"Not that it isn't nice to see you for more than a glimpse before service on Sundays," commented John Blythe, "but what are you doing about work?"
"Oh, hush, and let him finish his food," scolded Sarah, pushing a chicken thigh on her son's plate.
"I'm full, Ma," he protested. "I took the week off at work. The clinic is getting by fine without me, and I took some paperwork with me."
His father nodded approvingly, and Gilbert took advantage of the distraction caused by the kettle's shrill whistle to slip the chicken under the table. On cue, the calico who'd been eyeing their early spread with interest trotted up to make a meal of it.
"Thanks for breakfast, Ma," said Gil as he balanced empty dishes and stacked them on the kitchen counter.
"Gilbert, honestly, you barely touched your food-"
"Quit coddling him, Sarah, it's embarrassing."
"Don't tell me how to raise my son!"
"He's an adult..."
He slipped out of the kitchen, unnoticed, without a second thought to their arguing. The light bickering was just that - the kind of verbal sparring his parents enjoyed. He swiftly climbed up the stairs into his room, inspecting himself carefully in the mirror. It was important that he look as presentable as possible today.
It was a bit too cool to be sitting outside, but Marilla didn't mind. Her eyes grew tired of candles and lamps easily, so she sought natural light for detail work.
Anne wasn't out for the light: her eyes were still fine. She was on the porch for two reasons: one was to bid farewell to winter, and welcome the first hints of spring. It was a bit premature, but if she strained, she could feel the early beginnings of change in the air. The second incentive to be outdoors was the company.
Just like the old days, Marilla occupied the straw chair, and Anne sat at her feet on the highest step: only this time, it was the older woman asking the endless questions, and the younger redhead answering shortly.
"Where will you be going?"
"I don't know."
"Do you know what you'll be doing?"
"Not even a clue."
"I don't suppose you know whether you'll be back in time for a late supper."
"He didn't say."
"John and Sarah said that they were prepared to keep boys overnight. You might be out late."
"Perhaps." From their vantage point, they saw the buggy approach before they could hear it. "He's here! How do I look? Is my hair holding up?"
"You're hair's fine, girl. Your vanity is showing, though," teased Marilla affectionately.
"I need a mirror!" Anne bolted up and ran indoors, leaving her guardian to greet the man who was now walking through the gate.
"Afternoon, Marilla," he called when he was within comfortable earshot.
"Afternoon," she called back with a twinkle in her eye.
"I hope you don't mind me abducting Anne for the night," he said lightly, walking up the porch steps.
"As convened. I wasn't sure if your mysterious plans included a meal, so I'll leave something out in the kitchen, should you want some late supper."
"Thank you. We might be late coming back, depending on how things play out. With the boys at my folks', you'll be able to enjoy some peace and quiet tonight."
"It'll be odd to have the house so empty," reflected Marilla. At this, Gilbert felt a twinge of guilt.
"We could come back early," he said quickly. They really couldn't, he'd planned it all so carefully, but he hadn't imagined his honorary mother-in-law might actually feel lonely by herself. "We might make it back in time for supper, if we rush."
But she only smiled and waved aside his concerns with her needle wielding hand. "I won't miss the ruckus - I'm sure I can appreciate a quiet evening. I may even turn in early. You two have fun."
Seized with a rush of affection for the old woman who'd intimidated him so as a boy (and even a little as an adult, if he were to be honest), Gilbert leaned in and placed a quick kiss on her cheek, surprising them both. Anne couldn't have timed her entrance better, as Marilla found herself rather voiceless at the moment.
"Gilbert," Anne greeted him breathlessly, her eyes roaming over his clothes. "You look...very nice."
"As do you," he said, procuring a nosegay seemingly out of nowhere (they'd been safely tucked in his back pocket). Anne blushed and accepted the arrangement. "Ready to go?"
"I would be, if I knew where we were going." She wondered how a grin could simultaneously be so infuriating and charming.
"All in time," he assured her, holding his arm out. Her heart beat a bit too fast as she held on, and they walked back towards the horse.
"Drive safely!" called Marilla briskly, finally having recuperated her faculties.
The drive was awkward and mostly quiet: good thing it had been a short one, as well. Or had it? Anne couldn't tell for sure how much time had gone by. She'd been to preoccupied, trying her best not to touch or look at Gilbert.
Both, of course, were impossible tasks: there was a dip in the passenger's side of the seat, and no matter how hard she tried to stay on her side, she kept slowly slipping back toward its center, closer to him. Bracing her feet at odd angles, she was just able to keep their thighs from making contact, but the strain on her muscles was too great, and she gave up after five minutes.
Keeping her eyes off him was just as hard. Despite her best efforts to focus on the road, the trees, the clouds - anything - she kept stealing glances at him. From the corner of her eye, she took in the shine of his freshly polished shoes, the good ones; the smart navy blue suit that made him sit straighter than usual due to its constrictive nature; the way his brown hair, darkened by oil, was carefully combed into a wavy pattern.
She'd seen him many times dressed like this (after all, they'd been to many an elegant function together), but for some reason, the way he looked now was doing something odd to her. She couldn't pinpoint it exactly, but it felt a little like embarrassment. And perhaps, a bit like shyness, as well.
"Here we are," Gilbert announced, snapping Anne from her musings.
"White Sands?" she asked, recognizing the red brick walls of the town hall. Annual McDuffay-Clifton Reception, read the banner over the double doors through which people were filtering. "Were we invited this year?" she asked as he helped her out.
"Not exactly." The corner of his mouth jumped upwards, contorting his lips into his signature lopsided grin. Anne frowned: when Gilbert had requested that she wear her jade gown and decorate her hair with white flowers, she'd guessed they were either attending a dance, or going to a concert.
So, she'd been right: however, this was an event she happened to know was reserved for the younger crowd. She knew this for a fact, having attended during her Queen's years. Puzzled, she took Gilbert's proffered arm and followed him around the building, to a terrace at the back. They descended the steps that lead into the garden, and Anne looked around, mystified. If they weren't going inside, were they joining someone out here?
"It's just us tonight," he said as though he'd read her mind. "I thought we could enjoy the festivities at a safe distance."
"Why?"
It was an inelegant response that had slipped past her lips before her brain could censor it, and she immediately regretted the way it resonated harshly in the cool evening air.
If Gilbert was offended, it didn't show on his face or in his voice. "You used to love to dance. Remember how we'd circle the room like we owned it?"
A hint of a smile formed on her mouth. "I remember."
"So do I. You'd hang onto my shoulder and let me twirl you endlessly," he said, taking a step closer. "We'd chat, and you'd throw your head back and laugh, exposing your bare throat..." He leered at her neck, as though seeing through her wrap. "You'd look at me as if I'd achieved something, as if I'd hung the moon. You trusted me."
His gaze became intense. She swallowed. "I miss that," he finished quietly.
"I do, too," she whispered. From the open windows of the hall wafted the sounds of the orchestra starting a quick waltz.
"I thought we might try to get some of it back," he explained. "You used to like my touch."
Her eyes shone with tenderness. She enjoyed his touch as much as a cat enjoyed being scratched - she craved it. But he wouldn't believe her if she simply told him outright, and perhaps she wouldn't believe it herself, not fully.
"What do you say, Carrots? Trust your old chum once more?"
He held out a hand, looking at her expectantly but with a speck of doubt in his eyes. He had a plan: it was a good one. Anne decided to go along with it, and placed her fingers over his palm.
She'd imagined that he would take advantage of the situation to pull her flush to him, as he had dared shamelessly throughout their long engagement. Instead, he kept a gentlemanly distance between them, a posture more reminiscent of their days as schoolmates and as fellow teachers.
Remote as it made have seemed, it was no less pleasant to be guided along in the grass by Gilbert's strong arm. He'd always been a marvellous dancer, and Anne was able to ignore her surroundings completely, confident that he would keep them both clear of any obstacle.
After the waltz came a polka: they danced to it as well, in their own private, secluded hall. Anne admired the precision of his movements, the energy that hadn't diminished with age, the grace of his stance.
When a slow waltz followed, she hoped that he might hold her closer. This time, she was a bit disappointed to be kept at arms' length. Her eyebrows arched in a slight frown.
"What's the matter?" he asked, releasing her at the sign of displeasure. "Too much?"
She shook her head and took a large step closer, so close that her nose nearly collided with his chest. She took his arms and tried to secure them around her, so that his hold was less like a traditional waltz form, and more like a lover's embrace. "Not enough," she muttered.
He chuckled and rested his hand between the fine blades of her shoulders. "I'll do anything you want," he promised. "All you have to do is ask."
"Hold me closer," she demanded, and he complied, his feet resuming the steps just in time for one last spin as the music ended. The orchestra picked up a quadrille, but they stood still, gazes locked in each other.
"Gilbert," she gasped, her pulse pounding in her head.
"Anne," he responded in a strained voice, sounding as though he wasn't breathing properly. It was fearsome and exciting all at once.
"Please kiss me," she begged, unaware of how suggestive her request sounded. All she felt was need, and want, and thrill.
He raised his hands, and light fingertips grazed her cheeks: slightly shaking, they continued their trajectory, brushing her ears on their way to her hair, and it was his thumbs' turn to caress the flushed skin over her cheekbones. His head dipped, and she could hear a small, sharp intake of air before his mouth descended lower, closer... past her mouth, down to the bottom of her jaw, and pressed his lips on a most exquisite spot next to her chin.
Anne moaned and let her head fall back, and his mouth travelled down her bare throat, the wrap having been discarded during the polka, now forgotten somewhere in a pool of fabric on the grass. Continuing to the side of her neck, another delicious kiss, then inching up, up, pausing at her ear, his ragged breaths sending thrilled shivers down her spine. He nibbled her lobe so gently, it made her squirm with desire, and when she could endure no more, she turned her face to seek his lips with her own.
It was a clumsy kiss, urgent and bumpy, teeth colliding behind closed lips. Anne stood on the tip of her toes and braced her hands behind Gilbert's neck. "Let me try that again," she said, making him laugh, thus ruining the second attempt at a kiss.
"Relax," he grinned, pushing her heals back down to the ground. Again, he leaned over her, and their faces tilted to allow their lips to meet. Anne wasted no time in opening her mouth, eager to taste his, and Gilbert complied, letting her set the pace. Tongues met, getting reacquainted with each other, partnering in a dance of their own.
Gilbert hated to part, nothing but the need of oxygen to stay alive could wrench him from such a beautiful moment. He panted, enchanted by the sight of an equally discomfited Anne, with swollen lips, an a bit of redness around her mouth where her porcelain skin had met the roughness of his chin stubble.
"You're doing, it," Gilbert marvelled.
Anne blinked as though he were speaking a foreign language. "Doing what?"
"Looking at me like that. Like I'm worth something to you."
"You're worth everything to me," she said without abandon, and he believed her.
Three silhouettes, two human and one large animal, approached the fence protecting the perimeters of Green Gables. One might have thought them brigands at first, by the guilty hunch of their shoulders, and the suspicious glances they cast about while trying to open the back gate without making noise (the humans, that is - the animal didn't feel anything but peevishness). The theory would be dispelled quickly when they giggled conspiratorially, shushing each other like children trying not to get caught doing something slightly naughty.
The horse, unamused by the chuckling, expressed her annoyance vocally, making the humans turn their irritating hushing sounds on her. Soothing her neck with pacifying pets, the pair ushered her as silently as possible into the barn, and didn't emerge until the rooster's first call.
Here we go, a bit of fluff before diving back into the harder stuff. I wanted just one chapter where neither Anne nor Gilbert moans, weeps, cries, or holds back tears. Don't worry, fluff-haters: more grit and torment down the road! In the meanwhile, many thanks to all readers, reviewers and PM senders!
OriginalMcFishie: Thanks! This was always going to be rough on the children, but I wanted there to be some steps mades toward emotional healing, for them and their parents as well!
oz diva: You are absolutely right. There is no complete manual on how-to-mother 101. This is WAY before Dr. Spock, and I'm sure most people in this time didn't openly discuss the emotional repercussions of having children.
PelirrojaBiu: Thank you! More to come with the children down the road.
elizasky: Excellent remarks regarding Anne's lack of experience in parenting: she does, in fact, have experience in caregiving, and has had several mother figures, including Marilla, Miss Stacy, possibly Mrs Blythe and Mrs Barry to a certain extent (not necessarily all great mother figures to her, but present nonetheless). On a more basic level, Anne simply hasn't had a person to call "mother" in her life, and I think she might not be sure exactly what it entails.
As for their communication, you are correct again, it hasn't been stellar. After giving birth, perhaps Anne felt a bit of post partum depression - already a difficult concept today, I wonder how people might have dealt with it in Anne's time.
I didn't mean for the hug in the previous chapter to be icky, though it does come off that way a bit, doesn't it? I thought of her here as being the provider of comfort, and perhaps not quite remembering how to do so, going about it a bit clumsily and hesitantly.