CHANGE of HEART
...
Anne rifled through the sack, letters and parcels flying about. Halfway through her search she patted her flannel shirt, and finding it mostly dry she put it on. The petticoat and corset were lost causes, but the skirt was only wet in patches. Anne put this on too. She was very conscious of her déshabillé state. It was standing at the door like that which had made her become aware of it, in her bloomers and chemise for everyone to see. Not that there was anyone around. Only Gilbert. And he was even more naked than she was. And manly, so very manly. Nothing like the youth she had once glimpsed in the pond.
No matter how Anne tried to convince herself–and him–that they were those children still, it wasn't working. When she saw the goose-bumps on his skin her fingers itched to rub them away, and more than that, to explore the broad plains of his chest, those wide, muscular shoulders. The heft of his body, the heat of the fire. Oh, she tried to fight it, and wished they might fight again. Anything to release that pent up, curling feeling–even to a childish charade about trees! What must he think of her, why did she care? She had only just ended things with Roy, and was practically a wise old B.A. On top of that she was Marilla's girl. Anne tucked her flannel shirt into her skirt waist and vowed to be very proper from now on.
Gilbert was stretched out on the reindeer coat, reacquainting himself with his extremities and trying to resist the urge to put fingers and toes closer to the stove. The woodpile was running low; the room itself was piping hot. He was feeling thirsty and hungry and half-hoped Anne might come across some food.
"Anything of interest in there?" he asked her lazily, as the waxy nub of candle went out with a swirl of white smoke.
Anne was on her knees, a small parcel in her hands.
"Tell me it's chocolate," said Gilbert.
"It's for me…"
"No fair, you have to share."
"No, I mean it's for me." Anne turned it over and could just make out a smudgy address. "And it looks like it's from you."
The stove made an iron clang as Gilbert banged his knee on the door. He bit down on a curse word and rubbed his smarting skin, wishing he could think of something to divert Anne's attention.
"Shall I open it?"
Anne turned to him, her expression like a child. He half expected her to hold the parcel to her ear and shake it.
"Well ah–it's not Christmas yet."
"It's Christmas Eve, or very close to it. Shall I look for your watch and check the time?"
Before he could answer, Anne dug her hand into a small pocket in Gilbert's damp trousers. She pulled out the timepiece he stored for safe-keeping in a small snuff tin that once belonged to his father.
"It might have stopped."
If Anne didn't know better she could sworn Gilbert sounded hopeful. But that couldn't be right, she knew this watch was very dear to him.
"It's perfectly sound–ooh and so cold against my ear."
She squinted in the light, then asked Gilbert to open the stove door a little wider so that she could see. Gilbert took a long time about it, then asked her for another piece of wood.
"Five minutes to midnight," Anne said, ignoring him. "I suppose I could wait five minutes–though I haven't got anything to give you, Gilbert."
"That's all right." Gilbert's legs began twitching and he brought his knees to his chest. "It's just a bit of nonsense I sent you on a whim..."
"It has a first-class stamp."
Anne left the mail-sack and sat herself opposite him. He noticed she was fully dressed, and feeling his nakedness left her by the stove to get himself more suitably attired.
"It's not more gloves, is it?" she joked, probing the parcel. Whatever was inside was small and felt like it was wrapped in layers and layers of tissue.
Anne ripped at the paper, feeling her heart beat faster with every tear. She wanted to believe that whatever it was, it was not nonsense. When her fingers discerned the small hard shape beneath the last layer of tissue she almost put it down.
Please don't let it be that pink candy heart–please... please... please...
Then it was revealed, the size of a cherry pit, the colour of a cherry blossom, linked to a silver chain. She wondered, when only a few days ago she wanted nothing more than to have Gilbert give this necklace to her, why the sight of it left her disappointed. Here was proof in her hot little hand that he was ever the school boy chum she had always wanted him to be; his gift a reminder of those sweet old days. Yet the whole gesture left her feeling numb.
"Oh, it's so, so..."
"Funny?" Gilbert cut in. "That's all I meant by it, Anne, I hope you don't think that I–"
"Oh no! Of course not." She stretched a wide grin over her face. "It is funny. And very sweet."
"Remember?" he rushed on. For someone who wanted to keep Anne in the here and now he was suddenly very anxious to pull her back to the past. "I gave you a candy heart once, in the Avonlea school house?"
"Oh yes. What a brat I was, and after pelting your head with my slate, too."
Gilbert shook his head as if feeling it all over again. "I had no idea what had happened that day, you hit me like a bolt from the blue."
Anne had been fastening the chain around her neck when the clasp broke in her hands. It was mortifying, what if he thought she had done it on purpose? Of all the times for her to fumble. But all her concentration had been on the words Gilbert said.
"I–I won't put it on just now, I think I'll keep it safe."
"As you like," said Gilbert, "though the wrapping might come in use later to feed the fire."
Anne smiled again, conscious of appearing gracious as she folded the tissue around his gift. Naturally, Gilbert saw right through the act. He felt like a fool for giving her something that made her feel a brat. Laugh? Anne had to force herself to smile at him.
More disappointment followed when Anne found Fred's letter was not there. But of course it wasn't, this bag was filled with mail going to the Island, not leaving it. She sat quietly in the corner while Gilbert dozed, and began to feel convinced that something had gone very, very wrong.
It was as if the bright glimmerings kindled within this unassuming shack had been blown out by an icy blast. Heed me, winter seemed to say. You cannot shake me off so easily, see how easily that spark is driven out?
"Oh wintry day! That mockest spring with hopes of the reviving year..." Anne quoted softly to herself.
Gilbert heard her quiet voice, and tentatively asked if she had found what she sought.
"No," she sounded distant, though she only sat three feet from him, "but I shall find out the truth soon enough. Take your watch," she reached down and placed it in his palm, careful not to brush one finger-tip against him. "Don't let me sleep later than six, I must leave as soon as I can. I'll rest up here," she added, laying Gilbert's old tweed coat along the boards of the bench.
She fell asleep, the little nub of stitches in the vent of his coat clutched in her hand.
...
In the morning, Gilbert awoke to Anne tearing her coat from him.
"Is that coffee I smell?"
Anne answered him with a little tin cup brimful of steaming black liquid. "I found some grounds in a small jar under the bench. There's some sea biscuits too but I couldn't face them again."
"I think I'm about turn into a sea biscuit," Gilbert joked.
He took a sip of bitter coffee, his eyes on Anne. She was busy tucking everything back into the mail bag. The crumpled parcel remained on the floor. He waited for her to spot it, and wondered if she did whether she would put the pendant on. She didn't. She plucked it up and stuffed in with the other mail. Gilbert gulped down the rest of his cup, and headed outside to chop some fresh wood.
Stove cleaned and woodbox filled, they set out for the farmstead Gilbert had seen earlier. Not that he revealed this to Anne, who would no doubt ask him why he didn't mention it before.
The two of them walked on wordlessly, the crunch of snow under frozen red earth the only conversation between them. It was an encouraging sound, and a familiar one. The sound of winter on the Island.
They reached a barn first, and Gilbert quickly explained who they were and their situation. The man there, a Mr Clay, had heard of them both. His granddaughter was once a pupil at Queens and had vied for the Avery. That's how it was on P.E.I. There could be no secrets, no pretending things were not as they were. When Mr Clay asked Anne if she and Gilbert had made a match of it, she shook her head no and said she had plans to become a high school teacher. In the silence that followed, Gilbert offered up his ambition to make a doctor of himself.
Mr Clay harrumphed. "And take a cosy position at some city hospital, no doubt. That's the problem with this high eddicashun, it drives you clever youth away. Island gets too small for your big heads."
Gilbert laughed. "I haven't made my mind up yet, but I would like to make a life back here."
"Gracious girl, you've gone all white," said Mr Clay, glancing at Anne. "My Missus is up at the house, whyn't you go there and warm up a spell?"
Anne did as she was bid, and arrived at the backdoor of the Clay homestead looking like a long-lost waif. Mrs Clay was well versed in the ways of Island hospitality, and living on the shore meant she had taken care of her share of drowned rats. She offered the girl hot tea and a cinnamon bun straight from the oven, but barely a crumb passed Anne's lips.
Anne was too busy chewing over other things–and one thing in particular. She had always imagined it was Gilbert who would give up the Island. Why else would he strive so hard for the Cooper? The scholars who had won that prize had their portraits hung along the walls of Redmond Hall. One had been to India, another to Greece. Who knew what grand adventures lay in store for Gilbert Blythe?
She realised glumly she had wasted the precious time she had with Gilbert talking on who they used to be, instead of their future dreams. It struck her that she would very much like to know more about him. But to ask now, after all those years and all that time together, he would certainly laugh at her.
She was thinking on this, perched upon a little stool by the fire, when Gilbert burst in. A great flurry of snow came with him.
"Fer Pete's sake," Mrs Clay grumbled, "yer letting out all the heat."
"Your husband has very kindly offered to give us a ride home."
"And where would home be? Don't tell me. Charlottetown. You two talk like Charlottetown folks."
"We're both from Avonlea," Anne said.
Mrs Clay appeared to approve of this answer. She was a slight thing, which was rare for a harbour wife. A life mending nets and hauling them tended to make the women short and square. Her skin was papery, and she had same blue eyes Emily Clay had been blessed with. They crinkled up merrily as she spoke.
"Dear little village, Avonlea, like something from a storybook."
"It might appear in one someday."
Gilbert looked at Anne as he said this, before his attention was taken by the plate of cinnamon rolls that had been placed under his nose. He took two, and stuffed one into his mouth. It was barely down his throat before he continued.
"Mr Clay is readying the sleigh. Anne, you can finally go home."
Anne frowned up at him, suspiciously. "What about you?"
Gilbert had already left the kitchen and was striding back to the barn. Anne thanked her hostess and hastily followed, certain he was keeping something from her.
Gilbert helped Anne inside the sleigh and tucked the reindeer coat around her.
"What about you," she said again, "aren't you coming with me?"
He slapped the horse on its rump, and lifted his beaver pelt cap to Mr Clay. He had decided to wait for the sleigh to move before he answered, half-sure Anne would jump off again when he did.
"I can't go home, not yet," he called to her, "not until I've tracked Murtagh down!"
"Gilbert, you can't–let me go with you..."
Anne's cross little face peering out from the back of the sleigh was the last thing Gilbert saw, before he turned away and followed the hedgerow back to the shore ice.
...
Anne tried to keep her eyes from closing, but the clop of the horse and the thick, cozy coat made it impossible not to drift off to sleep. The sleigh had almost passed Grafton and they were gliding through blank fields of snow when Anne's heavy eyelids lifted. Leaning forward, she asked Mr Clay how far they had to go, when she noticed he had the most extraordinary eyebrows. Truly, they were like wires, some of them a good inch long!
"You tell me," said the grower of those brows. "That lad you were with said to go to Green Gables, but I ain't seen Matthew Cuthbert in years so I don't recall where it is."
"You know Green Gables?"
"Purdiest farm this side of the Island."
Anne's heart brimmed with gladness. Not only for the compliment about her beloved home, but for mentioning Matthew. Hearing his name didn't hurt anymore, or if it did it was in a bittersweet way. A tender ache that made her thankful she had been loved by such a good man.
"And Matthew," Anne urged, "tell me what you know of him?"
"Not much. The fellow keeps to himself, but I seen him sometimes hauling his crops to the harbour. Man knew his 'taters."
Anne smiled. "He was a very good farmer…"
"Was?"
"I'm sorry to be the bearer of sad tidings, Mr Clay, but Matthew died," she said gently. "It's been five years now."
"Ah lassie, I'm sorry for you. His sister'll be mighty pleased you survived that crossing like you did. She's a frosty bird as I recall, but then them's the ones you have to watch for."
"Why's that, Mr Clay?"
The eyebrows hit the brim of his cap. "You know the ol' saying, 'cold hands, warm heart'."
…
The sleigh never got as far as Green Gables. Anne asked Mr Clay if he would drop her at Lone Willow. He did not know where that was either, but being more sociably situated it was much closer and far easier to find.
Anne was encouraged by the white wisp of smoke furling from the Wright's chimney, and all the snow had been neatly swept from their path. If something was wrong surely their house would appear more unkempt. Anne then observed the parlour curtains had been pulled back unevenly. That was definitely not like Diana.
She tucked her hair under her cap and tapped on the door. Inside she could hear a gruesome noise, and she knocked even louder. When that too was ignored, Anne gave into her panic and slowly tried the handle. The door swung open and she was welcomed by even louder, uglier sounds and the hushed tones of what must be Fred. He was murmuring encouraging words and patting someone on the back. Anne followed his voice and ended up in the kitchen. Diana was on her knees, a large blue and white basin before her.
"Anne Shirley, is that you? Diana, look what the cat dragged in."
Diana wiped her face on her apron. Her skin was grey but her eyes were bright and shining. She leaned on her husband's shoulder and pulled herself up.
"Through a hedgerow and backwards with it," said Diana, taking in Anne's appearance. "Anne, what on earth has happened to you?"
If Anne was affronted, it was only mildly so. While she hardly liked to be chastened like this, if Diana's sense of decorum was firmly in place she couldn't be seriously ill.
She rushed forward to take Diana in her arms.
"Oh no you don't," Diana balked, "I know I smell just terrible."
She glanced down at the basin filled with sick and spit. Anne did too. Fred looked on proudly and rocked on his toes, his cheeks like boiled beetroot.
"Diana Wright, are you… are you…"
Anne paused, unsure if she should ask such a private question. Diana promptly squealed.
"Oh Anne! I'm going to have a baby!"
"That's right," Fred chimed in, and squeezed his wife's shoulder. "Doc Spencer reckons it's due this summer!"
The three of them drew close, though only after Diana instructed her husband to fetch her a glass of water in order to freshen her mouth. After many long and joyous hugs and some sniffs from Fred who was sure he smelled bacon, Anne ordered Diana to rest on the kitchen sofa.
She fetched a cloth and mopped her friend's face, then kissed the black curls at her temples.
"It's so good to have you here," Diana smiled wanly. "Husbands are all very well and Fred tries his very best, but only you would have known I needed that wet down." She took the cloth and rested it on the back of her neck. "Sorry you had to walk into that, Anne. I told Fred to answer the door but he was just sure it had to be Mrs Lynde. She keeps finding excuses to come over. You know how she is…"
Diana raised her eyebrows, Anne did too.
"Knitting booties, is she?"
Diana laughed, that sweet delicious laugh Anne could never get enough of. Oh, it was good to be home.
"Have you forgotten it's bad luck to make up things for the baby before it's born? No, Mrs Lynde keeps bringing me remedies. Lemon drops and spearmint gums and peppermint tea. But I couldn't stomach any of it until these."
Diana dipped her hand in the pocket of her apron and brought out a small paper bag. Anne could tell by their smell what they were, and wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry when Diana popped a heart-shaped candy into her mouth.
"You know, I never liked musk before I was expecting."
"Di," Anne said, nestling against her shoulder, "are you finding it very hard? When I saw Fred's writing on that envelope, I was quite worried for you."
"He only did that because I was throwing up. But it hasn't been too hard, not really. Of course, I could stand not losing my breakfast as often as I do, and I've been ever so sleepy, and my–" Diana peered about to see if Fred was still there. The moment Anne took over he shot straight to the barn. "My chest," she whispered, "it's enormous, Anne. I've had to adjust the buttons on all my shirtwaists and it's such fiddly work."
"Poor Di," Anne cooed, "I'll take care of you."
Diana pulled away and gave Anne her sternest look.
"I think it's you who needs taking care of, Anne Shirley. You look like a scarecrow and I do believe you're not wearing your foundation garments. Why, I can practically feel your ribs," she said, reaching under Anne's coat. "You're terribly thin, you've been studying too hard, I bet. And what's with this horrid fur coat?"
"This coat is brand new," Anne objected.
"Put it out in the porch, it stinks!"
Anne did so, and attempted to tidy her hair in the hall mirror. When she came back to the kitchen, Diana had changed her apron and was putting the kettle on the stovetop. They sat at the little table nestled under the kitchen window and swapped stories over long cups of tea. Anne drank most of it, Diana sucked on candy hearts, her dark eyes like saucers as Anne regaled her with a cleaned-up version of her tale. Expectant mothers mustn't get over-excited, and Di was easily spooked.
Diana was also a remarkable listener and always kept her questions till the end. In the midst of her telling, Anne wondered which question would be saved for last. It was generally Di's final query that fascinated her most. Anne was sure it would be about Roy and the way things had ended between them.
"And where did you sleep in this fishing cabin?" Diana asked, when all her other questions had been exhausted. Her chin was resting on her hands, and her nice pink colour had returned.
"Sleep? Oh, there was a bench, I took that–"
"And Gil took the floor. Yes, naturally he would. That explains the state of your clothing, you slept in them, of course."
Anne blinked. "Of course." It was true after a fashion, when she lay in Gilbert's arms in her undergarments she never slept a wink.
"Hmm," said Di, ruminating. Anne could practically hear the cogs whir in her head. "And you say Gilbert is coming back?"
"After he finds Mr Murtagh."
"And you parted on friendly terms?"
Anne left the table and went to the kettle and was relieved to find it empty. She busied herself with the task of filling it with fresh water, while Diana went on hmming.
"You should prepare yourself," Diana said at last, "there's every chance Gilbert will speak to you again."
"I should hope he would," Anne said lightly, "shall I make enough tea for Fred?"
Diana got up and went to where Anne stood. If her eyes were saucers before, they were dinner plates now. She took Anne's hand and lead her back to her chair.
"I mean speak to you–ask for your hand!"
Anne began to regret her lack of undergarments, she was sure Diana could see her heart lurch beneath her flannel shirt. "What makes you think that?"
"What else would I think? You and he spent the night. Alone. If this got out–"
"Why should it get out?" Anne was ruffled. "Nobody knows–except the Clays…" she trailed off as she recalled the words of Mr Clay, asking her if she and Gilbert had made a match of it.
"The Clays from Port Charley?" Diana exclaimed. "His sister teaches piano to Emmet Sloane's daughters. The eldest one just married a Pye!"
"Sloanes wouldn't tell, they're too sanctimonious to indulge in gossip."
"But Pyes would. Oh Anne! The Blythe's hired man, what's his name… Passi–Passi–"
"Pacifique Buote?"
"Yes, that's the one. He's been calling on the girl who does Mrs Thomas Pye's laundry. Why, this'll get back to the Blythes in no time. And John Blythe is terribly proper."
"Diana, I am fairly sure Gilbert will inform his folks of our misadventures himself."
Diana knew that tone, and if that didn't warn her the brisk way Anne left her chair did. Her bosom friend always did get uppity whenever the Blythes came up. So did Marilla Cuthbert, come to that. But this was no time for missishness or pretended slights, and young Mrs Wright had no qualms in bringing Anne to her senses, not for something so important as this.
"In which case, it's just as I said. Gilbert will speak to you, you see if he doesn't. He'd never risk your reputation, why he's been crazy about you ever since he was a boy–"
Anne was about to fire back that Gilbert was not a boy anymore, when Diana trotted past her and threw up in the sink.
"Oh Di!" Anne wailed, dashing to her side.
Fred walked in through the backdoor looking for tea, smiled meekly at Anne, then walked back out to the barn again.
…
At the insistence of Mrs Wright, Anne was bid into her freshly painted bathroom and told to wash up thoroughly. That done, she was brought into the sewing room that would soon become a nursery. Anne spied rolls of wallpaper, some with flowers, some with sailing ships, and tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. Diana a mother. Only now did the momentousness of this news truly work upon her.
"Di, I'm so happy for you. I wish I could have arrived in some humdrum way. I feel like we've talked too much about me, let's talk about the baby."
"Let's talk about your clothes first," Diana said, "I am not letting you go off looking like a ragamuffin and setting every curtain twitching from here to Carmody."
She opened the large closet and brought out a shirtwaist, a skirt and a jacket that were too small for her and too good to donate to the Aids.
"I have a feeling the more babies I have the pudgier I'll get. I'll never fit these again."
"You're not going to let me go until I put these on, are you?"
Diana wouldn't dignify that with an answer. As she watched Anne undress she saw a thick black smudge of what could only be soot staining the front of her chemise.
"Where are all your clothes, you must have brought more with you? Where is your corset and under-petticoat?"
"They got wet," said Anne unthinkingly.
"Wet? When did you get wet?"
"Oh." Anne said. "Did I forget to mention that part? We wrapped up all the items of clothing that hadn't properly dried inside the reindeer coat."
"Anne, you were wearing your reindeer coat. So where is your underwear?"
"I-I don't know… perhaps Gilbert…"
Diana plopped down on the bed. "Gilbert Blythe has your underwear now?"
"It wasn't like that, everything happened so quickly. There was a bag of mail also."
"Well, that makes it all better. Maybe when the mail is delivered to the Post Office, you can send Mrs Lynde there to pick up your smalls."
Diana meant to sound dignified, but once a giggle erupted it couldn't be stopped. She flopped back on the bed, her blue velvet day-dress crumpling into wrinkles as she wobbled all over.
"Oh Anne, I thought the sewing machine Fred was getting me for Christmas could never be beaten. But you darling, are the best present. You really do beat all!"
…
I don't know who I love writing more, Diana or Phil. They both make me laugh so much. For those of you asking about a new story, I have two or three ideas swirling around in my head. I'll give them all a go and see which one takes flight. k.