"That's the last of the invitations," Anne exhaled, pleased. She gave the stack of envelopes a happy pat.

Gilbert was going to ride them to the post office.

"You sure you don't want to come with me?" He asked her.

"I can't," she reminded him. "The Andrews have a visitor this weekend and they said he won't go into town while he's here but if he does anyway I don't want to risk it."

Gilbert nodded. He leaned in to kiss her before starting for the door.

"I wanna go wiiiith youuuuu," Walter demanded, chasing Gilbert out.

Anne followed. "Walter, no, you have to stay here."

"Whyyy?" Walter whined.

"Because I said so," was Anne's reply.

"I'll bring you something from town," Gilbert told him. "A surprise."

Walter did not want a surprise.

"I wanna go with youuu," he continued to whine.

He tried to climb up into the buggy to follow Gilbert anyway.

"You're not going," Anne said firmly, grasping his arm tightly and pulling him from the buggy.

Walter tried to squirm out of her grasp and threw himself at Gilbert.

Anne pulled him off of Gilbert. "You are four years old now. You are too old to be throwing temper tantrums. If you can't go, then you can't go, and you're not going to have a fit about it!"

"Gilber…" Walter began slowly. He thought if he could get Gilber to be on his side, then mama would change her mind.

But Anne was completely aware of where Walter's thoughts were, and said sternly, "Gilbert is not here to rescue you from your mama telling you no!"

Walter stomped away.

Anne and Gilbert shared an exasperated laugh.

"I think he's bored," Anne said.

"Is the visit only for the weekend?" Gilbert questioned.

"That's what they told me," Anne nodded. "I'll take Walter to play with Clara later today, though. That should help."

"Anything you need from town?" Gilbert asked before he headed off.

"No," she said, leaning in to kiss him again.

When Anne turned back toward the house, Walter was sitting on the porch steps with his head resting on his chin.

"You're mean," he told her. "Mean, mean, mean," he repeated, stamping his feet on the steps.

She walked right past him and went through the door.

He got up and followed her.

Anne went to the kitchen table to retrieve her good stationary and ink.

Marilla came up from the basement with a jar of preserves. When she saw Anne cleaning up her work, she looked torn. "I still think we ought to have ordered embossed invitations."

Anne shook her head. "There's no need," she said cheerfully. "Handwritten are best. They're more personal that way. ...Besides, with this new fancy stationary Matthew bought me, they look scrumptious. I've never seen such buttery smooth cards! I could just sit and pet them!"

Marilla laughed at Anne petting her stationary. "I must say I'm glad you wrote them yourself then, instead of me doing it! Writing such an important message, I'm certain my hands would shake!"

Anne grinned. "Well, I think they look all right. See? I wrote an extra one, to save for posterity."

"For posterity, hmm?" Marilla repeated, amused.

She read the invitation to herself:

Mr. Matthew Cuthbert and Miss Marilla Cuthbert

Request the Honor of Your Presence

At the Wedding of their Daughter

Miss Anne Shirley-Cuthbert

to Mr. Gilbert Blythe

to Be Held in the Church

Tuesday, December 23rd

at Half Past Three o'Clock.

Reception to Follow.

Regrets only.

"Do you think I should have put R.S.V.P. instead of Regrets Only?" Anne asked.

"No, we don't need people to respond unless they won't be coming," Marilla said. "We only need a general idea of how many to expect… My, seeing the details written out makes it all so real, somehow, doesn't it?"

Anne felt a bubble of joy inside her, bursting to come out.


"I really like Margaux," Mr. Andrews commented on Saturday.

"I do, too," his wife agreed happily. "Her French is impeccable, and her manners are far more refined than a lot of the local girls here. You can tell she comes from good stock."

Mr. Andrews suddenly thought: "You know, it wasn't a bad thing Billy had to leave town. Without thinking too much about why he had to go, it's been a real benefit to him. He's certainly had more opportunities there than he would in little Avonlea!"

"And Margaux's family is very well-connected," Mrs. Andrews pointed out satisfactorily. "I wouldn't be surprised if we met some important political figures while visiting. ...I only wish they hadn't invited us for Christmas! Of course we must go. But I hate to miss seeing Walter in the wedding. I can just picture him in his little suit, carrying the pillow with the ring on it."

"You think the Cuthberts will invite us to the wedding?" Harmon asked, surprised.

"They would for Walter," Mrs. Andrews decided. "Anne will let us see him- as long as we don't give her any reason not to."

"Well, they'll have the wedding party photographed, I'm sure," Harmon said dismissively.

"If they do have one taken, we won't get to have a copy," Mrs. Andrews said with almost a pout. "Anne won't let us have that, not after what I did with Walter's photograph before! Oh, I wish I hadn't sent his photo to Billy, but what's done is done. ...At least he sent it back to us."

"I told you you shouldn't have sent it," her husband reminded her. "I said no good could come of it. I still don't understand what you hoped to accomplish."

Mrs. Andrews shook her head to herself. "I thought if Billy just saw Walter- saw how much he looked like him- he'd want to be in his life! And then perhaps he could have developed an interest in Anne, too...even if it was only to be with their baby...but a family between us all was too much to hope for!"

"It's funny, hoping for that," Mr. Andrews commented. "We'd never have considered that girl a suitable match for him."

"Yes but that was before Walter. Walter makes everything different," Mrs. Andrews said, wishing they could see the little boy right this very minute.

"He does," Mr. Andrews agreed. "And I'm sorry it took me so long to see how much he matters."

She took his hand.

After a moment Mrs. Andrews said, "Did you notice that nearly all of Margaux's clothes were the same color? I chatted with her while she unpacked in Prissy's bedroom and I couldn't help noticing that besides her nightgown and peach colored dressing gown, every garment she had was the same shade, nearly, of ice blue. ...She knows what she looks good in! Or, how she wants to present herself, which is just as important. ...I felt so lowly seeing all the clothes she had packed for only a two day trip! It seemed she was expecting to be shown the town and paraded around to Avonlea society- and we didn't take her anywhere!"

"How could we take her anywhere?" Her husband asked. "We can't even take Billy into town while he's visiting us."

"She's going to wonder, Harmon, why she hasn't been introduced to anyone."

"I expect so."

"She'll think us perfect heathens when we don't go to church tomorrow!" Mrs. Andrews said, upset. "There's no excuse to give her that makes sense for why we aren't taking her to church."

"If there isn't any excuse to give her, then perhaps we shouldn't bother with an excuse," Mr. Andrews concluded. "We ought to let Billy explain to her himself why he can't show her about."

"But then she might leave him..." Mrs. Andrews worried.

"I don't want that, either, dear, but he's going to have to figure out a way to manage things, we can't pick up after him forever."


On Sunday morning, Mrs. Andrews came down with a sick headache and took to her bed.

"I'm afraid your mother is ill," Harmon said at breakfast. "I think rather than go to church this morning, I'll stay home with her."

Mr. Andrews offered no advice to Billy about staying home or going to church, deciding Billy could come up with his own excuse rather than relying on his parents.

"What a shame," Margaux sighed. "Well, you can introduce me to everyone, can't you?" she asked Billy.

Billy did not want to go to church. He hadn't seen nearly anyone in Avonlea in such a long time, and everyone in town knew exactly why he'd been sent away.

But at first he couldn't think of a reason they couldn't go, and as he drove the carriage, he had an idea. He smiled at his intended. "Say, no one knows we're going to church, let's skip it and have some fun."

"Like what?" Margaux asked, patting her honey colored hair and adjusting her hat.

"Well...we could have a picnic," he said slowly. "In the meadow. Private. Just us."

"We haven't got a picnic made," she said. "Besides, I want to go to church just to meet some people, Billy. Your family must be hermits; they haven't taken us out or introduced me to anyone all weekend! I haven't even gotten to see the town!"

Billy bit his lip. "What if we drive through town right now?" He thought of suddenly.

This is the perfect time for you to see the town- everyone will be away at church.

"Fine, drive through town," she said complacently. "At least I'll know what it looks like!"

Billy steered toward town.

"There's not much to it, is there?" Margaux commented as they drive down the road.

Billy shrugged.

"What's wrong with you?" Margaux finally said, leaning forward to look at him. "You've acted funny since we arrived. Didn't you want me to meet your parents?"

Billy hesitated. "Well...yes, but...I don't go into town when I'm home."

"Why not?" Margaux demanded.

"There's this girl...who was making trouble for me, and I- I had to leave. That's why I went to live with my aunt and uncle in the first place."

"Trouble? What kind of trouble?"

Billy was quiet, trying to figure out how to spin the story to make him look a little better.

"She was accusing me of some things," he said finally.

Margaux creased her brow. "What things?"

Billy sighed. "She had a baby and she was telling everyone that I-"

"That it was yours?" Margaux interrupted, her eyes big. "What a wicked thing to do! Did you try to set it right?"

"I…"

Margaux suddenly thought of: "Couldn't you just tell people who the real father was? Or didn't you know who he was? If the baby looks like the father then she can't keep lying!"

Billy stared down at his hands, avoiding Margaux's eyes. "Uh...the thing is, it...it was sort of...true."

Margaux's eyes widened. "Sort of true? Billy, it's either true or it's not! Either it's your baby or it's not! There's no sort of!"

Billy sighed, looking off to the side. "Fine. Then it was true."

Margaux sat back in her seat, crossing her arms. "Well I wish you'd told me this before!"

Billy finally looked at her. "You wouldn't have gone out with me if I had."

Margaux shook her head, upset. "I certainly wouldn't have! ...Why didn't you marry her?"

"What?"

"Why didn't you marry her?" She repeated. "If the baby was yours after all, and you knew it, then you ought to have married her! ...I think you're an awful coward, Billy, for not stepping up! The decent thing to do would have been to marry her! ...All this time you haven't taken any responsibility!"

"Her family wouldn't let us get married," he lied. "I wanted to do the right thing, honest, Margaux. I always want to do the right thing...they just wouldn't let me."

Margaux was silent.

Finally she asked, her voice clipped, "Do you still have feelings for her?"

"Who?" Billy asked dumbly.

Margaux was incredulous. "The girl you had a baby with, Billy!"

Billy did not know how to answer this. If he said yes, she would think he couldn't commit to her, but if he said no, she'd think he was callous for not caring. "I haven't seen her in years," was all he said.

"Years?" She frowned. "So this isn't new."

He shook his head.

"How old is this baby, Billy?"

Billy had to think.

"You don't even know?" Margaux asked, upset.

"I do know," Billy said irritably. "This happened three years ago...no, I guess coming up on four years."

Actually it had been a bit longer than that, Walter had already turned four.

"I want to see him. And her," Margaux said, again crossing her arms.

"Why?"

"I just do. I don't know why."

"She won't let me see him," Billy told her. Billy had never actually asked to see his son, but he knew that it was not a lie to say that Anne wouldn't let him.

"That's why we don't go into town," he went on. "Because she doesn't want me around."

"Well I want to see for myself," Margaux said. "So I intend to stick around and find out."

Billy reluctantly started the carriage moving again.

"Look, are...are you going to tell your parents? They seem to like me so far…"

"I don't know what I'm going to do!" Margaux said unhappily. "Here we are, practically engaged, you meeting all of society where I live, and everyone expecting something to come of it. I'll be humiliated. You ought to have told me this before! ...What other secrets have you been keeping?"

"None," Billy said quickly. "None at all. And I've never done...that...again."

"I don't want to think about you doing that, it's too revolting, you weren't even married. It shows a deplorable lack of self-control." She sniffed.

Billy grumbled.

"I still want to see what they look like."

"I have a photograph," he said. "You can see that. It's at home, though- I mean at my aunt and uncle's. It's not very good because it's just a copy I had made of one my mother sent me once. But it's good enough to see what he looks like."

"I want to know what she looks like. Have you any pictures of her?"

Billy turned to her with a charming smile. "No. But she's nothing compared to you."

"What does she look like?" Margaux asked again, her voice bitter.

"She's white as a ghost with bright orange hair and her face is all covered in freckles," Billy said. "You're much prettier."

Margaux rolled her eyes.

"Well if she's so unattractive, then why were you in a relationship with her?" she asked.

Billy nearly dropped the reigns. It hit him suddenly that he shouldn't have called Anne ugly. He'd only said it so that Margaux would know he wasn't interested in Anne.

But now he realized that not being interested in Anne- and mocking her looks- complicated things.

Margaux obviously believed there had been a relationship. ...He couldn't let her know the truth of how the baby had arrived. She was already mad at him enough without knowing the entire story.

Billy reached for her hand. "It was just a schoolboy crush. Now that I'm older and more serious, I only want you, Margaux. You're...you're everything to me."

She pulled away from him. "Drive on to the church," she ordered. "I don't care that we're late."

"She won't be there, if that's what you're thinking," he told Margaux. "She stays away when I come to town." Then, realizing this did not make him sound very good, he added, "Because of her parents. ...They won't let her see me."

Margaux was unhappy. "I don't know what to think, but I'm appalled. I'm appalled at you being intimate so young and without even being married. I'm appalled at you never seeing this child you brought into the world. And whether they let you or not, I'm appalled at you leaving."

Billy didn't say anything. In truth, leaving Anne was the best thing he'd ever done for her.


"I never get any letters!" Walter complained when Anne hushed him so she could read what Jane had written to her from Newbridge.

"You can't read," Anne said absently as she turned the page over.

"You could read to me," he said, pulling on her skirt. "What's that say?"

"It's from Aunt Jane. She's telling us about the school she teaches in. And she's met someone…"

Walter pulled on her skirt again. "I want letters too, mama."

"Well, to get letters, you have to send letters. Somebody starts by writing a letter, and then the other person writes back, and it goes on from there. That's how it works."

"Can you help me write a letter?" he asked.

"Sure," Anne said, amused. "Who do you want to write a letter to?"

Walter thought about it. "Grandpa," he decided.

Anne couldn't help laughing. "Walter, he lives right here with us. You don't have to write a letter to someone you live with."

Walter was disappointed.

Anne felt bad she'd laughed at him. "It's all right. You can write a letter to grandpa. It'll make him happy. What do you want your letter to say?"

"I don't know yet," Walter said.

"Well, you think about it, and then I'll help you. I'll help you write, too."

Anne was prepared to write the letter for him, with him telling her what he wanted to say in it.

But when Walter said he wanted to write a letter, he truly meant he wanted to write the letter. He pulled the pen away from Anne and jabbed it into the inkwell. He messily dribbled ink across the paper. "I'm going to write a letter now," he announced.

But then he sat there at her desk, the ink splattered onto the page. "I don't know what to write," he finally said.

Anne thought Walter would just draw pictures or make a mess, but she left him to it. "Don't spill my ink," she warned. She sat down on her bed and started reading.

Walter took a long time.

When he was finally finished, he folded the page- nearly in half- and asked for a stamp.

Anne smiled. "Let mama make a pretend stamp," and she carefully drew a little inky symbol in the corner of the paper, because she did not want to waste a stamp on his pretend letter.

"I'm going to put it in the mailbox," Walter said. "And then when grandpa comes in he can go get the mail."

Walter waited patiently by the door until finally Matthew came in from the fields. "Grandpa, grandpa," he said. "You got a letter."

Matthew was confused at first until he saw that the folded up paper with the pretend stamp was not a real letter.

"Walter, you'll have to tell him what your letter says," Marilla began.

"He doesn't need to tell me, I know how to read," Matthew said.

"But- well, look," Marilla explained as Matthew opened the paper to see that it was covered in random lines and scribbles.

But Matthew did not hesitate. "You must not be able to read as well as I can, Marilla. Plain as day what it says."

Marilla smiled, shaking her head.

"Dear Grandpa," Matthew 'read', "How are you? How are the cows? The weather is just fine here. It's cloudy, but if it rains, we need it, the grass is dry. Did you know we got a pig that had babies? There are nine of them. They are all black except one that is pink and black. I hope you have a good day and I will see you soon. Love, Walter."

Walter grinned proudly.


Anne decided to take his newfound interest in letters and use it to motivate him to learn something. "You know," she said, "You could learn to write real letters like mama. Let me show you." She got out a piece of paper and began writing the alphabet on it, but quickly changed her mind and turned the paper over, writing only two letters, A and B. That would be enough for now.

"This is an A, and this is a B. Those are the first two letters of the alphabet."

"How many letters are there?" he wanted to know.

"Twenty six," Anne said.

"That's too many," he told her.

"You don't have to learn them all at once," Anne said, encouraging him. "Just the first two. Now this one," she said, guiding his hand, "Is like a mountain, it goes up to a point and then down. And then you put a little bridge in it, to walk across. And the B is just an up-and-down line with two bumpy parts."

He was happy with how the letters looked when Anne moved his hand for him, but now he wanted to try for himself.

Walter took up the entire piece of paper to make one A.

Anne went downstairs to find her old slate. She couldn't let him use up all her paper that way; at that rate he'd need twenty six pages just to write the whole alphabet once.

Anne wasn't happy with his letters because he made his A upside down every time she didn't help him.

She patiently tried to help him turn his letters around, mostly focusing on the B, which was backward every time. "Look, the stick goes on this side, and the bumpy part goes on that side. You have to see that…"

But Walter did not see that, and quickly got bored with the whole thing and wanted to go outside to play.

Anne tried to be okay with this, reminding herself that he was only four years old and he still had all the time in the world to grow to love reading like she did.


After two solid weeks of being made to practice writing A and B, Walter could make both letters by himself, though he still wrote his B's backward nearly every time.

His interest in getting mail continued. Anne addressed the envelopes for him and wrote his salutation and his closing signature. Gilbert found a letter in his mailbox that said:

Dear Gilbert,

ABABBAB

Love,

Walter

..

Mr. and Mrs. Andrews received a letter that said:

Dear Grandma and Grandpa Andrews,

BBBBBA

BABBBAB

Sincerely,

Walter

..

And Clara got a letter that said:

Dear Clara,

AAAAAAAAAAB

Love and kisses,

Walter


One afternoon Marilla called Anne to her, saying, "Let's you and I go up to the spare room and go through it to see what you might like to use in your new home. Shall we?"

As they made their way upstairs, Marilla continued, "Of course Gilbert's house is already furnished. But you might like some reminders of home. Besides, I'm sure his house could use some sprucing up!"

When the afternoon was over, the parlor was filled with items to take over to Gilbert's house- two brightly colored braided rugs, three quilts, two tablecloths, doilies Marilla's mother had made, and of course, the dear little hope chest Marilla had filled long ago.


Anne's dress was coming along nicely. Every time Marilla had her put it on to check the fit, Anne shivered in anticipation- her dream of a wedding dress was finally coming true. Of course the gown was ivory instead of white, because she'd read in Bridal Year that ivory looked best on redheads. Secretly, she was glad for a reason to change to ivory- a white dress had been a dream of hers, but she was all too aware of what people might say about her were she to wear it.

But color hardly mattered when she looked at herself in the mirror. She had never seen such extravagance. The enormous sleeves, finished with ruffles and tiny silk rosebuds, and the lace trimming the train that trailed out behind her, made Anne feel as though she were among the clouds.

When Matthew came in and saw his sweet little girl in all her splendor, he became misty-eyed, and thought to himself that it wasn't just the sunlight pouring into the room that made her sparkle.


Margaux had gone home, and Billy worried she'd tell her mother and father about him having a child. He figured he could eventually get Margaux to overlook it, but he had no such confidence in her parents.

Fortunately for him, Margaux just stewed about it on her own, angry and embarrassed, and told no one.

She seriously reconsidered her attachment to Billy, but she liked the way he looked and the way he complimented her. She didn't think he was exceptionally bright, but she didn't need him to make a fortune; she had one of her own. She just wanted an attractive and charming man on her arm. And she thought he fit the bill nicely.

Besides, she'd be too humiliated to break off the relationship when they were as good as engaged. He'd been introduced to all of society.

But she did intend to further investigate Billy's past. She didn't like what she'd found out so far and she wanted to be sure there weren't any more secrets he was keeping from her.

And she wanted to know more about this girl he'd been with.


Gilbert and Anne, who had no knowledge of Billy and his near-fiancé, lived in a happy dream. Gilbert began getting the schoolhouse ready for the upcoming year and preparing for what he'd need to teach, with Anne ever ready to help out with lesson plans and grading. Anne was spending her days sewing lovely little things for their home- curtains and bed ruffles and the like. And Walter, who did not really grasp the concept of a wedding, was happy only to know that he and Gilber were going to be together all the time. Walter was four and had a fair bit of hero-worship, as is common of a boy that age with his father.