A bumper chapter for a bumper country: thank you to my 927 readers in Australia. I lived there for three years as a child and nearly ten years as a grown up, and even gave birth to my youngest son on a Bunnings dropcloth on my lounge room floor. I got to every state, except if you can believe this, Queensland! But here's a delicious quote from the wise and funny Criena Rohan, that never fails to make me laugh.

"Australia can be a lonely country. Australians do not like outsiders. There is no particular reason why they should. And Queenslanders go one step further – they don't like other Australians."

I cannot list all the thank yous I would like, in Australia's thousands of indigenous languages (I also don't think the word thank you exists) So let me share this gem of a word with the rest of my readers instead. It's from the Gadigal People (or the Sydney people, which is where I lived) and it's Putuwa, and it means: to sit by the fire and warm your hands and squeeze gently the fingers of another person.

May there be many putuwa moments in all your lives. kwak.

...

Chapter thirty-eight

They arrive at White Sands just after lunch and head straight for the hotel. Anne books a room, something cosy and quiet, away from the bustle of the strand. Gilbert heads to the back of the hotel and across the alley to the police station, where he finds Fred at the front desk writing up reports. The smile that breaks out in his face tells Gilbert everything: Fred is gladder than he should be to have something (a very welcome something at that) to distract him from the massive pile of paper work at his elbow.

They shake hands and slap backs and Fred makes a joke about the ugly scab marring his chum's eyebrow. 'What's hidin' under that beard, I wonder?'

'You can keep wondering,' Gilbert grimaces. 'This is not a social call, Tourt. We're looking for May.'

A brief look of confusion passes over Fred's face, then his dark brown eyes light up. 'The kidnappin'. You don't mean to tell me –'

'So you know about it?'

'Sure I do. All the stations up and down the Island have been alerted. They just said it was a fair-haired infant girl. I had no idea it was wee May. What makes you think she is here, didn't she disappear in the Glen?'

He leaves the counter and fastens the topmost button on his black serge coat.

'Let's talk about it at the hotel,' says Gilbert, 'I'm not sure I want the police involved yet.'

Fred whistles. 'You stayin' at the White Sands? Wart cream's payin' off, I see.'

'Something like that,' Gilbert says, vaguely. 'Come on. Anne's there too.'

Fred whistles again, but this time he says nothing. He learned a long time ago it's best not to jump to conclusions when it comes to Anne Shirley.

Anne has not learned that lesson yet, but she is about to. A befuddled, almost girlish blush rises from the collar of her dress and blots her cheeks as Constable Wright takes her hand.

'Anne,' Fred says, doffing his cap, 'I wish we were meetin' under better circumstances. Gil told me about May.'

'Fred!' Anne blurts, squeezing his hand. Fred. So trim and manly in his well-fitted suit, his neatly trimmed moustache, and his bright white teeth; the way he held himself with oodles of confidence; why he looks ten feet tall! 'Fred…' she says again.

'She in shock?' Fred mutters to Gilbert, his brows turning downward with concern.

'Sure looks that way,' says Gilbert, with amusement. 'Anne, would you like to sit down?'

Anne shoots a look at him, and remembers to release Fred's hand. 'I'm sorry I… I haven't seen you in your uniform,' she explains, feeling rather embarrassed now – not to say ridiculous – as explanations about May and Davy leave her head. All she can think of is what she plans to write in her next letter to Diana.

'Still gettin' used to it,' Fred chuckles, glancing down at himself. The brilliant silver buttons, the glossy black boots a far cry from the overall he was never seen without.

'Fred's here as a friend, not a constable,' Gilbert says, before turning to him again. 'We're hoping we can right this mess without need of the law. We have good reason to think Davy Rossi is involved.'

Fred shakes his head. 'Mighta known. So what can I do to help?'

The three walk arm in arm past a willow to a painted bench looking out to the sea. Anne has found her tongue now, and quickly fills Fred in on the most recent events: how they had worked out Mr Morrissey was Margaret's father, and suspected he summoned Davy to Charlottetown in order to talk about Margaret.

'You mean Miss Mawsey is Miss Morrissey? But why'd she change her name?'

'It's possible her father disowned her after finding out she was pregnant. We plan to visit him next, at the haberdashers,' Anne says.

'You can try,' Fred muses, rubbing his jaw. 'But I don't see as you'll get any answers there. Morrisseys has been shut for a month or more. Bereavement or something. I could check the records for you, but so far as I know no one's been livin' above the shop for four weeks at least.'

'Davy could be hiding up there.'

'I ain't breaking in, Gil, if that's what you're hopin'. I need to talk to Mackerson first.'

Anne huffs with growing impatience. 'And Mackerson will have to talk to Swan, and Swan will have to talk to someone else. Meanwhile we're sitting by the sea like tourists discussing proper procedure!'

'Lemme guess,' Fred mutters, lifting Gilbert's cap to size up the cut on his chum's brow, 'you two ain't been following proper procedure?'

'Fred's right,' Gilbert says to Anne, 'we have to be smart about this. You've only been conditionally released, there is no way I am risking you getting locked up again.'

Fred's mouth falls open and his eyes go wide. 'You what!'

'That's another story for another time, Tourt. Come on,' Gilbert urges, 'we can visit Morrisseys at least, there's no harm in that.'

Anne and Gilbert find it is just as Fred said. According to the black bordered note posted to the inside of the display window, Morrisseys is closed due to a death in the family.

'It couldn't be Margaret, could it?'

'Don't think that way,' Gilbert reassures her. He has seen that look in Anne's eyes before, when she talked with him about her mother's letters. The thought of Margaret being kept from her child must haunt her, and Anne does not need upsetting right now.

'Gil's right, there's bound to be plenty of folks in Morrissey's circle who up and died. You mentioned his boys are both servin', could be somethin' happened to one of 'em.'

'Or it could be a cover up, it could be they've got May. Maybe she's up there right now,' Anne speculates, gazing up at the second storey windows, the curtains all pulled shut.

'We ain't breakin' in,' Fred reminds her. 'If you want to get inside you need more proof than a hunch, and I reckon yours is a bad one. I know Davy's a fool but he's no simpleton, he'd have to be desperate to hide out there. One way in, one way out, right in the middle of Main Street, in Margaret's own home.'

'Fred, you're right!' Gilbert declares, punching his arm, then instantly regretting it; his wrist though out of the sling is still very sore, and while Fred might have changed outwardly he is still as solid as ever. 'Where did Davy used to hide back when he was thieving, when he broke into my boarding house and stole everything I owned?'

Anne's eyes narrow and a crease appears on her forehead. 'Not everything, Gilbert. He left your blanket behind...'

'Just like he left it behind on the hill,' Gilbert cries, 'Davy wants us to know it was him!'

'You mean he wants to be found?' Fred utters, scratching his head.

'No. I think he just wanted to prove he had outsmarted us. Oh Davy,' Anne sighs, 'why do you do these things?'

Gilbert yanks on her hand. 'Come on, let's find out.'

Fred finds them a cab to take them to the cliffs, and they stop a half mile from their destination. They walk in silence, each of them aware that Davy will be listening out for intruders, which gives Gilbert some time time to think. Foremost on his mind right now is regret, for not insisting Anne remain behind. He should have made her stay at the hotel, but one look at Anne's steely grey eyes tells him he would have had more luck reining in a wild horse.

It is after three by the time they approach the cliff face where Davy once made his home. He knows these caves well, knows how they are linked, which ones flood with the rising tide, and which ones are unstable. This knowledge gives Davy the upper hand, but it also narrows his options. He is not alone, he has a eight month baby to shelter; and while Davy might think nothing of risking his own life, surely he wouldn't risk May's?

In the end May finds them, her soft cooing echoing against the red stone walls of the furthest, biggest cave, a short and easy climb up the cliff face. There is a large dust covered branch by the entrance, no doubt used to sweep over his footprints, and a polished lantern hidden just inside by a pile of neatly stacked driftwood. Fred enters first; the sight of his uniform is likely to make Davy keep to his hiding place, rather than start a confrontation, and he walks in slowly and peers into the gloom. Anne and Gilbert stand outside; her hands clasped over her mouth, his stretched about her back as they wait in silence, scarcely daring to breathe.

Anne face is white, Gilbert is not far behind. The crashing surf sounds ominous, the call of a gull makes them jump. Then Fred appears, the little girl in his arms, wrapped in a sheet Davy had probably swiped from a washing line. Fred had found her in a curled up in a barrel that had been lined with even more blankets. She was sticky, grubby, wide-eyed and silent, her little hands clinging to one of Fred's silver buttons. When she sees Anne and Gilbert she starts to cry, her little arms wide and yearning to be held.

'She's all right – she's all right – she's all right...' Anne cries, holding May close to her breast.

The wave of relief that falls over Gilbert feels like it might bring him to his knees. It's over, May is safe, he can't stop smiling – until he does. The grin he wore just seconds ago stretching into a sneer.

'Where is he?' he hisses, shouldering passed Fred.

Fred yanks him right back.

'If he's in there I never saw him, and I ain't lettin' you go after him now. It's time to inform Mackerson, Gil, we got to involve the law.'

Gilbert watches for Anne's response, and is surprised to see her nod in agreement. He was sure she would fight Fred on this; Davy is her stepbrother, he is Martin's son, he is May's father...

'I want to go, Gilbert,' Anne says to him, never taking her eyes off May. 'I want to get May away from here, get her clean and warm and safe. I don't know why Davy did such a thing, and right now I don't care. He could have talked to us, he could have told us what he knew, instead he chose to do this. The mess is his, and he will have to fix it. Send for Mackerson,' she adds, nodding at Fred, 'there's nothing more we can do.'

Fred insists on staying at the cave, and instructs Gilbert to let his superiors know where to find him. Gilbert agrees, though reluctantly, and together he and Anne make their way back to the hotel. It takes a good hour to reach the township, during which time May falls asleep in Anne's arms. She's a heavy little bundle, and smells a lot like condensed milk, but Anne won't hear of it when Gilbert offers to hold her for a while.

It's a lucky thing he didn't, in the next moment Gilbert lurches forward and almost trips as someone shoves his shoulder. His first instinct is to look for Anne, who is backing away like a cornered animal into a crowded part of the street.

'Davy, let us be,' she begs him, shoppers and shop owners staring at her with growing curiosity.

'Give me back my daughter!'

Davy is pale, and even though it is a balmy July day he is dressed in the heavy sweater and cap he wore the day of Fred's graduation. He looks like he has hardly slept, and licks his lips nervously, his tear-filled eyes on May.

''scuse me son, ' says one man in the crowd, 'you sayin' this lady has your child – is that your baby?' He takes a step closer to Anne, Gilbert steps between them.

'Let's not talk about this here,' Gilbert reasons, 'Davy, we're heading to the White Sands Hotel –'

'He's not coming,' Anne implores, 'I don't want him anywhere near us!'

Davy face crumples, and he wipes his eyes. 'You turned Anne against me, Gilbert. My one friend in the whole world.'

'I was your friend,' Gilbert reminds him. 'Dora, Martin, Marilla, Ruby, they all love you Davy –'

Davy begins crying in earnest now, tears fall unchecked down his cheeks. 'There was only one person in all the world who loved me,' he says brokenly; the rumbling crowd falls silent; even Anne turns her head. 'And now she's dead... '

'Oh Davy, no,' Anne murmurs, taking a step toward him.

'Don't you see,' says Davy eagerly, 'I'm the only person May has left, I have to make this right –' He walks toward Anne slowly, till his shaking hand brushes May's cheek. 'I let Margaret down, I know that,' he admits, though he can't help adding, 'but she let me down too. It's up to me to make this right. A baby needs her father, Anne, you can't keep her from me.'

'Look at her,' Anne says, angrily, 'This is not how you take care of a child.'

'Davy,' Gilbert adds, approaching him. 'Where is Fred?'

'Constable Wright?' Davy mutters, sarcastically, 'how should I know. He was hanging round the cave when I came back with my supplies. We had a tussle and he landed on the sand. He couldn't have fallen far, I just wanted to get to May.'

'Did you hurt him?'

'I gave him a push,' Davy shrugs. 'It wasn't more'n I gave you. I don't know what you're in a flap about, when you stole my baby...'

Davy pauses then, suddenly aware of a change in the expressions of his audience. Every one of them glaring at him.

'You never hurt the constable, did you young man, not young Fred?'

They suck their teeth and mutter to each other, then give cold looks to Davy. That baby looks badly dressed and spooked. Maybe it's best the redheaded girl keeps hold of it, after all.

Gilbert is torn now: wanting to get Anne back to the hotel and wanting to get to Fred. He should be here by now, why didn't he follow Davy after he took a tumble? Something is very wrong.

'You want me to send word to Mackerson?' says a man in a butcher's apron. 'I can send my boy here, Will.'

'Yes,' Anne cuts in, her eyes on Gilbert. 'And you can walk me to the hotel, if you wouldn't mind. Gilbert needs to go –'

'I never hurt him,' Davy whimpers. 'I just pushed him out of my way. I promise you – I give you my word.'

'Your word?' Gilbert snaps at him. 'Don't you understand? Your word means nothing!'

He dashes off in the direction of the cliffs without a backward glance. Davy stands there, stooped and defeated, Gilbert's words like a punch to the gut. The crowd disperses, the murmurs cease. When Davy Rossi finally dares to look up, Anne and May have gone.

They meet again two days later at Charlottetown hospital. Davy had been telling the truth when he said Fred didn't fall far, but he didn't take into account what the lad fell on; a twisted piece of driftwood that pierced his thick wool jacket and entered between two ribs at his back. Apart from realising he couldn't easily move Fred didn't feel much, and after Gilbert removed the broken stick, and dressed the wound with some cloth he found in Davy's cave, he felt much better and even reported for work the next morning. It wasn't until the evening that Fred felt chilled and sore, and couldn't even bear his nightshirt touching his back. Mackerson found him hunched up in bed, shivering fiercely; the doctors at the hospital quickly diagnosing sepsis.

'What is he doing here!' Gilbert yells, when he sees Davy enter the hospital's waiting room. 'You've got a nerve, Rossi, get out!'

Anne swiftly ushers Davy outside. There is a small garden where convalescing patients are taking in the sun, bordered by shrubs and very old trees. Anne heads for a white painted arbour buckled with honeysuckle, and settles May on her other hip. She isn't trying to separate the two men. She brings Davy here because Fred's mother and father are expected at any moment. Once they find out Davy is involved... but Anne doesn't want to think about that. There has been more than enough bloodshed. She and Davy talk for a few minutes, then he kisses May's head and her hand, and leaves. Gilbert knows nothing of that little flourish, and Anne prefers to keep it that way.

'That was quick,' Gilbert says, when Anne returns to the corridor, the same corridor he has been pacing for hours.

'Have Fred's parents arrived?'

Gilbert nods, remembering the grey look on Adam Wright's face. If Fred had seemed ten feet tall to Anne, Adam looked like he had aged ten years. Sepsis killed Adam's father, took his Aunt Freda, too. The doctors tried, but in the end the doctors could do nothing.

'What did Rossi want?' Gilbert asks. Not that he cares, he just needs something else to think about besides the devastating symptoms of blood poisoning: fever, diarrhea, vomiting, confusion, excruciating pain as the blood thickened and one by one each organ failed. It hasn't got that bad yet, but that's the thing, you never know when it might. In a day, in an hour, in the next minute Gilbert might find out that Fred has died.

'He wanted to explain, but you're not in the right state of mind to hear this now –'

'No Anne, I... I want to know,' Gilbert falters. He stills his body and takes a deep breath. 'I want to understand,' he says, more gently. 'Does he still want May?'

'He didn't mention her at all,' Anne reflects, thinking of Davy. He wore the same thick sweater and hangdog expression, and looked extremely sorry for himself. 'Except to say that she reminded him of Margaret.'

Gilbert lifts the baby from her permanent place on Anne's hip, and holds her against his chest. Her blonde floss tickles his lips and he nuzzles her for a moment. 'Poor little Mayflower, I don't know how Ma will take it when she learns Margaret died. Did Davy say how it happened?'

'He did. It was very important to him that I understood why he did what he had done –'

'And do you understand?' Gilbert asks her, his voice barely concealing his growing impatience.

Anne attempts a smile, but the best she can manage is a grimace. She doesn't like it here; the echoing halls, the far off moans, the ever present smell of carbolic and urine. 'You need some fresh air,' she suggests, and tells him about the little garden. Gilbert nods and takes her hand, leading her to the massive oak in full and lucent leaf.

'I guess I can't help but understand,' Anne begins. 'he's a romantic at heart, is Davy Rossi. He thought that Margaret... well she said he was her first, if you know what I mean,' she adds shyly, glad that May cannot hear nor understand. 'When Davy became ill he felt doubly betrayed... he says it was Margaret who gave him his disease.'

'And you believe him?'

I don't know, it explains why he acted so coldly toward her, why he never trusted the love of anyone else. He vowed to cast Margaret from his heart, so when she turned up and claimed he was the father of her baby Davy told himself it was another lie. He didn't see why he should take the blame when he had already suffered enough. Then Ruby fell in love with him, and he let her think he loved her too –'

'You mean he lied,' says Gilbert coldly.

'He also lied to himself. He seems he never stopped loving Margaret, and couldn't believe it when her brother turned up the very night he proposed to poor Ruby. We had it right, Gilbert, all of it. Mr Morrissey was trying to get a message to Davy. Margaret contracted tuberculosis not long after she was admitted into the reformatory. She knew she was dying and wanted to see her daughter again.'

'And Davy was too late.'

'It's worse than that. After Mr Morrissey told Davy where to find her, he left for Guelph the next morning. He never thought of bringing May, all he cared about was getting to her before she died. When Margaret found out he had come without her baby she refused to see him. Then Davy did what he always does and ran away. He's lucky he's still on shore leave, otherwise he'd be hunted down for desertion. He went wild, drinking, gambling, fighting and the... the other,' Anne hints, reddening. 'Somewhere along the way he got it into his head that Margaret wanted him to recognise his daughter and raise her as his own. So he went back to Avonlea in order to claim her, and found out you'd taken her to the Glen.'

'Does he know you're having a baby?' Gilbert asks, even though he is not sure why.

'He never said anything if that's what you're worried about. He just seemed very sad and lost. He can't understand why he is suddenly the villain when the world has been so cruel to him. I didn't know what to say to him, Gil, when he is wilfully blind to the hurts he has caused.'

Gilbert hugs May close to him and touches Anne's face. Her strength, her courage, her pureness of heart: it still stuns Gilbert that she wants him; that he could be worthy of her.

'You're a better person than I am, giving Davy one minute of your time, but I won't... I won't give into self pity, I won't think of him at all.'

Presently Adam Wright comes looking for them, and walks toward the oak with a purposeful stride. Gilbert plops May into Anne's arms and turns to face him, bracing himself for bad news while hoping for the best.

'Mr Wright?'

'We're gettin' out of here!' he barks.

'But you just arrived.'

'No Gil, I mean we are leaving – all of us...' His hands shake and he brings them to his hair and scruffs it till it stands up in grey spikes. 'This is too much, this is just too much!'

'Mr Wright please, don't give up,' Anne implores. 'You must stay strong for your wife, for Fred –'

'Oh, I'm in my right wits, don't you worry about that. It's this place that's gone mad. They're injectin' my son full of bromide, he passed out with the pain. I'm not standin' for it for one more minute. We're headin' back to Avonlea.' He rubs his great hand over his jaw then clasps Gilbert's shoulder till Gilbert fears it will break. 'Gil, I want you to go there now, I want you to tell your mother to prepare –'

'Prepare for what? Mr Wright I don't understand –'

'We're bringin' Fred to the cottage, tonight if we can manage it. Your mother saved his thumb once, I reckon she can save his life. I don't want anyone to touch my son but Ro.'

...

* bromide was a common treatment for infected wounds in the days before antibiotics. It was injected into the surrounding tissue and often caused necrosis.

wow: I missed your comment! Yes tattoos in the old days, why would you put yourself at risk of getting what Fred has!? I loved your comment about Anne. I think that's why I love old books, they are filled with kooks and cranks and eccentrics and no one pathologises them, or makes excuses for their actions; they are simply judged by their deeds. I mean no one is working out why Rachel is a cow, or how Matthew came to be scared of little girls; they just are, and Avonlea accepts it. To me that is the best kind of tolerance. I could go on about this topic forever, but instead I'll say, thank you Maud, once again your wisdom shines :o)

Drink: Dearest, was that your polite way of saying: Thanks, I hate it! Ah, you're lovely, thanks for reading along :o)

NotMrsR: I try to get the laughs in when I can. Goodness knows we all need it. So glad to know you're still reading :o)

Guest: Thank you!

Regina: I can tell how much you liked Charlottetown, I think it informs everything you've read here so far. This is a very different incarnation, but still I hope a believable one. The Lindberg kidnapping has always creeped me out, I don't know why, but after reading that it feels justified. I guess Ruby could be considered crazy, but she is really just trying to save face. A failed elopement is a hell of a thing, but in this story she will get her happily ever after.

A Fan: Thanks, that's really lovely of you!

Guest: I liked that bit too :o)

FKAJ: I feel like that too now. Writing this story has become a case of checking in every few days to see what happened next. It just sort of unravels itself and all I need to do is be quick enough and organised enough to make sure I have the time and space to get it down. I liked the reunion too. I think at my age a bath bonk would be the last thing on my mind, but when you're eighteen and twenty and your bods are filled with adrenaline and relief, sex feels like a natural response. I'm glad you like these characters, I have fallen for them too, it's gonna be hard to say goodbye, but every nervous beginning deserves a cracking end ;o)

Guest: Wow, that was an amazing point. There is a lot of jealousy, and of Anne in particular. I never thought of that before. Thank you!

Guest: Thank you :o)

Guest: Thank you, too :o)

Can you tell where I'm going with this, can you tell, can you tell! I think someone is going to be reading a certain book very soon ;o)