"What would you do in my place, Diana?" asked Anne, placing a dripping dish on the rack. "If you'd overhead Fred's mother saying that she didn't want to visit you, unless her son begged it of her?"

"Well," Diana started slowly, polishing a fork dry with her kitchen rag, "I suppose I would find a gentle way to bring it up." An orange eyebrow quirked up, and she continued in a hurried tone. "I'd perhaps hint at how it might make one feel, and hope that she catches on. I'm sorry, Anne! I've never been in that position before."

"Of course you haven't," Anne grumbled under her breath. "You've always been the perfect daughter, it only follows that you would be the perfect daughter-in-law." The icy silence that ensued, perforated only by the clink of dishes being dried and put away, made her amend her statement. "I didn't mean it like that. Di, you're lovely in every way: You've always known how to please your elders; your manners are impeccable. It's no wonder Eloise Wright adores you; you're a wonderful wife, and goodness knows you're eons better than I at motherhood."

When she still made no reply, Anne set down the pot she'd been scrubbing and turned around. Diana was staring at her, astonished.

"Is that really what you think of yourself?" she asked sadly, shaking her head. "My etiquette is no better than yours, Anne. You were always the one who knew how to talk to people - I usually just froze and nodded. As for being a mother, nearly everything I learned about children came from you! I've seen you with Minnie May when she was a toddler, she wouldn't even listen to me at that age. And you were always good with babies."

Here, there was a pause - their thoughts took the same direction, though neither would speak the words.

"Have you ever thought," Diana resumed when the customary silence had been observed an appropriate amount of time, "that being a wife and a mother was all I was ever destined to be? I was never good at school the way you were, and I definitely wasn't made to be a woman with a career. I don't even think I would have been able to leave Avonlea. But being a mother - that, I could do. Thank heavens it was Fred who wanted the same things I did - I shudder to think how it might have been with someone else."

This elicited a small appreciative smile from Anne. "He is marvelous, isn't he?" she teased, though the sentiment was genuine. Who would have thought that Fred Wright would turn out to be a most caring, loving father? The readiness with which he'd taken in her own sons humbled her, and she regretted ever having teased Diana about her red-faced, fumbling beau. Anne's grin slipped away just as swiftly as it had appeared. "If I could be half the mother and wife you are, I'd gladly give away any of my other qualities."

At this, Diana had to breathe carefully, so as not to start crying. "We can only really be ourselves, I think. And you are a great mother. Needing help doesn't make you any less so."

She knew as she said it that Anne wouldn't quite accept her assurance, so Diana moved on for the moment being. "I'm afraid I haven't been able to help with your question, though. What will you do?"

Anne sighed resignedly. "I suppose, if one can only really be oneself, then that's what I shall do. I'll go over tomorrow afternoon, if you don't mind."

"You'll speak to her, then?" Anne nodded. "Would you like me to go with you?"

"Thank you, dearest Diana, but no. It's time for me now to be brave."

"You're the bravest person I know." Diana deposited a sisterly kiss on Anne's forehead, and they finished cleaning the dishes from Sunday dinner.

It was a much less confident Anne who knocked at the door of the Blythes' house on Monday. If the talk with Diana had left her apprehensive, she now felt ready to jump out of her skin. All the rephrasing of what she would say in her head any spare minute she had, rehearsing the conversation with her soft boiled egg at breakfast, self-affirmations on the walk over, all vanished the moment she'd reached the gate. She was so tempted to turn back, but decided that she'd done enough running away for a lifetime. As Dr. Lebrun had said: if Anne Shirley was not meek, there was no good reason for Anne Blythe to be.

She waited as long as her patience would allow, then knocked again. Still no answer, and so she went around the property, thinking she might catch Mrs. Blythe doing chores out back. Disappointment mixed with relief when she found no sign of activity in the yard.

"Well, this is a nice surprise."

The voice right behind her made her jump, and she yelped in surprise. Hazel eyes twinkled at her, a mischievous look so familiar that the words 'You scared me, you goose!' might have slipped from her lips. Only, the shoulder beside her was a fraction lower than the one she would have shoved in annoyance. The man's brown hair was a bit straighter and carried more gray streaks under its cap - other than that (and also the twitching mustache), it was an older version of Gilbert Blythe who stood chuckling at her.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," apologized John Blythe with no small amount of amusement. "Heard you knocking while I was sitting on the porch. Was on my way to get the door, but these bones don't move the way they used to."

"Oh! I didn't mean to interrupt your rest. I'm sorry, I should have called - I'll try again some other time. Sorry!" Anne took a step back, ready to flee.

"Sarah's running errands, she won't be back for a while. Suppose you keep me company for a bit? I'll put on some tea."

"I'll take care of it," she accepted his invitation, his good humor rubbing off on her a little. They stomped the snow from their shoes before letting themselves inside, and Anne wasted no time in pulling out the china while he fed a log into the stove. In a matter of minutes, they were warming their hands on their teacups, sitting in companionable silence.

"Gilbert called to let us know he'd reached the Glen safely," said John after a while. "Sounds like he's glad to get back to work."

Anne nodded. From the little catching up they'd done, Gilbert admitted that he'd taken quite a bit of time off. Ever the hardworking man, she could only imagine how eager he was to return to the clinic. Yet another consequence of her running away - even her husband's job had suffered. Well, what had she expected?

To be fair, when she'd first thought of leaving, she'd imagined life would go on undisturbed for those whom she loved. Only now, having seen the deep grief that still left Marilla weakened, the anxiety in her sons' eyes whenever an adult left the house, the unpredictable changes in her husband's moods, did she understand how much how much they'd all depended on her, how badly she'd let them down. The turbulence that ensued her departure, that was all her doing.

"I'm sorry," she said. Not exactly what she'd come for, but she might as well practice apologizing now. It was hard to watch the amusement slip from John's expression, but she didn't divert her gaze. "I wasn't able to stay with him, and made rather a mess of things."

The man appeared to be thinking about what she said, and stayed so for a while before shrugging. "Well, I don't know that the fault can be placed on any one event or person. If anyone is to blame, though, it's me."

"You?!" Her eyes widened like big gray saucers, and despite the gravity of the subject, John could not help but smile at the memory of an eleven-year-old girl with bright orange pigtails, enormous eyes, and an even broader curiosity.

"We didn't want Gilbert to go to Redmond," he said soberly. "Sarah mostly hated the idea of him being so far from home. I was more worried about the influence a place like that would have on him."

"You must believe me when I say that Gilbert always behaved admirably at school," Anne pleaded earnestly. "He was always courteous to everyone, and he never-"

"Oh, I know," John interrupted. "It's not that kind of influence that worried me. He was too busy studying for that." He took a quick sip from his teacup. "People who put too much stock in smarts - who think highly of themselves, and look down on others. Feel somewhat superior to the under-educated folk."

"John," her voice trembled. "Gilbert has the utmost respect for you. He always said you were a wonderful model for him, growing up."

His smile stayed sad. "And yet, all he could think of was getting as far away as possible. He hated the idea of staying here and taking over the land - just hinting about it made him act like a fly trapped against a window."

Anne nodded. She understood how that felt. "He never could have been anything other than a doctor. It's his calling: he was meant to heal. And he does it so well, John! If only you could see him at work, you would be so proud of him."

"I am proud, but why couldn't he have started a practice here? Or even the next town over? Families are increasing, population is expanding - he still would have done fine. Why did he have to move all the way to Glen St Mary, if not to prove how different he was from me?" John leaned back in his seat. "Family is what matters most to me. I've tried to impress that value on him, so many times. Now, he's back at work, while you're still here."

"I made that choice. He's been away from his patients too long, and I want to be with the boys, and Marilla. Gilbert and I are having some - er, issues, but it's no reflection on your parenting. Everything Gilbert is, he owes to you and Sarah." Anne slowed down her speech, a bit more at ease now. "This burden isn't for you to bear, please believe that if there is anyone to blame for our problems, it's certainly not you. Actually, I came to tell Sarah that you don't need to check on me. I already have Marilla looking after me, and Rachel, even Davy is staying a bit longer. So, please don't feel obliged."

Her reassurance did not have the effect she'd hoped for - John's face fell completely. "You heard, at the station?"

She thought about lying, but decided against it. "Yes. But it's alright."

"No. It's not. Sarah is - well, she's a tad protective when it comes to Gilbert. He's our only son, and I'm afraid she's sometimes rather blind when it comes to his faults. I can't say I'm unbiased, but the boy does make mistakes. He's sure made some doozies with you. So have I."

His earnest look made her want to beg for him to stop, but she found herself unable to articulate anything. "I knew you were unhappy, for a long time now. Watched you put on a smile for us, for him, when you were hurting inside. I didn't say anything, because...well, I thought it wasn't my place. It didn't quite occur to me that you might not have talked to anyone. Even Marilla didn't seem to catch on - I suppose you hid it best from her."

A horrid ball obstructed her throat, making it hard to breathe. Still, he persisted.

"I'm sorry I never talked to you about it. You can say it's none of my business, and that's alright. But you don't have to pretend."

With his last words, a dam opened in her, and sobs came pouring out, racking her thin body. John moved his chair over so that he could wrap his arms around her in a protective, paternal embrace, letting his shirt absorb her tears while he rocked her from side to side, as one would a small child.

A/N: Friends, I've dug myself into a hole. Didn't you warn me about psychology and therapy being perhaps not very time sensitive, and inappropriate for the era? Yes. Did I listen? No. So now I'm in trouble, trying to make these "sessions" work. Behavioral studies have been around since the beginning of mankind, they just weren't considered a legitimate science (let alone medicine) by most cultures until quite recently - and many still remain skeptical today. Nevertheless, I will figure it out, and incorporate some of the session bits with Lebrun, and elaborate on the game plan Anne and Gilbert have worked out. In the meanwhile, thank you so much for reading, reviewing, and bearing with me! xo

elizasky: I see Sarah Blythe as being protective of Gilbert's feelings, and a little bit of a mama bear - most likely something to come in following chapters. You hit it on the nail about Anne unable to receive help - I'd even venture that she doesn't trust anyone around her would be able to help her the way she needs, regardless of how hard and unrelentlessly they are willing to try.

OriginalMcFishie: See note above! I'll try to fit in some of Lebrun's recommendations soon.

oz diva: I definitely will add some of the exchanges with Lebrun soon - just trying to make them sound realistic and not too corny!

NotMrsRachelLynde: Thank you! Hopefully the tension won't last forever, though it certainly is easier to write this way (so far).

AnneFans: I am team Gil too! 'Pathetic oaf' is only Jack's perception of him. And on occasion, Gilbert sees himself as pathetic. The other characters (and the author) think he is marvelous, charming, and perhaps a bit misguided.