like usual. He walked over to his small shelf that hung on the wall, the only surface that didn’t have books on it in his whole room. On it was a dried sprig of holly and pine, a seashell, some folded notes, an envelope addressed to Port of Spain, Trinidad, and a completed cryptogram. He ran his fingers delicately over each item on the shelf, thinking about how much they would look like useless trinkets to an outside viewer. Gilbert’s musings were interrupted, as his slight disturbance of the dust on his shelf caused him to splutter and cough violently. Walking over to his washbasin, he poured himself a glass of water and drank it all in one go. The dust felt like it burned his throat and had gotten slightly into his lungs, creating a tiny wheeze when he exhaled.

Overcome with sudden exhaustion, Gilbert laid down on his bed and promptly fell asleep.

Sunlight slanted into his window, his eyes seeing only the red of the back of his eyelids. Gilbert groaned before quickly sitting up.

What time is it?

The sun was far too high in the sky for him not to be late to school. Rapidly, he swung his legs over the side of his bed and stood up, instantly falling back down onto the bed. His head was spinning and his throat felt scorched and dry. He began to cough, the sound phlegmy and harsh.

That sound caused him to freeze. He hadn’t heard a cough sound like that, since, since…

Gilbert crawled back into bed, suddenly freezing. He began to shiver and sweat as he fell back into a restless slumber.

“Blythe. Blythe!”

“Huh…?” Gilbert blinked, his eyes feeling strange and dry.

“Boy, you burnin’ up! Drink.” A cold glass rim was forced to his chapped lips and he painfully swallowed the cool water. After a couple of gulps, he felt another coughing fit coming on. These were scary coughs, the kind that hurt inside, the kind that makes you lose your voice, the kind that you can’t breathe during.

The kind that kills you.

Gilbert collapsed backward onto his pillow, unsure if his racing heart was because of the exertion of coughing or his fear.

“Gilbert, do I need to go get a doctor?”

He slowly opened his eyes, frowning. Bash never called him by his first name.

“No, no, I’m fine.” Gilbert rasped. “Just...a little… cold.” He was very tired, his eyelids so heavy he could not keep them open…

“How long has he been like this?”

“He seemed a little tired last night at dinner, but this mornin’ I found him like this — I would’ve gone to town myself if I thought anyone would help me. I know he’s been staying up late into the dark hours and rising with the sun.”

“It’s good you came and got us. Have you given him medicine? Anything to eat or drink?”

“He took some water and fell asleep again.”

Hurried footsteps and the sound of dripping water. Cool relief on his forehead. An ear pressed to his chest.

“Marilla, is the doctor in town?”

“Can’t be certain. Dr. Spencer does live close, but he often is called away.”

“Is Matthew up to fetching him?”

“Oh, he will be if I have anything to say about it.”

“I would dash right now, I just—”

“It’s alright, Bash. He needs you here.”

“He’d better get going. Marilla, I can run back to—”

“No, no, I’d better go. You seem to know more about what’s going on than I.”

A sigh. “Ok. You go. Tell him to hurry, that his lungs are rattling.”

A sharp inhale followed by quick footsteps retreating from the room.

“Bash, I need you to boil some water for tea and then for a bath. Can you do that?”

“Of course.”

Heavier footsteps leaving the room and rushing down the stairs.

A small sigh. A tug on his foot, then his other — his boots were being taken off. Then, his socks. Whatever was on his head was removed, the sound of more water dripping, then came a renewed refreshing relief as it was placed back. The sounds of furniture being shifted, books being placed on the ground. Small cool fingers on the inside of his wrist. Another sigh. The scratch of pen on paper.

Heavy footsteps approaching up the stairs.

“I made ginger tea. Good for the body, good for the soul, you know.”

“That sounds perfect, bring it here.”

The clink of ceramic. Pouring liquid.

“Bash, can you hold him up slightly? The last thing we need him to do is choke…”

A shift of weight on the mattress. Two strong arms underneath his, supporting him upright. His head lolled to one side. Warm, fragrant steam under his nose.

“Gilbert,” A soothing voice. “Gilbert, can you hear me?”

His eyes cracked open to see a yellow-golden liquid in front of his face, a delicate freckled hand holding it for him. With concentrated effort, he turned his head and saw her, blue eyes wide, a comforting smile.

“Anne?” His voice was hardly over a whisper, yet still cracking and rough.

“Yes, it’s Anne, Gilbert. Can you please drink this? The whole cup? It might hurt, but I really need you to drink it, okay?”

He blinked heavily and lowered his chin to reach the cup. Hot tea filled his mouth as he hesitated to swallow.

“Blythe, you need to swallow, you moke. ”

He gulped it down, squeezing his eyes shut at the pain.

A hand lifted his chin and tilted the cup more.

“I know it hurts, I’m sorry. Please, keep drinking, it will help you feel better.”

Another sip. This time, the pain was not as sharp, as if the back of his throat was being layered with a protective coating. He continued to drink until the cup was empty. He collapsed backward, lying limp in Bash’s arms.

“Can you lean him back on the headboard? And then hold the kettle underneath his nose? The steam will help the congestion in his lungs.”

He felt Bash nod.

“I will finish warming water for the bath. Make sure he stays sitting up to breathe in the steam. If he coughs, lean him forward and pat his back.”

Another nod. Small footsteps swiftly walking out of the room.

He felt himself slipping into sleep once more. Unsure if he dreamed the mutterings from behind him.

“If you don’t marry this girl, Blythe, I swear…”

“Ok, it’s ready. Do you think you can help him down the stairs?”

“This skinny white boy? No problem.”

An exhale of a laugh and the fleeting footsteps once more leaving the room.

“Ok, Blythe, you can’t sit here like a rag doll. You gotta be strong for Anne, understand?”

Gilbert’s eyes fluttered open. Bash laughed softly.

“So that’s how to wake you up.”

Sitting him up, Bash put Gilbert’s arm around his shoulder, placing his hand on Gilbert’s waist.

Slowly Gilbert raised himself off the bed, standing on the floor while placing most of his weight on Bash’s shoulders.

“Bash, I got it,” Gilbert mumbled, trying to shrug off Bash’s arms. In his attempts, he stumbled and slammed into the wall.

“Sure you do.” Bash gripped onto Gilbert tighter and guided him down the stairs.

Anne was sitting at the kitchen table, biting her thumbnail and frowning in worry as she stared into the distance. When she saw Bash and Gilbert coming down the stairs, she jumped up, her smile not reaching her eyes.

“It’s set up behind the folding screen. Bash, can you help him with, um, you know, all of the bath stuff?” Anne cleared her throat and blushed.

“Yes, of course, Anne.” Bash was holding in laughter. “No problem at all.”

“Thank you.” Anne blushed deeper. “I will be in the parlor with Marilla until you come to get us.” She flitted away into the parlor and shut the door.

“Sit.” Bash pushed him gently onto the couch. “Now do I gotta undress you or can you do it yourself, Blythe?”

“I can do it,” Gilbert muttered. He stood up slowly, walked behind the folding screen, and undressed, throwing his clothes haphazardly over the top of the wooden panel. Looking over at the copper tub filled with steaming water, he began to lift his leg to step into it before losing his balance.

“No, you don’t.” Bash groaned as he caught Gilbert from falling backward. “Come on, brother, let’s get you in this bath.”

With some struggle, Gilbert finally was able to lay in the tub. He curled his legs into the fetal position, trying to lay on his side without dunking his nose under the water. The warmth of the water felt better than any blanket or quilt. It seemed to be evening out his body temperature, whereas before his chest was burning, but his feet were ice. Several times, he had bouts of coughs that wracked his whole body, making the calm water tumultuous. His hacking would eventually calm, and the warm air would clear a path for the air to travel into his lungs, making breathing much less painful. He hadn’t realized how much it had been hurting to breathe until the relief of the hot bath. He laid there until the water grew tepid and he began to shiver again.

“Okay, let’s get you outta there, Blythe.” Bash’s arms hooked under Gilbert’s and raised him up. Gilbert stood there, freezing. Bash handed him a towel, which he quickly wrapped around himself. He resigned himself to Bash’s assistance in getting back upstairs, collapsing into the bed the moment he could. Bash rifled through the drawers of his dresser, throwing him underwear and a nightshirt. Gilbert pulled them on quickly, relishing the warmth they brought. Bash helped get him settled into bed and tucked the quilt up to his chin.

“I’ll go let your girl know that you’re decent.” Bash winked and walked out of his bedroom. Gilbert didn’t have the energy to even think to roll his eyes or shake his head. He felt himself being called back to unconsciousness, which he gladly accepted.

Mutterings and whispers.

“Marilla, Bash can’t do this on his own. And if the doctor really can’t be here for another day…”

“What are you suggesting, Anne?”

“I don’t think we should leave him alone. If it’s what I think it is… Marilla, in service and in the asylum, I’ve seen victims of pneumonia. They, they drown in their own—”

“Enough!”

A pause.

“We will take shifts. You, Bash, and I.”

“Alright.”

“I will take the first shift, then Bash. You need your sleep, child.”

“But—”

“Not a word! The last thing we need is you coming down with it too.”

Another pause.

“You will come wake me if anything happens?”

“Yes.”

Small footsteps approached the bed. A head pressed down to his chest once more. The smooth, cool back of a hand on his forehead.

“The rattling hasn’t gotten worse. However, his fever is high — put a wet cloth on his head.”

“Go get some rest, Anne!”

She hurriedly left the room.

Gilbert fell into darkness once more.

A soft, lovely voice echoed through his mind.

The smoke of my own breath, Echoes, ripples, buzz'd whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine, My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing of blood and air through my lungs,

The voice wavered a moment, then resumed, melodic and gentle.

The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and dark-color'd sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn, The sound of the belch'd words of my voice loos'd to the eddies of the wind, A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms, The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag, The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields and hill-sides, The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising from bed and meeting the sun.

As if responding to the poetic spell, birds began to sing. A cool breeze brushed Gilbert’s face and he turned his head toward it, the freshness temporarily blowing the desert heat from his skin.

He opened his eyes. His window was open and the curtains were drawn back — it was just past dawn. The sunrise was low on the horizon, the sky a symphony of silver and gold.

“Gilbert?”

He turned his head toward the voice, frowning at the pounding in his head. She was sitting in a chair beside his bed, dressed in a white nightgown and brown robe. Her face was pale and she had shadows beneath her eyes. The gossamer morning light seemed to gather upon her like dew — she was radiant.

“Anne,” He breathed, the effort of her name forcing a round of coughs upon him.

Putting a book down, she rushed to his side, leaning him forward and rubbing circles on his back. His coughs subsided and he laid back down, completely drained. Gilbert looked back at Anne, who had resumed her stead in the chair.

“Were you—”

“Shhhh…don’t talk.” She looked down at the faded blue book. “I found this downstairs and remembered how fond you and your father were of Whitman.”

He glanced at the book in her hand, the embossed letters glinting off the cover, Leaves of Grass.

“I adore Song of Myself. ” She spoke reverently as if discussing scripture. “Marilla would probably have my hide for reading such improper verse, but… his words just spin the most delicate of tapestries. They seem to sing of my dearest ambitions of quiet majesty and tragical romance. And I’ve always been of the belief that sunrise is the most wonderful time to read poetry. Anyway,” She blushed. “I can stop. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No.” Gilbert croaked. “Please, keep reading.”

She smiled shyly and nodded, opening the book back to where she had left off. He closed his eyes and listened.

Have you reckon'd a thousand acres much? have you reckon'd the earth much? Have you practis'd so long to learn to read? Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems? Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems…

“He’s just in here, doctor.” Bash’s voice lilted from the hallway. Whoever this doctor was, Gilbert could tell his shoes were shiny just from the manner of his steps.

“Mr. Blythe.” A slightly reedy voice sounded from his bedside. Gilbert’s eyes opened and he looked up to see a man in a suit and briefcase, a severe toothbrush mustache above his upper lip. “I’m Dr. Spencer and I will be giving you an examination now. Your friends,” He cleared his throat, clearly disapproving of Bash’s status in the house. “Have told me your symptoms.”

Gilbert nodded weakly. Dr. Spencer grabbed the crook of Gilbert’s elbow and helped him to sit up. Placing a thermometer in Gilbert’s mouth, he put his stethoscope in his ears and listened to Gilbert’s heartbeat. He instructed Gilbert to inhale, hold his breath, then exhale. Looking at the thermometer, the doctor nodded his head as if a suspicion had been confirmed.

“Yes, Mr. Blythe, your red-headed friend was correct — you have pneumonia. I am going to prescribe you 3 grams of lobelia. Each day, you will have the lobelia steeped into a tea, split into four doses taken throughout the twenty-four-hour period. Half a gram per day. I will also instruct your friends how to use a needle syringe to give you some morphine for the pain. Other than that, take warm baths and breathe steam for your lungs, cool cloths on the head and neck for fever, and lots of fluids. Vegetables and meat should comprise most of your diet as you recover, if you do not yet have an appetite, a broth will do just fine. And rest Mr. Blythe. I was told you have not been getting much sleep — it is very likely that that lowered your body’s defenses to be susceptible to infection. Any questions, Mr. Blythe?”

Gilbert shook his head.

“Hopefully, you’re past the worst of it. You’re young, healthy, and strong. You should be just fine. I will come for a check-up at the end of the week.” Dr. Spencer packed up his things and walked out of the bedroom.

“I’ll walk you out.” Gilbert heard Bash say to Dr. Spencer.

Gilbert leaned back on the headboard and looked where Dr. Spencer had been just a moment before. He was already cursing himself for having no questions. How was he supposed to learn when he let opportunities like this slip by?

A head with short red hair peeked into his room. He met her eyes and attempted a smile. Anne walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. To his surprise, her eyes were brimming with tears.

“Hey,” Gilbert whispered. “Hey, it’s okay.”

She threw her arms around his neck and held on tightly, crying silently into his shoulder. At first, Gilbert was caught so off guard, his arms just stuck straight out from his body. He let himself relax and wrapped his arms around her, patting her back.

She pulled back and looked him dead in the eye. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she was angry…

“Don’t.” Anne’s voice was shaking and pointed a finger into his chest. “Don’t you dare… I-I—”

Gilbert looked into her watery eyes, her face pink and tear-stained.

“I am going to help you get better and then we are going right back to the way things were.”

Gilbert blinked in surprise. “I—”

“You scared me.” Tears were threatening to spill over once more, but she wiped her eyes before they could fall. “ Never scare me like that again, Gilbert Blythe.”

He swallowed and nodded.

She glared at him for a few more moments before sighing and standing up.

“I’ll go make you some tea.”

Anne swept out of the room, leaving Gilbert more confused than he’d ever been before.

After two more days of Gilbert’s steady improvement, Anne began to go back to school, bringing him lessons and notes from that day. She would complain about Mr. Phillips and how he was a “sad*stic, callous excuse of a man” or an “utterly belligerent and nasty dough head” and Gilbert would laugh (and cough) at her increasingly creative insults. His favorite was “depraved, virulent mumpsimus” or perhaps “abhorrent, tyrannical co*ckalorum.”

Sometimes when he was too tired to study or even speak, she would read Leaves of Grass . She had even brought over her copy of Jane Eyre , appalled that he had never read any work by Charlotte Brönte.

“Jane is my original kindred spirit, Gilbert. If we are to be friends, you must know her as well.”

He had laughed and given in easily, happy to listen to her read anything.

Dr. Spencer had come for a check-up on Friday and deemed him ready to attend school on Monday.

Marilla and Anne had made Sunday dinner at the Blythe homestead which Gilbert had partaken of heartily. He still had a tendency to get overtired and said he had to go lay down shortly after the meal. Anne followed him up, such a habit now that there was no thought of impropriety.

“It’s too bad you’re all better,” Anne remarked, lazily tracing the vine-like border of the cover ofLeaves of Grass with her finger.

“And why’s that?” Gilbert smirked.

“Because now we must return to being rivals rather than good friends.”

“Can’t we be both?”

She stared at him. “I don’t think that would be wise.”

His heart felt like it had been pulled in two.

“Why not?” Gilbert asked softly, picking at a loose thread on his quilt.

“Just, just… because! It wouldn’t be good!” Anne looked distressed.

His instinct was to reach out to her, to comfort her. He kicked himself for it.

“Then why are you here?”

“What?”

He replied louder, angrier. “Why are you here? Why didn’t you just let me lay and cough myself near to death when you had the chance?”

She looked at him in shock. “Gilbert Blythe, you listen here—”

“No.”

Anne blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I said no. I won’t listen anymore to how much you don’t want to be my friend. My apologies, Anne, for forcing my presence on you the past week and a half. I won’t make the mistake again.”

There was a heavy, suffocating silence. She looked at him, her lips parted in surprise. He was breathing heavily from his outburst. Her eyes filled with tears and Gilbert felt his anger melt away, turning into regret, guilt, and shame.

His voice softened. “Anne—”

She glared at him and swept out of the room, grabbing Jane Eyre on her way out. She closed his bedroom door hard, letting out a sob as it slammed shut.

Gilbert threw his head into his pillow and let himself fill with self-loathing until he finally fell asleep.

Chapter 14: Do Anything, But Let it Produce Joy

Chapter Text

It was a couple of weeks until Gilbert felt he was completely back to normal. His daily routine had begun again, throwing himself even more into his studies. Something about his becoming so sick and feeling so helpless — he was determined to never feel that way again and studying medicine seemed to be the logical solution. He did try to eat more often now, so he felt that ultimately, he was doing his best effort to maintain his health.

Anne had returned to decidedly ignoring him at school. Gilbert felt awful about his outburst that made her cry. She had been the only one who knew what to do when he had gotten so suddenly sick, he knew that he was in her debt for her care. However, he had not approached her since their spat. If he thought about it too much, the ache in his chest would grow from her rejection of friendship with him. It just didn’t make any sense — they had gotten along so well when he had pneumonia. Why was school any different?

At night, he would stare at the chair that she sat on by his bedside, the copy of Leaves of Grass still resting on the corner of his desk. He had taken to studying on his bed or the kitchen table as he didn’t want to move the only remaining proof that she had been there, Anne had been there to take care of him, to spend time with him .

Gilbert woke up one morning, looking out the window to see a sunrise just as pearlescent as the morning he awoke to Anne reading him Walt Whitman. He tore his eyes off of it, the memory aching too badly. Quickly getting dressed, he grabbed his books and rushed downstairs to make his usual breakfast of tasteless oatmeal.

When Bash came out of his room, Gilbert had been settled at the table for a while, his half-full bowl forgotten by his elbow. Bash sat down and served himself some oatmeal, taking a hesitant bite. After a couple more spoonfuls, he hissed with pain and stood up sharply, only to go rummage in the cupboards. Gilbert only half noticed this, his eyes still glued to his book.

“When you go to school and leave me here the whole day with no one to talk to, I keep myself busy. If you cook and the food ain’t have no taste, I chew and swallow.” Bash complained. “I’ve carried this pain, quiet, into the cold Canadian spring.”

It’s only February, Bash.

Gilbert would have teased Bash if not for the growing annoyance rearing its head in his stomach. He clenched his jaw and began to write notes on his reading, digging his pencil deep into the paper.

“You know me, Blythe. I don’t like to complain. So when I say lesser men would’ve cracked by now…”

“Then?” Gilbert retorted irritatedly, not looking up from his work.

“Exactly.” Bash stood up straight. “I’m ready, close the door.”

Gilbert looked up for the first time. Bash had tied a string to the knob of the kitchen door, attaching it to one of his molars.

“Uh, no,” Gilbert said incredulously.

“You’re right. Give it a good slam. I only wanna do this once.”

“This is a very bad idea. Go see a doctor.” Gilbert tucked his pencil into his book and began to gather his materials to pack for school.

“For a toothache? Just be my friend! The onliest one I have in this vast, lonely country.”

Gilbert stood up to stuff his books into his bag. Pausing to think for a second, he then strode over to where Bash was standing and slammed the door, Bash’s groan of pain simultaneously sounding with the clattering of a tooth on the ground.

He patted Bash’s back and sighed. “Nothing like a little peace and quiet.”

Gilbert was trying his very best to tune out the giggles of girls that stood around Prissy Andrews. Mr. Phillips had officially proposed and the wedding was coming up fast. Now, she was the center of attention, the first bride in their class. Gilbert was slightly revolted at the thought of Mr. Phillips and Prissy’s marriage. Their age difference felt wrong to him and the fact that she was his student didn’t seem quite... ethical.

Regardless of his very best efforts, Anne’s voice was one that he could never properly tune out. He had caught himself reading the same sentence over and over after hearing her exclamation of something sounding “like a magic spell for happiness.” A moment later, there was a thump and a grunt of pain. Gilbert turned around to see Cole on the ground, Billy walking away to his desk.

“You need to be more careful, bud.” Billy sneered. Both of Billy’s friends busted up into oafish guffaws. Cole rose himself onto his knees and brushed his pants off before rotating his wrist tenderly.

“Is it healing alright?”

Cole looked up at him, expressionless. “It’s getting there. Thanks.”

A few more minutes passed before Mr. Phillips called the class to attention.

“We are starting today with a geometry quiz. Please pull out your slates.”

The class responded with a mixture of grumbles and the sliding of the smooth back of slates on the wood of the desks.

Mr. Phillips ignored their complaints and began doing his normal pace down the center aisle.

“The area equals one-half times the sum of both bases, multiplied by the height. Simple enough. Begin.”

Feeling very confident in his ability to find the area of a trapezoid, Gilbert began the problem, careful to show all of his work (even if he could do most of it in his head). A cold gust of wind blew through the room suddenly as the door to the schoolroom opened. Gilbert turned around to see a windblown Bash walking into the coatroom, holding something to his cheek.

“Sebastian?” Gilbert stood from his seat.

“Good morning. Pardon me.” Bash took his hat off to address Mr. Phillips. “I need to have a word with Gilbert, please.”

He began to step into the classroom but was stopped by Mr. Phillips lifting his hand. “I’d thank you to stay in the cloakroom.”

Gilbert frowned and walked quickly to Bash. “Sebastian, what are you doing here? You look terrible.”

A voice called out from behind him. “You’re not welcome here.”

Turning around in angry disbelief, Gilbert glared at the arrogant face of Billy Andrews.

“He tried to kill me at the Christmas Pantomime.” Billy shrugged scornfully.

“If there’s any threat in this classroom, it’s you, Billy Andrews.” Anne retaliated, staring directly into Billy’s eyes, her jaw set in determination.

“Return to your lesson!” Mr. Phillips scolded.

Gilbert felt a rush of affection for Anne before remembering their predicament. He grabbed Bash’s elbow and guided him deeper into the coatroom so as not to be seen or heard.

Bash looked at Gilbert intensely. “You never told me about the Bog. Can I get my own doctor there?”

Gilbert blinked in surprise. The Bog was a slum in Charlottetown that most people knew to avoid. It was by far the poorest part of the city.

Why would anyone look for a doctor in the Bog?

“Uh, just… sit down before you fall down.” Gilbert helped Bash sit onto one of the wooden benches. Bash groaned in pain at the slight jostling movement and turned slightly green.

“I didn’t think you’d want to go there.” Gilbert sighed, placing the back of his hand on Bash’s forehead. “You have a fever, Bash.”

“No doctors ‘round here for me. That’s what the man said.”

Once again, Gilbert found himself aghast at the open prejudice of some of those who lived in Avonlea. “Unbelievable. That is just...”

Gilbert was racking his brain — who could he bring Bash to see? Obviously, Dr. Spencer was out of the running… Dr. Ward! His father’s doctor. He was sure to be kind and take his Hippocratic Oath seriously…

Putting his hand on Bash’s knee, Gilbert leaned forward. “I know a doctor in Charlottetown. I’ll take you to him right now.”

Bash looked unimpressed. “I want to go to the Bog.”

“Bash, the Bog is just not a place for you.” Gilbert pleaded. “It’s sad and unlawful and full of poverty and—”

“People who resemble me.”

Shame washed over Gilbert as he realized his own naivety, his own prejudice built subconsciously growing up as he had.

“I’m sorry.” He swallowed. “I’ll take you. But first, let me bring you to a doctor that I know can help you.”

Gilbert rose quickly and walked with purpose into the classroom to gather his things.

“No time to waste.”

Bash and Gilbert walked hurriedly to the nearest carriage door, Bash following Gilbert close behind up the stairs. The train conductor stopped them and cleared his throat, indicating with his eyes that they needed to go back down the stairs. The pair did so hesitantly.

“Is there a problem, sir?” Gilbert asked confusedly.

The man cleared his throat again. “We can’t let him on.” He jutted his chin toward Bash.

Bash looked at the ground, trying to maintain a neutral expression amidst his immense pain.

Gilbert looked between Bash and the attendant. “We both have tickets, sir. Please let us through, we need to get to Charlottetown as quickly as pos—”

“No vagrants on this train. Company policy.”

Gilbert bit back the curse words that he immediately wanted to shoot back. “So what you’re really saying is CP Railways is prejudiced?”

“I’m saying there’s no place on this train for your… guest. Isn’t that right, Isaac?” The conductor sneered as he referred to a black man dressed in a porter’s uniform, organizing luggage. “On this train, we put the coloreds to work.”

Isaac nodded slowly. “We might find space enough for him in the back… with the cargo.”

“I am a passenger. I’m not going to any back.” Bash broke his silence, stepping forward. “This man my guest. I paid for his ticket and mine.”

The conductor frowned and looked at Gilbert. “Is that true?”

Gilbert sighed exasperatedly and began to climb the stairs once more. “Sir, unless this train is legally segregated, we will be taking our legally purchased seats!”

He had stepped into the small entryway, hoping his close presence would cause the conductor to move out of the way. “Sir, we are not leaving this spot until you let us pass.”

The conductor opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by a woman’s voice.

“Oh, Gilbert! Sebastian! I wondered where you’d got to.” To both of their surprises, Marilla Cuthbert was approaching them, smiling warmly. “I have seats saved for you. This way.”

Gilbert and Bash shoved their tickets into the hand of the conductor before following Marilla down the aisle to a grouping of four seats, one of which was occupied by Rachel Lynde.

“Good morning, Mrs. Lynde.” Gilbert greeted politely.

“Oh, hello, Gilbert. And, um, uh, and…”

Her struggle to address Sebastian was gracefully ended by Marilla. “Oh, heavens, Sebastian, what ails you?”

“Poor manners and a sore tooth.” Bash shifted his snow-filled rag against his cheek. “Many thanks, Miss Marilla.”

“Sebastian, I must speak.”

Gilbert looked at Rachel warily — this conversation could go many ways, most of which led to uncomfortable silences and changes of seats.

“I insulted you when we first met, assuming you were the help.” She paused for a moment. “Avonlea has never been home to a…uh… You are the first…”

Mrs. Lynde floundered for her words, realizing too late that she had backed herself into a corner. Marilla sat very still, obviously feeling as awkward as Gilbert.

“Well… all that to say, you must come to tea someday soon.”

Gilbert tilted his head with a slight frown at this forced proclamation. Misreading Gilbert’s reaction, Rachel quickly added, “You too, Gilbert.”

He couldn’t help but smile in return, holding in a chuckle at her irritating, if not a bit endearing, efforts to speak to Bash.

Bash nodded kindly. “Thank you. I appreciate the apology and the invitation.”

A disgruntled business-looking man walked by, muttering under his breath. “Disgusting.”

Gilbert shook his head and looked at Bash who was pretending not to have heard. His control of temper was much stronger than Gilbert’s, that was for sure and certain.

The train whistle blew and Gilbert felt the familiar lurch followed by accelerating chugs of the train starting to move. A wave of nostalgia came over him and memories came flooding back.

On the train ride to and from Alberta, his father and he would play games, sometimes going through the alphabet and picking words that began with each letter for the other to spell. His father had a deck of cards and they would play Hearts and Solitaire on the tabletop of their private compartment. Gilbert would ask him questions about his mother and his siblings that he barely remembered and his dad would launch into wonderful, hilarious stories of their family. He recalled one that involved a nine-month-old Gilbert and his older sister Emma who was six at the time. Emma had a pet bunny named Mabel who had died of fright upon an interaction with the neighbor’s dog. The young girl had insisted on a graveside service for Mabel and created the program, including hymns and poetry written by Emma herself. Baby Gilbert had provoked Emma’s angriest tears by barking at the very same neighbor’s dog the entire service, earning many a happy woof in return, and breaking the reverence Emma had envisioned for her dear pet’s funeral.

“I haven’t been on a train since my father and I traveled west.” He mused.

“Was it difficult? Traveling with John in such poor health?” Marilla asked thoughtfully.

Gilbert recalled the look of joy as his father looked out the train window, how he loved to listen to Gilbert read aloud while watching the ever-changing landscape.

“He loved every minute of it.” Gilbert felt a strange combination of warmth and cold, affection and sorrow. “I’m taking Bash to his doctor, actually.”

He cleared his throat. “I guess Anne didn’t tell you, but I-I’m looking to pursue a career in medicine.”

Marilla’s face lit up in surprise. “My, won’t that be wonderful? Finally, a doctor in Avonlea.” She looked over expectantly to Rachel, who had promptly fallen asleep and was snoring lightly, and shared a look of playful exasperation with Gilbert before softening her expression. “Your father would be very proud.”

“He’d be glad I’m back home, anyway. Me? I’m not so sure.” Gilbert sighed. “Returning to a one-room schoolhouse with an apathetic teacher might not have been my smartest move.”

Giving him a knowing look, Marilla reassured him. “Mr. Phillips will be moving on after the wedding.”

“I hope whoever they get next will actually be interested in teaching.” Gilbert looked out the window indignantly.

The woman began to rustle through the basket on her lap. “Ah, yes… my surprise. I forgot all about it.” She pulled out a package covered in burlap, tied with a thin golden ribbon wrapped with the light, fluffy heads of beach grass.

“It’s pretty. That must be from Anne.” Gilbert said without thinking, laughing awkwardly and clearing his throat.

Marilla hadn’t seemed to notice. “I wonder which aspiration, from her many passions, Anne will choose when the time comes.”

On the small note that Marilla held, there were pressed lavender flowers and the whimsical cursive of Anne’s that he could recognize anywhere.

He remembered her words of encouragement.

You’ll get there if you…go where your passions lead you.

“Anne Shirley-Cuthbert is a passionate individual, alright.”

Gilbert was lost in thought. He reached back and subconsciously rubbed his face on the side that she had hit him with the slate. Only when Marilla handed him one of the strawberry tarts Anne had wrapped for her did he realize that she had been watching him curiously.

“Oh, thank you.” Gilbert blushed and looked out the window again, the two letting a pleasant silence come over them for the rest of their journey.

The wooden waiting room smelled like alcohol and soap, just as Gilbert remembered. There was no one at the reception area, but the examination room door was ajar. He walked over and knocked quietly.

“Gilbert Blythe!” The doctor’s voice was deep and warm. “It’s been a while.” He beckoned him in and reached his hand out to shake Gilbert’s, who responded in kind.

“It has.”

Without breaking their handshake, Dr. Ward put his hand on Gilbert’s shoulder. “I was very sorry to hear about your father.”

Gilbert blanched, but luckily it seemed the doctor had not expected a response. “Who do you have with you?”

Glad for the change of subject, Gilbert gestured to Bash, whose eyes were now dull, with dark circles and a sweaty brow. “This is my friend, Sebastian. It’s an emergency.”

Dr. Ward reached for Bash’s elbow and guided him to the exam table. “Yes, yes, I can see that.”

“It’s Blythe who needs help.” Bash grumbled. “Cure him of thinking he knows what’s good for everybody else.”

“That’s a sentiment I’ve heard in this office before.” The doctor raised his eyebrows at Gilbert.

He rolled his eyes at the memory of him insisting his dad do more intense treatments with Dr. Ward and his father’s quips that he was “ just fine, ” that there was “ nothing a little fresh air can’t cure .”

“Open up, let me see it.” Dr. Ward put one hand on Bash’s forehead, the other underneath his jaw. Bash winced as he opened his mouth, closing it quickly when Dr. Ward removed his hands.

“It’s criminal.” The doctor muttered, placing a thermometer underneath Bash’s tongue.

Bash closed his eyes and jerked his head slightly in Gilbert’s direction. “Blame him.”

“I was coerced. My judgment was impaired by my need for silence.”

Dr. Ward ignored them pointedly and looked at the thermometer. “You have a fever from the infection. I can give you something for both. You’re going to have to have some sutures.”

Bash shook his head and began to sit up. “Sorry to be rude, but I can’t stay. They must have doctors who can help me in the Bog.”

“The only person in the Bog who can help you is a barber who pulls teeth with rusty tongs.” Dr. Ward replied disapprovingly.

Bash paled and thought for a moment. “Blythe, new plan. I’ll get fixed up here and then we go to the Bog.”

Gilbert nodded in agreement and Bash laid back down on the table. Dr. Ward held up a needle syringe filled with clear liquid.

Upon seeing that silver point that would sink it’s angular, sharp tip into Bash’s soft gums...Gilbert’s vision began to grow black around the edges and he felt dizzy.

“Oh god,” Gilbert whispered as he collapsed into darkness.

A foul smell followed quickly by a burning in his nose made Gilbert sit up rapidly.

“Oh!”

Bash was seated on the table and pulling on his cardigan, while Dr. Ward was holding smelling salts under his nose, kneeling beside him on the… ground?

“I’m not convinced medicine is for you, Blythe.” Bash shook his head, smiling.

Gilbert frowned in confusion. “What happened?”

“You fainted.” Dr. Ward handed him a glass of water. “You want to be a doctor, eh? You sure? It’s never pretty.”

“Yeah,” Gilbert replied lamely, embarrassment rushing through him as he sipped the water.

“He has a knack for it. Most of the time.” Bash was still putting on his cardigan, looking around and failing to find the sleeve.

“Well, this is exciting news!” Dr. Ward exclaimed.

Bash chuckled. “Nowadays his nose is always in a book. Ready, Blythe?”

As Bash began to hum happily to himself, Gilbert had an idea, one that was so obvious, he wondered how he hadn’t thought of it before.

“Dr. Ward?” He began slowly. “Do you need an apprentice? Maybe I could help around here every now and again and, in exchange, you could help me craft my study plan?” Gilbert paused. “I promise I won’t keep fainting.”

Bash laughed loudly behind him.

Dr. Ward smiled. “It would be my privilege to mentor you. I’ve been thinking I might like to share my practice someday.”

“Ah, settled.” Bash slid off the table with some difficulty. “Let’s go to the Bog.”

“I’ve never seen anyone in such a hurry to get to a slum.” The doctor chuckled.

Bash slid one of his arms into his coat. “I imagine it’s a beautiful place where black people dance beautifully in the snow.” He burst into laughter as he attempted to put his other arm into the coat, again having a surprisingly difficult time with the task.

Gilbert looked at Dr. Ward with raised eyebrows.

“He’s fine. Just a little laudanum.”

Bash’s attempt at the sleeve was futile, and it hung uselessly by his side. “What do I owe you, doctor?” He went for the wrong pocket of his pants for his wallet.

“No charge!” The doctor replied. “If...Gilbert will clean up around here.” He turned to Gilbert. “I’ve got some time before my next patient if you’d like to start our discussion too.”

Gilbert’s heart jumped in excitement, but he looked at Bash unsurely. “Could you meet me back here in an hour?”

“You can come and fetch me.” Bash’s eyebrows were raised, but his eyes closed far too long with each blink. “If you can find me. I’m going to blend in.” He laughed again and did a mixture of a jog and a dance to the door of the office.

Both the doctor and Gilbert laughed.

After a few moments, Dr. Ward clapped his hand on Gilbert’s back.

“Let’s go discuss your future, Mr. Blythe.”

He smiled and followed the doctor happily, excited for this unexpected step in the right direction.

Gilbert stepped out of the clinic into the white light of a sunny day in February, feeling lighter than he had in a very long time. Dr. Ward and he had agreed upon Gilbert coming to Charlottetown every Saturday to serve as his apprentice. He would be responsible for everyday minutiae in the office, but would also get to observe examinations and procedures that Dr. Ward performed. The doctor had even told him he would maybe get to practice some simple procedures once Gilbert had some exposure to them!

His excitement dulled upon walking through the Bog, muck and mud covering the ground, grayish buildings filled with skinny children and wide eyes. Gilbert had not thought about how difficult it was going to be to find Bash. Every person he tried approaching would look at him afraid and rush off without a word. Just when Gilbert was about to give up, he saw a familiar-looking man in a navy blue uniform.

Clearing his throat, Gilbert called, “Isaac?”

The porter from the train looked up and met Gilbert’s eyes, nodding in recognition.

“If it isn’t the white boy from the train. You and your friend made my life a whole lot harder today, you know that?”

“I’m truly sorry that we were the cause for any difficulty we may have caused you.” Gilbert paused and rubbed the back of his neck. “Speaking of my friend… have you seen him? We need to catch a train to Bright River soon.”

Isaac snorted. “Yeah, I seen him. Smelt him too.”

Gilbert’s eyes lit with excitement. “Where? Do you know where he went?”

Shifting his head from side to side, Isaac thought for a moment. “He, ah, fell in the mud and walked toward the laundry down that way.” He pointed down one of the narrow walkways.

“Thank you, thank you so much, Isaac.” Gilbert reached out to shake the man’s hand, who hesitantly reached out and shook it briefly before quickly breaking their physical contact.

“Hey!” Gilbert had turned to leave, but Isaac called after him. “There’s no train from Charlottetown to Bright River until tomorrow morning.”

Gilbert frowned in disappointment but gave Isaac a quick smile. “You’re a lifesaver, Isaac. Thank you, again!”

Walking quickly down the loose wooden boards that had been put down as a sort of boardwalk across the thick layer of mud, Gilbert hurried down the street toward the laundry. He found the squat building easy enough, its windows tinted dark and its chimneys billowing smoke and steam. Swinging open the door, Gilbert sighed in relief when he saw Bash. The air’s sudden warmth and humidity reminded him instantly of the Caribbean islands.

“I’ve been looking all over for you. What happened?” Gilbert admonished before taking in the scene before him. “Why are you standing half-naked in a room full of women?”

Bash had taken off everything but his underwear and flannel shirt and was standing rather awkwardly in the middle of the floor.

“Fortune finally smiled on me.” To his surprise, Bash smiled dreamily and looked at a pretty woman who was turning a dolly stick in a large metal tub and wearing a sweat-stained pink dress. “Ladies, this is my friend and business partner, Gilbert Blythe.”

Realizing his blunder in propriety, Gilbert swiftly took off his hat and looked to the dolly stick woman. “Forgive me. Pardon me.”

She gave him a quick nod and turned to Bash, hands on her hips. “And you are?”

“Name is Sebastian. You can call me Bash, Bastian, Trini. Whatever you like.” Bash gave her a small smile, which she slowly returned.

“Turns out there’s no train until tomorrow,” Gilbert interrupted Bash out of his reverie. “So we’ll need to find a hotel.” He looked at the woman once more. “Can you recommend one?”

“Caters to black folks?” Another woman who was pressing linens laughed. “Good luck.”

“I know someone… who has a room.” The dolly stick woman in the pink dress cleared her throat. “She… lets it out to people in need.”

She walked over to Bash with a pair of blue and yellow pinstripe pajama pants. “These were never claimed.”

Bash unfolded them and appraised them. “I wonder why not.”

The woman shrugged. “Best I can offer.”

Smiling easily and stepping into the pants, Bash asked, “What is this someone’s name who takes in wayward travelers?”

She pursed her lips as if repressing a smile. “Mary.”

Bash grinned at her candidly. “Thank you… Mary.”

Mary nodded curtly before returning to her dolly stick and metal tub.

A half-hour later, Mary got off her shift and walked them to a small sun-bleached wooden structure set between two brick buildings.

Opening the door, Mary sighed. “It’s not much, but please, make yourselves at home.” There was a small cozy kitchen with a table set with a couple of daisies in a vase. A folding screen stood in the corner, a copper tub sitting behind it.

The woman took off her shawl. “I’ll get some water goin’ for you, Sebastian.” She moved to a kettle and began to pump water into it.

“Pardon?” Bash asked, confused.

She stopped pumping for a moment. “You are not sleeping in my house smelling like you do! I’m drawing you a bath and that’s final.”

Bash laughed and nodded in consent. Gilbert looked curiously between Bash and Mary. He had never seen Bash act like this before.

Who’s the moke now?

Gilbert smiled to himself as he sat down at the table.

Mary’s food was some of the best Gilbert had ever had. She made them curried rice with corn and cheese, each bite savory and spicy with the loveliest smooth texture. He felt like he waddled more than walked to their room after dinner. The woman had folded several blankets and left an extra pillow on the bed. Gilbert insisted himself to be the one to sleep on the floor — after all, Bash had undergone surgery earlier that day and was still in recovery from his infection.

Gilbert and Bash settled down into their blankets, silent but awake, content to just lay in the warmth of the coziness of the room. A knock at the door caused both of them to sit up. Mary opened it gently and peaked her head in.

“How are you two? Not still hungry?”

“Oh no. Nor fragrant. Bless you for drawing him a bath.” Gilbert chuckled.

Bash beamed at her. “Yes, bless you, Mary. You’re an angel.”

She returned his look of adoration with a small smile before extending a folded paper. “I brought your receipt.”

Bash took it from her and pulled a few bills out of his wallet, handing them to her.

Mary counted the money and frowned. “Oh. You gave me too much.” She tried to give Bash his change, but he held his hand out to stop her.

“I was hoping for some breakfast?”

She smiled wider and retreated her hand, folding up the bills. “I do know how to cook, don’t I?”

Glancing down at Gilbert, she gave a little start and reached for the door and closed it, leaving with a matter-of-fact, “Good night, then.”

Gilbert looked up at Bash who was carefully folding his receipt into his wallet. He couldn’t pass up this opportunity.

“Bless you, my angel.” He took on a rather quixotic tone.

They both began to laugh.

“Tease all you like. I don’t shy away from the truth of how I feel like some fellows I know.”

Gilbert’s laughter slowed, realizing Bash’s implications. “Ah…” He laid his head back onto the pillow.

Changing the subject quickly, he sighed and put his hands behind his head. “I don’t think I’ll sleep much.” Gilbert paused. “Too much has happened today.”

Bash replied dreamily. “I know exactly what you mean.”

Gilbert caught the first train out of Charlottetown that morning, Bash dropping a couple of coins in his hand for the fare, saying with a wink that he was going to stay a little longer.

He had to rush home and change — it was Prissy Andrews and Mr. Phillips' wedding day and he would feel quite amiss to not attend, especially since Moody had offered to save him a seat. Luckily, Gilbert made it in plenty of time, settling down in an aisle seat with the Spurgeon family. The Cuthberts sat in the aisle across, Anne wearing the same pale blue dress from Christmas. With all of the exciting moments from the previous day and the happy atmosphere in the chapel, Gilbert couldn’t recall why he had been so bent on maintaining ill will toward her.

The violins and harp started playing a soft, soothing tune and the church doors opened. The entire congregation stood and there was Prissy Andrews, arm in arm with her father, looking beautiful in a cream-colored gown and delicate veil. She clutched her bouquet of flowers and smiled demurely, the perfect image of a blushing bride. As they walked past Gilbert’s row, he saw Anne’s face as she looked at Prissy. She was in awe of the bride, marveling at the luminescence of the satin gown and no doubt the romantical nature of the entire affair.

An image flashed in Gilbert’s head — Anne, now older, wearing all white and carrying a bouquet of flowers she had picked herself, red hair contrasting exquisitely with her gown, giving him a dazzling smile from behind a gossamer veil, walking toward him on Matthew’s arm…

He was knocked out of his daydream when her eyes met his from across the aisle. Gilbert shot her a coy smile, surreptitiously looking her up and down. Anne gave a little start and blushed, turning quickly away from him to look at the front toward the altar. Reluctantly Gilbert turned forward as well, sitting with the rest of the congregation as the ceremony began.

The couple stood facing each other. Mr. Phillips looked quite nervous, his hands shaking as he lifted the veil from Prissy’s face. To Gilbert’s surprise, the groom did not smile or even look remotely happy at the sight of his soon-to-be wife. Instead, he had a slight furrow in his brow, as if he were disappointed. Prissy seemed to notice too, her adoring smile sliding off her face. The bride looked out to the congregation, her eyes roving and shifting as if trying to find someone or something in the chapel. She looked back to Mr. Phillips and dropped her bouquet, lifted her skirts, and ran back down the aisle and out of the church.

“Prissy!” Jane Andrews ran down from her stead as maid of honor, chasing her sister outside. Diana, Ruby, and Anne all looked at each other and stood up to rush after them as well.

Mutterings and gasps were running rampant throughout the small church and Mr. Phillips stood still in shock at the altar. Gilbert sat back in the pew, unsure of what to do or where to look. He began to feel rather awkward, but could not spare sympathy for his teacher.

In fact, all he could think of was his sincere hope that if his daydream came true, it would have an ending far different than this one.

Chapter 15: There are the Days that Must Happen to You

Chapter Text

Sitting down at his desk, Gilbert opened the brand new book, reveling in the creak of a never-read binding. Dr. Ward had very kindly gotten him a book written by one of his old colleagues from McGill University, Dr. William Osler. The words The Principles and Practice of Medicine glinted happily from the cover. He eagerly began to read and was pleasantly surprised at the lack of dull language used by Dr. Osler.

“ Throw away all ambition beyond that of doing the day’s work well. The travelers on the road to success live in the present, heedless of taking thought for the morrow. Live neither in the past nor in the future, but let each day’s work absorb your entire energies, and satisfy your wildest ambition.. .”

“That fox is gonna be dead meat. I think I’ll make it into a hat.”

Much to Gilbert’s annoyance, Billy’s loud chortle interrupted his escape into his new book.

“Fox? What fox?” Anne turned around to look at Billy, eyes wide with fear. Gilbert looked at Billy too, startled to see him holding a rifle.

Moody rolled his eyes. “The one with the dark tail that’s been stealing chickens.”

“Well, there’s no fox here so how’s about you put the gun away.” Gilbert glared at Billy. “I’d like to live to meet the new teacher.” He did not appreciate the disconcerted twisting of his stomach when he saw the brutish boy with such a weapon.

Before Billy could sneer his retort, the schoolhouse door opened. A pretty woman with honey-colored hair and a nice smile shuffled in, struggling to carry a strange assortment of items. A round globe of the earth fell out of her hands and rolled to a stop at Billy’s feet.

“Ha. I just laid the world at your feet, didn’t I?” The woman said cheerily. “Good morning, everyone!”

Small chuckles sounded throughout the class as they replied, “Good morning!”

Billy bent down and picked the globe up, returning it to her overflowing basket. “Here you go, little lady.”

“My name is Miss Stacy.” The smile on the woman’s face remained, but her eyes flashed and her tone turned stern. “Please take that gun outside. The classroom is no place for a weapon.”

Billy gulped. “Sure. I was… just about to do that.”

Gilbert smirked to himself as Billy scampered out of the schoolhouse, tail between his legs. He liked this teacher far more than Mr. Phillips already.

Miss Stacy continued down the aisle, looking around the classroom in genuine wonder.

“What a pretty room! So many windows. I love to see green!” She exclaimed happily.

Anne and Diana were holding hands, quietly squealing in delight, no doubt in response to Miss Stacy’s inclination to being a kindred spirit.

“Alright, let’s get to know each other.” The teacher reached the desk, placed her materials down, and began to take off her scarf. “Please stand up.”

Anne stood up quickly, being the lone student standing for a few seconds while everyone else reluctantly dragged their seats back to get onto their feet.

Miss Stacy took off her overcoat causing whispers and tuts to break out on the girl’s side. Gilbert frowned, as could not figure out the reason for such a reaction. He blushed a moment later as he heard bits and pieces, such as “corset,” “my goodness,” “not wearing.”

“Now, please move all the desks to the side and take a seat on the floor.” Miss Stacy swept her arms to gesture to the students to move. It was Gilbert’s turn to be momentarily disapproving, as he thought whatever silly game she was planning was nothing but a waste of time.

Josie looked at Miss Stacy in disbelief. “The floor?!”

Simply nodding, the teacher explained. “We’re going to form a circle and make introductions.”

Giggling in delight, Anne and Diana took to moving their desk right away.

The classroom became filled with the cacophony of wood scraping on wood, those who moved quickly milling about as they settled onto the ground to sit cross-legged. Anne had eagerly sat directly to Miss Stacy’s left and was gazing up at her with adoring attentiveness. Gilbert was on the other side of the circle. He tried not to stare at her, as he still had not completely forgiven her, but her expressiveness was very difficult to ignore.

Miss Stacy cleared her throat and most everyone stopped talking. “This is how our introductions will work. I will read a name off the roll, if that name is yours, you’ll stand up and you’ll say two words that represent you, using the first letters of your given name and surname.” She smiled quickly. “I’ll start.”

The teacher stood up gracefully. “Muriel Stacy.” She paused. “Mischievous,” Giggles sounded throughout the circle. “Scholastic.”

Anne was talking quietly to her as she sat down, to which Miss Stacy nodded slightly uncomfortably.

“Ahem, Ruby Gillis.”

Ruby stood up, smoothing her pink dress and ruffled pinafore. “Romantic…” The class responded with playful Oooooohs. To Gilbert’s surprise and slight embarrassment, Ruby looked him in the eyes. “Girl?! Ruby Gillis.” He nodded at her in acknowledgment and she flounced giddily back down to sit on the ground.

Miss Stacy beamed at her. “Well done.”

Seemingly unperturbed, Anne continued to speak indiscernible words to Miss Stacy, who had begun to ignore the red head’s commentary.

“Gilbert Blythe?”

“Oh, um…” Gilbert rushed to stand up. “Uh… Global and… ” He looked to his desk which still held the large dark green volume The Principles and Practice of Medicine. “Bookish.”

Miss Stacy gave him an approving nod as he sat down, convincingly ignoring Anne’s quiet, neverending descriptions.

“Priscilla Andrews.”

Prissy stood up and held her head up, looking confident and dignified. “Pragmatic...Actualized.”

“She left our former teacher at the altar.”

Gilbert heard this Anne comment loud and clear. Prissy’s eyes widened, while Gilbert and Diana both looked at Anne in bewilderment at this social blunder.

Giving her a disapproving look, Miss Stacy countered. “Perhaps you’d like to share your comment with the class?”

Obviously, the teacher was attempting to teach Anne some sort of lesson about the shame of airing out other’s dirty laundry. This, however, did not seem to occur to her as she matter-of-factly replied without hesitation.

“Oh, well, it’s no secret that Prissy was affianced to our former teacher, but justifiably fled the wedding.” She gave Prissy a dazzling smile, the blonde girl just standing in embarrassed shock. But Anne wasn’t done. “I’ll be happy to fill you in about everyone in Avonlea, because I was an outsider once, too, and I know how hard—”

Miss Stacy had shot Prissy an apologetic look before interrupting Anne. “No need to provide me with gossip. I don’t condone it.”

“Oh, but nothing I said is a secret.”

“If someone needs me to know something, they’ll tell me.” Miss Stacy’s tone was light, but Gilbert could feel and hear the finality of her words. “Why don’t you take your turn? What’s your name?”

Anne had finally caught up to the situation and seemed to rapidly deflate. “Anne… Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.” She stood up slowly and took a shaky breath. “Anne. Uh…” There was an awkward silence. Opening her mouth to speak, Anne made no noise, floundering as she panicked to pick her descriptor words. If not for the unfortunate circ*mstance, Gilbert would have laughed at finding something that made the girl speechless, but this made him feel so uncomfortable and bad for her that he just wished she would sit down and be quiet for her own sake.

Miss Stacy cleared her throat. “I’m sure you’ll think of some later. Why don’t you see me after class?”

Josie and Tillie covered their mouths as they giggled, obviously not caring to actually hide their laughter at Anne’s expense.

“Moody Spurgeon?”

Introductions continued, finally ending with Billy’s “Big Arms” description of himself.

Miss Stacy dismissed class for the day, telling them to be prepared for an interactive science lesson the next day. Gilbert hung back. Mr. Phillips had been an ass about tutoring him, but Miss Stacy seemed different like she genuinely cared about the students and their learning.

“Pardon me, Miss Stacy.”

She looked up from organizing her things on her desk. “Yes? Gilbert, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What can I do for you?”

“Well, I…” Gilbert launched into his story from the past two years, quickly skating over the uncomfortable parts involving his father’s death.

“And now I’m back and I’d really like to graduate with the rest of my class… So, I’m hoping you wouldn’t mind tutoring me.” He wrung his hands anxiously. “I’m worried that I’m behind and I’m very serious about medicine as my vocation.”

Miss Stacy smiled at him kindly. “My husband accelerated his studies and got early entrance into college.”

“Husband?!”

Gilbert turned to see Anne waiting by a desk to see Miss Stacy after class, a look of disbelief spread across her freckled face. The teacher nodded.

“I’m widowed, actually.”

Anne smiled wistfully. “Oh, how tragical.”

Gilbert felt like he might burst from the second-hand embarrassment he had felt for Anne on that day alone. He held his breath and continued to look at Miss Stacy, who had taken a pause before continuing her previous thought.

“Anyway, with hard work, it’s possible you could finish school early and be pre-med next year.”

Next year?

All the tension left Gilbert’s body and his heart began to race in excitement, just as it did when he had agreed to his apprenticeship with Dr. Ward.

“I’ll do whatever it takes!”

“Let’s meet before class in the mornings and get you started.”

“Thank you, thank you so much!” Gilbert grinned and turned to Anne excitedly. She returned his look with an expression of contempt and boredom.

“If Gilbert is accelerating in his studies, I’d like to, too. I have ever so many vocations in mind. Oh! The list is endless, really.” Anne’s voice carried into the coatroom.

Gilbert smiled and shook his head as he rushed out of the schoolhouse and practically skipped his way home.

“Bash!” Gilbert called as he entered the front door. “Bash, I have amazing news!”

Bash came in from the parlor, rubbing his neck and looking exhausted. “Blythe, I—”

“We have a new teacher and she has said she’ll help me accelerate my studies!”

“Good, good, Blythe, but—”

“With the apprenticeship in Charlottetown and now this, I really think I can be a shoo-in for medical school!”

“Yes and—”

“I’ve not a moment to waste — I need to study!” With this exclamation, Gilbert rushed up the stairs and shut his door loudly, leaving Bash in the kitchen with his mouth still open to speak. He scraped the chair from his bedside and sat at his desk, absentmindedly throwing the copy of Leaves of Grass onto his bed before opening The Principles and Practice of Medicine.

When Gilbert came downstairs the next morning, Bash was already dressed and sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a mug of coffee.

“I could use some help with the fence this morning before you go.” His tone was pleasant enough but oddly strained and withdrawn.

Gilbert sighed and began stuffing his books and notebook into his bag. “I can’t. Miss Stacy’s expecting me early. I can’t believe I could actually be in college next year!” Moving swiftly through the kitchen, the boy grabbed dishes from the table to put in the sink.

Bash started. “Wait. What do you mean, next year?”

“Well, I told you last night, I’m accelerating my studies.” Gilbert smiled cheekily at Bash, who frowned in response.

“Yeah, but leaving next year, that was never the plan.” Bash stood to follow Gilbert out of the kitchen.

Gilbert scoffed. “I have a chance, finally, to get something that I want. Why wouldn’t I take it?”

“I came here so we could work this land together for two years until it comes back to life and I’ve learned farming and then you’ll go.” Bash insisted, growing impatient.

“Plan’s changed.” Gilbert shrugged. “This is my future.”

“Your future. What about mine?” Bash threw his hands up exasperatedly. “You don’t even consult me? I thought we were in this together.”

Gilbert felt hurt and frustration course through his veins. This was not the reaction he wanted from his brother.

“We are.” He snapped in reply.

Bash’s tone grew panicked. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Blythe! This is a farm, not a ship!”

“You have plenty of time to get up to speed.”

“While I’m here alone and you’re at school every minute?!”

Glaring at Bash, Gilbert put on his coat and scarf. “We can get you help.”

“Nobody wants to know me, let alone work for me! How do I do all this by myself?!”

“You’ll figure it out! I gotta go!” Gilbert yelled and slammed the door, stomping his way through the melting snow all the way to school.

His heart was still pounding with anger as he tried to focus on his makeup reading Miss Stacy had given him. It didn’t help when both Marilla Cuthbert and Anne came into the classroom. The redhead approached the desk of Miss Stacy slowly.

“Anne?” Miss Stacy asked, glancing at Marilla who stood behind the girl. “Is there something a matter?”

“Oh, yes Miss Stacy.” Anne breathed. “You see, well, there is a fox, a fox that I consider a kindred spirit and friend. And he is hungry in the harsh landscape as our winter clings onto the earth, refusing to relinquish to spring.”

Marilla cleared her throat in an attempt to urge Anne to get to the point. Anne looked at her mother and nodded quickly.

“Matthew and Jerry set a trap for my fox outside of the chicken coop and I couldn’t let him die to have his pelt sold so I moved my desk right next to my window to write my essay and watched the trap all night so I could throw a rock to scare him away from the trap if he did indeed come to our yard. I must have dozed off with my lamp still burning and I woke with a start this morning. I looked out the window, leaning out as far as I dared to see if I had slept through a most horrible end to my fox. Luckily, he was not in the trap. When I leaned back into the window, I hit my head, then my essay fell and the oil lamp fell, and suddenly the pages were ablaze! I had the great idea to stomp on it with my shoes,” Anne took a deep breath. “and it went out. And then I realized that the essay I’d poured my heart into was ruined. So I was hoping maybe I could just tell you about it after school? Just the two of us.”

She poured the scattered remains of charred paper onto Miss Stacy’s desk. “It just seems a shame to have to write it again when it was perfect just as it was. I felt ever so inspired after the lesson. I learned a lot.”

Miss Stacy seemed to be taken aback by the girl’s ability to talk. “I’m sorry, but… you’re going to have to complete the assignment, Anne.”

Marilla stepped forward. “I’ll see to it that she does.”

Anne’s face fell.

“Adversity can be a blessing.” Miss Stacy gave her a smile.

Gilbert realized he had just copied the same answer three times in a row into his notebook, which he quickly began to correct.

“I hope you weren’t eavesdropping.” Anne had walked over and was standing over where he sat, her words dripping with annoyance.

“I’m trying to study.” Gilbert retorted dismissively, looking quickly back down at his book as to not be caught in his fib.

Anne popped her hip and folded her arms. “I’m going to need Miss Stacy’s help with my vocation soon, too.”

“Do whatever you want.” He snapped. After the argument with Bash, he did not have the patience to deal with whatever petty rivalry Anne had dreamt up this time. Plus, this was the most she had spoken to him in weeks and she was ruining it by being absolutely obnoxious.

Her nostrils flared in anger. “What is your problem?”

“How is your vocation mine?” Gilbert retaliated quickly.

She exhaled loudly, her tone brimming with sarcasm and frustration. “It’s not. So sorry to interrupt. Please carry on with your goals!” With this exclamation, she turned on her heel and hurried over to where Diana was seated on the floor, sitting down in a huff.

Gilbert shot her a dirty look before returning to his notes.

Why is everyone against me? Isn’t this what I should be doing? Isn’t wanting to be a doctor a noble thing?

“Gilbert?”

He looked up to Miss Stacy, who was gesturing toward where the rest of the class was seated. Gilbert scrambled up and took the closest seat on the ground. Barely listening to Miss Stacy’s introduction to the lesson, he picked at the dried dirt in the sole of his right boot. It seemed today that everyone in his life had decided to be infuriating and he would just have to deal with it. The class suddenly began to move to stand, causing Gilbert to look up to them before quickly following in suit as to not expose himself to not paying attention.

“Gather ‘round my desk, please.” Miss Stacy invited.

The students shuffled until they were in a loose ring around the teacher’s desk. Somehow, he had ended up right next to Anne.

Just my luck.

“Science changes the world for the better. Does anyone know what electricity is?”

“Light,” Anne answered eagerly.

“Yes. And?”

“A form of energy,” Gilbert responded.

“Electricity is indeed a form of energy.”

Anne glared up at Gilbert. “I was going to say that.”

He raised his eyebrows at her and looked back at the teacher. Miss Stacy poured some pennies out of a small sack and began to carve holes in… potatoes?

“If you’ve ever watched a thunderstorm, with mighty lightning bolts darting down from the sky, that’s electricity. Powerful stuff.” Miss Stacy smiled at her students' curious faces before continuing.

“A bolt of lightning is a sudden, massive surge of electricity, between the sky and the ground beneath. Electrical currents live inside atoms. And atoms are small particles that make up all matter. They’re so small that it takes billions and billions of them just to make something useful like a nail.” She presented a nail with a dramatic flourish, rousing a giggle from the circle of students.

“All objects that take up space and have mass are called matter. And everything around you is made up of matter. Chocolate cake is made up of matter.” More giggles. “These walls, the school is made up of matter. You are made up of matter.” The teacher had stuck a nail and a penny alternately in each potato and was now wrapping each metal object with copper wire, connecting them together.

“Now, today, without a standard power source, like they have in the big cities, we are going to make our own electric current in order to illuminate…” She reached into her bag and pulled out a glass object shaped like a teardrop. “A light bulb.”

The other students gasped in wonder and leaned in to see it closer. Gilbert couldn’t help joining them to take a closer look. He was reminded of those docks in New York with strangely bright lanterns, bustling with people from all walks of life, including the women with short hair and trousers that reminded him so much of the aggravating, tenacious girl standing beside him.

“How many of you have ever seen one?”

Gilbert, Anne, and Diana were the only students who raised their hands.

Miss Stacy nodded at Gilbert, indicating for him to speak.

“In New York, actually.” He responded quickly.

“In Charlottetown,” Anne answered next, shooting him a look of contempt. He looked back at her and frowned, feeling rather foolish for bringing up New York if it was something his classmates would view as a brag.

Diana cleared her throat slightly and smiled politely at the teacher. “Uh, my aunt Josephine has electricity.”

“Well, with a light bulb, scientists have found a way to send electric currents — atoms carrying energy — into a container full of gas — a different type of atom — and when those two types of atoms meet, they exchange their energy and make…”

“Light!” Anne and Gilbert answered at the same time. The red-headed girl rolled her eyes at Gilbert.

“So here in Avonlea, with a little ingenuity and some Prince Edward Island potatoes, we have… electricity!”

Miss Stacy slowly turned the lightbulb into one of the holes in a potato and to Gilbert’s surprise, it lit up! Gasps and exclamations sounded from the students, followed quickly by applause. This was definitely one of the most exciting lessons they had ever had.

“Ahem-hem-hem.”

The sound of Rachel Lynde clearing her throat caused everyone to turn around to the back of the classroom. She, along with Mrs. Pye, Mrs. Andrews, and Mrs. Spurgeon, had just entered the schoolhouse.

“Why, hello!” Miss Stacy cleared her throat. “Good timing. We were just brightening our day. Won’t you join us?”

She walked over to properly greet the group of mothers. Anne immediately turned her back to Gilbert, whispering endless praises of the new teacher to Diana. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, feeling quite lonely as everyone else had turned to talk to a friend, except him. Across the desk, Moody had picked up one of the potatoes curiously.

“Does it taste like chocolate?” He wondered aloud and lifted the copper wire to his mouth.

“Moody, no!”

“Don’t!”

Gilbert and Anne cried out at the same time, but it was too late. Moody’s tongue touched the wire and he jumped at the electric shock, dropping the potato. The rest of the battery fell with it and the lightbulb shattered loudly on the ground. The boy began patting his tongue rapidly, no doubt in an attempt to rid himself of the painful tingling from the electric current.

“Moody!” Mrs. Spurgeon cried and began to run forward. Miss Stacy reached an arm out and stopped her gently.

“Everyone stand still right where you are.”

“My child, my child!” Mrs. Spurgeon argued.

“Please stay back. Thank you.” Miss Stacy held her hands up to the frightened woman. “Let’s keep our heads. Logic dictates there are no shards under your feet, and I’d like to keep it that way. I’ll fetch a broom.”

Frustration flooded Gilbert at the stupidity of Moody’s actions. Here was the best teacher he had ever had and Moody had just made her look inept in front of several of the more outspoken mothers in Avonlea.

“Moody, are you alright?” Anne asked kindly, placing a hand on his arm. He nodded but sighed miserably.

“It’s okay, you didn’t know. Everything is going to be fine. I’m sure of it.” She beamed at the crestfallen boy who gave her a weak smile in return. Gilbert felt a pit in his stomach as he stared into space, feeling all of a sudden quite sorry for the mean thoughts he had had towards Moody.

Once Miss Stacy had swept up all of the glass, she instructed the students to move the desks back into their normal configuration. The group of mothers stood at the back of the class, watching the goings-on rather haughtily. Marilla Cuthbert was the exception — she helped Anne and Diana move their desk and seats back to the designated spot. As soon as Moody had finished moving his desk, Mrs. Spurgeon grabbed his lapel forcefully and began dragging him out of the classroom.

“Mother, please, it was my fault!” Moody begged as he stumbled alongside his mother.

Mrs. Spurgeon snapped back quickly. “You should’ve been sitting, safe and sound, at a desk!”

Gilbert rolled his eyes at this statement but remained in his stead at the back of the classroom, listening to the words Rachel Lynde and the other mothers were having with Miss Stacy. Marilla and Anne stood facing them, slightly behind the teacher.

“We expect this classroom to be orderly and calm, and we expect you to conform to the curriculum.”

“Science is part of the course of study.” Miss Stacy replied unflinchingly.

Mrs. Lynde scoffed. “That wasn’t science, that was prestidigitation.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Marilla Cuthbert sighed impatiently. “It was an excellent lesson.”

Mrs. Andrews ignored Marilla’s defense. “We want our children to learn, safely, what is required to prepare them for higher education.”

“Not the circus,” Rachel interjected.

“Pardon me,” Gilbert stepped forward. “Miss Stacy is a dedicated, capable teacher.” He was quite tired of hearing the ridiculous complaints from these stodgy women who believed themselves to be progressive.

“I hope to be exactly like her someday. She is a smart, lovely career woman who is a superior educator despite overcoming a tragical romance.” Anne added passionately. At the mention of romance, Rachel Lynde’s head snapped to look at Miss Stacy, nostrils flaring in curiosity.

“Good thing you’ll be writing that essay on gossip again.” Miss Stacy muttered.

Mrs. Andrews once more ignored any statements of defense for Miss Stacy. “The Progressive Mothers lobbied hard for the first female teacher in Avonlea. Please don’t squander the opportunity.”

With sharp looks and curt nods, the mothers marched out of the schoolhouse. Miss Stacy rubbed her forehead and looked around the classroom.

“Class is dismissed for today.”

She then walked to her office and closed the door.

After the debacle of that day’s class, Gilbert realized how silly his argument with Bash was. He was sure that if they talked it out calmly and he brought up the offer of help that Matthew Cuthbert had made to him long ago, they would come to a mutual understanding and they both would be happy.

To make up for his rudeness from the morning, Gilbert decided to walk to Carmody and buy a crab so that they could make a bit of Trinidadian bush medicine for dinner.

“Bash!” Gilbert walked in the door happily and began to take off his coat and scarf. “Just wait till you see what I got you for supper. Thought you could teach me to make Crab Callaloo. A little taste of home.”

He chuckled as he set the strung-up crab onto the table. Something white caught his eye and he walked around the table to see what it was. A note was placed on top of his father’s cardigan. With shaking hands, Gilbert picked it up and read.

Gilbert,

I’m going to the Bog. I’m not sure when or if I’ll be back. I have the horse, if you have need for him you can come fetch him.

I don’t think our plans for our lives are going the same way anymore. Sorry to leave on such short notice.

Bash

Gilbert let the slip of paper fall out of his hands and sat down slowly.

No, no, no, no, no...

He felt the cavern in his chest break back open as the numbness of grief washed over him. If his heart had felt torn in two by Anne’s rejection, it now was beaten and destroyed, crushed into a million little pieces.

The emptiness of the house pressed in on him once more. His father had died all over again. He had no family. Everyone leaves. He felt his breathing increase rapidly and noticed that his knuckles were white as he clenched his fists.

He got up, not seeing his surroundings, and stumbled up the stairs to his room. Immediately, he fell onto his bed and curled into a ball. The shallow breaths quickly became gasps as he squeezed his eyes shut, letting the darkness overtake him. His heart was beating much too fast and his palms started to tingle and sweat. Only when he tasted salt did he realized he was crying. There was a noise, an animalistic noise of despair, that he began to comprehend was coming from him as he could feel the vibrations in his throat. Waves of nausea became overwhelming, forcing any thought out of his head other than how miserably sick he felt.

Gilbert laid there for an uncertain amount of time until his heart eventually slowed to a semi-normal pace. He rolled over and kicked his boots off, too exhausted to do anything else before falling into a deep, but troubled sleep.

Chapter 16: To Be With Those I Like is Enough

Chapter Text

Gilbert went through his morning routine as normal, washing his face and attempting to comb his unruly curls before changing into a fresh shirt and ambling downstairs for breakfast. The cold dark kitchen caused a pang in his heart as he suddenly missed Bash with a quick, yet overwhelming intensity. He picked up an apple before rushing out the door and making his way to school for his early morning tutoring. After the brief flash of deep emotion, he felt numb. Now, it seemed that he was an outside viewer of his own life, allowing his own habits to take over his actions and disassociating from all physical and emotional feelings.

When he arrived at the schoolhouse, Miss Stacy hadn’t yet shown up for his tutoring session. Gilbert decided to just move on to the next chapter of the reader. She wasn’t the most punctual person, but she was never more than a couple of minutes late. Twenty minutes went by. Nearly the entire class had arrived and the teacher was still not there. Gilbert had just begun to allow some semblance of concern enter his mind when the door opened slowly and a dazed-looking Miss Stacy shuffled into the schoolhouse. The bags under her eyes were pronounced as the rest of her face was nearly slack with its lack of expression. As she walked down the aisle of the classroom, she absentmindedly removed her boater hat.

“Miss Stacy?” Gilbert rose out of his seat at the front of the class. “Everything alright?”

She gave a very slight nod in acknowledgment and slowly made her way to her office, slipping through the door and shutting it softly behind her. He looked at the door, wondering if it would be appropriate to knock when a loud slamming noise sounded from the other side of the classroom.

The door was crashing against the wall from immense momentum. Billy Andrews had been knocked onto the ground and a sandy-haired boy had begun to punch him with a wild fury.

“Cole!” Diana cried, standing up from her seat and coming to a hesitant stop before she was in the aisle.

Billy had gotten up again only to be pummeled by Cole once more, this time straddling the older boy's chest and hitting him repeatedly in the face. Cries of confusion and fear filled the classroom at the unexpected fight. The duo rolled toward the center of the room, Billy trying to gain an advantage. Paul Bell, one of Billy’s followers, reached for Cole’s shirt to pull him off.

“Hey, hey!” Gilbert intercepted Paul, putting his hand on his chest and indicating with his chin that the fight was between Cole and Billy only.

The schoolhouse door opened once again, this time a frazzled and red-faced Anne running in, her shoulder-length braids falling out of their ribbons. She looked as though she had been sobbing. Before Gilbert could process anything else, there was a clang and sickening sizzling noise. A piercing scream filled the room as Billy Andrews clutched his ear and rolled away from the iron stove in pain. Cole scrambled backward, a look of horror on his face. Prissy and Jane ran to their brother’s side and cradled his head. Miss Stacy emerged from her office and took in the chaos for a moment. In her moment of pause, Cole got up and sprinted out of the schoolhouse.

Gilbert shook his head slightly to clear his head and sprang into action.

“Diana!”

The horror-struck girl with dark, perfectly waved hair turned to Gilbert at the sound of his voice.

“Diana, go fill a handkerchief with snow and come back right away!”

She swallowed and nodded, running out of the classroom. Billy had not stopped screaming.

“Billy,” Gilbert knelt down by the boy. “Billy, look at me.”

The boy closed his eyes harder, continuing to writhe in pain. Diana returned quickly and handed Gilbert the white linen filled with snow.

“I need you to hold onto this, alright?” Gilbert asked in his best doctor voice — neutral, but commanding. He held the handkerchief up to Billy’s ear and guided the boy’s hand to hold it in place.

He vaguely heard Miss Stacy announce that class was dismissed for the day and saw out of the corner of his eye a flash of red flit out of the schoolhouse.

“Alright, Billy, I need you to stay still,” Gilbert instructed. “Don’t put on too much pressure.”

After refilling the handkerchief three times with fresh snow, Billy quieted and began to breathe deeper and slower.

“Do you think you can stand up?”

The blonde boy nodded and Gilbert extended a hand to help him to his feet.

“Thank you, Gilbert.” Miss Stacy put a hand on his shoulder. “I can accompany the Andrews home.”

Gilbert nodded in understanding and went to collect his things.

He collapsed onto the familiar stone bench, the cold of the marble permeating through his clothes and making his legs shiver. Cheeks pink with exertion, Gilbert exhaled loudly and hung his head. He had unsuccessfully attempted to fix the fence that Bash had asked for help with, ending with a shout of anger and throwing the loose planks of wood to sink into the mud. Feeling more lonely than ever before, he marched somberly to the Blythe family plot, the place on the orchard he had avoided the most since his return from sea.

The pit in his stomach had returned after his brief escape from his misery by the medical emergency earlier that morning. He thought about his father, just feet away from him, yet just as far from him as when he worked on the S.S. Primrose. His feet rested on the earth where John Blythe was buried, the soil of Avonlea underneath the soles of the same boots that had walked on the dusty jungle roads of Trinidad, the white sands of Barbados, the cobblestone streets of Philadelphia. Thoughts of his own existence and the insignificance of his one tiny life began to overwhelm him.

“I don’t know what I’m doing here anymore, Dad.”

Gilbert’s voice shook as he spoke aloud to his father for the first time since he had died.

“What am I supposed to want?”

His question came out as a forceful demand, angry tears feeling as though they were freezing solid onto his face.

After a pause, the boy spoke softly, his voice cracking.

“I wish you were here.”

Gilbert felt something inside him crack, anger rushing through him once more.

“How am I supposed to do all this by myself?!”

Sobs overtook his body as he put his head back down and clenched his fists, unable to continue looking at his father’s headstone.

An unknown amount of time passed, the cruel wind cutting through his coat and no one responding to his pleas for guidance. He began to rock back and forth slightly, repeating his own words of comfort in his mind.

You’re not by yourself. You have Bash. You’re not by yourself. You have Bash. You’re not by yourself. You have Bash...

But how could he get Bash to come back home?

A thought flashed through his mind, a thought so simple and obvious that Gilbert had never even pondered it. Standing up from his graveside seat, he sprinted to the house. He entered quickly, slamming the door and rushing over to the hallway cabinet where his father had kept important documents. After shuffling through several piles of yellowing paper, he found what he was looking for: a slightly wrinkled tri-fold with big black Old English letters reading Deed across the top.

Tucking the paper into his jacket, Gilbert ran back out the front door, intent on getting to the Bank of Carmody before it closed for the day.

Gilbert rose out of bed with a new vigor that surprised even himself. Miss Stacy had apparently been put on probation for “losing control” of her classroom and was not to teach until the board voted on her employment. It all seemed quite ludicrous to Gilbert, seeing as it was not her fault that his classmates were occasionally moronic. He had been informed that the ancient Mr. Wilson would be filling in for Miss Stacy for the time being. The dreaded monotone voice of the skinny old man was enough to lessen the guilt in Gilbert’s heart for missing school.

His favorite horse, Maple, was getting older and not as fast as she used to be. He found himself urging her to run faster and faster on the road to Bright River, despite giving himself an extra hour before the train was to leave. For solo rides lately, Gilbert used Midnight, only using Maple when she could be hitched alongside her brother. However, Bash had taken Midnight to Charlottetown, so Maple would just have to make due.

When he arrived at the station, the train had not even pulled in yet. He found himself sitting on a bench, staring at a sparse cherry blossom tree that stood at the bend of the rails where the train would eventually come.

Finally, the distant whistle sounded and a pillar of steam approached as the train to Charlottetown pulled into Bright River station. One of the first passengers to board, Gilbert settled into his seat and checked his canvas bag for the umpteenth time to ensure the deed was still inside. He needed the physical proof, the visual manifestation of Gilbert’s commitment and brotherhood to Bash. The familiar wave of shame washed over him as he thought about the extent of his inconsideration and selfishness, how he had driven Bash away. He didn’t care about going to college early anymore, he just wanted his brotherback.

Movement caught his eyes outside the train window, just a momentary flit of color manifesting itself several cars down. Gilbert saw two girls, one dark-haired clad in blue, the other fair dressed in pink, sneaking clumsily over the tracks and climbing into a freight car. They looked familiar, but they couldn’t be…

He opened the train window and leaned outside, hoping to catch another glimpse to learn the identities of these freight hoppers. His heart jumped into his throat when he saw the unmistakable red braids tucked under a knit gray cap. She was crouching in the freight, probably the first of the group of vagabonds to board. Anne began to gesture wildly to two boys hidden in the ditch beside the tracks. If Gilbert was unsure about the others’ identities, he received his full confirmation when he saw the rounder and shorter boy fall over and take a long time to get back up without pulling the other boy down onto the ground.

That’s Moody Spurgeon alright…

Gilbert shook his head and let it back into the train car, closing the window. It was obvious this was an Anne-led adventure and he felt a tug on his heart. A yearning, not for her exactly, but for the playful mischief and innocence that she seemed to embody. His life had felt so serious for so long, every decision seeming to be motivated by an eye to the future. Gilbert wished for inconsequential days filled with imagination and laughter. He decided that if he got Bash to return, he would try to lighten up and let himself live the childhood that had been cut short by his father’s illness.

When the whistle sounded again and the jolt of breaks began, Gilbert rose out of his seat to be the first out the door. He wanted to give the five students hiding in the freight a little scare before going to the Bog.

Feeling rather silly, Gilbert tried to casually stroll and stand outside of the rust-colored freight car. He pretended one of his boots was untied and knelt to feign tightening the knot so as to not arouse suspicion from any of the engineers. Finally, the latch of the car clicked and a freckled face appeared, looking side-to-side before giving a start at the sight of him standing there. As he took in the scene, he gave the motley crew a teasing smirk. Cole stood, frowning in slight confusion. Moody’s face had broken into a grin of disbelief. Ruby was kneeling and giving him a shy, self-conscious smile. Diana looked positively unamused. And their fearless leader, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, was looking at him straight in the eyes, completely incredulous.

“What are you doing here?”

Gilbert scoffed lightly. “I figure I should ask you the same question.”

To his surprise, Anne gave him a mischievous smile instead of an eye roll and promptly hopped out of the freight, gesturing for her friends to follow before turning back to him.

“You first.”

They walked down the tracks to the platform, Gilbert and Anne leading the pack a few feet ahead of everyone else. Apparently, they were both on missions of importance — to make sure people they loved were able to remain in Avonlea.

Anne let out a breath. “I hope you find Sebastian.”

“I hope he’ll forgive me for being so selfish,” Gilbert replied quickly, his shame slightly tinting his tone.

“I’m sure you can make things right.” She looked at him as they walked side by side, her blue eyes shining. “As someone who’s used to putting their foot in it, I can tell you an apology can go a long way.”

“Oh, yeah.” He said lamely, distracted by her eyes that sang sincerity. “Well, good luck with your mission to save Miss Stacy.”

She looked over and gave him a dimpled smile. Gilbert relaxed slightly and chuckled.

“I can’t believe you hopped a freight!”

Anne laughed along in earnest. “Me neither!”

He made a gesture as he needed to begin walking in a different direction as their group.

The red-head stood straight up and said in a mock-serious voice, “See you on the other side of the war.”

“See you!”

Gilbert, unable to keep the smile off his face, put his hands in his pockets and walked toward the Bog.

Soon, Gilbert found himself approaching the familiar sun-bleached structure. He knocked three times on the door, which swung open much faster than he anticipated. A frazzled Mary was standing in front of him, a look of worry and shock on her face.

“Gilbert? Have you seen Bash?”

He frowned in surprise. “I was hoping he was here.”

Mary’s eyes filled with tears as she shook her head. “He was, but…oh, come in, come in.” She stood back and gestured with her head for him to come inside. Hastily wiping her eyes, she bustled over to the stove.

“Tea?”

“Oh, y-yes, please.”

The woman poured two mugs from a silver kettle and brought them to the table.

“What I was saying before,” Mary began. “Bash was here. He stayed in the guest room for two days, helping me out with household chores I’ve been neglecting for a long time. I couldn’t, in my right mind, miss work two days in a row, so he walked me to the laundry yesterday. After my shift, my son, Elijah, was waiting for me outside. I haven’t seen him in months and rushed him home to give him some warm food and motherly affection.”

Despite her teary eyes, she was smiling at the thought of her son. Gilbert’s heart gave a pang at the outright adoration.

“I was in the kitchen and was finally able to change out of work clothes and give my boy a proper hug when Bash appeared outside the window. And he saw my son and ran off before I could explain.” She paused for a moment and looked down at her hands that were clasped around the mug. “I never told Bash I had a child, let alone a grown one.”

Gilbert swallowed. “May I ask why not?”

“Because she’s ashamed of me.” A man’s voice sounded from the other side of the room. A young black man was walking out of the guest room.

“Gilbert, this is my son, Elijah,” Mary spoke in a very gentle tone.

Gilbert rose and held out his hand. “Oh, Elijah, pleasure.”

The man looked at Gilbert’s hand with annoyance. Out of the corner of his eye, Gilbert saw Mary shift and urge Elijah to shake his hand with a slight movement of the head. Sighing and looking in another direction, Elijah reached out and reluctantly shook his hand.

“I’m not ashamed of you.” Mary looked at her son. “Except when you run with the wrong crowd like you’ve been doing.”

Elijah’s eyes darkened. “You wanna speak this now?” He jutted his chin toward Gilbert and looked back at his mother in disbelief. After an awkward pause, the man walked swiftly to the door and pulled on his coat.

“I’m going.”

Mary shot up from her chair, looking even more upset. “You just got here.”

“I got business.” Elijah drawled. “Can’t get no peace here no how, you frettin’ all night over some man.” He walked out the door without another word.

“Business,” Mary mumbled, rolling her eyes and taking their mugs to the sink. “He’s bootleggin’. I hate this place sometimes.”

“Is that why you didn’t tell Bash?”

She froze as she was about to rinse the dishes. After a beat, she replied softly.

“I didn’t tell him because...I was worried that he would think less of me if he knew I’d…” She took a deep breath and looked at Gilbert with a pained expression as if she wanted him to finish the sentence. At his silence and confused expression, she grimaced.

“...had a child out of wedlock.” Her expression turned defiant. “That’s the truth of it.”

Gilbert thought about Elijah, how the man seemed to be at least a few years older than himself, compared that to the young age of Mary, who couldn’t be older than Bash.

She must’ve gotten pregnant before she was 14…

“You must’ve been a baby yourself,” Gilbert responded without thinking, before feeling a rush of embarrassment. “Sorry, i-if that sounded forward.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, opening them to give Gilbert a tired, but appreciative look. “It wasn’t my choice, but folks like to judge.”

“Bash would understand.” Gilbert smiled comfortingly, with no hesitation in the merit of his brother’s character. “I know he would.”

Mary looked up at him, hope and doubt mingled on her face.

He sighed. “You have any idea where he might’ve gone?”

The woman lifted her arms to rest on her hips and looked distressed. “He barely knows the Bog. I went looking for him last night, but—”

“It was freezing last night.”

“It was.” She paused. “Poor Sebastian, he hates the cold.”

“Yeah.”

“He hates the cold.” Mary looked over at him, realization dawning upon her. Gilbert stared back in confusion for a moment before understanding her implication. He nodded quickly as she grabbed her shawl and hat, indicating him out the door as they rushed out into the bustle of the Bog.

Mary swung the door of the laundry open and rushed in, Gilbert following more hesitantly behind. She waltzed up to one of the women — Gilbert thought he remembered her saying her name was Jocelyn.

“Have you seen Sebastian?”

Another woman stirring a metal tub laughed and yelled at Jocelyn. “Gimme my five bucks back.”

Jocelyn turned around and wiped her hands on her apron. “Well, we didn’t want to turn him out, but we didn’t want to scare off the customers neither.”

Gilbert stepped forward. “He’s here?”

Jocelyn pursed her lips. “Mm-hmm.”

“Where?”

The woman looked pointedly at a wicker laundry basket covered with a large white sheet. Mary pushed past him and whipped the sheet off, revealing a dozing Bash.

“Drunk as a skunk.” Jocelyn shook her head.

“Oh, Sebastian!” Mary muttered exasperatedly and placed her hand on his shoulder.

Bash barely stirred. Gilbert was not about to let him ruin his chance with Mary and shook him impatiently.

“Hey, Bash, wake up.” Bash exhaled and began to raise his head, his eyes still closed. “Wake up. Bash!”

The man opened his eyes and blinked sleepily. His gaze met Mary’s and a smile of sickly adoration slid across his face.

“Mary, honey,” Jocelyn called out. “You don’t want to get mixed up with the likes of him.”

“I do.” Constance joked, leaning over from her stead to look at Bash where he lay.

“He’s a drunkard!” Jocelyn insisted impatiently.

“I’m not a drunkard.” Bash mumbled. “I’m heartbroken.”

Mary knelt down by the basket to be at eye level with him. “It’s not what you thought.”

She hesitated and broke her gaze with Bash, frowning at the floor.

Gilbert decided to intervene and help her with the words she was struggling with. “That man you saw was Mary’s son.”

“Her son?” Bash blinked at Gilbert and turned to Mary. “Your son?”

She nodded curtly, still avoiding Bash’s eyes.

“Does that mean you can marry me?”

Mary’s eyes widened in surprise as she finally looked back at Bash.

“Marry you?” She chuckled in disbelief, her voice thick with emotion.

He stared intently back at her. Without hesitation, she put her gloved hand on Bash’s face and kissed him. Gilbert blushed at this public display of affection but was grinning so much his cheeks hurt. Laughter and cheers sounded from the rest of the laundry women. Gilbert offered Bash an arm and helped him out of the basket.

“What’re you doing here, Blythe?”

“Oh.” He had momentarily forgotten his quest in the excitement of the proposal. “I guess I have a wedding gift for you.” He pulled out the yellow trifold and extended it out to Bash. “This is the deed to the farm. I’d like you to sign onto it because you’re my partner.” He smiled nervously. “My family.”

Bash took the paper and looked from the deed to Gilbert, an unknown emotion across his face.

Gilbert continued. “I want you to have a stake in the land, fair and square.”

Bash chuckled under his breath. “We’re in this together?”

Nodding enthusiastically, Gilbert agreed. “We are.”

Bash looked down at the deed, smiling in disbelief. Gilbert ducked his head slightly to bring Bash’s gaze back to his. “And, hey, I’m sorry. I’m not changing the plan.”

A grin spread across Bash’s face as he shook Gilbert’s hand before pulling him into a tight hug. Unbeknownst to either, both Bash and Gilbert had happy tears in their eyes as they reunited as partners, as brothers.

Gilbert smiled shyly to himself as he sat down on the train holding the wooden crate of lightbulbs he had offered to carry for Anne. She was allowing him to help her! That combined with their positive interaction that morning lifted his hopes for their possible friendship. He felt like he could float — Bash had forgiven him, he was going to have a new sister in Mary, and Anne was being more than pleasant to him. He looked back towards the train door — he had thought Anne was right behind him. The spot of red through the window caught his eye and he craned his neck up slightly to see what she was doing still on the platform. Right as he looked, Anne threw herself into a tight embrace with Cole, who seemed to enthusiastically respond. At the sight of Anne’s face in the sandy-haired boy’s shoulder, his arms securely wrapped around her waist, Gilbert felt himself falling back to the ground of the height he had previously been flying.

He blushed and looked in the other direction, willing the jealousy away. Who was he to feel this anger at her hugging another boy? They were friends, maybe some even considered them close acquaintances. She stumbled onto the train a mere moment before it started to move and held her mitten-clad hand up to the window to wave to Cole who remained on the platform. She began to sob quietly into her hands as they pulled out of Charlottetown. Diana rubbed her back and was whispering in a gentle voice while Ruby was dramatically sniffing and patting her handkerchief to non-existent tears. An urge to be in Diana’s stead, to be the one to comfort her overtook him. He gripped the wooden crate harder as he looked out the window of the train, trying to not hear her muffled cries. Even so, images began to flood his mind’s eye — of him hugging her close, of him wiping away her tears, of him tenderly stroking her hair, of him pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead… He let himself give in and pictured the soft comforts he would like to give her if she could ever allow it.

“Therefore, we are of the opinion that Miss Stacy has proven that she is neither qualified nor an appropriate person to shape the young minds of Avonlea.”

The voice of Mrs. Andrews floated to the balcony of town hall where Gilbert and his fellow students were seated on the ground, hidden away from the audience of adults below.

“Thank you, Progressive Mothers.” Rachel Lynde declared. “Minister… please remind our fine community what we should expect from a teacher.”

“A teacher is expected…” Gilbert heard the scraping of a chair as the Minister rose to his feet. “To enforce rules and keep order. They must teach obedience, faith, respect for elders, and morality. These are the tenets of education. Children should be silent, show respect, be honest, punctual, clean, and tidy. The goal of education is to create a better workforce, with an emphasis on good behavior. And the ability to follow directions and utilize…” There was a shuffling of papers as if the minister had lost his place while reading. “Memorization.”

Charlie and Tillie had snuck potatoes out of their cellars and were counting out five to give to each person.

The minister continued to drone on. “There is no place for nonsense games and activities. Memorization and recitation ensure proper education. Understanding concepts, or ideas, is not valuable in our goal—”

The rumbling of an engine interrupted the minister’s monotonous sermon. Gilbert and Anne were the first to react, both crawling to the banister to look over the edge at the meeting below. Miss Stacy walked into the room, slowly and confidently, wearing trousers.

Rachel Lynde stood up rapidly. “Miss Stacy! If you don’t mind, we’re conducting a meeting! I don’t recall your presence being requested!”

Miss Stacy replied in a calm, but stern voice. “Indeed, my presence was not requested, but I feel I have a right to speak on my own behalf.”

Rachel cleared her throat indignantly and sat down.

“It would be easier on all of us if I left. You cannot imagine that I want to cause dissent in your community, or that I appreciate being accused of purposefully doing so.” She paused and glanced at Mrs. Andrews. “I’m here tonight because I asked myself a question that I ask you now: What is the most important thing to focus on regarding your children’s education? Petty jealousy? Prejudice? Fear? The important question to ask yourself is: Are your children learning? I believe the answer is yes.”

“We have to hurry.” Anne’s voice snapped Gilbert out of his focus on Miss Stacy’s words. He scrambled back to his potatoes and sat criss-cross on the ground next to Anne. He began to look toward the middle of the circle for nails. As he leaned to look closer, his arm brushed Anne’s, who slightly jumped at the unexpected contact.

“Sorry.” Gilbert flashed her an apologetic smile.

She looked at him and searched his eyes for a moment before returning to the present. “Here, looks like you might need these.” Anne extended her palm, holding five nails.

“Thanks.” He breathed and held out his hand for her to pour them into. She suddenly looked very interested in her copper wire and began to wrap it around each of her nails with extreme focus.

Gilbert could hear Miss Stacy’s words better now, it seemed that she had gotten to the front of the room. “Change is uncomfortable because the future’s unknown. Yet the future is riding in fast, like a train. And to the best of my ability, I am here to bring your children forward to meet it. I understand my methods are unusual…”

“Is everyone ready?” Anne whispered as she looked around at the circle, everyone nodding their heads. “Let’s go.”

They snuck as quietly as they could down the steps to the two portals at the entrance to town hall. He looked at Moody who was standing in line at the other portal.

“Moody!” Gilbert whispered loudly. The boy turned around, a look of worry and guilt on his face.

“What, I didn’t do anything!”

Gilbert tried not to laugh out loud. “No, no, I was just going to remind you to be careful.”

Moody grimaced as the rest of the students snigg*red.

“Curious minds propel us forward. My intention is to build strong students with bright futures, not just for them, but for everyone.”

A moment of silence. From the other portal, Anne held up one finger.

“That is why I’m here.”

Anne waited for a second before gesturing and whispering, “Go!”

Both lines began to march in, holding their potato batteries above their heads, which now illuminated lightbulbs in each student’s hand. Gasps sounded through the crowd at the unexpected display. The class lined up at the front of the room with Anne, the unanimous winner of the vote to who would be the class representative, standing in the center. She straightened herself and began to speak.

“What you’ve just witnessed is the effect of Miss Stacy’s methods in action. She taught us about electricity, but she also showed us the spirit of enthusiasm and curiosity that we needed to make this happen.” Anne looked to the beaming teacher. “Miss Stacy is an inspiration. We learned more from her in a week than we learned in a year.”

“Tell me and I forget, teach me and I remember, involve me and I learn. Different isn’t bad, it’s just not the same.”

There was a shocked silence that fell over the crowd. To everyone’s surprise, Matthew Cuthbert stood up.

“There’s always… another way… to look at things.”

Anne beamed at her shy, soft-spoken father. Gilbert felt prompted to add in his two cents.

“I returned to Avonlea because I needed what has always been here. But why would I stay if I can’t grow?” Gilbert looked over to the teacher and smiled. “Miss Stacy supports my ambition to become a doctor. I believe that she is our chance to help us realize our dreams and become more than we are now.”

Marilla rose from her seat and met Gilbert’s eyes with a nod before looking at Anne and smiling softly. “As someone who lived without change for the bulk of my life… and then had great change thrust upon me… I can attest that it is the only way to grow and learn.” The woman sat back down matter-of-factly.

“Let’s put this to a vote.” Rachel looked around with a solemn expression. “All in favor of keeping Miss Stacy?”

Strangely, Mrs. Lynde then smiled shyly and raised her hand. The students raised their light bulbs and moments later, practically the entire auditorium sat with their hands raised. Applause burst forth from everyone in the room, cheers resounding from the students. Gilbert felt himself being hugged, first by Charlie, then by Diana. He gave Miss Stacy a side hug and grinned at her as she mouthed “Thank you” to him.

A couple of feet away, Anne was withdrawing from a hug with Moody. Before he could think otherwise, Gilbert marched up to her and pulled her into a tight hug. She let out a little gasp before bursting into laughter. The noise made Gilbert’s heart sing and he spun her around, laughing along with her as her feet lifted slightly off the ground.

“You did it,” Gilbert said softly into her ear before setting her down and stepping away. She blushed and looked down.

“We did it,” Anne mumbled.

Gilbert quirked his eyebrow at her incredulously. “Maybe, but it wouldn’t have happened without you.”

She looked up and met his eyes, searching them as she had earlier, before crying out “Matthew!” and running to embrace her father.

He smiled at the sweet moment and slipped out of the crowd, grabbing his coat and scarf, and began to walk, whistling all the way home.

The day was beautiful and warm, at least by March in PEI standards. Fluffy cumulus clouds stood out in contrast to the deep blue of the sky. Gilbert waited outside the white wooden church, looking through the bustle of the Bog for a spot of red. Finally, there she was — Anne and her parents were walking toward the church. Anne was smiling giddily with her arms looped through both Marilla and Matthew’s. Upon seeing him, she pulled her parents along quickly to get to the church faster.

“Gilbert!”

“Anne,” Gilbert smiled broadly. “Hello.”

“Where’s Bash and Mary? I have something for them for the ceremony.”

“Oh, they’re just inside welcoming guests.”

Anne squealed excitedly and grabbed the bag from Matthew’s arms, running inside the church. Marilla and Matthew gave each other knowing looks before looking back to Gilbert.

“Good day, Miss Cuthbert, Mr. Cuthbert.” Gilbert tipped his hat to the pair.

“Gilbert, how wonderful to see you. And on such a happy day.” Marilla beamed.

Matthew nodded back at him with a small smile.

“Shall we?” Gilbert took a step and opened the door for the Cuthberts to enter. Anne was standing with her hands on her hips, looking at Bash who was laughing.

“Sebastian LaCroix, you must look away! I’ll not have you seeing Mary before the wedding!”

Bash chuckled. “Miss Anne, you know I’ve been seeing her all morning! I know she wearing her Sunday best!”

She stood up straight and stuck out her chin in defiance. “You won’t have seen her when I’m done with her. Now shoo!”

The girl reached out and straightened the small boutonniere she had pinned onto Sebastian’s lapel, made of small sprigs of lupine, cuttings of beach grass, and unopened buds of mayflowers, all wrapped in a delicate white ribbon.

Mary laughed along. “You heard the girl, Bash, off you go!”

Bash shook his head before leaning forward to kiss Mary on the temple. “See you at the altar.” He winked and walked over to Gilbert.

“Your Anne is not afraid to share her mind.”

Gilbert shook his head. “No, she isn’t. A-and she isn’t mine.”

Elbowing Gilbert in the ribs, Bash’s tone became mockingly serious. “Now, don’t go lyin’ to your brother on the best day of his life.”

Gilbert ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck. Looking over Bash’s shoulder, he could see Anne pinning Mary’s hat back onto her head, now adorned with lupine and roses. She then pulled out a bouquet of wildflowers blooming with daffodils, roses, aster, lupin, mayflowers, and beach grass. Mary let out a little gasp and took the bouquet in her hands carefully before giving Anne a sisterly hug.

The minister of Mary’s church stood up and spoke to the wedding guests in a deep, warm voice. “May I invite you all to take your seats. And can the bride and groom join me at the altar?”

Gilbert slapped a hand on Bash’s shoulder. “You ready?” He whispered.

“Without a doubt, Blythe.”

Giving him an affectionate squeeze, Gilbert walked to sit near the front of the chapel where the Cuthberts had already saved him a seat. Anne rushed past him, sliding into the pew before he could.

“Beat you.” She looked up at him, eyes twinkling.

After a surprised pause, Gilbert laughed and sat down next to her. “I resign myself in defeat.”

“Dearly beloved,” The minister began. “We are gathered here today to witness the matrimony of Mary Hanford and Sebastian LaCroix.”

Gilbert and Anne sat up straighter, turned to the front, and folded their hands in their laps to watch the happy couple get married.

“It was a lovely service.”

Gilbert and Anne stood in front of the church, waiting for their families to be done mingling.

“It was…” Anne looked up at him. “Lovely.”

She wore a blue ribbon in her hair, the exact shade of her eyes. Gilbert blanked on what to say, distracted by how pretty she looked in the early spring light.

“Remember when I said that an apology can go a long way?”Anne took a deep breath. “For the short time we have left in class together, I resolve to be less obnoxious.”

They both started talking at once.

“I’ll be sticking around, so you’ve got your work cut out—”

“I’m really glad you found your vocation. I found mine, too.”

“What? You go.”

“What? You first.”

Gilbert knew better than to expect her to do what he said before he did what she said. “I’m gonna stay and work the farm with Bash like we planned. College will wait its proper turn.”

“So… you’re not leaving school early?”

“I want to be with my family.” He felt the smile grow on his face as he looked over at Bash and Mary, holding hands and radiating joy. “Your turn.” Gilbert returned his gaze to Anne.

“I’ve decided I’m going to be a teacher, just like Miss Stacy.”

“Tragical romance and all?” Gilbert’s heart raced. Why had he said that?

To his surprise, she didn’t punch him. She gave him a shy smile, never letting her eyes leave his. “Remains to be seen.”

Gilbert nodded in response as they stood there in silence, knowing it should be awkward but it wasn’t.

“Anne,” He said slowly. “Would you like to walk back to the train station with me?”

“Oh,” She blinked. “Y-yes, yeah, sure. Let me just ask Matthew and Marilla, we are leaving on the 2:00 train so it should be no problem.” Turning on her heel, Anne walked briskly to her parents and asked. Marilla turned to look at Gilbert and smiled softly, giving her a nod. Anne gave her mother a quick kiss on the cheek and walked out of the church once more.

“Ready when you are.”

They walked in silence for the first half of the journey to the train station. Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke.

“Remember when you said that an apology can go a long way?”

Anne looked up at him and laughed with uncertainty. “Yes…”

It took her a moment to realize that he had stopped walking. She turned around and walked back toward him.

“Anne,” He forced himself to look into her eyes. “I am so sorry, so sorry for what I said to you. It was unfair to get angry, especially when you took such wonderful care of me when I was so ill.”

Her lips parted slightly, speechless.

He continued. “Anne, I consider you my friend. And sometimes it feels like we are friends, and other times you can’t even look at me.”

She looked down at the ground.

“My apology is without condition, so know that your answer will not affect how sorry I am for being spiteful. Anne,” He bent his knees to regain eye contact with her. “Can we be friends? Real friends, 100% of the time?”

Her eyes began to fill with tears. Before he could say anything else, she wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed him tight.

“Oh Gilbert, I’ve been so awful. I’m so sorry for being such a terrible friend, yes, of course, we can be real friends.” She stepped back. “And it’s all water under the bridge to me.”

Anne held out her pinky finger, urging him with her eyes to do the same. Gilbert hesitantly reached his pinky out as well. She wrapped their extended fingers together.

“I, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, swear to be a friend to my kindred spirit, Gilbert Blythe.”

They were quiet for a moment before Anne cleared her throat and raised her eyebrows at him expectantly.

“Oh! Oh, um…” Gilbert flustered. “I, Gilbert Blythe, swear to be a friend to my kindred spirit, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.”

Anne beamed up at him and gave his pinky a little squeeze before letting go and beginning to walk again.

“You know,” Anne teased. “Just because we’re friends doesn’t mean that I won’t try to beat you in school, fair and square.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of our competition ending.” He laughed. “How would I get good enough grades for medical school without our rivalry as motivation?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Spell ‘foudroyant.’”

Gilbert let out a bark of laughter. “Foudroyant… let’s see… F-O-U-D-R-O-Y-A-N-T.”

“Correct.” She grumbled.

“This should be a word you’re familiar with. ‘Irascible.’”

She shot him a glare, obviously trying to not smile. “I-R-A-S-C-I-B-L-E. Irascible.”

Tapping her chin, Anne thought for a moment. “How about a word describing you, Gilbert Blythe. ‘Milquetoast.’”

He gasped in feign offense. “You hurt me, Miss Shirley-Cuthbert. If I must spell it, only to prove that I am the superior linguist, then I will. M-I-L-Q-U-E-T-O—”

Their spelling bee turned into casual conversation as they got to the train station and sat on a bench to wait for their families. Every so often, one of them would yell out a word and the other would have to scramble to spell it as quickly as they could. This is how the Cuthberts and the newlywed LaCroix’ found them, teasing between bouts of laughter.

“Come on, you two.” Marilla scolded lightly. “No more yelling. You sound like a pair of heathens and I will not have that level of noise on the train coming from the likes of you.”

The pair nodded with wide eyes, holding back smiles. As soon as Marilla turned around and began to walk to the platform, they burst into fits of giggles once more, earning them a glare from the older woman and a knowing smile from Mary and Bash.

Chapter 17: Sure as Life Holds All Parts Together, Death Holds All Parts Together

Chapter Text

A heavenly smell floated upstairs as Gilbert exited his bedroom to go eat breakfast.

“My goodness, Mary, what delight are you making us now?” He called, clambering down the stairs.

Standing at the stove stirring a pot of thick bubbling liquid, Mary turned and grinned at him.

“My famous cinnamon rolls. Sit down, they’re just about to come out the oven.”

He eagerly pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. Moments later, Bash entered the back door, a smile growing on his face as he smelled the spicy-sweet scent of breakfast.

Bash took off his hat and approached Mary, putting his hands on her shoulders, kissing her neck, and mumbling, “Smells delicious, my love.”

Mary momentarily forgot Gilbert’s presence and leaned into her husband before giving a start and clearing her throat, shooting Bash a look towards the boy sitting at the table. Bash looked behind him and met Gilbert’s eyes, but remained unperturbed as he slid his hands down Mary’s waist before giving her a lingering kiss on the cheek. In response, she swatted at him playfully with a loving smile on her face. Gilbert watched this scene of pure love and felt warm all the way down to his toes.

The Blythe homestead had undergone a miraculous transformation from the month of having Mary as a resident. The house never felt lonely now. She had added several tasks to Bash and Gilbert’s morning chores — suddenly, the house seemed to always be warm, never dusty, and smelled wonderful. The windows hung with freshly bleached linens, Mary had insisted on letting as much natural light into the house as possible. Little details that Gilbert had never considered before created such a cozy environment — the new placement of throw blankets in the parlor, the little teacups that decorated the shelves in the kitchen, embroidered towels hanging near the stove. It was the most at home Gilbert had ever felt.

Gilbert had made a habit of loudly announcing his departure on evening walks, making sure to include the amount of time he would be gone. It was an unspoken system that he had created after two days of living in the house with the newlyweds. Easier on all of them, he thought, to maintain that boundary of privacy.

Later that day, Gilbert walked into the house to make his daily announcement.

“Gilbert,” Mary wiped her hands on her apron from washing dishes. “Would you be willing to make a stop at Green Gables on your walk today? I got Marilla’s dish all clean for her.” She placed a white ceramic baking dish on the table.

“Of course,” Gilbert replied excitedly. He hadn’t seen Anne since their Easter dinner on Sunday and leaped at any chance he could to spend time with his newly established friend.

“Say hello to Anne for me.” Mary winked at him and returned to drying the dishes.

“Will do.” He chuckled as he pulled his cap onto his head. “Be back in two hours.”

Grabbing the ceramic dish, he swung the front door open and rushed down the steps and across the field to the shared border of Blythe-LaCroix orchards and Green Gables.

Gilbert approached the kitchen door, slowing down as he could see Marilla and Anne kneading bread dough together. He knocked lightly and quirked his eyebrow as he met Anne’s gaze. His heart skipped a beat when her eyes lit up, quickly wiping her floury hands on her apron, and rushing to open the door for him.

“Hello Anne, Miss Cuthbert.” He took off his cap before setting the dish gently down on the table. “Mary wanted me to thank you for this, Miss Cuthbert, and she asked me to see it safely returned.”

“Why, thank you, Gilbert.” Marilla beamed at him, continuing to knead her dough. He nodded in response to her words of gratitude.

“We had such a lovely time on Sunday.” Marilla began. “Why don’t we host you, Bash, and Mary for Sunday dinner this week?”

Gilbert grinned. “That sounds wonderful. I’ll pass along the invitation to Mary.”

“Ooh, do you think she can make her biscuits again?” Anne asked eagerly. “I would so love to see how she makes them — I’d be happy to come over and help!”

“I’m sure she would be glad to have you as a student for the afternoon after church.” Gilbert laughed as Marilla shook her head slightly at her daughter’s assertiveness.

“Well, I should be off. I’m planning on taking a lovely stroll to enjoy the new warmth.” Gilbert looked to Anne, raising his eyebrow. “Would you like to come with?”

Anne nodded before looking to Marilla hopefully. With an amused, if not exasperated, smile, Marilla nodded. The redhead let out a little noise of excitement, untying her apron quickly and pulling on her coat.

Gilbert opened the door, allowing her to go first before following close behind.

“Be home before dark!” Marilla called out after them.

“Will do, Marilla!” Anne yelled back as she began to run to the white fence of Green Gables. Gilbert chuckled and ran after her. She yanked the gate open and began to skip and spin down the road.

“Oh, hello dear spring! All day I have longed to enjoy you in the wilderness, but alas Marilla cruelly insisted on having my assistance with the laundry.”

“It must be good I came when I did,” Gilbert called. “How else would you have escaped your prison?”

“How else, indeed?” She laughed, pausing only to pick a flower from the side of the road, before falling back to walk by his side, twirling the delicate stem between her fingers. “I would have found a way. Perhaps, solely by the light of the moon, I would steal out my window and climb down my beloved cherry blossom tree, running barefoot to the woods to meet with the fae folk. We would collect stardust and dance in the meadows all night. At dawn, I would return to my gabled room the way I came, sneaking up my tree and climbing into bed, only the scent of wildflowers and moonbeams giving hint to my nightly escape.”

Gilbert smiled softly at the image she created in his mind — Anne running barefoot in her white nightgown, red hair loose and trailing behind her, laughing and twirling through the woods.

“Well, now I feel sorry I invited you.”

After a confused look from Anne, Gilbert elaborated.

“The faeries sound like much better companions than I could ever be.”

“Oh, shut it.” Anne grinned and punched him before breaking into a sprint. “Race you to the trees!”

“Anne!” Gilbert yelled, laughing in disbelief as he began to run. “That’s cheating! You got a head start!”

Her laugh traveled back to him as though carried on the wind and he shook his head as he raced to catch up with the girl who danced with faeries.

After a while of playful teasing along the woodland trail, the pair fell into a comfortable silence, listening to the crunch of the leaves on the forest floor and the low hum of wildlife. With the silence to think, Gilbert felt himself slipping back into the solemn trance he had tried his best to avoid all week. With every flashback came the feeling of a little electric shock to his heart, stinging for a moment before leaving a lingering ache.

“In a few years,” John Blythe said softly to the small boy with dark curls and curious hazel eyes, “You and me will harvest this together. And one day, you can have your own sons help you pick and you’ll teach them to climb just as good as I’m teaching you.”

A four-year-old Gilbert stared up at his father, his small hand remaining securely wrapped in his father’s palm, his eyes wide as saucers. “Why can’t I help now, Daddy?”

John looked down at his son and squatted down to his eye level. “You do help me, Gil. Every day.”

The little boy frowned in confusion. “No!”

The father chuckled. “Yes, you do, son. You keep me company, you do lots of stirring for Mrs. Kincannon, and didn’t you help me milk Ole’ Molly the other morning?” He began to tickle his son’s belly, who squirmed and began to giggle.

“And,” John smoothed the little boy’s unruly curls, “you remind me so much of your mother. You help me remember her. Johnny and Sam, poor lads, took after your old man. Of course, Emma was beautiful, looking just like Mom, from the way she frowned to her pretty long hair. But you, Gil-boy, you have your mother’s eyes.” He stroked the little boy’s soft cheek. “Her smile.” He smiled at his only living child, tears welling in his eyes.

Gilbert smiled back before seeing his father’s tears. “Don’t be sad, Daddy.” His little pudgy arms reached up, up, up, and wrapped around the man’s neck. Putting one arm around his son, his other hand going to the back of the boy’s head, John hugged the boy tightly, allowing the tears to fall silently while his son couldn’t see.

“I get sad sometimes, Gil. And that’s okay.” John pulled back from the hug to look into his son’s eyes. “But, you, son of mine,” He ruffled the boy’s hair. “You make me so happy every day that I can’t stay sad for very long.”

The little boy squirmed out of his father’s hands and began to run towards a large apple tree.

“Help me climb, daddy, help!”

John laughed and rose to his feet to jog over to his son. “Up you go!” He easily picked up the child and swung him onto the lowest branch, holding tight to his ankles, while the little boy eagerly reached out his small hands to hold onto the trunk.

“Okay, Gil, what’s the most important rule of climbing trees?”

“Not let go!”

“That’s right! Now that we’ve practiced not letting go, the next rule is: look for the steps. Nature makes stairs, like the stairs in the house that you can go up and down all by yourself. You just have to look hard enough for them. Always know where you’re going to put your hand and foot next before moving.”

With lots of help, little Gilbert was able to climb up two branches, his father’s grasp never loosening. The boy sat on a higher branch, his small legs dangling.

“Jump, please, Daddy?”

John chuckled. “Well, since you’ve been such a clever boy today, I guess I can let you jump.” He moved his hands underneath the soles of the little boy’s boots. “You can use Dad’s hands to step on if you need, okay?”

Gilbert nodded eagerly and stepped hesitantly onto his dad’s left hand. At first, he didn’t put his full weight onto his father’s palm. “Daddy, you’ll catch me?” He asked nervously.

“Always.” John’s face turned serious, though the twinkle in his eyes remained. “I’ll always catch you, son.”

Gilbert slowly stepped fully onto his father’s hand before jumping off the branch, his father catching him in his arms and spinning him around, causing the boy to laugh and scream in delight. Eventually, John set his son on the ground gently, and together, they walked hand-in-hand to the house for supper.

“Gilbert?”

Anne’s voice of concern brought him back to the present. Embarrassingly enough, Gilbert felt unshed tears in his eyes and quickly rubbed the inner corners as though some dust was bothering him.

“Are you okay?”

Gilbert cleared his throat and nodded, kicking a small pebble down the trail.

“Are you… sure?”

“Yeah.” His voice was strained.

“Well, if you need to talk, I’m all ears.”

A couple of minutes passed with neither of the pair speaking. Gilbert was the one to break the silence.

“It’s my dad’s birthday this Sunday.”

Anne turned to him, eyes widening very slightly in surprise, before returning to a neutral expression.

“Ah, I see.”

There was another moment of silence.

“What were you thinking about? Before, I mean? You seemed to be in another place entirely.”

Gilbert kicked the pebble down the trail once more. “I was remembering my dad before he got sick. He taught me how to climb trees, I was just remembering one of his lessons.” He laughed under his breath. “Stupid, I know.”

Anne stopped walking and grabbed Gilbert’s elbow. “Nothing could be less stupid. It sounds like a wonderful memory. Would you like to describe it to me?”

Looking into her earnest eyes, Gilbert saw nothing but genuine interest. He nodded slightly and she pulled his arm over to a fallen log where they both sat. She leaned forward and placed her elbows on her knees, resting her chin in her hands. Gilbert chuckled slightly at her child-like pose and told her what he remembered, the golden light of the sunset, the dusty sweet smell of the orchard, the beautiful delicate apple blossoms. As he spoke, he remembered more details of his father — his weather-worn, permanently tanned skin from years of farm work. His brilliant green eyes that crinkled with his nose when he smiled. His dependable strength. His booming laugh. His quiet tears.

Gilbert finished describing the scene and finally glanced up from the rock he had been staring at to meet her eyes.

“I know, it’s not much of a story. Sorry, if it was boring.”

Anne’s eyes glistened. “Gilbert, it may not have been a story, but it was a moment. A divine memory where you felt loved and safe. Do not apologize for it — hold it close to your heart. Remember it, write it down if you need to. When you remember your father, he is with you.” She reached over and squeezed his hand. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

Gilbert nodded with a tight smile, overwhelmed with emotion. He felt lighter, but also drained.

“We better get going. It’s getting late and Marilla wants you home before dark.” Rising from the log, Gilbert offered a hand to Anne. She opened her mouth as if to say something about how she didn’t need his help to get up, but apparently thought otherwise, and took his hand. They began their walk back to Green Gables, silent once more.

“I’ve had a wonderful idea!” Anne exclaimed suddenly, startling Gilbert.

He looked over at her curiously. “What is it?”

“Well, let’s see…” She tapped her chin with her finger. “Yes, yes, I think that would be best… Gilbert, I’m very sorry but I cannot tell you.”

Gilbert laughed in bewilderment. “You just shouted about a fantastic revelation and are withholding the information now? Wow, Anne, that’s just cruel.”

“It will be a surprise.”

Making a motion of sealing her lips and throwing away the key, Anne shook her head to indicate the seriousness of the matter.

“Can you give me a hint?”

“Nope!”

He shook his head in turn and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Fine, maintain your reticence… Carrots.” She snapped her head to him, her jaw dropped.

“Gilbert Blythe, you did not…”

He grinned wickedly back at her. “I won’t call you that if you tell me your secret?”

Shaking her head slowly in disbelief, she muttered, “I can’t believe you didn’t learn your lesson…”

Reaching over, he grabbed the end of one of her braids and tugged it gently. “C’mon, Carrots.”

Luckily for him, he had known to expect an immediate response. Gilbert dodged her arm just in time and took off running.

“Gilbert Blythe! I will kill you!” She yelled after him, running close behind.

“Not if you can’t catch me!”

They ran until Gilbert’s lungs burned, but he did not slow down until they reached the white fence of Green Gables. Wheezing, Gilbert unlocked the gate and opened it for Anne to walk through. Her face pink with exertion, she nodded in thanks and walked past him. He thought he was in the clear before she quickly turned around and gave his head a smack.

“Don’t call me Carrots, Gilbert Blythe.”

“We’ll see if I can remember.” He gave her an impish smile before closing the gate.

She rolled her eyes and turned around once more to walk to the house.

“Goodnight, Anne!” He called across the yard.

“Ugh! Goodnight!” She dramatically stomped up the stairs of the porch and swung the kitchen door open before slamming it shut.

“You can still come over, right?” Anne asked expectantly as the pair followed their families out of the church.

“Yes,” Gilbert answered with a forced smile. Images of his dream the night prior kept flashing before his eyes.

A little boy with dark curly hair and curious, hazel eyes toddled along in the Blythe orchard. His father walked beside him, chuckling as the boy jumped fruitlessly to grab at the apples hanging from the branches high above the ground.

“Help me climb, daddy, help!” The little boy insisted.

The father laughed and swung his child to the lowest branch of the tree, holding on to his ankles. Gripping tightly to the trunk, the little boy yelled.

“Jump! Jump, daddy?!”

The father nodded and held his hands out for the boy to jump into.

The child’s voice faltered. “Daddy, you’ll catch me?”

“Always.”

And now Gilbert was the one standing on the tree branch, and he jumped confidently. Too late, he realized his father was no longer there and he was hurtling, hurtling toward the ground, the feeling of falling, lifting his stomach into his throat, he couldn’t scream, he braced himself for impact…

He had awoken suddenly, sitting up and breathing heavily. It took him quite a long time to return his heart rate to a normal pace and his gasping breaths to slow to a speed where he could properly inhale the right amount of oxygen. The morning of April 24, the day John Blythe had entered the world sixty-three years prior, had not begun ideally.

A small hand on his elbow gave him a comforting squeeze.

“You don’t have to pretend for any of us, Gilbert.” Anne looked at him with a deep understanding. “But know that you’re not alone. You have a family.”

“Looks like it’s just you and me going home, Blythe.” Bash approached them and Anne’s hand dropped off of Gilbert’s arm quickly. “Mary has something to do for tonight’s dinner at Green Gables.” He winked at Anne who responded with a giddy smile.

“I don’t like the idea of you two conspiring against me…” Gilbert said warily, eyeing the two of them.

“Stop being so paranoid. She just teaching Anne how to make her delicious biscuits, isn’t that right, Queen Anne?

Anne nodded eagerly and skipped off to the Cuthbert wagon, hopping onto the back alongside Mary. They giggled and squeezed each other’s hands for a moment before waving back at the boys.

“Trouble if I ever saw it,” Gilbert mumbled irritably.

“You can say that again.” Bash said dreamily, blowing Mary a kiss goodbye before guiding Gilbert to their own carriage.

Bash raised his hand and knocked three times on the front door. Normally, the Blythe-LaCroix family went through the kitchen door, but it was Sunday dinner and, as Bash would say, “Miss Marilla minds those who mind their manners.”

Marilla answered the door with a bright smile.

“Gilbert! Bash! Do come in.”

She opened the door wider and stepped back to allow them to pass her. The warm smell of freshly-baked biscuits hung in the air, causing both Bash and Gilbert to inhale deeply in contentment. After hanging up their hats and coats, they walked into the parlor.

“Supper will be ready momentarily,” Marilla said warmly before walking swiftly to the kitchen door and calling in a much more commanding voice. “Anne! We have company! Are you done?”

“Almost, Marilla! Just putting on the final touches!”

Bash’s leg was shaking up and down in impatience.

“Bash,” Gilbert whispered, “Everything alright?”

The man nodded absentmindedly and continued to fidget, playing with something in his pocket. Frowning slightly, Gilbert leaned back on the sofa and closed his eyes.

Matthew’s soft voice caused Gilbert to sit up and straighten his vest before rising off the sofa with Bash.

“They’re ready for you.” The elderly man said kindly, opening the door for the pair.

Gilbert walked in first, letting out a little gasp at the sight in the dining room.

“What’s all this?”

The table was decorated beautifully, with a white tablecloth and burlap runner. Greenery and apple blossoms were scattered artfully across the center, a vase with a beautiful bouquet of wildflowers and beach grass in the middle of it all. Candles were lit sporadically throughout the centerpiece and additional candles were lit on the mantle. It was apparent that Marilla’s finest china was placed at every table setting. Seats were assigned with small cards that read each person’s name in the whimsical loopy script he’d recognize anywhere, each name card having a small pressed flower attached to it.

Mary, Anne, and Marilla were standing back from the table watching Gilbert’s reaction. He walked slowly around the table until he found his assigned seat. Pulling out his chair, he almost sat down before noticing everyone’s eyes on him. He hesitated before Mary insisted gently, “Sit down, Gilbert.” Slightly confused, Gilbert sat down slowly and looked again at the table’s beautiful decor. There was a card, bigger than the name cards, leaning on the vase in the middle. Gilbert picked it up and brought it closer to read. The entire border of the paper had pressed flowers attached and in the center, it read:

Happy Birthday, John

Gilbert’s breath hitched in his throat as he looked at the card and up to each one of the smiling faces in the room.

“What is this?” Gilbert asked softly as he gently placed the card back to lean on the vase.

“A celebration of life,” Anne responded reverently.

There was a moment of quiet while Gilbert absorbed her words.

“Is this the surprise?”

Anne nodded with a bright smile.

“We have a bit of an unusual dinner planned, but we don’t have to do it if you’d rather not, Gilbert,” Marilla said hesitantly.

“No.” He whispered. Clearing his throat, he repeated louder. “No, I would love to see what you have planned.”

Everyone beamed at him and they all took a seat, save Marilla, who was taking plates one at a time to the kitchen to dish up.

“We all have a tribute prepared for your father, Gilbert,” Anne announced. “I can go first if that’s alright with everyone?”

The group nodded in agreement and Anne gave a nervous laugh before walking to the parlor and returning with a familiar blue-green book.

“I thought it would be appropriate to give a reading from Mr. Blythe’s favorite poet, Walt Whitman.”

“Wait, is that my book?” Gilbert asked with his eyebrows raised.

Anne reached up and tightened her blue ribbon and blushed. “Well… yes but Bash is the one who took it and it was just to borrow without permission so that we could maintain the surprise…”

Gilbert laughed loudly, breaking the tension and causing the entire table to burst into laughter as well.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, please.” He gestured to Anne to continue.

She nodded and cleared her throat, opening the book to a marked page.

“From this hour I ordain myself loos’d of limits and imaginary lines,

Going where I list, my own master total and absolute,

Listening to others, considering well what they say,

Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating,

Gently, but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that would hold me.

I inhale great draughts of space,

The east and the west are mine, and the north and the south are mine.

I am larger, better than I thought,

I did not know I held so much goodness.

All seems beautiful to me,

I can repeat over to men and women You have done such good to me I would do the same to you,

I will recruit for myself and you as I go,

I will scatter myself among men and women as I go,

I will toss a new gladness and roughness among them,

Whoever denies me it shall not trouble me,

Whoever accepts me he or she shall be blessed and shall bless me.”

The table gave a round of applause and Anne did a little curtsy before rushing off to the parlor to return the book.

“I…” Matthew began, the table falling silent. “I can go next.” He pushed his chair back and stood up, shifting his weight back and forth nervously. On her way back to her seat, Anne gave Matthew a hug and he visibly relaxed, standing up straighter.

“I, uh, have a story about...about John.”

“This happened when I was about 9 or 10, s-so Marilla musta been ‘round 15. John was Marilla’s age, you see.” The man explained, looking at Mary and Bash who gave him encouraging nods. “So, y’know, in the fall, the Blythes would harvest the potatoes. A-and there was one field, one field that was diff’rnt from the others.”

“Your grandfather,” Matthew pointed at Gilbert. “And John and your uncle Frank all went out to work the field. And as soon as they began to dig, there were n-no potatoes! It looked like they got robbed! Someone’d come and dug up their crops. It became quite the scandal in town. Oh, your grandmother had a right time of it. Who would ever steal from...the Blythes?”

“John and Frank, oh, they were a couple of troublemakers. They would sneak off to go on adventures, oh y’know, up and down the coast, finding coves and whatnot. Well, eventually, it turned out John and Frank had been given charge of sowin’ that field. A-and they had forgot to plant the potatoes! I remember hearin’ that Mrs. Blythe had given her sons a real stern talkin’ to, which everyone in town knew was more of a fright than a birch switch ever could be.”

Everyone burst into riotous laughter, Gilbert laughing the hardest. Matthew sat down looking sheepish but pleased.

“Like father, like son, eh, Blythe?” Bash chuckled, dodging out of the way as Gilbert reached over to smack him.

The laughter died down and for a moment no one spoke. Bash stood up, buttoning his vest, and pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket.

“Now, I never got to meet John Blythe, so I don’t have no stories. But, I do have some things I’d like to share with him, so I wrote him a letter.” He gestured to the paper in his hands.

With a slight tremble, Bash unfolded the paper and began to read.

“Dear Mr. Blythe,

Now, you may not know me, so let me introduce myself. My name is Sebastian LaCroix, most people call me “Bash.” I’m from a lovely island called Trinidad. When I was 17, I began to work on a ship, shoveling coal into hot hot furnaces all day. Now, I saw slave labor in Trinidad and so I know I was more fortunate than most, getting a wage for my work. But I wasn’t happy. I thought it was the highest I could ever climb. I thought I would grow old and die on that ship.”

Bash’s voice had grown thick and he cleared his throat before continuing.

I worked on that ship for ten years. One day, I was shoveling and paused to wipe my sweaty face. And, of course, the boss didn’t like me too much. And he yelled, calling me “Trinidad.” Been called much worse, didn’t think much of it. Until I heard someone trying to sing from the furnace next to mine. “Haul away, Joe” he sang. Just writing those three words send shivers down my spine, Mr. Blythe.”

Bash looked up at Gilbert at this last sentence and the whole table chuckled.

“A skinny white boy was hauling his load of coal, singing loud enough to bring down the walls of Jericho. And, oh, did that make the boss mad. Now, I was mad too, because I was getting in the middle of the two of them and I didn’t want to lose my job. But this boy, he just kept smiling and singing like there was no trouble, like he was in a field with a buttery sun on his face rather than the blazing hot belly of a ship. I cursed that boy and chewed him out that night.

Little did I know that I had just met my best friend. My brother. This pasty moke was gonna change the entire course of my life.

I never met a boy, let alone a white boy, like Gilbert, Mr. Blythe. And I know I have you to thank for raising such a son who was willing to be so close with a black man. Your son is good. He knows what is right and sticks to it, even when it is hard. I seen him deliver a baby in the street to a mother that no one else would help. He wants to be a doctor to help people, save fathers so their sons don’t have to go through losing them the way he lost you.

He gave me your sweater. I hope you don’t mind. Every time I put it on in my first Canadian winter, I felt the warm welcome of the Blythes wrapping around me. It made me feel comfortable in a place so far from home. And now, I’ve married the most wonderful woman in the entire world and she has become my home. Gilbert has become my home. Even Avonlea has become my home. And I owe it all to you and your son.

I know I could never replace you and I wouldn’t want to. But I want you to know that I’m watching out for your son. He’s got a good head on his shoulders and I’m gonna help him make his dreams come true, just like he’s done for me. He’s not alone. He has a family. And you don’t need to worry about him.

Thank you, Mr. Blythe. For your son, for your legacy. I hope I can do you proud.

Sincerely,

Sebastian LaCroix

A poignant silence hung in the air. Anne, Mary, and Marilla were dabbing their eyes with their handkerchiefs, while Gilbert looked straight at Bash, tears flowing silently down his face. He rose from his seat and walked around the table. The brothers hugged with eyes squeezed shut, pulling away and giving each other a nod of understanding before returning to their seats.

Marilla gave Gilbert a watery smile before standing up.

“I suppose it’s my turn.”

The table got quiet as Marilla looked down at her hands and then to Anne, who responded with an encouraging nod.

“When I think of John,” The woman began quietly. “I think of his kindness. He was a good person. When we were in school, there was a boy a couple of years younger than us who would come to class wearing the same dirty clothes every day. He didn’t speak much and he sat alone at break, never bringing anything to eat. And then, one day, I saw him, sitting against the schoolhouse with a cheese sandwich, an apple, and a jar of milk. John sat across the yard talking with his friends, but with no lunch. I knew that John had given him that food, which he continued to do every dayuntil our graduation.”

Hastily wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, Marilla took a deep breath and continued. “I doubt anyone else noticed this act. He didn’t do good things for glory or attention. He did them because he genuinely valued the lives of all of those around him.”

“John knew who he was and what he wanted. He was willing to work as hard as he needed to in order to achieve his goals. He wanted to travel, to see the world, and then have a family.” She looked at Gilbert and smiled. “And he did just that. And if nothing else is a testament to John’s character, look at the son he raised. A son who has not had an easy time of it, but has turned every obstacle into a chance to step further into the light rather than retreat into the dark.”

Gilbert felt himself choking up, but willed the tears away. He couldn’t cry this whole dinner, not when this was such a wonderful celebration.

“That ribbon, in Anne’s hair, was a gift from John.” The woman smiled nostalgically. “And just like the many gifts he gave in this world, it has been long-lasting and benefitted far more people than just the direct recipients. His legacy of kindness will ripple through the proceeding generations of all those who met him. Including you, Gilbert. He is with you, always.”

“Happy birthday, John.” She whispered, looking upwards with a sad smile before sitting down. Gilbert reached his hand over to grasp her own, hoping to communicate with his eyes how much her words had meant to him.

“I guess they saved the best for last.” Mary chuckled, the mood instantly lightening with her warm disposition.

“Well I’ve only known Gilbert for about two months now, but I do know that I owe him everything for this magical new life I have.” She grinned down at Bash who gazed up at her lovingly.

“In the Bog, there was a family of Irish immigrants just down the street, the Murrays.”

“They had an embroidery of a prayer hanging by their front door and I would like to share it with you all, in honor of Gilbert’s father, John.”

Mary did not pull out any notes or books and began to speak from memory, each word filled with meaning and emotion, her eyes meeting everyone’s at the table.

“May the road rise to meet you,

May the wind be always at your back,

May the sun shine warm upon your face,

The rains fall soft upon your fields and,

Until we meet again,

May God hold you in the palm of His hand.

May God grant you always…

A sunbeam to warm you,

A moonbeam to charm you,

A sheltering angel, so nothing can harm you.

May the Saints protect you

And bless you today

And may troubles ignore you

Each step of the way.”

A lovely peace fell over the room in the moment of silence following her prayer.

“Mary…” Gilbert began. “That was so beautiful. Thank you.”

She walked around the table and gave Gilbert a squeeze and a kiss on the head.

Gilbert stood up, mouth open to speak but speechless.

“I-I don’t know how to thank you all. This—”

“Well don’t thank us yet!” Mary teased as she gestured to Anne to follow her into the kitchen.

Gilbert sputtered in confusion, sitting back down in his chair abruptly. He turned his head as the kitchen door opened once more, Anne and Mary walking out carrying a large cake. It was decorated just as intricately as the table, with greenery on the borders of the white frosting, petals of apple blossoms dusting the top. Marilla stood and removed the vase from the table, helping the other women place the cake plate in the very center. Everyone at the table looked at each other before bursting into a raucous version of For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow, Gilbert joining in after recovering from his surprise.

They all laughed jovially as the song finished. Marilla got out a silver cake cutter and began to cut generous slices onto smaller plates, passing them around the table. As they ate the delicious cake — “My not-so-secret recipe” Mary had giggled, elbowing Anne — conversation began to flow easily. Gilbert found himself participating genuinely, smiling and adding in his own anecdotes. After everyone had long since finished their cake and sat in a stupor of contentment, Anne got up and grabbed the bouquet of flowers that was sitting in the vase.

“There’s one last part of the celebration.” She said, handing the flowers to Gilbert. “We planned it so that you could go alone, but if you would like, any or all of us would be more than happy to come.”

Taking the flowers gingerly out of Anne’s hands, Gilbert nodded his head in understanding.

“I think,” He said quietly. “I think I’d like to do this part alone.”

Bash spoke up. “You can go on now. I’ll take the carriage with Mary in a bit.”

Standing up, Gilbert walked to the door, handing the flowers to Anne to hold while he put on his hat and coat. Grabbing the bouquet back from her, he waved his goodbye to everyone, letting his eyes rest on Anne.

“Thank you… for everything.”

Gilbert opened the wrought iron gate to the Blythe family cemetery, closing it carefully behind him before turning to look at his father’s grave. He stood still for a moment, not knowing what to do with his body. Usually, he sat on the bench that was outside the plot — this time he was closer than he’d ever been since the funeral. Kneeling down, Gilbert placed the flowers in front of the headstone.

“Hey, Dad.”

His voice cracked, causing him to laugh at himself for a moment.

“Dad, would you think I’m crazy if I told you I was nervous right now?”

Gilbert shifted his legs so he was sitting criss-cross on the ground, eye-level now with his father’s name on the headstone.

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot this week. Remember when you taught me how to climb trees? Those are some of the best memories I have, just us in the orchard.”

“I hope you saw the program earlier at the Cuthberts. It was… really special. Anne was the mastermind, of course. I wish you could meet her again, I’d love to hear what you both would talk about together. A-and I didn’t know that potato story — you and uncle Frank were troublemakers! I think I’m gonna try and have some more adventures this summer — be a stupid kid for a little while.”

The crunching of two pairs of footsteps alerted Gilbert to Mary and Bash’s presence. He looked back at them, giving them a small smile. Standing up, he brushed the residual dirt off of his pants.

“I miss you, Dad. But I’m not alone anymore. And I think I’m doing okay. I love you.” Gilbert let his hand brush the top of the headstone. “Happy birthday, Dad.”

Walking back out of the cemetery, Gilbert walked to the couple, who separated to allow a spot for him in between them. The trio walked back toward the house with arms around each other, ready to have a nice cup of tea together before bed.

Chapter 18: Be Curious, Not Judgmental

Chapter Text

“Gilbert!”

He turned his head so quickly, his wide-brimmed hat fell over his eyes while the ladder he was perched on began to sway. After catching his balance, Gilbert slowly descended, carefully holding his pruning shears facing downwards. Squinting down the row of apple trees, he could see a redheaded figure sprinting full out towards him.

“Anne?!” He called in concern, instantly dropping his shears and running towards her. “Are you alright?”

They met in the middle and Anne bent over, gasping for breath and holding up her finger to indicate for him to wait.

“Anne.” Gilbert tried unsuccessfully to sound calm. “Anne, I need you to tell me if you’re okay.”

Accompanied by the eye roll she seemed to reserve exclusively for him, she gave him a thumbs up while remaining hunched over.

“Give...me a...second.” She gasped.

Unconvinced, Gilbert bent down to meet her eyes. They were closed as she intensely focused on slowing her breathing down. There didn’t appear to be anything outwardly wrong with her so he stood back up and watched her with a furrowed brow, impatient to find out what was the matter.

“Ok.” She straightened and let out a deep exhale. “Gilbert.”

“Anne.” He repeated impatiently.

“I have found the most wonderful, magical place. Oh Gilbert, it is a true fairyland! After exploring it — I can only describe it as a sanctuary — I knew I had to tell someone if only to ensure that I had not imagined it! It does provide so much scope for the imagination!” Anne gave him a breathless smile.

“Okay…” Gilbert tilted his head. “So, you’re not hurt?”

Anne repeated her eye roll, adding a stomp of her foot for good measure.“Gilbert, I said I was okay, did you not hear a word I just said?”

“Something about a sanctuary?”

“Well, yes, I suppose that is part of what I said,” Anne grumbled.

After a beat, Gilbert was still confused. “And, you are telling me because…?”

Her face reddened as she looked down at the ground. “Nothing. I mean, no reason. Never mind I said anything.” She turned on her heel and began to walk away with shoulders slumped.

Gilbert watched her go for a moment before processing what just happened.

“Wait!”

She ignored him and kept walking.

“Wait up, Anne!” He jogged after her, easily catching up. Anne was not acknowledging him, keeping her face intentionally and stubbornly turned away from him.

“Anne.” He laughed and grabbed her elbow to turn her toward him. “Anne, I’m sorry, I was just scared you or the Cuthberts were in trouble. Where is this place?”

Her gaze remained on the ground for a moment before the temptation of telling him about it became too overpowering.

“It is in the woods, but close to the cliffs. Marilla will have my hide if I’m any later than I already am, but you should, I mean you could, you don’t have to, of course, but tomorrow I was thinking of going again and… I was wondering if you wanted to… comewithmetoseeit?” Her last question came out as one word, her blush turning scarlet on the apples of her cheeks.

“Sounds like an adventure.” He said softly before standing up straight and puffing out his chest dramatically. “I will accompany you to the land of the faeries, fair maiden.”

She laughed in surprise at his theatrics and joined in the fun. “Why, thank you, brave knight. I shall see thee on the morrow when the sun hangs straight above our heads.” After a moment, she whispered, “I’ll come by at noon tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I got that.” Gilbert chuckled.

“I must be off! Farewell, good sir!” Anne declared loudly and, pointing in the direction of Green Gables with a raised, fully extended arm, began to walk quickly down the row of trees.

Gilbert guffawed before calling out. “See you tomorrow!” Reluctantly, he turned around and walked back to the tree he had been pruning. Usually, he appreciated the quiet mindfulness working the orchard provided him, but as he climbed his ladder with an irrepressible grin, Gilbert couldn’t help but wish for the disturber of his peaceful afternoon to return.

Gilbert hurriedly picked up his mug of coffee and took a large swig as he opened the door to a windswept Anne and a polite Diana. His heart sank for a millisecond as he hadn’t realized that this adventure would not be just him and Anne. However, he considered Diana a friend and quickly shook off his disappointment, giving Diana a big smile.

“Hello, Diana.” When his gaze shifted to her redheaded companion, he quirked his eyebrow playfully. “Anne.”

Diana opened her mouth to reply with a greeting of her own, but Anne interrupted her with an exasperated, “Yes, yes, hello, Gilbert. Are you ready? I can hardly contain my excitement to show such a place of wonder to two kindred spirits.”

Gilbert exchanged a look of understanding with Diana before crossing his arms and plastering a look of hesitation on his face. “I don’t know, Anne, now that I think about it, I’m not sure I should go with y—”

“Gilbert Blythe! Stop your teasing!” The redhead grabbed his ear and pulled him out onto the porch, both Diana and the hunched-over boy laughing loudly.

“Alright, alright, let me go!” Gilbert pleaded.

“You swear to not be a dough head?” Anne asked, tugging his ear a little harder.

“Yes, yes, I swear!”

She relinquished her hold on him, causing him to stumble forward slightly before righting himself up. Before anyone could say anything else she shot off running, calling behind her cheerfully, “No time to lose!”

Diana and Gilbert looked at each other in amusem*nt once more before running after her towards the forest.

“Stop!”

Gilbert and Diana followed as they were commanded, standing still and looking curiously at Anne.

“Dearest Diana, I trust you to not peek,” Anne shot a glare at Gilbert, “so I will take you first. I want to see both of your reactions at the same time, so you must keep your eyes closed.”

Gilbert scoffed and folded his arms while Diana nodded and closed her eyes. Anne grabbed her hand and began to lead her through a copse of trees before turning around and calling to Gilbert, “Don’t follow us!”

They disappeared into the foliage. How Anne had found whatever place they were in was a mystery — it just looked like a bunch of nondescript forest to Gilbert. He stood for a minute, looking around and appreciating the yellow-green light shining through tree leaves, the smell of sap warming in the sun, the skittering of squirrels through the branches and leaves on the forest floor.

Anne appeared out of the foliage from where she had gone. With hands on her hips, she approached him and opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted her.

“Anne,” He placed his hands on her shoulders with a gentle smile, her face turning from annoyed to confused. “I’m not going to tease you. I know how much this means to you. Please, I want to see this sanctuary of the faeries.”

Her expression visibly softened as she searched his hazel eyes with her intrepid blue irises, looking for something seemingly unknown. After a brief moment, she took a step back, looking down to the ground and shrugging his hands off her shoulders. Gilbert easily let them fall back to his sides.

“Okay, Gilbert Blythe, I believe you’re telling the truth this time.” Her tone was playful and light. “But I know your proclivity for mischief, so consider this a precaution.”

In a flash, she was behind him and placing her hands over his eyes.

Gilbert laughed nervously and reached his arms out straight in front of him as a means to get a sense of his surroundings.

“Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, you better not walk me into a tree.”

“I would do no such thing!” Anne gasped overdramatically, making him give another nervous laugh. “Walk forward, Gilbert.”

He took a hesitant step, then another.

She giggled. “You can go faster than that. I promise I won’t let you walk into anything.”

Walking a bit more confidently, Gilbert began to slowly stride where Anne was leading. He could feel the texture of the ground change several times underneath him, the rustled softness of the forest floor turning into the plush sinking soil, turning into rough, flat stones, and back to the soil.

“Anne, is that you?” Diana called timidly.

“Yes, I’ve got Gilbert. Just one more moment, Diana.” He felt her lead him to stand on more of the rough stone next to the dark-haired girl — he could feel the soft brush of her puff sleeve on his arm.

“And… open!”

Anne’s hands lifted off of Gilbert’s eyes and he blinked in the bright sunlight before his eyes adjusted to see his surroundings. Diana had let out a little gasp while Gilbert’s eyes widened in surprise. Before them was what looked like the remnants of a spacious garden. Anne had led them through the small entrance in the overgrown stone wall that bordered the space. The rocks were weatherworn and tinged a dark green with moss. The ground was absolutely covered with white and yellow wildflowers, the stems of the blossoms and grass undulating in the slight breeze. Only where the grass grew short was where one could tell a path had once been.

Diana and Gilbert stepped forward at the same time, gazing in astonishment at the beautiful place. While Diana went first to the rows of dense rose bushes, Gilbert walked to the group of cherry trees that had grown so wildly, their branches had tangled together, the iridescent white-pink petals creating a cloud above the entire eastern side of the garden. He reached out and touched the smooth dark wood, amazed at the size of the trees.

“I don’t mean to interrupt these beautiful moments you both are having with Mother Nature, but I’m about to burst with curiosity,” Anne called to her friends, biting her lip to contain her enthusiasm. “What do you think?”

“It’s wonderful,” Diana murmured, brushing a rose delicately with her fingertips.

“It’s magic, Anne.” He looked at her with an awestruck smile, which she responded to with a radiant grin.

Anne laughed in delight and ran to Diana, grabbing her hand and pulling her along to Gilbert. Holding his hand tightly, she dragged her two friends along to an archway on the other side of the garden.

“Come through here.”

Through the arch, there was a very small clearing surrounded by higher stone walls than the larger garden. There were two stone benches flanking the center, which contained bunches of richly colored lupine. It felt quite secluded and cozy in a way. The dappled light of the sun filtered through the trees creating transcendent patterns that were ever-changing.

Anne relinquished her grip on the two of them and plopped herself down on the ground, waving at them to join her. Sinking gracefully, Diana sat with her knees tucked underneath herself, crossed ankles placed neatly to one side. Gilbert sat down much more in the Anne-fashion, seated criss-cross with poor posture. The dark-haired girl opened the basket she had been carrying and laid out a tea towel on the stone, setting out little plates of finger sandwiches and cookies.

“Bless you, Diana, this looks absolutely scrumptious.” Anne gave her bosom friend a dimpled smile.

“Thank you for hauling this all the way here. I would’ve offered to carry it had I known you were weighed down by all of our lunches.”

“It was no problem, truly. But you’re welcome, both of you.” Diana shifted her weight slightly, giving a demure smile to Anne and Gilbert.

“I think Diana was perfectly capable of carrying her own basket with the food that she chose to bring to share,” Anne said matter-of-factly, taking a large bite of a sandwich.

“I never said she couldn’t, I just—”

“You just,” Anne began, swallowing her bite before continuing. “You just did what all men think makes them the superior breed — no, no, mustn't harden the soft curves of a woman, we need to preserve her delicate nature so that she remains reliant upon us. Well, I don’t buy it.”

Diana, sitting between them, watched the pair nervously, her eyes darting back and forth.

To the girls’ surprise, he snorted with laughter. “Yeah, okay, you really think that I believe all women are soft after wanting to be friends with the girl who smacked me in the face with a slate?”

Diana loudly joined in with his laughter, while Anne blushed, but smiled sheepishly.

“I suppose you're right.” She muttered, looking down at the cookie in her hands.

“So, Gilbert. Tell me — what was your favorite food you tried while on your travels around the world?” Diana asked once their mirth had subsided. He looked into the middle distance, thinking nostalgically back to his time on the S.S. Primrose.

“That’s a hard question… I definitely grew an appreciation for spice, though Bash would probably claim that anything hotter than salt would kill me.”

Gilbert scoffed at this, causing the girls to giggle.

“I would have to say what I find myself craving the most often is a mango.”

“What’s a mango?” Diana asked curiously.

“What a delectable word — mango,” Anne observed.

“A mango is a fruit with a golden inside that is super soft and sweet. It’s red and green on the outside and you’re not technically supposed to eat the skin, but I did anyway. It’s about this big.” He extended his hand in a loose fist.

“Tell us something else about your travels.” Anne put her chin in her hands. “Any fun adventures with Bash?”

Looking down, Gilbert considered what he could tell them. His thoughts returned to the day he had eaten his first mango, when he had met Mrs. LaCroix, of laying in the hammocks with Bash silent with hurt from his mother’s rejection.

“Well, I have a bit of a funny story.”

The girls’ eyes widened, Diana, placing her cookie down and scooting closer to Anne as to better pay attention to Gilbert.

“It’s about when I learned Bash’s name. We had gone to see his mother in Trinidad and she called him Sebastian. That night, I was teasing him and kept calling him Sebastian when one of our larger, more intimidating shipmates sat up from his hammock and said ‘Your real name is Sebastian? I thought Bash meant you liked to rough a fella up. Good to know.’”

The group burst into laughter.

After a second, Gilbert continued, face red with his attempt to hold in his laughter. “Bash was so angry at me, he said I ruined his reputation.”

More sounds of merriment rang out from the trio, echoing slightly off of the walls of the small courtyard.

“Bash is a bit of a misleading nickname, now that I think about it,” Anne said thoughtfully. “But, in another way, I think it fits him perfectly.”

“I get exactly what you mean.”

Anne sighed and leaned back on her hands. “You both have nicknames, don’t you? At least names that others could call you that would fit?”

Diana and Gilbert shrugged and shook their heads.

“Oh, fiddlesticks.” Anne sat up. “Diana, I think Di is a lovely nickname for you. It’s so elegant.”

“I don’t mind Di.” The dark-haired girl mumbled, slightly embarrassed at the shift in conversation towards her.

Anne shifted her gaze to Gilbert. “Bert does not fit you.”

He chuckled. “I think you’re quite right about that.”

“What about Gil?”

Gilbert blinked in surprise, an unexpected rush of emotion coming over him as he thought about his father’s nickname for him.

“My dad sometimes called me that.”

“Oh.”

For a moment, it seemed that everyone was holding their breath.

“Well, maybe that’s a special thing for you and your dad, we won’t—”

“No, I like Gil.” He pulled out some blades of grass from between the stones on the ground. “It brings back good memories.”

Gilbert cleared his throat, wanting to shift the conversation off of him. “What about you, Anne? What nickname fits you?”

She exhaled loudly. “None, I’m afraid. I’m just boring, one-syllable Anne. There were a few men when I was in service that called me Annie, but that has never felt even close to my name. I don’t think I could ever respond to it.”

“What about Nan?” Diana interjected.

“Nan is adorable.” Anne agreed. “But far too sweet for me. Someone called Nan needs to be gentle and tender, the opposite of fiery, clumsy me.”

“Hmm…” Diana’s brow furrowed as she went into deep thought.

“How about Anne-girl?”

The girls both looked at him in surprise. Gilbert could feel his face grow hot.

“It’s just, my dad, he would call me Gil, sometimes Gil-boy, and it’s just— oh it’s stupid, forget it.”

Diana huffed. “I think Anne-girl is quite charming. It’s more of something only people really close to you could call you, which makes it even more special, don’t you agree, Anne?”

Gilbert looked up at Anne, startled to see her watery eyes.

“I love it.” She whispered, laughing softly. “I’ve never had a nickname that I liked before.”

Diana grinned. “Well, Anne-girl it is then.”

The trio laid in the grass, surrounded by the tall white and yellow blossoms. Anne was in the middle, Gilbert on her right and Diana on her left. She spoke softly, breaking the peaceful silence.

“Do you know the story of this place?”

Both Diana and Gilbert shook their heads.

“Well, I call it the Legend of Hester Gray. Would you like to hear it?”

She sat up and sat criss-cross, both Diana and Gilbert rolling onto their stomachs and resting their chins in their hands to listen.

“A long, long time ago, this land was a part of a farm belonging to a Mr. Jordan Gray. This Jordan Gray, he would travel south during the winter months and return for the sowing and harvest season. One blustery winter day down in Boston, he entered a shop and was enchanted by the most gorgeous, delicate beauty he had ever seen. She had fair, clear skin, raven hair, and warm brown eyes. Her name was Hester, Hester Murray. Now, Hester was a kindred spirit and loved the country, to live amongst nature, but she had been forced to move to the city when she had come of age. Completely enamored by her beauty and her mind, Jordan Gray proposed to her, begging her to return to Prince Edward Island as his wife. She agreed and they were married. They built a cozy cottage to live in as newlyweds. In a gesture of pure love, Jordan built this garden for Hester, as she loved flowers. She adored it, of course, and spent much of her day within its walls. Hester Gray was not what Mrs. Lynde would consider a perfect wife, she was a right dreadful cook and not a good housekeeper at that. But, she could make flowers bloom with the smallest touches, and weeds disappear with a blink of an eye.”

“And then one day, she fell gravely ill. Jordan would wrap her in blankets and take her out to this garden, letting her sit on a stone bench or lay in the narcissi. She and he planted the row of cherry trees as a way of leaving a beautiful, living memory of their love. He insisted on being her only nurse, spending all of his time waiting on her hand and foot, willing the love of his life to live through sheer willpower. Every night when she prayed, she would pray that, if she were to die, she would die in this garden. And one spring day, similar to today, Jordan carried her frail body out to the garden and picked her every blooming rose, placing them in abundance upon her lap. And in his arms, she smiled and looked into his eyes before shutting her own, passing from this life into the next.”

“Jordan became a shell of the man he once was. He could not live where they had lived, so he moved back to Boston until he met his own end exactly ten years after the death of his beloved. He never loved anyone else and was brought back to the garden to be buried next to Hester.”

Gilbert and Diana subtly wiped their eyes.

“Oh, Anne,” Diana whimpered. “That was so tragical. How do you come up with these things?”

Silently, the redhead stood up and gestured for them to follow. They walked with her through another archway, this one across from the wall of cherry trees. They ambled for a while, a barely visible dirt path guiding them. Finally, she led them to a clearing of poplar trees and pointed to a large, oblong river stone laying on the ground.

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF HESTER GRAY, DEVOTED WIFE TO JORDAN

AGED 22, 1830-1852

Anne pointed to something past the line of poplar trees. Gilbert leaned to the side to look — she was pointing at a crumbling stone cottage with rotting wooden doors and broken glass windows.

“I added in some details, but Hester and Jordan Gray lived and died here,” Anne said softly, kneeling down and touching the headstone gently before rising once more. “I just know they loved each other more than anything in the world.”

As they passed a small pool Anne had christened “The Faeries’ Mirror” on the way back to Avonlea, the two girls were explaining the organization and rules of their past writing club to Gilbert.

“Well, I’m still confused, why doesn’t it exist anymore?”

Diana spoke before Anne could open her mouth. “Because Billy Andrews is a cad and completely destroyed the meeting place that we had all put so much work into.”

Anne gasped. “Diana, I have just had the most wonderful, spontaneous, stupendous idea. What if we reestablish the writing club? It will be a different entity, of course, than the one that was razed by Billy, but we could meet in Hester’s garden and write? It provides so much scope for the imagination.”

“And now that school’s out, we will have more time and freedom to meet!” Diana added excitedly.

“Could we write about anything? Or does it have to be stories?” Gilbert asked.

“It used to be only stories, but now… yes, now let’s have it be whatever! Poetry, essays, fiction — you name it! We’ll have to invite Ruby, of course.” Anne nervously glanced at Gilbert before lighting up again. “Oh, this will be so fun! What do you guys say?”

“I think it sounds absolutely marvelous.” Diana reached down to hold Anne’s hand.

“Are you sure you want me to be a part of it? Being a boy and everything?” Gilbert asked hesitantly.

“Of course! You are a kindred spirit — if Cole were here, he’d be a member as well.” Anne said enthusiastically.

Gilbert deflated slightly at the mention of Cole, who obviously held much more of Anne’s affection than he did.

“Well then, yes, I would be honored to be a member.” He tried to sound as upbeat as possible and if Anne noticed any different, she didn’t show it. Honestly, he had no idea what he was signing himself up for, he just knew it felt wonderful to spend time with Anne and Diana.

“Alright, it’s settled!” Anne clapped and skipped with glee. “Next week, we will come with a piece of writing to share with everyone else. And think of ways you’d like to decorate the little courtyard to make it our own. This will be such an adventure!”

Chapter 19: Give Me the Splendid, Silent Sun with All His Beams Full-Dazzling

Chapter Text

If Gilbert hadn’t been so nervous, he would have been incandescently happy. Anne and he were sitting shoulder to shoulder against the stone wall of Hester Gray’s garden. She was braiding stems together, forming little green ropes. Meanwhile, he stared at the canopy above them, the ocean breeze shaking the leaves and causing them to form wavy patterns of spotted light, trying to focus on anything other than his sweaty palms and racing heart.

“Diana! Ruby!”

Gilbert gave a small start and broke out of his anxious thoughts. Indeed, the respectively dark- and fair-haired girls had walked into the courtyard.

“Anne!” They both ran to their redheaded companion, who embraced them enthusiastically. Gilbert rose off the ground, brushing the dirt off his pants.

Why did I agree to be a part of their club? Why am I so nervous? Why can’t I just be a non-idiot for once in my life?

“Hello, Gilbert!” Diana called over Anne’s shoulder, giving him a warm smile. Ruby’s eyes grew wide as she noticed him, her cheeks turning a pleasant shade of pink. He gave the trio a non-committal wave and a smile that probably looked more pained than genuine.

“Come, come, my dear ones!” Anne said to the girls, pulling them to the small courtyard and leaving Gilbert to follow awkwardly behind. They all sat on the ground in a circle and looked to Anne as the unspoken leader of the club.

“Welcome everyone,” Anne beamed. “To the first meeting of our new writing club! Now we all were to bring a piece to read to the others today — Diana, would you like to go first?”

“Oh, uh, sure!” Diana agreed happily.

She unfolded a piece of paper, the sunlight behind her highlighting it and allowing Gilbert to see the underside of the neat black squiggles of her script. Clearing her throat, she began to read. Her story surprised him — it was a dark and nuanced tale. Filled with intrigue, it told the story of a forbidden romance that ended in a tragic, but rather gruesome Shakespearean death scene. Upon her conclusion, she set the paper down gently and looked up smiling.

“Well, what do you think?”

“Oh, Diana,” Anne sighed. “How wonderfully tragical. That was my favorite story of yours yet!”

Diana grinned at her bosom friend before turning to Gilbert and Ruby expectantly.

“Must you end your stories with such fearsome sadness?” Ruby sniffled. Instinctively, Gilbert reached into his pocket and pulled out his handkerchief, extending it to the crying girl. With a watery smile, she shyly accepted it before dabbing at her eyes so gently, the handkerchief could not have soaked up any moisture.

Rolling her eyes, Diana gave an exasperated sigh. “I personally like the depth of the tragedy. But I do not like to see you cry, Ruby! Please, it wasn’t real!”

Inexplicably, Anne’s mouth was set in a hard line and when she spoke, it was in an uncharacteristically soft tone.

“I can go next.”

Anne’s story was complex and flowery, filled to the brim with descriptive adjectives and whimsical imagery. It told of a baby girl that was found in a cluster of flower buds at the base of a sapling outside the window of a marvelous stone cottage. She was born with honey-colored ringlets and big violet eyes. As the baby grew, the sapling did too. The tree ended up being imbued with magic, helping the girl hide by camouflaging her from her antagonizers. Her deep connection to the tree also allowed her to become kindred spirits with all of the trees of the surrounding forest and gave her the ability to speak to animals. When Anne was done reading, it seemed that the intricate world she built was real, her story a biography rather than a work of fiction.

“Wow, Anne.” Gilbert exhaled. “That was… amazing. Do you think we will ever hear more tales of Cordelia and her arboreal friends?”

Her smile did not quite meet her eyes. “Yes, I suppose so. I am ever so inspired by our new meeting place, these trees seem quite friendly.”

“I don’t know how you think of these things, Anne.” Diana glanced at Ruby, who nodded in agreement. “What a divinely strange and magical world you built!”

Anne flushed with pleasure before turning to Ruby.

“Okay, Ruby, your turn.”

The girl’s eyes grew round as saucers as she fidgeted with her parchment. After a moment, she quietly shook her head.

“It is absolute impropriety to read such a tale as mine in front of a boy I am not courting. My story is quite romantic.” Ruby stole a glance at Gilbert before looking back down to the ground.

“Oh, come on, Ruby, Gilbert is… well, Gilbert! It’s okay! Right, Gilbert?”

He cleared his throat and nodded his head. “Y-yeah, I’m fine.”

The blonde just shook her head and crumpled the paper in her hand before shutting it into her tight fist.

There was a slightly awkward silence. Diana was the first to speak.

“Well, that’s okay, Ruby. Maybe next time. Gilbert, do you have something to share?”

“Oh,” Gilbert coughed, his voice sounding odd in his head. “Um, yes.”

Diana gestured for him to get on with it with an easy smile. Ruby was still looking at the ground while Anne looked at Gilbert with concern, her sky-blue eyes flicking over to Ruby every other moment.

“I, uh, didn’t write a story, at least, not in the typical sense.” Gilbert began shakily. “I wrote a poem.” Anne’s eyebrows raised and she sat up, meeting his eyes for the first time since Diana and Ruby had shown up.

“Okay,” He took a deep breath and wiped his palms on the knees of his trousers. “My poem is called She, the Sea.”

“Deepest of darks and rays of sun

Mingle and mix upon her skin;

a sparkling, remarkable, astonishing field

Of blue, that blue, that glorious blue;

Iridescent and flat, but all at once

Translucent and endless, a divine contradiction;

Waves and dips and valleys and peaks

The shimmering shallows, the dazzling depths;

White foam is her pearls, the sky is her dress

The tempest her anger, and clarity her joy;

She guides me to her,

The other enigma, her sister incarnate;

Across the azure tide I go,

Waiting to be with my two first loves;

And upon the shore I find them both,

The swirling deep and shining crests;

She, the Sea, is waiting patient,

Within her eyes, filled with light.”

The sounds of the forest filled the silence that followed his last line. Gilbert cleared his throat uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. Ruby looked up at him, her bright blue eyes shining. Anne appeared to be stunned, a slight furrow in between her eyebrows as she looked at Ruby’s intense gaze directed at Gilbert.

“M-my poem was from a sailor’s perspective,” He stammered. “A, uh, fictional sailor. Just so, so you know.”

He avoided Ruby’s eyes, choosing instead to fold his paper into as many little squares as he possibly could, subconsciously shooting glances at Anne to gauge her reaction. Diana looked between the three with a slightly open mouth before choosing to break the tension.

“Wow, Gilbert. Who’d have known you were such a poet? Very well done.” She gave him a smile and folded her hands primly in her lap. “Anne, what did you think of it?”

“It was v-very eloquent, Gilbert.” Anne seemed to recover herself and spoke gradually with more and more enthusiasm. “Really impressive. I could tell you were inspired by Whitman in your use of meterless free verse.”

“Thank you. Though,” Gilbert raised an eyebrow. “I feel the need to point out that Whitman was not a poet without form — instead of rhyme, he used cadence and alliteration to create flow.”

Anne blinked before sitting up straighter. “Well, you could argue that, but it doesn’t stop his poems from being without meter — me-ter-less.” She pronounced the last three syllables, chopping her right hand on her left palm to provide emphasis.

Gilbert knew exactly what she was talking about, but couldn’t help continuing to egg her on. “Explain his use of syncopes, then? Iambic pentameter?”

“Gilbert Blythe, you know as well as I do that Whitman was a pioneer by using some of the tools of traditional poetry in new ways. Through a METERLESS free verse! Not without form!”

The incensed girl frowned as she saw him roll backwards and onto his side, shaking. Only after a moment did she realize that he was laughing so hard it was noiseless, his eyes starting to fill with tears of mirth. Diana laughed along easily, while Ruby gave an uncertain chuckle, obviously not understanding the joke.

“I’m sorry, Anne-girl,” Gilbert gasped, “Sometimes it’s just too easy.”

Anne opened and closed her mouth before folding her arms in annoyance, blushing furiously. “You really can be a menace, Gilbert Blythe.”

“Oh, Anne, he was only kidding around.” Diana playfully shoved her bosom friend, who, in turn, rolled her eyes with a suppressed smile.

“Yes, well, that does not disprove my point.” Anne stuck her nose in the air. “Ruby, have you changed your mind about sharing your story?”

Ruby shook her head vigorously.

“Then, this concludes our first meeting as the new writing club. Meeting adjourned!” Anne burst into a bout of quick applause, Diana joining in almost immediately. Gilbert and Ruby were slower to clap, only beginning as Anne and Diana were ending.

The four all stood up, Ruby and Diana smoothing their skirts while Anne went with a wrinkled dress to the lupine clusters at the center of their small courtyard.

Ruby approached Gilbert with her pleasantly pink cheeks, placing her hair over her shoulders just-so.

“I will wash your handkerchief and return it to you promptly, Gilbert.” She said sweetly, apparently having not broken the habit of saying his name in the sickly manner of laying it down gently on a velvet pillow.

“Oh, um, thanks,” Gilbert replied lamely, rubbing the back of his neck once more.

With one last smile, Ruby turned away from him and called for Diana to walk home with her. When the dark-haired girl approached her, Ruby immediately looped her arm through her friend’s and began to whisper, glancing back at Gilbert as she did so. He only caught fragments of what she was saying as the pair walked out of Hester Gray’s garden.

“Ever so… handkerchief… I now know… feelings… his poem!”

Gilbert turned around to look for Anne. She was still kneeling by the lupine, filling her arms with the spear-like blossoms.

“What do you plan to do with those?” Gilbert asked as he approached her, sitting down near her on the ground.

“I think I shall dry them and we can hang them somewhere here for a little pop of color against the stone,” Anne replied excitedly. “Now, if only I could get some more shells…”

An idea popped into Gilbert’s head. “Bash, Mary, and I were just talking last night about going on a beach day sometime this week. You should join us!”

Anne’s eyes lit up. “Really? I-I wouldn’t want to impose, but…”

“Oh, please. Anne-girl, you’re family! Don’t think a second otherwise.”

“I would adore to go to the beach again. Let me know what day you decide and I will ask Marilla! I’m sure that she’ll say yes, especially since Mary is going. Though she’ll probably give me some lecture about water safety like I’m a tiny child, and it’s really quite ridiculous, just because I don’t know how to sw—”

She cut herself off suddenly, blushing bright red.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Anne turned to continue picking lupine, her back now facing Gilbert.

“Anne-girl, do you know how to swim?”

She froze momentarily before putting her head down and grumbling incoherently.

“Oh, well if you don’t, don’t feel too bad about it. I only learned because I’ve always lived so close to rivers and the ocean…”

“I lived near the ocean, Gil. Just... just never had the opportunity to learn.”

Gilbert was silent in response, ashamed at the leap his heart made when she called him Gil. He felt guilty for asking, for pushing her to talk about her past.

“That’s alright.” Her head was still down as she hyper-focused on her lupine blossoms. He reached out to touch her arm, but stopped himself, slowly returning it to his side. “Mary will likely not be swimming, so you can wade with her.”

She gave him a very small, sad smile.

He continued, stammering slightly. “A-a-and, I won’t swim, if you’d like. For solidarity.”

“No! I would rather not go on your beach adventure than deprive you of the joy of swimming in the waves.”

“Anne…”

She folded her arms and looked him in the eye stubbornly, almost daring him to argue.

“Fine.” He conceded.

There was a pause, the rustling leaves of Hester Gray’s garden the only sound to break the silence.

He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. “How about we stop at the orchard on the way to Green Gables so we can set a day with Mary and Bash?”

Anne’s smile warmed. “Yes, that sounds like a positively splendid idea.”

Mary and Anne chattered enthusiastically in the back of the carriage with Bash and Gilbert sitting up front.

“You sure this water isn’t gonna be too cold for you, Bash?” Gilbert teased, elbowing his brother.

“Blythe, the only thing too cold at this beach is gonna be your moves on a certain redhead.”

Bash laughed as he earned a punch in the arm that was a little too hard to be considered playful. Gilbert scratched his head, trying to innocently look back at Anne to see if she noticed. Luckily, she was thoroughly absorbed in a story that Mary was telling her.

Soon enough, they pulled up to the secluded beach. They could access the sand via a gentle slope of soft grass, the beach itself was surrounded by red cliffs topped with beach grass and sea holly. Anne jumped out of the wagon before it was fully stopped, laughing in delight as she grabbed a quilt and picnic basket from the back before running happily down the slope to the sand. Gilbert shook his head and chuckled to himself, not letting his eyes off of her as she frolicked onto the beach. Mary and Bash exchanged an amused look before Bash slung an arm over Gilbert’s shoulder.

“Come on, you moke.”

The remaining trio grabbed the rest of their provisions for the beach, made sure that Maple and Midnight were tied properly to a tree, and began to pick their way down to where Anne had already spread her quilt and was taking her boots off.

The weather was perfect for a day at the beach — it was sweltering at any point relatively inland, but the shore provided a slight and gentle breeze. Gilbert blushed furiously as Anne casually lifted her skirt a little higher than her knee in order to roll her stockings down her leg. So that his red face didn’t give any wrong impression of improper thoughts, he hurriedly turned around to straighten his quilt and meticulously brushed any grains of sand off until he felt his face cool down.

It didn’t take long to finish setting up after that — four quilts had been laid down overlapping each other, with several baskets filled with sandwiches made with leftover fried chicken, apples from the cellar, thick slices of sticky ginger cake Anne and Mary had baked, and jars of cool water.

The four sat down in a line, all of their legs extended in front of them to wiggle their toes in the sand, eating their picnic and conversing jovially. Upon finishing their meal, Bash stood up, licking the ginger glaze off his fingers, wiping his hand on his trousers, and beginning to unbutton his shirt.

“Blythe, you sure you ready for a rematch? At least the ladies of Jamaica who witnessed your loss will never see your mawga self again.”

“Already talking trash?” Gilbert scrambled to his feet and began to quickly undress. “I was born ready, Bash. Those were Caribbean waters that you were used to, the Canadian sea is where I win.”

The two stripped down to their swimming caleçons and ran down to the water. Mary and Anne were both laughing loudly at the sight, Mary cheering for Gilbert, Anne for Bash.

For the next hour or so, Bash and Gilbert swam races between rocky outcroppings. Gilbert did indeed win more races than Bash, but just barely. Once they were too tired to continue, they noticed the girls had walked down the beach quite a ways. Gesturing for him to follow, Bash began to paddle long, unhurried strokes toward them. As they approached, Mary stood up straight with her hand over her eyes.

“You boys finally done with swimmin’ lessons?” She called out with a teasing smile.

With a twinkle in his eye, Bash ran out of the water and promptly threw Mary over his shoulder. “Not quite, my love.”

She screamed in surprise, laughing and hitting his back. “Sebastian LaCroix, you put me down this instant!”

He chuckled and began to wade into the water, her shrieks getting more hysterical as he kept acting like he was going to throw her in.

Anne was laughing in shock, her hand covering her mouth at the open flirtation of the married couple. Gilbert walked out of the water, smiling at the shenanigans of his family. It wasn’t until he was standing next to Anne that his mouth went dry.

She and Mary had tied their skirts in a knot that hit just above their knees. Her hair had grown longer, now the tips of her braids were past her collarbone. Despite its new length, the ocean breeze had blown strands out of place, making her braids messy with pieces sticking out randomly. Her long sleeves were rolled up past her elbows and she carried a small bucket whose bottom was littered with seashells. She looked to be completely in her element, almost as much as when she laid amongst the wildflowers of Hester Gray’s garden. Anne wasn’t just pretty — standing by the sea with her red hair in the wind, she was beautiful.

And Gilbert was standing next to her, dripping wet, in nothing but his drawers.

His first instinct was to tease her, pick her up over his shoulder, and pretend to throw her into the ocean just as Bash was doing with Mary.

No. He told himself. No, she wouldn’t like that. She would be scared.

As soon as he had finished this train of thought, Anne turned her gaze to his, eyes widening slightly, unconsciously looking him up and down before clearing her throat and turning back to look at the ocean.

Gilbert rubbed his neck and took a deep breath. He had been swimming around his school friends, including girls, before. This wasn’t any different.

“Can I help? I’d like seashells to be as abundant as the flowers in the garden.”

She beamed at him and nodded.

“Though there are very pretty fragments, I am looking for completely intact ones. Of course, if you find something unforgettable and lustrous, do not abandon it. But see here—” Anne pulled a large red striated scallop out of the bucket. “This, I think, will serve the best for our purposes.”

“Got it.” Gilbert grinned and began to walk beside her. They both scanned the ground, occasionally picking up a shell, inspecting it, and either throwing it back into the ocean or placing it in the bucket.

“Your poem was lovely,” Anne said out of the blue after several minutes of silent searching.

“Thank you, Anne-girl.” He glanced at her before returning his gaze to the wet sand.

“Ruby loved it.”

He nodded and shrugged.

“I think it was very gallant and romantical to write a poem about her.”

Gilbert stopped walking as Anne continued picking her way down the beach.

“I-I didn’t write it about her.”

She turned around and spoke gently. “It’s alright, Gilbert. It’s just me, you can tell me, I won’t pass on anything. Who else has glorious azure eyes?”

He looked at her for a moment before ducking his head. “I told all of you, it was fictional.”

“Oka-ay.” She half-sang, turning back around to resume her walk.

He jogged after her to catch up. “I mean it! No offense to Ruby, but she was the last thing on my mind when writing it.”

Anne nodded if only to appease him, her eyes never abandoning their roaming gaze for shells.

Another few minutes passed in silence before Anne stopped and sighed.

“Gil?” She looked up at him with eyes shining, lips slightly parted. “Would you mind carrying the bucket for me? My arm is getting ever so tired.”

His stomach swooped as he felt his heartbeat quicken.

“Of course, Anne-girl.”

He happily took the bucket from her hands. A split second later he felt a punch on his arm and saw her running back towards the picnic area.

“Race you!” She called back to him.

“Anne!” He yelled exasperatedly, unable to keep the amusem*nt completely out of his tone.

She, of course, beat him to the quilts and plopped down quite ungracefully, breathing heavily.

“Beat you!”

“Yes, well,” Gilbert rolled his eyes and set the bucket down before huffing himself onto the quilt next to her. “You have taken up the unfair habit of giving yourself a head start.”

“My race, my rules, Gilbert Blythe.”

He shook his head and chuckled. The two sat back, leaning on their hands, watching the waves crash onto the shore. Mary and Bash were walking slowly down the shoreline, intertwining their arms and giggling together.

“Do you miss being out at sea?”

Gilbert considered for a second. “Sometimes. Life as a stoker was simpler — the routine was a comfort on occasion. And seeing other far-off places was a dream.”

“But,” He swallowed. “I love Avonlea and I want to be a doctor very badly. And I still get to be near the sea, so I’d say I’m quite content with where I am.”

Anne hummed in understanding, digging her feet deep into the sand.

“What would our ship’s name be if we were pirates?”

“What?” Gilbert laughed at this unexpected turn in the conversation.

“If we were pirates,” Anne repeated. “What would we call our ship?”

“Hmm…” Gilbert tapped his chin dramatically. “How about Queen Anne’s Revenge?”

Anne rolled her eyes. “How original. Firstly, I will not step foot on a ship thus named for me and secondly, Blackbeard is the only pirate who can claim a ship called that.”

“You come up with something better!”

Competitiveness flared in her eyes and she stared out at the sea with a hyper-focused gaze as if willing a name to rise out of the ocean and into her mind.

“I think it would be The Fair Ophelia.”

“The Fair Ophelia.” Gilbert paused. “Didn’t Ophelia drown? Maybe that’s not the best omen to put onto the ship, wouldn’t you say?”

Anne scoffed. “It is a perfect name for a ship and you know it — pirate ships are often called things like ‘The Drowned Maiden’ — it’s in the spirit of things. Plus, Ophelia is one of my favorite characters from Shakespeare.”

“Hamlet, eh? I would’ve thought you A Midsummer Night’s Dream type. That’s my favorite Shakespeare, at least.”

She turned to him with a sheepish smile and shook her head. “Unfortunately, my goal to be a mystery shrouded in an enigma has fallen flat. Though Ophelia is one of my favorite characters, A Midsummer Night’s Dream is, indeed, my favorite play overall.”

“Something we have in common, I guess.” Gilbert elbowed her lightly, which she responded to with a much sharper, more painful jab to the ribs.

“You distracted me — I was coming up with a story.” She stood up and spoke dramatically, using her hands to add emphasis. “The Dread Pirate Cuthbert and Captain Gil Blythe sail the world upon their trusted ship The Fair Ophelia. Through tempest and storm, they traverse the seven seas, exploring and hunting for treasure—” She paused and stood up straight, returning to her normal voice. “Gil, I really don’t think we would be the type of pirates that pillage, do you? Maybe we could be like the Robin Hoods of the sea! Stealing only from the rich and giving to the poor! What do you think?”

“I think if medicine and education don’t work out, we definitely have a solid backup plan.” Gilbert laughed, earning a giggle of delight from Anne as she plopped back down next to him.

When Bash and Mary returned from their seaside stroll, they found the two speaking animatedly of the adventures they would have on the high seas, laughing and gesticulating dramatically, two large sticks stuck in the sand by the quilts.

“We were practicing our sword fighting, sorry, Mary.” Anne laughed as she moved the sticks out of the way for Mary to start packing up.

The woman waved her hand in dismissal of the apology and grinned. “Sounds just like what Anne and Gilbert would do on a beach day. I’d be disappointed if you hadn’t gotten up to such things.”

Bash and Gilbert pulled their trousers and shirts back on, finally dry from their swim. The four then packed everything up, shook the quilts out of sand the best they could, and walked clumsily back up the sandbank to the grassy slope that led to the carriage, Midnight, and Maple.

“Where’s Anne?”

Diana walked into the small courtyard holding a basket overflowing with trinkets for decorating. Gilbert shrugged.

“I thought she was going to walk with you.”

“No, she said she’d come with you today when we planned this on Tuesday.”

Gilbert frowned. “I stopped by Green Gables on the way here and Marilla told me to go on alone without Anne. I assumed that she was just finishing her chores and would walk with you or Ruby.”

“Oh, well, Ruby isn’t coming today. She’s worried about, um, propriety.” Diana coughed lightly.

Not having any response to that, Gilbert returned the subject to Anne. “Maybe let’s wait here for ten more minutes and then if she hasn’t shown up, we can go check on her.”

“Alright.” Diana agreed.

They worked in comfortable silence for ten minutes, Gilbert carefully sewing butcher’s twine through some of the seashells they had collected the day prior and Diana untangling intricate doilies from one another. The morning light filtered pleasantly through the trees. When Anne had not appeared after ten minutes, Gilbert’s frown deepened.

“We better go to Green Gables.”

Diana nodded and carefully placed her untangled doilies on a stone bench, weighing them down with smaller stones so they could not blow away.

They walked down the overgrown path, Diana mostly leading the conversation with pleasant small talk about school and the summer goings-on of their fellow classmates.

When they arrived, Marilla, once again, was the one to answer the door.

“Diana, Gilbert. I assume you’re looking for Anne?”

They nodded earnestly.

The older woman sighed. “Go see if you can talk some sense into her. Sometimes, her vanity astounds me.” She stood back and let them in. Diana walked directly to the stairs and began to climb, Gilbert following her a bit reluctantly.

They walked down the hallway at the top of the stairs, stopping at the end door. Diana knocked and called, “Anne? Are you in there?”

After a moment, there was a muffled “No!”

Diana looked at Gilbert with amused exasperation before turning back to the door.

“Anne, what’s the matter? Surely, it can’t be that bad?”

“Anne-girl, are you okay?” Gilbert added. “We just want to know that you’re alright, we don’t have to go to the garden if you’re not feeling up to it.”

There was the sound of feet pattering to the door before it opened a sliver.

“Diana can come in. Sorry, Gil.”

Confused, Gilbert stepped back while Diana pushed the door open and closed it quietly behind her. He slid down the wall and sat outside the door, waiting for the emergence of Diana and, hopefully, Anne. After a few minutes, Diana came out, alone.

Gilbert opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but before he could, she mouthed, “Outside.” He nodded and motioned for her to go ahead of him down the hallway and to the stairs. Once they bid their goodbyes to Marilla, they began to walk together down the main road.

“She’s embarrassed,” Diana whispered, despite being far away from anyone who could possibly hear. “Poor Anne. Got a terrible sunburn. She says she looks like a pile of smashed garden tomatoes, which I vehemently disagree with, but alas. She said we can try to go to the garden tomorrow, depending on how it has healed.”

“She must have gotten sunburned at the beach yesterday. Oh, I didn’t even think to tell her to bring a sunhat since she wasn’t swimming.”

Diana’s right eyebrow raised a bit. “You two went to the beach together?”

“With Mary and Bash, yes.”

“How fun.”

Gilbert couldn’t place Diana’s tone — it sounded almost mischievous.

They reached the fork in the road.

“I’m this way. I can walk myself home, thank you for accompanying me, Gilbert.” She nodded at him politely.

“Any time, Diana.”

He turned and rushed down the other path. An idea had just come to his mind and he was eager to get home to ensure its proper execution.

If Bash noticed Gilbert working in the orchard without his usual wide-brimmed sun hat, he didn’t say anything.

“Hello, Miss Cuthbert, is Anne around?”

Marilla blinked at Gilbert, staring at his face for a moment too long before responding.

“When she heard you knock, she ran up to her room. I’ve been told to tell you and Diana that ‘it won’t work today.’ There’s been no consoling her.”

“May I try to speak with her, please?”

Marilla nodded and stepped back to let him in. Gilbert walked up the stairs and down the hall, to the door he knew belonged to Anne. He knocked gently.

“Anne-girl, it’s me.”

Silence.

“Please open the door. I promise I won’t laugh or tease.”

There was a soft thump on the door, like the sound of a pillow being thrown against it.

“No, go away.” Came the muffled voice from inside the room.

“I need to show you something that I think will change your mind. If I promise that my eyes are squeezed shut, will you open the door and look into the hallway? Then you can close the door again if you wish.”

There was the sound of boots against the wooden floor approaching the door.

“If you open your eyes, Gilbert Blythe, I will not speak to you for the rest of the summer.”

“I promise they’re shut.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. A couple of seconds later, he heard the slow creak of her door opening.

“Gil! What have you done, you goose?! You didn’t look like that yesterday.”

His eyes remained shut. “How would you know? You wouldn’t see me yesterday.”

“I watched you and Diana approach and leave from my window.”

Gilbert chuckled. “Well, if you must know, I thought that maybe if I got sunburnt too, you wouldn’t feel as bad about it. Y’know, solidarity and all.”

She was silent. He knew she hadn’t gone back into the room, so he kept his eyes closed.

“Anne?”

The air was knocked out of him and he grunted in surprise as she gave him a fierce hug, arms around his waist. Taking a moment to recover, he put his arms around her very carefully as he still wasn’t opening his eyes.

“I didn’t think you would attack me.” Gilbert teased, still hugging her.

Anne stepped out of the hug and punched him on the arm. “Why must you be such a menace?”

Laughing, Gilbert ignored her question. “Can I open my eyes now?”

With a sigh, she gave her consent.

Upon opening his eyes, his gaze searched for hers until they met, hazel to blue. Her face and neck were a brilliant fuchsia. He could see that her hands and up into her sleeves were splotchy and red.

Gilbert followed her into her room as she walked to the vanity mirror. They stood side by side. Only Gilbert’s face and neck were burnt, the rest of his body having tanned since childhood. His burn was more of a maroon and was darker around the apples of his cheeks and the slopes of his neck.

“Just a couple of smashed garden tomatoes.” He joked.

She elbowed him in the ribs. “I will pretend you didn’t say that solely because of your valiant act of friendship. And that’s a big effort because you know how I feel about being compared to garden vegetables.” Anne turned and looked him in the eye. “I don’t understand why you intentionally got yourself burnt.”

“I thought you wouldn’t feel self-conscious if you weren’t the only one with a sunburn. And I’m quite impatient to decorate the courtyard, you see.”

They both laughed, their tender skin stretching painfully on their faces.

He held out his pinky finger. “Kindred spirits, right?”

She wrapped her pinky finger around his with a glowing smile. “Kindred spirits.”

Chapter 20: Dismiss Whatever Insults Your Own Soul

Chapter Text

“Cave.”

“You liar!” Anne gasped dramatically. “Diana Barry, there is no way that you truly would rather live in a cave than a treehouse.”

“I’m sticking with my answer,” Diana replied matter-of-factly.

Gilbert snorted at the look of shock on Anne’s face.

The three of them were in the hayloft of the Cuthbert’s barn, laying on the warped wooden boards cushioned with sweet-smelling hay. They all had their backsides scooted to the junction of the floor and the wall so that their legs stuck straight out above them. It was a lazy summer afternoon in which Gilbert had finished his chores early and thus ambled over to Green Gables to see what Anne was up to. The two girls were already up in the loft, staring at their wiggling feet and the well-worn eaves of the barn, and welcomed his presence warmly, insisting that he join them for a change in perspective. He was quite comfortable where he now lay, the slanted stripes of sun against the wall shining through slats in the barn, the warm dusty air settling pleasantly around them.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” Anne folded her arms and looked straight ahead at the ceiling. “Where I would find myself agreeing with Gilbert Blythe more often than with my most bosom friend.

“Hey!” Gilbert knocked one of his boots against hers.

“No offense, Gil.” She laughed and knocked his foot away in reply.

Diana let out a large exhale. “What would I be up to right now if Mother had her way?”

“Walking around your house with a stack of novels atop your head?” Anne ventured. “Practicing a Beethoven sonata for the umpteenth time?”

Anne’s shoulder was pushed into Gilbert’s by Diana’s responding playful shove. He tried his best to ignore the leap of his heart at their sudden touch, and he definitely did not notice how their sleeves remained touching after said push.

“Unfortunately,” Diana sighed. “Your jests are a bit too accurate for my tastes.”

“Well, let us use this as inspiration for our next question!” Anne exclaimed, flexing her feet in enthusiasm. “Would you rather: be poorer than a church mouse, but be free to do whatever you’d like OR be richer than the Queen, but have very tight restrictions on your entire life?”

“Church mouse, hands down,” Diana grumbled, kicking the toes of her boots against each other.

“I’d have to say church mouse as well,” Gilbert added thoughtfully. “I think I’d go crazy otherwise.”

Anne let out a small laugh. “Well, now I’m the real odd one out.”

“Anne Shirley-Cuthbert!” Diana gasped. “You are the freest spirit I know. I don’t understand!”

Gilbert had also turned his head to look at her quizzically. She continued to look straight up into the eaves, her baby hairs glowing gold by the backlit sun.

“I have had winter nights without blankets or stoves and gone without meals enough times to know that freedom isn’t just about the number of choices you are able to make, it’s much more about accessibility.” Before Diana or Gilbert could think of a response, Anne scoffed and swatted the air as if clearing it of the reminder of her troubled past. “But enough of that type of talk! What would we do if we were all richer than the Queen?”

“Travel the world with my family,” Gilbert answered immediately. “And friends!” He added after an expectant look from the girls, not mentioning that he had included Anne in his thoughts of family.

“Alright, we get it, no one can tame your adventurous spirit.” Anne shot him a teasing smile and poked his arm. Gilbert kicked her foot lightly in faux disgruntlement.

“Where would you go first, Gilbert?” Diana called from the other side of Anne.

“I would love to see the Grand Canyon and the red rock of the Southwestern states,” Gilbert remarked. “But, on the other hand, so much of Europe sounds incredible.”

“Sounds like the quest of a lifetime. I hope you get to go one day, Gil.” Anne noted sincerely.

“And that you can pay your friends’ ways!” Diana added loudly, causing all three teenagers to chuckle.

Anne let out a puff of air. “Oh, Diana, with all that money, imagine the soirees we could hold! They would make Aunt Jo’s look like barn dances!”

Diana hummed dreamily. “Anne, you could have a garden richer and wilder than Hester’s!”

Anne’s heels, which had been creating a soft beat against the wall, came to a halt. She placed her feet flat against the wall and pushed, sliding across the hay to sit up quickly, the back of her dress wrinkled and hay sticking out of her hair.

“Were you two just struck with inspiration as well?”

Diana and Gilbert exchanged looks of confusion before shaking their heads, rolling to their sides, and sitting up slowly to meet Anne’s gaze. She scooted even further back so that the trio now sat in a triangle.

“Diana,” Anne almost whispered, trying very hard to contain her excitement. “What do you think of us having a garden party at your house? We could serve tea and biscuits like Queen Victoria!”

A slow smile spread across the girl’s face. “I think that’s a marvelous idea! I would have to ask Mother, but I know she’ll say yes! She is always wanting me to practice ladylike activities, which includes the role of hostess.” She wiggled her eyebrows mischievously.

“We could invite our whole class!” Anne rushed. “And Mary and I could bake! Hmmm… do you think we should have a theme?”

Diana looked up to consider.

“What about A Midsummer Night’s Dream?” Gilbert asked hesitantly. “It could be held on the summer solstice and there can be, um—” He gestured wildly with his hands. “Flowers and stuff.”

“Gilbert, you are inspired!” Anne squealed. “We could have all manner of flowers and grasses — oh and Diana, we could make those darling folded butterflies…”

The trio spent the rest of the afternoon shooting ideas back and forth about this potential garden party. Of course, their conversation often got sidetracked, including an impromptu spelling bee between Gilbert and Anne in which Diana acted as referee using the tiny dictionary he had given Anne for Christmas. While the topic of party planning was not normally near the top of his favorite topics of discussion, Gilbert enjoyed himself, leaning back on his hands and laughing freely, taking in the easy atmosphere with Anne and Diana in the summer warmth.

“Ow, Bash!” Gilbert yelped and hopped forward as the two men clambered into the house, stomping the dust off their boots on the back porch. Bash, laughing the whole while, had whipped him in the behind with his rolled-up sweat towel. In turn, Gilbert spun around and extended his leg, catching Bash by surprise and causing him to trip. The man caught his balance on a kitchen chair, flinging the chair to the ground with a loud crash, but allowing him to not fall completely.

“Boys!” Mary turned around with her hands on her hips. Bash stood up a little straighter and grinned while Gilbert gave a sheepish smile, using the hem of his threadbare work shirt to wipe the sweat off his upper lip.

“Do you see what I have to deal with?” Mary turned to — wait, Anne is here? Gilbert hurriedly pulled his shirt down that had been exposing his bare torso then, realizing his sudden change in behavior, tried to stand casually. Anne, who was cutting pastry dough into long strips, raised her eyebrows at him, looked at Mary, and giggled.

“Don’t just stand there, boots off! Both of you need to change and visit the washbasin before comin’ back in my kitchen, you hear me?” Mary shook her head with a warm smile. “I swear, I feel like I’m babysittin’.”

“Only helpin’ you practice, my love.” Bash winked at her, but after a moment, his smile slid off his face, and he looked down, putting his hands over his eyes. Mary’s eyes had grown wide and she covered her mouth.

“Sebastian!” She whispered in a voice an octave higher than usual.

Gilbert and Anne exchanged looks of confusion. Mary began to laugh, softly at first, but it soon turned into a boisterous, happy sound that filled the entire kitchen. Bash joined in, chuckling and shaking his head.

“Well,” She swung her arms down, clapping the side of her legs. “I guess the cat’s out of the bag.”

Upon seeing the others’ bewildered expressions, she chuckled and spoke softly. “I’m pregnant.”

With a gasp, Anne’s hands flew to her mouth as she looked between Bash and Mary. Gilbert’s jaw had dropped and he whipped his head to stare at Bash. Bash had the biggest smile on his face as he nodded in confirmation. Anne let out a delighted shriek and threw her arms around Mary’s neck. It took Gilbert a few more seconds to react — for a moment he just stood and blinked.

“Blythe, you alive?” Bash laughed. This brought Gilbert out of his shock, grinning and nodding. He walked over to Bash and gave him a huge hug.

“Congratulations, Bash. Wow, oh my god, congratulations.” Gilbert said in an awestruck tone over Bash’s shoulder, slapping his back.

“Thank you, brother.” Bash replied with a squeeze. When the boys broke apart, a squealing Anne still had her arms around a laughing Mary.

“I’m sorry,” Anne broke their embrace, stepping backward and quickly wiping her face. “It’s just—” She looked at Bash and back at Mary, smiling radiantly. “Two of my favorite people, having a baby. She or he is going to be the most lovely little thing that has ever lived.” She let out a laugh mixed with a cry, happy tears still streaming down her face. Gilbert walked around the kitchen table and pulled Mary into a big hug, squeezing her gently around the middle and lifting her off the ground briefly.

“I’m so happy for you both.” Gilbert beamed.

“When are you due?” Anne sniffled.

“Sometime in December, probably.” Mary walked to Bash and tucked herself into him. He put his arm around her waist and kissed her temple. “Hard to be sure.”

“A Christmas baby.” Anne sighed. “Oh, this is the best news. I can’t wait!”

“Now we were,” Mary turned to Bash and squeezed his side teasingly. “Going to tell everyone at this Sunday dinner so that Matthew and Marilla could know at the same time. Do you think you two can keep a secret until then?”

“Of course.” Gilbert agreed with a grin, rubbing his forehead in disbelief at the good news.

Anne only nodded eagerly, too excited to respond vocally.

“Well okay then.” Mary extracted herself from Bash’s arms. “Miss Anne, these tarts are not gonna make themselves!”

She walked over to the counter, joining Anne once more in cutting long strips of dough.

“Now shoo! I meant what I said about both of you needin’ a wash.”

They laughed heartily as they walked out of the kitchen toward their rooms. Gilbert caught Anne’s eye and gave her a huge grin. She responded in kind with a dimpled smile, her shoulders rising slightly as if her whole body needed to turn upward rather than just the corners of her mouth. His heart gave a little stutter and he looked away quickly, scolding himself for the overreaction and rushing up the stairs to splash his face with cool water.

“A little to the left… a little more… stop!”

Diana gave him an approving nod as Gilbert began to tie the last origami butterfly to one of the beams of the Barry’s gazebo. He had been assigned this job as he was the tallest (and he just had to do what Diana or Anne ordered him to). She gestured for him to sit at the long rectangular table and showed him how to place the folded cloth napkins by each setting before beginning to fuss over the placement of the platters of food on another long table that bordered a wall of shrubbery. Diana looked quite pretty in a dress the color of buttermilk, a sky blue sash tied around her waist. Her dark hair fell gracefully over her shoulders in a smooth wave.

“I’m going to see if Anne needs any help with her dress. Keep folding, and if you finish, please set the forks out.” Diana called as she walked into the home with her head held high, a woman on a mission.

He chuckled and shook his head, continuing to fold the napkins in the special fan that Diana had shown him. Both girls had been ordering him around since the late morning, taking the whole affair quite seriously. From the second he had approached in his Sunday best, arms laden with baked goods from Mary, he hadn’t been idle. To be completely honest, Gilbert was glad that at least he could stay seated while folding napkins.

Placing the final napkin with a little pat, he walked over to the food table and grabbed the small pile of silver forks. As he began to place a fork carefully to the right of each setting, movement from the house caught his eye — Diana and Anne were walking out with breathless smiles. At the sight of Anne, Gilbert fumbled and knocked into the table, dropping his remaining forks with a loud clatter as they hit one of the china plates. The crystal goblets wobbled, but nothing fell over or broke. He rubbed his neck in embarrassment as Diana gave him a disparaging glare. Raising his head, he looked at Anne, who had begun to fiddle with the floral centerpiece that ran down the length of the table.

She wore a navy blue dress with tiny white ruffled detailing along her neck and wrists. The dress, which must have been Diana’s, was much more form-fitting than the shift-like dresses Marilla had sewn for her. The long sleeves began with a small puff that went from her shoulder to her elbow, the sleeve becoming flush with her skin from elbow to wrist. They ended tight just after her wrists, flared slightly by the beginnings of her palms. It had a cinched waist, emphasizing curves that Gilbert had never noticed before. And her hair… it was no longer in her typical two braids but down, curled gently past her collarbones, small pieces tied back with a thin white ribbon. Small sprigs of baby’s breath were pinned into her hair, contrasting beautifully with the vibrant red. By the ocean, she had looked so wild and beautiful with her windblown hair and skirt tied up. But this…

She looked closer to being a woman than he had ever seen her, but it was more than that. She looked like the night sky, her skin luminescent like the moon, her freckles the stars. Her red hair that curled ever so slightly partway down her back with the tiny white blossoms and her sparkling blue eyes — Anne looked fae-like, elegant, and otherworldly.

Diana cleared her throat, startling Gilbert and causing him to stop staring at Anne and rush to pick up the forks and commence with setting the table. She squinted at him suspiciously with one eyebrow raised as if she had read his thoughts. Anne continued to hum to herself, fluffing roses open and straightening greenery, unaware of his not-so-subtle reaction.

“Hello, hello!” A cheerful voice called from the trellis at the entrance to the garden.

They all turned to see who it was, Anne and Diana both gasping in delight.

“Cole!”

Anne rushed over to him and hugged him on tip-toe tightly around the neck, his arms easily encircling her small waist. Gilbert subconsciously rubbed the back of his neck again, this time in discomfort and another emotion he couldn’t place his finger on — a feeling that was not quite anger and not quite longing, but a mingling of the two.

“Hello, my lovelies!” Cole exclaimed, embracing Diana with a large smile.

There was something different about Cole. It had only been three months since Gilbert had last seen him, but he found the sandy-haired boy to be near unrecognizable. The dark purple shadows underneath his eyes were gone. He held himself higher, the old sloping slump of his shoulders now straightened. Even Gilbert noticed how put together Cole looked, who now wore a suit tailored and pressed to perfection. He wore a gray morning coat with pinstripe pants and black calf-skin oxfords. Underneath the coat, he had a robin’s egg blue double-breasted waistcoat and a white french-cuffed dress shirt. To complete his look, a solid black silk tie was secured with a gold tie pin, matching gold cufflinks glinted on his wrists, and a white pocket square peaked out of his breast pocket. Gilbert suddenly felt even more insecure, wearing his woolen suit, vest, and Aegean cap that he wore to church every Sunday.

“You look like you just waltzed out of a palace!” Anne gushed, straightening Cole’s already perfectly placed tie.

“It is a garden party, Anne. The invitation didn’t specify a dress code so I went with my gut and assumed morning dress.” Cole grinned.

Diana gave his arm a playful shove. “It did too! The invitation definitely read formal attire requested at the bottom, but not white tie.”

“Did it?” Cole mused absentmindedly as he began to walk around the garden. “Gilbert!”

Cole approached him and gave him a warm hug, Gilbert awkwardly raising his arms to reciprocate as he was caught off guard.

“Cole.” Gilbert tried to keep his voice and expression pleasantly neutral, but judging from the curious quirk of the other boy’s eyebrows, he was not successful.

“Anne, how can I help? Any finishing touches needed?”

“No, I believe we are all set. You can start making your flower crown if you want!”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Cole hurried and sat on the cushioned chaise in the gazebo where the origami butterflies hung, beginning to pick greenery and freshly picked wildflowers from the baskets Anne had set up earlier.

Gilbert stood awkwardly for a moment, not really sure what to do with himself. He felt a small hand on his arm.

“Come on, Gil.” Anne squeezed his elbow. “I can show you how to make a flower crown with Cole.”

He happily allowed himself to be led by Anne to the gazebo where she helped him pick out leaves and tiny berries to fix into a crown for himself. As they worked, Tillie arm-in-arm with Jane walked in, soon followed by Josie and Ruby. A few minutes later, they heard the sounds of boisterous laughter before Moody, Charlie, and the two Pauls waltzed through the trellis.

“Diana and Anne, the garden looks gorgeous.” Tillie sighed, spinning in a slow circle to take in all of the decoration.

Upon entering, the guests would immediately approach the gazebo to make their flower crowns. A pathway lined with moss and flower petals led to the long rectangular table set for eating, the serving table placed behind it. From the branches and shrubs hung garlands of dried and fresh blossoms, leaves richly interspersed between the flowers. The food included finger sandwiches, fruit tarts, ginger snaps, angel food cake with strawberries and cream, and a loaf of french bread with accompanying pads of butter. To drink, there were pitchers of iced lemonade and several teapots filled with earl gray and jasmine tea.

Soon, everyone had at least some sort of flora on their heads and was settling down to eat. Charlie had complained about having to wear one, which Anne responded to by adding several large marigolds to his crown.

Anne, flanked by Cole and Diana, was seated directly across from Gilbert. He found himself quietly enjoying the conversation, occasionally adding a thoughtful comment, but mostly listening to Anne’s enthusiastic ramblings.

As their dishes were being cleared away by two of the Barry’s maids, Josie cleared her throat.

“How about a game?”

“Uh, sure, what do you have in mind?” Diana tilted her head curiously at the blonde.

A smug smile slid over Josie’s face as she raised her eyebrows and said, “Truth or Dare?”

Interested murmurs and sounds of agreement echoed from around the table. Gilbert noticed Anne slump slightly with a frown. He opened his mouth to suggest they do something else, but before he could do so, Anne had plastered a toothy grin on her face and looked at Josie.

“Alright. Who goes first?”

“Let’s draw straws.”

The two Pauls gathered sticks quickly enough and everyone pulled one. Charlie let out a groan and held up the short stick, the whole table laughing at his plight.

“Alright, Charlie,” Josie smirked wickedly. “Truth or dare?”

“Um,” Charlie gulped. “Dare, I guess.”

Tillie gasped. “Ooh, I have a good one. I dare you to put on a blindfold and guess whose face you’re touching without seeing them.”

Oooooohs sounded from the others and Charlie rolled his eyes, muttering, “Let’s get this over with.”

Tillie offered up her handkerchief to be used as the blindfold, waving her hands in front of Charlie’s face for good measure. When he didn’t react, she tiptoed to Moody and gestured for him to kneel on the ground next to Charlie’s chair. Upon Tillie’s urging, Charlie reached his hands out awkwardly, the very tips of his fingers touching Moody’s nose. Ruby giggled and hid her face in Diana’s shoulder.

“Is this… Diana?”

Even Gilbert guffawed alongside everyone else, laughing even harder when Charlie ripped the blindfold off and saw a chortling Moody. He grimaced and turned red, but laughed along quietly.

“Okay, Charlie. Now you pick someone to do a truth or dare.”

Charlie picked Ruby, who chose dare.

“I dare you to go climb that willow tree as high as you can.”

Ruby’s face went pale.

“B-but there are bugs in that tree…”

“You chose dare, Ruby. Go!” Josie insisted.

The slight blonde girl got up and walked timidly over to the tree. To everyone’s surprise, she climbed to about 10 feet above the ground before yelling, “There is a fat green caterpillar on this next branch so this is the farthest I go!” She scuttled down the tree rapidly and hopped rather ungracefully to the ground.

Anne, Diana, and Cole were the loudest to cheer.

“Ruby, that was amazing and brave.” Anne reached over Diana and squeezed Ruby’s hand.

“Thank you, Anne.” She fluttered her eyelashes at Gilbert and his stomach dropped.

Oh no…

“Gilbert,” She wrapped his name in a sickeningly sweet blanket of candy floss. “Truth or dare?”

His hand jumped to the back of his neck and he chuckled nervously. “Uh, truth?”

Everyone sitting at the table subconsciously leaned forward.

Ruby flushed light pink and asked in a soft voice, “Who is the prettiest girl in Avonlea?”

There were gasps and giggles from the girls and low groans from the boys.

“Well…” Gilbert swallowed thickly, his eyes darting to Anne and then to his hands. She had looked expectant, but had jerked her head at Ruby as if to urge him to say her name…

“That’s a hard choice, but I think I’ll go with Miss Stacy.”

The boys let out barks of laughter and Moody slapped him on the back. The girls tittered with little laughs, Ruby blushing deeply pink. Anne shook her head at him, chuckling along with the boys.

“Josie,” Gilbert called, the table going silent. “Truth or dare?”

She raised her eyebrows at him and folded her arms. “Dare.”

“I dare you to walk down the main road and squawk like a chicken for a minute straight.”

Everyone busted up laughing while Josie’s nostrils flared with anger.

“So immature.” She muttered and rolled her eyes as she got up and walked with arms crossed to the road. The rest of the party rose and followed her. The girl stood with shoulders back in the middle of the red, dusty road. Lifting her hands beneath her armpits, she began to walk and say in a bored voice, “Bawk, bawk, bawk…”

“Louder!” Gilbert yelled with cupped hands over his mouth.

Her voice remained normal, but she glared at him and yelled, “BAWK, BAWK, BAWK!”

Tears were running down Anne and Diana’s faces and Gilbert was pretty sure Moody was going to explode if his face turned any redder with mirth.

The minute was up far too soon and Josie strode quickly back to the garden table, curls bouncing.

Josie then dared Jane to hop on her left leg around the garden without stopping once or putting her right foot to the ground. Jane, in her pale yellow dress, was doing swimmingly until she stumbled and put her foot down at the third corner. Josie’s laughs were the loudest as Jane walked with an embarrassed grimace back to her seat. The blonde girl’s amusem*nt felt mean-spirited and, of course, Anne had caught on to the cruelty in her laughter right before Gilbert had.

“Josie Pye, you laugh but I think you’re all talk.” Anne looked her straight in the eye.

“What do I care what you think, orphan trash?” Josie shot back.

Gilbert clenched his fists at the insult, looking intensely at Anne to see if she was okay.

Anne sat up straighter, eyes flashing. “If your balance is so great, I dare you to walk the entire east side of the board fence over there.”

“Easy.” Josie sneered and tossed her hair. With confidence, the girl stepped on a large rock to get on top of the fence and walked deftly across it, heel to toe, barely even extending her arms for balance. She jumped off the fence and walked back to the table with a look of defiant victory.

Anne’s face turned pink. “Well, anyone could do that, walk on a short little fence like this one. There was a girl I knew in Nova Scotia who could walk a ridgepole of a roof.”

“Liar,” Josie replied nastily. “No one could do that, especially not you.”

“Wanna bet?” Anne snapped.

“Sure!” Josie cried. “Yeah, Anne, I dare you to climb on the Barry’s roof and walk the ridgepole of the kitchen.”

Anne was breathing heavily, staring at Josie. After a moment, she gave a curt nod and stood up, walking with her head held high to the iron ladder that climbed the side of the house.

“Anne, no!” Diana yelled. “Don’t do it!”

“Anne,” Gilbert groaned in exasperation, standing up and rushing to her side. He grabbed her wrist as she placed her hand on a rung.

“Anne, this is reckless and dangerous. Don’t pay attention to what Josie Pye says.”

She wrenched her arm away from him. “This is a challenge of my honor, Gilbert Blythe. If I die, tell Marilla and Matthew I loved them.”

He blinked in disbelief as she scurried up the ladder and onto the roof.

“Anne! Get down!” He yelled. “Or else I’m coming up to bring you down!”

“Don’t you dare, Gilbert Blythe!” She called back. “Or I will make us both fall, I swear!”

Gilbert huffed in frustration and backed up to be able to see her as she stood on the edge of the ridgepole, at least fifteen feet off the ground.

The entire party watched with bated breath as she took one cautious step, then another. Only when Anne was about halfway across did she begin to sway. Gilbert’s stomach plummeted as he saw her fall in slow motion, stumbling to try to catch her balance before hitting the roof and sliding off the other side.

He heard the screams of the girls and the exclamations of the boys as if in the distance. His breath was hitching in his throat as he ran to the other side of the roof where, luckily, it slanted further down so that she had less distance to fall from the edge of the roof to the ground. What he saw on the kitchen porch made his thoughts go haywire, words were not coming to him properly. Sprawled in a tangle of vines lay Anne, looking paler than a ghost. Gilbert rushed to her side and grabbed her wrist to feel for a pulse.

“ANNE!” Diana screamed, throwing herself to kneel opposite of him.

For one excruciating second, he couldn’t find her pulse. But then, he took a deep breath and willed his hands to stop shaking, and he felt a steady beat under his fingertips. Letting out a strangled sigh of relief, he gave her a body scan, looking for obvious external injuries. It looked like her stockings got caught on some of the tiles as she slid down the roof and he could see bloody scrapes through the rips.

“Anne.” Gilbert was forcing himself to remain calm.

You can scream and cry later, once she’s okay… if she’s okay...

“Anne.” He repeated this time turning her lolling head toward him.

Her eyelids fluttered open, her brilliant blue eyes unfocused.

“Gil…?”

She made a move to sit up, but he placed one hand on her back and one on her shoulder, easing her gently back to laying down.

“Anne, I need you to stay still…”

“What on earth…” Mrs. Barry rushed out of the house. “What exactly is going on?”

Anne’s eyes widened and before Gilbert or Diana could stop her, she attempted to stand up at Mrs. Barry’s approach. A soft, heartbreaking cry emerged involuntarily from her lips and she buckled, Gilbert reaching out his arms to cushion her fall.

“Where does it hurt? Anne, open your eyes, please! Where does it hurt?”

“My ankle…” She whispered. “I think I need to go home.”

Gilbert nodded in agreement, clenching his jaw so tight his head hurt. Without a second thought, he placed one arm beneath her knees, the other under her arm, and easily lifted her up. After making sure her skirt was tucked between his arm and her leg to keep her modest, he began to walk toward the road. He passed a sobbing Ruby, who had remained standing in the garden, and a slightly green Josie, who stood back, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle.

Diana and Cole were the only ones to follow him to the road — everyone else gave them space so as to not crowd Anne. Her arms were both wrapped around his neck, her head resting on his shoulder. Gilbert could tell she was conscious by the way she was actively holding on to him, but her eyes were squeezed shut with pain. Gilbert didn’t look at her, he stared straight ahead, eyes dark and jaw clenched tight. Soon, they were at the white fence of Green Gables. At the sight of the four approaching figures, Marilla ran out of the kitchen door to them.

“Gilbert, what’s happened? Is she alright?” Marilla cried, her hands shakily rising to her mouth.

He swallowed and tried to wrench his jaw open to speak, but Anne beat him to it.

“Marilla, it’s okay, I only fell a few feet. The good news is I’m alive to tell the tale, a little ankle injury is nothing compared to a broken neck.”

“Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, you are going to put me in an early grave.” Marilla’s eyes flashed and she allowed herself to be angry now that she knew Anne was alive. “Gilbert, please bring her inside. We can lay her on the sofa in the parlor.”

He gave a nod and walked swiftly toward the house. As he walked up the porch steps, he felt Anne’s arms give out and her head hang to one side.

“She’s fainted!” Diana gasped.

Cole rushed ahead and opened the parlor door so that Gilbert could walk in easily. He laid her down on the sofa delicately, supporting her head with the crook of his elbow before resting it softly on a pillow. Grabbing another cushion, he gently lifted her knees and placed it underneath.

“Miss Cuthbert, she’s in shock, please get me something to fan her with. Diana, a cold cloth. Cole, please watch her breathing and make sure it’s steady.”

Both women nodded and hurried out of the parlor, returning quickly with his requested supplies. Deftly, he took the cold cloth from Diana and placed it on the back of Anne’s neck. He then took the cardboard sewing pattern Marilla had handed him and began to fan her with steady movements of his arm, the cardboard making a soft swish with each move.

“I’m going to fetch Matthew from the barn. Gilbert, does she need a doctor?” Marilla asked gravely.

“Yes.” He managed the one word before handing the cardboard to Diana, gesturing for her to continue to fan. Walking to the linen closet in the front hallway, he grabbed a blanket and another pillow.

A stern Marilla and frazzled Matthew slammed open the kitchen door, both rushing into the parlor. As Gilbert brought the blanket and pillow for Anne into the room, Matthew was walking out already, mumbling about going to get Dr. Spencer.

“Anne,” Gilbert knelt down by the sofa, Diana moving to stand by the arm and stroke Anne’s hair. “Anne, can you hear me?”

She didn’t respond.

Sighing, he put the pillow on top of the other to get her knees further up — Dr. Ward had taught him when a patient goes into shock to lift their legs at least a foot higher than their head. His mentor also told him how important it is to keep them warm, so Gilbert laid the blanket over Anne’s limp body, tucking it in the best he could.

Marilla was sitting on the edge of a chair, biting her thumbnail in worry.

“Miss Cuthbert, would you mind helping me with her boots? They are constricting her injury.”

The woman rose with a nod, working to unlace Anne’s right boot. As she carefully unlaced the shoe and slowly pull it off, Anne’s eyes opened and she let out a gasp of pain. Marilla stopped immediately, putting her hands in the air in surrender.

“It’s alright, this needs to be done,” Gilbert muttered in reassurance, to himself as much as to anyone else. He stood by Marilla and began to rock the shoe forward ever so slightly, taking almost two minutes to slip it off her foot. His chest felt cavernous and sore as he heard her tiny whimpers of pain, the silent involuntary tears sliding down her face. After Marilla helped take the stocking off, Gilbert’s stomach gave a little lurch. Anne’s ankle was swelling, an angry red and purple. Her foot fell at an odd angle — from the little he knew about medicine, he would guess it was broken.

“We just need to keep her still until the doctor comes,” Gilbert said in a strained voice. His eyes met Marilla’s and Diana’s, then roamed the room looking for Cole.

“Cole went back to my house to update everyone and tell them to go home,” Diana explained, understanding who Gilbert was looking for.

He nodded and walked over to a chair by the fireplace and collapsed his face into his hands. Marilla sat on the ground by Anne, gripping her daughter’s hand tightly. Diana was pale, but remained on her perch, stroking Anne’s hair and telling her “it’s going to be alright” over and over.

After nearly an hour, they heard the door open and two pairs of footsteps against the wooden floor. Dr. Spencer, with his toothbrush mustache and shiny shoes, came striding in, shooing Marilla and Diana away.

“From what Mr. Cuthbert has told me on the way here, she fell off a roof, hurt her ankle, and then lost consciousness?”

Everyone in the room nodded.

“Did she lose consciousness directly after the fall or later on?”

“It was later on, sir.” Gilbert cleared his throat. “She began to go into shock as I carried her up the steps to the house and fainted for about two minutes. The pain of us removing her boot woke her up.”

Dr. Spencer looked at him solemnly, then turned back to Anne, who was biting her lip to keep from crying out in pain, gripping onto the blanket so hard her knuckles were white. He walked to the back of the sofa, gently lifting her ankle. With thin fingers he pressed and probed on different areas of the foot, noting when she hissed with pain.

“Yes. I wouldn’t be worried about the fainting, it was likely a vasovagal syncope episode in reaction to her pain. Unfortunately, I believe her ankle to be fractured and dislocated — I will need to set it.” He looked at Anne over his pair of bifocals. “I’m afraid this is going to hurt.”

“Mr. Blythe and Mr. Cuthbert, please, come help me hold her down.”

Matthew and Gilbert exchanged nervous looks and walked over.

“Mr. Cuthbert, hold her shoulders, I can’t have her moving at all.”

As Matthew walked over and gently put his hands on Anne’s shoulders, Dr. Spencer looked to Gilbert.

“You’re Dr. Ward’s apprentice, correct?”

Gilbert swallowed and nodded.

“Have you ever assisted with a dislocated ankle?”

“Only dislocated shoulders, sir.”

“It’s the same principle. It appears to be her talus that is fractured, it has been pushed behind her tibia and fibula, causing a posterior dislocation. I need you to hold the leg straight so that when I pull, the talus pops back into the ankle joint. Place your hand on the inner knee and outer shin and hold steady.”

Gilbert did as he was told with a clenched jaw.

“Ready, fellows? On my count, 3...2…” The doctor pulled and there was a little pop. Anne let out a gut-wrenching scream and covered her face with her hands, sobbing. Gilbert flinched at the sound but only looked to Dr. Spencer for further instruction.

“Miss Cuthbert, do you have any cardboard and linen strips?”

Marilla wiped her face and nodded, rushing to her sewing room and bringing back the materials.

“Mr. Blythe, help me splint her ankle.”

Gilbert grabbed the cardboard and folded it twice, using the edge of the desk in the parlor to make the creases straight, then placed it underneath Anne’s calf. He held it steady as Dr. Spencer began to tie strips of linen to secure the cardboard to the ankle. Once he was done tying, he rolled up some of the leftover strips and placed them directly behind her ankle as padding.

“I will be back tomorrow with plaster to make a cast. She will need to walk with a crutch when necessary, but most of the time, she needs to not put weight on her foot for six weeks.”

“Six weeks?” Anne sniffled.

“Yes, young lady. And from what I heard, you fell off a roof, so be glad that it’s only your ankle we need to worry about.”

With this admonishment, Dr. Spencer turned on his heel and walked out of the parlor.

“Gil?”

Anne was in her white nightgown tucked into bed, her right leg sticking out of the quilt as it was elevated by two pillows. Gilbert, seated in a chair by the gable window, didn’t look up from the book he was reading. “Do you need a new cold compress?”

“No, no… just wanted to see if you’re okay. You seem… off.”

He turned a page, still not looking at her. “Yeah, I’m fine, Anne.”

She didn’t respond. Gilbert pretended that he couldn’t feel her eyes on him. A few minutes passed before she spoke up again.

“Listen, if this is because of what I said earlier…”

“What you said?” Gilbert scoffed. “No, Anne, it’s not.”

“Then what is it about?”

“What is what about?”

“That! Th-the snapping and the silence and you won’t even look at me, Gil! I don’t know what you want from me, I’m the one who got hurt!”

He closed the book with a snap. “Yes, Anne. You got hurt. And by sheer dumb luck, it was only your ankle that you broke and not your head. And for what, for your ‘honor?’ What was that even about?”

“Josie Pye—”

Gilbert stood up and began to pace.

“Josie Pye was who she always is! Vindictive and provoking and petty. But that? Walking on a roof? Don’t blame Josie Pye for your fall, that was all on you and your recklessness.”

“You saw how she was being mean to Jane, I couldn’t—”

“Yes, Anne, she was being cruel. But you let her spite get the better of you! You didn’t have to bring up the ridgepole at all, let alone do what she dared you to do! You were selfish!”

“Selfish?! I was standing up for Jane!”

Gilbert gave her a disparaging look and aggressively ran his fingers through his hair, making his curls stick every-which-way.

“Maybe at first, but by the time you were climbing that ladder, you were only acting for yourself. Why must you always act like such a child?! Did you even think about what would happen to those who love you if you had gotten even more seriously injured? If I walked up to Green Gables holding a paralyzed Anne or, better yet, a dead Anne? What would Marilla and Matthew do? What would I—”

His voice broke, his throat constricting. He stopped pacing and pressed his fingers to his eyes.

“Anne, you must know that you have to start considering the consequences of your actions.” He sighed and his shoulders sagged. “I know you don’t like to be told what to do, but when I told you to stop, I had only the best intentions. I was trying to help you not get hurt. And y-your stubbornness—”

“Alright,” Anne said in a deathly quiet voice. “I think you’ve insulted me enough for one day.”

Gilbert’s head snapped to look at her. She looked exhausted, but her eyes were blazing with anger.

“Insulted…?” Gilbert spluttered.

“You’ve played the hero enough for today, Gilbert! I can tell how much you don’t want to be here, so go! Go home!”

Anne was yelling and she thrust her arm out to point to her cracked bedroom door.

Gilbert let out a humorless chuckle, grabbed his jacket and his cap, and walked swiftly out of the room. He passed a surprised Matthew in the hallway, who mumbled something like “heard raised voices…”

He fumed the entire way home, slamming the front door open and shut and stomping up to his room.

“What in the—'' Mary turned to Bash as the sound of Gilbert’s bedroom door slamming sounded from upstairs.

Bash shook his head in confusion and slowly walked up the steps, lifting his fist to knock on the door. The sound of strangled sobs from the other side gave him pause and Bash dropped his hand to his side. He walked downstairs and waved his hand at Mary’s concerned gaze.

“Boy just needs some space.”

Chapter 21: Let Your Soul Stand Cool and Composed Before a Million Universes

Chapter Text

Gilbert grabbed his hat and pushed it onto his head with a little too much force, opening and holding the door for Mary and Bash. His face was more sullen than he realized because the couple instantly picked up that he was feeling off.

“What’s got you in a twist? You’ve been sportin’ that frown all week.” Mary asked, picking up her dish of ham-hock baked beans and gesturing to Bash to carry the warm pan of cornbread on the stove before walking out of the open door.

“Just tired.” He gave her an unconvincing half-smile to which she responded with a raised eyebrow and sighed, “Okay…”

He walked to the carriage hitched up to Midnight and climbed in, grabbing the reins. If he was doing something with his hands, maybe the pit of dread and dull anger in his stomach would be less apparent to those around him.

It was much too short of a carriage ride. In fifteen minutes, Bash was holding a hand out to help Mary down and Gilbert reluctantly hopped out, guiding Midnight to the stable stall next to the Cuthbert’s mare, Belle.

Gilbert slowly walked to the porch of Green Gables and lightly knocked.

“Come in, Gilbert, come in.” Marilla opened the door and smiled widely at him, stepping aside to let him inside.

He nodded at her and removed his cap, hanging it on one of the hooks next to the front door.

“I’ve just finished setting the table, you’re welcome to come to take a seat.” She gestured at the dinner table that was laden with a platter of grilled sausage, green beans sauteed with butter, mashed potatoes, and Mary’s dishes of baked beans and cornbread.

Walking into the kitchen, he saw Bash had taken the foot of the table with Mary sitting on his left. Gilbert drew out the chair to the right of Bash and sat down quietly, looking down at his place setting to avoid unnecessary eye contact.

There was a clatter and an “UGH!” of exasperation from the stairs — Gilbert felt his heart begin to beat faster and his mouth dry. Anne, with a bulky white cast on her ankle, was slowly making her way down the stairs, having to balance on her uninjured foot to place her crutches on the next step down and then swing herself down and repeat. Her hands were obviously rubbed sore from the handles of the crutches as she took breaks between each step down to rub her palms and flex her fingers. Everything in him was screaming to stand up and help her, to hold onto her waist and keep her upright so she didn’t have to hurt herself with those crutches any longer.

But he stayed in his seat, the only thing giving away his internal struggle the white of his knuckles as he gripped his knees.

“Miss Anne, allow me.” Bash stood up and offered a hand of support as she swung down the last few steps.

“Thank you, Bash. I’m finding the one-legged life to not be for me. Dashes my dreams of becoming that sort of pirate.” She glanced at Gilbert, smiling momentarily before remembering their fight. Her eyes hardened and a little furrow appeared between her eyebrows, blushing a warm pink and looking quickly down at the ground.

She sat next to Mary, diagonal from Gilbert. After a short and straight-to-the-point grace by Marilla, everyone began to heap their plates with the savory dinner in front of them.

“Anne, I don’t think I ever heard the story of what happened to your foot.” Mary took a bite of food and met Gilbert’s eyes with a knowing look.

Gilbert looked down at his food, focusing solely on cutting the grilled sausage into identical little coins.

“Oh.” Anne’s tone was light, but Gilbert knew her well enough to hear the hidden strain in her voice. “Yes, well it is a rather silly story.”

Mary looked at her expectantly, but Anne had apparently finished her thought and was now sitting up much straighter than usual, carefully cutting into a green bean.

“I’m surprised you don’t know more about it,” Marilla began, “since Gilbert was such a big part of helping us take care of her directly after. Why, he was here until near dark on Tuesday, isn’t that right?”

Both Anne and Gilbert stiffened, still looking at their own plates. Gilbert cleared his throat slightly and nodded, flashing his eyes to meet Mary’s kind, yet confused expression before returning to his sausage coins, which were now being quartered.

Bash caught on to the awkward silence and strangely meticulous eating from the two teenagers and cleared his throat.

“Mary, my love, can I say something?”

Mary’s head shot up and her eyes softened with love as she gave Bash a suppressed smile, as if she were trying to contain emotions from spilling out.

“Uh,” Bash shook his head and laughed. “I didn’t think this through. I have no idea how to begin.”

“Is something the matter?” Marilla’s eyes flashed with worry as she glanced between Mary, Bash, and Gilbert.

“Depends on your definition of ‘the matter.’” Bash’s eyes twinkled and he reached out to hold Mary’s hand over the table. “Mary is pregnant.”

There was a clatter of silverware against the ceramic dishes as Marilla lifted her hands to her mouth, letting out a little “Oh!” Matthew’s eyes had grown wide and he seemed to be at even more of a loss for words than usual, looking in awe between the to-be parents.

After the moment of stunned silence, the inevitable babble began.

Gilbert gave Bash a tight-lipped smile as Anne, once again, hugged Mary sitting down and Marilla surreptitiously wiped a tear from the corner of her eye as she asked how Mary was feeling.

The dinner continued on with little reference to Anne or Gilbert, the news of the baby completely overtaking the conversation. After what seemed like hours, Marilla was clearing away dishes.

“I’ll go get the carriage.” Gilbert stood up and walked quickly out of the dining room, not waiting to hear Bash or Mary’s response. More often than not, the three of them would stay and play parlor games with the Cuthberts, but today, he could not be in that house for one more minute. Seeing Anne with that cast reminded him of the sheer fright and sorrow he had felt when he first saw her limp form sprawled in the vines of the Barry’s kitchen porch. Her accusations from that night, that he had “played the hero” — did she not realize that he was the only one at that garden party who had any medical knowledge? That she herself had practically asked him to carry her home?

What kept the embers of his anger alight was that, deep down, he knew that she was right. Of course, his conscious thoughts and efforts had only been to help her, to keep her safe. But, Gilbert would be lying to himself if he said that he didn’t relish the feeling of carrying her with her arms wrapped around his neck and head on his shoulder. That the memory of everyone in Green Gables following his orders to bring him supplies, that witnessing him put the knowledge Dr. Ward imparted on him every Saturday to use, didn’t bring him a thrill.

Was it so wrong that he had loved the feeling of being needed by her, of being equipped to take care of her? To save her? That when he took away the fear and the anger of his memories of that day, he carried a sense of fulfillment and pride that he hadn’t felt since he had delivered Ruth’s baby in Trinidad?

But, of course, Anne was fiercely independent and, despite their blossoming friendship, could not stomach the idea that he had helped her when she had been unable to help herself.

As he brought the carriage around, his stomach dropped at the sight of her standing on the porch alongside Mary, leaning on her crutches for support. With clasped hands and warm smiles, Bash and Mary bid farewell to Anne and her parents, then proceeded to climb into the carriage. The second Gilbert was sure they were in safely, he clicked his tongue and urged Midnight forward, away from Green Gables.

It was nearing dark when there was a knock at the door.

“Blythe, you have a guest!”

Gilbert looked up from his book, surprised.

Who would be here for me at this hour?

He walked down the stairs cautiously, a mix of fear and hope swirling about his mind that he would turn the corner of the stairwell and see a certain redhead standing on the porch.

“Diana?”

He said her name incredulously - what was she doing here? Gilbert could not remember a time when they had spent time together alone, without Anne. She gave him a business-like nod and replied curtly.

“Gilbert.”

Bash looked between the two of them, unsure of what to do next. A moment later, he chuckled and shook his head, patting Gilbert on the shoulder and saying, “Holler if you need anything.”

“I haven’t much time, but I…” Diana swallowed, her facade of icy calm cracking. “I need to talk to you. About Anne.”

Gilbert’s eyebrows raised high into his forehead in surprise. This was incredibly strange — Diana and Anne were bosom friends. They had made it very clear that their friendship was sealed by a declarative oath, that they could confide anything in each other with impenetrable trust.

He nodded slowly and gestured for her to sit on the porch steps with him, closing the front door quietly behind them.

“I can’t betray Anne’s trust.” Diana began, looking off into the distance. “But I need to hear your side of the story. Then, maybe, I can help… guide you to a… solution.” She swallowed again, uncomfortable.

Gilbert nodded and sighed, putting his hands on his knees. He began to talk, hesitantly at first, but the words began to rush out of him as if gaining momentum.

“And I called her reckless and childish. Because that is what she was! What was she thinking?” He threw his hands in the air and realized that he had stood up without meaning to, now pacing in front of the porch steps. Running one hand through his hair, he deflated slightly. “Why doesn’t it bother you? Losing her would’ve been devastating to you.”

“Yes.” Diana mused, contemplating. “It would have been… unimaginable.”

“I don’t know why I keep doing this to myself.” Gilbert slumped back down next to Diana. “She brings out the worst in me. Maybe I shouldn’t…” He couldn’t bring himself to say the words be friends with her and just hung his head.

“The way I see it,” Diana said softly. “Anne was not able to be her own being for a very long time. She didn’t have a time when she was very young to learn from her falls, literally and metaphorically. And you know as well as I do what happens when anyone tries to stop her once she gets going.”

Gilbert half smiled and Diana continued.

“She is reckless at times, maybe even a bit childish very occasionally. And I think that just comes with a territory, that being friends with Anne — the most wonderful, most devoted friend you could ask for — you can’t control her. You have to watch her, sometimes painfully, make her own mistakes. And be there for her to help her back up when she falls.”

She looked at Gilbert, making sure he understood her meaning, before standing up and dusting her skirt off.

“I need to get going. Mother doesn’t know I’m gone.” She laughed a little.

“I’ll walk you home.”

The pair walked in comfortable silence. Gilbert spent most of the way to the Barry’s thinking, hands in his pockets, staring, but not seeing, at the ground in front of him.

They arrived at a large oak tree just outside of the Barry’s fence.

“Thank you, Gilbert, for walking me home.” To his surprise, she reached out and touched his arm lightly, giving his elbow a gentle squeeze. “Please think about what I said. I miss my best friends.”

With a small, dimpled smile, she turned around and walked swiftly to the kitchen door, disappearing into the house silently.

Gilbert spent the rest of the evening and the following morning pondering his conversation with Diana. It was as if he had been bit by a venomous creature and Diana’s words had slowly begun to suck the poison out. By mid-morning, as he was raking brush in the orchard, he had decided that he would get cleaned up and stroll to Green Gables to apologize to Anne. If he was being honest with himself, it wasn’t just the fight that had kept him forlorn throughout the week, but the lack of her presence, his knowledge that he couldn’t just waltz over to Green Gables or Hester’s garden and expect her with a bright smile and an enthusiastic hello.

Late afternoon arrived and he was finally done with work for the day. Gilbert rushed out the door, trying to dry his hair with his fingers as he ran them through his curls. His cap was stuck between his upper arm and his ribs as he tried to fix his hair and walk at the same time. It began to slip and before he could catch it, the hat fell into the dust. He groaned under his breath and picked it up, hitting it against his pant leg in an attempt to get most of the dust off before putting it on. As he gave it a final little shake, he heard a small gasp. He looked up in surprise and, in an instant, hazel met blue.

Anne, face pink with exertion, was standing at the bend in the path to the woods, leaning heavily on both of her crutches. Her dress was slightly mussed and she looked rather exhausted, hair sticking every which way out of her braids. She hesitantly placed her crutches in front of her and took a step, then, another. Gilbert stood still, watching her in a daze until she was just feet in front of him.

He hadn’t noticed at first, but she had things in both of her hands. One held a flower crown of wilting ruscus leaves and tiny berries. The other carried a rather smashed-looking posy of wildflowers.

Gilbert’s chest ached slightly at the sight. He gestured vaguely with his arm and asked, “Those for me?”

Anne let out a tired breath and nodded, looking him straight in the eye. “You left this at Green Gables.” She motioned at the flower crown she had helped him make at the garden party. It must have fallen off his head in the chaos. “And I picked these on the way.” She extended both hands awkwardly, trying to keep the crutches underneath her arms.

Gilbert reached out and took the crown in one hand and the posy in the other, then offered his arm to her. With a wry smile, she looked at his crooked elbow and then back to him.

“I’ve gotten this far, I can make it to your porch by myself.”

Gilbert scoffed, but gave her a small smile, falling in stride next to her to the porch of his house.

He grabbed her crutches and gave her his arm for support as she sat down slowly on the steps. This time she accepted the help, albeit with an embarrassed grimace.

Gilbert sat next to her and for a few minutes, they just sat, looking out at the fields undulating lazily in the summer breeze. Finally, she cleared her throat and began.

“I owe you an apology.”

Gilbert began to shake his head and opened his mouth to disagree, but she cut him off.

“And don’t you dare say that I don’t because I do.” She let out a puff of air and waited a moment. “I always manage to put my foot in it with you.”

Gilbert let out a snort and she gave him a hard shove.

“Gilbert Blythe, I am being quite meek and humble at the moment, so if you don’t mind trying to not laugh at my expense...” She said this with laughter in her voice, but after a moment, she took a deep, composing breath, and resumed.

“I was horrid. Everything you said, of course, ” She grumbled these last two words, before continuing, “was correct. I was childish, reckless, inconsiderate, stubborn — all of it. And you… you helped me home, you knew what to do, you helped Dr. Spencer, and kept Marilla calm… and I dared to accuse you of ‘playing the hero…’” Her head fell and she twisted her fingers together nervously. “I was a wretch. And I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to be friends with me anymore. But, please know that I’m very sorry.”

“Anne,” Gilbert said slowly, trying to gather his thoughts. “You were hurt. You were in intense pain and I ended your harrowing day by yelling at you about a mistake that you made, a mistake which you were already being plenty punished for by the severe injury that had you bedridden. It wasn’t my place to make sure you learned your lesson and it will never be alright for me to raise my voice at you.” She was still staring at her hands, but he was looking at her, his body turned slightly in her direction. “Can you ever forgive me for adding pain to an already quite painful day?”

Her eyes raised to his, tears threatening to spill over onto her freckled cheeks. “Already forgiven.”

“Well then,” Gilbert elbowed her lightly. “You can’t get rid of me that easily. We did pinky swear to be friends, after all.”

She let out a laugh that sounded like half a sob, but wiped her face quickly and grinned at him.

“I’ve been going stir crazy at Green Gables, Gil.”

“Oh?” He quirked his eyebrow. “But what of Galahad, Gareth, Garlon, Gawain, Geraint, Gorlois, and Guinevere? They surely made good company.”

“Marilla wouldn’t let me leave my room let alone go to spend time at the chicken coop!” Anne exclaimed. “Church and Sunday dinner were the first times I was allowed out!”

They both began to laugh and Gilbert felt the knot that had been tightening all week in his stomach unravel. He picked up the dried flower crown she had saved for him and placed it on his head, earning a delighted giggle from Anne.

“Read anything good this week, Anne-girl?” Gilbert stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles, preparing to settle in for a typical Anne-ish length answer to this query. She did not disappoint.

Anne told Gilbert of a book Diana had brought her from Mr. Barry’s library, giving an in-depth review of Alexandre Dumas’ Count of Monte Cristo. Gilbert contentedly listened, nodding and gasping at just the right parts. The tone of her voice oscillated as she enthusiastically described the tragic heroism of the star-crossed love interest, Mercedes, and the different aliases of Edmond Dantes.

“Sometimes, I feel like Edmond Dantes — how he is not only Edmond Dantes, he is the Count of Monte Cristo, but also Sinbad the Sailor, and then again, he is also Lord Wilmore. There's such a lot of different Annes in me. I sometimes think that is why I'm such a troublesome person. If I was just the one Anne it would be ever so much more comfortable, but,” She let out a dramatic breath, “then it wouldn't be half so interesting*.”

Gilbert looked at her with a small smile, his heart giving a little stutter. After a moment, he turned to watch the lengthening shadows along the ground, noting their strange languid movements on the dusty ground.

“I can’t believe I didn’t tell you!” Anne broke the comfortable silence. She turned her head quickly to him. “I’ve had a marvelous idea!”

“I’m not surprised,” Gilbert said, not taking his eyes off the shadowy ground.

“Well, you know how fun it was to spend time with everyone from class again?”

Gilbert nodded absentmindedly.

“And, you remember how Miss Stacy told us of her days at the University of Toronto where she wrote for the university newspaper?”

Another nod, this one slightly confused, but curious.

“What if our class had a newspaper? It would be like writing club, but for everyone! And the rest of the town could read it and it could help improve the village by spreading helpful or fun or transformative information!”

Gilbert contemplated the idea for a moment, a smile slowly spreading across his face. “I think that could be wonderful!”

The pair discussed ideas back and forth for articles, stories, interviews, and all manner of other news-related things until the sun began to set.

“I do not think I can properly express how little I care for these blasted things,” Anne grumbled, letting Gilbert help her to stand up on one foot before grabbing the wooden crutches. An idea flashed through Gilbert’s mind.

“I’ll be right back!”

He ran into the house, leaving a confused Anne in his wake. Two minutes later he was back, pushing the front door open with his back as he wheeled his father’s wheelchair out of the house.

“This has just been sitting in storage! You can use it until your foot gets better!”

“Gil, I really can’t—”

He gave her an exasperated look. “Look, it’s not being used! And you hate your crutches, so…”

“But it was your dad’s. What if I break it or—”

Gilbert’s face grew somber, but his eyes remained warm. “Dad would want it put to good use, especially if it helped a friend.”

Anne looked up at him, searching. When she found nothing but sincerity, she let out a sigh and agreed.

“But only because I don’t think I would survive the walk to Green Gables in my current state.” She insisted. Gilbert tried to hold back a laugh and simply nodded, carrying the chair down the stairs before gesturing to the seat.

“I’ll wa— uh, push you home.”

Anne rolled her eyes at the silly grin on his face and swung herself to the chair, sitting down and laying the crutches horizontally across her lap.

“Onward!” She declared and Gilbert let out a bark of laughter before beginning to push her down the dusty road.

“Oh, parting is such sweet sorrow!” Anne cried as she threw her arms around Mary’s neck. Mary chuckled and squeezed Anne tight against her before helping her sit back down in her wheelchair.

“Don’t you worry, Anne.” Mary took a step back. “I believe the baby will need you to read it more Shakespeare tomorrow afternoon at tea time.”

Anne beamed. “I will be glad to be of use for the furthering of baby LaCroix’s cultural education.”

Bash walked up to Gilbert, his arms laden with quilts and picnic baskets. He sighed, obviously tired from his first Avonlea Dominion Day celebration.

“You’ll be alright to walk home, Blythe?”

Gilbert nodded. “Of course. Mary needs to get home and rest. I’m just glad we got to watch the fireworks together.”

Bash smiled and bumped his shoulder teasingly against Gilbert’s as he walked to the carriage. Anne’s voice carried from a few feet away.

“Marilla, I’ll be fine! Gilbert can walk me home.”

Turning at the sound of his name, he tried not to laugh at Marilla’s worried look.

“Anne, it’s dark! And I can just imagine you insisting you’re fine to go alone and ending up sprawled in the woods, unable to call for help…”

“I won’t take no for an answer from her, Miss Cuthbert. With your permission, I will make sure she gets home safe and sound.” Gilbert walked over and gave Marilla a reassuring smile. “It’s not as if she can outrun me in her current state.”

Anne leaned over the armrest of the wheelchair and hit Gilbert in the arm.

“Oh, alright then. But not too late, Anne! I won’t have you sleeping until noon tomorrow.” Marilla gave a stern look to her daughter and nodded at Gilbert before turning around and walking to a waiting wagon, Matthew at the reins.

Diana and Ruby appeared arm in arm, out of the darkness.

“The boys are just getting the bonfire set up.” Diana breathed excitedly. “Come on, we’ll show you where we are set up!”

With a nod from Gilbert and an enthusiastic “Lead the way, dear Diana!” from Anne, the four began their way to a field that bordered the woods a little way outside of town.

By the time they got to the group, the fire had already been set and there were logs placed around it to use as seating. It was Avonlea tradition for the older students to have a bonfire the night of Dominion Day and this was the first year their grade level had been in charge of planning it.

Moody looked up and saw the approaching group, calling Gilbert to come over. Diana offered to take charge of Anne’s wheelchair and Gilbert reluctantly obliged, walking to sit next to Moody and Charlie. Across the fire, Diana settled Anne’s chair between two logs and sat down on her right, Ruby already seated to her left.

After a few minutes of chatter, Moody pulled out his banjo and began to pluck out some familiar tunes. Everyone began to tap their toes and sing along, swaying to the tinny chords of the banjo. They sang through One Sweetly Solemn Thought, clapped their hands through My Spinning Wheel and I Went to the Market, and laughed as Moody, Billy, and Tillie’s brother, Sam performed an exaggerated rendition of the ballad Wexford Girl. After a rousing performance of The Rattlin’ Bog, to which some of the girls had attempted to dance the Virginia reel, and the group shout-singing She’ll Be Comin’ ‘Round the Mountain, Moody sighed and gave a final strum to his banjo strings, saying his fingers were ought to fall off if he played anymore.

One of the boys suggested scary stories and the group enthusiastically agreed. Paul Bell stood and told a story of a woman who always wore a black ribbon around her neck until one day, her husband untied it and her head fell right off. Ruby and Josie shrieked at this conclusion, to which Paul sat down with a satisfied smirk on his face. Tilly volunteered next, telling the classic tale of the Ghost Ship of the Northumberland Strait, claiming her cousin Danny had seen the ship offshore in Charlottetown, with its pristine white sails and masts ablaze. Billy proceeded, telling a rather lackluster, overly gruesome story of a murderer whose only weapon was a pitchfork.

At the conclusion of Billy’s butchering of his narrative, Anne cleared her throat.

“I have a story**. And this one happened to me .”

Only the slight sound of shifting bodies leaning forward in interest and the cracking of the fire interrupted the silence.

“When I was about six or seven, I went on a trip to Charlottetown. We arrived on the latest ferry on a chilly October night. I even remember the ship’s name, for it provided ever so much scope for the imagination - The Faerie Queene. I had never left Nova Scotia before and was very excited to be in a new province. So excited, in fact, that I barely slept a wink all night, just eagerly lying in wait to see what a city on the island looked like. Early in the morning, I heard a deep bell tone was heard from the bell tower in St. James Church. The somber sound rang out over the rooftops, waking many with the unexpectedness of its doom-laden ring. Then a second toll rang slowly overhead, followed by a third.”

She looked around at her enraptured audience.

“Bong…” Anne said softly in a droning sing-song voice, staring into the fire. “Bong...bong…”

“We were staying in a hotel right across the street from St. James Church. I tiptoed to the window to see what on earth was going on to make the church bells ring so early in the morning. I saw two men in nightshirts and robes who lived near the church hurry outside their homes to investigate. Above them, the bell tolled for the fourth time, and again for the fifth time.”

“Bong...bong…”

“As they entered the churchyard, the bell tolled for the sixth time, and the front doors of the church swung open with a windy blast.”

“Bong…”

“Framed in the doorway were three glowing women dressed all in white. The men scrambled backward and I gasped, unsure if I was seeing real women or angels. Overhead, the bell tolled for the seventh time and the doors slammed shut as quickly as they had opened.”

“Bong…”

“The men raced to the doors and tugged on the handles, but they were firmly locked — they couldn’t get in. Through the upper windows of the bell tower, I could see a glowing woman in white ascending the stairs to the belfry.”

“The minister and the sexton arrived at that moment, demanding to know what the disturbance was about. The men seemed to tell the new arrivals what they had seen, and the minister unlocked the door to the church. As they entered the vestibule, they saw no sign of the women the neighbors had seen in the doorway. A quick glance through the church revealed not a living soul.”

“As the men ascended toward the belfry, the bell tolled for the eighth time.”

“Bong…”

“They ran up the stairs, determined to confront the culprit and demand an explanation. When they reached the top, they found the belfry empty and the bell-rope tied firmly in place, though the metal of the church bell was still vibrating slightly.”

“Puzzled and frightened, the minister and his companions searched the church from top to bottom, but it was completely empty. As the bell gave no further sign of tolling, the men left the church, mystified by what had happened.”

“That evening, a local passenger steamer between Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island, The Fairie Queene, failed to arrive. We learned the next day that the ship had sunk, killing the eight passengers who had boarded her that day. To this day, I can hardly believe it — that I arrived on the last successful voyage of The Fairie Queene. It is said that the bell of Saint James Church tolled eight times on the day of the disaster, thus foretelling the doom of the five men and three women who would board The Fairie Queene later that day. And some say on a certain night in October, a glowing white woman can be seen wandering the belfry, still warning those poor souls to not get on that boat.”

There was a heavy silence as no one dared to breathe. Ruby was holding both hands over her mouth while Diana looked pale and rather stricken. The boys near Gilbert were not faring much better — Moody’s eyes were darting toward the dark woods and Charlie’s arms were wrapped around his middle as if trying to make himself as small as possible. Even Gilbert, who considered himself not easily spooked, felt a little uneasy. He had been pretty sure that Anne was just saying that the story had happened to her, but that it hadn’t. But the details and her tone made it seem so convincing… what if she was telling the truth? A shiver went down his spine and he gave a little shake, silently scolding himself for allowing a campfire story to give him any pause.

Soon enough, however, Billy made a stupidly derisive joke in a voice that had a slight tremble, to which Paul Bell laughed oafishly. Everyone around the fire began to mill about, quieter than earlier in the evening. Many of the girls came over to the boys’ side and asked for escorts home for they were nervous to walk home in the dark after those scary stories. Before anyone had the chance to ask Gilbert, he strolled over to Anne, still seated in her chair.

“Ready to go?” He gave her a small smile.

She swallowed thickly and nodded. With subdued farewells, Gilbert and Anne began their trek to Green Gables. From her perch in her chair, Anne did not have any distractions from every cracked twig and rustling bush. For some odd reason, her nerves seemed to diminish his — he only felt content and warm as he walked her down the dusty path through the woods to Green Gables.

“Can you talk about something, Gil?”

“Like what?”

“Like, how about anything that isn’t a scary story?”

Gilbert laughed, to which Anne responded with a half-hearted giggle.

“Alright… have I ever told you about the time I hid a frog in Diana’s lunch basket when we were seven?”

“No, but you must remedy that at once!”

He launched into the story and as they finally approached the familiar white-washed fence of Green Gables, they were both laughing uncontrollably.

Gilbert rolled her all the way up to the steps of the porch. Marilla had left Anne’s crutches on the porch for her, which Gilbert now retrieved and gave his arm as support as Anne wobbled upright. As she swung herself easily up to the kitchen door, he picked up the wheelchair easily and tucked it into the corner of the porch.

“Thank you for walking me, Gilbert. I’m loathed to admit it, but I’m glad I didn’t have to take myself home alone through the Haunted Woods this evening.”

“Haunted Woods?” Gilbert asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Another story for another day.” Anne gave him a warm smile. “Good night, Gil.”

He tipped his cap towards her in farewell and turned around, casually ambling back to the Blythe homestead with his hands in his pockets, enjoying the slight ocean breeze and the glittering of the stars in the midsummer sky.

Chapter 22: Leaves of Grass

Chapter Text

The month of July rushed by in a warm summer wind smelling of sun-soaked trees, sweet drying hay, and the freshness of the sea. Many days, if he could manage after working the fields and orchard with Bash, Gilbert would wander over to Green Gables. Sometimes, it was just he and Anne seated on the porch reading, sometimes they could be found playing charades with Diana in the parlour. Gilbert also tried to help the Cuthberts where he could with the household chores, as Anne could not complete her normal amount of tasks being confined to crutches or the wheelchair. Marilla always thanked him profusely, telling him what a sensible young man he was growing up to be. Anne would roll her eyes behind her mother’s back, for whenever Marilla stepped away, Gilbert would take his opportunity to fleck Anne with dishwater or sweeten her tea with salt. Once or twice, he waltzed with Guinevere the hen, loudly conversing with the poor bird about how much better of a dancer he was than Anne. She would attempt to act angry, insisting that they were nothing but each other’s nemesis, but could not help laughing at the silliness of it all. Gilbert did not feel any remorse for his teasing, as she would always avenge herself, dusting flour on his seat at the table, hiding his pencil after he had just put it down, or “accidentally” landing a crutch on his toe.

It was the first day of August when Gilbert found himself getting dressed in his freshly pressed school clothes as opposed to his threadbare attire he wore out to the fields. School occasionally met for refreshers on the material, but since most of the students had to help on their families farms in the summer, classes would not begin regularly until October. However, Gilbert’s class was meeting for the first time as the creative team of the Avonlea Gazette. He, Anne, and Diana had all finally walked to Miss Stacy’s house the week before and proposed their idea for the school newspaper. Unsurprisingly, their teacher was absolutely thrilled about the prospect of the thing, insisting how educational it would be to apply their reading and writing skills with real life experience.

After a last check in the mirror, Gilbert rushed down the stairs, calling his goodbyes to Mary and Bash as he left the house. The day was beautiful, the sky a perfect blue with white fluffy clouds moving lazily across. The last days of summer always filled Gilbert with a strange mixture of contentedness and melancholy, the warmth having been such a constant it seemed improbable the crisp winds of autumn could ever blow through the sticky green trees and the tickling fields of wheat.

As he opened the white gate to Green Gables, Jerry called out a greeting to him from the hayloft of the barn. Gilbert raised his arm in greeting before subconsciously wiping his sweaty palms on his pants. It wasn’t Anne that was making him nervous this time, though. The time that he, Miss Stacey, Diana, and Anne had put into the conceptualizing of the Avonlea Gazette was incredibly fun and precious to him. Sharing that with the rest of the class, with the whole of Avonlea? It felt like something too delicate and valuable to be handled by so many callous hands.

Anne was already outside in her wheelchair, Diana sitting on the steps of the kitchen porch beside her. At his approach, Anne let out an excited sound while Diana jumped to her feet, pushing Anne down the dirt path towards Gilbert.

“Ready?” Gilbert exhaled with a nervous smile.

“Never before in my entire existence have I been more ready!” Anne replied excitedly, earning a laugh from Gilbert and a quiet smile from Diana.

They made their way to the schoolhouse, brainstorming further ideas for the first stories of the newspaper.

“I can’t believe you get your cast off tomorrow!” Diana gushed to Anne, who replied with what could be described as a squeal.

“What will Anne-with-Two-Working-Legs’ first item of business be?” Gilbert asked with a small wink.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Anne replied with faux haughtiness, folding her arms and tossing her chin high into the air. He shook his head with a chuckle and the trio fell into a lapse of comfortable silence.

A sense of pride came over him as they approached the schoolhouse. Their entire class had shown up for the newspaper meeting and were now visiting enthusiastically in the school yard.

Maybe this won’t be so bad after all. Gilbert smiled to himself before parking the wheelchair in front of the school steps and helping Anne with her crutches up into the small whitewashed building.

***

The next day, Gilbert had insisted on taking over making breakfast and lunch from Mary, as her back pains and swollen ankles always acted up in the summer heat of the kitchen. He was stirring a rather unfortunate looking pot of soup when he heard screaming from outside. Wiping his hand on a tea towel, Gilbert rushed to the door and flung it open, scanning the fields for where the commotion was coming from.

Then, he saw her.

Anne was running toward him through the field of waist high grass, twirling and laughing. She trailed her fingers over stalks and flowers, holding onto her straw boater with the other hand.

“Anne!” He cried out in delight, running to meet her. They collided at the edge of the field as she jumped and threw her arms around his neck. Without hesitation, Gilbert wrapped both arms tightly around her waist and twirled her around. They were both laughing freely and Gilbert couldn’t remember a time he had felt more alive.

“Hello, Anne-girl.” He murmured into her hair.

“Hi, Gil.” She breathed, her lips moving against the junction where his shoulder met his neck. Good god, she was going to be the death of him.

The feel of her in his arms was right. He could have stood there for the rest of the day, breathing in her scent of wildflowers and freshly baked bread, her soft form clutching tightly to his, as if she could never bear to let him go.

All too soon, her arms slackened from around his neck and he was forced to disentangle his arms from around her. She held onto his elbows as she slid to the ground, a gesture he was glad to return, though the feel of her entire front moving down his was…noteworthy.

“I know what I would like to do first as Anne-with-Two-Working-Legs.” She grinned and he worked to get his heartbeat under control.

“Anything.” He said foolishly. Gilbert really needed to take a step back, to catch his breath, but he thought perhaps his legs had sacrificed their functionality when Anne’s recovered.

“Gilbert John Blythe,” She began, her voice taking on an official air. “I would very much appreciate your company as I show you my Avonlea. What say you?”

Gilbert’s smile widened, which he would have thought impossible.

“I can’t think of a better way to spend my day.”