Soli Deo gloria

DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Anne of the Island.

". . . I got a letter from Phil Gordon—Phil Blake, rather—in which she told me there was really nothing between you and Roy, and advised me to 'try again.' Well, the doctor was amazed at my rapid recovery after that." —Gilbert Blythe.

This is her letter.

"July 24th, 1887

Dearest Gilbert, it is I, silly, darling Phil! I'm poking my head out of the woodwork of wonderfully mundane wedded life in alarm; I've been written to from old palsies of your typhoid fever. Imagine agonies of horror upon me. Dear Jo and I have been praying faster than the wind's moved, I believe. But this entire time, instead of you dying there, I believed the pain was felt more by Anne.

Anne feels deeply for you, Gilbert. She knows it but doesn't admit it. I don't see why she doesn't. But she's not going to marry Roy Gardner. She's flirted shamelessly for him for two years and even I, silly Phil as am I, find that scandalously shameful. She and I got into a bit of a quarrel over it before our last year ended. Don't worry, it ended with many hugs of comfort and shared tears over the dreadful complicated-ness of life. You know what I mean, dear boy, for Anne understands me, and you understand her more. But as it turns out, Gil, she doesn't have feelings for Roy anymore. She doesn't want to marry him. She was simply charmed by him. But she doesn't want him anymore. She won't have him. There's nothing now between them.

Anne has written me since news of your slow but steady recovery, Gilbert. I cheered with news of your recovery, but what sped me to put my pen to this old school paper is that she spoke of you with such warmth and love, her affection for you couldn't be spelled out in clearer words.

I hope these words cheer you, Gilbert, and encourage you. I urge you, beg while kneeling, with clasped hands—isn't that a picture?—for you to try again. Try again, Gilbert, and I am sure your efforts will not be carelessly thrown away, but taken with open arms.

Write me the outcome, Gilbert, but I'm sure if you don't, Queen Anne will send me a letter that will sail faster on the winds of delicious dreams and realized hopes than the train's mail cars.

Jo says 'Hello.' I say 'Go, go, sweet boy, go to Queen Anne, and you shall not be refused.'

Send my love to Anne!

~ Sincerely yourself, Phillipa Blake (oh, to be able to put down 'Blake' and not 'Gordon!' What a thrill, Gilbert!)"

Gilbert sat back on the bed he'd kept time with for almost a month. The letter lay in his hand, reread numerous times.

He smiled out his window, especially to see a young woman with her auburning red hair walking, as almost she couldn't bare to waste a second, towards his home.

He recovered more than physical strength since his illness—with Phil's blessing, her urging, he would try again.

Oh, Phil is such a dear. :)