Oh my gosh, I am loving all your comments about Roy. What a gorgeous surprise! Thank you for supporting my idea to post everyday. Next up Anne finds herself between a rock and a hard place–or should that be between the devil and the deep blue sea...

CHANGE of HEART

...

That morning Anne was struck with a feeling that she had never adored Roy more. How funny that the refined and brooding gentleman; all 6'3", prominent brow, aquiline nose, and delicate lips, had induced what she came to realise was merely an intense, knee trembling crush. Now, with his clammy face on her lap and a sprinkling of stubble on his fine, square jaw, she found herself thinking that she wanted to take care of Roy forever.

Roy was very much enjoying the attention, for the first time he stopped worrying about what he looked like, or how Anne felt. He snuggled into her lap and made deep, comfortable sighs, and half-wished Mamma and Aline were there to see it. They couldn't make such baleful claims now. Anne wasn't the merest bit interested in his money and looks and position. Look at me, he wanted to say, on the floor of this crumbling hotel, as shabby as a hobo and humiliated with it. And Anne didn't give a hoot.

"We'll have to make a move soon," Roy caught the regret in Anne's voice, "if we want to make the nine o'clock crossing."

"No let's stay," he said, dozily, "I rather like this place now. I think I might settle here."

Anne replied by poking a pillow under Roy's head. "My boots aren't quite dry yet," she said, inspecting the now clean pair by the fire. "Why don't I go down to the ticket office at least and find out if there is going to be a crossing today?" She pulled on two pairs of socks over her stockings and stuffed her feet in Roy's Wellington boots. "I'll see if I can find us some breakfast–"

"Nothing for me, dearest, I beg you. Just coffee."

"There's some of that at the ticket office, too," said Anne wrapping her shawl around her head. "That settles it, I'll go."

That wasn't the only reason Anne set off early that day. Her hope was the mail would still be on the washing line, perhaps she might offer to take it down and get hold of Fred's letter.

As she crossed the town's one street, she saw a train pull in. Smoke and coal-dust curled over the road, and she pulled her shawl over her mouth and hastened toward the pier.

Before she got there, she spied two of the Harbour crew from yesterday loading up the boats. They assured her yes, they would be going as soon as the mail on the morning train came in. They were in for fair weather; the gale that blew in yesterday and knocked the Island crew off their course had passed.

"Six hours tops, I reckon," the Captain said, smiling at her, "providing there's no lolly about."

Six hours. She would be in Port Charley by three, and Charlottetown by three thirty. She would be able to get her presents, not forgetting Roy's, of course. Anne had sent a novel onto Cransborne earlier that week, but it wouldn't do to have Roy open nothing on Christmas day. Oh, where to put him, perhaps she could bunk in with Marilla and give up her dear little room for him? Or perhaps, yes here was a better idea, she could ask the Barrys. They had plenty of space now Diana had gone.

Her thoughts were very much on Diana when she went to the ticket office. She didn't even give Gilbert more than a nod of acknowledgement when she saw him in there.

"Anne? Don't you recognise me?"

Gilbert took off his beaver pelt hat. His curly hair was sticking up all over and he looked like he had barely slept.

"Gilbert!"

His hands went to her waist and he spun her about. "I thought you would be on the Island by now, this is a piece of luck." When her feet touched the floor again his hazel eyes were still dancing. "I'll meet you down there, at the pier, I said I'd give these men a hand with a mail. There's a massive load to go across and now I know why. No crossing yesterday."

"No," Anne murmured. "There wasn't."

"I'll see you down there, find you a seat."

"No seat for you?"

He shook his head and held up a yellow ticket. "I'm for the strap," he said.

Anne watched him heave a massive sack on each shoulder and carry them like they were birds. She forgot all about the letter, she was looking at the way the tail of his tweed coat had got caught up under one of the sacks.

"Mmm, nice rear."

It was the girl from the pie cart again.

"I hadn't noticed," Anne said frostily, "may I purchase some coffee here?"

...

On the way back to hotel, Anne had an argument with herself. She could stay another day at the Harbour, Roy wouldn't question it. But then what about Diana? Anne was going to the Island, then she wasn't, on and on it went until she was back in her room. To her relief, Roy had vacated. Anne was still staring out the smudgy window when he came back in.

He was fully kitted out in a balaclava, sou'wester, and gauntlet gloves that were stretched tight over the sleeves of his reindeer coat.

Anne's eyes were wide at the sight of him. "Goodness, you like Captain Ross."

"I was going for Erik the Red," Roy said, and pressed a kiss through his balaclava onto Anne's tam. "Red is my favourite colour, you know. Come, my Viking wench, let's be sailing!"

Down at the pier Anne was telling herself that Gilbert might never notice Roy. With the balaclava and the hat… If they managed to sit in another boat…

There were two boats going over with passengers and mail, and a third–Anne cringed at the sight of it–piled with Roy's trunks. That one would be taken by another lot of boatmen who did not have the prestige of delivering Her Majesty's mail. These men were odd jobbers with a reputation for being fast and loose. All you had to do was pay them enough, and eccentric gent in the Arctic get-up had been very obliging.

Roy presented his green ticket and sat in the middle, the mail bags tucked under his feet. He was the only one who did so, the rest of the passengers were standing on the pier looking down at him.

Gilbert was looking too, and nudged Anne with a smirk. "He looks like he's expecting a rough crossing."

"He's very wise," Anne said queenishly, "you never know what you might find out there. Ice boat crossings can be very dangerous, why only yesterday–"

"Anne, mounting a horse is dangerous, so is driving a cart, building a cathedral, having a baby–"

"Gilbert!" Anne forgot how he sometimes spoke to her with such familiarity. And it didn't bring comfort this time, but the beginnings of contempt. "I'll have you know," she said, "I'll have you know…"

"Know what?" Gilbert looked her up and down as if he was trying to make her out. He stared at her black boots, then at the rubber Wellingtons the man in the balaclava was wearing. He was about to ask, he just couldn't get the words out. Not that it mattered, he got the answer anyway.

"Anne, over here, I've got a nice safe seat for you!"

"Is that–"

"Royal?" Anne said, brutally, "why yes, it is."

She didn't mean to say it like that, even if it was the truth. She could not bear to see the look on Gilbert's face either. She pretended she didn't.

"I thought he wasn't coming," Gilbert said, so softly Anne was sure he was talking to himself.

She heard its echo when she went over to Roy and told him he needed to vacate his seat. He didn't seem to hear her either. He was looking over Anne' shoulder and muttering, "I thought he wasn't coming."

"Would the gentleman in the sou' wester please vacate the boat!"

All eyes were on Roy, had always been on Roy, and now the mouths below all those eyes began tittering.

"Roy," Anne whispered, "they're pulling the boats over the shore ice, you have to get out."

"But I-I've got a seat ticket," he said, feebly. "Priscilla told me I wouldn't have to pull."

He got out and gave the crowd a charming wave of self-effacement; Roy was an expert at handling embarrassment–even if he didn't know much about boats. The rest of the crowd grew quite fond of him then, and a small boy went down to him and offered him a strap.

"Oh thank you, young man, but I've got a seat ticket," Roy said, scruffing the boy's black hair.

"We all have to hold 'em, Mister, even if you ain't pulling, else you might take a dip in the drink."

For the next two hours they marched that way. Gilbert up ahead with the crew pulling the dory, Pilgrim. Anne and Roy with a strap around their waist tottering behind the older set pulling the Progress.

Anne might have walked faster; the surface of the shore ice was flat and clear but Roy kept slipping in his Wellington boots. He covered this by saying he wanted to keep an eye on the third boat with his trunks in it.

At eleven the three boats made a stop by a chunk of ice in the shape of a wave. The crew passed round flasks of tea wrapped in thick wool cloth and some sea biscuits for the kiddies.

Roy grabbed one too. He thought he had fought off the hangover that morning, but the further they walked and the stronger the sun bore down, the more ill he became. When he peeled off his balaclava his face was lathered with sweat.

"I had no idea it would be so hot out here."

"Have some tea," Anne urged him, "it will cool you off."

She passed it to what she thought was Roy's hand and turned out to be his lap. Anne wasn't attending to what she was doing, she was looking out for Gilbert.

He was laughing a little too loudly with some of the Pilgrim crew. He was also the first to insist they get going. With the weather as fine as this and the sea ahead like a millpond, it was a pity not to press on. They might even break the old four hour and forty-three minute record.

At the sound of the Captain's tin whistle the party all got to their feet. Except for Roy. He was feeling deadly, and wondered if he might get into the third boat with his trunks.

"Not long now," Anne said, urging him on. "Can you see over there, a little to the west, that bright line of white–"

"It's all white," Roy said, tersely.

"Yes, but it has a different quality. Look, please, lift your head, see? The sun on the water."

"What happens when we reach it," Roy could scarcely raise an eyebrow, "we all hop in the sea and dog paddle across?"

"No, you goose. We get in the boat and the crew work the oars. You'll have a chance to catch your breath before we reach the shore ice at the Island."

"Anne?" Roy wanted to stop, but the tug of the strap round his waist kept him going. "I've been thinking–"

"About what?" Anne lowered her head, all ready for Roy to ask her about the man who was looking to prove he could pull the Pilgrim all by himself.

"About when we reach the Island, there's a train that takes us to Charlottetown you said. I was thinking I might rest up at one of the hotels there. I want to make a good impression and I dread to think of turning up at Green Gables in a shambles."

"Yes," Anne said, when all through Roy's speech she had been waiting to say no. "Perhaps that's best. I haven't told Marilla to expect you, and I dearly want to see Diana. If you came with me unannounced it would cause quite a stir. The neighbours would all find excuses to come over–and look you over too. I would hate to abandon you to such an inquisition."

"You'd abandon me, would you?"

"I would have to, I'm sorry I can't think of anything but Diana right now. Getting to her means everything to me–"

"So you want to go onto Avonlea alone?" Roy lifted his head and looked out to the men at the straps.

"Just to prepare and smooth things over and make sure Diana is fine. You understand, don't you?" Anne tried to squeeze his hand through his fur-lined gauntlet.

"Say no more," Roy said, picking up his pace. "I understand completely."

…

Never in his wildest dreams did Royal Gardner think that by the time this journey was over, the one thing he would be the most intimately acquainted with was something with the ludicrous name of lolly.

Miles across and four feet deep, running up and down the Strait. That was why the sea had been shining so hard, it was thick with tiny ice crystals. Getting an oar through lolly was like trying to stir porridge with a toothpick. The crew had all been rowing for two hours straight and had only covered a quarter of a mile.

The crew of the Progress were not living up to their name. They were much older than those of the Pilgrim, and soon one of them had to give up and beg for rest. He offered Roy an oar. Roy looked at it as though he been handed a shepherd's crook. He had no idea what to do with it, but he valiantly said he would give it his best Redmond try.

It went well to begin with, Anne was feeling very proud, especially when they began to catch up to the boat carrying Roy's trunks. Gilbert's boat was much further ahead, then came to a sudden halt. If Anne saw this as some petty victory, she didn't say so, though her nose did rise a little higher. She soon ducked down again and sought refuge in the folds of her shawl. It was getting colder, noticeably so. She calculated they had three hours of good sun left.

The men in the Pilgrim had had the same thoughts, and wanted to consult with the others about whether they should press ahead. If the rowing was going to take this long they would be crossing the shore ice at the Island by torch-light. With women and children in their charge it might not be a risk worth taking when they were unsure of the surface they would find.

The men carrying Roy's trunks (this boat was nameless) countered that if they turned back now, they still faced a trek through the dark to get back to the Harbour. Progress cast the deciding the vote and naturally sided with Pilgrim. They would go back, they said. In a changeable climate like this one, it was better the devil you know.

"I don't understand." Roy turned back to Anne, who was sitting behind him. "Has this entire ordeal been for nothing?" He pulled off his balaclava and handed it to Anne. Little whiskers of ice were blooming around the eye vent.

"Roy, you're exhausted–"

"Too bloody right. I can't believe I had to pay for this, they should be paying me!"

The two other passengers beside Anne began murmuring. Anne knew it would be about Roy. They weren't used to hearing such an outburst, it was bordering on the entitled. Island folk had very low opinions of those who expected others to get them out of their misfortunes. They had not got their reputation for hard-nosed independence for nothing.

Anne brushed down the balaclava, then asked for Roy's sou'wester.

"I knew it," said Roy, "we're going to have to swim for it."

"You need to rest, you've been ill,"–that was putting it politely, but there was no point sticking the boot in–"you've barely eaten since you arrived, and I know you slept badly–"

"My mattress was one inch thick."

"Which is why I am going to put on your balaclava and hat and take over the rowing for a bit."

"Anne, I'll be a laughing stock."

She patted his knee patiently. "Do you want to be admired or do you want to be sensible?"

Anne knew the answer Gilbert would have given, she could hear his voice above all the others talking with the crew. They were making a plan of some sort, and the passengers were all bent forward and listening. The two old oarsmen were in the prow and had temporarily tied their boats together. It was the perfect opportunity for her to swap places with Roy. Once she put his reindeer coat on no one would be any the wiser, unless they took the trouble to look.

"Fine," said Roy, "you convinced me, but only until I recover. Unless you need me, Anne."

The swap was made, Roy even went so far as to wrap himself in Anne's shawl because her own coat would not button over his chest. He huddled down next the small boy who was napping in his grandmother's arms. The boy woke when their boat started bobbing, and a new crew member leapt into the prow.

"The Captain says you two must rest," Gilbert said, taking the oar from one of oarsmen. "I'll do a spell through the lolly."

"Bless you, lad, me shoulder's about to pop its socket. There's a nip of rum here, if yer like."

Gilbert took his place beside Anne. "Ask me later," he said.

...

He was rowing slowly, far too slowly. But if he knew it was Anne he was rowing beside; Gilbert never said. Not until an hour had passed and the sounds of Roy's soft snoring could be heard behind them did he finally speak.

"What's up with your fiancé?"

Anne dug her oar in and pretended she hadn't heard. "Well if you must know," she said a minute later, "Roy is very unwell."

"I heard all about it, dearie," the grandmother chimed in, "my Gracie works at the Hotel. This is her wee laddie," she said of the black-haired boy in her arms. "He lives with me at Port Charley."

Anne and Gilbert gave her polite nods over their shoulders and resumed rowing. Anne prayed that would be the last of it. But, of course it wasn't.

"I must say, dearie, I am pleased to hear you are engaged, at least."

"Oh, I'm not engaged to him," Anne blurted, nodding in Gilbert's direction.

Gilbert said nothing, though he did begin rowing a little faster.

"Never said you was, dearie. I meant the gent next to us. I heard you and he was carousing all night. Three bottles of wine, Gracie said."

"It was two," Anne said through gritted teeth.

"Wine, Miss Shirley?" Gilbert's eyebrows disappeared under his beaver cap. "And on a Sunday too. Don't worry, your secret is safe with me."

"It's no secret, I am a grown woman."

"In that case," said Gilbert, "you won't mind if we pick up the pace."

On they rowed; Anne bent on matching Gilbert stroke for stroke. Unfortunately, this was not a battle of minds or even wills. As much as it galled, Anne had no chance of besting her old foe this time.

"If you insist on keeping this pace up we'll end up going in circles. I'm nowhere near as strong as you."

Privately, Gilbert had been amazed by Anne's perseverance and expected that Roy would have taken over long before now. He was prepared for the fact Anne would never give up of her own volition, at least not to him. But Roy it seemed could make her do anything.

Presently, Anne rested her oar. She pulled off her hat and balaclava, loosening her long hair with it. This was no poignant revelation of beauty, however. She looked hot and cross, the shadows cast by the low sun making her face look even pointier than usual.

Not that it mattered to Gilbert Blythe, he had seen Anne in all moods and every weather, and knew those green eyes that glared at him could change as quick as a snap from her fingers to a grey of infinite depths. He could just about fall into them–he had fallen into them. And reminded himself how long it had taken, and how hard it had been, to get out. The night of the Christmas concert he found himself dancing very close to the edge. And when he gave into a whim and sent her that heart pendant he was dangerously close to teetering over. All he needed was the merest push, and as he whirled her around the ticket office this morning he felt the ground beneath his feet give way. He was hanging on by the tips of his fingers and desperate not to fall further. But Anne was right about one thing. He was strong.

"Gilbert?"

"Yeah?" He dared to look at her, then wished he hadn't. She had removed her gloves and was rubbing the palms of her hands. Her soft, pale skin was red in places. It was all he could do not to kiss it better.

"What are we going to do? This lolly is like pond weed."

He started smiling. "Remember that time at the Lake of–Barry's Pond?"

Anne drummed her fingers on her chin to show that she was having trouble remembering. He knew that trick; he also knew she was probably picturing him hip high in the water. She'd found him bathing one summer. He had built a raft with some of the boys, and they would paddle out to the deep spots and take turns diving off. He was the only one left when Anne turned up with the usual book in her hand; he loved the way she could read and walk. She sat under a tree and waved. What she didn't know was that he was buck-naked. Tossing that pond weed at her was the only way to get her to leave.

"You should put your gloves back on," he murmured, "it's dangerous to keep them exposed like that."

"So is building a cathedral."

"There I was thinking you never listened to me."

"Not always," she squirmed, "but I'll listen to you now. If you can think of any way to…" Anne paused, she almost laughed. A cloud of her breath drifted over his face. "Oh Gilbert, do you think we could?"

"Let's give it a try."

It wouldn't have made sense to anyone else how they came to the same solution. Later that grandmother would tell her grandson she could not figure it out. But somehow, without another word the two young folk got up on their knees and dug the oars into the lolly like they were paddling a raft.

Anne found this much easier, her strength was in her core not her shoulders and she could bring a lot more force to bear on the oar. Gilbert made sure to keep at her pace, and soon they had caught up to the other two boats. The sun set just minutes before they made it back to the shore ice. When they bumped against the edge, Roy finally woke.

As he opened his eyes he saw Anne in the lamplight in his reindeer coat, and–was that Blythe, helping her out of the boat?

Roy never asked, and Anne never said. Gilbert took his place at the strap. He looked back once or twice. But the time for 'do you remembers' had passed.

...