You turn around for one second and it's four months into a new year… how did that happen?!
I am delighted to make a very overdue return of sorts. Thank you to everyone who has continued to read and reread this and my other stories, or who has started to read them, and thank you sincerely to anyone who has kindly commented in the interim.
I also thank and admire all the writers here who have continued to provide such wonderful treats and comforts for us all. If I've yet to get to your own story or haven't reviewed for a long time, I promise I will do my utmost in the future!
I hope this finds you well, or as well as can be. 2021 hasn't heralded the best of times for my family, but there is, as always, hope for tomorrow.
I'd like to pause to remember two utterly brilliant Canadian sons. The first, Jonathan Crombie, who was taken too soon six years ago on April 15th. As many of you know, he is my first and only Gilbert, and I share him with all of you Sullivan girls out there. You are missed, Jonathan x
Secondly, my very own Captain von Trapp, Christopher Plummer, passed away as we all know back on February 5th after a long and glorious life and career. He is celebrated of course for his stories, his piano prowess and for many roles but will always be known for one in particular. When I was first trying to create a pseudonym for this site I came back to one of my other longstanding, non-Anne loves (and a fandom I hope to write for one day!) Mrs von Trapp sounded appealing in a Reader, I married him kind of way, and here we are. Thank you for a lifetime of memories, Christopher Plummer x
Finally, sending love to two wonderful human beings, DrinkThemIn and mavors4986 xx
Love
MrsVonTrapp x
Chapter Five
Flamingos and mustard both bite
"Anne, whatever is the matter? Why are you crying?"
"Gilbert, it's nothing! Just leave me be!"
"Anne, it's not nothing and you well know I can't possibly leave you till I find out what's wrong!"
Her back had been turned and her slight shoulders were heaving beneath the sheen of her lustrous dress; a gossamer pale pink silk that rustled when she walked, like the whisper of a secret, and housed enough bows and flounces – and puffs – to gladden her old girlish heart. As his arms gently persuaded her to face him, the sorrow in her flooded grey eyes completely undid him.
"Oh, Carrots…" he breathed.
"Don't, Gilbert!" her beloved face crumpled. "I don't deserve any sympathy!"
"Anne-girl, you're not making any sense…" he tried a pained smile for her benefit.
"It's… weddings," she whimpered.
"Weddings in general or this one in particular?" he teased gently.
Her look to him in the moment was depthless and unfathomable, and he quailed at the thought pre-empting her hesitant pause.
"It's not… Roy? You've been reminded of him all night. Are you thinking of what would have been your wedding… to him?"
"Gil… Oh, Gil, I…"
Gilbert's heart might have splintered at the agonised expression that played across Anne's mobile features, but for the unfortunate fact she had already massaged it into mush between her fine fingers earlier when he had seen her come down that grand staircase, flanking the bride, as luminous and lovely as his most fevered fantasies.
"Anne…?" he rasped, his breath gathering in his chest; the swirls and flurries of a million questions but only one answer.
Two days earlier…
Gilbert looked around him, eyes lighting with interest, as their cab made its way along the handsome streets of Bolingbroke fanning out from the central hub of the train station. It was an old-money town and no mistake; he could almost smell the riches of successive generations baked into the very bricks and mortar of the elegant buildings as they passed.
Beside him, glancing out the other window, Anne turned and gave a nervous smile; he realised that coming back here must always be a bittersweet journey for her; this daughter of Bolingbroke had experienced a far different life to the one they would meet again shortly, on the cusp of her wedding day. Although she had found a wonderful home and family through Green Gables (he was still smiling internally at the warmth of his welcome there the other day) she must be reminded, every time she returned, of the parallel Anne Shirley who had never known loss or grief or deprivation or pain. And then, beyond that, the bitter pill of irony for him; if Anne had not known those terrible circumstances… he may never have known her.
Too soon they were journeying uphill and onwards to the grand sweep leading to an impressive mansion perched atop beautiful, immaculately manicured grounds. Mount Holly may as well have been Mount Olympus, and Gilbert, despite the hob-knobbing with some of the Kingsport elite through Christine he had (mostly) endured, felt every inch of his modest Avonlea-boy roots.
His amazed hazel eyes must have betrayed him, for Anne gifted him her musical giggle.
"It's not you, Gilbert, believe me. It's all rather… a lot."
"How has Phil not become completely insufferable coming from all this?" he wondered aloud.
"You haven't met her mother yet, have you?" Anne gave a knowing smirk.
They descended from the cab onto polished flagstones, facing a great columned edifice, and further conversation was halted, not only due to his clear amazement, but the additional arrival of a servant in a smart tailored uniform come to meet them (a butler? a footman?!) They were both ushered inside and through to a handsome reception area, where the bustle and activity almost outranked that of the general Bolingbroke populace.
"Anne! Gilbert!" there came a familiar cry, and both turned to watch the young lady of the hour take a fleet-footed journey down the winding staircase, pausing breathlessly to survey them wondrously before enfolding Anne in a tight embrace.
"At last, you two! I've been watching for the last hour!" Philippa Gordon greeted, managing to be both the merry co-ed scholar they had known for four years and at the same time some wealthy society beauty they did not recognise.
"Phil, darling!" Anne laughed. "How are you coping?"
"All the better for seeing you both; you're the first Redmond arrivals. Pris and Stella and Aunt Jimsie don't arrive until tomorrow. Mother is driving poor Jo quite demented - you must rescue him, Gilbert. And I'm so glad you have barely any bruising to speak of now – or I would have had to hide you behind a flower arrangement!"
Gilbert rolled his eyes good naturedly, even as he accepted Phil's own quick welcoming peck on the cheek.
"How can we help?" Anne offered.
"Oh Queen Anne, you wonder! Will you come and try on your dress, so that Mother can see the finished result and which sized bouquet I – and by that I mean she - wants you girls to carry? And we still have hair designs left to decide. The wedding party is you and my two dreary cousins, I'm afraid. They barely have any conversation between them. Anne, you'll stay with me in my adjoining room. Gil, I have you and Jo and his groomsmen squeezed together above the old stables – don't look at me like that Gilbert Blythe! It is a very nice series of little rooms and I've half a mind to decamp there myself! Come up and get settled, Anne – and Gil, we will have you shown to your quarters. Jo will meet you there. Then come back to the house in half an hour and we'll all have refreshments on the terrace. And after that you'll both have to be paraded before the extended family – apologies in advance – and then there's the dinner tonight, obviously… "
Phil's winning, crooked smile took the edge of hysteria from her rapid-fire monologue, but only just. Gilbert took his leave of both ladies and wondered that if the day ever came for him he might well decide to elope.
The same servant had now materialised beside him with his bags and a frown for the frighteningly long list he now perused.
"Welcome to Mount Holly, Mr…. ah, Gardner," he nodded, taking one bag and bidding Gilbert follow him.
"Gardner…?" he puzzled to himself, and then groaned in pained understanding.
One day earlier…
Gilbert awoke to the strains of a lone - and decidedly amateur – violinist serenading him, seemingly right below his room, and sat up in bed confusedly, struggling out of his deep slumber.
"What the blazes?" he mumbled to himself, rubbing a brown hand across bleary eyes and down tanned cheek, and then looking across in surprise to see Jo Blake, groom to be, framed by the new light filtering through the large window and bathing the room in a rosy glow.
"That would be young Marianna Gordon, second cousin and sometime strings student," Jo explained with a tired resignation. "She is to be offered a little solo at the reception, and evidently has been banned from practicing in the house."
"Trust the Gordons to have a violinist and not a mere rooster," Gilbert observed wryly, earning a chuckle from his companion.
Gilbert reluctantly hauled himself to standing, stretching with an athlete's inherent grace, and shuffled over to the basin to splash some cold water on his face. Despite the unfriendly hour there was already a stirring felt in the air, as the residents and guests of this grand house and grounds readied themselves for the day before the Big Day.
"How are you holding up, then, Jo?" Gilbert asked the unprepossessing-looking man with the kind eyes, commanding voice and obviously heroic disposition, to be still determined to marry his intended despite the circus he had found himself within.
There was a dramatic pause.
"Let's just say, Gil, that on balance and if I had the choice, I might myself have preferred a punch in the nose to all this," he sighed, giving a twisted smile.
Gilbert's hazel eyes flew wide, now instantly awake and alert.
"Jo…" he gulped. "You're not having… second thoughts?"
This strangled question was met with warm laughter.
"If this is the price I pay for spending my life with the woman I love, I'll pay it gladly, Gil. Having the choice of course I would have preferred a quiet reception with close family and friends, but I can't deny Phil's family their chance to celebrate her and to say goodbye. Though I will own to the fact I have had to search for His guidance on a few occasions this week!"
"You yourself have the patience of Job, Jo," Gilbert grinned, relieved the conversation had not veered dangerously off track.
"And you don't, Gilbert?" there came a curious, knowing smile.
Wrong-footed, now, Gilbert gave a chastened look, his brow darkening.
"I used to think so."
Jo Blake nodded kindly, and came over to clap him on the back, which became a heartfelt hug of solace, sympathy and understanding.
"You are a good man, Jo. Phil is lucky to have you, and so will the poor parishioners of Kingsport."
Jo chuckled. "And so we will be lucky to have you in Kingsport with us!"
Gilbert acknowledged this with a hesitant smile, thinking that although he might be physically in Kingsport another three years, his heart might soon lie beyond Nova Scotia… might even be called back to the Island, and all the way to Summerside.
He finished dressing and making himself somewhat respectable, and as they waited for Jo's best man and groomsmen before braving breakfast up at the house, Gilbert couldn't resist a final question.
"Jo, how did you know that Phil was the one? That you could come together happily, despite different backgrounds and connections… despite all this?" Gilbert gestured around him, encompassing the casual riches that even their more modest surrounds above the former stables couldn't hide.
Miss Marianna Gordon completed her practice with a flourish to accompany Jo's assertion.
"Well, Gil, even amongst all this madness… Phil is the one thing, now and ever, that has made sense. And… I believe you, too, know that feeling."
There was no opportunity to reply, with the other gentlemen joining them, even if he could have mustered one. There was only the truth of the words, lingering long after, hanging in the air like a suspended note of music.
The morning of the wedding…
"Gil! What are you doing here?" the tone of Anne's surprised greeting managed to be both delighted and scandalised.
"Coming to see you, of course! I needed to check Mrs Gordon hadn't locked you in a tower or something."
"It sometimes feels like it!" Anne blew out a long breath, grabbing at his sleeve and pulling him back beneath the shadows of the large hedge partially obscuring them from view.
He had temporarily abandoned his post as Jo's man-at-arms to seek out the titian maiden now miraculously before him, fully prepared to vault fences and scale walls if required, enjoying the promising sun of another bright, clear morning – this morning of mornings - as he skirted the manicured grounds. Traipsing along the outer hedge of the incredible maze * he didn't dare enter alone, without adequate water and provisions, lest he never be seen again, he had almost barrelled into Anne coming from the opposite direction.
"What has she had you doing for the better part of two days? I've hardly seen you, let alone Jo have any time with Phil!"
"I could give you an inventory of engagements, Mr Blythe, but it would take too long, and I'm rather pressed for time as it is! I only came out here in the first place to catch some air before breakfast."
"Not nervous, Miss Shirley?" he teased.
That defiant gleam in grey eyes was accompanied by a little pointed chin, raised in ready challenge. It made Gilbert chuckle in delight and relief to see it, and his reaction was obviously so disarming that Anne soon forgot any grievance.
"Oh, Gil… I can't wait to leave this cacophony behind! I long to be back again in Avonlea. To have one of our rambles on a sunny afternoon… just the two of us and the trees and the flowers and the neverending sky…"
Her little, funny grin up at him was all charm and chagrin, and his arm snaked around her shoulders without realising, pulling her close in companionable understanding.
"I feel the same, Anne. I'd whisk you back this second if it didn't mean Mrs Gordon calling the local constabulary on us," he vowed, his throat thick.
"She would, too!" Anne lay her head against his shoulder, and Gilbert tried not to start at her sudden proximity and the tantalising, easy intimacy of her gesture. He felt Anne's breathing slow as she relaxed into him, and his mind was a jumble of jarring images – memories of all the times he had wished for such a gesture and been disappointed as she drew back at the last second, as if not daring to allow herself – or him - the moment… And now… and now… she was seeking his comfort… she was not turning from it. She was not turning from him, but to him…
And he realised if Anne could be his sense amongst the madness, he could be hers too.
"I should go…" she sighed after a time, as if a lament.
"You probably should…" he answered, equally mournfully.
They remained, still and unmoving, two wildflowers uprooted and transplanted to foreign soil, until Anne's name was carried down to them from somewhere up at the house, and she moved away with a helpless lift of her slight shoulders.
"Good luck, Miss Shirley," he risked a squeeze of that small, pale hand.
"Good luck to you, Mr Blythe. I know of some of the old matrons you'll be stuck sitting with later!"
He grinned at her riposte, offering one of his own.
"But surely they'll be best avoided by my many dances with the bridesmaids."
"Yes, Phil's cousins are eager to make your acquaintance," she smiled archly.
His flashing grin and bright eyes travelled with her through the garden and back up the slope to the house, and would warm her through the taxing hours of preparation ahead.
The Wedding…
Miss Philippa Gordon, as widely anticipated and predicted, made a beautiful, dainty fairy of a bride, resplendent in the couture gown her mother had masterminded, and the Rev. Jo was so radiant in his happiness that nobody thought him plain. **
Anne's shining eyes took in the flower-bedecked sweep of staircase and the vast crowd of guests below, but stuttered to a pause on one face that only seemed to have eyes for her, following her progress down the stairs and towards where Jo, his groomsmen and fellow minister, awaited the ladies. Anne could hardly concentrate on the ceremony, too aware of the heat of a particular someone's gaze, and when the happy couple were joyfully announced to those present as forever joined something in her sought him again and was ensnared by his look.
After a series of formal portraits it was onto the feast and festivities, and Anne's dismay was real to see that the familiar broad shoulders and curly head were far away across a sea of strangers. Even Aunt Jimsie, Stella and Pris were closer to the long bridal table, and seemingly seated with a merry collection of young, like-minded guests. Whereas Anne bit her lip at her reckless earlier joke, for Gilbert was shoulder-to-shoulder with a number of those aforementioned matrons. What Roy in his stead would have made of that didn't bear thinking about.
Roy.
He would have been here, here, as her intended, hobnobbing with the well heeled and pontificating about everything to anyone. His manners might have been faultless but his manner could easily turn supercilious. She had often tried to prick the bubble of his pomposity as kindly as she could but had internally despaired of his pride and snobbery. Oh, he would have been in his element here. When all she wanted to do now, having seen her friend so happily matched, was to escape.
Down the Rabbit-Hole…
"And what do you do, Mr Gardner?" the buxom matron to his left asked conversationally, once the speeches and formalities of the wedding reception had been observed.
"He's the businessman, Elsie!" one of her companions chided.
"Antiquities!" another added eagerly.
"Was that before or after your expedition to the Continent?" a further question came from across the table, possibly from Mrs Victoria Huntington-Smythe.
"I rather thought the two went together," the woman on his right decreed sagely. "Those Romans have treasures aplenty, so I understand."
"I think you mean the Greeks," came ready reply.
"My Freddie's been to Greece," Mrs Elsie Albright observed. "Terrible waste of his Tour. He really should have stopped in France and been done with it, but there was no swaying him."
"The youth of today," Mr Royal Gardner intoned, shaking his head sadly.
"But here you are, Mr Gardner, and such a shining example!" a younger matron offered coquettishly.
"Remember he's spoken for!"
"Alas, it's true," was the twinkling hazel-eyed reply.
"Which one again?"
"The redhead," came the answer for him, from several quarters.
"They're engaged," another reminded in a theatrical stage whisper.
"Please say you have some unattached brothers back in Kingsport, Mr Gardner!"
"I have several," Gilbert offered blandly.
"I knew I should have sent my girls to college there," one lady remarked, with the others nodding sad consensus.
Later…
Anne danced with Jo and the other gentlemen of the wedding party, and at one stage even the proud father of the bride, with all of the charm and alacrity for which she had become known at Mount Holly; and it was this fast-crumbling façade she still clung to as one dance ended and she saw, on her periphery, the figure she had been searching for all evening.
There he was; lauded Cooper recipient; all-conquering Redmond scholar; future medical student; teacher; sometime adversary; current comrade and… friend.
And…
And…
Her heart beat time to the thought even as her mind struggled to accept it… what Roy had surmised and the Patty's Place girls had gleaned… what Marilla had always wished for and Rachel had long predicted… what Diana had always hoped and what even Dorothy Gardner had guessed…
"Miss Shirley, may I have the honour of this dance?"
Anne nodded, awed and overwhelmed, not even able to absorb the significance of this first dance together, hopefully burying the pain of that other dance refused.
"Anne, I must take the chance to tell you that you look absolutely beautiful."
"Th-thank you, Gilbert."
"That would be Mr Gardner to you," he whispered conspiratorially, gifting his roguish smile.
"Gilbert Blythe, what have you done?"
He paused to enjoy the moment; whether dance or devilish behaviour, she couldn't quite tell.
"I have only been entertaining the ladies at my table with some anecdotes from my life. They didn't care for the name not on my place card, so I had to oblige them by using the one that was."
"Oh, Gilbert!" her face colored in comprehension. "They didn't change your place card!"
His grin was equal parts endearing and exasperating, and purely, unashamedly Blythe.
"It's no matter. Roy Gardner has had an enjoyable evening. And I did him a favour, Anne – I've made him much more interesting than he actually is."
She tried to smile, but it felt mangled on her face, and she hated being reminded of Roy and her past foolishness in the moment, and worse yet the insufferable girl she had been in the wake of Gil's proposal. But most of all she hated that Gilbert had had to masquerade as Roy, when he was infinitely more interesting and intelligent and worthy and wonderful…
"I'm sorry, Gil, excuse me – "
She barely breathed the words before retreating for the open doors and the courtyard outside.
Currently…
"Anne, whatever is the matter? Why are you crying?"
His steps sounded heavily on the cobblestones as he followed her out into the soft summer air, twilight embracing them as if a comforting blanket after the light and the chatter and the noise inside.
"Gilbert, it's nothing! Just leave me be!"
"Anne, it's not nothing and you well know I can't possibly leave you till I find out what's wrong!"
Her back had been turned and her slight shoulders were heaving beneath the sheen of her lustrous dress; a gossamer pale pink silk that rustled when she walked, like the whisper of a secret, and housed enough bows and flounces – and puffs – to gladden her old girlish heart. As his arms gently persuaded her to face him, the sorrow in her flooded grey eyes completely undid him.
"Oh, Carrots…" he breathed, long fingers reaching out to trace a path along her cheek, catching the tears as they fell.
"Don't, Gilbert!" her beloved face crumpled. "I don't deserve any sympathy!"
"Anne-girl, you're not making any sense…" he tried a pained smile for her benefit.
"It's… weddings," she whimpered.
"Weddings in general or this one in particular?" he teased gently.
Her look to him in the moment was depthless and unfathomable, and he quailed at the thought pre-empting her hesitant pause.
"It's not… Roy? You've been reminded of him all night. Are you thinking of what would have been your wedding… to him?"
"Gil… Oh, Gil, I…"
Gilbert's heart might have splintered at the agonised expression that played across Anne's mobile features, but for the unfortunate fact she had already massaged it into mush between her fine fingers earlier when he had seen her come down that grand staircase, flanking the bride, as luminous and lovely as his most fevered fantasies.
"Anne…?" he rasped, his breath gathering in his chest; the swirls and flurries of a million questions but only one answer.
"Not his wedding – not mine to Roy," she finally admitted, as if a deathbed confession. "I've been – I've been thinking of – what would have been - ours."
Chapter Notes
The chapter title refers to one of the Duchess's astute observations in Alice's Adventures in Wonderland Chapter 9 'The Mock-Turtle's Story'.
*A cheeky allusion to Catiegirl's work regarding Phil's wedding, and especially the seminal scene between her Anne and Gilbert within the maze she created for them at Mount Holly in When Tomorrow Comes (specifically Ch 27). Such beautiful, heartfelt, evocative writing, typical of one of the treasured writers on this site. A shout out to you, Catiegirl!
**Anne of the Island Chapter 39 'Deals with Weddings'.