Author's Note: Just pretend with me for a moment that the Anne movies followed the books in that Anne and Gilbert and the gang went to Redmond. Anne of the Island is my favorite book, and I'm going to pull from it. Don't mind the discrepancies in the dates I tack on these little pre-chapter chapters. This is my story and I'll write it in whatever way conveniences me! Oh, remember how I had subtitled the first part of this fic as Prologue-A? Disregard that. I was planning to write two prologues, but it wasn't working out, so I scrapped the idea.

Together Apart

Late Autumn 1907

Redmond College

"They make our little ambitions seem rather petty, don't they, Anne?"

Appreciatively, Gilbert surveyed the grandiose pines in the park as the group of friends walked along the harbor shore road. A pair of grey-green eyes roamed over the landscape, shining. Gilbert watched Anne out of his periphery. The late sun was doing wonders with the rich auburn tint of her hair.

"I think," she began dreamily, face turned to the light, "if ever any great sorrow came to me, I would come to the pines for comfort."

Gilbert felt uneasy, listening to Anne speak of sorrow. How could life be so cruel as to subject a creature so lithe to a burden so heavy? "I hope no great sorrow ever will come to you, Anne," he said sincerely. If it does, he added in thought, I hope I'm there to comfort you.

"But it must—sometime," she replied, her lips pursed together deep in thought. "Life seems like a cup of glory held to my lips just now. But there must be some bitterness in it—there is in every cup. I shall taste mine some day. Well, I hope I shall be strong and brave to meet it. And I hope it won't be through my own fault that it will come. Do you remember what Dr. Davis said last Sunday eveningthat the sorrows God sent us brought comfort and strength with them, while the sorrows we brought on ourselves, through folly or wickedness, were by far the hardest to bear? But we mustn't talk of sorrow on an afternoon like this. It's meant for the sheer joy of living, isn't it?"

"If I had my way I'd shut everything out of your life but happiness and pleasure, Anne."

Gilbert wanted to kick himself when he saw her eyes flash fire; he'd spoken too sentimentally. Her pace quickened and she replied hastily. There was the slightest note of impatience in her voice.

"Then you would be very unwise. I'm sure no life can be properly developed and rounded without some trial and sorrow—though I suppose it is only when we are pretty comfortable that we admit it. Come—the others have got to the pavilion and are beckoning to us."

--

Early February 1918

France

Gilbert couldn't quite pronounce the name of the town he was in now. Really, it didn't matter. The place had been almost completely razed, like so many others. Only a few buildings and the army camp remained standing. The bleak scene had become a familiar one.

He remembered the conversation he'd had with Anne years ago about trial and sorrow. Anne felt sure that they were to be expected from life; she hoped she could be strong in the face of them. But as Gilbert pulled a sheet over the face of another dead young man, he wondered how the devil anyone was supposed to cope with this. The war had gone on too long for his taste.

The tall doctor rubbed his hands together as he left the hospital tent, trying to relieve stiffness and cold. The full moon illuminated the half-frozen ground that crunched beneath his feet. It was after midnight, but the camp was still awake; high ranking officials trying to prep the morrow's offensive. Distant shell blasts shattered the silence of the winter night. Gilbert stepped inside the tumble-down shack that used to be a telegraph office. Many officers were crowded within, their murmurs creating a quiet hum in the room. Feeble, yellow electric light illuminated the maps and charts that the men were poring over. One, a colonel, looked up and noticed Gil.

"Captain Blythe," he greeted with a smile as he stepped forward. That afternoon, Gilbert had operated to save an important general's son wounded in battle; the officers were disposed to think very well of him. "What can I do for you?"

Gil hesitated. He had never been the sort of man to call in a favor, especially under difficult circumstances. But…

"Would it be possible for me to send a telegram?"

It had been three months, pushing four, since he had received a letter from Anne.

The colonel nodded in understanding. "Or you can place a telephone call, if you'd rather. There's one here, works pretty well."

Gilbert moved like one in a trance to the corner of the room where the telephone was. His heart raced. How long had it been since he'd heard his wife's melodic voice? He'd dreamed of it, imagined it for years. The opportunity to talk to her now was nearly overwhelming. Gil's dexterous hands trembled ever so slightly as he held the receiver. He checked a clock mounted on the wall. It was nearing eight p.m. in Avonlea; Anne would likely be home. Gilbert held the phone tighter. The overseas operator connected the call. Static crackled over the line. Moments later, a feminine voice answered on the other end.

"Hello?"

Shock kept Gilbert's tongue glued to the roof of his mouth. He made no reply.

"Hello?" The woman asked again. Gil finally forced himself to speak around the strange disappointment in his throat.

"D-Diana?"

There was a sharp gasp in reply. Gilbert couldn't quite determine whether it was a gasp of pleasure or of horror. His long-time friend was hysteric.

"Gil!" Diana exclaimed breathlessly. "Where are you?"

"France," he answered dumbly. He hardly knew what to say. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, not the least of which were concerning his wife, or why her best friend had answered the Green Gables phone. Diana didn't give him time.

"Gracious Providence!" She cried, sounding near to tears. She continued on in a rush. "Anne's letters to you were all sent back; we thought you were missing, too."

Gilbert tensed. "Who's missing? Surely—Diana—not Fred?"

"Yes," she answered woodenly, "He's been listed."

"Oh, Diana," he said quietly. "I'm so sorry."

Gilbert wanted to say something, anything, but Diana's tone of voice suggested that no words could comfort. He changed the subject as fast as he could. "Diana, where is Anne? Can I talk to her?"

"She isn't here right now." Diana said uncertainly. Gilbert could sense her extreme hesitation. His instincts told him that Anne was neither dead nor dying, but he knew that something was amiss.

"When will she be back?"

"I—I'm not sure," Diana hedged again. There was a momentary, uneasy silence. Gilbert glanced up and saw that all of the officers in the room were tensed, listening to sounds outside. Artillery was beginning to rain closer to the camp. He had to hurry.

"Diana, tell me where she is." There was no room for negotiation. Diana sighed. "Please," Gilbert added softly. "Where is she?"

"She joined the Red Cross."

"In Charlottetown?"

"No-o." Pause. "In London. She just arrived. She…wants to continue to France as soon as possible."

"Why?" He burst out incredulously. Anne travelling to England was one thing. Her travelling to France was something else entirely. If he'd known—

"All the letters she wrote you returned. She feared you were missing."

Gilbert, rendered speechless with horror, stood absolutely still. A wave of nausea swept over him when he thought of his precious wife roaming the war front in search of him. He knew that's what she was doing. She would voluntarily travel to the most volatile place in the world!

Static popped in the receiver, wrenching Gilbert from his musings. The blasts were coming nearer now. "Diana," he spoke hurriedly, "I have to go. If you—if Anne writes, tell her—"

"Yes, yes," Diana whispered urgently. She understood. "Good-bye, Gilbert. Be safe."

The line went dead. Gilbert had no time to stand still and think about what had just passed in conversation. The entire camp was on the move. Again. He rushed back to the field hospital to issue orders and prepare the wounded to be moved. He had no time to think any more about Anne until he was seated in the front of a jerky ambulance.

He bent forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He covered his face with his hands, rubbing his bleary eyes.

He wished fervently that there had been some way to prevent her from coming abroad. He felt responsible for her actions, albeit indirectly. If his letters had reached her…

"Oh, God," Gilbert moaned. "Please protect her."

He lifted his head, not knowing what else to pray, trusting that the Lord had heard. He glanced over to find that the ambulance driver regarding him with an odd look. Gil ignored him.

He could hear Anne saying, "There must be some bitterness…I shall taste mine someday. Well, I hope I shall be strong and brave to meet it."

Gilbert shook his head.

Other men's wives were meeting their bitterness with acceptance, remaining steadfast in love and in spirit.

His wife met her bitterness with retaliation, attempting the impossible.

Gilbert smiled a ghost of a smile. Anne's rash actions showed the profound depth of her love. He took strength from it as the dark night dragged on.