Ok, so I think you know how this works, but if you don't this story is told in diary form and follows Anne of the Island chapter for chapter. The second year starts at chapter eleven, so if you want to read the preceding ten chapters please check out Redmond Diaries -the first year.

Now that I've established this idea and the characters I'm just gonna go for it and really get inside their heads -or try to. That might mean less action, or action that doesn't refer much to the original chapter, but I hope these characters' thoughts will still make a good read, and I really hope you come along with me

With love and gratitude to L.M.M. and my Anne girls -here's to another year!

REDMOND DIARIES -THE SECOND YEAR

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CHAPTER XI -The Round of Life

23rd May, 1884; in the greenest Green Gables, nestled under a wild pear tree; the breeze bristling round my body, inspiration bristling though my soul

More wonderful news, Ida!

I have finally determined the heroine's name for my story. Indeed she declared it to me:

'None of your Rosamunds, dear authoress! Nor your Evangelines. I am to be Averil Lester; Lady Averil Angelica Lester'.

She is dazzling! I always imagined she would have lustrous obsidian hair and a starry violet gaze, but of course an Averil must have golden tresses and eyes of a boundless blue. This will makes the task of describing my hero so much easier because he is to have jet black curls, and if I had two dark haired characters I should run out of words to describe them in the first paragraph.

How clever of Averil! I love spending time in her company and seeing the world through those faultless sapphires. She accompanies me everywhere, I needn't be at my desk or even have a pen and paper to hand. With each walk I take, each morsel I taste, each tree and bloom I spy, I hear her melodic voice share with me the Averil-ish way she perceives the world. Averil adores the spring, the blossom laden branches of the White Way of Delight seem to bow as she enters the avenue. She is especially fond of the wind and wears her hair long and loose so that she might feel~

'the fingers of a rose scented zephyr caress each strand of her gilded locks, whispering glories that speak of her imperial spirit.'

Isn't that a gorgeous phrase, Ida? Though I may change 'imperial' as it conjures the sort of pride that Averil could never express. Perhaps 'exalted', or 'majestic? Yes, majestic! Because that will foreshadow her connection to the hero. He is to be a prince but I have yet to decide on his name because it is utterly contingent on the plot. What a headache it is thinking up a story for them. I am hoping to bring forth something entirely unique but all my ideas sound like some version of a Grimm's tale.

In fact I am rather taken with the idea of inverting the story of 'The Goose Girl' whereupon the prince is tricked out of marriage by his conniving manservant who presents himself to Averil as her rightful husband-to-be, while the poor prince is sent to work with the geese. Yet I couldn't have a goose-herd. Perhaps a shepherd? But then how is Averil to meet him? What about a cook? Yes, a cook! And Averil, so heartbroken by her tragic marriage feels her soul awaken as a breeze redolent with ambrosial concoctions is borne up to her tower.

She will have to be kept in a tower because she refuses to give into the villain's advances ~I can't have her lose her virtue to a rogue! Oh, he shall be handsome enough, with a wicked grin and hazel eyes that seem to bore right into her. But Averil will realise his feelings for her are merely carnal and she will refuse his seductive advances.

I think I should write that scene, Ida, though I shall never submit it, it will help with the characterisation. I can see him now, unable to resist the devilish urges inside him, he mounts the stairs with a steely intent to make Averil his wife once and for all. She can hear the lock turn, she knows it is him for he is the only one with a key. It is night ~naturally the man would come at midnight when all the servants are asleep~ and try as she might Averil cannot rouse her maid. She clutches her satin nightgown, the diaphanous lace can scarcely contain her excitement as he slowly enters, a look of burning desire over his brooding countenance. And she calls out to the night, 'Will no one deliver me from this libertine?'

Hmmm. It is good, but now I have the problem of how to get the hero into her room. Perhaps Averil has sent her servant to bring her something to eat? Yes! For it is fairly unlikely that she should be unable to rouse the maid from sleep. And then the hero appears with a stupendous creation, a cake of some sort ~perhaps one they both baked earlier that day. That could become quite an amusing scene, and I need some lightness to contrast with the drama. Of course neither will actually make any comical speeches, it is the idea of a future king and queen cooking in the kitchen upon which the humour will rest. And as they measure out their ingredients, sifting and mixing, there should be plenty of scope for fluttery touches and yearning glances to pass between them. Only why on earth should the hero be proficient in the kitchen in the first place? Well, he shall just have to be. Perhaps it is a requirement in his kingdom, like the quests of King Arthur.

I could call my hero Arthur! But then I should always be thinking of Ruby's buck toothed brother. I would love to have a Lancelot, but I am afraid that would sound rather obvious. Perhaps Perceval? Yes Perceval, so pure of heart he would rather worship at Averil's feet than touch one strand of her golden hair. Now I just need to settle on a last name. I believe I will take a stroll down to the cemetery and study the headstones. They are hardly as inspiring as old St John's, but there is one who lies there whose opinion means more to me than anyone else. Matthew so enjoyed my little Story Club jottings and I am sure he would be thrilled to hear how they have matured into grander, more ambitious works.

Dear Matthew, how I miss him. Though strange to say his gentle spirit seems embodied in that place now. The scotch rose we planted weaves about his grave so that it seems as welcoming to me as Green Gables itself.

But to think of Ruby lying there; how can a girl so vivid and lively be returned to the earth so soon? It does not seem real to me. Yet how much more unreal for her. As heartbreaking as it is to see her deny her illness I cannot blame her. Imagine looking upon the beauty of spring knowing it might be the last time you gaze upon a Mayflower or hear the call of a lark? It would be unendurable, yet somehow we must find a way to help her endure it.

Oh Ruby, to have so few days given to you and to have lived them so carelessly. But if you will let me I promise you shall not walk these last steps alone.

… … …

30th May, Allwinds, Avonlea

What a piece of work is woman, how mysterious in reason, how infinite her capacity to bewilder and bemuse.

Forgive me, Mr Shakespeare, but when my own words fail me I must turn to yours -or echo them at least. Since my return it seems the female population of Avonlea have taken with some strange fever that has rendered them incomprehensible.

Diana is always wanting to know whether my waistcoats will tone with some esoteric hue. Last week it was mauve, yesterday it was fondant. The Pye girls have taken to snubbing me, which is as enjoyable as it is disconcerting. Mother has made me so many jars of gooseberry jam I shall need to purchase a second trunk to transport them back to Kingsport. And Ruby has summoned me twice to see her, both times at midday when she knows I will likely be shirtless and up to my knees in red dirt.

Father and Uncle George couldn't easily spare me but I was excused readily enough. Though the Gillis' will not admit Ruby has consumption the rest of town talk of little else. On both occasions I cleaned up as quickly as I could and bolted over to White Lily Lodge only to have one of the Gillis women shoo me away like a fly, never offering so much a slug of water before I was sent on my way.

So now I have decided to call on her at a time of my own choosing. Perhaps I could ask Arty how to manage it, I could take him fishing with me and Tommy on Saturday. I understand he's in need of some cheer, not only because of his sister, but because he was set on marrying Nettie Blewett! I shouldn't laugh, I know full well how it feels to have the girl you are sweet on sneered at. If I had a dollar every time someone asked me what on earth it was I saw in Anne Shirley I'd never need another scholarship. I think I'd give half of it back just to have them give me an answer. Because I can't explain it anymore than I understand why some folk look up and see sky, and others see forever.

Miss Lavendar liked to say that Anne is a boundless mix of souls wrapped into one girl, and sometimes I think she is right. As I strolled back to the farm this afternoon I cut through the birch grove by the graveyard and there was Anne talking aloud to herself. At first I assumed it was Matthew she was chatting with and was careful not to disturb her, though I almost relented when I heard her strange speech.

You are a scoundrel, Maximilian -no, Maurice! Anne booms, Unhand the angel of my heart and prepare to face me!

Beware, my love, she continues in a softer tone, You walk into a deception.

But Averil ...dost thou love me true?

Yes, dear Perceval, more than mere words couldst e'er convey!

Whereupon this Averil uses most of the English language to convey exactly that. I had to stop myself from crying out that if Perceval had to stand there and listen to such a speech Maurice could have dispatched him ten times over.

I can only conclude that Anne is attempting to write some humourous sketch, probably for Ruby's entertainment. The two of them, and Diana and Jane, once took every brook and hollow for their concert hall -though never I think a graveyard. I once hoped that Anne's peculiar ways might rub off on Ruby, and willed myself to fall for her. How hard could it be? Ruby is a beautiful girl, uncomplicated, and mine for the asking. I could have kissed her dozens of times. And not only on the cheek.

There is one night I remember especially, when we strolled home from the station on a weekend home from Queens. Ruby was given a box of rose-water candies that she shared with me, and when we arrived at her gate she tiptoed up close and softly blew the dusted sugar from my lips. It was the most electric thing that ever happened to my seventeen year old self. I wanted to kiss her but then Myra and Charlotte appeared, bare armed and bared headed, cajoling me to come inside, and I knew then why I would never kiss Ruby Gillis. Because she would tell everyone. Her name and mine would forever be linked. And there would be no more bends in the road, as Anne likes to say, no other possibility for me. Some people look up and see only sky, but others seek infinity.

… … …

Thursday 30th May, White Lily Lodge, Avonlea

The Life and Times of Ruby Rose Gillis, Chapter 1,969

So horribly, horribly tired. Tired of people looking at me that way. What are they looking for I'd like to know? I feel as though I must have some big boil on my nose the way they give me such pitiful smiles. I hate it, I hate being pitied when I once was envied. What I wouldn't give to have one look of jealous spite cast my way. I can't bear it. I can't, I can't!

Even that adorable Herb Spencer tears up in my company. Well, I shall give him something to cry over. It won't be long till he hears that Gilbert Blythe has been calling in his absence. I give it till Saturday before he returns to claim me for his own. It might earn my old chum a sock on the jaw, but Gil's such a sport I don't see him minding too much -though Herbert is awfully manly he's hardly a pugilist. Then again it would be tragic for Gil to break my darling's nose, it's such an impressive one! Oh, we'll make the prettiest babies one day.

Of course, I aim to warn Gil of my plan. But each time I invite him to the Lodge I take to terrible coughing spells -Roderick's Cure All tonic does as much good as Roderick's Hair tonic as far as I can see. And Mrs Webber's White-as-White never got the blood out of my blouse! I have a good mind to complain to Mr Lawson, but then he is going to special effort to order me that ivory silk. All the way from Toronto!

I can't wait to go to White Sands in the Fall, that is a proper town. I'm so tired of the same silly boys sneering at each other or swooning over me, and I'm tired of poky ol' Avonlea always sticking its nose in and tutting! I've outgrown this place is what this really is. It just took a bad dose of 'flu for me to realise it. All those busy-bodies sniping behind Anne's back saying she had no right to squander Marilla's money at Redmond when she is only going to marry Gilbert anyway. I used to agree with them but now I see that Anne was right. A girl needs to stretch her wings, and I will stretch mine. You wait and see!

… … …

Thank you so much for reading, I hoped you enjoyed that glimpse into Averil's Atonement. Next we'll see Anne attempt to publish it...