Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed and read this- I say that each time, but I can't take it lightly that you spend your time in my fantasy world! I'm absolutely over the moon that you liked the last chapter- the whole story was built around this section, and I was a mite afraid that it would end up like a house of cards if I messed that chapter up. I'm also stoked that you liked the section in the woods- Carrots told me that Anne and Gil needed a really good make-out session, and I did my best to write one- and as one of you beloved reviewers pointed out, Gil even got to second base there! I nearly killed myself laughing about that term, so thank you for the best laugh I had all week.

Love to you all, and thank you all for being patient while I write through the chaos that is my day-to-day life. It's a good one, but I could really use a few extra hours in the week! Couldn't we all?

Love, Cate.

Chapter 25

John and Amelia Blythe had both agreed that it was better for Anne to see Gilbert off at the Carmody station alone. The tension and grief between the pair at breakfast had been palpable- very much reminding the older couple of another painful goodbye many years earlier. While Amelia fussed over Gilbert's luggage and clothing and the necessary basket of food for the journey, John was taking Anne out to the yard to make sure that she was comfortable driving the buggy and instructing her on Achilles' peculiarities- named by Gilbert after a well-aimed kick when he was a foal. He was perfectly gentle, John assured her, he had just always preferred women to men.

There were heartfelt goodbyes on the doorstep, Aunt Mary Maria condescending to leave Gilbert's room to farewell him, despite how horribly her head was apparently aching. She was roundly ignored as the Blythe's farewelled their son, and Gilbert promised that he would write and would take care of himself- and then he handed his wife into the buggy, and with a wave, the young couple left the homestead behind them.

Gilbert's hand hardly left Anne's for the duration of the trip. The journey was mostly silent, as almost everything necessary had been said the night before. Anne watched the countryside change around them numbly as they drove. They had driven into Carmody on the weekends often in the fine weather during their first two years as friends- they both liked to browse in the little bookshop that shared a space with the general store, and there was a park behind the station that Anne and Diana had loved. She and Gilbert had often gone there in the heat- eating cakes from the bakery on the corner, and occasionally theorizing about what life might have been like, had they been friends while coming and going from Queens. It was just beyond the fence- however Anne's whole concentration was on the platform they had arrived on less than two days ago. It was odd, she thought distractedly- a lifetime seemed to have been lived in the past week.

Gilbert tied the horse to the hitching rail, his big hands securing the animal with ease. Achilles did not seem overly impressed, and Gilbert chuckled as the horse snorted. He stroked his silky nose, admonishing him to be good for Anne on the return trip- he then took his bags in one hand and Anne's in the other as they walked up the stone steps, stopping for a moment to talk to the station master. There was an odd peace on his face as they waited, while Anne felt as if she were being silently unravelled from the inside out.

Gilbert placed his bags down on the platform and straightened up with a smile that tried to be cheerful.

"Well, here we are again," he said lightly.

An outsider might assume he was complacent- however, Anne's hand was held in his in a grasp so tight that it hurt. She needed it, though- the sensation of his fingers on hers was at least real. Through a fog, she heard Gilbert speaking.

"I'll be in Halifax this time tomorrow. You have the address for the editor's home, and the paper- I'll start there on Thursday if the trains are on time. I'll write as soon as I get there- it should make it to Valley Road by the time you start school next week."

Anne nodded, feeling unaccountably cold on the summer morning. She found herself unable to think of a thing to say that made sense. Disconnected pictures flashed through her mind- little things that seemed to beg her to memorize them. The scuff on Gilbert's brown shoes, the new gloves she had insisted he purchase a month ago, after he said indifferently that his old ones were fine. The loose threads that hung from his coat sleeve, and the scent of him, his warmth and comforting presence- good heavens, was he actually talking about goats?

"Sweetheart, somehow I feel you aren't really listening to me," Gilbert commented dryly.

Anne looked up at him, and something in her frightened grey eyes made him draw closer, his throat tight. "It's the last time, Anne. The last three months apart for the rest of our lives."

She tried to laugh then, the painful sound catching in her throat. "You can't know that, Gil. Your parents probably thought the same thing, before Alberta."

He bent down, his look stern. "Well, barring my lungs collapsing- something that is not hereditary, by the way; nothing will ever make me leave you again."

"What if-"

Gilbert's lips met hers then, his kiss hard against her mouth. When he pulled away, his breath was uneven. "Stop it, love. That's fear talking."

Anne pulled back, almost angry as her eyes stung. "You aren't afraid? What if something happens? What if-"

"I'm going to write and tell you everything," Gilbert interrupted, his arms coming around her waist tightly. "I'll tell you everything I do, and I expect you to do the same. All the boring things- all the excitement-"

Anne managed to give a shaky laugh. "I'm going to a country town, Gil; it's you who will have the excitement in the city."

He shrugged, his hazel eyes twinkling. "Maybe someone's cow will get stuck in a bog."

They were silent, until they heard the shrill whistle of the train in the distance. A nightmarish feeling swept over Anne as Gilbert clasped her tighter, his voice tense. "We can do this, Anne. We'll be fine."

At that moment 'fine' was something Anne was clearly not, and her tears would not be held back any longer. Gilbert held her close, his eyes closing in pain at the trembling in her slim body. Years of waiting for this precious girl, of longing for her to respond to him the way she was now- the reality of it washed over Gilbert as they stood together. She had dissolved into heart-wrenching sobs that shook her frame, and all he could do was to hold her, his mouth close to her ear.

"We've both done harder things than this before, Anne-girl. You know that. You'll be closer to Marilla and home than I will be, you could even come home on weekends if you like. Mother is talking about catching the train to see you in a few weeks- she was born not far from there, you know. You'll get to see more of the island- you've always wanted to do that. And I've never been to the south-east, so I'm expecting my wood nymph to catalogue all the new flora and fauna for me. And I'll get to the Mushroom just a day ahead of you- and I'm going to find some presents for our home while I'm in Halifax. What will we need, next year?"

Anne pulled away at this, managing a faint chuckle as she felt the distant rumble of the steam engine underfoot. "A bigger bookshelf? And nice teacups. We never seem to have enough for our guests. And Charlie does complain about using the heavier mugs."

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Well I don't know about you, but pleasing my wife is more important to me than pleasing Mr Sloane. Let him find his own cups."

Over the top of her head, he saw the plume of smoke coming down the hill and sighed, holding her to him as his hands moved over her back soothingly. Anne pulled away slightly, only to slip slender arms around his neck. "There are a lot of people on the platform right now," he commented mischievously.

She didn't respond to his teasing, her big grey eyes fixed on his. "I don't really care, Gil."

Anne raised herself up on her toes to kiss him, a kiss that didn't break or pause until the rumble of the train grew loud around them. Gilbert's lips moved against hers desperately, knowing that they would have a few minutes at most.

He memorised the feel of her in his arms, the silky curls under fingers that were impeded by pins and the jaunty hat she wore- and with a slight groan, Gilbert pulled away from her lips as the hiss of steam filled the platform.

"Remind me to do that next time without your hat," he muttered. She choked with something close to a laugh, and he stopped to look into eyes that were now sparkling with tears. His heart fell as he gently wiped her eyes, wondering bleakly how he could ever have imagined that Anne didn't care for him. He knew now with heart-rending clarity that she did.

"Anne, I need you to tell me that you're going to be fine," he said unsteadily. "I can't get on that train unless I know that you're going to be alright."

Her body was shaking as she felt the other passengers brush past them, and she tried to chuckle through a tight throat. "Tomorrow, perhaps. I am not fine right now, and you will just have to deal with it."

"Should I take that as a compliment? That Anne Blythe can't live without me?" he retorted, his eyes twinkling. "It's good for my ego, at least."

Anne's mouth fell open in indignation at his cheek. "I do not exist to prop up your ego!"

He bent to kiss her firmly then, an amused smile on his face as he pulled away. "That's my girl."

Their smiles were quick to fade at the station master's call. Gilbert released her with a rebellious look in his eyes that Anne understood, and she swallowed hard.

"Last time," she said softly, and he nodded. He bent to pick up his cases, and the guard helped him to put them onto the nearest carriage. The man then gestured at Anne with a roll of his eyes- Gilbert took that to mean he had one last moment to say goodbye, and he was quick to pull her close, his hold almost suffocatingly tight.

"I love you, Anne," he said, his voice shaking. "I love you, and I'll love you no matter where I am. I'll be thinking of you every day, every night until I'm with you again." He bent to kiss her, his mouth firm on hers until the whistle blew. With great pain, he released her to step onto the train. Gilbert's eyes stung, seeing the look of desolation on her face as he stood on the carriage platform. As the train lurched forward, he leant out. "Ten weeks, sweetheart," he said, trying to smile. "Ten weeks until you are stuck with me forever."

Anne choked back a sob, her heart tearing as the train begin to move. There were one or two others still on the platform, however, she was oblivious to them as hot tears blurred her sight. The train began to pick up speed as she remained rooted to the spot; a million thoughts, memories and truths she only dimly understood all rushing through her heart as she watched her husband go.

Gilbert leant out, his voice somehow carrying over the sound of the engine. "Love you, Carrots," she heard, and saw the grin on his face, trying to make her laugh. Still, she couldn't move, couldn't speak. She saw him wave his hat, his brown curls blowing crazily in the wind. He would be in Charlottetown in just a few hours, she thought hazily- hopefully, he would sleep once he was on his way.

Anne stood frozen until the train was out of sight. As the sound of the train faded, and the twittering of birds in the trees became audible once again, she turned from the platform to find herself completely alone. The station master had compassionately left her in peace when his inquiries about her wellbeing went unanswered, and she walked down the steps without needing to face anyone. She didn't turn toward the buggy and a bored looking Achilles, instead, she walked to the neglected piece of park that most of Carmody ignored. She drew her shaking limbs into herself, her mind at last convinced of the truth that she had long known, somewhere deep inside.

She was in love with him.

For almost an hour Anne sat in the little wilderness, trying to accustom herself to the unexpected moment of revelation. Wasn't there supposed to be some warning, she thought somewhat unreasonably- a blinding flash, a thunderclap or something! And it hadn't been like that at all. The knowledge had simply arrived, complete and whole, that she loved Gilbert Blythe- and she groaned now, placing her head in her hands. She must have done so for years. It must be so- as she followed the memories of them back over the past five years she felt a clawing panic in her chest, finding that she could discern no beginning at all- it must have crept up so gradually that she didn't see it.

Anne raised a shaking hand to touch the pink enamel heart that had rarely been away from her since her birthday- Phil had commented on it many times, teasing her about carrying Gilbert's heart wherever she went. She had scoffed at the notion, of course, only to be flooded with complete and utter shame now as she realised that it was most painfully true- that all the power to break Gilbert Blythe was in her hands, as hers was with him. Hadn't this been what she had always secretly feared?

As if waking from a dream, Anne remembered the fancies she had spun about her one-day suitor- the melancholy gentleman who spoke in poetry and never raised his voice. He would say this, do that, and she would follow her own script flawlessly. It had only ever been hollow, she realised with a sick feeling inside- a caricature, a cheap imitation of real love. Oh, she'd known for months that it could not compare to the reality of Gilbert's presence in her life- now, she understood why.

Gilbert was too real to play along by any script. He was passionate, and honest, and flawed- as she was. For the past six months she had been so guarded; not wanting to let him down, not wanting him to know how uncertain she was- and all that had done was convince Gilbert that she didn't truly care for him. Anne's face crumpled, thinking of the hurt they had both unconsciously inflicted. He had asked her if she truly believed that he could hurt her- she had said no. It wasn't true, though, she thought drearily. He could, as she could him. That was what love made possible. He could hurt her more deeply than anyone ever had- and somehow, she had to find it in her to trust that he wouldn't.

Anne closed swollen eyes, resting her red head against the tree. She should have known last night, she thought, her face heating. He had touched her so gently, so passionately in the moonlit glen- and gooseflesh covered her skin as she remembered how brazenly she had responded to his touch. How had she not seen her true feelings then? And he had held her in the wee hours as they slept- she had woken briefly at a sound outside, only to be sleepily hushed and pulled into warm arms, against a warm, firm chest.

Gilbert loved her with every part of his Blythe-stubborn, Blythe-determined nature; frankly and whole-heartedly- and what had she offered him? A heart that was too afraid to risk, too stubborn to simply fall in love in any decent manner, she thought caustically. In an irony that would have pleased Shakespeare, the girl who had written a thousand romances was the one most resistant to her own.

Through the maelstrom of thoughts and emotions whirling within Anne, one feeling stood out above the rest- a deep, abiding relief. She'd worried, so deep inside that there must have been something wrong with her- wondering if perhaps she didn't have the capacity fall in love. Perhaps she was broken. Roy's taunting words had only served to echo her own fears- yet another thing that had contributed to the storm of the night of the ball. She'd honestly wondered- after all, what woman could live with Gilbert Blythe and not be bowled over by his heart, his generous nature, his laughter and the practical bent that served as a counterpoint to her own impulsive spirit? Somewhere inside, she could finally relax- the precipice she had both feared and longed for had already been leapt over- and by a much younger Anne, who had probably tossed her red head and denied the possibility immediately. She couldn't help but smile at this thought, even as the little ache in her chest reminded her of the miles that were already forming between Gilbert and herself now.

When Anne arrived back at the Blythe farm, Amelia was there to meet her at the doorway, an anxious look on her face. "Oh, I'm so glad you are safe, dear- I was worried when you took so long coming home. I don't know what we would tell either Marilla or Gilbert if something happened to you."

John Blythe was washing up at the sink, and he only chuckled. "Milly, I told Anne to take her time. It's a pretty piece of road in the summertime."

Anne admitted quietly that the road was lovely- however, this was an observation purely from memory; she had an uncomfortable feeling that she had hardly seen the road at all that day.

Anne's unusual silence was noticed, and soon John suggested that he would drive Anne over to Green Gables whenever she was ready to go. Amelia had shot him a faintly worried look, however, John had shaken his head at his wife, reminding her that the children would sort themselves out in their own time- she wasn't to meddle.

Anne moved to the Blythe's spare room to pack up the last of her belongings, and had to swallow back more tears. It was hard to believe that she wouldn't be sharing a room with him for the next three months. The tie that Gilbert had worn to the wedding lay discarded on the floor, and his neatly folded handkerchief lay on the dresser. The tie she packed into her own bags, a lump in her throat. After today, she had promised herself that she would lift her chin and get on with the business of life- and the ten weeks would pass swiftly enough. September would beckon, and they would be together once more. She smiled then, pressing the handkerchief to her lips before placing it in her pocket. Her cheeks flushed, her mind now turning to the next time she would see Gilbert again- back in their home, she would finally tell him. She would tell him that she loved him- and she would have a lifetime to show him how much.

It was nearing eleven that morning when John Blythe dropped Anne off at Green Gables with her luggage. He greeted Marilla easily as he placed her suitcase down in the kitchen, stooping to kiss Anne's cheek and to remind her that she could visit them any time. Anne would only nod as Marilla cordially invited the Blythes to come for dinner on Friday night- she would be leaving for Valley Road the following morning. She gave her father-in-law a quick hug and excused herself to take her belongings upstairs.

The east-gable bedroom was just as it had been five months ago- and yet the girl who knelt by its window now was not the same. Anne turned wistful eyes to the view from her old room. Over the fields she could see the window that had once been Diana's at Orchard Slope, and in the other direction was the Blythe's farm, hidden by the Haunted Wood. It was wrong, she thought rebelliously. It was wrong to be away from him now- It was wrong to become again the girl she was- and she couldn't simply pretend that that nothing had changed.

Marilla found Anne upstairs twenty minutes later, her hat discarded and her glossy red head resting against the windowsill. She was relieved to have her girl at home for a time, however, she was unable to keep the amused look off her face at the sight of Anne's dispirited manner.

"I was going to tell you that I have plum puffs about to come out of the oven- but I seem to remember that they won't do anything for a mind diseased."

Anne looked up with a faint laugh, pausing to wipe damp eyes. "I can't believe you remember me saying that." She rose from the floor, hunting for her handkerchief in her small bag. "I used to make them for the girls whenever they were sad, sometimes," she admitted with a slight smile.

"I assume that Gilbert is the lucky recipient of those, now."

Marilla watched a spasm cross Anne's face as she tried to still her shaking voice. "He is. Although truthfully he- he rarely gets upset." At this unlucky juncture the memory of his white face that night came to mind, and Anne startled Marilla by sitting down on the bed and dissolving into tears for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

"Good heavens, child," Marilla said in dismay, coming to sit beside her carefully. "He's only away for the summer- and you'll be leaving, yourself, soon."

"I know that," Anne sobbed, vainly hunting for a dry spot on the already sodden fabric in her hand. "And a year ago I could have seen him gone for a few months without taking on so, even though apparently I've been in love with him for years- and this revelation comes just four days too late to stop me from hurting Gilbert more terribly that I have ever hurt him before, Marilla. But I didn't know, and when he said it, I panicked, and I-"

"Anne, for heaven's sakes, do slow down a little," Marilla said brusquely. She brushed a red curl back from her pale face with a gentle hand. "You can tell me all about it calmly. I suppose this is what made the two of you so silent since you came home- I've never seen a more woebegone pair. Take a few minutes to freshen up, and I'll fix us a cup of tea; then we can talk properly."

Anne blinked swollen eyes, her lips trembling. "But won't Mrs Lynde-"

"She's over at the Harrison's with the twins," Marilla stated, standing up. "She and Dora are helping Mrs Harrison with some sewing for her visiting niece- and I sent Davy over there to get him out of my hair. He's been badgering me for a week to let him raise some calves on the lower field- and I don't want the bother of any extra livestock."

Anne rose on shaky legs, chuckling slightly. "Davy is a born farmer, Marilla. You remember his ants, of course."

"I'm not likely to forget them, am I? I never did recover that saucepan."

After a time Anne came back down to the quiet kitchen, and sat down in the chairs that Matthew and Marilla's father had made. Marilla poured her a cup of tea and sat back, her eyes firmly on the girl's sober face. After a moment, Anne began to unfold the whole story to Marilla, sparing neither herself or Gilbert in her retelling of the past six months. There was a strange relief in doing so, she found; and if Marilla saw more in her words than Anne realised, Anne was unaware.

Marilla's voice was quiet, then. "So you do love him, then."

"More than anything in the world, Marilla," Anne said slowly, crumbling a perfect plum puff into pieces on her plate. "I don't know why I never saw it. Gilbert was- always there. I- I didn't want anyone else with me, as long as he didn't change. But he was changing, especially after we left for Redmond. He was getting too close- and he- he just didn't look like the ideal that I had in my mind- I didn't think Gilbert could really be in love with me."

Marilla had remained silent up until this point, however, there was a disbelief that now crossed her face. "Anne, that boy has been crazy about you since-"

"Since I hit him with a slate, I know," Anne said drearily. "But I didn't know that I could feel the same way about him. And his face the other night- I've never seen him look that way before. I hurt him so terribly- I was completely irrational. We were tired, and said such awful things to each other."

Marilla sighed, resignedly. "It was an argument, Anne. Folks have them."

"Well, we haven't up until now," Anne muttered crossly.

Marilla clasped her hands, her eyes sharp. "Anne, I've heard the pair of you bellowing at each other down the lane-"

"We don't now that we're married," Anne insisted. "And I had hoped that we would never stoop to it again."

Marilla leant forward, her hand coming to rest on the girl who was like her own flesh and blood. Her voice was unusually gentle. "Anne, you've got some foolish idea that people change who they are when they marry- or even when they discover that they love each other."

"Well, shouldn't they?"

Marilla shook her head. "You and Gilbert by nature are two stubborn, hot-headed people, who disagreed often enough as friends- why should you be any different as a married couple?"

Anne stood up in frustration, turning to pace the kitchen. "Because we could really hurt each other, now! There isn't an escape from each other's company- and I never want to live through four days like this again!"

Marilla looked at Anne thoughtfully. "And what does Gilbert have to say about it?"

Anne flung herself down on the kitchen sofa with a heavy sigh. "That it was just a fight. But he doesn't know- he can't have seen what an unhappy husband and wife can do to each other," she said unsteadily. "How much more for us, who have had such a volatile past?"

Marilla moved to her rocking chair and sat down with a slight groan. "Anne, for pity's sake, do stop moving around- I spend enough time chasing Davy around the house."

Anne was silent as she slipped down onto the mat beside her, laying her red head against her knee like the child she had once been. Marilla was quiet for a time, tenderly stroking her hair. After Matthew had died, it had been their way of staying close- and the twenty-one year old reminded her strongly of the highly strung girl she had been so long ago. Marilla's mouth quirked into a little smile.

"You haven't really seen many normal marriages Anne," Marilla commented. "And you need to remember who Gilbert's father is. John Blythe has a temper all of his own- I dare say Gilbert has seen plenty of arguments in his time."

Anne shook her head. "Mr Blythe wouldn't be like that."

Marilla's laugh was heartfelt, and Anne looked up in surprise. "Oh, Anne, he was as hot-headed as ever you and Gilbert were. And can you imagine Amelia Blythe being too afraid to make her opinions known?"

Anne shook her head, her brow lowered.

"It's normal, Anne. You and Gilbert will fight- and you'll fight because you care. Lord knows I'm no expert on marriage- you can talk to Rachel if you want her perspective on that. But as I see it, if you didn't care, you wouldn't bother fighting to get on the same page." She sighed, then. "I'm afraid having Matthew as a father figure spoiled you, Anne. He always was a gentle soul- I don't suppose I ever heard him raise his voice at anyone besides the livestock."

Anne was still, her eyes on the fireplace. "He was just what I needed then, Marilla," she said softly.

"I know he was." Marilla was quiet then, her hand resting on Anne's soft hair. "Gilbert Blythe loves you, Anne. He's loved you all along- I knew that years ago. A fight won't change anything- and it sounds as if you both needed to start being honest with each other."

Anne exhaled. "Everyone tried to tell me, Marilla," she said, her voice weary. "People here, people at college- but I was waiting to feel something- a falling- when I already had. All this time I kept wondering when it would happen- and then I thought there was something wrong with me when it didn't," Anne faltered. "And then I saw him leave today- and I knew. And he's gone, and I- I couldn't even tell him. And I need to tell him in person. If I'd known- I would have told him the other night, and maybe we wouldn't have-"

Her voice was rapidly growing more hysterical again, until she felt Marilla tap her head reprovingly. In shock, she looked up to see her guardian's head shake. "Things have a funny way of working out just how they're meant to. You and Gilbert, the accident- even the past week. And if I'm not mistaken, I think you needed to know what you could lose, Anne."

Enormous grey eyes blinked up at her, and Marilla half-smiled. "You've fought this so stubbornly, Anne. You didn't want to see it- probably because no one in this town could give you the space to discover it for yourself."

"Except Gilbert himself, it seems," Anne mumbled.

"Indeed." Marilla laughed, then. "Oh, the number of times I had Rachel tell me that it was foreordained that the two of you be together- heaven knows, I wanted it myself. But then I'd hear Rachel pronounce on it, and I could just see you digging your heels in even further."

Anne groaned. "I know. I just worry that I've ruined everything between us by taking so long."

Marilla chuckled and rose to throw some more wood into the stove, moving the kettle back to heat again. "Gilbert doesn't strike me as the sort to give up, Anne."

To this, his wife laughed, the sound surprisingly bright after the storm of the morning. "No, he's really not."

"Then why assume it's all over?" Marilla said comfortably. "You talked before he left, didn't you?"

At this, a hot blush spread over Anne's features at the memory of the previous night's non-discussion, and her grey eyes fell. "Not- er- not exactly, Marilla."

The older woman came to sit down again, her face blanching uncomfortably. "Anne, are the two of you intimate?"

Anne choked slightly at Marilla's bluntness, however she shook her head.

"No, Marilla," Anne said quickly. "We can't, not yet- not for a long time. Gilbert wants to go to medical school- I don't want to take that chance from him."

Marilla sat back, oddly relieved. "Good. I don't mean to pry, Anne, but I didn't care for the idea of you potentially being with child, and working so far from your husband."

Anne smiled faintly. "No, there's no danger of that, yet."

Marilla's eyes were suddenly sharp. "I'm sure you've heard Rachel's opinions about the marriage bed, Anne-"

Anne's cheeks flushed again. "Enough, I think."

"I think we all have," Marilla muttered, under her breath. She turned back to Anne sternly. "Now, it's only an old maid's opinion, but I think what's between a man and a woman should stay that way- meaning it's your business what happens between you and Gilbert, and no one else. But I can't say that I've ever liked the idea that a woman has to put up with things without voicing an opinion, at least."

Anne's laugh was genuine this time, and she gave an affectionate look to the woman who had raised her. Anne took Marilla's work-worn hand in her own. "You do understand that you were just what I needed when I came to Green Gables, don't you? Not just Matthew. I needed his gentleness- but I needed you to ground me- and to teach me that it's alright to be independent."

Marilla's lips curved into a smile. "I think you knew that anyhow, Anne."

Anne sighed. "I needed to learn how to be part of a family- and to be independent for my own sake, not just because I was afraid to trust people."

Marilla eyed Anne in regret. "Anne, I assume that you have told Gilbert everything-"

Anne bit her lip, her face troubled. "I- no. I do need to do that."

"Anne, I thought you would have done that years ago!" Marilla said, aghast. "What on earth did you talk about, all this time then?"

"Oh, this and that," Anne joked tiredly. "The future- our ambitions, current events- certainly not the past." She sighed, her heart heavy. "He knows that I need to tell him some things. I told him I would write to him about it."

"You don't think he should hear it from you in person?"

Anne tried to gather the composure that was slipping. "No. I- I don't think I could do it- you know that I don't like to dwell on that time. I didn't even realise that it was affecting us- I didn't know that it still affected me."

Marilla's look was shrewd as she stirred some sugar into her tea. "Of course it does, Anne. Matthew and I knew that."

Anne's mouth dropped open in surprise, and she found herself suddenly bristling. "Good heavens, did everyone know what a mess I was, Marilla?"

Marilla chuckled. "Anne, you don't take in an eleven-year-old orphan- one who had never had a stable or loving home before without expecting some problems," she said calmly. "Now, you may not have put strychnine in the well, as Rachel was good enough to suggest before you came, but it was evident that you'd been through a lot. I was at my wit's end about what to do with you, half the time."

Anne gave a faint smile. "I thought that was because I created the problems."

"No, it was because you had problems, Anne," Marilla corrected her carefully. "We weren't going to take you in without trying to be a proper family for you- and Matthew did it better than I did. With me, you could be as jumpy as a rabbit, back then. I sometimes wondered if I reminded you of those other women you'd lived with. I was up talking to Rachel at least once a week, trying to figure out what to do with you."

"And she suggested that I might poison you then?"

Marilla's laugh was real, and she shook her head. "No, not after your apology, Anne. You won her over. She was the one to point out to me that you might have some trauma- she'd seen it in a family that lived in Avonlea once. I don't know if I would have seen it, myself."

Anne nodded, still somewhat shocked by the perceptiveness of those around her. As the clock chimed midday, Marilla settled back on her chair with a keen look at the girl before her.

"Anne, you've belonged to us for a decade, now. You're a university student, an accomplished teacher- you have a family, friends everywhere, a husband and his family, who love you- you aren't the forlorn child who arrived here ten years ago. You've made your mistakes, and no doubt Gilbert has too- but you've all the time in the world to make it right, now. The two of you are far too stubborn to give up- not when you care for each other as you do."

Anne nodded, her heart beginning to settle at Marilla's words. The two women chatted a little longer until a cheery holler was heard from the yard. Anne rose from her chair to see Davy leaping the yard fence, and Mrs Lynde following behind with a sedate Dora. She couldn't keep the smile from her face at the sight of her family, and Marilla joined Anne, placing a thin arm around her shoulders.

"We're real glad to have you home for a few days, Anne- the children have been wild with excitement about you coming. Rachel has been almost as bad, in her own way."

Anne slipped her arms around Marilla's waist, relishing in the warmth and love she found at Green Gables. She needed to visit Dryad's Bubble- and she might take the twins of a picnic to the lake of Shining Waters, if the weather was fine. Perhaps Marilla would even let her cook dinner, one evening.

"You know that we love our Mushroom, Marilla," Anne said dreamily, sounding more like herself than she had been of late. "But it's wonderful to become Anne of Green Gables for a short time again."