Author's Note: Thanks for the hits and reviews! I'm sure you're well aware that an author loves to know that her work is appreciated. Again, I must disclaim any and all rights to Anne, as she is the creation of L.M. Montgomery. Enjoy chapter 2!
Lilies of the Valley
Chapter 2—Mrs. Blythe
Mrs. John Blythe lowered herself wearily into a chair at the kitchen table, a steaming mug of tea between her work-worn hands. As of late, though—ever since Gilbert became ill—Mrs. Blythe felt that her hands had been maddeningly idle. Especially now that the nurse had been hired, Mrs. Blythe found herself at loose ends. Yes, she kept up with her daily chores, but even the most mundane tasks made her anxious. She simply couldn't bear to be away from her precious boy in this, his darkest hour.
Mrs. Blythe was regarded by all of Avonlea as a very friendly, very merry, kind, light-hearted woman. But just now, all twinkle and tinge of mirth was absent from her still-lovely hazel eyes. Perhaps she was not the most intelligent of all women, but a woman she was, and a mother first and foremost.
From the earliest days of her existence, Mrs. Blythe had wanted a home and a loving family to call her own. There was never a bride more radiant than she on the day she married John, nor a young mother more joyfully expectant of the day of the coming of her firstborn.
Mrs. Blythe sighed. Gilbert was born on a day much like this one; stormy and abysmal. She'd nearly given her life ushering his into the world, and the doctor said that there would be no more babies. Mrs. Blythe was crushed, but she loved her son with incredible fervor. She watched him proudly as he grew and flourished, and she and her husband strove to provide everything for him that they could. And Gilbert, smart and determined, worked twice as hard as any young man ever had to provide for himself.
Mrs. Blythe was proud of Gilbert's achievements and ambitions, but there was one ambition in particular which she wished that he'd never chased. Because this, the only pursuit in which Gilbert had ever failed, was killing him faster than the fever; it had been killing him for the last two years, as far as Mrs. Blythe was concerned. Ever since Anne Shirley—well, Gilbert just hadn't been the same. Maybe the difference wasn't discernible by everyone, but it certainly was by Mrs. Blythe. Her heart broke for her boy, but there as nothing that she could do for him.
And now he was quite probably dying. His fever was raging nearly out of control, his breathing was heavy and labored, and he thrashed and murmured deliriously. How many times today had Anne Shirley's name crossed his lips? Mrs. Blythe knew he boy was grievously ill because of this; Gilbert had scarcely mentioned the red-headed miss for two years, unwilling to expose his feelings of deepest hurt.
Mrs. Blythe sighed, leaving her troubled thoughts. It was time for her to return to where she most belonged; by her son's side. The nurse said earlier that the turn would come tonight, or—or—
Mrs. Blythe wiped away an escapist tear and rose to set her still-full mug by the sink. Just before she turned to go to Gilbert's room, she glanced out the window and saw something moving through the torrential rain. She squinted to make the figure out. It was a person; some foolish farm hand trying to make his way home for supper, no doubt. Poor chap, Mrs. Blythe thought. He'd probably catch his death of pneumonia, if he didn't catch his death of a whipping first. Mrs. Blythe continued to watch as the lad drew nearer, and then stared in horror when it became apparent that he was a she!
"What in the world?"
Mrs. Blythe wondered aloud. The luckless dame continued to approach. Mrs. Blythe gasped sharply. A sudden, violent gust of wind pushed the rain away just long enough to provide a clearer glimpse of the girl. Then she disappeared around the house. Mrs. Blythe was dumbfounded.
Why—it couldn't be—was it—?
Hurried footsteps sounded on the veranda. Mrs. Blythe flung open the kitchen door.
"Anne Shirley!" She cried in shock, using much the same tone that Mrs. Lynde had when Marilla allowed Anne to take flight. For the first time in a very long time, Mrs. Blythe was left entirely speechless. Here stood Anne Shirley, a college girl, soaked to the bone without even an umbrella to protect her. And she was certainly in a state. Her thin blouse clung to her skin, her skirt sagged with the weight of the water in it. Her hair had come down and it now swirled in a curly, bright, riotous mass around her waist and shoulders. Droplets of water shone through it like glass beads. And her eyes…
Mrs. Blythe shuddered inwardly when she looked into Anne's eyes. Bigger and grayer and more luminous than they had ever been, they held a deep, unfathomable expression.
"Mrs. Blythe," Anne gasped and stammered breathlessly, "I just came home from Echo Lodge—Davy told me about Gilbert, and Marilla and Mrs. Lynde said—oh!—and then Mr. Harrison said that he's gotten worse and—"
Anne stopped for breath and realized that she hadn't formed any complete sentences. So much, she thought absently, for her college degree.
"Please, Mrs. Blythe," she asked anxiously, "How is he?"
"Gil is bad off," Mrs. Blythe responded slowly, "but, he'll pull through yet."
A semblance of a smile touched the corners of her mouth as she finished speaking. For the first time in nearly a week, she honestly believed that her boy would be okay.
Anne sagged against the doorframe in relief. Mrs. Blythe was alarmed. The poor girl looked like she'd just shed twenty years!"
"Thank you," she whispered through pale, quivering lips. "Thank you."
Anne turned then and took a step to leave. An enormous weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Gilbert was going to be alright. His mother said so.
"Anne!" Cried Mrs. Blythe in bewilderment. "Where do you think you're going?"
"Why," poor Anne answered confusedly, "I'm going home."
"In this weather!" Scoffed the older woman. "Anne Shirley, don't be ridiculous."
"It isn't right for me to intrude, Mrs. Blythe," she faltered, flushing. Her good sense was returning. "I'm afraid I shouldn't have come, but I—"
Anne stopped, unable to put into the words the reason for her coming. Mrs. Blythe wrapped a kind arm around Anne's waist and led her inside.
"Nonsense," she chided gently. "Come in and sit by the stove. It's a pretty cold evening for July, and you're soaked through and through. Why, Anne Shirley, you're shivering!"
She was. Anne was shaking from head to foot, partially because of the cold, and partially because she was overwrought by emotion. Mrs. Blythe took her to the kitchen stove and pulled up a chair.
"You stay here," she instructed sternly. "I'll not have two sick children in this house."
Within moments, Anne had a hot cup of tea in her hands, a thick quilt around her shoulders, and a new outlook on life. Her relief over Gilbert's condition was tangible.
Mrs. Blythe watched in approval as the color returned to Anne's face. As soon as she'd seen the girl running down the lane, she'd regretted her cold treatment of Anne the last two years. Certainly, Anne had been a fool to refuse Gilbert's proposal, but it was clear now that she cared a great deal for him after all.
But what of Anne's college beau? Gilbert had mentioned him once or twice, a trifle bitterly. Mrs. Blythe panicked. If Anne was engaged to that fellow—Gilbert would not take the news well.
But Mrs. Blythe remembered the look in Anne's eyes as she inquired after Gilbert.
"You're not going with that Redmond man, are you, Anne?" It was a statement rather than a question. Anne flushed scarlet in humiliation.
"No, ma'm," she murmured. "I—I turned him down."
"I see," was Mrs. Blythe's simple reply.
The two women sat in silence for some time. Anne began to warm up, and after a while, she felt that she was dry enough to venture back out into the storm. Nightfall was quickly approaching.
"You can't go back out in that!" Mrs. Blythe protested when Anne stood to leave. "When John comes back with the doctor, I'll drive you home. Surely, your folks won't expect you to walk back in the rain."
"I really have no right to impose, Mrs. Blythe," Anne said lamely, mentally calculating the distance to Diana's house. But what Mrs. Blythe said next rooted Anne to the floor.
"Please stay, Anne." The older woman's voice was unusually soft. She squeezed her hand, looking deep into her eyes. Anne was startled by the sudden, gentle entreaty in her address. "Gilbert needs you."
Anne's heart thundered in her chest. Gilbert needed her? She stood rigidly, not knowing what to say. A wave of near happiness washed over her.
Was it possible that Gilbert still loved her?
"I—" But Anne's throat closed.
"Would you like to see him?" Mrs. Blythe asked gently.
Anne's eyes lit up, sparkling with tears.
"May I?" She whispered eagerly. Mrs. Blythe put her arm around Anne's shoulders and led her to Gilbert's room.
Anne stood in the doorway, unconscious of the trained nurse who looked volumes of disapproval in her direction, unconscious of Mrs. Blythe's secret smile as she watched Anne take a step toward Gilbert. Anne took notice only of the still, white form on the bed. She heard the door shut softly behind her. She and Gilbert were alone now.
She went and knelt by his side.
"Oh, Gil," she whispered, fighting tears. "I'm so terribly sorry. I wish I'd gotten here sooner."
A/N: This concludes chapter 2. If you like what you read, and would like to read more, drop a review. I'd like at least two or three more before I post chapter 3. Yes, I will hold out on you.
