Happy New Year, everyone! This short story is something I never really intended to publish, a little 'What If' that I had in mind while I was writing Shore of Dreams. While I took you down the path of that AU, I kept wondering about what it would take to knock the story back onto it's canon path- if Phil's letter still never came, and Anne still arrived to hear Gilbert's delirious ramblings. There's one thing I theorise that might have changed everything- if Sonia had called Anne back. I love unravelling stories- even if they're mine.
I find that I don't 'not write' very often anymore. I just write things that I don't do anything with. And between Christmas and New Year, this is what I wrote to wind down after what was honestly a very hard 12 months. Essentially, it's How Shore of Dreams Might Not Have Happened. While almost every element of this idea has been done before, I decided to see what came of it from my perspective- and I thought you might like to see the result. It's no magnum opus, and I can't claim to have invested the same thought into it that my other longer works received, but I really enjoyed doing it!
***Quick note added for clarification: If you haven't read Shore of Dreams, Gilbert's comment in this chapter won't make much sense- just chalk it up to delirious rambling, and don't let it worry you at all. (EEEEVERYTHING is going to be alright...)
You needed chocolate and vodka to get through parts of my last stories, all I would suggest here is a really good cup of tea- and maybe a nice slice of cake to accompany it. Yes, it starts off pretty grim, but I promise that it won't last. The only way is up, isn't it? The story is broken up into three chapters just to manage length, however, you will get them all at once.
Much love to you all, and thanks for reading.
Love, Cate.
Heading back into typhoid country in three…. two… one….
July 1887
The warmth of the summer afternoon was cut off abruptly when the door to the Blythe residence closed behind Anne with a click. She looked around at the kitchen she had once known as well as her own and shivered. The entire house was eerily silent, and all drapes were closed, and she faltered as Gilbert's mother turned to her, her rosy face pale and lifeless.
"I'm not promising anything," she said slowly. "He hasn't been himself for weeks. And to be frank, dear, I'm not sure what you hope to accomplish."
The 'dear' made Anne flinch. It had been a habit for Mrs Blythe to call her such- back before the time she had refused her son. Since then, a frosty bow was all the woman would give her. She didn't know why the door did not shut in her face this time- she had almost expected it from Gilbert's parents. She had no right to be here. But nevertheless, she was- pale and quiet, her eyes pleading.
"Will he want to see you?"
Anne swallowed, and her voice shook. "I- I don't know. We didn't part well in Kingsport," she said faintly. "I hurt him terribly- and I need to tell him how sorry I am."
"He's dying, Anne." The blunt words hit her with the force of an axe, and Sonia's eyes shut at the look of terror on the girl's face. Without realising it, her manner softened. "We've done everything that we can. He hasn't responded to anything in days. I- I am losing my son."
Anne took a step back, her hand covering her mouth as she tried to keep her cry silent. She breathed heavily, her grey eyes darting to the staircase. "But- but he's young, he's strong-"
Sonia's jaw trembled. "Even young men will grow weary," she quoted drearily. "Anne, what good will seeing him do?" The girl only looked at her, and in that moment she recognised the unyielding stubbornness that Anne Shirley was famed for. Sonia sighed in defeat. "I will ask him, Anne. If he would- if he would like to see you, I will allow it. It can't hurt him now."
As Anne followed Sonia up the dim staircase, the old nursery rhyme rang in her ears that she and the other schoolchildren would chant, playing on the wooden steps before school.
One step, two step, three step, four…. get to the top and close the door….
Anne drew in a shallow breath, shakily putting one foot in front of the other. Almost could she hear Josie's nasal voice through the crowd of girls, the giant bow on her sleek curls bobbing and bouncing while she skipped.
Five and six and seven and eight…
The stairs creaked underfoot as Gilbert's mother trod on them, and Anne's hands clenched. Above them, she could hear low voices, and for just a second she stopped, unable to continue.
"Wait here for me."
Sonia disappeared in through the bedroom door, leaving Anne on the landing, a nightmarish feeling holding her in place.
You can hurry up now, but you've come too late…
She knew how serious it was- Mrs Blythe would not allow her there if it was not. She knew how she was regarded at the house of Blythe. Would he even know her now? Would he look like the boy she knew- would he even want her there now? Almost she turned, when she heard Sonia's low voice.
"Gilbert dear, there is someone come to see you- would you like to see Anne?"
"No," the hoarse voice spoke, and a deep shiver of horror went down Anne's spine. "No- don't- not her- you can't- don't let her in, don't let her in!" Anne clutched at the stair railing, whiter than a sheet when his voice reached her. "Go! Leave! I was better off without you-" there was a great hacking cough, then, and she cried out in pain.
"Gilbert, she's not here yet, it's alright-"
His voice was weak, but she heard still heard him over the sound of glass falling to the ground. "She's unfaithful-"
Anne turned from her place on the landing, each word a stab to her heart, hearing Gilbert's voice speaking the words she had never thought she would hear. Only then did she understand to the degree that his opinion held with her- only then did she understand that loving him made him the one who could hurt her more than anyone else ever had. Blindly she stumbled down the staircase, catching herself from falling on the handrail, not knowing or hearing his mother call for her husband to go to their son. Run, her younger self told her; run until it can't catch you; run until the pain stops- only it never would.
She fled from the house that had once known her, the veranda where they had studied together, and he had tormented her by throwing apple seeds in her lap, no matter how far away she had sat. The pain twisted inside, and she swallowed back the sob as she remembered him- always, always he had found a way to get to her. Even now when he lay so ill.
Her hand was on the gate, and then he was there as well- the boy of eighteen who had given up his own opportunity for her sake, all for a girl who had refused him at every turn cruelly. She could see the eagerness on his face as he held out his hand to shake, and her knees crumbled now as she slipped to the grass, her hand clutching at her chest as if trying to make herself breathe past the cry that was forcing itself from her body. Long minutes went by as she cried, and when a white-faced Sonia Blythe made it to the veranda, the pale, thin face of her boy was foremost in her mind when she saw the girl's uncontrolled tears, inexplicably linked to her son's, as he cried against his father's chest in his delirium.
The past year was forgotten, and she gathered her skirts to hurry when she saw Anne trying to rise, tear-blinded and unsteady against the old gate. She ran down the pathway to stop her.
"Please, Anne, not like this," she pleaded. "He's sick- he doesn't know what he's saying-"
Anne sprang to her feet then, her eyes wild, her hands clenched by her sides as sobs shook her body. "You know that isn't true- he's right. I'm hurting him even now- I need to go."
"Anne, please, I think you might help-"
The girl turned on her angrily. "Like just the mention of my name helped him? If you think I will stay here and hurt him-"
Sonia grabbed her hand. "Anne, he's not in his right mind- he's fought anyone who has had to come in-"
Anne swayed on the spot, her lips pale. "Then he doesn't need me making it worse."
Sonia's control snapped then. "You think he hasn't fought us at times as well? Anne, I don't know what happened between the two of you, and quite frankly, I don't care," she said furiously. "The point is, what are you going to do about it now?"
Anne gave a choked cry of denial. "Mrs Blythe, I would give anything to fix things with him- but you heard him, he wants nothing more than for me to go."
Sonia gripped her arms, her face showing her desperation. "It's not real, Anne. It's delirium, it's pain- he's been muttering and crying out for weeks- we don't know what he's saying, half the time."
Anne stepped away, her face set. "He doesn't want me here."
"Then why has he been asking for you?" Sonia shot back.
Anne stumbled, then, her grey eyes glassy. "For me?"
"Yes, for you," Sonia bit back angrily. "Whatever you've done, Anne, the two of you are still connected- and we don't have much time."
Anne stilled herself, watching the older woman in bewilderment. "You don't want me here, Mrs Blythe," she said faintly. "You saw how he reacted. Why would you tell me to stay now?"
The anger the older woman had felt drained away, leaving behind the exhaustion, and the hope that was fading. "Please, Anne," she said unsteadily. "He hasn't responded to anything in days- until you came. He needs a reason to wake up. I won't ignore it if it's you."
Anne's jaw clenched. "Mrs Blythe, he needs Christine."
Sonia recoiled in shock. "Who?"
"Christine Stuart. The girl he has been seeing-"
Sonia looked at Anne in alarm. "Anne, Miss Stuart is just a friend."
Anne choked back a denial. "He- he was going to propose to her- I was told that-"
Mrs Blythe was frozen for a moment in confusion and shook her head. "He received her wedding invitation just after he became sick."
Anne's cheeks flushed with rage, and she drew herself up to her full height, her green eyes blazing. "How dare she? How could she abandon him for someone else when he was ill?"
"Anne! She is the sister of his friend, and one that he knew to be already engaged!"
There was a moment of silence then. "But everyone thought- everyone said-"
"We know." Sonia's head was high, and her brown eyes snapped. "Almira Sloane was very sure as well. It was the only thing that stopped the whole of Avonlea making comments about you and my son- so I did nothing to correct them." Anne turned from her in agony, and Sonia sighed, rubbing weary eyes. "Anne, I can only assume that you are here because you still care. If you do- I am- I am begging you to try to reach him." Her voice was weary. "The past doesn't matter now. There's nothing left. There's no chance for him if the fever doesn't go."
Anne slumped against the post, her eyes dull. "Very well. I'll try- for his sake. But if he reacts the same way I have to respect his wishes- delirious or not."
Sonia's shoulders fell in relief. "That's all I ask."
With a sick feeling, Anne was led back inside, to be met with silence through the house. Sonia turned to her at the door of his room, her bloodshot eyes on her steadily. John Blythe stepped out of the shadows, trying to smile at the pale girl in his son's doorway.
"I think you just startled him," he said quietly. "He hasn't seen anyone but us in days. I'm sure he'll be right, soon."
Anne turned to look at him, a stab of hurt in her as she saw the way his big hand trembled, the hopeless look in the eyes that his son had inherited. She nodded, swallowing convulsively. It was then that he stepped aside, and Anne saw Gilbert for the first time. Her hand came to her mouth, and she desperately tried to keep the cry of shock from her lips, the nausea that spiralled at the sickly atmosphere in the room. He looked nothing like the brawny boy she had once known- nothing like the young man who had walked away from her at convocation. His face was gaunt, and a grey pallor hung over the skin that should have been brown and glowing.
Sonia watched her fearfully, expecting the girl to run. In her secret soul, perhaps she had hoped that she would- proving that she had no right to be by Gilbert's side, especially while he was so weak. Sonia watched, spellbound as Anne stiffly walked to the chair by his side and sat down.
Sonia cleared her throat and spoke. "I need to get some more medicine for him, Anne. Would- would you stay with him for a short time?"
Anne didn't move, but nodded. She had seen a slight twitch on his face at the sound of her name, and every nerve was alert to the possibility of him waking up as angry as he had been before. Then, they were alone.
Anne sat still for long minutes, her grey eyes studying every inch of Gilbert Blythe. The tousled and matted brown curls, the hand grasping his sheet, the grimace on his sleeping face. The body under the sheet that made her want to cry- his collarbone so prominent, all spare flesh melted away by typhoid fever. She had been determined to stay silent- determined to give him the chance to rest, but his brow had contracted, and he moved restlessly under the covers. She moved closer to him, her look frightened when he lifted a hand, only for it to fall to his side limply.
"Gil, it's alright," she whispered, nervously reaching out to touch the hand that was moving, and in dismay, she saw him freeze, a deep frown etched on his face. The clock was the only thing that made a sound in the quiet room, and she didn't dare to move until he relaxed again. When his hoarse voice came, she stared at him with huge eyes.
"It's like she's here," he muttered, frowning.
With shaking hands she pulled the sheet up once again, covering his restless limbs. "Who, Gil?"
A faint laugh broke from his lips. "Her. But she's not."
Anne blinked back a tear, wondering if Mrs Blythe had been wrong. "Do you mean Christine?"
The reaction this time was immediate, and she looked on in shock as he struggled to sit up, his voice feverish. "No, no, not her- please, not her- not another bloody musical reception-"
Anne was too terrified to laugh, or to react to his slip of the tongue, and she fell to her knees beside his bed, gently pressing on his shoulder. "She's not here. Lie down, Gil. You mustn't get upset, it's not good for you."
He seemed to stop at her voice, and after a moment his body relaxed into the mattress. "Good. She's too- too much," he mumbled.
Anne couldn't help a twisted smile from forming at his comment. "I thought that too."
There was silence then, and Anne lifted her eyes- only to encounter his. Her mouth was dry, wondering if he was lucid.
"Gilbert?"
He seemed to flinch. "Nope, that can't be her. She's with him."
Anne adjusted herself on the floor by his bed, a faint smile on her face. "Alright then. It appears you are stuck with me, instead."
It was evening when Marilla arrived at the Blythe homestead. She knocked on the front door, her face drawn, and unsure what kind of situation she would be walking in to.
When John Blythe opened up the door, for a moment she was speechless at the way his shoulders bowed. She tried to form words, however, John merely waved her inside tiredly. "I expect you're looking for your girl," he said quietly.
Marilla nodded, her words brief. "Yes. She was very upset- I didn't want her trying to walk home alone."
"We appreciate her coming. Sonia was able to get a little sleep this afternoon while Anne sat with him."
Marilla kept her alarm to herself and merely nodded. After a moment Sonia stepped into the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron in exhaustion.
"I'm sorry I wasn't here to receive you. Have you come for Anne?" Sonia asked woodenly.
The older woman nodded slowly. "I wouldn't want her getting in the way of what you needed to do-"
"She hasn't."
Sonia twisted her hands together and spoke rapidly. "Marilla, I realise how inappropriate this request is- but with Gilbert in the condition that he is, I admit that I am past caring about propriety. Would you- would you allow us to keep Anne for- for a day or two?"
Marilla paled. "What could she possibly do for him?"
Sonia's cheeks burned. "He's less restless with her there. I think her voice distracts him."
Marilla looked at John in disbelief, and she flinched as a miserable look passed between the husband and wife. She knew what they were not saying, and swallowed, trying not to think what it would be like if it was Anne so ill. "May I speak with her, then, please?" Marilla asked quietly. "I would prefer her to make that decision- and for her reputation's sake, we need to be careful."
Sonia nodded shakily. "I understand. We- we're up most of the night anyway right now. If you would prefer her home each night we can bring her home- for as long as she is prepared to come."
Marilla cleared her throat and nodded, the misery of the household apparent.
"Would- would you like me to take you to her? She refused to leave the room at all tonight."
The sickroom was completely still when Marilla was shown into the room. She stood in the doorway, looking at the boy on the bed in shock. Anne's back had been to her, and she turned now, and Marilla flinched at the hopeless look on Anne's white face. She silently rose, and the three older people moved back to the landing to talk. Anne closed the door behind her quietly. Sonia stepped back as Anne went into Marilla's arms, her own tears starting at the sight of Anne's. She watched as Anne pulled away after a minute, the effort to control her tears evident on her face.
"I can't leave him. Not until I know he's going to be alright," she whispered.
Marilla sighed, but then nodded in defeat. "Diana was expecting you tomorrow- and you have Jane's wedding in two days time."
Anne shook her head. "Please- please send my apologies to Jane," she said huskily. "And tell Diana everything. She'll understand."
Marilla cleared her throat, her voice low. "Anne, Mr Blythe will bring you home whenever you ask him to. You know how this could be seen- we need to be mindful-"
Anne closed her eyes for a moment, her forehead contracting with pain. She then gave a helpless shrug, her grey eyes swimming with tears. "He matters more, Marilla."
When John walked Marilla out to the buggy, he was stumped when she handed him a carpet bag full of clothing. She sighed, a wry smile on her face. "I had a feeling she wouldn't go. She'll need some extra clothes."
John cleared his throat noisily, wiping his eyes. "Marilla, you know we wouldn't ask for this if-"
She shook her head and stood looking at the lights of the house. "If it were the other way around I might do the same thing," she said slowly. "She- Anne hasn't been the same since they- were apart."
He cleared his throat, strong arms folded tight against the unwelcome welling of emotion in his chest. "Neither was he."
Back upstairs, Anne crept back into the room after agreeing that she would rest soon in the spare room that Sonia was making up now. She was by his side then, her eyes peering into his face wistfully, a shaking hand moving up to stroke the hot forehead. He'd been asleep again, now and then muttering things she could not understand- once she thought he had mentioned Hamlet, but then in the same breath differential calculus. For just a moment she rested her head against the chair, the exhaustion of the late hour showing on her face.
Sonia had come and gone from the room, taking note of the fact that he was moving less, distracted by Anne's voice when she needed to assist him. She hadn't fled when he had thrown up and needed cleaning, she had only done as Sonia asked, and left the room when his mother changed him. Sonia wiped her forehead as she bent over the washing, then. Knowing that Anne would call her if needed, she felt some relief in being able to escape the room she had lived in for twenty-three days. She would thank the girl- soon. If her son was going to make it, he needed rest, something that had become a precious commodity. She had checked him before returning to the kitchen to prepare a makeshift meal. As she worked, her own behaviour over the last year to the girl who was sitting by her son's bedside sharply reprimanded her, and she pursed her lips, deliberately setting her guilt aside. Something had come into the house with Anne- some sense that they were not fighting alone; a faint hope that the girl whose name had often escaped Gilbert's lips over the last few weeks might have something that would help.
It was late when Anne awoke groggily from a small sleep against the arm of the chair. The room was dim, and a small crocheted blanket lay across her that someone had placed over her in the night. Another lay across Gilbert, and as her eyes adjusted to the lamplight, she looked up and felt a shock go through her as over-bright, hazel eyes looking at her curiously, as if unsure whether or not she was a dream.
"Gil?" she whispered, and a shock went over her as his body tensed. "It's alright, your mother is close by. Do you want me to get her? "
His breath was laboured, and he gave her a tortured look. "Anne- you can't be here," he said faintly.
Anne froze, her greatest fears taking shape. "Do you want me to leave?"
At this his hand scrabbled free of the sheet, his glassy eyes frantic. "No, please stay. Even if it's not real."
Anne closed her eyes, as a tear rolled down her cheek, and she reached to still his hand. "I'm here," she choked. "I should have been here before, but I didn't know- I didn't know that you were sick."
His breathing was noisy in the quiet room, and his breath hitched, in some terrible imitation of laughter. "Gardner's girl has better things to do than come visiting."
Her face twisted in pain, and she shook her head, coming to her knees beside his bed. "I'm not," she said, concealing the sob in her throat. "I'm not his girl."
At this, he seemed to relax. "Ah. That's how I know you're not really here," he mumbled dryly.
Anne took his hot hand in her own and bent in close. "Have I ever lied to you, Gil?"
He smiled faintly. "You told me you loved me last time- and that can't be true."
Anne had no idea how to respond to this, sure he had been responding to hallucinations of some kind. "I- I didn't lie, Gil."
"How long have I been here?" he asked suddenly.
Anne licked suddenly dry lips. "Your mother said it's been over three weeks," she said softly.
"Ah." His eyes closed then, and she had to bend in close to hear his muttered words. "Never mind. The- the fever should drop soon if there aren't any complications."
Anne couldn't suppress a rusty chuckle. "You didn't research your own illness, Gil?"
"When the man died I did."
Anne stroked his cheek, moving to get the small washcloth by his bedside to cool him- how could his forehead remain so warm? "What man, Gil?"
"The- the man at the hospital who- oh, I don't know," he mumbled.
Anne sponged his forehead with the damp cloth, pitifully pleased to be able to do some small service for him, and her words were soft. "Just sleep, Gil. I'll be here when you wake."
There was a short sigh then. "Promise?"
"I promise."
