Chapter 16 – Gilbert Blythe

Europe, France, Paris, 19th Arr., Rue Cavendish. October 1896.

For days, Gilbert went over Madame Elise's books. Rows and rows of numbers swam in front of his eyes, and he started to mix everything up. He tried doing what he had told Anne, and took another piece of paper to—

Anne. Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.

The beautiful redhead girl he had left behind.

This was the first time in days, if not weeks, he had thought about her. A pang of nostalgia gripped at his chest and he suddenly needed more air to breathe. He left everything as it was on the desk and walked out, down the hall, and out in the dirty street. It was the middle of the day and the girls of the house were not busy yet. He knew he could work in peace at least until after lunch. There was the occasional morning customer from time to time, but the house was usually calm.

So was the grimy street, for now. He stepped outside, gulping for some air. Ever since he had set foot in Paris, his lungs seemed smaller, like he couldn't totally fill them. Sure, the air was not as clean as the air on Prince Edward Island and—

Why was he so nostalgic? Now of all times. He shook his head and tried to clear his mind. He needed to take a walk. By now, he knew this part of Paris and he wouldn't get lost. He walked straight all the way to the Canal Saint Denis, one of the smaller gray and green canals that flowed through the cobblestoned city and ended up in the Seine. Apart from the parks here and there, this was the only place where Paris was letting in some nature.

Gilbert grabbed the railings just as the nearest church bell rang two o'clock. And his belly grumbled. How could he have forgotten to eat? No wonder he was feeling all nostalgic and out of breath... He stayed there for a moment, looking at the fast current of the river, and again, his thoughts brought him back to Avonlea. And of Marilla Cuthbert's plum puffs.
What on earth was he thinking? Leaving the only place he had ever called home, the only place where he had real friends?

He shook himself. He had friends, here, in Paris. Some of the girls from Madame Elise's house were nice to him. They knew he would never touch them in that sort of way, and so some had started confiding in him. Sometimes, it was things he didn't need to know. Other times, they were just happy to have a friendly ear to blabber to.

And there was Bash. Sebastian Lacroix had found a steady job at the central post office: he swept the floors and kept out of white people's feet. At least he was paid, and it changed from trimming coal on a ship.

When Gilbert's stomach rumbled again, he decided to head back home – yes, he had called it "home" – to grab a bite. Because of course, he had fled his crowded office without a penny. Stupid.

He made his way back through the dirty streets, keeping his head down. When he stepped inside the House, three girls stood to—

"Oh, it's just you," one of them said, throwing her sash at him, giggling. Gilbert caught it expertly and playfully threw it back to her.

"Yes, it's just me and I'm starving." The girls giggled some more and shared glances. "Is there anything left in the kitchen?"

"Yes, but hurry up," the dark-skinned girl said with a twinkle in her eye. "You know how Madame Elise doesn't like late-comers..."

Gilbert nodded and was swiftly on his way. He had seen how Madame Elise was with latecomers, but thankfully, it hadn't been against him. Though he knew she wouldn't hesitate to treat him like her other employees, since he had been with them for a few weeks, already. Sure, he knew the new girls had a better life at the House, but only for a few weeks. Not that they were mistreated or anything. They just didn't have any favors anymore, after a point.

"Hello, Mrs. Bug." Gilbert smiled as he entered the dark kitchen.

"Monsieur Gilbert," the old heavyset woman said with her thick French accent. "Finally! I thought you were lost in your numbers again!" She chuckled and took out a plate from the cupboard and filled it with the stew from the pot. She sliced a thick piece of bread and buttered it heavily too. "You're still too thin, Monsieur. Gilbert," she said, putting the plate in front of him. "I left you the most meat!"

"Thank you, Mrs. Bug." And by way of thanks, his belly grumbled even louder than before, awakened by the divine smell of the stew. This was one thing Gilbert was thankful for, ever since he had arrived in Paris: the food. He couldn't call it 'French cuisine' per se, but it was close enough. He gobbled up the stew in record time.

"Monsieur Gilbert," the kind cook said. "Don't eat so fast! You will make yourself sick!" She tutted, clicking her tongue in motherly disapproval.

"I know, I know," he said. "But I need to finish my work this afternoon. I'm almost done."

"It took you three weeks to get it all done?" She asked, mildly surprised, cleaning the stew pot.

Gilbert cleaned his plate with the bread, sponging the tasty gravy. "Yes. Madame Elise never did anything with her books, aside from just writing the salaries. I needed to figure out everything else."

"Hmph." She continued to clean her pot while Gilbert finished his plate. "Doesn't a smart boy like you want to do something else with his life? Working in a Maison de Plaisir isn't what you've wanted to do since you were a boy, non?"

Gilbert snorted. "Hardly."

Mrs. Bug turned around and stared at the brunet boy in her kitchen. "Bon Dieu. Then what are you doing here?"

Instead of answering, Gilbert sipped on the ale she had also given him. Then he put the cup down, swirled the remaining contents, and sighed. "I don't know..." he trailed off. He'd been so nostalgic earlier, he was afraid he might actually cry in from of Mrs. Bug. But was it that bad if he cried? Yes, it was. "I needed time and space from some, uhm, personal stuff." He carried his plate, fork, knife, and cup to the sink and cleaned them under the watchful eye of the cook.

"What is it that you've always wanted, Monsieur Gilbert?" she asked.

Gilbert paused in his scrubbing of the plate and a smile spread on his freckled face. "I've always wanted to go to University."

"Then go!"

"Here?" He snorted. "It's in French."

"So?"

Gilbert put the dishes to dry and looked at his newfound friend. "Where would I stay? Madame Elise wouldn't keep me here, using up a room, if I'm not working for her anymore."

Mrs. Bug went about the kitchen to start on the evening's meal for the household. "I am not Madame Elise, but you could stay on, working on one or two evenings a week with her books." She paused again, standing on her toes to grab a pot of honey on the top shelf. "What would you want to stud–"

"À l'aide!" a girl shouted, running down the stairs to the kitchen. "Madeline is having her baby! And it is too late to call the midwife! Madame Elise is furious! I don't know what to do!"

The poor girl was out of breath and as pale as a ghost.

"Calm down, Colette," Mrs. Bug said, helping the girl sit down on the bench.

"What do you mean 'she's having her baby'?" Gilbert asked. "Since when is she pregnant?"

"I don't know!"

It didn't take Gilbert long to decide what to do. "Mrs. Bug, boil some water and find some clean linens and towels. Collette? I need you to keep the girls out of Madeline's room for now. Only one can stay." He dashed for the stars, and then stopped in his tracks. "Oh, and Mrs. Bug? I'm going to need a sterilized knife as well."

Collette's eyes widened in fright and she fell from the bench, fainted. Gilbert didn't have time to take care of her, he had another patient that was more in need of his help. Whatever help it was he could provide. But he had helped his cow give birth to a calf a few years back. Surely, it wasn't all that different, right?

He ran up the stairs four by four and stopped in front of Madeline's room where all the other girls were huddled. Oh well, he'd had to get them all out himself since Colette had fainted.

"Mesdemoiselles," he called out. "Please, let me through, and I want only one other person with me inside."

All the girls hushed at once, looking at each other.

"I helped my maman give birth to my little brother," one of the girls said. Gilbert couldn't remember her name at the moment but nodded at her, relieved. He ushered everyone else outside and closed the door. Madeline was on her bed, moaning in pain every few minutes.

When Gilbert looked down at her, he noticed her bump. How she had hidden that for months without Madame Elise seeing it was a mystery. Granted, it wasn't as huge as he'd seen other mothers at the end of their pregnancies – not that he had known many pregnant women – but he was still shocked.

"Madeline," he said, kneeling down next to the young girl – fourteen? Fifteen years old? – and taking her hand. "How long have you known?"

The poor blond girl looked exhausted already: she was way too thin and fragile to be having a baby right now. "I don't know," she replied in French. "A month maybe?" She hissed as a new contraction seized her small frame.

Gilbert and the other girl – Francine, was her name – shared a look. "You didn't know sooner?" Francine asked gently, rubbing her hand.

Madeline shook her head. "I took all the precautions and did everything Madame Elise told us to do! I thought I was safe!"

Gilbert sat near her feet just as Mrs. Bug came in with boiling water and clean linen. He nodded at the cook who told him she had put two other girls on boiling water duty. "Madeline," Gilbert said, trying to keep the girl's focus on him. "When was the last time you had your, uhm… monthlies?"

Madeline, already red in the face from the contractions, blushed even more. "I don't know," she whispered. "Months ago. I didn't count. They're not regular…"

Gilbert nodded, trying to think fast. She could be at any month, right now. If only he had any medical knowledge he could know for sure what was happening. Was the baby too early? And if not, why was her bump so small? He hoped the baby was small too because Madeline was on the petite side as well.

She screamed as the biggest yet contraction hit her. Madeline grabbed Francine's hand and Gilbert put his hands in the boiled water, cleaning them as best he could. "I'm going to look, uhm, down there…" Gilbert said. "If that's okay with you…"

"Do whatever you want! Take it out of me! Make it stop!" Madeline was in pain and angry, so Gilbert pushed up her skirt and tried to figure out what to do. One thing was sure, he could see the baby's head.

"You're almost there, Madeline," he said. "I can see its head!"

Francine sat next to Gilbert to take a look as well while Mrs. Bug took Francine's place, next to Madeline. "Breathe, Maddy," Francine said in French. "Next time you have a contraction, you push. Hard, okay?"

Madeline nodded and Gilbert took a clean towel that he put on his lap. He didn't know how many pushes it would take for the baby to come out, but he would be ready when it did.

It took three more contractions and pushes, but the baby slipped out without too much incident – thank God it was small. Gilbert had never seen that much blood coming out of one small person at once, but he didn't mind it – as long as it was not his own. He wrapped the baby in the clean towel and took the knife to cut the umbilical cord. A satisfying snap sounded in the room, followed by a baby's shrill cry.

Madeline was still breathing hard, covered in sweat, but calmer, now. "Can I see it?"

Gilbert held the baby in his arms, and a wide smile spread on his face, without even him realizing. "It's a boy, Madeline," he said, putting the baby gently in her arms. He watched as Maddy's face brightened up.

"Oh, Merci mon Dieu," she said. "I didn't want it to be a girl. At least he'll be able to do something with his life." She paused and looked at Mrs. Bug and Gilbert. "Right?"

Gilbert looked at the cook and something passed between them. Gilbert wasn't quite sure yet, or how, or why, but he knew this was the first day of the rest of his life.

"I'm going to call him Alexandre," Madeline whispered, placing a soft kiss on the baby boy's head.

The three people in the room smiled and a sudden feeling of peace filled the room. It was the middle of the afternoon, but autumn sunrays were spilling into the room even through the dirty window, and small specks of dust lingered mid-air. Gilbert didn't want this moment to end.

But Francine had her head on her shoulders and ushered Gilbert aside. "She still needs to deliver the placenta," she whispered. "If she doesn't, she might die."

"Oh." Gilbert had no idea that was even a thing. "And how do we do that?"

"I think you have to–"

"Midwife, coming through!" someone was calling from outside the door. Francine quickly opened the door to let in a tiny woman who couldn't be much larger than Madeline herself and she smiled when she saw the baby was already in the young mother's arms. She looked around the room. "Who delivered this baby?"

"Gilbert did," Francine said quickly.

"Nicely done, Monsieur Gilbert." The midwife sat on the bed where Gilbert had been just moments before and started touching the girl's stomach. "Yes, the placenta is still there," she mumbled. From that moment on, she took hold of the situation, using Gilbert as her assistant and thanking Mrs. Bug and Francine for their help.

An hour later, Madeline was clean, the placenta was gone, the baby tucked in her arms, and Gilbert and the others were exhausted from the experience. The midwife left shortly after, and Gilbert, Mrs. Bug, and Francine met with Madame Elise in the small dining room. She wasn't happy. At all. Her girls were never pregnant, for crying out loud!

Mrs. Bug and Gilbert quickly left for the kitchen to escape the Matron's ire and angry speech to the girls.

"Well, Monsieur Gilbert," Mrs. Bug said after a moment of silence in the kitchen. "I think you know exactly what you want to do now, don't you?"

Gilbert looked up at the cook, confused. "Have a baby?"

"Mais non, bêta!" Mrs. Bug burst out laughing. "Go to medical school, bien sûr!" she chuckled and then continued on her evening meal. "You took responsibility and didn't hesitate. You weren't scared and you delivered a baby!"

"Oh, I was terrified," Gilbert mumbled. "But maybe you're right." He stood so fast that he pushed the bench on the ground. "I have to go, I'm sorry!" Again, he dashed out of the kitchen and up the several floors to his room where he found a new sheet of paper.

"Dear Anne,"

he wrote in his best cursive, though his hand was shaking a little.

"You have no idea what just happened today. But first, let me tell you…"

Hello all!

thank you for reading and for stopping by! I'd be really interested to read your thoughts on this chapter! ;)

Next time, Anne's pov in Avonlea, with a new letter...

see you soon!

here's the translation of the french texts ;)

Monsieur = Mister

Maison de Plaisir = Pleasure House, Brothel

Non = no

Bon Dieu = Good Lord

À l'aide! = Help!

Mesdemoiselles = Ladies

Maman = mommy

Merci mon Dieu = Thank God

Mais non, bêta! = Of course not, silly!

Bien sûr = of course