CHANGE of HEART

...

Anne was lead into the parlour and swallowed hard when Gilbert closed the door. She saw at a glance he was sleeping in there. Woven blankets were folded neatly on the end of the chaise, and his pillow still bore the dent of his head. The sight of this left her feeling more tremulous than it should have, so she missed the sprig of mistletoe that was lying by his candlestick.

"You've heard the talk," said Gilbert plainly, "I have too. My Aunt spent most of the day at our neighbours so Snooty could get away from the cats. When she came back this evening she cornered me, that's the reason I was late. I only offered to walk her dog to sweeten her up, but it seems that everyone knows. I'm sorry Anne, this is my fault, we never should have stayed the night in that shack. The whole thing, the hotel, the crossing–that night with you–then my wrist, everything kept happening so fast."

The first half of this speech left Anne feeling mystified, why was Gilbert talking about walking the dog? He appeared to be building up to some truth he felt uncomfortable revealing. In the silence that followed she began to understand at last.

"Like a bolt from the blue?"

"I guess, in a way."

"You feel muddled and unsure what you want–"

"I wouldn't put it like that exactly."

"Things keep happening to you–I keep happening to you," Anne went on, "like some great iceberg bearing down and there's no way for you to get out of my path."

Gilbert was standing close to her, now he stood back and stared. "Anne, are we talking about the same thing?"

"Aren't we?"

"I don't know anymore."

"So, tell me Gilbert, why did you bring me in here?"

"You made me some mittens. Mother showed me, she couldn't help herself, while you were talking with Father. The moment I saw them I knew you'd heard the rumours too, and it all clicked into place. I'm guessing you thought you could stifle the talk if everyone thought we were engaged. They're all expecting us to marry now–but then they always have been. That's the thing about Avonlea. Nothing ever changes."

Gilbert stood there waiting for her to respond. All Anne had to do was assure him that what he said wasn't true. But she didn't, she couldn't. Not after such a confession; not even for the small consolation her proud self would have revelled in, by pointing out that once again Gilbert was utterly wrong. Because things had changed. Whenever she was near him she could feel her heart bursting open, while he had surely closed his heart to her. He did not care for her the way he used to. If he did, then rumours or no, he would have leapt at the chance to propose.

"I feel I'm here in false pretences. It's only right I go–"

"Anne, no–what did I say that was so wrong?"

"Nothing. You were perfectly reasonable and perfectly logical and perfectly…" she looked up at his face. "Perfect."

"Don't go yet, we're having a bonfire later and–and I know Mother slipped the almond into your pudding just for you…"

Anne's head was swimming now, and when she lurched toward to door he did not stand in her way. She was horribly pale, and her eyes had a deep green glow.

"It's supposed to be good luck," he called after her.

But he was the only one that heard it. Anne had run from the house.

…

Anne stood in the road by the Blythe's gate. The snow was coming down thickly and she hadn't thought to bring her shawl. She could hear clapping and laughing coming from inside, and knew the awkward silence that would fall. The questions about her leaving that Gilbert would be forced to answer. The mere idea of him trying to, made her writhe in abject shame. A shame she would feel all the more should she return home so early. Alone too. The women of Green Gables would not like that and would certainly blame him.

Anne did not like it either. She was gripped with a hollow feeling, like a hearth without its fire. Now she had her answer, and could say at least say she knew how Gilbert felt. But it brought no comfort, only a desperate ache that Anne foresaw would haunt her forever. She would have to live with the knowledge that she might have had a lifetime to learn every wondrous thing about him, if she had only said yes when he asked.

The snow had passed her boots now, and still Anne could not move. Her hand went to the gate and she remembered the day she held out her hand to him and how gladly he had taken it. He was always so ready to forgive, to come to her, to offer his help. She loved that about him, oh she loved him so desperately. And now it was too late.

When Gilbert appeared on the porch, she could have leapt into his arms. But she did not deserve any comfort from him, though she took the shawl from his hand.

"How did you know I would still be here?"

"I didn't. I told my folks you wanted some air and planned to take a stroll to the graveyard."

"And they believed that?"

"Anne, you have been known to do some very peculiar things."

"Before we go on–"

"You want to go to the graveyard?"

"Yes, but first please forgive me for what happened just then. When you mentioned those rumours…"

"Bolt from the blue, was it?"

"Please don't remind me of what I said."

"Why?" he said, "I like it, I always have, trying to work you out. I thought you'd be long gone and the snow would have covered your steps. A few good curse words would have slipped from my tongue, I can tell you."

"Because you couldn't find me?"

Gilbert's snort conveyed that such a thing was impossible. "Because I haven't brought my coat and my wrist aches in the cold."

Anne brought her hand to his fingers which were icy to the touch. "You need some mittens."

The one Mr Blythe had given her was still in her hand, and she offered it to him. Gilbert stuffed it into his trouser pocket.

"Don't worry," he said, "I'm warm where it counts."

…

He went back to the porch to fetch a lantern, and at Anne's insistence his coat. They walked silently through the snow like star-light falling around them. The graveyard was very close, Anne had thought she would scale the fence and wish Matthew a happy New Year, and found she did not want to let go Gilbert's hand.

"I could help you over," he offered.

"I know you would," she said, "but I don't need to, Matthew knows I'm here."

They stood by the gravestones topped with thick white hats; their boots has snowy coverings too. Gilbert started stomping the ground. Anne thought he was feeling the cold, but when she drew closer to him to share her warmth, he started stomping faster.

Gilbert Blythe was nervous. He was almost sick with it, like a flurry of snowflakes were inside his belly. He was sure that Anne would run from him, that was what she always did. Always? Certainly, in Kingsport. Even before his ruinous proposal she would look for a likely escape. And after? While Anne hadn't exactly disdained his company, she never sought it either. He fully expected to be shooed away when he was skating toward her. And when they were stranded on the ice and she refused to let him go, Gilbert was nothing short of bewildered. There had been no chance to dwell on his confusion, all that mattered was keeping her safe. It was a different sort of love he felt, no longer green and fragile, but with roots that went all the way down. To find Anne with her feet planted at his gate… The fluttering started up again.

When Anne suggested they go back to his house, Gilbert readily assented, so it surprised her when he stopped at the gate. He patted the top of it with his hand, and then did something utterly illogical and wiped off all the snow. Anne only just stopped herself from saying, Gilbert Blythe, be sensible!

"Means a lot to me, this ol' gate."

He wasn't speaking sense either.

"Gilbert, shall we go in?" Anne was beginning to get concerned.

He shook his head, bits of snow flew off his curls, and when he inhaled deeply it came out like dragon's breath.

"Right here is where I knew I wanted to marry you–in case you ever wondered," he added.

This addition was made because of Anne's utter silence. But he needn't have worried. She was smiling, one of her pink-lipped smiles, and her brows were raised as she looked up at him.

"Not the school house?"

Gilbert's dimple was on full display. "Forgive me for saying this but my thirteen year old self didn't think you were marriage material."

Anne gave his nose a swift tweak. "Rascal!"

"Yes, I was. And you made me see I had a lot of catching up to do."

"That's not true. From where I'm standing, Gilbert, you seem a long way ahead. You have such ambition, such dreams for yourself–"

"Anne, I haven't won the Cooper yet."

"Oh, but you will, and when you do what worlds will open up…"

There was only one world Gilbert Blythe was interested in, and he was standing ankle deep in it.

"You want to know my dream?" His breath puffed out again.

"More than anything," Anne said.

"I dream of a home with a hearth fire in it, a cat and dog, the footsteps of friends–and you."

Such a light shone in her eyes as he said this, that when he dropped the lantern the world around them remained illuminated and so very clear. Spilling out of her, so that not only her eyes but her whole face lit up.

His face lit up too and his eyes took on a fiery light, one that was very good to see. Anne parted her lips, then closed them slightly, unsure what to do next. A snowflake landed on her lashes. Should she pretend it hadn't happened, brush it away, or wait for Gilbert to do it? She wriggled her nose, trying to dislodge it and was hoping she wouldn't sneeze, when she heard the front door creak.

"Gilbert Blythe, get back in here!" Mary-Maria shouted from the porch. "Your father's starting the bonfire!"

Gilbert stifled a groan. "One minute please, Aunt."

"Who's that with you," his Aunt demanded, "who's hiding behind that hedge?"

Gilbert tried to keep Anne with him but she had already passed through the gate. Mary-Maria rolled her eyes when she saw her.

"I suppose you can come in, too," she said.

…

The Anne who re-entered the house that evening was not the Anne who left. Flighty? Margit Blythe wondered how she could ever think such a thing. What a confident, capable girl. She did Marilla Cuthbert proud. The way she fussed over Mary-Maria when she coughed from the smoke and (thankfully, finally) marched off to bed. Whizzed around the yard clearing up plates and cups, and was especially attentive to her Gilbert. Anne even went so far as to linger by the fire with him, while the good Doctor was droning on and on. What was it this time, a fusty paper on some 'ology or 'ism? Margit decided the poor girl needed rescuing.

"Anne, you must be cold. The bonfire's nearly out."

"Did you want some help with the dishes?" Anne said.

"No dear, I just thought–all this scientific talk," she gave Dr Dave a teasing look, "it does get rather dry."

"Oh no, I'm very much enjoying it."

"So am I," the Doctor said, heartily. "I like to hear young people's opinions."

Gilbert grinned at Anne, and Anne smiled in her turn. Margit saw then, it was not Anne who needed help. It was her son.

"How about my opinion?" she said to Dr Dave. "John's back is troubling him–"

"It is not!"

"It is," Margit said to her husband, who was sitting by the fire, and gave him a none too subtle wink.

"There's something wrong with your eye too," John grumbled. But he took the hint and followed his uncle and wife inside.

…

Gilbert threw another log on the fire and the two of them listened to it sizzle and hiss.

"I like the sound of the Glen," Anne ventured, "especially that lighthouse."

"You'd like it very much. Whenever I visit there I often think of you."

"You do?"

"Er–the way you can always find something to delight in. It's one of my favourite things." It was actually his very favourite, but he reasoned if he told Anne this she would no doubt ask him what else he liked, and he there was no way he could answer that without sounding like a love-sick fool. "Would you like some more wood, I'll put some more wood on, would that be good... Anne?"

The delicious pause before he said her name was because he had finally rested his eyes upon her. Her chin was low, demurely so, and her lips in a gorgeous smile. Her nose was–but he was too impatient to admire her nose, when what he dearly wanted was to fall into her eyes. Oh and they were deep wells of pure stillness, like moonlight on a pool of clear water. She cast her lashes downward, directing his gaze to the seven little freckles that dusted her nose and cheeks. The skin there as soft and fine as an apple blossom petal. Even now he could feel her cheek burning into his back.

He shifted and rocked his hips, trying to get comfortable, then decided it would be wiser to look at the fire instead.

After a few more logs had been thrown, Anne said, "Can I ask you something–about what you said–at the gate?"

"About wanting to marry you?" He tried to sound off-hand.

"Mmm, yes, because the thing is, you see, well the thing is, I often thought–and I'm not saying I'm right–but I did think you–fell for me–" Anne rushed through this part quickly, "long before then?"

"I suppose I did." Gilbert pulled at his collar as he reflected. "But falling for someone, and wanting to build a life with them are two quite different things."

Anne looked at the fire now, and was half-sure the crackling flames were laughing at her. The way Gilbert had carefully crafted his answer; his dream of fires and dogs and cats… Maybe he meant for them to remain friends, after all?

"Oh certainly," she said.

Her nose rose a little higher. But it did not alarm Gilbert the way it usually would. He was too entranced by the firelight glowing on her pearlescent skin.

"Two very different things," Anne went on, conscious that Gilbert had not.

"Huh? No–not so different. One without the other would be–well it would be…. I'm not explaining myself very well, am I?"

"If I was your professor I would give you an F."

"And it would be rightly deserved," he laughed briefly, then turned to her and steeled himself to go on. "It was just after Matthew died–do you mind if we speak about that? When you gave up your scholarship to stay at Green Gables. That's when I knew. Knowing doesn't even come close to what I felt, but that word will have to do. You see, before we were friends all I cared about was winning you, like you were some sort of prize. But after you gave up what you had worked for, and honoured your duty, I swore I would work as hard as I could to be worthy of a woman like you."

His skin prickled all over as he said this, as he realised a truth of his own: that with Anne gone from his life there was only the work, nothing else could get in. And he had carried on building walls that shut everything out. Those walls were well and truly down, and he was blinking in her light.

Anne's skin was prickling too, and she drew her shawl around her. It was the way Gilbert said woman that sent heavenly shivers throughout her limbs and up and down her spine. Her panicked need for a proposal seemed a girlish impulse now. There was so much she had to learn, about love, about herself, and most of all about him. Not the boy he used to be, but the man he was becoming.

"I always assumed," she began tentatively, "that love was something you fell into, not something you worked for."

Gilbert smiled softly. He had done his share his falling, but he liked where he found himself now.

"I know this might sound strange," she continued, "but there's so much I don't know about you…"

"Do you want to?"

Anne nodded, but before she could say more the neighbours around them burst into chorus, as the scurried out into their yards.

"Happy New Year! Happy New Year!" came the shouts.

"Happy New Year, Anne," Gilbert said.

He took her hand and brought it to his lips, and dropped a soft kiss onto her palm.

Anne felt faint with the pleasure of it. Gilbert's hazel eyes glowed warmly, as he pressed her hand to his chest.

"To auld acquaintances…" he said huskily.

"And new ones," Anne said.

…

The journey back the Kingsport proved straightforward and uneventful thanks to Charlie Sloane. Gilbert was no help, him having broken his wrist, and Anne was in one of her silent moods. So, Charlie took it upon himself to bark the orders and lead the way, and consequently slept a great deal on the train.

Anne arrived at Patty's Place late in the evening. No sooner had she walked through the door when Phil plucked the gloves from Anne's hands to examine a particular finger. Her smug smile vanished, and she would not be drawn to admire the little bracelet Dora made. Instead she began to pace the room. Soon after, a series of thuds came up through the floor. Jimsie was in the kitchen below warming her toes by the dying fire, and was banging the handle of her broomstick against the ceiling. The constant squeak of the loose floorboard in Anne's little blue room was ruining the deliciously salacious novel she was reading.

Phil was tempted to respond to the bang with a stomp of her green suede boots. When Anne began laughing, she was this close to unlacing one and throwing it at her head.

"And now you're laughing? Have you completely lost your senses?"

"On the contrary," Anne said, "I believe I've come to them."

"Then I can't have understood you right, because I was sure you said that Roy came with you for Christmas."

"That was his intention, yes."

"But he didn't end up going?"

"No."

"But Gilbert Blythe did."

"Hmm mm."

"But he didn't ask you to marry him?"

"He did not."

"And neither did Roy?"

Anne started laughing again.

"And you're happy about this?" Phil started marching across the room again. "Two handsome, eligible men come traipsing after you, and neither of them ask for your hand. You don't have to pretend you like it, honey. It's perfectly reasonable to feel disappointed, in fact it's the only logical reaction.

"Oh Phil," Anne threw her arms around her, "I haven't lost my senses and this really isn't an act. I'm happy, truly. Deliriously so–"

"Clearly," Phil said.

"I never wanted to marry Roy," Anne went on, "that was everyone else. Of course, I liked him for his own sake, but I discovered I need someone who belongs in my life."

"I am willing to entertain the possibility that a highfalutin Kingsport life might not be your style, Queen Anne, but I well remember, in this very room in fact, you confessing that you were thinking of Gilbert again."

"Yes, and do you know what I discovered?"

"I'm all ears," Phil said dryly.

"I found out that thinking about Gilbert and knowing him are two very different things. I was so caught up in my head, in the memories of the how things used to be, and wished he could have stayed that boy forever. But Phil, he grew, oh he grew in every estimation. I have never known a man so capable and wilful and brave…"

Phil was inclined to think Gilbert Blythe had always been that way, it was just that Anne wouldn't see.

"Yes, yes, we all know Gil's a terrific catch, what I want to know is why so magnificent a mannie has yet to catch you?"

Anne's broad smile turned into a dreamy one, and she sat upon the window seat and made a delicious sigh. "We're courting–"

"Courting?"

The sigh was followed by a blush. Anne looked so pleased with herself, Phil wanted to throttle her.

"We realized we had missed that bit. Well, Gilbert realized it first. He had wanted to marry me for such a long time, that he simply couldn't wait to propose. And then when we spent Christmas together, it was me who was in a mad rush to be asked. We never made time to get to know each other–in that way–" the blush deepened, "when really it's the most important part."

"Courting?" said Phil again, she very nearly scoffed. "I've never heard of anything so old-fashioned."

"Perhaps it is," Anne was too serenely happy for Phil's remarks to make any dent, "but then you wouldn't understand, Phil dear." She left the bench and kissed the top of Phil's head. "It's an Island thing."

…

Thank you all so much for reading. I hope this chapter lived up to your expectations. Now we just have to tie up few lose ends and Change of Heart is done!