Author's Note:

Dear Anne-girls

A belated Happy New Year to you all.

I'm sorry to have posted this chapter and then taken it down. I've never done that before. I wrote some comments in my last author's note that I thought had been misinterpreted.

I referred to some tongue-in-cheek new year resolutions that I had posted at the top of my last Betwixt the Stars chapter, which were meant to be a little humorous but also a little true, and referred to them and wrote some comments here in the same ironic tone, but when I read it back it read as flippant and uncaring -ie I'll get to your thank yous and reviews when I'm able, end of. It was all about not beating myself up about it anymore, and you are probably sick of hearing about it anyway... and so, I saw my note in a new light, and, er … beat myself up.

That's what happens when you are feeling a little too fragile! And take this all, sometimes, a little too seriously. A friend here once reminded me this is meant to be fun.

If anyone read the previous introduction to this chapter and thought it was a bit rich, sorry for the bad wording, and it certainly wasn't my intention to offend, if I did.

My intention wasn't to blather any longer in these author's notes and look what has happened.

I'll stop writing and get to Anne and Gilbert now, which I probably should have done the first time.

Love and thanks

MrsVonTrapp x

Chapter Ten

Leaping

Anne

"Anne Shirley, what is the meaning of this?" Marilla asked, as exasperated now as she had been over any number of Anne's youthful exploits, from green hair to drowned mice. "We'll want to be leaving in ten minutes!"

"Marilla! I can't go to church today!" Anne wailed as if she might still be a woebegone pre-pubescent. "I'm sure I could pray as expertly here. I might indeed need the intervention."

"For mercy's sake, Anne! I fear I have one of my headaches coming on! I am relying on you to help Rachel with the twins!"

"Oh, they'll be good as gold," Anne dismissed. "But you'll need someone to stay and look after you then, Marilla," Anne offered hopefully. "You might need tending to."

"If Anne can say home then can I?" Davy ducked his flaxen head in the door, but was promptly shooed off by Rachel Lynde, come to see what all the fuss and delay was about. Davy was directed downstairs to help assist the hired man with the horse and buggy, which left Marilla and Rachel in the doorway to Anne's room, bothered and bewildered alternatively.

"Well, of course this comes from staying out with Gilbert Blythe till all hours," Rachel huffed knowingly, as only the mother of ten children had leave to do. "No wonder you look peaky this morning, Anne. Though if Gilbert makes it to church himself having the doctor's full clearance now, I very much doubt he'd care if you had a bag stuck over your head."

"I can't face Gilbert!" Anne quailed, shaking her currently unencumbered head furiously for emphasis. "Considering I made such a terrible idiot of myself!"

"Nonsense!" Rachel interjected. "Things looked perfectly fine last night when he dropped – I mean collected you - for the dance. More than fine!"

"Did you quarrel?" Marilla interrupted anxiously.

"No! Nothing of the sort! It was a magical evening, just delightful! And then I had to ruin it, with… with... some schoolgirl impulsivity!" Anne reddened magnificently, large grey eyes silently imploring Marilla with the unspoken language of a decade of growing understanding, and the last few weeks of a touching shared sympathy.

A fleeting look of panic passed Marilla Cuthbert's lined face, softened now by the years spent in the loving, often unpredictable presence of this girl. She whispered fervently to Rachel Lynde beside her, whose eyes grew rounder with each word, before that redoubtable lady hustled out to move along the twins, giving Anne a firm nod and a reminder of time marching as she did.

"Marilla…" Anne faltered.

"Now, Anne," Marilla found herself rubbing at her temples, fearing a headache would come on now all the same. "Really, what is all this stuff and nonsense? You know you must go to church. It's a terrible message to send the twins if you refuse to go on a whim."

Marilla settled herself carefully on the bed beside Anne, who sat up with a sigh to make room for her.

"I don't mean to be childish, Marilla," she admitted, low-voiced. "I've just embarrassed myself again, that's all, and don't know how I might face him."

"Gilbert? What terrible crime have you committed now?"

"I… I… kissed him!" Anne admitted in dread tones, flushing anew profusely.

Marilla blinked blue eyes rapidly. "Is that all?"

"Isn't it enough?"

"Oh, the pair of you, honestly…" Marilla looked like she might well chuckle, or at the very least smirk.

"Marilla! You don't understand! It was a terrible gaffe, and I've made such a fool of myself!"

"I hardly think Gilbert will think so. And what makes you think I wouldn't understand?" those thin lips quirked at the corners, and she gave an eyebrow raise to boot. "You forget I was once courted by a Blythe myself, Anne Shirley."

Anne looked like she wanted to refute the idea of courting, in relation to Gilbert, but was clearly too accosted by the idea of young Marilla kissing John Blythe.

"Mr Blythe?" Anne's grey eyes were agog. "K-kissing?"

"Frequently," Marilla offered unrepentantly, with something of a gleam in her eye. "And often amorously. So if Gilbert is anything like his father, then – "

"Gilbert hasn't kissed me, Marilla! That's just the point! I thought he might, but he… we… well, then, I kissed him. A peck really. On the cheek. Well, not even a peck, more like – "

"Anne! For goodness' sake! You're fretting over a kiss on the cheek?"

Anne was speechlessly abashed.

"Well, he might be John's son, but he has more than enough of Ella in him, obviously," Marilla remarked with exasperated huff. "Both of you have always overthought things, worrying them from every possible angle. Rachel would say it comes of having too many brains and too little common sense. And none of this is helping you get to church on time. What message will that send to the Blythes?"

"Do you think Gil will be there? I'd much rather see him privately than in a crowd with everyone looking on…"

Marilla's expression became shuttered. "Anne, whether he is there today or not is his concern, not your own. We need you to please remember your responsibilities, come down this instant and accompany your family to church."

"Yes, Marilla," Anne acquiesced, shamefacedly, not daring to provoke further stern reaction. She shimmied off the bed and stood forlornly by the glass in a way that would make Davy impressed, straightened her skirt and blouse, and took a hat from the stand, pinning it in place unseeingly. "I hope you have a good rest while we are away."

"Rest is unlikely…" Marilla muttered under her breath, watching her beloved girl troop despondently down the stairs she had fairly glided down the previous evening. "But I need you away, love, at any rate."

Marilla Cuthbert did not draw breath again until Anne was safely in the buggy, wedged between Rachel and Dora, Davy directing their horse at a firm trot towards town.

Gilbert

John Blythe thumped downstairs to the now-familiar sights and smells of his wife plying their son with a full cooked breakfast, though there would hardly be enough time to digest the generous helpings on hand before they did it all again for their midday meal.

"Am I to be saved any?" he chuckled, as Ella beamed and their boy dreamed at the table, having paused over his eggs mid-forkful to relive some magical memory of the previous night that had him staring into space, a small smile playing about his lips. John and Ella gave fond perusal to this distracted figure, with a roll of the eyes and a shake of the head respectively, and he lost no time in planting a passionate kiss on his wife's waiting lips, having some memories of his own to reflect upon whilst Gilbert had spent a long evening away at White Sands.

"And so, son, are you off with us to church today? There's so many been asking after you. I can scarcely walk down the main street in less than a quarter hour at the moment for being stopped by a Sloane or a Bell or an Andrews."

Gilbert snapped out of his reverie, hazel eyes flicking from his father seating himself opposite, to his mother refilling his tea.

"I hoped to visit Diana and the baby, now that Dr Spencer gave me the official all clear…" Gilbert hedged, mind whirring almost visibly. "And I… planned… to see Miss Cuthbert, this morning. She herself promised she was going to stay behind from the service."

John and Ella exchanged a loaded look, and the latter retraced her steps to deposit the kettle back on the range.

"Anything you need to tell us, Gil?" John questioned carefully.

The flush found Gilbert, though his look was reassuringly wry. "Nothing yet."

"You mean to ask Marilla's blessing?" Ella Blythe found her voice.

"Yes…" Gilbert paused. "Although… I would like to know I have yours, first."

The question was directed at his mother, and they all knew it.

Ella Blythe looked again to her husband, who gave her an encouraging nod and then upped and rounded the table, clapping his son on the back, and nearly dislodging Gilbert's current mouthful in the process.

"Of course you have our blessing, you great lump!"

"Thanks, Dad," Gilbert coughed into his napkin, recovering his breath to smile, which faded as he observed his mother carry herself upstairs. His bewildered hazel eyes shot to his father, reseating himself and buttering his toast in nonplussed fashion, and his own breakfast now churned inside his stomach. If his mother was still somehow disappointed in Anne and couldn't forgive what she saw as past transgressions, could he really have a future with her? Could he face the fight to claim one woman he loved whilst upsetting and alienating the other?

"Dad…" Gilbert faltered. "Ma. Is she…?"

A light, firm tread on the stairs signalled her return, and Gilbert watched his mother come back towards him, his heart fluttering trepidatiously. She carried both her hat for church and a small box, and she deposited both on the table before seating herself between the men in her life. John Blythe took a gulp of tea, grabbed at a slice of buttered toast and muttered about seeing to the horse, giving his wife a quick squeeze on the shoulder and his son a wink before exiting stage left. Gilbert swung his attention back to his mother, trying to decipher the firm, resolute look she wore on her still-fine features, which had reclaimed their gentle beauty in the weeks following his recovery.

"Ma…" Gilbert set his plate aside, prepared if needed to fight his corner. "I've been wanting to talk to you about – "

"Gilbert John Blythe!" Ella interrupted impatiently. "There really isn't the time for you to state your case regarding Anne, though I'm sure you would articulate it passionately, and love, knowing you, even reasonably…" her look gave way to indulgent smile, which turned wry as she saw how her son was wrong-footed. "I know you love her, Gilbert. And for what it's worth, and goodness only knows she's taken her sweet time about it, I believe she loves you, too."

There were few occasions in life where Ella Blythe had wanted to stop time, but the look of utter astonishment on her darling son's handsome visage was one she would have delighted to linger on.

"Ma… I… I…" Gilbert interjected with inarticulate splutter, which rather put paid to the previous assertion.

"Gilbert, if you'll do me the courtesy, love, to please just wait until I've finished. I need to say my piece, and then I will never speak of it again."

Gilbert swallowed slowly. "Alright, Ma."

Ella took a breath, and then a long sip of tea.

"I didn't think I would ever forgive Anne Shirley for refusing you…" Ella began with a painful directness that made Gilbert wince involuntarily. "I couldn't believe that after all you had shared – and let's face it, all you had done for her – that she could be so foolish as to not see what was right in front of her, and what everyone else – including Marilla and Rachel Lynde, I'll have you know – could see as plain as day. That you were a match for one another, and a rare one at that."

Ella paused, and Gilbert felt a tremble pass through him. He had to grip his own tea with tight fingers to remind himself not to speak.

"So when the whispers of conjecture started to reach us…" his mother continued quietly, "I dismissed them as idle talk. What would anyone know about it, ahead of we ourselves? But you never spoke of it, and came home so down, and then we knew.

I was furious, and desperately heartbroken for you, love, and I was, quite honestly, rather sorry for myself. I had embraced Anne, too. I could remember her more times than I could count seated with you at this very table, your heads bent together, setting the world to rights. I liked her fire and her spirit; it kept you on your toes. I never wanted some simpering miss for you, but someone who would be your equal, and a daughter I could love as well as my own…" At this she blinked back sudden tears, and Gilbert's hand reached out to clutch hers.

"Ma, I…"

"Shush. Let me finish now or I never will. So… your father adored her, of course, and defended her to the hills, and that got my goat good and proper, because I was sure he was only defending her as Marilla's girl. At any rate, I would have nothing to do with her, and froze her out whenever I might encounter her in the village, particularly when it seemed she was keeping company with some high and mighty Kingsport fellow. I'm not proud of that, Gilbert, but I must own to it. But I rationalised it didn't matter, because you had all your wonderful plans; you would go on to become a fine doctor, and build a fine life for yourself, and you didn't need her. Only, that was my mistake, of course, because you did. You always did. And you still do."

There was a heavy silence, and Ella patted Gilbert's hand before redirecting her own to her tea.

Gilbert found himself flushing. "Yes, Ma. You're right. The last two years were terrible, for me. Not, in the end, because she said no… but because I spent those two years without Anne really being a part of them."

Ella nodded, even as her son struggled with his next thought.

"Dad told me that I called for her, in… in my fever, and not for you. I'm sorry, Ma."

Ella gave a wavering ghost of a smile in reply. "I could never blame you for that, darling. Shamefully… I think I blamed her."

Gilbert had suspected as much, but his bright hazel eyes – his mother's eyes - still widened to hear it. Ella colored at her revelation.

"And now?" he pressed, his question a strangled sound.

"And now…" Ella sighed, before looking at him almost imploringly, "how could I blame the girl who needed a second chance, the way I was given? Who needs you as much as you need her? I saw her face that first morning after your fever had broken and you were out of danger, Gilbert. It was like… looking in a mirror, to my own pain and regret and desperation. No woman was going to have a look like that and not be in love with you."

Ella paused, hazel eyes trained on the boy turned man who carried all the best of her and John in him.

"I hurt your father, Gilbert, when I said no the first time, and then I scorned Anne for doing what I had done, because it made me reconsider my own actions… I still don't feel it was wrong to say no, for it wasn't the right time, for your Dad and I… but I am ever grateful that I had another chance to say yes. And Anne deserves that chance, too."

"Oh, Ma – thank you!" Gilbert launched himself at her, as he had done all those years ago on his return from Alberta, before he had remembered himself, nearly fourteen and beyond the outward need for hugs, if not quite the internal desire. But he was man enough to admit, now, the power and pleasure of an embrace, and his strong Blythe arms engulfed his mother with a need for it himself, as well as for her. Ella laughed joyously, for perhaps the first time since his return to them, or perhaps maybe really for the first time since she had snubbed Anne Shirley in the street, and then cried about it after.

"Well, look what happens the moment a man's back is turned!" John came in through the back door, chuckling at the heartening sight of his wife and their son. "D'you think Anne'll like it, then?"

"Like it?" Gilbert queried through a brilliant smile, extracting himself from their hug, his eyes as suspiciously moist as his mother's.

"Oh, we hadn't quite gotten to that part," Ella laughed again, almost giddily, wiping at the corner of her eyes, and the sound made her husband's heart stutter, in similar vein to the second time he had asked her a certain question.

"Well, right, then," John gave her a soft look that might have belonged to his son, lately, in contemplation of Anne. "In your own time, love. Though I'd be grateful for some eggs of my own while I'm waiting in anticipation."

Ella heaped a mountainous serving onto his plate, planting a kiss at his handsome, weathered brow for good measure, and then turned back to Gilbert, handing over the box.

"Here, darling, from both of us. It was my mother's. We won't have you going empty-handed to Anne. And we won't have you using all your savings, either. Take it directly to her, if you think she'll like it, or go up to Charlottetown and use it to buy her something different. Do either with our love. And our blessing."

Incredulous, Gilbert opened the small box, and inside it a smaller one still, of navy velvet, its casing slightly worn with time and age, and the creak as he prised the lid open reminded him, appropriately enough he was to find, of an oyster, reluctant to give up its prize.

Inside, against a satin sapphire sea there sat a delicate gold band, upon which perched a perfect circlet of pearls; luminous as Anne's complexion in the moonlight, and lovely in both its sheen and simplicity. Gilbert swallowed in awed admiration, dumbstruck and overcome. He had not allowed himself many thoughts as to rings; knowing vaguely of Anne's disliking of diamonds (helpfully confirmed in Phil's letter) he instead had ruminated on a ruby, meditated on a moonstone, and agonised over an emerald, but nothing felt like it belonged to her. This did.

"I know they say pearls are for tears, love," his mother broke into his reverie, mistaking his silence for uncertainty, but – "

"No, Ma," he replied fiercely, "it's beautiful, and utterly perfect. If I know anything about Anne at all, it's that she will love it, and how it came to her. I'm honoured to present it to her. Thank you. I can't say thank you, enough, to you both. For this. For your support. For… everything."

A single tear tracked Gilbert's cheek, and then he chuckled wryly and joked about the prophesy coming true.

His parents embraced him either side, and they stood for a moment; a still-life of family, feeling on the cusp of that notion changing shape and definition for all of them.

"Well, Gil, you'd best be off to Marilla, then," John reminded. "Good luck with that. I'll say a prayer or two for you in church, then, shall I?" he gave cheeky wink, which earned him a dig in the ribs from his wife.

There was a scurry to clean up quickly before the Blythes parted; his parents to church, and Gilbert to Green Gables. His long strides took him there with new purpose; his pocket heavy with the ring as promise, and his parents' well wishes carried with him as of a prayer.

XXXXX

Marilla Cuthbert met him at the door without ceremony.

"Gilbert! Welcome!" she smiled, in that way of hers which always seemed enigmatic, when directed at him.

"Thank you, Miss Cuthbert, sincerely, for seeing me."

"Not at all. I have the tea ready. Please come on through."

The plain kitchen table was nicely laid with the second-best china, and he was glad of that, not wanting Marilla to think of him, today of all days, as a stranger conducting a polite call, but almost as… family. His heart and stomach were too full to eat, though he would have shovelled in anything presented to him in an effort to please, but the tea was a welcome relief, both to his parched throat and as distraction from his mission. He made inane enquiries as to everyone's health, and Marilla offered some perfunctory questions about the dance at White Sands, and then they both stalled, looking at the other expectantly.

In the silence even his jangling knee sounded as if a hammer.

"Miss Cuthbert, I want to begin first by offering you an apology," he finally blurted.

"Apology?" those blue eyes widened.

"Yes. I am referring back to... that is to my… conduct, two years ago. You see, and I'm sure that you did, in time… that I proposed. To Anne. During our second year at Redmond. She… she… well, she refused me, as she had every right to do. It was a genuine proposal, but somewhat… ill-considered, on my part, and certainly, on reflection, ill-timed. I'm very sorry you never heard of it directly, from me, or that I never communicated to you my intentions."

"Gilbert…" Marilla's face had softened, though there was something in that wide, slightly downturned mouth he couldn't decipher. "You owe no apology, though I accept it willingly. It cannot have been an easy thing to go through. And the time… after," she alluded, meaningfully.

"No, indeed," he nodded, distance and more dire circumstances since enabling him to consider that time thoughtfully, now, and to take on board the lessons learned.

"With that in mind, Miss Cuthbert," he cleared his throat, feeling as if his entire heart had stuffed itself down his oesophagus, "I would like to do things properly, this time. I must tell you that I love Anne. I love her with everything in me, and always have done, and I have reason to believe… that is, I have hope that her… feelings… are the same. Or that, more accurately, they have changed. And that my intention is to ask for her hand. And to ask… to ask… for your blessing."

Gilbert had occasionally mused upon the circumstances around his father's relationship with Marilla Cuthbert, and how he had once come to love her. Although Gilbert found her to be a worthy woman and wonderful in having adopted and raised Anne, earning his eternal gratitude, he had always puzzled a little at what his father had seen in her. It had always seemed a little unlikely. So he was wholly unprepared for his suit to be met with a golden smile that lit her lined face, transforming her features from cloud to sunbeam. In a moment she morphed from matriarch to maiden, clasping her hands together in unbridled joy; the stern shell fell away, and Gilbert glimpsed the merry girl she might have been, and finally understood.

"Gilbert! Oh, Gilbert – you don't know how happy that news makes me!"

"Thank you, Miss Cuthbert!" he gave a delighted, relieved smile.

"And of course you have my blessing! You had it years ago. And Mrs Lynde would more than echo those sentiments. And certainly… Matthew."

"Well, that means a great deal," Gilbert paused momentarily to remember the kind, soft-spoken (and rarely-spoken) man Anne remembered so fondly. And then he remembered Mrs Lynde. "I wouldn't wish, however, for any news of my intentions to pre-empt my asking Anne…" he worried.

"Not a bit of it. We will stay silent here until you're ready."

"Thank you. I am hoping to ask very soon, in the next day or so. Regrettably, we don't have a lot of the summer left to us."

"No, unfortunately not."

"And I must assure you, Miss Cuthbert, that even though I have years of medical school ahead, I will never lose sight of my goal; to provide Anne with the very best I can offer at the end of it. I'll strive to save for a comfortable home for us, and will secure the very best living I can."

Again, that smile; fond and almost bemused at his earnestness, now. "I know you will. And so will Anne know it, too."

Conscious of time and of the other residents due to return, Gilbert rose dazedly, not quite believing it had all gone so well.

"Of course, this is all supposing Anne says yes this time," he felt almost secure enough to joke about it now.

Marilla's blue eyes magnificently twinkled, and her expression was very droll; lips pressed together as if stemming the tide of all sorts of revelations, lest they burst forth.

"I believe I have every faith in her, in this respect," was all she would allow herself.

"Well, thank you so very much, Miss Cuthbert," Gilbert shook her hand warmly. "I hope to see you again very soon."

"And you, Gilbert Blythe," Marilla Cuthbert saw off the tall, intelligent, striking young man. She noted the same firm, long-legged stride that had once quickened her heart, half a lifetime ago, and might have paused to muse on the peculiarity of Providence, only the dishes needed doing.

Anne

"How are you, Marilla?" Anne rushed in, to see Marilla placidly finishing up at the kitchen sink. "Oh, you should have been resting, not working!"

"I'm fine, Anne. All the better for having a quiet morning, I expect." Marilla saw an enquiring eyebrow arch upwards as she exchanged an unseen look with Rachel, and nodded her head once, making her long-time neighbour, now housemate, puff out her not inconsiderable bosom in unexpressed pleasure, though she could not contain a purse-lipped smile of Lynde smugness.

"What passage was the sermon taken from, Anne?" Marilla tried to divert attention. "I'd like to read back over it, later."

"Oh, Marilla, I'm afraid I don't remember…" Anne fussed with Dora's apron in her distraction, directing Davy not to have his shoes on the clean floor and studiously avoiding the knowing gaze of the two older ladies.

"We were told Gilbert Blythe was not at church as he wanted to call on the young Wrights and see the baby," Rachel explained, studied tone heavy with meaning.

"Well, then, all's well, is it not, Anne?"

"I guess so…" she sighed. "The Blythes were certainly very nice and chatted for quite a few minutes this morning. Even Mrs Blythe," Anne added in sombre tone.

"Will you go over to Diana's yourself later, Anne?" Rachel prompted hopefully.

"I don't think so… I have Alice's wedding and I've no idea what to wear… and I owe a great many letters… I might just take everything downstairs here and sit in the sunlight for the afternoon…" Her dejected air made it an almost mournful proposition.

"And that way you won't happen to miss any of your own visitors…" Rachel nodded sagely, choosing to ignore Marilla's exasperated look of warning.

Gilbert

"Gilbert!" Diana Wright all but squeezed the life out of him in greeting, which was no small feat considering she also clutched a red-faced, fat little fellow in the crook of her arm. "You gave us the fright of our lives! Don't ever do that again!"

"I won't if I can help it. Hello, there, Diana, and congratulations. I'm sorry I couldn't call earlier. I wanted to be completely sure it was safe for the baby."

"Oh, Gil… we've so missed seeing you." She only relinquished him in part, still clutching his hand in her soft one.

"And I've missed you, Di. You are looking wonderful!" The happy blush of motherhood had added further lustre to Diana's rosy-cheeked loveliness.

That drew a dazzling smile. "Come and sit down and I'll get the tea on."

Gilbert followed her into the pleasantly appointed kitchen of Lone Willow Farm, watching her juggling baby Fred with the expertise innate, it seemed, to all new mothers, and would have managed everything well enough with one hand, only Gilbert gestured that he would take the infant, considering if he was actually going to greet them as they came into the world in the future he might as well get used to seeing them up close.

"Well, he's lovely, Diana," he felt leave to comment, thinking this a safe enough gambit on first appraisal. "And pretty healthy, from the weight of him. Well done to you."

Diana glowed. "And well done to you as well, Gil. I have it on good authority you were skin and bones nigh on a month ago. I can't believe how well you look now."

"That's good of you, Di. I was a ghastly sight, that's for sure. I'm glad at least you were spared that much. Though it does, thankfully, all seem like a long time ago, now. So much has happened since."

It was an innocent enough remark, meant to encompass Diana's own dramatic change in circumstances as much as anything, but his old school friend, ever sharper than she was usually given credit for, raised a dark eyebrow in conjecture, her smile soft and knowing.

"Yes, it has…" she agreed, dark eyes raking over him.

Gilbert turned his attention back to the placid young man who had obviously inherited his father's propensity for sleeping anywhere he lay his head; and from what he could observe, his looks as well as his name, which was obviously more of a mixed blessing.

"So who do you think he looks like?" Diana urged as she brought over the tea, and Gilbert hardly fancied being caught like a fly in the web of this seemingly casual question.

"Well, I find him very like his father…" he grinned the obvious, patting his rump through his swaddling, and then remembered Anne's words, in a flash of inspiration, "but he seems like he has your mouth, Di."

Diana beamed at this, offering a slice of cake for him in reward.

Fred came in not long after, to find the beautiful tableaux of his contented wife, happy son and healthy friend, seated in his own kitchen, and with full heart considered he wanted for nothing else in this world.

Except for possibly…

"Hey there, Gil!" Fred gave delighted, gentle greeting, having long accustomed his gruffer tones to their new domestic arrangements. "Glad you could make it over to see us. And I see young Fred approves."

"It seems Gilbert's a natural," Diana grinned leadingly, lifting her face for her husband's kiss.

"It sure does," Fred smiled widely, taking his cue, and the pair of them turned to face him speculatively.

Gilbert rolled his eyes at their obviousness, feeling his ring burn a hole in his pocket. If he hinted so much as a snippet of his intentions in front of Diana he'd hardly have to worry about Mrs Lynde; Diana would have the news over to Green Gables in an instant, and if still unable to do it in person might just resort to signalling by candlelight as she and Anne had been wont to do when still schoolgirls.

"Well, he's a fine little fellow…" Gilbert attempted his ruse, wondering aloud as to whether the young chap's eye color would take after his father's or darken as of his mother's, but it seemed neither Wright was having it.

"How was the dance at White Sands, Gilbert?" Diana now pressed, taking baby Fred back so that Gilbert might gulp his tea, her boldness fortified by her husband's presence.

"The dance was very pleasant, thank you," Gilbert countered blandly.

"Do you have any plans to take Anne out again?" Diana asked in desperation.

"No immediate plans, thanks, Diana." Gilbert grinned.

Diana all but scowled as Fred chuckled at his obtuse answers.

"What say we take a wander and I show you what we've done with the back fields?" Fred offered by way of rescue to his friend.

"Sounds good," Gilbert nodded, snaffling his slice of cake and pausing at the door Fred had just come through to give Diana a cheeky, charming salute.

"I can't believe I wore out my knees praying for you, Gilbert Blythe!" Diana called out after him in frustration.

XXXXX

"If you don't give me some news, Gil, I'll be made to pay for it later," Fred shook his head, smiling in chagrin, the two men seated on twin hay bales, only having gotten as far as the other side of the barn.

"Will Diana send you to bed without any supper?" Gilbert smirked, but Fred's grimace told a different story.

"A wife has ways, Gilbert, to winkle information out of you, believe me. When you're a married man, you'll know it."

Gilbert's smirk of smugness died a quick death. "How so?" he was almost afraid to ask.

"Well surely these past weeks you've gotten close enough to Anne to get a hint of it?" Fred raised an eyebrow.

Gilbert took a long time contemplating his hands. "We… that is, Anne and I… we haven't started from the same place that you and Diana did, Fred. We've had to become friends again, first, and learn to trust and to communicate and…"

"… and worry things into next week," Fred shook his head in despair. "Honestly, Gil, sometimes I don't believe you were ever raised on a farm at all!"

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "You make me sound like a babe in the woods."

"Nah. Just not quite knowing what you're in for. You're passionate and Anne's passionate. Surely you've had a few interesting encounters already?"

Gilbert flushed. "Anne and I have always had interesting encounters."

Fred's perfectly plain face broke on its bemusement. "I am not talking debating at Redmond, you pillock."

Gilbert blew out a frustrated breath. "What changed, for you and Di? When was the moment?"

Fred gave this weighty question due consideration. "I can pretty much pinpoint it to when I first kissed her."

"And this was before or after you were engaged?"

Fred looked askance in his direction. "Gil, I haven't your looks or charm or brains. Apart from my own blundering ardour and enthusiasm I hadn't much else to recommend me. Of course it was before. I think she'd hardly have said yes otherwise!"

Gilbert gave a comical frown at this news.

"Then I really am in for it! I hope to do both at the same time!"

"You mean to tell me you have been in love with Anne for years, four of them with her in Kingsport, proposed to her once already, and spent the last month in her almost exclusive company, and you still haven't kissed her?" Fred seemed suspiciously in tone and demeanour to be holding back a laugh.

"That's about the size of it," Gilbert sighed deeply.

Fred elbowed him in the ribs. "Good luck with it all then, Gil. You are in for a world of pleasure - and pain. And don't worry about any great secret getting out. Diana would never believe any of it even if she did manage to get it out of me."

Gilbert parted from the Wrights; their domestic felicity causing a dull throb of longing in his chest. Would he and Anne enjoy the same comfort and intimacy, the same affectionate accord, as Fred and Diana? Jo and Phil Blake? Even his own parents? No one could know for sure. Marriage was a leap of faith; a communion of love and trust and hope. Gilbert could not quantify it with science, or prescribe the perfect blend of personality and circumstance. All he could do… was take the leap himself, and hold Anne's hand firmly in his as they jumped together.

Having talked about his future with Anne with everyone but the lady in question, he was suddenly seized by a desperation to see her; he ached to ask her now; to look into her eyes and know he was home, and home to her. The afternoon summer sun slanted down in sharp shards; he had been walking around in his second-best suit for hours now, and shrugged off his jacket, rolling up his shirt sleeves to boot. Anne had seen him in every mode of dress and every incarnation – even barely dressed in his sickbed – so he didn't worry about any informality now. He would come to her as his true self; embodying the memory of their rambles together; their past always informing their future.

A ramble in the woods? Back to their apple tree? Down the lane? Their echoes sounded all over this part of Avonlea, but where would be the perfect place? To ask her the question he hoped would be welcomed now; to say how he would lay down his life for her and her happiness; how he would strive every day to be the best possible version of himself in her sight.

He neared Green Gables and his heart quickened; not with trepidation, but with excitement, and the inevitability of the rightness of their union; of their long dance coming to a close. Or more perfectly, a new dance just about to begin.

"I've come up to ask you to go for one of our old-time rambles through September woods and `over hills where spices grow,' this afternoon," said Gilbert, coming suddenly around the porch corner. He found his inspiration in the sight of her, hitting upon the idea as he announced it. "Suppose we visit Hester Gray's garden." *

Anne, sitting on the stone step with her lap full of a pale, filmy, green stuff, looked up rather blankly. She had been thinking on the previous evening; of Gilbert's look to her as they danced; as they stood together in this very place, staring at one another as Time teased them; still wondering if the leap of lips to his cheek had been inspired or erroneous.

"Gilbert!" Anne breathed to his stuttering smile; in an instant they were back to that moment her mind had just drifted to.

"Hello, Anne," he greeted, one tanned forearm cradling his jacket, the other thrust into his pocket.

"We missed you at church!" she blurted in her surprise, her grey eyes looking to his imploringly.

"Yes… sorry about that. I had intended to go, but I thought God might forgive me my extended absence more quickly than baby Fred and Diana would."

Anne smiled fondly at mere mention of the little family. "And how did you find young Master Wright?"

"Red. Fat. Very contented."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"So, what say you, Anne-girl?" he asked.

"Pardon?" Anne started.

"To my suggestion?"

"Suggestion?" Anne squeaked.

"A ramble together up to Hester Gray's."

Anne opened her mouth and closed it again, rather adorably, and Gilbert did indeed wonder how he could have gone all these years without kissing that mouth. His hand tightened around the little box in his pocket and his throat around the promise of his yet-delivered words.

"Oh, I wish I could," she said slowly, "but I really can't, Gilbert." Anne succumbed to a great blush under his gaze, and a flustered flapping about with the material in her lap. "I'm going to Alice Penhallow's wedding this evening, you know. I've got to do something to this dress, and by the time it's finished I'll have to get ready. I'm so sorry. I'd love to go."

Gilbert swallowed the regret he saw mirrored in her lovely face. Honestly, when had circumstances not conspired to separate them? They would laugh about it someday, he hoped, settled in front of a roaring fire, his arm around her waist and her head on his shoulder, spinning the dreams they were on the cusp of dreaming together. He was so close to that moment he could almost taste it on his tongue.

"Well, can you go tomorrow afternoon, then?" asked Gilbert, apparently not much disappointed.

Her bottom lip trembled as she studied him. "Yes, I think so."

His heart calmed. "In that case I shall hie me home at once to do something I should otherwise have to do tomorrow. So Alice Penhallow is to be married tonight. Three weddings for you in one summer, Anne - Phil's, Alice's, and Jane's. I'll never forgive Jane for not inviting me to her wedding."

At the mere talk of weddings, Anne's cheeks rose in color again, though her reply was as determinedly merry as her tone.

"You really can't blame her when you think of the tremendous Andrews connection who had to be invited. The house could hardly hold them all. I was only bidden by grace of being Jane's old chum - at least on Jane's part. I think Mrs. Harmon's motive for inviting me was to let me see Jane's surpassing gorgeousness."

"Is it true that she wore so many diamonds that you couldn't tell where the diamonds left off and Jane began?"

Anne laughed.

"Yes, you'll remember I mentioned it weeks ago. She certainly wore a good many. What with all the diamonds and white satin and tulle and lace and roses and orange blossoms, prim little Jane was almost lost to sight. But she was VERY happy, and so was Mr. Inglis - and so was Mrs. Harmon."

Gilbert tried, and failed, to see Anne herself buried under such a dazzling array of diamonds, and was heartened enormously.

"Is that the dress you're going to wear tonight?" asked Gilbert, looking down at the fluffs and frills.

"Yes. Isn't it pretty? And I shall wear starflowers in my hair. The Haunted Wood is full of them this summer."

Gilbert had a sudden vision of Anne, arrayed in a frilly green gown, with the virginal curves of arms and throat slipping out of it, and white stars shining against the coils of her ruddy hair. The vision made him catch his breath. But he turned lightly away.

"Well, I'll be up tomorrow. Hope you'll have a nice time tonight."

"Thank you, Gilbert. I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Not if I see you first, Carrots," he winked.

Anne smiled tremulously and looked after him as he strode away, and sighed. Gilbert was friendly - very friendly - far too friendly. He had come so often to Green Gables after his recovery, and something of their old comradeship had returned, absolutely; strengthened and deepened and solidified, whereas over the past two years it had felt weightless and elusive. But Anne no longer found it satisfying, grateful as she was for it. The rose of love made the blossom of friendship pale and scentless by contrast.

And Anne had again begun to doubt if Gilbert now felt anything for her but friendship. In the common light of common day her radiant certainty of that rapt long-ago morning after the storm had faded, and Gilbert's easy affability just now made her question everything she had felt last night at the dance. She was haunted by a miserable fear that her mistake could never be rectified. Not merely her impulsive kiss, but allthe ways she had wronged him since she had first known him. He had forgiven her, but could he ever really forget? It was quite likely that it was Christine whom Gilbert loved after all. Perhaps he was even engaged to her… Well, if not engaged, at the very least unable to wait until he arrived back in Kingsport and able to enjoy her company again, unencumbered by her own presence.

Anne tried to put all unsettling hopes out of her heart, and reconcile herself to a future where work and ambition must take the place of love. She was a BA now, and soon to be principal of Summerside High. She could do good, if not noble, work as a teacher; and the success her little sketches were beginning to meet with in certain editorial sanctums augured well for her budding literary dreams. But - but - Anne picked up her green dress and sighed again.

She wandered back into the house, to find Marilla and Rachel looking at her with interest.

"Was that Gilbert Blythe just now?" Marilla asked with careful nonchalance.

"Yes…" Anne confirmed. "He asked to take a walk, but I have the dress to fix for the wedding, you know."

"You never sent Gilbert away just now, Anne Shirley?" Rachel's expression betrayed a mild horror at the prospect.

Anne looked, aghast, from matron to spinster. "Was it too rude of me? I didn't want to send him off, I really didn't, but how could I go with him and still get ready for tonight?"

"Just so, Anne…" Marilla soothed, casting a furtive look of thunder to Rachel. "Rachel, would you mind fetching my sewing basket? I think I have just the thread Anne will need for her dress."

Rachel's mouth puckered as if confronted by a lemon or three, and turned on her heel, muttering darkly to herself.

"Was it wrong of me, Marilla?" Anne pleaded. "I can never seem to do the right thing where Gil's concerned! I explained about the wedding… the invitations were issued when he was sick, you see… He said he would call again tomorrow, but oh, I feel awful now!"

"Anne, don't fret."

"What if I… if I've…"

"If you've what?"

"If I've pushed him away? I always seem to do that."

"Did he not say he was coming back tomorrow?"

"Yes…"

"And don't you have faith in him to do so?"

A hearty sigh. "Yes."

"Well then, Anne. Trust in Gilbert, and in his word. It's as true as his heart."

Grey-green eyes looked to her the same way they had looked when Marilla had announced Anne could stay at Green Gables; so full of hard-won hope, ever fearing what and whom she loved would be taken from her. Had it really been ten years ago?

And now, that sweet-souled scrap of a thing, girl no longer, was on the threshold of another life-altering exchange. She would cease belonging just to she and Matthew, and to this house; she would begin to be safeguarded by another, and find her future and her dreams and her happiness and her hope with him. This night was, perhaps, the last time Anne would belong fully to her; and as much as Marilla Cuthbert had longed for this day, the bittersweet tang of her own revelation swept her up unexpectedly.

Anne reached up and kissed her cheek, flinging those still-slim arms around her neck and pressing briefly but lovingly.

Rachel was the one to note the tears in Marilla's eyes as she turned away, knowing something herself, may times over, of this betwixt time; when a daughter was not quite the daughter of yesterday but not yet the daughter of tomorrow. She directed Anne to the sewing basket with enthusiasm, and generously gifted a perfect little panel of lace that would do nicely for the bodice of the dress, receiving a kiss of her own in gratitude.

"You'd best be off to make yourself presentable for the Penhallows," Rachel decreed. "Goodness knows what sort of airs they are putting on, hosting a Sunday wedding. It's downright sacrilegious!"

Anne smiled and wisely made no reply, having learned to hold her tongue somewhat since her first exchange with Rachel Lynde, in the same way the widow had learned to soften hers. Marilla smiled too, though the action was rarer; realising through her love for this girl that she could have a smile on her face and have others see it and the world would not end. Marilla smiled delightedly when Anne came down the stairs in her lovely green dress of froth and fancy, as she and Rachel were enjoying their tea, and the smile was still on her face as she slipped into her dream later that night, of long-ago days and long-legged callers.

Chapter Notes

*Hello again, canon! All italicised passages taken, naturally, from Anne of the Island (Ch 41), with apologies for any liberties, additions and tweaks.