Life in Me is what You Give
"Then seek not, sweet, the 'If' and 'Why'
I love you now until I die.
For I must love because I love
And life in me is what you give."
-Christopher Brennan
The creeping fingers of dusk were overtaking Avonlea as Gilbert and Anne walked back from Hester Gray's garden hand in hand. They were silent while they walked, having talked all afternoon and now having nothing more that needed to be said. Instead, Anne was playing a silent game with their joined hands, first interlacing their fingers, then releasing her hold to slide her hand around Gilberts wrist, or his thumb, before grasping his fingers once again. Over and over she did this while they walked. Gilbert was watching their hands, his lips twitching in and out of a smile. This game was so very Anne. When he had imagined holding her hand for the first time, he had always seen it as a weighty event. In his mind's eye, he saw himself reaching out to take her hand in his. She would look up at him in surprise. Blush, but allow the touch to continue. Then they would walk sedately side by side, both aware of the significance of the moment.
But of course, reality was not that way. None of his imagined interactions with Anne ever went the way he envisioned. Today, she had been the one to grab his hand as she bounced up from the bench in Hester Gray's garden. And now, as she played with his fingers, he knew it could never have been any other way. For years he had watched Anne step gracefully into the roles of daughter, friend, teacher, so how could he be surprised that Anne fit so naturally into the role of sweetheart.
The evening air had a quality to it that only summer air can ever have. A quality that demands a celebration of life and is especially potent in the hearts of those attuned to nature's rhythms. Gilbert could feel Anne's response to the night by the way she was weaving her fingers with his own. There was a silent exaltation of joy hidden there. Her hands were laughing although her lips were silent.
The sun had truly set by the time they walked up the lane towards Green Gables and the sky was a deep purple. As they approached, they could see the shape of Mrs. Lynde's head silhouetted in the kitchen window, no doubt peering out in hopes of catching sight of the pair as they returned from their long ramble. As the couple watched, they saw Marilla's shadow appear beside Mrs. Lynde and take her arm to draw her away from her vigilant post.
Anne spoke. "If all of Avonlea does not know about our engagement by tomorrow evening, it will not be for Mrs. Lynde's lack of trying. Maybe I'll slip in through the back and avoid her questions." Gilbert gave a short laugh. "You could always climb in through the window the way Davy does." He teased. Anne jerked to a halt, pulling them up short. "What window!?"
Gilbert realized that he'd let slip a secret that Davy had obviously not shared. There was no hope for it now. "The parlor." Gilbert explained. "He uses the rhododendron bush to give himself a leg up." After a quiet moment, Anne shrugged. "I would have thought he used the cellar window since it's practically on the ground. I did that once." Gilbert suddenly had an image flash before his eyes of a thirteen-year-old Anne, hair in twin plaits, pulling herself out of the cellar window and into the flowerbed.
Anne continued, "I was imagining myself a hedgehog living in the Scottish highlands. I'd just finished reading a book about a little Scots girl who kept one as a pet. The author described it as such a sweet natured creature and I've always wanted to see one."
By this time they had reached the gate and were lingering beside it. Neither wanted the day to end. "Why were you the hedgehog and not the little girl?" Gilbert queried.
"Because Marilla and I had been making preserves all afternoon, and I had already imagined myself one of the three witches from Macbeth, crouching over my pot. I needed to turn myself into something completely innocent in order to reverse the effects. Also, the cellar is like a hedgehogs burrow."
Gilbert looked at her for a long moment after Anne had finished speaking. This soulful woman who had graduated from college but was still unashamed of fancying herself an animal, was his. "I love you."
Anne made no reply, only reached up and slowly drew the pad of her thumb down the side of Gilbert's face, looking into his eyes. She then turned, unlatched the gate, and stepped through, shutting it behind her. Before she could step away, Gilbert grabbed her hand and drew her back to him. Leaning over the top of the railing, he pressed his lips to hers of a heartbeat before letting her go. Anne took one step back, her eyes shining and a short, breathless laugh bursting out of her. In a gesture of contained joy, Anne suddenly clasped her hands together and pressed them to her lips. Her eyes burning hotly in her pale face. She whispering, "Goodnight, bright angel,*" then abruptly whirled, grabbed her skirts, and ran for the house. On the doorstep she spun again, kissed her hand and flung the kiss into the air with one exuberant gesture. Then reaching behind her for the door handle, she stepped backwards into the house, all the while gazing back at Gilbert standing in the road.
Gilbert held still for a moment, looking at the closed door. Then he turned, shoved his hands into his pockets, and headed for home. The night was alive around him. There were fireflies winking in and out of the grasses at the edge of the fields while the field themselves where practically breathing with the sound of insects calling out to one another.
In the growing darkness, he couldn't stop smiling. As he walked Gilbert tried to draw his mouth back into a normal line before giving up and allowing his face to shift back into a grim. Anne was his! He threw his head back and laughed into the sky. She loved him! He drew in a deep breath, the energy of the night seeping into his soul. "Yes!" She'd said, "Yes!"
The night air was making him feel slightly intoxicated. Suddenly he could no longer contain his euphoria. He had to do something: yell, sing; anything to show how happy he was. Gilbert burst into a sprint, tearing headlong down the road towards the Blythe farm. He raced up along the lane and past the Lake of Shining Waters. His passage silenced the frogs on the bank, but Gilbert was too overjoyed to notice.
Although it was more than a mile, and this was the first real exercise Gilbert had had since the typhoid, he was still running when he came to his own front porch. Taking the steps three at a time, he burst into the kitchen where his father and mother where sitting at the table. Both looked up, alarmed at his violent entrance and his feverish color. Gilbert halted for a moment; seeing the parents whom he loved so much and who had worried about him for so long. They could stop worrying now. Impulsively, Gilbert bent and gave his mother a kiss on the cheek before reaching out and squeezing his father's shoulder. Tomorrow he would tell them his news, but not tonight. Tonight, it was for him alone. Gilbert turned then and raced up the stairs to his room.
At the table, John Blythe listened to the retreating sounds of his son's pounding footsteps before turning to his wife. "If that means what I think it means, my love…." He stopped. She was giving him a tearful smile. Gilbert didn't need to tell them what had transpired; they understood.
*Romeo and Juliet
Author's note:
Thank you to those who reviewed my previous story. What a wonderful introduction to this supportive community! And a special shout out to oz diva, whose review made my day.