Chapter 2: Eyes

T

Anne Shirley sat in the living room of Patty's Place, her feet curled up under her as she appeared to be engrossed in a book. A merry fire was crackling away on the hearth, as Aunt Jamesina and Philippa chattered away about the latter's upcoming nuptials. The two china dogs on the mantle, Gog and Magog, looked watchfully over the cozy room as the glow from the fire illuminated their green and white porcelain coats.

"Jonas would have the wedding in the evening, as he is worried his Grandmother Myrtle will catch heat stroke, if the day turns very hot. But I've always dreamed of getting married at high noon, just as the church bells begin to chime," Phil was saying.

"You ought to respect your elders, Philippa," Aunt Jamesina replied with a tone of conceit. "It makes no difference what time of the day you are married. You'll be married just the same at 5 o'clock as you would at 'high noon,'" whereafter she let out a small chuckle. And so the conversation continued.

Anne, however, looked on, oblivious to their conversation. Her book was not receiving the attention she had meant to give it, as she was thinking of many things—how satisfied she was to have finished her B.A. degree, and how fantastic it would feel to walk across the stage at Convocation tomorrow, and should she wear her green muslin or her blue organdy dress, and should she wear her hair entirely up or leave half of it down, and how would the Convocation Ball be decorated, and had they happened to find any Lilies-of-the-Valley to adorn the tables, and how she hoped Davy would come to pick her up from the train station when she returned to Avonlea, and how she longed to see the congratulatory smiles on Marilla's face, and would she accept the position at Summerside High School next year?

At this particular question, Anne's thoughts wandered in another direction. Her decision on whether or not to take up the principalship at Summerside depended entirely on whether or not she accepted Roy's future proposals. Anne had no doubt that he would propose, and that he would do it soon. It was a sort of Redmond tradition to propose on the day of Convocation; all the hopes and dreams of couples who were finally free to start out on their lives together could now be brought to fulfillment. And besides her gut telling her that the proposal would soon happen, she had heard rumors of his intentions from more than once source. One thing was certain: Roy Gardner would propose to her, and it would probably be tomorrow.

Anne tried to look upon the event with joy. After all, she loved Roy, didn't she? And if you love someone, you should be more than happy to spend the rest of your life with them, right? Yet for some reason, when Anne imagined Roy pouring out his heart to her, taking her hand, kneeling down and looking up at her with those melancholy eyes of his, she didn't feel—well—anything. Granted, past experiences had taught her that proposals may not necessarily be the magical, romantic occurrences that she had always imagined them to be. She had had four men propose to her within the past few years of her life, and her memories regarding each of them were quite unpleasant.

The most unpleasant proposal of all had been, of course, that of Gilbert Blythe. What great chums they had been before he had to open his mouth and ruin everything! And why had refusing him upset her so? Surely it was simply because of the loss of his friendship, which must inevitably follow such a speech. Oh how she longed for his presence right now! Her mind was confused, and he was always the one she felt she could talk to about any matter, no matter how trivial.

Roy, however, didn't possess Gilbert's skills of listening and empathy. Yes, he was romantic, and enjoyed her poems about fallen logs, and snow-covered trees, and butterflies dancing in the wind. But when it came to Anne herself, and her innermost complexities, Roy was often lost. He would listen, but he would not understand—not really.

However, despite Roy's shortcomings, Anne was fully prepared to accept his proposals. How could she not, when he was the tall, dark, distinguished man that she had always dreamt of, with inscrutable eyes and a rhythmic, entrancing voice? He fit her childhood description of a husband to a tee. How could she refuse him now? And after all, no man was perfect, right?

It was at that point that Anne's thoughts lingered on the kiss they had shared, only two weeks ago, during Betty Martin's walking party. As they turned about the wooded path along the harbor, where the entire party had since passed, they had found themselves alone. Roy, upon finding a small brook that was bubbling softly a few meters away, had led Anne to its bank. And there, after she had finished admiring its beauty, he had kissed her. As his lips met hers, she had closed her eyes and waited for the feeling she had always dreamt of—the feeling of floating, out of her body and up over the trees, to rest on a far-off cloud... the feeling of butterflies in her stomach as she quivered at his touch. And yet, that feeling didn't come. She moved her lips methodically, returning what she judged to be equal passion and feeling. 'If this is all that kissing is,' she had thought, 'I don't know why they make such a big deal out of it in novels.' When they finally separated she had given a forced laugh, in order to cover for the awkward feeling his touch had left her with. She had walked the rest of the way, side by side with Roy, yet wishing she could pull away and be alone. And when he leaned in as he left her at the door to Patty's Place that night, she had turned her face to present him with her cheek; Roy hadn't tried to kiss her again since.

Anne shifted in her chair as the remembrance of that day passed through her mind. Well, so what if romance wasn't all she had expected it to be? So what if there were no butterflies? So what if there was no passion? Perhaps that was all just stuff and nonsense, contained solely within the pages of the novels she had once read. The fact was, Roy was her ideal, and there was no reason why she should pass him up in the hope that something better would come along. Her thoughts then turned to determining how she should phrase her acceptance. She was mulling over just what her exact response would be when a sharp knock at the door startled her.

Phil and Aunt Jamesina looked up, expectantly. "I'll answer it," sighed Anne, leaving her comfortable seat and reaching for the brass doorknob. She twisted the handle and pulled the door open. Standing on the other side was none other than Gilbert Blythe, sporting a pallid face and a puzzling expression. It was all Anne could do not to gasp as she looked upon him. He hadn't come around Patty's Place in some months, and she had avoided him whenever she saw him walking the halls of Redmond. His appearance now startled her. His skin had adopted a pale, sickly expression. The brightness that usually shone through his eyes was absent from his countenance. The merry, contented, lively Gilbert she had always known seemed to have faded, and had since been replaced by a cold, somber stranger.

"Hello, Gilbert," Anne said, forcing a smile. "Whatever brings you here today?" Gilbert shifted from one foot to the other. Over the entire journey from his house to Anne's, he hadn't even thought about what he would say to her upon his arrival.

"I need to talk to you," he said abruptly.

"Alright then," Anne replied, wondering what on earth Gilbert Blythe could be on her doorstep for when he ought to be out celebrating with friends. "Whatever is on your mind?"

Gilbert glanced apprehensively at Phil and Aunt Jamesina, who were making no attempt to hide their curiosity at this rather awkward exchange. "Can we, er, go outside?" He motioned over his shoulder. Anne looked outwards and beheld the ever-graying expanse of cloud above.

"It looks like it's going to start pouring any minute, Gilbert. Can't we just talk inside?" she asked. Gilbert knew he didn't want to have this conversation inside. Not when Aunt Jamesina and Philippa were present. Not so near to the very garden where he had been so wholly rejected the first time. He looked up into Anne's eyes.

"Please," he begged, his voice barely a whisper.

Anne gave a quick glance behind her, then grabbed her coat off of the stand and followed him across the doorstep. They walked silently for a while, as neither dared to speak a word. Anne was bewildered as to what was happening. She was clueless as to why Gilbert so urgently and privately needed to speak to her. She briefly wondered if all was well in Avonlea. After a few minutes, in which no sound could be heard except a faint rumble of thunder overhead, they found themselves in the heart of the park, which Patty's Place bordered. Suddenly Gilbert, who had been walking a few strides ahead of Anne, halted and turned to face her. He opened his mouth to speak, and then promptly shut it. He opened it again, only to shut it once more. Anne simply stared.

"Anne, you… you… can't," he stuttered, clearing his throat. "You can't… you…" his words failed him.

"I can't what, Gilbert?" Anne was completely and utterly baffled.

"You can't… marry him." The moment the words escaped Gilbert's mouth, a distressed look crossed his face, as if he immediately wished he hadn't said them. Anne gaped at him. "Roy," Gilbert continued, "You can't marry Roy."

Anne's cheeks flushed upon hearing Gilbert's words. She listened to them without comprehending. Who was Gilbert to tell her who she could and could not marry? Her all-too-familiar temper welled up inside of her and anger tinged her voice.

"And why ever not, Gilbert? Why does it matter to you, anyway?"

Gilbert looked at her incredulously. It mattered more than anything—after all this time, could she really not know? He searched for words but his brain seemed to fail him. He obviously hadn't thought this through.

"Because… because…"

"Because why, Gilbert?" Anne demanded. She was losing her patience.

"Because…" Gilbert began to panic. He contemplated running away, or perhaps it would be better if the ground would simply open and swallow him up. Maybe this whole idea was stupid. Just as he was about to despair, he recollected the feeling of determination that had welled up inside him back in his bedroom, as he had seen his future with Anne slipping through his fingertips once and for all. His eyebrows narrowed as he gathered himself. His resolve hardened, and the words tumbled out before he could stop them.

"BECAUSE HE ISN'T RIGHT FOR YOU!" he cried.

Anne couldn't believe what she was hearing. Her anger at Gilbert now threatened to boil over. But why did his words bother her so? Who cared what other people thought? Although Anne wouldn't admit it to herself, a small part of her wondered if his words weren't the echo of the very thought which had been nagging at the deepest part of her soul. Confused and frightened, she spoke the only words she could think of. "Excuse me?" she challenged, fury welling up inside her.

"Well, it's true! Isn't it?"

"According to who?"

"According to ME, that's who!" Gilbert stared at Anne, wide-eyed. As he said the words, a rumble of thunder shook the sky, and drops of rain began to fall.

"Oh, well if that's all," Anne stated indifferently, attempting to sound cooler than she felt. In truth, she was distraught. Why was Gilbert Blythe so adamant in her not marrying Roy? Did he know some secret about Roy that she didn't? Or could it be that he still cared for her? She turned away, unwilling to look at him.

"He doesn't understand you," Gilbert spoke from behind her, his voice full of passion. Anne turned on the spot.

"Oh, and you do?" she spat.

"YES!" Gilbert shouted. "Finally, now we're getting somewhere!"

Anne wanted to cry. This was not how she had imagined the evening before Convocation going. And worse, this is not how she imagined her relationship with Gilbert going. She cared greatly for Gilbert, and always had, and their recent estrangement had hurt her terribly. She missed the playful expression in his eyes, and the mischievous grin that crossed his face whenever he had thought of a new and clever plan. She missed their conversations, about big somethings and little nothings. She missed the looks they would swap in the midst of others, sharing some private joke that only the two of them understood. They had enjoyed a closeness that many people envied them for. But that had all come to an end two years ago, when he proposed to her back in the garden of Patty's Place. Whatever they had once shared, it was gone. It was his fault, and that angered her. With great pain in her expression, and heedless of the hurt it would cause him, she said the words that she knew would cut to his very bone.

"You know nothing about me, Gilbert Blythe."

It was pouring by now. Countless raindrops hit the canopy of trees above and then fell to the ground, showering the two figures standing below. Dim shafts of light broke through the trees at intervals throughout the abandoned park. Anne looked into Gilbert's face. A sorrowful expression had come over him; her statement had had its desired effect. Her words had hurt him terribly—those words which both of them knew weren't true. Regardless, Gilbert continued.

"But I do! Would you like to know what I know about you, Anne Shirley? I know that your hair is golden-red in the sunlight, yet it changes to a beautiful auburn when it's wet. I know that your eyes are a breathtaking shade of gray-green that is so captivating, it doesn't even seem real. I know that you have no clue how beautiful you are. I know that you touch the lives of everyone around you, prompting them to confide in you their innermost fears and desires, without even having to try to win them over. I know that you possess a natural spirit and enjoyment of life that many people, including myself, envy you for. I know that you are the first girl I ever felt the need to apologize to after teasing, and the only person that leaves me tongue-tied every single time we speak. I know that your favorite color is purple, but not just any purple—amethyst. I know you are afraid of ghosts, and that your favorite season is spring, because it reminds you of the day you came to Green Gables. But most of all I know, heart and soul, with every fiber of my being, that I love you. I love you!"

Anne stared at Gilbert, unable to move or speak. Her mind could hardly comprehend what was happening to her right now. It was all so simple, yet so complicated. Gilbert was renewing his feelings for her. All this time, when she thought he had been in love with Christine. When she had been so… no, jealous wasn't the right word; maybe she had been jealous of Gilbert's friendship, but certainly not of Gilbert's love. Could it be that he really wasn't in love with Christine? Hadn't everyone said that their engagement was a given fact?

Anne continued to gaze blankly at Gilbert. The rain had soaked through his clothes, and they were now plastered mercilessly to his body; his skin glistened under the clear liquid. Beads of water were falling from the tips of his curly locks and down onto his anguished face. Anne had never seen Gilbert like this before, and couldn't help but admit that he looked uncompromisingly gorgeous. She cursed the very thought for entering her mind. And were those tears in his eyes, or was it just the rain?

"But, Christine…" she whispered. He stared at her, shocked.

"Christine!" Gilbert couldn't help but laugh. "How could you of all people have believed that I would ever be in love with Christine?"

"But I thought… everybody said…" Anne stammered.

"Christine is just a friend, Anne. I was only showing her around as a favor to her brother."

"Oh," was all Anne could manage to reply. The patter of rain on the soft earth was growing ever stronger. She was soaked through to the bone but she did not notice or care. They stayed there, staring at each other, for what seemed like several minutes. In that moment, a tension existed between them so strong, that she felt as if a steel cable were binding her to him. She was rooted on the spot, and would continue to stay there until he released her.

Anne quickly tried to get a grip around her thoughts. She loved Roy. Roy, not Gilbert. Yet why had she felt so relieved when he claimed he had never loved Christine? Why would she care who Gilbert Blythe loved? 'You didn't want him…'

A sudden vision crept into her mind of Gilbert, two years ago on the day she had rejected him. He stood in the orchard of Patty's Place, with pale face and lips, as if he had been whitewashed. The thought of it made her heart ache with grief at his agony. Except now, Gilbert's face faded from the vision and Roy's immediately took its place. If she rejected him... but no, she couldn't bear to see that expression on the face of yet another person she cared for. She couldn't do that to Roy, after she had encouraged him on for so long. And really, what did it matter, since she genuinely wanted to accept his hand? Gilbert's words were playing games with her head and confusing her thoughts.

"I... I can't," Anne said, almost as a question. "I'm so, so sorry Gil." Her voice cracked as she said his name. She hoped he couldn't see the tears that were beginning to trickle down her cheek; she hoped they mingled enough with the rain to fool even his discerning eyes. Her heart was breaking in two. She was losing him all over again. But instead of backing away, Gilbert stepped forward, determination on his face.

"You don't love him, Anne," he held her gaze unwaveringly; she fell captive under his stare.

"Yes, I do," she said, although now she felt rather unsure. Her head was dizzy as his words continued to scramble her senses.

"No, you don't. You don't," Gilbert took another step towards her, rain continuing to pour from his dark brown curls. Anne looked at him, bewildered. Her breath was coming in gasps.

"And what reason have you to believe that I don't love Roy?" she asked defensively, unknowingly hoping that he would answer not only for him, but for herself as well.

Gilbert took only a moment to supply a response; before he even had a moment to think, the purpose behind his visit formed effortlessly upon his lips. "Because you don't look at him the way you look at…" he dropped off his sentence at the last second. Anne gazed at him, her large gray eyes probing, urging him to finish his sentence; his hazel ones boring into her, as if he were searching for something.

"The way you look at me," he finished, his voice barely audible over the downpour.

Anne was left speechless. Did she really look at Gilbert differently than Roy, or had Gilbert just been reading too much into her expressions? She wanted so badly to be back at home; she couldn't handle this anymore. His presence was so overwhelming, the tension between them too great.

"Gil, please. I care for you... so much. And I always will! But I need you to understand that I'm going to marry Roy. Sure, it's not what I always expected love to be, but then again what is? Life never turns out the way we expect it. And yes, my love for him feels different—more calm and subtle—not like the passionate tales of romance I've read of in so many stories. But life isn't a storybook, Gilbert, it's the real thing. And I've made my choice."

Anne felt a sense of justification in saying those words. Indeed, this wasn't some story come to life from pen and paper—surely that was why she was questioning the potency of her feelings for Roy. Gilbert, on the other hand, took Anne's speech very differently. He heard her words and knew, he knew, that she was not describing love. She was describing fondness, like she might hold for a mere friend. It saddened him—that Anne, whose eyes had always been brimming over with hopes and dreams, and the promise of adventure, would settle for mere fondness; that she would be content to be swept up into a society in which she would always be undervalued, always looked down upon—for Royal Gardner was from a line that cared very much about breeding. Nevertheless, she had made her decision. She had rejected him for all eternity. It was time.

"Then I'm giving up on you," he said bleakly, "but only because you asked me to."

"Oh Gil, I never…"

"But you did, Anne. You did."

Gilbert turned around to leave, before turning back abruptly. "I would have followed you, Anne, to the very ends of the earth."

'I know,' Anne thought.

With that he turned around again, preparing to walk through the pouring rain, to heaven knows where. He would wander until his feet could carry him no more. Oh, how symbolic this storm was of the state of his life in this very minute! But after taking mere steps, he turned to face Anne once more. He had to look into those gray-green eyes one last time. And then, as his gaze locked with hers, there it was; even the blanket of rain that separated them could not hide that look. Those lashes faltered only a moment, and then she looked at him with eyes so soft, yet intent. A flame burned behind them not of hatred, but of something else entirely.

But what was it? He was captivated to his very soul, and his legs moved of their own accord as he closed the distance between them with three long strides. His face was mere inches from hers as he stared at her keenly, and he could feel her hot breath on his skin. Heat seemed to radiate through her, but not of temperature; this was a deeper, different sort of heat. There she stood, her hair auburn in the soaking rain, the beauty of her face somehow magnified by the effect of the water on her skin. The rain could not hide the tears that were spilling down her face. And maybe she had denied him with her words, but those eyes were beckoning him towards her. She did not flinch away from him, but rather she leaned just the slightest bit forward; her body seemed to be willing him closer and closer to herself. He quietly lifted a hand to her cheek and tenderly stroked the soft spot below her ear with his thumb.

"There's just one more thing I have to do, Anne," Gilbert heard himself say.

She merely stared back at him, waiting for him to continue. And still those eyes spoke more loudly than any words could. A flash of fire overcame them; his own eyes answered, and suddenly he drew his hand around her neck and pulled her forward, passionately meeting her lips with his. He didn't stop. He continued to kiss her, wrapping her thin body with his other arm and pulling her close, expecting her to throw him off of her any minute. But Anne did not push Gilbert away; she allowed him to continue kissing her. Was it just Gilbert, or were her lips moving as well? Could it be that she was leaning into his body in the same way that he was leaning into hers? Did he just hear her give a small sigh? Years of pent up desire poured out of him as he moved his lips against hers. The taste of her, mixed with both the rain drops and the tears that were pouring down her face, was intoxicating. The feel of her drenched auburn hair as it intermingled with his fingers was heavenly. He treasured every second, knowing that this would be the one and only kiss he would ever give Anne Shirley, and wanting to make it a good one.

Finally, it was Anne who pulled away. She stumbled backwards as they stared at each other, panting. He could hear her breath coming in sharp gasps. Her cheeks were flushed despite the cold weather, and her face wore a bewildered expression. He would have given anything to know what she was thinking in that moment. After a long pause, Gilbert looked deep into her eyes and said, "You deserve passion, Anne." A look of perplexity flickered across her eyes, yet she said nothing. She did not turn around, but neither did she approach him again. It was clear that his kiss had rattled her to her very bones; it had caused a state of turmoil inside her sensitive soul. Gilbert continued, "Now say that kiss meant nothing to you, and I'll walk away right now." Still, Anne did not respond. "Say it, and I'll leave, and never bother you again."

Gilbert simply stood there, waiting. He had played his hand, and would wait to let her speak. He had handed her the hammer, to pound the last nail into the coffin of their relationship. Yet a minute passed and still Anne did not respond. She had opened her mouth several times, only to shut it again. Perhaps she just couldn't find words that were hurtful enough to express her anger at the impropriety of his actions. Perhaps she had already let him down in so many ways that she lacked the ability to phrase it in yet another shape. Perhaps he had broken her, and she could not speak until she repaired herself. Gilbert was a patient man, but he couldn't stand it any longer. The silence continued, relieved only by the sound of water colliding with earth.

"Say something, Anne."