Chapter 37

A rejuvenated Green Gables began to hum with noise and energy, as in days of old. Davy and Dora had returned home in due course, much to the relief of Rachel and Marilla, who had missed the children more than they would have dreamed. The women greatly appreciated Dora's quiet help, and smiled to hear a Davy brought back to exuberance again employed in the work around the yard. Up in the little white room where Anne was, she could hear his happy whistling from her window.

Anne's room bore a different appearance than it had through the long weeks of illness. Fresh curtains hung in the windows, a pale green muslin that fluttered in the breeze. At Marilla's insistence, her old quilt and linens had been destroyed and Mrs Lynde's intricate handiwork was on display in the pretty spread on Anne's bed. Crisp white sheets were folded carefully across the counterpane, and a little gold coloured shawl from Diana was draped over the end of the white bed. A tea tray sat on the little desk that had been pushed to one side, bearing cups from Marilla's precious rosebud tea set. Flowers decorated the room on all sides, most of them handpicked by Gilbert himself. The most recent posy of flowers was one that had upset Mrs Lynde's composure completely: a beautiful arrangement of roses delivered from Charlottetown, arriving with a formal note from Royal Gardner, who had heard about Anne's illness and subsequent recovery from Phil. He expressed his relief that she was mending and sent his best wishes to both Anne and Gilbert, finishing with the humble announcement that he and Penelope were engaged to marry in a few months time.

In all of the changes that were visible in the room, none were more obvious than those in the couple occupying the room themselves. Anne, much thinner than in times previous, but with colour gradually coming back to pale cheeks again, and the sparkle in her grey eyes that had been missing. Her hair was nearly braided and hanging over one shoulder, and Rachel had insisted on making Anne lovely new nightgowns that were appropriately frilled and beribboned for the visitors when they came. Anne could turn her head slightly to see Gilbert in the chair by her bed, his feet resting on the mattress beside her. There was a peace to him that had been absent for a long time now, and it showed in the little smile he would give her, before going back to his book without speaking. So they had sat for hours in the weeks that followed her illness, content to be still, and to recover together.

The talk that Gilbert had long dreaded came a week after the fever had subsided. He had watched over her carefully, rejoicing in every milestone, staying with her for every tentative step towards recovery.

When the doctor had visited that day and pronounced that the danger was past, Anne had given Gilbert a curious look. When the doctor had left, she asked him to help her to sit up slightly. He did so carefully, watching her for signs of discomfort. He settled on the side of her bed to support her, when Anne finally asked him the question.

"How long have you known, Gil?"

Gilbert's mouth was dry, and he looked back at the face that was still too drawn and pale. "Anne-"

"I heard you talking to the doctor just now. When did you know?" she whispered.

Gilbert took her hand in both of his, swallowing convulsively. "Anne, I-" he faltered, before her bewildered eyes met his.

"You said to him that the library staff were happy to have their books back- from before we left Redmond." She watched as he drew in a shaky breath, trying to meet her unflinching gaze. "When?"

Gilbert drew in a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. "I found out on the night of convocation."

Anne's eyes were anguished. "How, Gil?"

"Sweetheart- I'm trying to tell you," he said slowly before his breath caught. "Anne, a little over nine weeks ago you went to Timothy's house in Kingsport to- to tutor him. Because I couldn't." He drew in a short breath, his forehead contracting with pain. "There was a water shortage in that part of town, and each house shared what they could spare with their neighbours." His voice faltered then, still hearing the pain in Mrs Saunders' voice as she relayed the way it had come. "We think there was contaminated water that came from another house. You went there- and you- you may have drunk the water, or something may have touched your cup-"

Anne's eyes were fearful, and she looked out the window, remembering. "She sent Timothy to fetch water before we began working. She brought me a glass-" she whispered, with pain in her voice. "Gil, the family- those children-"

He shook his head then, his eyes defeated. "No. They were all safe, Anne. But he- he wasn't. He was already sick, most likely from the same source."

Anne looked at him in anguish, putting up her hands against the words she knew he would say. "No, Gil, please, please tell me no-" she pleaded, heartbroken.

"It was Timothy who didn't make it," he said, his eyes defeated. "He died, Anne."

Her forehead creased as hot tears fell down her cheeks, and she turned her head to rest against her pillow. The words seemed to flood out of Gilbert's mouth then, and he fell to his knees beside her bed, wanting to explain, to tell her everything.

"Anne, by the time I knew you were in danger it was too late." he choked out. "I've never been so scared in all of my life- and I couldn't do anything about it. There was no way to know if it would happen, I just had to wait- and wait, and wait. And then you were exhausted, and losing weight before my eyes, and I was terrified- we were so far from home, and you kept telling me that you were alright. But you weren't. And it was my fault- if I hadn't been sick then you never would have gone to his house. It should have been me, Anne, not you. And I couldn't protect you- I tried so hard to keep you safe, and I couldn't."

Anne's breath was ragged, as she tried to come to terms with what he was telling her. "You- you knew before the wedding?"

He saw with shame the look of grief and fury in her eyes, and steeled himself for what he knew was coming.

"You should have told me." she choked.

Gilbert raised a shaking hand to her cheek. "I know I should have." He set his jaw, trying to stop his mouth from trembling. "But I've never been as terrified of anything as this. And I kept telling myself- that if we could just make it through another week, that you would be alright-" he stopped then, unable to go any further.

"I don't understand." she faltered, and he flinched at the betrayal in her voice. "I could have put everyone in danger- I should never have gone to the wedding- Gilbert, you should have told me! You promised me that you would tell me everything!"

It was the Gilbert who had undergone more pain than he could ever have conceived, who met her eyes then. "Anne, what would you have done?" he asked, his voice tight. "If it was me whom you had to watch, gradually getting sicker and far from home, what would you have said? Would you have told me? Or would you have tried to keep me from worrying? Would you have been afraid that me knowing about it could make it happen before you could get me home?"

Anne looked back at him, dumbfounded. A tear slipped down her cheek, and she shook her head. Reluctantly, she answered him. "I don't know."

"You don't know what it was like, Anne." he said drearily. "I nearly went out of my mind with fear. I tried to keep you from overworking or being anxious, but there was no way for me to do it with everything else that was going on. I tried to keep you with me at all times, to not let you out of my sight- I got every bit of information that I could lay my hands on, just hoping that I could find something that would help. And in the end, I could only watch as the fever slowly took over your body." He closed his eyes, the guilt weighing on him heavily. "I'm not defending myself, I know I can't- but I nearly lost you, Anne."

His arms came around a trembling Anne, and she cried into his shoulder for long minutes. He held her closely, praying that she would find a way to forgive him. When her sobs had eased he took her face in his hands, blinking back his own tears. "Anne-girl, I messed up", he said brokenly. "I know now that it was wrong- I thought that I could deal with it better by myself- I was high-handed, and I kept it from you. I just didn't want you to feel the fear that I had- I couldn't bring myself to hurt you like that. And by the time I realised what I should have done, it was too late. The others at the wedding weren't in any danger, Anne- only you were. And I would have done anything to take it from you."

He lay her back against the pillow then, stroking her face in his shaking hand. Her tears had exhausted her, and he knew that she would soon need to sleep- but leaving things this way was not an option.

She looked up at him, and he saw in her expression the very real anger that she felt. "I can understand that you were afraid-" she said, her voice broken. "But I don't agree with the way you handled this, Gil. We're supposed to be a team."

He surprised her by laughing then, laughter as painful as a sob. "I know that I was an idiot. But I was so sure that I had to protect you- and you're the only one who could have persuaded me otherwise, Anne. And you couldn't- you couldn't do it."

Anne's eyes were still on him, but he saw something deeper than the anger in her expression. She stretched painfully thin arms up to hold him, and with that, the last wall of his self-restraint came tumbling down. He placed his head against her pillow, great sobs breaking from his throat. In the minutes that followed, he cried against her as he had not been able to since the night of their convocation. Gradually he became aware that her hands were stroking his head tenderly, and she was whispering the same words to him over and over.

"I'm here, now Gil. I'm here."

When he eventually lifted his face from her pillow, grimacing at the wetness he had left behind, her hands cupped his face as he caught his breath.

"It's alright, Gil."

Gilbert shook his head. "It's not-"

She gave him a shaky smile. "I mean, that it will be."

As he knelt by her side, his hand stroked her arm, needing to touch her. "Will you forgive me?" he asked hesitantly.

Anne's arms dropped, in fatigue. "Of course I do, dearest. But Gilbert, this can't happen again. You need to talk to me. You can't possibly shield me from everything, I can't be there for you if you do that." He gave a big sigh, burying his face against her while she stroked his brown curls. "And now we start again, my darling," she said softly, her voice firm.

He chuckled then, grabbing her hand to press a kiss to her soft palm. "And now we start again." he echoed, and then swallowed. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too." When his eyebrow went up, Anne gave a weak laugh. "I'm sorry for scaring you half to death, love." She was silent then for a time, and gradually he saw another tear trace down her cheek. "Timothy- did- did he suffer very much?" she said, her eyes on him pleadingly.

His look was stricken. "Anne- you don't want me to answer that."

"He was such a darling, Gil," she said quietly. "He should have had a wonderful life."

Gilbert took a deep breath. "He did, sweetheart. He had a family that he loved, who loved him too; and he used his talents to the best of his abilities in the time he had. We need to be proud of him."

"I am." There was a short silence then. "Did you go to the funeral?"

He nodded, rising to sit beside her on the bed again. "I did."

Anne's head fell against his arm, exhausted. "This is why I'm upset with you," she said, painfully. "How much were you hurting then, Gil?"

He drew in a deep breath and spoke briefly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Infinitely."

Anne burrowed her face against him. "I could have been there for you. You know that everything that affects you affects me." She sighed, and despite herself, her eyelids slowly began to droop, one hand grasping his shirt as she fell asleep.

Within a minute her breathing was steady, and he tenderly supported her head to rest on her pillows, marvelling at the resilience of the girl in his arms. He dropped into the chair beside her with a deep sigh, watching his beloved in sleep. There were still prickles of fear that would come and go as he watched her, waiting for the signs of her recovery. Watching her breathe had become a habit, one that he was not certain he would lose quickly- her cheeks were still hollow, and the violet shadows under her eyes were fading slowly. But it was over. It was over, and she knew everything now. He chuckled, thinking of all of the things he had spilt out while lying with her in her bed- he had learned, he would do better now. And even though she wouldn't remember much from that night, he would tell those things to her again and again.

Only days after this talk, Mrs Blythe announced that she would be returning home, but would come back for a few hours each day to check on her at Dr Telmann's request. A grumbling Gilbert had been sent home when she could once again sleep through the night, and when Marilla and his mother had pointedly agreed with Mrs Lynde, he submitted with as much grace as he could muster. Anne had only laughed at his response, reminding the man beside her bed in a whisper that it was time to play the part of a proper engaged couple again. He had raised one teasing eyebrow at her, with a grin- Anne knew what that meant, and hid her face with a moan as Gilbert told her yet another of her incoherent ramblings that she had spoken in front of his mother.

"Gilbert Blythe, I do believe I'm better to not know!" she said crossly, making him laugh. "I cannot possibly be responsible for what I said in delirium."

"Sweetheart, you aren't the one who had to explain to my mother what you meant!" he retorted, grinning. "I thought she was going to kill me when you said how much you liked to lay down with me."

Anne groaned, pulling her pillow over her face. "Oh, my goodness. And what did she say to that?"

Gilbert's hand ruffled the back of his hair sheepishly. "Well, unluckily for me; Marilla was there for that one too. They both looked at me like judge and jury combined; although I hope I managed to convince them that it was at least partially innocent." He laughed then. "I thought they'd be furious- but when they sent me to fetch more water, all I could hear was them laughing behind me."

Anne managed a smile at this point. "Oh. Well, they are both kindred spirits," she commented with a sigh. "I suppose it is time for you to go home again."

Gilbert sat on her bed facing her, his eyes tender. "I'll still be here every day. It's strange, actually. I couldn't have imagined feeling any closer to you, before the fever. But you were right."

She looked up, puzzled. "I was?"

"You were, Miss Shirley." He took her hands in his and spoke slowly. "You said that pain was necessary- that it makes us appreciate what we have. And the good Reverend Jo once told me that there are lessons that only pain can teach us."

Anne smiled. "He's a very wise man."

"I never want to go through something like that again," Gilbert stated, his eyes on her slender fingers. "But now that it's over- I know you better than I could have imagined. And I can't be sorry about that. I feel as if you're as much me now, as I am."

"Heathcliff and Catherine." Anne said softly.

He sighed. "That's how it feels. And as much as I dread the thought of leaving you here on the Island, I know that a part of me will stay with you- and a part of you will come with me. Perhaps I wouldn't have understood that properly, at least not to begin with."

Anne studied his face, with a little smile. "I know." She fiddled with her coverlet with pink cheeks then. "Am I allowed to say how much I will miss sleeping with you?"

This made him break into delighted laughter. "As long as it's only me that hears it, darling girl. We'd be forced to marry by morning if anyone else did. Not that I would complain about that, even a little." He stood up then, taking the empty jug in one hand as she settled against the pink pillow that Phil had sent her. He smoothed the hair across her forehead, bending to kiss it. "Now off to sleep like a good girl, sweetheart, you have some important visitors coming tomorrow."

Anne looked up in surprise.

"I do? Are you going somewhere right now, Gil?"

He grinned at her. "Only home for a bath. I promised Mother that I'd try to look respectable for you, and that I'd tidy my room. She's taking the house back under her control again, and that means I have to keep it clean. I'll be back in an hour or so, I would think, and I'll be here all evening."

Anne saw him go with a smile. The house was still quiet in the early afternoon. Marilla and Rachel had fallen into the habit of taking an afternoon nap following her illness, and it was quiet enough to hear the birds in the Haunted wood chattering in the shade of the old trees. She sighed, looking toward the window. How she missed the old Snow Queen- and yet the view of the hills in the distance was lovely as well. The doctor had said that she could start walking around a little soon- how wonderful to see the trees and the sky again! She chuckled, remembering both Mrs Lynde's and Gilbert's frown at the doctor. How strange to see them agree on something, at last.

She could hear the faint sounds of someone working in the kitchen below- Dora, most likely. On the first day when Anne could sit up and the twins had come home, she had hovered nervously in the doorway, kept at bay by Gilbert's presence. Twisting her little hands up in her apron, and fighting tears, Anne held her hand out to her with a compassionate look, as Gilbert ushered her into the little white room to sit in what had become his chair. Dora had surprised everyone by bursting into a flood of tears, and an alarmed Marilla stood in the doorway, poised as if ready to remove her quickly. As the child sobbed against Anne' shoulder, Anne shook her head at their guardian. Dora was usually so placid and calm- however Anne still saw the little girl who had lost her mother at six years of age. When she had calmed down she slipped out of the room without a word to anyone.

Anne sighed, and picked up the book beside her bed, but made no effort to read it. The close text sometimes still gave her a mild headache, something that the doctor suggested may take a little while to stop. It was then that she spied another book, her beloved journal. There was a thick blue ribbon hanging out of both ends, and Anne picked it up with a frown. The ribbon wasn't hers.

She pulled it open to the page it was on, wonderingly. Her eyes flew open at the sight of writing that was not hers- and yet she knew it almost as well. It was Gilbert's black, upright writing, and her heart pounded as she lay back on her pillows to read it carefully.

Hello, sweetheart.

I'm believing that you're going to end up reading this, wondering what on earth I'm doing here in amongst your private thoughts. I could apologise for doing so without your permission, however I decided that I believed you when you said that I would most likely read it one day. I read it today. It's been days since you've been coherent, weeks since we've talked properly- and I miss you, beloved girl. Ma sent me home for the night for a break after Mrs Lynde and I argued again- mustard plasters won't help you in the slightest, that's what I told her. The last thing you need is more heat. I did apologise, but mother and Marilla thought it best that I leave for a little break. When I came away I made them promise I would be able to come right back tomorrow, so now I'm in my room at home, with only your thoughts and dreams to accompany me.

I'm begging you to come back to me, Anne. You were strong enough to survive your childhood, you lived through things that most of us can't imagine. You can do it again, I know the strength of will that you have. After all, you managed to resist my charms for five years, and you and I know that must have taken a great feat of strength alone.

I'm privileged to be the one that you love. I'm privileged to be the one who can hold you when you cry, to be the one you turn to even when you don't know you're doing it. What it meant to have you respond to me, proving to the others that you needed me to be there with you. I'm in terror that I'm away from you right now- I made them promise they would send for me if you don't sleep. Davy is snoring in the room next to me, Dad's keeping him too busy to be thinking much. He did laugh tonight when I told the two of them that I got sent home for yelling at Mrs Lynde. He says I'm his hero now.

When Marilla emptied your trunk, I asked her if I could look over all your writing. She handed me all of the notebooks that you keep, and they're all around me now. I never doubted your talent- but even I'm dumbfounded by what your imagination can construct. I can see you in them, beloved girl. I can see you in the girl dancing in the rain- in the old woman delightedly tracing pictures in the clouds. I could see Matthew, and Marilla, and Diana; and I fancy that the four fairies in the midnight garden are the four girls I have spent most of the last year with. But the one who made her thoughts visible in this journal is the one that I love most- she's the fairy I have been chasing for half my life.

I've thought I would lose you so many times before. And now it seems as if I never really understood what it would mean if I did. The pain was real enough back then- but it's nothing compared to what I feel now. I've lived over and over the mistakes that I've made with you over the years, including those I have made recently. The times I should have talked to you, should have told you what I was afraid of. All the times I should have listened to you, and not relied on my perception alone. I miss your voice, I miss your smile, Anne- I miss you. My fearless, intelligent, dreamy, and stubborn girl. I can't explain what I feel for you the way that you can- at least not on paper. But I'm praying for a lifetime to show you.

I'm trusting that beyond this day, there's a future for us. That one day this will simply be a part of our story, that years of happiness will make up for the pain that we're going through right now. You will walk down that aisle with me, and we'll be together forever. But no matter what happens when tomorrow comes; I'm yours, and you are mine. And I will love you always.

Gilbert.

For long minutes, Anne lay back on her pillows, dazed, her heart pounding. In the precious times where Marilla had come to sit with her and talk since the fever broke, when Gilbert was either washing or doing some chores around the house, Marilla had told her much of the last few weeks- had told her with regret of the way they had mistakenly kept him away. She'd spoken of the way Cora had set everything aside for Anne, coming alongside the family and stepping into their household with sensitivity and compassion. With her dry humour, she had described Gilbert's behaviour- the extremely stubborn young man who had against all propriety stayed by her side, had taken over as much of her physical care as his mother would allow him. That he had battled for the right to be beside her, argued with almost everyone in the house and had on many occasions been impossible, and stayed beside her in her very weakest state. He'd seen the very worst that typhoid had done to her and cared for her without flinching. And now to read his very heart, here in the place she had often hidden her own thoughts was like finding fragrant lilies in the wilderness.

Marilla was in Anne's room when Gilbert arrived back, beaming, and neatly groomed. She bustled around straightening up the already immaculate room, stopping to adjust Anne's pillows with a practised hand. Anne had tucked the precious journal under her pillow, and as Marilla fussed around the room, she fought to move tender eyes from Gilbert's beloved face. He could see the unspoken words in her glance, and winked at her- they would talk later.

When Marilla had gone, Gilbert moved the armchair away from the bed, and when he was satisfied with the angle, he carefully scooped a startled Anne up in his arms, carrying her and placing her gently in the chair, and tucking the little blanket that Dora had made for her around her legs gently. At first she was too bewildered to speak, until he tied the curtains back, and her mouth opened at the wonderful sight of the midsummer afternoon. The trees were waving gently in the breeze, and the nearby fields were beginning to turn golden in the summer sunshine. Through the open window, she could hear birds chirping in the tree tops, and the distant sound of the ocean crashing on the nearby shore. She turned to Gilbert, still speechless in her happiness.

Gilbert knelt down beside her, a grin on his face. "I thought you needed this, Anne-girl. You'll be out there soon enough- but I wanted you to have a glimpse of it now."

He studied her carefully. Under the doctor and Cora's instruction, they had been gradually increasing the simple food she was able to take, and he was pleased to see the colour come back to her face, while knowing it would take some time for her body to look the way it once had. Looking at the sparkle in her eyes though, he smiled. He knew that she had needed this as much as she did nourishment. While much had happened since the two of them had made their plans to lose themselves in the woods that they loved, as he watched jealously over her recovery he dreamed of taking her once she was strong enough to their old haunts. For now though, this was enough.

To his surprise, she turned from the window to him, her eyes brimming with tears. She took his face in her hands, her eyes speaking where her mouth seemed unable to. Eventually, she spoke. "Someone has been reading my journal, Mr Blythe," she said lightly, a blushing smile on her face.

"Wrong." he said, with a cheeky grin. "I remember writing in a journal, which means you might just have been reading mine." She watched him sober then, pulling away slightly. "Did you mind that I did it?" he asked softly.

An emotional Anne laughed, shaking her head. Her voice shook slightly. "No, dearest. I told you that you would read it one day." She pulled his head closer to kiss his forehead. "And I understand. You needed me. I'm so glad that you found it." she whispered. She pulled away then to study his face carefully, still somewhat thin after the ordeal he had been through. "I know that this might sound silly- especially after all that we've been through in the last ten years- but I don't know if I understood before just how much you love me," she said quietly.

He held her grey eyes with his own as her fingers stroked his face. "I love you with everything in me, Anne-girl."

She smiled, a tear dropping down her cheek. "And that is how much I love you."

And for the first time since she had become ill, his arms came around her and he brought his lips to hers slowly and passionately. He savoured the feel of her slim hands on his neck, the sweetness of her mouth against his; and she murmured her love for him in the little bedroom that in this single moment contained the whole world.