CHANGE of HEART

...

Anne was in no doubt about who was following them. She could tell at once by the sound of the swift strokes of blades on the ice. Even when she turned and saw the unmistakeable reindeer coat, she did not believe for one moment it could be Roy. He loathed ice-skating almost as much as travelling by tram.

"Slow down," she called to Murtagh, who was up ahead pulling the boat, a thick leather harness straining against his burly shoulders.

Murtagh gave a cursory glance back before giving the strap another hard tug. "If he thinks I'm going to lug his luggage all the way to the Island, you can tell him from me he can do it himself."

"It isn't Mr Gardner." Anne's voice could barely be heard over the scratch of the tin-bottomed boat.

"What was that?"

"I said it isn't Mr Gardner!"

Anne was almost shouting as Gilbert reached her. Shards of ice sprayed over her boots as he skidded to a stop.

"Nice of you to notice this time," Gilbert responded, then skated up further to where Murtagh stood. "Sorry I'm late, there was a problem with the mail."

"Your problem, not mine," Murtagh snorted, eyeing the huge bag on Gilbert's back. "I already got more'n I can manage. If you're planning to cross then I hope you're prepared to swim for it–"

"Mr Murtagh," Anne cut in, "we don't know if he intends to come with us yet."

Her eyes went to Gilbert, and stayed on him too. He couldn't tell if she was annoyed or relieved. Usually it was easy to tell with Anne. But her brows were hidden under her hat, and her nose and mouth were covered by her scarf. There were only her eyes, of a grey so deep, Gilbert almost winced.

He cleared his throat. "I'm coming," he said, "can't let you two have all the fun."

Anne said something. Gilbert couldn't quite catch what it was and before he could ask her, Murtagh threw a second strap at him. Gilbert grabbed it like a life-line and skated up beside him.

While flying across the shore ice towards Anne, he had fuelled with filled with righteous reprimands: what in heck did Anne think she was doing? What was she trying to prove? But the closer Gilbert got to her, the less sure he became. It wasn't that he regretted his decision. He was simply very aware of what he must look like, and what Anne would assume by his sudden arrival.

Anne remained silent, her boots tripping lightly over the ice. Gilbert and Murtagh pulling in tandem till the surface got too rough and he had to stop and take off his skates.

"You can carry 'em too," Murtagh said.

He felt about in his pocket and brought out a pipe. Gilbert tossed the skates next to the mail-sacks in the boat.

The three of them marched eastward for another hour, the shadow of the ridge receding as the sun rose higher. The sky was a Wedgewood blue smudged with the faintest drifts of cloud. The ice beneath them sparkled and shone, crunching or squelching under their boots. And always the metallic hiss of the tin hull gliding over it.

It was a reviving sort of lull, and the repetitive movements finally allowed the thoughts in Anne's head to come clear. She could think things through, turn them inside-out and view them from all angles. When Murtagh signalled for her to stop, she missed it completely and almost collided with Gilbert. Only then did she notice he had taken off the reindeer coat. The sweat stain on his back looked like a spouting whale.

"Tea's in the prow," said Murtagh, lighting his pipe again.

Anne knew very well he was talking to her. She leapt into the boat and retrieved the usual flasks and a small package of biscuits. The three of them leaned against the stern and sipped and ate quietly. The first person to speak was Murtagh, who told Anne to avert her eyes as there was nowhere for him to relieve himself in private.

At the sound of a stream splashing on the ice, and Murtagh's loud sigh with it, Anne was driven to speak. Gilbert was untangling the sleeves of his own coat from Roy's, with the aim of putting it on again.

"How did you come to have Roy's coat?" she said.

"You want the short version or the long one?"

Anne gave him a grin. "I think we have plenty of time for the latter."

Gilbert appeared surprised by her response and when he finished up his explanation Anne was half sure he had told the short version, because there were so many questions still to be answered. Why had he grabbed that parcel from the ticket office, why did he decide to come after all? The first of these questions Gilbert pretended not to hear, he had shifted away from Anne as he spoke and was refastening his harness. Anne followed, and when his fingers fumbled over the buckle at his chest she fixed it for him herself.

"If you won't tell me that, then tell me why you came? And don't tell me you think this is fun."

Gilbert's feet shuffled in his boots, and hazel eyes fired with a bright and blazing light. Anne stared into them, just as she had when he first arrived, searching for some sort of answer.

"If you two are finished making sheeps' eyes at each other," Murtagh called out, "I'd like to get moving."

He tramped up to them, stuffing his shirt-tail down his trousers as he walked.

"Mr Murtagh," Anne said, "I'd like to take a turn on the harness." She was still staring at Gilbert as she said this, waiting to see how he would react.

"Ha!" Murtagh burst out. "You were happy enough to walk free and easy afore, then he sidles up beside you," Murtagh kicked Gilbert's boot, "and you're little Miss obliging."

Gilbert stood back and waited for the hot retort he was sure lurked in Anne's mouth. No one was more astonished than he was when her laughter filled the fresh, cold air.

"Be that as it may, Mr Murtagh," she said, "you still get a break from the strap. Just till luncheon."

"Deal," said Murtagh.

"And you're making the tea!"

Anne took off her coat before buckling herself in the harness. This she managed without anyone's help, but it would not stay on her shoulders. In the end, she used her handkerchief to link the two straps down her front and pull them tight across her chest. It worked well for the first half hour, until they turned hard right in the direction of the Island and the shore ice became much rougher. Anne had to bend forward to bring more weight to bear on the straps, which cut through the woollen layers she was wearing and chaffed at the soft skin under her arms.

When they stopped for lunch and Murtagh poured the tea, Gilbert spied Anne near the back of the boat inspecting the red stripes under her flannel shirt.

"What's in those sandwiches?" he said to Murtagh, who had brought out a small fishing-tackle basket stuffed with food.

"Dixon made it, so you can be sure it's filled with sugar and lard."

"Lard? Good."

Gilbert dug into the basket and rifled about. He pulled out two slabs of bread smelling of bacon fat.

"Don't even think about it," Anne said, as he tossed a sandwich at her. "I might have worked up an appetite Gilbert, but I cannot stomach that."

"It's not for your stomach."

While Anne held the offending sandwich, Gilbert dared to peel back the collar of her shirt to see the damage for himself. It wasn't so bad at the top of her shoulder, but closer to the crease of her armpit the skin was raw and pink.

"What do you think you're–"

"Quit fussing and take off the top slice of bread."

Confused, Anne did as she was bid, as Gilbert wiped his fingers on his shirt before smearing them over a thick layer of lard. She had no idea what he planned to do, though her tightly pursed lips told him she expected to be force-fed next. He smiled to himself, then flipped back her collar once more and applied a large dab of grease to the raw skin at her shoulder. Anne froze as his fingers worked under her chemise.

"I got a little on your... on your..." Gilbert took a step back. "Maybe you should do the other."

"Gilbert?"

"Mmm?"

"Why are you really doing here, and don't tell me it's to smother me in pig grease?"

Gilbert laughed. "If Josie Pye could see you now."

"Or Fred."

"Fred?"

"He's very fond of bacon, so Diana says."

"What is it?" Gilbert asked, as Anne's smiling face turned wistful. "Something else is bothering you?"

He waited for Anne to say she did not need his interference thank you very much, and going by her stubborn endurance he could hardly argue otherwise. Yet he still could not regret his decision to come after her. His father would be ashamed of him for one. As for Marilla...

"That's why I'm here," Anne said breaking into his thoughts. "That's why I had to go home. I saw a letter," she continued, and told Gilbert about the worrying sight of Fred's handwriting on the envelope.

Gilbert immediately wanted to tell Anne that she was overreacting, that nothing serious was wrong. But he had to admit it was strange, and knowing how much Anne adored Diana he understood why this worried her.

"What if something's happened to her, Gilbert, why else would Fred write? Have you heard anything, has he written to you at all?"

Gilbert leaned against the boat and searched the sky as he thought. "Once and a while I get a line or two, but it's mostly about the farm or the usual Avonlea goings on–"

"Mostly–what else does he say?"

"Oh, you know," Gilbert was looking at his feet now, and he rubbed his greasy fingers together. "Questions about ah–married life..."

"What would you know about married life?"

"Well, women then. Apparently, Diana cries a lot."

Anne looked stricken as he said this and Gilbert rushed onto explain how Fred couldn't understand how a serial in a newspaper could bring his wife to tears, or a burned cake, or maudlin song on the piano.

"She was always such a laughing girl, Fred was simply confused."

"The cloth-headed fustilugs!" Anne was indignant. "It's perfectly natural to cry like that!"

"Come now Anne, how was Fred supposed to know? He has no sisters, and his mother is hardly the sentimental type. He was worried he was doing something wrong, that all her crying meant she was unhappy."

"Do you think perhaps that was why Fred was writing to me, to get my point of view?"

Gilbert thought for a moment, then slowly shook his head. "To be honest, no. He sounded very content in his last letter, and the one before that. I can't think of a good reason for him to write, but there's no call for you to assume the worst."

"I'm trying not to. As we were walking before I had just about convinced myself the whole thing was perfectly innocent. That Fred wanted some advice about a present for his wife, or had planned some wonderful surprise for her."

Gilbert looked sheepish. "That doesn't sound likely either. Fred Wright plan a secret surprise?"

Anne yanked her collar over her shoulder and pulled her cardigan on. "Do you always have to be so unswervingly honest?"

Gilbert picked up the sandwich that had fallen onto the ice. "You'll have to take that off again so I can do your other shoulder."

"Couldn't you lie to me just this once," Anne went on, "convince me that I'm right about Fred?"

"If only I could lie to you," he muttered, walking away, "then maybe we'd still be friends."

...

Anne applied the lard to her other shoulder, and when Murtagh offered to take the strap she readily agreed. She had been secretly grateful to have Gilbert turn up and thought she had proven it by pulling the boat with him. But after what he had said she wished he had never come at all. He was too opinionated by half, especially when it came to her own self. He thought he knew her oh so well. How quickly he assumed she was giving up the Island, and when she had proven him wrong did he apologise? Oh no, not Gilbert Blythe. Proud, obstinate, infuriating man! She could not wait for this journey to be over!

Murtagh was of the same opinion, and gave a great whoop. His calculations had proved correct, as he put the spyglass to his eye and pointed to bits of drift ice bobbing on choppy water. They had missed the dread patch of lolly and could soon put the boat to sea. When they marched closer to the water's edge they could all hear deep groans like Leviathan itself lurked under their feet.

"Lookee there, open water just as I thought. I reckon we'll strike Port Charley by four. And I can get my pay and you two can get out from under my feet."

"The current looks strong, Mr Murtagh." Gilbert sheltered his eyes under his hand as he peered up and down the wide stretch of water. "And it looks to be going against us."

"That's what these are for," said Murtagh, throwing an oar at him, "you and I got work to do."

...

The three of them manoeuvred the little dory off the shore ice, Murtagh holding it steady it–just–as Anne and Gilbert leapt aboard. With the weight of them and all the bags it sank deeper into the water than they hoped it would. When the fair size of Murtagh was added, a slosh of icy water leaked into the boat.

Anne quickly reached for the oil-skin bags and piled them on her knees.

"Keep 'em where they were," Murtagh grunted, "those bags can take a wetting, but maybe you should sit yourself a little further up."

Anne took up the small space at the prow, the fishing basket under her feet. As the men pushed off she fancied herself a ship's figure-head; one of Neptune's wooden angels. The strong current beneath them corresponded with a forceful wind above. It was cold, but not unbearably so, and her shawl flew out behind her. She clutched it under her chin, her eyes on the dark water. Such a deep blue, bluer even than the sky above, the broken bits of ice like another sort of cloud.

Gilbert pulled on the oars in time with Murtagh, trying to ignore the tassels of Anne's shawl set adrift in the wind and tickling the bare skin between his hat and his coat. He couldn't see Anne, but he could imagine her. Her eyes bright, her cheeks ruby-red, her lithe arms braced against the prow as they pushed through the sea.

"Slow down, would you?" Murtagh grumbled. "This ain't a race."

Anne smiled to herself, and tried to rein in her shawl and tuck it into her collar. As she turned her head she saw a massive slab, old, blackened and some feet thick hurtling along the current toward them.

"No, no, speed up, we're about to collide with some ice!"

The men behind her did not check to see if she was right. They dug their oars in deep and pushed with all their strength against the flowing water. The ice glanced against the stern, sending a jarring thud through their bones. But the little dory was made of sturdy stuff, and a quick look by Murtagh showed the damage was not concerning.

"Nicely done, little Miss," said Murtagh, as he resumed his seat. "I don't hold with women and boats on the whole. Always suspected you had tails beneath those big, long skirts of yours and could just was easily swim across. I seen 'em, you know, mermaids and naiads and sirens and all sorts. Heard 'em too. Long wailing moans that curdle the blood. Listen... you can hear it."

The dory settled against a length of sheet ice that held them in place. They bobbed up and down as a sound Anne had likened to Leviathan's call rose up from beneath the sea.

Gilbert looked back at Anne, who was sitting high at the prow just as he imagined she would. Her eyes closed, a soft smile curling her lips. Her nose and earlobes were scarlet with cold.

A thick rumble vibrated the boat, Gilbert could almost sense the size of the icy mass moving swiftly beneath them. All it would take was a small collision for the ice to break apart then burst up to the surface. If it hit their boat it would be no glancing blow, it would break the dory in two.

"Murtagh come, take up your oar."

"All right, all right, I've been crossing this Strait since afore you were a glint in your daddy's eye. I know these waters, laddie, and I know what this boat can take."

Even so, Murtagh grabbed his oar and directed Gilbert to follow the current for a spell. He explained they would get out of the ice floe quicker that way, though it would also take them farther from the shortest route.

That did not seem right to Anne, though she kept this thought to herself. Neither did Gilbert argue as she expected he might about the logic of Murtagh's solution. If they followed the direction of the current there was every chance they would strike the same patch of lolly. She was thinking of this, of how a strong current could become choked up, when her eyes set upon a view of such immense power and beauty, hot tears stung her eyes. If Fred had been with her, he would no doubt assume Anne was blubbing for no reason. But her darling Diana would understand. Fifty feet ahead of them lay an iceberg of a clear and astonishing blue. Like a massive shard of aquamarine glittering against the sun.

"Oh Gilbert, Gilbert, it's beautiful!"

Gilbert wasn't sure what affected him more, the sound of Anne's sweet voice addressing him thus, or the view she pointed at. He looked over his shoulder, first to the iceberg then to Anne, her whole body alive and alert to the sight before her. Of all Anne's qualities, it was this he loved in her most of all. The way she could be both deeply present and overwhelmingly grateful for life's everyday beauty. Not that there was anything everyday about that berg. It towered against the sky like a looming mountaintop, shades of amber, amethyst and pearl glinting off each façade.

Lowering his oar, Gilbert stretched forward, his chin hovering by Anne's shoulder. "It is beautiful."

"I've never seen anything like it," Anne said. She reached back and felt for his hand, clasping it tightly in her white gloved ones. "I'm so glad you're here with me to see this loveliness too."

"You are?"

Anne shifted carefully in her seat. That she would purposely take her eyes off such beauty just so that she might see him a little better, touched him even more than before.

"I am. And if I didn't make that clear to you then I'm sorry, Gilbert. I–"

"Yes, yes, it's very beyootiful," said Murtagh, pulling Gilbert by his coat collar. "Now back to your oar you smitten swain!"

Gilbert let go Anne's hand and plopped back into his seat, before taking hold of his oar. Following Murtagh's instructions they carefully guided the boat to a point furthest from the berg, and ended up at a dead end. If Roy had been there, he would have recognised immediately what Stella Maynard had warned him about. Their path was choked with crumpled piles of pack ice, some of them over ten foot high.

Murtagh braced himself and stood on tiptoe, holding onto Gilbert's head.

"Can't see beyond it, and we daren't row nearer the berg, not when it's moving like that. Can you get any higher, lad, see if you can tell how far it stretches?

Standing, Gilbert stepped onto the bench, Anne and Murtagh bracing each leg. Under her hands, she could feel his muscles stretching to their utmost, the tendons at his knees like rubberised bands. When he dropped to his seat again, he pulled off his hat and wiped his brow on his sleeve. He looked pale, and he took a deep breath, but he wasn't about to soften the truth.

"I saw two routes diverge ahead. One is narrow channel of open water, the other blocked by ice and then what must be lolly. If we want to go on, we must keep ahead of the ice berg, only I can't be sure how fast it's moving."

"The open water," Murtagh said, "you say it's clear?"

"Not clear, but flowing. There's a good deal of drift ice, but it should prove no more difficult than what we already have managed. All the same, I don't like it."

"Well, I do," Murtagh said.

Both men looked to Anne, both wearing expressions that said they hoped she would side with each of them.

"I want to go on," she said, squeezing Gilbert's hand.

Gilbert would have none of it and pulled away. "Anne, it's dangerous–"

Anne nodded. She knew this, and also knew quips about cathedrals would prove mere folly now. "Please Gilbert, I want to go home, I want to see Diana. Please help me to get to her."

When she reached for him this time, Gilbert did not pull away, though he could not meet her eyes.

"If something happens there's only Murtagh to put it right..."

"That's right," Murtagh asserted. "And I need this payday. If I don't get this mail across afore Christmas there's no bonus for me. As captain of this vessel I get the final say. Though of course," he muttered, his small brown eyes darting to Gilbert, "I'd rather not have a mutiny."

"Anne, we should go back."

"Come little Miss, you got more faith in you than that, I reckon."

"Yes Mr Murtagh," Anne said. "Yes, I do."

Murtagh's grin showed a row of long, yellow teeth, and the nostrils of his purple nose flared widely. "You're a fine girl." He took hold of his oar. "You might even change my mind about bringing bad luck."

Anne returned to her place at the prow of the boat. Gilbert was glad of this at least, it meant she would be furthest from the iceberg looming behind them. It wasn't moving very fast which meant the great bulk of it was deep beneath the water, but with all the drift ice they would have to avoid their boat would be moving a lot slower too. And if one spot, just one, should prove impassable they would be stuck in the iceberg's path. There would be nothing to stop it breaking their small boat to pieces and leaving them stranded.

For a good two hours, Gilbert and Murtagh worked their way down the channel, swerving the dory around chunks of fast flowing ice. Anne sat at the prow calling out directions, ordering them to veer starboard or port. By three o'clock her eyes were tiring after staring out for hours at little more than white. And her body, still feeling its ache from yesterday, now wilted under the constant strain of vigilance. She was cold, too, being up at the front meant she took the bulk of the exposure, and she noticed now her toes were numb. She was wriggling them inside her boots and banging them against the side of the boat, when she caught sight of something that made her cry out.

"Shore ice, I see shore ice! Mr Murtagh look, can you see just beyond it, I'm sure that's a wisp of smoke!"

Murtagh looked up, tiredly. "Not cloud?"

"No, no, I'm sure. In the shadow below the horizon, it's brown and dark. It has to be a hedgerow!"

"Bless me, little Miss, you're right!" Murtagh swooped down on Anne and gave her a cheek a stubbly kiss. "Veer portside, lad," he ordered Gilbert as he returned to his seat. "We're almost there now. Land ho! Oh money, money, lovely money," he sang, as he worked the oar.

His rowing became as sloppy as the grin on his face, and once he lost his grip completely. The boat jerked sideways against the current just as two huge slabs of ice floated by. In an instant, the boat became lodged between them, the current pressing the boat ever deeper into the wedge.

This was the exact event that Gilbert had feared and he swiftly looked behind them. The berg was still a good distance away but with every second it was looming closer.

Murtagh followed Gilbert's gaze. "Forget the berg, our problem is how to get us out of this fix."

The plan was to use their oars as levers to work against the ice and push them out. One block was about five foot in height, the other over eight. Their sides were soft, almost rotten, and the oars kept sinking into it. After ten minutes, and the iceberg inching closer, Murtagh admitted he would have to change his plan.

"Boat's too heavy to shift with all of us in it, we'll have to make it light."

He then instructed Anne to clamber onto one of the slabs. She was balancing on the edge of the boat and about to dig her boot into a likely niche, when Gilbert pulled her down again.

"Let me try first, and I'll pull you up after."

Before waiting for her to agree, Gilbert reached up the tallest ice face and planted his hands up on top. His gloves stuck to the surface, and he dug his feet into the broken side before scrabbling up. Once atop the ice he positioned himself on his stomach and stretched his arms downward.

"Pass me the mail, pass up all of it." He would rather the cargo leave the boat before Anne.

Anne strapped one of the mailbags to her back, and threw the reindeer coat at him.

"Forget the coat–"

"Pull me up," Anne commanded, "Murtagh can throw us the rest, I'm not having you up there alone."

Her wrists were gripped tight in his hands when the boat beneath her feet gave way. The weight of the iceberg had unsettled the waters, its sheer volume dislodging the boat from the two blocks of ice before it had even come near them.

"Anne, drop down!"

Anne gripped Gilbert's arms tighter and shook her head.

"Do as I say, jump back into the boat!"

"No, Gilbert, I'm not leaving you up there!"

Before she had finished saying this her feet were dangling over open water.

Murtagh scrabbled forward, holding out an oar, but there was no chance of either of them reaching it. The smaller slab of ice cracked open and crumbled into the sea, sending a wave that propelled the little dory swiftly downstream.

...

You may be asking kwak, did you really write all this just so you could strand our two heroes on a hunk of ice? But I could not possibly comment ;o)