Dear readers,
Thank you all for your reviews. This is the first story I've dared to publish, and your criticism has been constructive and insightful. I was hoping to be able to continue with the story before it got to be too big an issue, but by now many of you have expressed concerns about Anne acting out of character. It is for this reason that I allow myself a second author's note, and ask you to look a bit deeper into the bits from her POV. Does Anne truly seem to be fine? As to why would she abandon her husband and children - why does Anne do anything she ever does? As AOGG fans, can we honestly say that we haven't begged the LMM book version of Anne to forgive Gilbert after he rescued her in the pond chapter? Or yelled at the screen/book when she refuses his proposals? And yet in the end, doesn't she always right the situation?
Without risking any spoilers, while I cannot rival the loveable Anne created by LMM (she alone owns the "real" Anne), I promise to deliver a version of Anne we'll be able to live with. In the meanwhile, I offer this insert as a chapter I'd been saving for later. Gilbert, Anne and Jack will resume in chapter 11.
I look forward to your future comments! Thank you for reading! xo
Jem crouched down in the grass. He couldn't be seen by the enemy. Silently, he crouched behind a thicket, counted to five, then jumped out and fired at them.
"Whatcha doing, son?"
"Playing war," he informed his father, squinting in the horizon for sign of more hidden enemies.
"Wanna come help me with the horses?"
Jem shrugged. "Ok." He left his game of pretend behind, glad to be invited along. One on one time with his father was a treat of which he would never grow tired.
"So. I hear you and Walt had a tiff this morning."
"He said we can't celebrate my birthday until Mother comes back." His father sighed, but he didn't seem to be cross, so Jem dared to ask: "Do I still get to have a birthday?"
"Of course," answered his father, seeming more stunned than anything. That was a relief. He had been a bit worried that Walter's crybaby face would make his father cave in (as usual) and cancel his birthday.
"Tell you what. We'll have your birthday with Grandma and Grandpa, and then we'll celebrate again with your Mother when she gets back."
"Nah, that's alright."
At this, his father's eyebrows shot up. "Wouldn't you want her to make your birthday cake?"
"Susan promised she'd make me one. Chocolate, with frosting and three layers. She said it'll be even better than Mother's."
The frown on his face puzzled Jem. After all, Father loved chocolate, and he always said Susan was one of the family.
"Right. Well, let's go get those horses."
H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H
"Do be still, Jack," implored Diana, struggling to wipe the messy, scowling face. "You may join your brother once you are cleaned up."
Chubby little firsts fought against the damp cloth. "No clee! No clee, Mommy!"
"Yes clee, Baby," she sighed, getting in a swipe between his batting hands.
"I no baby!" he replied indignantly.
"That is true," she muttered under her breath. "The way you're up to your ears in stains after every meal, I'm tempted to believe I'm raising a little piggy as a son."
"Piggy!" he giggled, the battle forgotten, just like that. She took advantage of the switch in humor to quickly rid his cheeks of the mashed potatoes that were now drying into a crust. The sound of the front door opening, followed by the habitual "I'm home, Di!" told her that Jack's post-dinner bath was officially over.
"Dada!" he hollered and wriggled out of her lap, running straight into his father's arms. Diana watched lovingly as her husband lifted their youngest child up.
"And what swamp did this thing crawl out from?" he asked indulgently, readjusting his spectacles with his free hand.
"I no thing!" explained the boy. "I piggy!"
"Ah, I see," said his father with an understanding look. "What do you think, Mother? Shall we make him into sausage, or simply sell him at the market?"
"No! No!" Jack shrieked with laughter at his father's teasing and tickles.
"Ok, off you go." He set the boy down with a little pat to his bottom, and rubbed his own lower back. Jack was getting too big to be carried, but neither of his parents could help but baby him.
"How was the auction, dearest?" asked Diana, setting the dirty dishes in the washbasin.
"Same as always," answered her husband as he sat down. "Old man Webber bought out half the town's cattle, making his point about the banks' investments. I swung by the post office on my way back, there's a couple letters for you."
"Oh, who from?" She walked up to him, drying her hands with a dishcloth.
"There's one from your sister, and one - well, it doesn't quite say, but it looks like Anne's handwriting, does it not?"
Diana took the letter and read off the envelope. "She usually addresses her letters. But yes, it is her hand writing." She turned it over in her hand. "It looks battered, like it's been around the world twice and back."
"I'll go wash up, I won't be long," he said, but she barely heard him. Something felt off. Sitting down, she ripped it open and unfolded the single sheet of paper.
She read it. Looked up unseeingly.
Her frown deepened; she read it again. Anne. She grasped at her heart. "Fred!" she called as soon as she found her voice, then again, louder. "FRED!"
"What? What is it?" He rushed back into the kitchen, his collar undone.
"Did you know?" She held the letter out to him.
"Know what?" he asked, and she knew from his expression that he did not.
"Read it, then wire Gilbert immediately. I'll pack the bags."