Author's Note

Firstly, apologies for being away so long, and belated but sincere wishes for Christmas or whichever holiday you celebrate.

Thank you for the support of everyone on this site this year, whether through reviews, messages, favourites or follows, for this and my other stories, and for the generosity of spirit shown in sticking with me through my erratic and haphazard posting non-schedule. Likewise, thank you for your patience if awaiting responses for reviews or reviews themselves. To say my real life leaves little time for writing is a slight understatement, and I know I am not alone in this. However, if this year has proven anything, it's that there can be true wonders found within this community; in the shared love of LMM's titular characters and the many adaptations and incarnations of them; in the fabulous world-class writing; in the fellowship of a truly international array of readers and writers; and in the friendships that grow from all these facets, which I cherish.

Thank you to all my especial comrades-in-arms, and you will know who you are; from those (literally!) down the road and here in Australia to those whose hands reach across the waters; the world is wide but you have helped me make some memories (how did Mamma Mia 2 get in there?!)

Apologies in advance for this chapter. It has driven me demented. There is precious little kissing let alone anything else; just a long journey, a trout supper and visitors who stay half the night. In keeping faith with canon (and in leading in to my sequel fic to come) I couldn't just cheerfully write several long and frustrating hours omitted, but please know how I was tempted to, and that I won't shortchange you regarding upcoming events!

Love and Happy New Year

MrsVonTrapp x

Chapter Nineteen

Homecoming

Anne

The very air felt different, here; the tang of salt seemed to carry on the breeze as she and Gilbert were alighting from the train at Glen St Mary. Anne Blythe had been true to form, falling asleep against the bulwark of her husband's shoulder, and when he woke her with a kiss greeting perfect nose and those fetching seven freckles she started awake thinking she had dreamed their glorious day, only to realise it was no figment of her imagination. She was here – they were here – husband and wife together, after a long, long journey not merely of miles.

They had departed in bright sunshine but arrived at the close of day, and Anne was grateful for her new, smart jacket and skirt to combat the cooler climate and her sudden rush of self-consciousness, as the porter fussed with their trunks with a knowing smile and a tall, rangy scamp of a lad emerged to beckon them. Dr David Blythe had sent his horse and buggy to meet them, * and this is to where they were now directed, both carriage and massive horse seemingly equal to the task of transporting two humans and four trunks.

"Thank you," Anne approached the boy with a gentle smile. "It must have been a wait for you. What is your name?"

"Proctor, Ma'am," was all he would own to with a shy mumble, though his eyes widened as Gilbert dropped a coin into his dirty palm, and he happily slipped away with a sympathetic grin, leaving them to the delight of driving alone to their new home through the radiant evening.

Gilbert handed her up with a proud flourish, and they were away.

Anne never forgot the loveliness of the view that broke upon them when they had driven over the hill behind the village. Her new home could not yet be seen; but before her lay Four Winds Harbor like a great, shining mirror of rose and silver. Far down, she saw its entrance between the bar of sand dunes on one side and a steep, high, grim, red sandstone cliff on the other. Beyond the bar the sea, calm and austere, dreamed in the afterlight. The little fishing village, nestled in the cove where the sand-dunes met the harbor shore, looked like a great opal in the haze.

She clutched Gilbert's arm tightly, overcome by the sight, emitting a series of wordless gasps that had him smiling back at her fondly. The sky over them was like a jewelled cup from which the dusk was pouring; the air was crisp with the compelling tang of the sea, and the whole landscape was infused with the subtleties of a sea evening. A few dim sails drifted along the darkening, fir-clad harbor shores. A bell was ringing from the tower of a little white church on the far side; mellowly and dreamily sweet, the chime floated across the water blent with the moan of the sea. The great revolving light on the cliff at the channel flashed warm and golden against the clear northern sky, a trembling, quivering star of good hope. Far out along the horizon was the crinkled grey ribbon of a passing steamer's smoke.

"Oh, beautiful, beautiful," murmured Anne, eyes shining in rapture. "Just indescribably beautiful…"

Gilbert rather thought the scenery still paled when measured against the beauty of his wife, and was pleased to tell her so, making her blush rosily and becomingly in the twilight.

"I shall love Four Winds, Gilbert. I feel I will, right down to my soul. Where is our house?" the excitement – and curiosity – burst forth from her.

"We can't see it yet-the belt of birch running up from that little cove hides it. It's about two miles from Glen St. Mary, and there's another mile between it and the light-house. We won't have many neighbors, Anne. There's only one house near us and I don't know who lives in it. Shall you be lonely when I'm away?" Gilbert offered leadingly, though now that he had voiced the thought he knew it would quietly plague him.

"Not with that light and that loveliness for company…" she sighed, smiling dreamily.

She and Gilbert made slow, steady progress past a large, imposingly immaculate green house and grounds, continuing on the moist, red road that wound along the harbor shore. But just before they came to the belt of birch which hid their home, Anne saw a girl who was driving a flock of snow- white geese along the crest of a velvety green hill on the right. Great, scattered firs grew along it. Between their trunks one saw glimpses of yellow harvest fields, gleams of golden sand-hills, and bits of blue sea. The girl was tall and wore a dress of pale blue print. She walked with a certain springiness of step and erectness of bearing. She and her geese came out of the gate at the foot of the hill as Anne and Gilbert passed. She stood with her hand on the fastening of the gate, and looked steadily at them, with an expression that hardly attained to interest, but did not descend to curiosity. It seemed to Anne, for a fleeting moment, that there was even a veiled hint of hostility in it. But it was the girl's beauty which made Anne give a little gasp-a beauty so marked that it must have attracted attention anywhere. She was hatless, but heavy braids of burnished hair, the hue of ripe wheat, were twisted about her head like a coronet; her eyes were blue and star-like; her figure, in its plain print gown, was magnificent; and her lips were as crimson as the bunch of blood-red poppies she wore at her belt.

"Gilbert, who is the girl we have just passed?" asked Anne, in a low voice.

"I didn't notice any girl," said Gilbert, who, charmingly, had eyes only for his bride.

"She was standing by that gate-no, don't look back," Anne murmured warningly, tucking her arm into her husband's more firmly. "She is still watching us. I never saw such a beautiful face."

Gilbert had long thought the most beautiful face he had encountered was the one turned up to him, and hence felt leave to answer a mite dismissively.

"I don't remember seeing any very handsome girls while I was here. There are some pretty girls up at the Glen, but I hardly think they could be called beautiful."

"This girl is," Anne pressed. "You can't have seen her, or you would remember her. Nobody could forget her. I never saw such a face except in pictures. And her hair! It made me think of Browning's `cord of gold' and `gorgeous snake'!"

Gilbert smiled lovingly at the allusion, remembering the poetry he himself had promised Anne this very evening.

"Probably she's some visitor in Four Winds…" he answered distractedly, "likely someone from that big summer hotel over the harbor."

"She wore a white apron and she was driving geese," Anne responded with a quizzical brow.

"She might do that for amusement," he answered unconvincingly. "Look, Anne-there's our house."

Anne looked and forgot for a time the girl with the splendid, resentful eyes. The first glimpse of her new home was a delight to eye and spirit-it looked so like a big, creamy seashell stranded on the harbor shore. The rows of tall Lombardy poplars down its lane stood out in stately, purple silhouette against the sky. Behind it, sheltering its garden from the too keen breath of sea winds, was a cloudy fir wood, in which the winds might make all kinds of weird and haunting music. Like all woods, it seemed to be holding and enfolding secrets in its recesses, secrets whose charm is only to be won by entering in and patiently seeking. Outwardly, dark green arms keep them inviolate from curious or indifferent eyes.

The night winds were beginning their wild dances beyond the bar and the fishing hamlet across the harbor was gemmed with lights as Anne and Gilbert drove up the poplar lane. Anne's breath almost stopped as she strained to drink it all in. Unexpectedly, the door of the little house opened, and a warm glow of firelight flickered out into the dusk. Gilbert seemed to give a soft sigh, noticing this too, as he lifted Anne from the buggy and led her into the garden, through the little gate between the ruddy-tipped firs, and up the trim, red path to the sandstone step.

Anne grasped him tightly.

"A welcoming committee?" she gave a wry smile.

"I'm afraid so, my love," it pained him to say it, more than she would ever know. He had harboured the faint hope all the way from the station that Great Uncle Dave might have left his greeting for a week or so, or arranged to pick up his buggy another time, in similar way to which it had appeared. The thought seemed churlish, of course, but his own disappointment was not easily masked, to think they had been waiting so long to be alone and now waited longer still.

Anne could have laughed at the aggrieved expression on his dear, lean face.

"Well, let's make them welcome, darling, as they have obviously intended for us."

"Welcome…" Gilbert sighed again, rather extravagantly, and then gave her a soft, loving look.

"Welcome home," he whispered, and hand in hand they stepped over the threshold of their house of dreams.

"Old Doctor Dave" and "Mrs. Doctor Dave" had evidently come down to the little house to greet the bride and groom. Doctor Dave was a big, jolly, white-whiskered old fellow, who immediately enveloped the pair in an enthusiastic bear hug, and Mrs. Doctor was a trim, rosy-cheeked, silver-haired little lady who took Anne at once to her heart, literally and figuratively.

"I'm so glad to see you, dear," Mrs Doctor Dave kissed each in turn, her greeting for both though her eyes turned to Anne. "Our love and congratulations on your wedding day. I'm sure it was quite marvellous, and I'm sure we'll hear all about it in good time. It really is wonderful to have another Doctor Blythe here in the Glen. Dave's proud as punch, you know," she smiled serenely, though her face quickly took on a motherly frown. "Here I am prattling, when you must be real tired. We've got a bite of supper ready, and Captain Jim brought up some trout for you. Captain Jim-where are you?" she looked about with exasperation. "Oh, he's slipped out to see to the horse, I suppose. Come upstairs and take your things off."

Anne's grey gaze met Gilbert's, her expression equal parts grateful for such kind ministrations and flustered to be separated from the man who had been by her side the entire day. Gilbert gave a comically helpless shrug of his shoulders as he was taken aside by his great uncle, whilst Anne looked about her with bright, appreciative eyes as she followed Mrs. Doctor Dave upstairs. She liked the appearance of her new home very much; it was sweet and snug, yet solid and reassuring, and strong enough to be able to withstand all manner of weather. Anne trailed her pale fingers along the polished wooden banister and smiled, feeling already as if the house had the atmosphere of Green Gables and the flavour of her old traditions.

Uncle Dave and this unknown Captain Jim made short work unloading the trunks, sending them up with Gilbert who was directed by his aunt and a bemused Anne as to where exactly they ought to be placed, mock-grumbling with a glint to his eye that he should at least be able to peek in Anne's for his pains before being shooed out again by both women.

"Well Anne, love, I'll leave you to get things settled to your satisfaction, whilst I see to the men and to supper," Mrs Doctor Dave offered, patting her hand reassuringly before retreating back down the stairs.

Anne stared around her, taking a long, quiet breath and casting an observant eye about her bedroom – their bedroom – and, with the blushing dawning understanding, also their bridal chamber.

"I think I would have found Miss Elizabeth Russell a `kindred spirit,'" she murmured when she was alone in her room. There were two windows in it; the dormer one looked out on the lower harbor and the sand-bar and the Four Winds light, and she crossed over to it immediately.

"A magic casement opening on the foam

Of perilous seas in fairy lands forlorn," **

quoted Anne softly. The gable window gave a view of a little harvest-hued valley through which a brook ran. Half a mile up the brook was the only house in sight-an old, rambling, grey one surrounded by huge willows through which its windows peered, like shy, seeking eyes, into the dusk. Anne wondered who lived there; they would be her nearest neighbours and she hoped they would be nice. She suddenly found herself thinking of the beautiful girl with the white geese.

"Gilbert thought she didn't belong here," mused Anne, "but I feel sure she does. There was something about her that made her part of the sea and the sky and the harbor. Four Winds is in her blood."

Would Four Winds come to be in hers? was of course the question, though Anne felt a strong kinship with her surrounds already. It was wonderful to think here she and Gilbert would be discovering the landscape and the community together, learning of both as an answer to a puzzle slowly revealed, or perhaps as a gift unwrapped, peeling away another layer little by little. She had felt shafted as a girl from pillar to post, and then thrust upon the unsuspecting Avonlea populace, and alternatively excited and homesick when away at Queen's. Redmond and Kingsport had been welcoming, and Summerside had – eventually – learned to be so, but here she would be Mrs Blythe – the new Mrs Doctor Blythe – intrinsically involved in the lives of these families on the coast, and the mere thought instilled a tremor of both thrill and trepidation.

And of course – here another rather more laboured breath – she and Gilbert would come to discover one another, too… Anne caught her own reddening reflection in the glass of the handsome dressing table, patting at her hair as she took off her hat and set it on the chair in the corner, brushing down the sides of her jacket and thinking back to Gilbert's hands at the buttons of her bridal gown earlier that afternoon. Had he thought, then, of another bedroom in which she would stand together with him, contemplating the removal of layers and barriers both?

Something fluttered in her stomach at that; fear and fascination, like twinned torments, and she wondered how on earth either of them would survive the evening, trout supper notwithstanding.

She busied herself with their trunks, then; she and Gilbert's sat alongside the far wall, with a third and fourth deposited out in the hall. Anne bypassed her own and her husband's, instead darting out to lift the lid of the homewares trunk and withdrawing one of two generous quilts, shaking out the apple-leaf design and arranging it over fresh sheets hemmed by loving, hopeful hands. Gilbert had purchased four new pillows and they were encased in their slips and plumped to perfection, deposited against the headboard and then arranged and rearranged until Anne looked at them tormentedly, wondering why on earth the placement of pillows even mattered.

Tomorrow morning, she would awaken to Gilbert's head resting on the pillow beside her.

Her mouth went dry as she contemplated that thought and others besides, and she completed her toilette quickly, freshening herself after their journey and in an agony over whether or not to remove her jacket – she was here in her own home, but amongst visitors; not guest but not yet hostess.

And bride but not yet wife.

With an exasperated huff at herself, and trying to summon any semblance of her old bravado, she stepped firmly out the door.

Gilbert

When Anne went downstairs Gilbert was standing before the fireplace talking to a stranger. Both turned as Anne entered.

"Anne, love, this is Captain Boyd. Captain Boyd, my wife."

It was the first time Gilbert had said "my wife" to anybody but Anne, except during his wedding speech, and he narrowly escaped bursting with the pride of it. The lady now wearing that mantle came down flushed and all eyes, the firelight sparking her hair as she crossed the floor towards them. The old captain held out a sinewy hand to Anne; they smiled at each other and were friends from that moment. Kindred spirit flashed recognition to kindred spirit.

Gilbert had to bite his lip against his smile at the old sea farer's manifold compliments towards Anne, delivered with such a gracious, gentle deference of tone and look that she was soon grinning and blushing in equal measure and even his own great aunt tittered delightedly whenever any verbal bouquet happened to be offered to her.

They gathered gaily around the supper table, and Gilbert was grateful for the sight of Anne across from him, bequeathing a shining smile as he had leapt to seat her, brown hand lingering on her slight shoulder for the lightest yet surest of touches. The hearth fire banished the chill of the September evening, but the window of the dining room was open and sea breezes entered at their own sweet will. The breeze stirred wisps of his wife's hair which in turn stirred his own pulse, and he had to concentrate mightily on the conversation, though it veered like a drunken sailor from something the Captain had fed some stray to his Great Uncle Dave's forty years' feud with the over-harbor people. But the view, when his eyes diverted from Anne's, was magnificent, taking in the harbor and the sweep of low, purple hills beyond. Gilbert was thrilled that this was the house he had brought her to, this hospitable home of warmth and welcome. The table was heaped with Mrs. Doctor's delicacies but the piece de resistance was undoubtedly the big platter of sea trout, and he was hungrier than he had realised, not even sure what he had even eaten at his own wedding, and though it was but a few hours ago already it, and Avonlea, seemed as if part of another lifetime.

Now, of course, the immediacy of the darkening evening was what called to him, observing Anne file away the knowledge of a Mrs Dick Moore, resident of the house among the willows up the brook, and laughing himself at the idea of inveterate man-hater Miss Cornelia Bryant, wondering if it would be an advantage or not to have such a fearsome-sounding personage at their doorstep. Though, of course, these names belonged to people who were not mere neighbours but possible patients, and he paused at that, wondering if he would ever feel the ease in discussing them that Uncle Dave evidently felt.

"Who was the first bride who came to this house, Captain Jim?" Anne asked, as they sat around the fireplace after supper.

"Was she a part of the story I've heard was connected with this house?" asked Gilbert, knowing how the knowledge would please her. "Somebody told me you could tell it, Captain Jim."

"Well, yes, I know it. I reckon I'm the only person living in Four Winds now that can remember the schoolmaster's bride as she was when she come to the Island. She's been dead this thirty year, but she was one of them women you never forget."

Anne needed little more encouragement to settle in for the story, leaning forward like a schoolgirl in the chair opposite him, as his aunt and uncle took the sofa and the good captain settled himself nearest the flames, making his tumultuous tale spark with further drama and mystery.

"Tell us the story," pleaded Anne. "I want to find out all about the women who have lived in this house before me."

The Captain's tale was certainly equal to anything Gilbert had heard or that Anne herself may have created, even back in her Story Club days, and she made an incredible picture, sitting enraptured, framed by the light of the flames and her own incandescence, drinking in the romance and the peril of the schoolmaster's bride. He answered to Captain Jim about trances – despite his uncle's scepticism – and though the older man dismissed John Selwyn's notions, nay visions, as dreams, Gilbert couldn't help but hark back to the vivid memory of his own fevered imaginings, when gripped by typhoid, and convinced he heard and saw Anne. Man of Science he might be now, let alone Doctor of Medicine, but he would always keep a belief in his back pocket in things unseen and not easily explained.

"He turned his head and looked at me…." the Captain was coming to the end of his tale. "I've never forgot his face- never will forget it till I ships for my last voyage.

"`All is well, lad,' he says. `I've seen the Royal William coming around East Point. She will be here by dawn. Tomorrow night I shall sit with my bride by my own hearth-fire.'

"Do you think he did see it?" demanded Captain Jim abruptly.

"God knows," said Gilbert softly, thinking of his own bride and his own hearth-fire in the moment, and his journey to win them both. "Great love and great pain might compass we know not what marvels."

Anne met his eyes with her own brimful ones, giving him a loving look that stopped his heart, no doubt thinking, as he was, of the love and pain and grief that had been part of their own story.

"I am sure he did see it," said Anne earnestly; a support to guest and message to husband both.

Gilbert smiled in return, barely suppressing the desire to cross the room and sweep her into his arms. It would have to come later, of course, once their audience had departed. He shifted in his seat like a fidgety schoolboy.

"It's a dear story," sighed Anne, learning of Persis Leigh's longed-for and slightly miraculous arrival, and feeling that for once she had got enough romance to satisfy her. "How long did they live here?"

"Fifteen years… Fifteen happy years! They had a sort of talent for happiness, them two. Some folks are like that, if you've noticed. They COULDN'T be unhappy for long, no matter what happened. They quarrelled once or twice, for they was both high-sperrited."

Gilbert caught Anne's eye again at this and gave a knowing smirk.

"Then they moved to Charlottetown, and Ned Russell bought this house and brought his bride here. They were a gay young pair, as I remember them. Miss Elizabeth Russell was Alec's sister. She came to live with them a year or so later, and she was a creature of mirth, too. The walls of this house must be sorter soaked with laughing and good times. You're the third bride I've seen come here, Mistress Blythe-and the handsomest."

Captain Jim contrived to give his sunflower compliment the delicacy of a violet, and Anne wore it proudly. She was looking her best that night, with the bridal rose on her cheeks and the love-light in her eyes; even gruff old Doctor Dave gave her an approving glance, and told his wife, as they drove home together, that that red-headed wife of the boy's was something of a beauty.

"I must be getting back to the light," announced Captain Jim, with a satisfied air. "I've enj'yed this evening something tremenjus."

Gilbert was instantly on his feet and most solicitous in ensuring there was no danger that aunt, uncle or former sea captain could inadvertently leave any belongings behind, and whilst Anne shared several fond parting words with Jim Boyd and learned of the sentiment regarding the race that knows Joseph, he was hard pressed not to hustle them all out the door.

The moon had just risen when Anne and Gilbert paused atthreshold with their guests. Four Winds Harbor was beginning to be a thing of dream and glamour and enchantment-a spellbound haven where no tempest might ever ravin. The Lombardies down the lane, tall and sombre as the priestly forms of some mystic band, were tipped with silver.

"Always liked Lombardies," said Captain Jim, waving a long arm at them. "They're the trees of princesses. They're out of fashion now. Folks complain that they die at the top and get ragged-looking. So they do-so they do, if you don't risk your neck every spring climbing up a light ladder to trim them out. I always did it for Miss Elizabeth, so her Lombardies never got out-at-elbows. She was especially fond of them. She liked their dignity and stand-offishness. They don't hobnob with every Tom, Dick and Harry. If it's maples for company, Mistress Blythe, it's Lombardies for society."

Gilbert grinned at Anne's approving look regarding all this talk of trees.

"What a beautiful night," said Mrs. Doctor Dave, with a gentle, leading smile to them both as she climbed into the Doctor's buggy and they all exchanged their farewells.

Having admired the night himself, the Captain took off after them, confident and sure-footed as he headed back to the bright beacon flashing in the darkness.

The laughter of the goodnights died away, and with the silence there stole up like a breeze from the harbour a new aching awareness of the man beside her, stirring Anne's nerve endings as he chuckled in chagrin to himself and gifted her his roguish smile.

"I know we will thrill at their company, Anne-girl, but I really thought tonight they'd never leave!" Gilbert rolled his eyes for good measure, eliciting a nervous flicker of a laugh from her, like a flame he was trying patiently to coax to life.

He offered his broad, brown, beautiful hand to her and Anne and Gilbert walked… around their garden, she trying desperately to take in his humorous little asides and the surroundings that blurred into the soft, dreamy darkness. The brook that ran across the corner dimpled pellucidly in the shadows of the birches. The poppies along its banks were like shallow cups of moonlight. Flowers that had been planted by the hands of the schoolmaster's bride flung their sweetness on the shadowy air, like the beauty and blessing of sacred yesterdays. Tongue-tied and desperate for some sort of occupation, Anne paused in the gloom to gather a spray.

"I love to smell flowers in the dark," she said, inhaling their scent wonderingly. "You get hold of their soul then. Oh, Gilbert, this little house is all I've dreamed it. And I'm so glad that we are not the first who have kept bridal tryst here!"

Gilbert grinned at her use of tryst, the disapproving visage of Rachel Lynde looming large, to think they might be engaged in something scandalous and illicit within distance of either of her gifted quilts.

But no. He was a married man, here with his bride… in their house. With their own hearth awaiting them and a new mattress on the bed upstairs and the yearning of years informing every quivering breath he took in her radiant presence.

"Shall we, Mrs Blythe?" he invited, low-voiced now and fighting a tremor of something more elemental than excitement.

Anne's smile was a brave thing that did not falter, though her hand pulsed in his, and her wide grey eyes seemed to drink him as he walked back with her to the doorway.

Chapter Notes

*All quotations from Anne's House of Dreams (Chapters 5, 6 and 7) excepting the first line which is the end of Ch 4, or unless otherwise indicated. I tried very hard to hop, skip and jump over as much of the talking talking talking as I could! However, LMM's descriptions of Anne and Gilbert's journey to Four Winds and her depictions here and evocative sense of place are so beautiful I couldn't bear to be without them.

**John Keats Ode to a Nightingale, which LMM has Anne quote in Ch 6, and was a through-line regarding Keats I wanted to keep throughout these wedding and honeymoon chapters.