(A.N.: Thank you all, as always, for the kind reviews. I'm afraid my pace has slowed considerably, but I'll try to update as soon as I can.)
Sunday, Sept. 4, 1887
The churchyard at Avonlea was like most other small town churchyards in that everyone would gather there before services to gossip about all that had happened in the past week. During the service, of course, they all listened with rapt attention so they could gossip afterward about whomever the sermon seemed to be directed.
This Sunday was quieter at first, at least in part because the person through whom all Avonlea gossip ran had been unable to make any visits the past two days. So, without much in the way of fresh news to talk over, the congregants were having a hard time making conversation.
Of course, even before Mrs. Rachel Lynde had turned her ankle on a collection of Davy's marbles, she had been tight lipped about the goings on about which she had the best vantage point. Everyone in town, young, old and in between, had noticed how often Gilbert Blythe had been to Green Gables since his recovery from typhoid fever; and everyone knew he wasn't going there to see Mrs. Lynde. But that good woman had been uncharacteristically tight lipped about the matter as of late, and so the townsfolk, for once, had to carry on about the matter without her input.
"I'm certain she's just leading him on again. I can't believe he hasn't more sense than that," Mrs. Pye told Mrs. Sloane.
"Well, I, for one, think she's realizing her age. Why, just the other day I was telling her that all of her beaux would slip through her fingers if she wasn't careful. Not everyone can be as lucky as our Jane, you know," said Mrs. Andrews.
"Of course, she already passed over our Charlie, and I don't really think she could have done better," Mrs. Sloane said.
"Well, Gilbert certainly could," Mrs. Pye said with a sigh as she looked toward her own girls, both unspoken for, for reasons she alone couldn't understand.
Before either Mrs. Andrews or Mrs. Sloane was forced to answer, Davy Keith barreled into the churchyard toward the other boys standing along the faded white fence. Some ways behind him was Marilla Cuthbert, with Dora, as prim and complacent as her brother was rowdy.
But, as was far from uncommon, few people paid any mind to the Marilla and Dora. Instead, it was the pair walking behind them at a languid pace, quite lost to the rest of the world, who caught everyone's attention.
"Why, he's holding her hand!" Mrs. Sloane said, bringing her hand to her chest. "You don't suppose …"
"Well, they do look quite nice together," Mrs. Andrews said.
"It's hardly decent," Mrs. Pye interjected.
…
"You do realize what a commotion we're causing, don't you?" Anne asked, nodding in the direction of the group of women in the distance.
"Well, I, for one, don't care," Gilbert said, a mischievous smile spreading across his face. "What do you suppose they'd say if I kissed you right now?"
Anne leaned into him, running the hand that wasn't intertwined with his along his arm. "I don't think we'd ever hear the end of it."
Gilbert stopped walking but kept hold of Anne's hand, spinning her to face him. "I think I will."
"Gilbert Blythe, you'll do no such thing!"
Anne bit her lip to try to keep from smiling back at him. She met his eyes, glints of green and gold sparkling roguishly at her.
Gilbert bent his head toward hers, and for a moment, she thought he really was going to kiss her, there in front of the entire church congregation. Her heart pounded in anticipation, even as he passed by her lips and instead went to her ear.
"I don't believe you would have stopped me after all," he said, his whispery voice sending goosebumps up and down Anne's arms.
They continued down the path to the church, where Diana met them with a shake of her head, saving them from the questions of the rest of the town.
"You two really can't do anything without making a scene, can you?" Diana asked, her intention of scolding them falling flat as she stifled a laugh.
Anne and Gilbert looked at each other, then back to Diana, shrugging in unison.
…
They settled into the Blythe pew, arm brushing against arm, both quite aware of the glances they still were receiving. Were it not for those glances, nothing would have seemed terribly out of the ordinary, save Anne's change of vantage point for the service. They had gone often to church together in those first years at Redmond, though usually with Priscilla or Stella or Phil or Charlie or other chums.
Sitting there, in his family's pew, Anne again was struck by the sense that she was exactly where she was supposed to be. When little Fred began to wail across from the Wright pew, they exchanged shy glances at one another, and Anne hoped for what the future might hold for them. And as they held a hymnal between them and Gilbert slyly inched his fingers over her, she thought her heart would leap from her chest in happiness.
The minister announced the scripture for the day, and Anne dutifully opened her Bible to the first chapter of James and searched for the 13th verse. She studied the words as she heard them booming from the pulpit.
"Let no man say when he is tempted, I am tempted of God: for God cannot be tempted with evil, neither tempteth he any man: But every man is tempted, when he is drawn away of his own lust, and enticed. Then when lust hath conceived, it bringeth forth sin: and sin, when it is finished, bringeth forth death."
Anne stared wide-eyed at the page. She felt quite certain Gilbert must be able to feel the heat rising from her cheeks and hear the thundering beat of her heart.
Had she been capable of hearing the sermon, she'd have realized that the temptations of which good reverend wanted to speak were in the way of the temptation to put less than a full tithe in the offering plate and use the money elsewhere — an attempt at a less-than-subtle hint that the church coffers had been far from overflowing of late.
But Anne's consciousness already was racing in another direction altogether — back to the blanket by the spring the day before, when torrid kisses rendered her mind momentarily blank and the feel of Gilbert's lips against her neck made her wonder if there were any other places on her body from which he might evoke such pleasure in her.
Temptation. Anne remembered feeling an "irresistible temptation" from time to time in her childhood, usually a desire to lose herself in imagination or pick up a novel in lieu of finishing a chore or, memorably, to transform her ruddy tresses to black. But those were all years ago. The unshakable compass developed through years of life with Marilla and Sunday School lessons and her strong sense of self had rendered most temptations far more resistible, despite her occasional impulsivity.
But that was before she'd felt Gilbert's arms around her and before she'd looked — really looked — into the depths of those bright hazel eyes. Before she'd felt that trembling feeling that ran through her body every time his lips met hers. Before her thoughts had started drifting into the uncharted portions of her mind, places she'd ignored or refused to acknowledge.
Anne again read the text. Drawn away … by lust? The thought simply had never entered her mind. Then again, none of the thoughts circling through her mind had ever been there before the last few days. She reflected on how much she really had wanted Gilbert to kiss her outside the church and wondered if she'd ever get control of this feeling.
She sat transfixed, her attention focused only on the words in front of her, until she felt the gentle pressure of Gilbert's hand on hers. She looked over at him, and he smiled tenderly at her.
Anne tried to push the worry and guilt she suddenly felt at her thoughts and actions. Before she knew it, the service was over. Hand-in-hand, they walked back to Green Gables, and if Gilbert had guessed at what she was thinking, he didn't say anything.
…
Marilla watched with amusement as Gilbert settled among them at the table with ease, how he teased Davy, how he complimented Dora on the cake she'd made, how he kept a straight face through one of Rachel Lynde's infamous rants. For Gilbert to be at ease was not the amusing part, of course.
No, the amusing part was how his present state of calm contrasted with his visit to the same kitchen a few days earlier.
Thursday night, Anne had gone to Alice Penhallow's wedding, Mrs. Lynde had gone to visit Mrs. Harrison, and the twins were already in bed. Marilla had just finished cleaning up the kitchen to its usual tidiness when she heard a knock at the door.
"Hello, Gilbert," Marilla said in surprise at the sight of him on the porch, hat in his hand. "I'm sorry; Anne's gone to a wedding in Grafton tonight."
Gilbert shifted his weight from his left to his right and tapped his cap awkwardly against his leg.
"Umm, yes. I know. I actually was hoping to speak to you, if you have a moment, Miss Cuthbert."
Marilla turned into the house to hide the smirk that she felt creeping onto her face. There was only one reason the boy would show up all out of sorts and wish to speak to her.
"Of course, come in."
Gilbert sat down at the table, tapping his foot slightly as he looked at his hands.
"Can I get you anything?" Marilla asked.
"No, no thank you," Gilbert replied. He took a deep breath, then listened as the words spilled out. "You see, I wanted to ask, umm, I wanted to ask your permission to ask Anne to marry me."
His eyes shifted back to his hands, so he didn't see the smile on Marilla's face.
"Well, you certainly have my blessing."
Gilbert breathed a sigh of relief. "I just didn't want anything to be wrong this time," he said.
Marilla chuckled. "I daresay you didn't do anything wrong the first time. Anne can be … stubborn, though I'm sure you know that as well as anyone."
"Oh, I certainly know that. But I was wrong the first time. I didn't wait for her."
Marilla smiled again, thinking not for the first time of how different her life could have been with a different choice or two — including how the young man in front of her may have been her own son rather than asking her for her girl's hand. "Sometimes we think we make mistakes, but a higher power has a different plan in store for us. And everything tends to come out right in the end when we yield to that," she told him.
So, days later, to see the proof — in the form of the two young people at her table whose eyes barely left each other — Marilla knew for sure that nothing in her past had been a mistake if it had led to such happiness.
…
Mrs. Rachel Lynde stood at the window that evening watching Anne and Gilbert wander through the Green Gables garden, talking and laughing hand-in-hand. She sighed in contentment and pride at the scene before her — contentment, of course, because she held both young people in high esteem, and pride because she felt reasonably certain she had a hand in bringing that scene about.
If anyone thought they had an in with the Lord above, it was Mrs. Lynde. While others may have viewed her as too quick to speak her mind and too prone to gossip, Mrs. Lynde considered herself the very paragon of virtue. Her rather simple life, of girlhood, marriage and motherhood, was to her the very essence of existence, and she felt strongly she owed it all to divine entreaties and faithful service to the church. Even after her husband's death, her prayerful decision to move into Green Gables had seemed like Providence itself had a hand in it, since Marilla's careful housekeeping gave Mrs. Lynde all the more time to devote to the church.
Oh, yes, Mrs. Lynde trusted Providence almost as much as she trusted herself, and the only time she'd had to doubt in it was when it seemed liked the scene before her in the garden wasn't going to come true.
She'd always prided herself on her ability to spot potential matches among the young fry of Avonlea. She'd seen Anne Shirley and Gilbert Blythe as good prospects even before the former would speak to the latter. When they finally became friends, then, the matter was as good as done in her mind.
Of course, she never considered that perhaps Anne's stubbornness could be stronger than Providence itself. But still she prayed, quite certain that she would be right in the end.
And, in the end, even Providence could not yield to Mrs. Lynde, or so she believed.
"I told you, Marilla, I told you that would be a match someday," she said as she turned from the window. "Providence wouldn't have it any other day."
