Hello all! This story was meant to be a oneshot for a friend's birthday, but spiralled out of control! As such, I'll be dividing it into about 5-6 chapters, updating frequently because almost all the story is completely written. The plot was inspired by the musical Once on This Island, but soon took a life of its own. It is my sincere hope that you enjoy!
Disclaimer: This story features a handful of elements from Anne with an E but can absolutely be understood without having watched the show.
The day it all began, Anne sat with her legs kicking over the ledge of a grassy cliffside, waiting for the clouds to roll in. She knew it was coming.
Anne was the only one on the island who did not fear the storms. They rolled in over the horizon with the vengeance of a thousand souls scorned, havoc following in the wake of their whirlwinds and gales. But Anne, who had been born in the midst of the torrent, knew better than to think that the hurricanes held complete power over human fate. Most of the treasures that the icy waves swallowed up were returned to the shore in the morning, where Anne would walk in hushed steps in the damp sand. She always wondered why Providence had blessed her with such fearlessness, but she knew it was there for a reason.
"Where do you suppose the ships go when they round the island?" Anne asked Diana, who sat a few feet back, scared of the dirt crumbling from underneath her if she sat too close to the ledge.
"Well, I suppose they dock at the North Blythe Harbor. Avonlea certainly doesn't have a big enough port for vessels that grand," Diana responded. She plucked strands of grass in her fingers, watching a cluster of merchant ships turn into dots at the horizon.
"I already know that, " Anne chided. "But don't you think it'd be so much more romantic if they were headed for a mermaid's cove to beg for audience with the Siren Queen herself. And of course, she'd decline, because how could such unnoble creatures as human men dare enter her kingdom when-"
She held her breath as a pang of dread settled in her stomach, a warning like a sixth sense. Turning her chin to the clouds of gray and crimson, she realized the cause.
"Diana, I think we ought to go home. There's a storm coming and your mother will be dreadful angry if we get caught in it."
"It's just a little bit of clouds. Nothing to get worked up over."
Anne looked to the waves that crashed into silver with each blast of wind sweeping over them. It was true that she never feared the storms, but she also knew how to choose her battles, and they'd see this one grow into a war if they stayed.
"Either way, I'm positively starving. Tell me about your letter from Jerry while we walk back. I know you've been avoiding the subject, but I've been dying to hear all about your romantic endeavors. I shall have to live vicariously through you, even into my spinstering days," Anne said dramatically, gathering their picnic belongings into her basket and heading homeward.
"Oh please. Any day now, some dark haired ideal is going to appear in Avonlea and sweep you off of your freckled feet."
Anne snorted, about to retort, when there was a rumble from the skies - a final warning from the impending gall. She turned her face up, her cheeks catching the first few raindrops with small little plops . There was a moment as realization dawned on them both, which was just enough time for the drizzle to turn heavier and the monsoon to open up.
Diana shrieked, wrapping the picnic blanket around her head, and scurrying toward the road.
"Land sakes, Anne, I do hate when you're right!"
Rain whipped through Anne's hair, pulling free the styled strands so that it was blowing madly against the angry gusts. She felt the cold droplets hit her arms and legs as sharp as hail, then sprinted away from the cliff after Diana. Before she could travel too far, lightning crashed onto the waves, releasing a deafening roll of thunder along with it. Diana let out another shriek, but Anne stood in silence. She whipped her head back to stare wide-eyed at the shore, and horror filled her stomach.
One of the merchant ships was nearly overturned. Its sails battled the storm, flying every which way. Anne was sure the sailors were aboard, trying to keep her steady, but if they made one wrong move, it'd all be over.
"Anne, what are you doing? Come on!" Diana called over the wind, but Anne ignored it.
She did not fear the storm. She did not allow it to take control over her. This reckless mantra played in the background of her thoughts as she walked closer to the edge. Bringing a hand to shield her eyes, she could see how close the ship gotten to the shore. Too close for comfort, she assumed, judging by the shouts she could hear from the sailors as they cursed, bellowed orders, prayed their last prayers.
A force that Anne did not understand kept her at that cliffside, helplessly staring at the sight before her. A distant voice heard in her mind from far away whispered to her soul, He's there. He's there! Struggling to stay standing against the building wind, Anne wanted to yell out, Who!?
Just then, the ship tipped dangerously to its side and a body went flying out into the water. Anne cried out in terror, suddenly feeling as if a weight had been dropped onto her heart. The man's tiny head bobbed above the churning waters, arms reaching out to grab hold of something that wasn't there. Time was running out, and she knew in every nerve and every bone in her body that this wasn't supposed to be it for him. The sea could try to take what wasn't hers, but Anne could try to take it back. He could be saved, she knew it. She tossed the basket aside and began to dart for the far end of the cliff where she could slide down the sandy incline.
"Anne?" Diana called out. "What are you doing? Anne, no! "
But Anne could not be moved once her mind was set. She jumped over the side, thankful that her fall was cushioned by sand, and stumbled as fast as could down the moderate hill. Finally, she hit the ground, rocks digging into the palms of her hand as a blast of wind knocked her over. Once she was finally back on her feet, Anne stared, struck frozen at the tempest of salt water and rain before her. There was no way to penetrate through its walls. If the man had fallen into this there was no way he'd survived this long, even if only a minute had gone by.
Fate was prepared to prove to her otherwise.
"Help!"
Anne blanched. He didn't even sound like a fully grown man. Someone her age? Bravery suddenly sparking her determination, she ran toward the sound. " Please, help!'
She searched in a mess of waves for the man until finally she could see his head breaking through the surface of the sea and then plummeting back down. The waves had pulled him closer to the shore, almost within reach. Thankful she'd forgone a gown of heavy skirts for a simple white, cotton dress, she pulled off her shoes and dove into the water.
In later years, Anne would try to recall the memory of that moment - the agonizing seconds of floating in the heart of the ailing sea and reaching for a stranger's tiring hand in the darkness of it. But all her mind allowed her was to recall distinct ache that came with swallowing saltwater and the strange icy coldness of the late summer sea. She did, however, remember the second she finally grabbed onto him. He'd stopped crying out by then, a listless body that had been flung toward her. Though her muscles ached and she had begun to wonder if she was crazy, she tugged the man toward her and kicked with all her might for the shore.
By some miracle, it worked. Anne grabbed the man by his underarms, heaving the brunt of his weight onto her shoulders and dragging him up onto the shore. She laid him there, heart anxiously beating as she waited for some sign of life. When none came, she pressed her ear onto his chest, but the cacophony of the storm muted any heartbeat the man had left.
Viciously wiping water from her face - rain, sea spray, tears - Anne felt herself crumbling. The man was all hard angles and soft pale skin. His face had lost color, but as she ran a finger across his cheek, she couldn't help but think that he was... beautiful. A terrified sob escaped her lips at she pressed her fist down on his chest and leaned all her weight into it. She repeated it again and again, until finally the sailor gave a hearty cough, sending salt water into the sand beside them. The water in his lungs was replaced with sweet air, and suddenly, he began to breathe once more. He was still bleary with unconsciousness, but she felt as though she'd start crying in relief.
"Oh, thank Providence," Anne whimpered. By then, her teeth were chattering from being soaked in the wind, her eyes stung from staring into the rain, and she was ready to succumb to the blackness of exhaustion. But with a deep inhale, she mustered up the last of his strength, and dragged them both toward a little hollow cavity in the side of the cliff, big enough to sit in. Certainly sufficient enough for two people to take shelter from the storm. She'd come there before to read and write, and now she thought it might just save their lives.
Just as the storm was beginning to rage its worst, Anne had secured them in the den, finally out of wind and rain. She leaned up against the wall, heaving a lifetime's worth of relief and pulling the sailor so his back was leaning up against her chest. In the dark, it was difficult to assess the damage done to him, but for now, he was breathing and she was in one piece. Her lunatic plan had worked.
Whispering a prayer of thanks, Anne held onto the injured man for dear life and let her body lower from its adrenaline to the sweet darkness of exhaustion.
* # * # *
When Anne's eyes fluttered open, the muscles in her back and shoulders felt like dried clay. The young man she'd saved was still in her arms pressed up against her, a tactic that seemed successful in shielding them both from the rain. Biting her lip against the crick in her neck, Anne looked out of the alcove and saw the beach was bathed in sunshine.
Just as she was about to come up with a plan for getting the man to safety, he turned and let out a pained groan. Anne shifted so that she could take a good look at him, still holding him in the safety of her arms. With the help of yellow sunlight, Anne could see how his hair had dried into a mess of curls as soft and wild as ravens. Streaks of dirt lined his cheeks, but his eyelashes were long and his lips were the color of roses. He had a few gashes that Anne hadn't noticed the night before, one on his neck, another across his forehead, but both seemed to have scabbed well enough. Through a tear in his trousers, she noticed a sickly midnight colored bruise on his calf.
Then the man coughed, brows knitting together as he tried to pry open his eyes. They fluttered a few times before landing up her in dazed confusion. Anne felt her heart bend down toward him when she saw how blue, blue, blue his eyes were.
"I stand quite corrected. Sirens are real," he said in a quiet, raspy voice. Anne froze, suddenly wondering if he had hit his head on something during his fall. "You certainly live up to the legends."
"I'm not a siren, but I'm flattered you think so," Anne replied gently, cheeks hot. Before she could catch herself, she brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, making him lean up a little into her touch. "My name is Anne. You took quite a fall from your ship. Do you ache terribly anywhere?"
"Anne ," he muttered dreamily, as if his mind were in a different room. He tried to sit up, then hissed in pain. "I feel like I was hit by a steam engine."
Anne steadied him so he was leaning against the stony wall of the little cave. He gave a small smile when her breath hit his cheeks and keep staring into her eyes as if to prove to himself that she wasn't a hallucination.
"It was something like that. Do you remember anything? Who you are, what happened?" He closed his eyes to clear his mind, then nodded.
"My name is Gilbert. I was on The Amaranth on our return voyage from Nova Scotia. We weren't expecting any rain. My brother Sebastian was standing too close to the edge, and when I went to call him I guess I just…fell overboard." He looked up suddenly. "How did you find me? I thought I was done for."
"I'll try not to take offense at your tone, sir," she said defensively.
"I'm sorry, I meant no offense. I only meant that I don't expect any person capable of surviving what you did. I'm grateful to be proven wrong." Anne seemed appeased by this just a little and bit her lip to try to remember.
"I was sitting on the cliffside with a friend. When the storm hit, I had this feeling I should look out at the sea, and then I saw you."
"So you simply jumped in after me?" he asked incredulously. Anne averted her eyes and grabbed a handful of sad, offering a small shrug.
"It certainly wasn't simple by any means of imagination, but I suppose it does sound rather foolish when you say it like that."
He was silent for a few moments.
"Did you happen to see what happened to The Amaranth? My brother was on that ship."
"I...no, I guess I was just too focused on getting you to safety, I didn't think to. I'm sorry." Gilbert watched her wring her hands together, gaze turned away from him.
"Anne," he grabbed her hand seriously, "you saved my life. I cannot thank you enough. "
They stayed like that for a few moments, hand in hand, eyes fixed together so tightly that it might burn to look away. Anne suddenly felt her senses spiraling beyond her control, unable to reign back the butterflies in her stomach or the rose petals on her cheek.
"Well, we ought to see about getting taken care of. Where are you from?"
"Nearby the North Blythe Harbor, but I can send a telegraph to my brother. That is if he..." he shifted his leg and clenched his teeth. "I expect I'll have a difficult time walking."
"You're in no condition to travel yet," Anne warned. "I think your leg might be broken."
"Oh, it's broken alright," he laughed bitterly. "The bone is broken clean through. I'm a doctor, so it isn't the first I've seen."
"You're a...but I thought you were a sailor."
"And I thought you were a siren, but things are apparently not as they appear."
"Well, either way, we're going to have to get you back home to Green Gables to take care of those wounds. Maybe you could walk me through how to bind your leg? I've experience in croup and colic, but broken bones are foreign territory to me."
"But I wouldn't want to intrude on you and your family. Certainly your, uh, husband may not care for such company."
"There's no husband," Anne rambled, perhaps a bit too eagerly. "It's just my, uh, mother and a family friend. You'll not be in a better hands, they practically invented hospitality."
"If you don't mind my asking, where exactly is Green Gables?"
"About a mile north of here, in Avonlea."
"So I am on the wrong side of the island," Gilbert said with a slight groan. "I really do have to send a telegraph to my family. They'll be sick with worry."
"First things first, you need a warm meal and something for the pain. I don't know how I'm going to get you up the cliff, though. It's either that or take the long way around the shoreline-"
A violent cry broke onto the beach that sounded like the desperate cry of " Anne? Anne, please , are you out here? " The voice was familiar enough that she jolted to the side and stumbled out of the hollow. Her heart gave a relieved tug at the figure staggering down the beach in a frantic search.
"Jerry?" Anne yelled. Jerry's head flung around to her, and the second he saw her, he let out a half-mad laugh of relief and ran forward. Anne caught him in her arms, and shook her head, her own laughter shaking her body.
"Are you crazy, fille idiote? " he murmured, pulling back and checking over her limbs for injuries. "When Diana came home and said what had happened...I've never seen Marilla so frightened. You've really got some nerve and you look like you've been-"
"I'm fine , Jerry. I'll tell you all about it later. But first, tell me, did you drive the carriage here?"
"Yes, but-"
"Good. There's something I need your help with."
Before Jerry could ask questions, Anne was grabbing his wrist and leading him over to where Gilbert still sat. The injured man was watching out of the small opening with apprehensive eyes, but his eyes softened when he saw her smile down at him. She wondered how she should explain the situation. I jumped into a hurricane to save him and by some miracle, we made it? Maybe - Isn't this the most handsome man you've ever seen? He's a doctor, not a sailor. I saved him because I had an unearthly feeling I should.
Instead, she settled on, "This is Gilbert. He needs our help." Jerry eyed Gilbert warily, but when he met Anne's stern look, he nodded and got to work.
By the time Gilbert was back on his feet, Jerry was supporting him on the side of his uninjured leg and Anne was holding his other arm with gentle fingers. The bright sunshine of the beach caused him to squint, but as his vision cleared, his jaw dropped.
The beach looked like it had endured divine wrath, torn apart with wreckage littered in the dirty sand - broken logs, scrap wood, cracked conch shells, and dead fish. Gilbert turned pale as he realized that he should have been included in these ravaged remnants, and when he glanced down at Anne, she seemed to be thinking the same thing.
Having been threatened by death didn't seem to frighten her, though. Instead, she stood there like a victor does over his fallen prey and lifted her chin to the new day's sun.
• # • # •
It was not easy to convince Mrs. Rachel Lynde to allow a strange man in their home. It had taken the combined effort of Anne, who had set her mind, and Marilla, who often sided with Anne when her heart was so assured. The noise of the encounter was enough that Gilbert certainly could hear it in Matthew's old room, leg propped up against a pillow.
"Anne Shirley, of all the impetuous things y0u've ever done, this takes the cake!" Rachel scolded. "We know nothing of this doctor, and you know I don't trust those Glen St. Mary folk." She peered into her cup of tea with a sense of all-knowing righteousness that even the Almighty would've envied. Certainly whoever gave Mrs. Lynde authority over morality did not know what they were about, Anne thought bitterly.
"I saved a man's life," Anne argued, standing by the kitchen table with her arms crossed. "It's as I've said, Mrs. Lynde. His safety is now my responsibility until he is fit enough to move on his own again."
"Doesn't he have any people to come and receive him?"
"His people were on that ship with him," Anne said, dropping her voice in case Gilbert was listening. "I'm going into town to inquire about them in the morning, but as you can see, we've both been through quite a lot and I think it's best if we rest."
"Well, I think it might be best if you-"
"Rachel," Anne stated firmly. The woman silenced as Anne placed her hands on the table and leaned down to stare her straight in the eye. "It is yourduty to allow this man the safety of our home. If you'd like to argue with the teachings of your own Presbyterian upbringing, then that is a discussion you'll have to take up with the Almighty. But the doctor is staying and that is final."
With that, she lifted the tray of tea and biscuits from the table and turned toward Gilbert's room. As she closed the door behind her, she heard an indignant "Well, I never. "
The doctor was sitting up in bed waiting for her with an impressed look on his face. Anne herself couldn't help but smile at his proud expression as she placed the tray down on Matthew's old desk.
"You're a force of nature, Miss Shirley. No wonder you jumped headfirst into a hurricane."
Anne blushed.
"It wasn't quite a hurricane, and I'll have you know that I don't make steady habit of tempting fate." She turned to him and gave him a kind smile. "You're looking a little better already. Some of the color is back in your cheeks. And I see you got into the clothes I left out for you alright."
It was Gilbert's turn to blush. He scratched behind his ear and looked down at the light quilt covering the bed.
"I changed into the shirt okay, but I couldn't get the trousers over my leg."
"That's alright, Jerry will be by in the morning with the doctor to lend you a hand. For now, would it be alright if I gave you slight spongebath? I wouldn't suggest it unless I thought it might help clean out some of your wounds. Of course, if you have any other suggestions, Doctor... "
"Just call me Gilbert. I feel you've more than earned that right, and I'm not very particular," he replied easily. "As for the spongebath, I think that's an excellent idea."
Anne worked in silence. Gilbert seemed surprised at how expertly and professionally she went about the cleansing, but he held his tongue. She was glad for this, reluctant to tell his stranger the details of her upbringing. He watched, stock still, as Anne unbuttoned the old shirt that had once belonged to Matthew.
"I am dreadfully sorry about this," she muttered, showing a hint of embarrassment.
"Not at all, ma'am. I am aware of the necessary medical procedures."
It was like clockwork. Anne would dip towel into the basin of clean water, run the steaming rag over his skin, and then apply a smooth bar of soap. She rinsed each section of skin with a tender touch, almost distracted. In the natural light of the room, Gilbert thought he could see the warmth of her cheeks that couldn't hide behind her steadfast concentration.
"Tell me something about you," he suggested playfully as Anne worked to clean dirt out of the hairs of his arms.
"Why should I?" she countered easily.
"I'd like to learn a little about the lovely woman who saved me. Nothing too incriminating, just an interesting fact or two." A smile lifted her lips, one that Gilbert followed with transfixed eyes.
"I'm a published novelist and a college BA," she said, with shy pride.
"Why, every moment I continue to be impressed by you. What school?"
"Redmond College. I graduated about three years ago."
"What a small world! I graduated from Redmond only five years ago," Gilbert said, somewhat amazed. "To think, you may have been in one of my large lecture classes and I didn't realize I was sharing the hall with the Siren Queen."
As the words left his lips, he couldn't help wish he erase everything he'd just said. Talking with a lady - a beautiful, captivating lady - was apparently not one of his many skills. Anne took it in stride, though.
"I doubt that. You must've been a man of the sciences. I, however, kept myself as far from biology and chemistry as I could. You would've found me in the English lectures, analyzing sonnets and arguing with grown men over Sophocles."
"I can only imagine. And your book, Anne! Have I read it?"
"Likely not. It was just a small little thing about living in a small town - the people here and their experiences. It rather makes me wonder that I didn't take up psychoanalysis."
"You'll have to lend me a copy. I grew up a small town myself, with family in Alberta."
"How did you end up on the island?"
A warm look passed over his face, shadowed with a residual grief and longing.
"My father was a traveler. But then he met my mother here on PEI and decided his traveling days were over. I believe her family was actually from Avonlea."
Anne had begun to clean his hands, giving the space between his finger careful attention. He hissed against the burn of the small cuts that plagued his skin, but her kind touch distracted him against the sting.
"Now I understand why he would drop everything and pursue one woman," he said distractedly. Anne's eyes snapped up, but she was quick to busy herself with rinsing the rag out.
"I've given you my interesting fact. What of you? What are your fine accomplishments?" she asked, eager to change the subject. Gilbert blinked a few times, tensing uncomfortably.
It wasn't that he wanted to hide the truth about him, but it was so much easier to be "Just Gilbert" instead of who he really was - at least, here with her.
"There hasn't been anything particularly outstanding," he said unconvincingly.
"You're a doctor , Gilbert. You mean to tell me in your entire life, there hasn't been a single achievement?"
"There may have been a few," he shrugged. "But I'm not a published author, and I haven't rescued anyone from the sea recently."
Anne let out a tired exclamation, and Gilbert raised his free hand in surrender.
"Alright, alright. I delivered a child when I was fifteen." That news was enough to have Anne halt her ministrations completely and stare directly at him with wide eyes. "It's what convinced me to become a doctor. That amongst...other things."
"Well, that is indeed a feat!" Anne said, impressed. "How did you know what to do?"
"I watched someone deliver a baby calf once. As it turns out, the general mechanisms of labor are the same."
Releasing a hearty laugh, Anne shook her head.
"I fear I must return the sentiment. The more I learn about you, sir, the more I am amazed."
He certainly hoped so. The feeling was more than mutual. As the minutes ticked by, Gilbert found himself free falling at every spare look, every touch, every word she spoke. He listened to her stories intently, a steady smile on his lips as she filled the room with imaginings and laughter. She was the most peculiar girl, one who had set her friend drunk when they were children and broken her ankle after falling off of a ridgepole. She'd inspired poetry in pupils and accidentally sold her neighbors cow. But, oh, she was intelligent and humble, rich in spirit and love. Gilbert had forgotten she was bathing him in water, but merely felt the warmth of a growing infatuation as steam around him.
She only quieted herself to clean his face, when she had to draw near enough to him that her breath was on his lips. Moving the cloth across his cheeks, she studied him the way she might study a constellation, marveled and struck.
"You've many freckles," he commented lightly. This struck a chord in her that made the warmth in her eyes turn cold and hurt. She pulled back the cloth and placed it in her basin.
"I do believe all your wounds are clean," she said formally. "At least above your waist. I'll leave the doctor to examine the rest of you. I'll be just outside if you need anything."
"Wait, Anne, wait!" he said, frustrated. "I'm sorry, it wasn't my understanding that freckles were a bad thing. I quite like them."
"It's indelicate for a doctor to comment on a person's looks, regardless of his preference."
"You'll have to forgive me. I am still a novice doctor, so I thank you for your advice. But please, Anne, don't be mad for keeps. If our conversation just now was any indication, I'd bet that you and I could be good chums."
His efforts seemed to be futile, if her caustic eyes and narrow brow told him anything. Then she sat down beside him as prim and straight backed a finishing school youth and picked up her cloth again.
"I seem to have missed a spot on your face, Doctor."
"Well, then by all means," Gilbert began. She wiped the cloth over a smudge of dirt on his cheek, sucking in a sharp breath when he leaned ever so slightly into her touch. "Please continue."
