Chapter 35

When Gilbert stepped into Anne's room just before dawn, it was to find his mother asleep in the chair, her hand resting near Anne's. He knelt by the side of the bed to see her face, his eyes stricken. She was so frail now, compared to the girl who even in their school days had had the resilience of a willow tree. Her forehead was still so hot, and she shifted slightly as he placed the damp cloth against her cheek. He watched her lips move slightly, and bent to kiss her.

"Morning, darling." he whispered.

To his surprise she cautiously opened her eyes, and he found himself smiling, looking into her beloved face. The corners of her parched lips turned up slightly, and he rested his cheek against her warm one. She tried again to speak, and he looked around for her water glass. Alarm slammed in his chest when she couldn't lift her head, and he gently supported her to take a sip. She smiled at him in response after she had drunk from the cup, and he let out a brief sigh of relief.

"It's really you, isn't it?" he asked softly. This time her smile was bigger, and he bent to hear her soft words.

"Just who else…. have you done…. this… with?" she breathed, making him chuckle.

He tucked a loose curl behind one ear. "No one. You've- you've just had a rough couple of days." His voice faltered at the last words, and he buried his head in her pillow, a little tremor running through him. He felt her turn her head, to rest against his own, and sighed. When he lifted his head, he met her eyes for long moments.

"You've got to keep fighting, Anne," he said, softly.

There was a little puff of breath then that made him jump, until he realised she was trying to laugh. "What... do you think… I'm doing?"

He grinned, bringing his face close to hers. "It looks like you've taken staying in bed to a whole new level."

She turned her head towards his hand, her eyes closing at the touch of his fingers. He pressed a kiss to her cheek and sat there until her breathing steadied once again.

His mother had woken at the sound of the quiet voices and bent over Anne, gently pressing her fingers to her wrist and looking at the little clock on Anne's desk.

"She will be most likely be quite tired, dear. She didn't sleep very much last night."

Gilbert gave her an alarmed look. "You promised you'd call for me-"

Cora shook her head. "No, love. She wasn't upset. But she did talk most of the night through, both in and out of coherence." she said dryly. "You featured quite heavily in the conversation."

She watched her son grin, a spark of pride on his face. "What did she talk about?"

Cora stood, pulling the blanket down from the bed, and turning to open the blinds behind the white curtains.

"Oh, this and that," she said mildly. "How smart and how handsome you are, and how exhausted you got last year- now that was something you never told us in your letters; that you saved her from drowning once? Something Marilla knew, however one that you completely failed to mention to me- and- what else was there, Marilla?"

Gilbert jumped, having not seen her standing at the door. Marilla crossed to join Cora with some fresh washcloths, and an amused glance passed between them.

"She was quite cross at you for studying all night this year instead of sleeping, Gilbert."

Gilbert let out a groan that made both women laugh. "Look, it's not fair to hold me responsible for what is given away in delirium."

Marilla walked from the room then, and the smile dropped from Gilbert's face as he turned to his mother.

"It wasn't all like that, though, was it?" he asked, his voice resigned. He hadn't spent so many nights at her bedside without knowing how quickly her mind would move from thoughts of happiness to the ones that she had never spoken of to anyone.

Cora sighed. "She mentioned being whipped when she was five. She also talked about not having enough to eat at times-" Cora swallowed, her eyes furious. "How some people can take a child in and mistreat it is completely beyond me." She took in a deep breath. "I wish to heaven Marilla hadn't heard that."

Gilbert's jaw set stubbornly, as he looked down at Anne on the bed. "I'll make it up to her, I promise."

Cora wrapped her arms comfortingly around the son who was nearly a foot taller than she was. She released him then, with a quizzical look.

"I did want to ask you about something else, dear. She was quite agitated at one point-"

"Then why didn't you send for me?" he interrupted, incensed.

"It was well under control, Gilbert. But she made a comment that neither of us understood. Anne said that she kissed you- and that she shouldn't have?"

Gilbert froze. He knew exactly what she was referring to. He'd deliberately told his mother so little of what had passed between them, not wanting to add to the bias his mother had had, back when they had first rekindled their friendship. As he looked into the eyes that were so like his own, he swallowed. Maybe it wasn't only with Anne that he had to become more open.

Gilbert's face flushed. "She did kiss me, yes. But it was the right thing to do." he said evenly. His mother's face was a study, and he sighed, knowing how badly she wanted to ask the question. "Look, it happened on the morning after the hurricane. It had been the worst night of my life- and it breaks my heart to know that as bad as it was, like you just heard, she's had worse." He paused, swallowing hard. "That night Anne found out about Oxford, and learned that I hadn't planned on telling her that I was going, or saying goodbye."

Cora's eyes were horrified. "Gilbert-"

He met her look calmly. "Mother, you know I didn't handle any of it well. I made some very stupid and hurtful mistakes. Because I saw her with Roy, I assumed she no longer cared about me at all. And because she saw me with Christine, she thought the same. We had fourteen months and two weeks worth of hurting each other unknowingly, and the schoolhouse saw the full repercussions of that."

A pale-faced Cora sat down on the armchair in shock, while Gilbert took the chair at her desk. "So when I refused to speak to her last year-" Gilbert's face was answer enough, and her eyes closed in pain. "I assumed she that didn't care for you."

His laugh was painful. "Oh, she cared. And she cared more than she realised." Gilbert's voice fell to a whisper. "I hurt her badly that night."

"I'm afraid I still don't understand-"

Gilbert rubbed his face. "That night I told her that I didn't think that she loved Roy, and that I didn't believe he loved her-"

At this Cora's head came up, in anger. "Gilbert Blythe-"

"But I told her I only wanted her to be happy. And that I didn't think it could be with him. And after going through more pain together than I care to admit, in the morning I walked her part of the way home. And we tried to say goodbye properly. She- she didn't think she would ever see me again, and she couldn't stop crying." By this point, silent tears were falling down Cora's cheeks. "I thought the same. And in the end, there wasn't anything more that we could say to each other- not even goodbye. But I held her- and then she kissed me."

Cora's eyes lit in understanding, and she brought out her handkerchief to dab her eyes. "That's why you changed your mind. That's why you didn't go," she said softly. "Well, in that case, thank the good Lord that she did. Why on earth would she feel so badly about that?"

He shifted at Anne's desk, with a guilty grin. "Because of Roy. She wrote to him to end it the same day. He wasn't the happiest of people about that."

Her look was startled. "Was he still at Redmond when the two of you went back?" Cora frowned with a lack of comprehension when Gilbert smiled.

"Yes. He's a good fellow. A bit stuffy, and serious, but a gentleman through and through."

"You never had words?"

Gilbert gave a shrug. "Well, I didn't say that. But a year changed a lot of things- for all of us. He's met someone now who makes both him and his family happy- and Anne and I have each other."

Cora let out a long breath and stood, bending to kiss the top of his curly head. "Son, we'redoing everything we can to get her through this," she said earnestly. "And by the way, in three years and approximately nine month's time, I expect to see some grandchildren from the two of you."

He chuckled, and walked to the window, opening it to see a crimson sunrise. Cora crossed to peer outside in the morning light.

"Red sky in morning, sailor's warning." she quoted, her eyes on the horizon uneasily.

Gilbert nodded. "Dad said it'll be here tonight."

"Has he got everything ready? I don't want them out in a storm-"

"Ma, he's fine. You know Dad, he's prepared."

Cora sighed. "You're right. I only hope we have everything that we need as well." The two of them looked at Anne for a long moment and then began to prepare themselves for the day ahead.

It was nearing ten-o-clock in the morning when Dr Telmann entered Anne's bedroom, giving Gilbert a brief nod. He went to her side to lay a gentle hand on her forehead, his brow contracting at the heat still on her skin as she slept.

"She took some water this morning," Gilbert said, his voice low. "She was awake for a while and talking-"

"Coherently?"

"Some of the time." Gilbert stood and handed him a piece of paper. "I wondered if you'd heard of this."

The doctor put his bag down, sitting down on Anne's desk chair. Gilbert sat down as well, after assuring himself that Anne was still asleep.

"Salicylate of ammonia?" he said, after a minute.

Gilbert pointed to the name and date at the top of the page. "It's being used by Dr Barnett to treat various fevers. It's a paper that was sent to Dr Edmonds at the university recently. Dr Barnett submitted two years of results to the department, he's seen it have an impact on typhoid."

The doctor fell to perusing the paper with interest, including the note that had been written at the bottom by one of Dr Edmond's interns, regarding the possibility of the side effects of larger doses. Gilbert stood at the window, trying to restrain himself from pacing.

"I never found quinine effective." The doctor muttered, after a minute.

Gilbert turned to him, his arms tightly crossed. "So what do you think? Is it something we could try? You said if we could get the fever down it would give us some more time."

Dr Telmann sighed. "I don't know yet. Can I take this with me?"

Gilbert's shoulders dropped, but he nodded. "It's one I need to send back, so I'll need to get it back soon."

The doctor nodded, and he rose to go to his patient. He pulled his stethoscope from his bag, something that drew Gilbert's eyes. When he felt curious eyes on him, he cleared his throat with some difficulty.

"She- Anne gave me one for my graduation," Gilbert said.

"A stethoscope?"

Gilbert nodded and gave a faint smile. "She hunted down some medical students to find out what would be useful."

Dr Telmann smiled. "Sounds like she's got it all figured out." He moved her nightgown to listen as he had for so many days, while Gilbert turned to give her some privacy. When the doctor moved the nightgown back carefully, he looked speculatively at the young man.

"You haven't refused that scholarship yet, have you?"

Gilbert dropped to the chair beside Anne, with a shake of his head. "No."

"Good." He turned to him then, remembering rounds in the Kingsport hospital as an intern. "Alright, Gil, what am I about to do now?" he asked, good-naturedly.

"Listen to the lower abdomen, and check for signs of tenderness," Gilbert mumbled, without thought.

"Excellent. Now, has your mother told you what to be looking out for, as far as complications go?"

"Sudden, sharp pain, lack of response, respiratory distress-"

"Good." The doctor stood, moving to wash his hands in the basin that had been provided. "Just between you and I, I feel much better leaving her with you and your mother." he said frankly. "Look, just don't make any quick decisions, Gilbert. You're as promising a student as I've ever seen, it would be a shame for you to throw that potential away."

To keep from looking at the doctor, Gilbert moved to the bed, tucking in a loose sheet with a gentle hand.

"I meant to check with you; Anne has a contract for a teaching position in Summerside that starts in the fall." He didn't need to finish the statement, seeing Dr Telmann nod.

"We're entering the fourth week, Gil. The fever either breaks soon-" he said, hesitating.

"Or it doesn't. I know."

"Look, she's still got some time." The doctor commented. "It's the end of June- with any luck, she'll have a good two months to recover. Two months should work wonders."

"Do I need to let the school know?" he asked slowly.

"I don't believe so. I'll be keeping my eye on her, for a month at least. He turned to Gilbert with a little smile. "Now I have a message for you from Fred and Diana Wright. They asked me to give you the news first."

Gilbert tensed, turning to the doctor.

"It's a boy. A big, healthy boy, named after his father. Mother and baby are doing well."

Gilbert let out a joyous yell that made the doctor laugh, and the two men saw Anne stir on the bed. He crossed to her and bent over the bed, placing a hand on her cheek.

"Did you hear that, sweetheart? Di had a baby! A beautiful little boy." he said softly.

She opened her eyes then, however Gilbert could see that she was once again in her dream world.

"A baby?" her voice said faintly.

"A little boy."

She looked at him dreamily for a second, before a little sigh left her lips. "Alright, Gilbert. We can have one after medical school." she mumbled, not seeing the bright red flush on her fiance's face, and the chuckle of the doctor behind him.

The stillness of the air outside had the inhabitants of Green Gables on edge that forenoon. Marilla moved swiftly to secure the house for the coming storm, and Rachel worked through the morning to prepare baking and linens for the next few days.

John Blythe and Davy visited in the late morning to see if any extra help was needed, giving Cora some peace of mind as well. She sat downstairs to have lunch with the older ladies and her husband, while Davy was sent up with a plate for Gilbert. The twelve-year-old nervously stood in the doorway, hesitant to knock, until Gilbert motioned for him to come in.

"She's sleeping now, Davy; it's alright." he said gently. Davy handed the food to Gilbert and stood watching her.

"I thought she'd be better by now." he mumbled.

Gilbert sighed. "Typhoid takes a while. It- it might be a bit longer." He saw Davy swallow and nod, before the boy stopped cold, and turned to him with a funny look on his face.

"Wait, have you been sleeping in her bedroom?"

Gilbert choked back a sudden laugh, suddenly seeing Anne's 'little brother' in the boy.

"It's not like that, Davy. She needs someone here all the time, and my mother needs sleep too sometimes. I sleep in here so I can be here if she needs me."

Davy could only shake his head, his expression dubious. "That's just weird."

Gilbert could only barely hold back his grin. "I think you'll understand one day." He watched the boy creep up to her side softly, his heart clenching to see the fear on his face. He remembered being that afraid when his father was sick.

"She's so thin." Davy turned to Gilbert then, his eyes pleading. "Will she get better?"

He couldn't bring himself to lie. Well-meaning people had done that to him- only his mother had told him gently that they might need to prepare themselves to lose his father. He'd fought her words- he'd flown from her then. "I- I don't know. But we're doing everything we can to help her." he said, his throat closing over.

He put his arm around him as they watched her, until the boy nodded, and he soon left the room to return to the adults downstairs.

As the afternoon wore on, Gilbert kept an eye on the clouds that were building along the horizon. He'd tried to distract himself with reading, however Anne lay so still that he found himself watching her anxiously, checking her breathing. His mother had barely left the room since one, and Marilla and Rachel had remained close all afternoon.

In the hours he and she had been alone that morning, he had watched her from his chair, his elbows on his knees, his eyes wistfully looking for signs of change. Her head was turned from him, and so he allowed himself to slump, to not be strong for a moment. He'd been trying to keep faith, to keep hoping as she would have done. However, the paper he had been reading that morning had fallen from his hands in shock as its words penetrated his mind, and sank into his heart.

Children.

He knew how much Anne longed for children, had known that about her for years. When the subject had come up for the first time after they had come together Gilbert's heart had been reduced to a puddle at the way she spoke of it to him- with great, wistful eyes, and one of the most vulnerable looks he had ever seen on her face as she shared this desire with him. It had taken every ounce of self-control he had to answer her calmly, when all he wanted to do was to shout it to the rooftops- that Anne Shirley wanted to have babies with him!

A tear fell, one that he wiped away impatiently. If she survived, would it even be possible now? Had the sustained fever taken that chance from them? As he blinked hard, he shook his head slightly. It would make no difference to him, although no doubt there would be grieving for them both- but he found himself smiling through watery eyes. What would Anne Shirley do? She who created families around her, who drew others together and cared for them all- if their own baby was not a possibility, of course, they would adopt. Probably a dozen children who had been as alone as she was, and they would be theirs to love. He knew how Marilla adored Anne, how much joy she and the twins had brought to her life. And Anne would be the most wonderful of mothers- he'd watched her with Davy and Dora for years. Wisdom and patience, affection and fun- she would bring their home to life.

It was late in the afternoon when his mother came into the room, her look guarded.

"Alright, what is it that you don't want to tell me?" Gilbert asked, his eyebrows raised.

Cora clasped her hands together, with a frown. "You're getting as bad as your father. He can always tell." She rather shakily drew in a breath. "Dear, Marilla was wondering if you could give her a little time alone with Anne before tea this afternoon. An hour or so would do; I dare say that Rachel can find something for you to do in the meantime- or you can take a nap, if you would like."

Gilbert's look was uncertain. "Why- why would she want me away from her?"

Cora gave a little sigh, her eyes filling with tears. "She doesn't. Gilbert, she just wants some time alone with her little girl. She has been very respectful towards you, conceding that it is your right to be by her side- especially after those two weeks. She doesn't want to stand between you. But I imagine there are things that she needs to say to her." Cora wiped her eyes carefully. "And things that you and I don't necessarily need to be present for. She just wants a little time with Anne."

Gilbert's jaw trembled. He knew what his mother was not saying- he knew that Marilla was preparing to say goodbye. Stubbornly, he shook the thought away. "Why- wouldn't she ask me herself?"

"Because she doesn't want you to see her cry." Cora said simply. "She believes you have enough to deal with." She moved to Anne's side with a fresh bowl of water, pretending not to see the way her son turned from her, the anguished hands he pressed to his temples. Several minutes later, when he finally turned back, he only nodded.

"I'll- I'll see what Mrs Lynde needs me to do." he said, his voice constricted. "Maybe she needs some more wood for the stove. I could use the exercise."

Cora dropped the cloth beside the bowl, and moved to his side. "Gilbert, you do understand what the doctor is saying, don't you?" she asked gently. She took in the way his shoulders tensed, and carefully put her arms around him. He didn't need to answer, badly needing the comfort his mother's embrace brought for just a few moments. He rested his head on hers, before gently pulling away.

"We didn't give up on Dad." he said quietly.

"And we're not giving up on her either." Cora said firmly. "But we need to let Marilla handle this for herself the way that she needs to, and give her the privacy to do so." He nodded, and on cue, a sober Marilla came to the door. Gilbert couldn't quite manage to meet her eyes, but he bent down to kiss Anne's cheek, whispering that he would be back soon.

An hour later, a startled Gilbert looked up from the wood he had energetically been chopping. The thunder rumbled as lightning shot across the horizon, and the clouds that were building in the direction of the shore. He shivered slightly. The anniversary of the hurricane had come and gone ten days ago, during the fortnight they had been apart. Gilbert had fled his home to sit on the schoolhouse steps alone, reliving the night they had spent there. As he told his mother, it had hurt. But the proof that Anne Shirley cared for him was written on every expression, and he dwelt on the memory of her beloved face in those moments. Now, he looked up at a sky that was threatening to rain and began to stack the wood in his arms. As he did so, he saw a rider coming up the road quickly. With a jolt Gilbert realised it was Dr Telmann, and he was quick to drop the wood on the veranda to greet him.

"What's wrong?"

The doctor swung out of the saddle, a paper bag in one hand. "I found it." he said, wiping his brow, and tying the horse to the fence.

Gilbert froze. "Found what?"

"Salicylate of ammonia!" he said impatiently. "I didn't think the apothecary in Carmody carried it, so I didn't want to get your hopes up." He stopped then, his face stern. "Now, you understand that there are no guarantees-"

Gilbert was already moving inside quickly, and the doctor caught his arm.

"No, Gilbert, you can't." he said sharply. "I won't promise anything with it. We can only tell Marilla that it's a different medication. You need to swear that you won't promise that this will cure anything."

The younger man slowed, his breathing heavy. "Alright, alright. But you obviously think it's worth trying."

The doctor waited while Gilbert collected the kindling he had cut, and stacked it against the wall, trying to regain his own breath. "Jones said that a doctor he dealt with in Spencervale had used it to treat a young missionary who had arrived home with malaria, that it worked as an anti-pyretic. And that's what we need."

Cora was inside the kitchen when the two of them came inside, and she was soon examining the white powder, firing questions at the doctor about how to administer it, what the dosage was, and how frequently they were able to give it to her.

Gilbert let the two of them go up the stairs ahead of him, and he went to wash up at the back of the house. He slumped against the veranda post, thanking God that something had been found. Deep inside he knew that there wasn't much time- that against all their best efforts, if the fever continued, she would slip away. It was with a jolt of terror now that he realised how much in denial he had been- and that he wouldn't be able to convince himself of comforting lies any longer. In the distance he could see forks of lightening moving towards the beach, and as he drew in a deep breath, he squared his shoulders. The storm would hit soon- and he would be with her when it did.

At nine-o-clock that night an exhausted Marilla and Mrs Lynde had gone to bed, and Cora was preparing to sleep for a few hours while Gilbert kept watch. She hovered over her charge anxiously. Cora had managed to get the bitter dose of medicine into her while Gilbert stayed close, his heart clenching at her feeble protests. Anne had woken with a start at the first crack of lightning, her confused grey eyes blinking at him pleadingly.

"Please, please sweetheart." he had whispered to her, smoothing back her hair. He held her close while she swallowed the solution, and then laid her back down with a kiss on the forehead.

When Cora was done, she sat back on her heels with a tired sigh. "We're to repeat that in twelve hours, if we can. Anne, sweetie, well done." she said, touching her cheek with a little smile. She stood up slowly as Gilbert came to his feet to tuck the sheets in around her. The rain had begun now, and Gilbert closed the window, pulling the drapes to muffle the sound. When he was done, he dropped to the chair beside her, and Cora came around the bed to put a careful hand on his shoulder.

"It won't always be this hard." she said gently, bringing his eyes to hers. "It's one thing to learn how to care for patients, but caring for those you love asks something else of you entirely. You can trust me on that."

Gilbert didn't ask his mother how she had known the thoughts that had tormented him.

He cleared his throat. "There was a night when Dad nearly died, ma." he said quietly.

Cora stood frozen, watching him with huge eyes.

"There was a bad dust storm on the plains late one autumn, the first year we were there. We couldn't see outside, and it got under the doors, under the window panes." Gilbert was silent for a moment, and a shudder went through him. "Dad couldn't catch his breath. I made it to the ranch house to get help, but it was an hour before they could send for the doctor. Mrs Fuller didn't know what to do. Dad- Dad's face was so white. And I boiled the water on the stove, but it didn't help- and I just had to wait, and watch him gasping for air. It was four hours later when the doctor finally came." He gave the ghost of a laugh. "I couldn't sleep for days after that."

Cora walked away from him, her hand covering her mouth, trying to muffle the sound of her sob. "Gilbert, why on earth didn't you tell me at the time?" she said, tortured. "I needed you to let me know what was happening."

"Because Dad made me swear I wouldn't." he answered dully. "He didn't want you to worry about him."

Cora's eyes flashed angrily. "Your father was very wrong to ask that of you, Gilbert. That was a burden you didn't need on top of everything else you were carrying."

Gilbert's head hung, defeated. "Back then I thought that was how you protected those you loved. But I've learned that it doesn't really help." he said slowly. "The worst thing was the helplessness. There was absolutely nothing I could do. I didn't know enough."

"Gilbert, you were only a boy. You can't blame yourself." Cora said fiercely.

Gilbert slipped his hand under Anne's where it lay on the bed, cupping it gently in his own. "If I go back to school, I know it doesn't guarantee that I can keep her safe. But it might mean that one day I can look after my own family- that I don't need to pace the floor for hours waiting for someone else to step in. And I think if I didn't go, anytime anything happened, I'd blame myself for not being able to help them."

Cora knelt down by his side then, her eyes tender. "Gilbert, forget the scholarship, forget about what you are living through in this moment. Do you actually want to be a doctor?"

He thought of the stethoscope in his trunk, the books that he had almost memorised in the long weeks since they had left college. The childhood dreams, the pictures he drew about his future with her in front of the fire, and the spring morning when he told her what he was working towards. The answer rose to his lips effortlessly. "I do."

Cora smiled. "Then that is what you will do. And if there is anyone who will be as proud of you as we are, it's Anne. She would never let you give up."

Cora stood then, lifting her hands to rub her weary face. "Dear, you know to call me if you need anything. I'll go and try and get a little sleep now." She touched his cheek and as she left, she closed the door behind her carefully. Gilbert stood then, a faint smile on his face. The little priest had been right- confession was good for the soul.

He sighed, and moved slowly to change into a pair of clean pyjamas. The wind outside was howling now, and Gilbert listened to the cracking and groaning of the trees in the haunted wood, watching the way that Anne flinched at the sound. He sat on the side of her bed, his arm across her, speaking to her gently.

"There's a storm, darling, that's all. It's going to make a bit of noise, but I'm here."

She moved again, and Gilbert smoothed his hand across the hair his mother had so carefully plaited that afternoon. He could see that she was neither awake nor asleep, and he continued to speak to her gently. "Do you remember all those times you and I got caught out in bad weather? Hail once, rain a hundred times, I think. And that sandstorm on the beach- I had sand everywhere for days." he said, with a chuckle. He noticed that she was settling more at the sound of his voice, and smiled. "Do you know, that this is the second time we will be together all night long? It appears storms are our speciality. I know it's hardly the romantic atmosphere either of us would have liked, but we're together." He watched the thin face on the pillow and studied her mouth carefully. Was it his imagination, or was she responding to him? Did the corners of her mouth move a little? At the next crack of thunder, he saw the tightening of her brow, and saw her shift under the covers, and placed his hand on her shoulder. "Darling, it's alright. I'm right here."

A sudden gust of wind rattled the windows, and Gilbert saw her tremble. With no other thought than that she needed him in that moment, he climbed onto the little white bed and lay down beside her. As the howling outside grew even louder he drew her frail body to him, resting his brown head next to hers on the pillow. He gave a start when he felt her move, and as he lifted his head, he turned to see startled grey eyes look at him for a moment, before relaxing and slowly closing again. There was a deep sigh, and Gilbert kissed the hot forehead that lay next to his, his heart thundering at her nearness.

"Sweetheart, this is going to be a long night." he whispered. "But I'm here with you. And I promise I won't leave you for anything."

An hour later, when the rain was falling steadily Marilla opened the door to check on the two of them, and saw two heads resting on one pillow, Gilbert's arm protectively around Anne. She moved out of the room quickly, standing in the hallway, her breath catching. Cora had also come to check, and at Marilla's expression she looked inside. Cora gasped, and as she shut the door quickly behind them she covered her mouth, her eyes filling with tears. She turned to Marilla, and shook her head.

"I won't disturb them."

Marilla drew in a shaky breath. "Neither will I."

*Just a quick note, the research paper is real! In 1885 Dr Barnett really did submit his results about the use of Salicylate of Ammonium instead of the previously used quinine, and it did bring down fever. It's actually one of the active ingredients in Asprin, apparently! A breakthrough in their time!