Chapter 2: Weddings, Cake, and Wedding Cake
T
Gilbert Blythe sat comfortably in his worn leather seat, feeling its soft vibrations as the train clattered along the tracks. He leaned his head on the top of the seat-back, enjoying the sensation. Gilbert had always loved trains—the dull murmur of the engine, the rhythmic clicking of the wheels over the wooden rails, the feeling of his very seat pulling him forward in space. He found the entire experience ideal for relaxing and meditating.
On this particular journey, Gilbert was even more comfortable than usual, owing to the vibrant auburn-haired head that was resting on his shoulder. It was the first time anyone had ever slept on his shoulder, and the fact that the sleeper should be Anne caused Gilbert to wonder at his luck. That she should sleep on his shoulder—and no other's—gave him a distinct sense of pride. "Look at me!" he felt like shouting to the other passengers on the train, "Look at this beautiful girl who I get to call mine!" Indeed, Gilbert could think of no greater honor than being the man whom Anne Shirley willfully chose to lay her head upon.
He peered sideways to look into her face. Her long golden lashes rested daintily on the tops of her cheeks—a projection of innocent beauty. He counted the seven freckles perched on her nose—freckles she hated yet he adored. He could make out the faint trace of a smile on her lips as she slept, and hoped he might be partially responsible for that smile. Gilbert realized in that moment that he was smiling himself, and in his mind, there was no doubt that she was the cause of it.
The past few weeks had been the sweetest and fullest of his life, despite their simplicity. Nearly every moment that was not spent helping his father on the farm was employed in visiting Anne, and wandering with her about Avonlea. Gilbert remembered each visit perfectly, as a moving picture ingrained in his mind. And it was not only the sight of Anne he remembered, but the feel of her skin, and the smell of her hair; the sound of her laughter and the taste of her lips. He had spent many long years waiting and hoping for Anne, and now that she was his, it was as if his senses were on overload. He closed his eyes as he recalled the sweet memories.
Long walks to Hester Gray's garden, strolls over the grassy dunes of the island shore, thrilling rides on Gilbert's horse, misty mornings o'er the Lake of Shining Waters, and moonlit trysts in the birch grove bordering Green Gables… yes, the last two weeks had been positively perfect. Yet Gilbert saved his favorite memory for last, and was on the point of recalling it when Anne stirred slightly. Gilbert lifted his arm and put it around her, as she nestled into his side. He smiled and stroked her hair, once again reveling in the sheer sight and feel of her, before replaying a scene from earlier that week in his mind.
Two days before, Gilbert had knocked on the kitchen door of Green Gables, only to find Anne alone, and preparing to bake a cake for the upcoming church social. He had intended to sit quietly at the kitchen table while she worked, but Anne had immediately employed his services, passing him a bag of flour and a cup, and asking him to please measure four cupfuls into a bowl.
"I'm sorry Anne, but I'm afraid I cannot help you," Gilbert had said.
"Why ever not, Gilbert?" Anne had replied, grudgingly. "I hope you do not believe you are above baking fruit cake?"
"Oh no, if there's one aspect of manhood which I lament, it's that we are not appointed the office of baking cakes," Gilbert had stated, in a tone which was so serious, Anne had let out an undignified snort of laughter. "The problem is, Miss Shirley, that I do not have an apron." Anne had laughed so hard at this statement that she fell to her knees, clutching her side. Gilbert merely stood before her, hand outstretched, ready to receive the requested item of clothing.
And so a flowery apron had been produced, and Gilbert wore it with as much pride as he had worn a similar apron during his Lambs initiation at Redmond. He measured the flour with the utmost precision, sliced the apples with inordinate gusto, and when it came time to stir the batter, he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, plunged the spoon into the mixture, and sang at the top of his lungs:
"Patty cake, patty cake, baker's man,
Bake me a cake as fast as you can,
Roll it up, roll it up, and throw it in a pan!
Patty cake, patty cake, baker's man!"*
As he uttered "baker's man" for the final time, Gilbert had brandished the spoon high in the air, sending bits of batter flying. Anne was as good as useless after this display. She had giggled and laughed until her face turned blue and tears streamed from her eyes. Oh, that there would ever be another man for her than her nursery-rhyme-singing, flowery-apron-wearing Gilbert!
Gilbert had watched Anne laugh herself out of breath with a full heart; if he could only make her laugh at least once each day, for the rest of her life, he would be a happy man. It was then that he had been possessed with quite the mischievous idea. Glancing at the open bag of flour, and then back at Anne, he reached his hand inside and pulled out a handful of its powdery contents. As Anne recovered from her episode and turned to face him, he had dropped a small white pile on the top of her head.
She had then let out a small shriek, followed by a "Gilbert Blythe, how dare you!" Gilbert had merely stood there, smirking. He shrugged and turned both of his palms upwards as if to say, 'What are you going to do about it?' In response, Anne had skirted around Gilbert, dipped her own hand into the bag, and held it menacingly in front of him with a set face. She raised her arm, preparing to set its contents free. She hadn't meant to throw the flour at his head, but just as she opened her fingertips, Gilbert's own hand had fastened across her wrist, ruining her aim. And so Gilbert found himself with a flour-smeared face. He had paused for a moment, little white flakes falling from his dark lashes as he blinked the mess from his eyes.
"Oh, Anne Shirley, you have no idea what you've just gotten yourself into." He leaped for the bag; Anne pulled it away, and the battle that ensued would have given Marilla a heart-attack had she seen it—for her pristine floors and counter-tops could certainly not be called spotless in that moment. When the last flurry of white dust had settled, Anne and Gilbert found themselves sprawled on the floor, doused in flour and sugar both. Their entire store of artillery spent, they had then declared a truce, and a laughing Anne had gone to procure some towels, so they might at least wipe their faces clean.
"Oh, if Marilla could only see her kitchen now!" Anne had cried as she resumed her seat next to him and wiped behind her ears.
"I suppose it's lucky for you she is taking tea with the Ladies Aid," Gilbert had replied, before adding: "Say, Anne, you've missed a spot."
"I have?" Anne asked, blushing. "Where is it?"
"Just next to your ear… no not that one, the left one… now down a little…" Gilbert had only grinned as an exasperated Anne tried to dab at the remaining flour which clung stubbornly to the side of her face.
"Have I got it now?"
"I'm afraid not. Here, let me help you," Gilbert said, scooting closer to Anne. She held out her towel, expecting him to take it. Gilbert, however, had no intention of taking Anne's towel. He brought his lips to the spot in question and kissed it, sucking ever-so-lightly on the skin to remove any powder there. Anne let out a small "oh," and seemed to quiver at his touch.
"Mmm, tastes like cake," Gilbert had said, as he brought his hand to the side of Anne's face, stroking it. "Let's see, now that I look more closely, there are a few more spots you missed." Anne was left speechless, as Gilbert moved his lips upward to her forehead, and began to circle her face with tiny kisses, gradually making his way inward to her cheeks and nose, something he had dreamed of doing for a very long time. In the end, he had finally found her lips. The kiss he had given her then was tender and sweet, neither brief nor drawn-out.
As he pulled away, she had grabbed his shirt with both fists, bringing his face back to hers. She was kissing him deeply—greedily—and Gilbert was consumed with a level of longing he had never known before. Why was it that the more he got of Anne, the more he wanted of her? He had lost himself for a moment, kissing her passionately and moving his hands up and down her back. He had wanted nothing more than to lay her down, right there on the white, flour-dusted floor, and kiss every part of her he could see, and then some. He brought his hand up to her shoulder, prepared to push her gently down and onto her back, when by some grace of God he had regained a sense of control.
He couldn't give into this longing; that would be carrying things too far. At that moment, Gilbert had realized how difficult the next three years would be. The boundary between right and wrong was not so solid as he once thought; he could breach it—would want to breach it—every day. He had to be careful for both their sakes. And so he had given Anne one last sweet kiss, and suggested they clean up the mess in case Marilla returned home early.
"Next stop, Bolingbroke!" a deep voice sounded down the train, bringing him back to reality. Gilbert cursed the conductor inwardly. How could they be nearing their destination already? He wished it were still a hundred miles away, so he might cradle his sleeping Anne for a couple more hours. The conductor's booming announcement had caused her to stir from her sleep. Anne woke up, stretched her thin, pearly arms delicately, and opened her eyes.
"My… goodness," she said through a yawn, "are we… there already?"
"It shouldn't be more than a few more minutes," Gilbert replied regretfully. "You mentioned Phil was coming to pick us up?"
"Oh, goodness no. With her being married tomorrow? She will be far too busy," Anne replied, her tone of voice indicating that this simple fact should have been obvious. Gilbert shrugged. What did he know of women and their wedding preparations? "In her letter she said Jonas would escort us," Anne continued.
Jonas did escort them, and fifteen minutes later they were seated in his buggy as it rattled through town. Gilbert had been quite pleased when Anne had suggested he accompany her to Phil's wedding. Anne herself had been born in Bolingbroke, and so he was very interested in seeing the place. He looked around at the cobbled streets and prim storefronts. A strange chill went down his spine as he imagined a scenario where Anne's parents hadn't died of fever, and in which a small girl with two flaming red braids danced and sang through the scene around him. Yet the fever had stolen that life from her. The fever was relentless; he knew that, and Anne knew it better. Yet the fever had brought her to Avonlea, and so he could not wholly lament Anne's age-old loss.
Half an hour later, Jonas' buggy made its slow way down the lane to Mount Holly, the home of Phil's parents. Even Gilbert couldn't help but notice how gorgeous the house was—painted a rich taupe color with white trim, with a wrap-around verandah, and various gables and bay windows. The very house seemed to gleam with anticipation of the morrow's festivities. Anne was flushed with excitement at the prospect of seeing Phil, and her face lit up when her friend appeared in the doorway.
Anne hardly waited for the buggy to stop as she lept from her seat—ignoring Gilbert's offer of assistance—and ran to meet her.
"Phil!" she called out, as she reached the porch steps. The two girls greeted each other with such zest that one would assume they had not seen each other in several years, rather than a few weeks. They embraced each other tightly; afterwards Anne held Philippa out at arm's length.
"Oh, but Phil, you look every bit as lovely as you did when we left Redmond," Anne sighed. "You'll be the most breathtaking bride Nova Scotia has seen in many a year!"
"Do you really think it's possible?" said Phil, her large eyes probing Anne to praise her once again; she had never quite overcome her fondness of compliments.
"Of course I do! And how could it not be—you're practically glowing with joy," Anne exclaimed. Phil really was beaming with happiness; Gilbert himself could see that.
"Well, I suppose I am. How could I not be, when I'm about to marry such a man as Jo?" Phil said, batting her eyes in Jonas' direction. Then she added with a wink, "I might also add... that I am not the only one who is glowing." With that she tapped the tip of Anne's nose with a finger.
"Phil!" Anne exclaimed, clasping her cheeks with her hands as she began to blush. Gilbert laughed under his breath, for Phil had not attempted to keep her voice quiet. Phil turned to greet Gilbert as he approached them.
"Gilbert, how lovely to see you," she said, pulling him into a hug. "My, you are looking better than when I saw you last, but it's really no surprise as to why," she flashed a grin at Anne as she said this. "Although you still do look a bit tired…"
"It was a long trip," Gilbert explained, although Phil was right—he was tired. He was always a bit tired, even though term was well over, yet he tried not to let it show. He still helped his father willingly on the farm, for he couldn't bear to let his old man down. And his desire to see Anne in his free hours overtook his longing for rest. He would just have to grow used to feeling tired, he supposed.
"Well I'm so glad you've come," Phil said. She placed a finger on her lips and surveyed Anne and Gilbert thoughtfully. "Yes, everything is as it should be. You two are simply charming together. I'm certain Roy would have never done for you, Anne," Phil then turned to Gilbert and said, in a quite audible whisper, "I was rooting for you all the while, Gil."
Anne narrowed her eyebrows and shot Phil a pointed glare, while Gilbert stifled a laugh. He had grown to find Phil quite amusing. Her willful impertinence appealed well to his sense of humor.
"Oh Anne, you take things too seriously," Phil sighed. "I'll bet Gilbert can tell you that." She then turned and led them into the house.
…
Mount Holly was a lively place that evening. People came and went, delivering platters and decorations, while more guests arrived from out of town and crowded into the various rooms. The women worked feverishly in the kitchen, with Philippa's mother at the helm. Mrs. Gordon was a tall, thin woman, with honey-brown eyes and curly dark-brown hair arranged in a tight bun on her head. Her expression would have appeared quite severe were it not for the crooked mouth—a feature she shared with her daughter.
Mrs. Gordon had initially disapproved of Phil's choice in a husband—Anne had explained this to Gilbert during the train-ride—but Gilbert supposed she had finally overcome her dislike, or at least come into a quiet acceptance of it. By the way she took command of the wedding preparations and troubled over the tiniest details, it was clear that every measure would be taken to assure her daughter had a beautiful wedding day.
And so the women worked the afternoon away, baking the wedding cake—"Try not to get it all over yourself this time," Gilbert had whispered—arranging flowers, preparing food, and doing Gilbert-knew-not-what. In the meantime, Gilbert helped Mr. Gordon set up a tent in the garden, which was to hold the wedding breakfast. Mr. Gordon was quite unlike his wife—short, mustached, and with a generous waistline. It was clear that the women shouldered the bulk of the conversation in the Gordon household, for Mr. Gordon was a man of few words; he and Gilbert talked little as they assembled and arranged the tables and chairs. Gilbert spent the rest of the day trying simply to keep out of the way. Every now and then, Anne or Phil would shout him an order, which he would carry out obediently before resuming his perch on the living room sofa. Why so much effort went into a wedding was beyond him—but he supposed this was due to his simple-minded masculine ways.
As evening finally fell around Mount Holly, the hustle and bustle of the day began to die away, and Gilbert and Anne found themselves sitting on the verandah around the back of the house. It was dark outside, yet light streamed through the windows and fell in neat squares upon the garden. A soft babble of voices could be heard from inside, and someone was playing the piano in the parlor. Anne leaned her head against the porch railing, tired from travel and preparation.
"Oh, to know what Phil must be feeling right now, on the eve of her day-of-days!" Anne sighed as she turned her gaze upwards; faint stars had begun to sprinkle themselves about the sky. "You know, Gilbert, there are few things that make me feel happier than weddings. They are just the perfect example of joy, and surrender, and commitment towards another person. Sometimes I feel I will cry from the sheer thought of what weddings represent. And Phil marrying Jonas; they are really such an odd-looking pair, and that's beautiful, Gil. Love heeds no mind to superficialities; it looks into the soul."
Gilbert smiled at Anne's words; he adored her quiet musings—it was one of the things that had made him fall in love with her, all those years ago. She wasn't nearly as poetic now as she had been in days of old, and Gilbert loved to hear her slip back into her old meditations. He reached over and took her hand in his, playing with her fingers and the soft skin on top of her hand.
"I've thought often of another wedding today, Anne," Gilbert said softly. Anne turned her gaze earthwards and her eyes locked with Gilbert's; each held a loving stare reserved solely for the other.
"And what sort of things were you thinking of, my love?"
Gilbert's heartbeat quickened at those last two words—she had never called him "my love" before. He decided he liked it.
"Well, I imagined a beautiful girl, with gray-green eyes and long auburn hair, flowing behind her as she walks down the aisle in a white dress." Anne smiled as her eyes traveled slightly upwards, indicating that she was creating the scene in her own mind as well. Gilbert thought for a moment and continued. "I imagined lifting her veil, and kissing her tenderly, and later dancing with her among a circle of friends, and cutting a creamy white wedding cake, and enduring long-winded toasts from our gushing admirers, and little boys throwing old shoes behind us as we depart."
"Mmm," said Anne, dreamily. "I can see the Green Gables orchard, decorated in white ribbon and lilies, and a handsome man waiting for me at the end of the aisle, in a neat suit and tie, with his hair combed back—but only because I ordered him to. And I can see Marilla making a fuss over the serving of breakfast, and his mother crying into his father's shoulder as we say our goodbyes." Gilbert grinned and nodded his head as he continued to play with those long, slender fingers he loved.
"Three years," Anne sighed, a hint of longing in her voice. "It seems so far away."
"Yes, three years," Gilbert repeated. "I'm sorry to make you wait so long, Anne." They sat in silence for a moment, each thinking of the long road ahead, before they would finally be man and wife. For Gilbert, it seemed to stretch out before him like an eternity. Three years of only seeing Anne over summers and Christmases. And on top of that was the realization Gilbert had made only days before—that he would be constantly battling his desire to be with her, intimately, as only a husband can be with his wife. Anne's soft voice penetrated his thoughts.
"When I imagine seeing Phil at the altar, beside herself with joy, I can't help but think about how beautiful it is… that tomorrow she and Jonas will belong to each other. Throughout the rest of their lives, they will see more of each other than anyone else, forever. And I am ashamed of my envy." Anne dropped her gaze to the floor. Gilbert said nothing, but gave her a soft squeeze of the hand. "If only we could be married now, Gil," she sighed, still looking downwards.
"If only…" Gilbert said, assuming this was a rhetorical statement. Her words echoed his own desire, yet to be married before he finished medical school would be impossible. Anne remained quiet for a moment, and when she looked up at Gilbert again, a strange fire was burning in her eyes. She was looking at him intensely—Gilbert knew she had just been overwhelmed with some new thought.
"What if we did get married, Gil? I could come with you to Redmond; we could be together every day." The tone in her voice was so resolute that there was no mistaking her sincerity.
"Oh Anne, you know I couldn't support you. We would be scraping just to get by—"
"But I could work. I could find a job teaching; I could make just enough…" Anne's voice trailed off. Gilbert's heart broke to see how determined she was—to see the hope within her that would be extinguished as quickly as it had come, for he knew he couldn't give her what she desired. He brought Anne's hand to his lips and kissed it. Then he pressed it to the side of his face, looking right into those brilliant gray eyes.
"I can't let you do that, Anne. I couldn't bear it... Please don't ask it of me," he pleaded, this last sentence barely more than a whisper. Gilbert was not without his pride; he could never let Anne be the sole bread-winner, and even a teacher's earnings would not be much to support them. He couldn't bear the thought of Anne living in want because of him. Gilbert swallowed before continuing. "I want to marry you, Anne, more than anything in the world. But I want to do it properly… I want to take care of you, Anne-girl."
"Why can't I take care of you, Gil? Just at first." Anne's voice began to crack.
"Think about it, Anne. Even if you did teach, what would happen if you…" Gilbert paused here, thinking over the implication of his next words, before continuing. "If you became pregnant?" he finished. "Then what would we do? You couldn't work then."
"But there are ways to prevent it, I've heard about them—" Anne persisted, throwing out this last futile defense.
"Three years is an awful long time to push our luck, Anne," Gilbert replied quietly. Anne's face fell as she realized he was right. She continued to stare at Gilbert as a single tear slid down her cheek. It hurt Gilbert greatly to see her disappointment. He wished there was some way—any way—to grant her wish. But there was not. They must wait; Gilbert knew it, and now Anne knew it.
"I love you, Anne," Gilbert said, kissing the hair on the top of her head. "I'll count down the days, every single one."
"I'll be counting down the hours."
Gilbert and Anne remained on the porch for some time, until Anne's eyelids began to flutter, and she fell asleep once again on Gilbert's shoulder. He should have sent her up to bed right then and there, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Back on the train, he had longed for just one more hour of this—of Anne's perfect head resting upon him for a pillow. And if he couldn't get it then, he would get it now.
AN: Goodness, I love writing Gilbert chapters so much. If only every chapter could be from his perspective! I hadn't planned to stretch Phil's wedding into two chapters, but that darn cake scene just forced itself in there and took up some serious space. So it's two chapters you will get!
-I always wondered why Anne and Gil didn't just get married and content themselves with being poor during his med school years. I wanted to explore that, and now that I have, it makes perfect sense why they waited. Especially on account of the babies—they weren't so preventable back then, and we all know Anne and Gil won't be able to keep their hands off of each other once that day comes ;)
Thanks as usual for the reviews on the last chapter! I am so happy to see some familiar faces here!
*Taken from the old English Nursery Rhyme: "Pat-a-Cake," Thomas D'Urfey, 1698