Like a River Called to the Sea

by Padraigen

An AU set around the canon timeline. Anne works for the Hammonds. And lives beside a lighthouse. Gilbert is predictably taken with her, as in every universe.

Chapter One

The throbbing mass of gray clouds rolling across the sky took much resemblance to her spirit, Anne thought listlessly. If one could see their spirit.

Inside the house—though house was rather a generous term. From a greater distance it appeared more as a shed, the wooden planks holding it up rotting away with every passing storm. Anne was sure that one hole emerged in the ceiling every time another one was boarded over—a child wailed. It was a common occurrence, and Anne knew she only had a few more uninterrupted moments alone out here before she would have to tend to the child lest she wanted another strapping.

At some point in Anne's life she was sure the thought of living by the sea would have been romantical, but by now she would do anything to get away from this place. If only she had somewhere to go.

Just then, a particularly strong gust of wind whipped around her, sending her skirts flapping in a rigid, wild dance and causing the washing line to rip right out of her hands. She cried out when the assortment of clothes she'd been attempting to entice into a basket before the rain hit went flying in all directions.

No, no, no! All Anne could think as she went scrambling after the clothes was that she was about to get the thrashing of a lifetime.

A flash of lightning lit up the sky just then, and Anne's misfortune compounded as the thunderous clouds opened up and chilling rain poured down from the heavens like an ill omen. She was soaked to the bone in mere seconds, shivering and sobbing and cursing the universe as if it were at fault for her terrible fortune. She had to blame something.

When finally she was able to seize the last of the elusive garments, she realized she had drifted quite far from the house, and would probably catch her death before she could make it back. Choked gasps left her as she scanned the muddy landscape and came upon the abandoned lighthouse at the edge of the Hammond's property. Without a second thought she sprinted toward the towering building, bundle of laundry in hand and heedless of Mrs Hammond's warnings never to go near the place.

She came upon the entrance panting, nearly gone numb from the cold. Unfortunately when she tried to open the door—after a fair bit of juggling to free one hand—she found it locked and sealed tightly shut. She groaned in frustration and could feel more tears leaking from her eyes, mixing with the raindrops. Not willing to give up just yet, she started marching towards the other side of the lighthouse in an effort to find another way inside, refusing to acknowledge how fruitless the endeavor was.

Before she could take more than a few steps, though, a voice was called out, "Hey, miss! Miss!"

Anne whirled around in befuddlement, positive she was imagining it. But then she came face to face with a boy, almost an entire head taller than she with hazel eyes and dark hair hanging limply on his head, drenched and clinging to his temples. He was smiling in a way that Anne thought entirely inappropriate, given the situation. "Come with me." The boy reached out and wrapped his hand around her wrist, his fingers cold and gentle but firm in their grip.

Left with little choice but to follow, Anne allowed herself to be tugged along, right back to the lighthouse's entrance. She was about to yell out over the deafening wind and roar of thunder that she had already tried the door, but the boy was pushing inside without hindrance before she had the chance. Anne closed her mouth sharply.

Hmm, she thought. Perhaps he'd been inside the lighthouse and came out when he'd heard her trying to break through the door?

The boy released her once they were both safely inside, forcing the door back shut against the raging wind. He rested his torso against it for a moment before he noticed the great shivers that wracked her small body. Anne watched his warm eyes widen in concern. "Here, maybe you should take off that dress. I'm sure I have a couple blankets lying around here somewhere you can borrow."

Anne was too cold to be galled by the suggestion, instead opting to follow any instructions that might make her trembling stop quicker. Then she wrapped her arms around herself modestly, embarrassed to be in the company of a boy in just her undergarments. Fortunately, when he found the blankets, he handed them to her with his head turned and his eyes fixed pointedly on the opposite wall.

She swathed herself efficiently in both blankets and took a moment to survey the interior of the lighthouse. There was, of course, the spiraling staircase that she assumed led to the top of the lighthouse, but she was more curious about the clutter that surrounded her on the bottom floor. It looked as if someone had upended all of their belongings and stuffed them in here, to gather dust and be forgotten. There were various tables and chairs, dressers, a vanity, and all sorts of familial treasures. A pocket watch, a top hat, jewelry, and all manner of precious ornaments.

It took Anne a few moments to overcome her shock and fascination that someone would just leave all this stuff here and work up the courage to look at the boy who had come to her rescue. When she finally felt she could speak without the chatter of her teeth rendering her unintelligible, she quietly muttered, "Thank you."

The boy turned to her and smiled again. It was his only acknowledgement of her gratitude before he said, "Did you forget your umbrella? And your coat?"

Anne's regard for the boy quickly soured as she realized he was clearly mocking her. "I'll have you know I had no plan of getting caught out in the rain. I just—" she stumbled in her explanation as she noticed her attempt to defend herself was only amusing him further. Anne huffed irritably, drawing the blankets impossibly closer around herself and turning away. She slumped into the first chair she came upon and focussed on trying to work warmth back into her system, ignoring the boy as he shuffled closer.

"I see," he said finally, halting mere inches in front of her. After a moment's pause, as it appeared as though he was contemplating something, he asked, "Could I maybe get a name?"

Anne considered remaining silent, but she supposed that if she was going to spend any length of time in the boy's presence it might be prudent for her to remember her manners. So she said, with an air of haughtiness about her, "My name is Anne. That's spelled with an E, thank you very much. And who are you?"

The boy's eyes glimmered fleetingly with something Anne couldn't discern before they returned to their customary warmth.

"I'm Gilbert."

Chapter Two

"How old are you?"

Anne straightened sharply, ignoring how her chair creaked under her. She shot Gilbert a suspicious stare and demanded, "Why?"

Gilbert grabbed an old book from off a tabletop's surface, its cover worn and clearly well-loved. He held it up. "Well, it's September. Shouldn't you be in school?"

Ah. Anne felt a twinge in her chest at the mention of school, and she wasn't sure if it came from longing or regret. She knew how pointless both sentiments were, however, and decided not to try to discern one from the other. (Largely because she had a troubling suspicion that this twinge probably came from both.)

"It's October," Anne corrected, instead of voicing any of these feelings. "And no. I don't go to school. I actually work for the Hammonds."

An indecipherable expression crossed his face, and Gilbert opened his mouth as if to say something. But no words came out, and he soon closed it again as if thinking better of whatever it was he had planned to say.

The silence stretched awkwardly with the unspoken remark. Question? Anne was curious to know. Almost desperate, really. Observation? Judgement?

When Anne could stand the silence no longer she blurted out, "I'm sixteen. To answer your question."

This didn't seem to assuage anything, as that peculiar look crossed Gilbert's face again. If Anne didn't know any better—and she surely did—she would say it was pained.

But she would never know for certain, because Gilbert simply nodded and said, "I haven't seen you around here before."

Well, if he was going to ignore any lingering sense of uneasiness from the conversation, Anne would, too. "I suppose you wouldn't have. I only just got here a few weeks ago." Her inquisitiveness piqued. "What about you, then? Shouldn't you be in school?"

A pleasant flush swept up and over the apples of his cheeks, and Gilbert's brows furrowed. The queerest notion crossed Anne's mind at that moment that Gilbert was, in fact, a rather handsome boy. The thought was too horrifying for her to contend with, and she promptly forced it to the very back of her mind, behind even her graveyard of buried hopes (which became rather less romantical and increasingly more tragical as the years passed her by).

He tried to smile, but Anne thought it more resembled a grimace, and she instantly regretted asking the question when she spotted the clear unhappiness dimming his heretofore bright eyes. It was just like her, to put her foot in it without meaning to.

"Probably," he said eventually. "But my, uh... my dad, he... he's ill. So it's important that I stay near him, you know— just in case he... well, just in case."

A silence befell them once again, this one solemn, and Anne felt a bubble of sympathy well up inside her. She didn't quite know what it was like to worry so much for a loved one that you put your entire life on hold to look after them, but she did know what it was like to live without parents. She wouldn't wish that kind of pain on her worst enemy, let alone this sweet boy who so kindly aided her when she so needed it. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, trying to pour all the sincerity she felt in her heart into the words.

Gilbert nodded, but didn't say anything more.

Words gathered on the back of her tongue as they were wont to do, some completely arbitrary—referencing the weather (but she wasn't that daft), or devising a joke (she wasn't that insensitive, either)—others wanting to console Gilbert (a terrible idea; she would definitely put her foot in it again), anything to put an end to the terrible silence.

She finally settled on carrying on their previous conversation, as if she had never asked Gilbert anything at all. "It's not that I don't want to go to school. It's been my lifelong dream to go. I enjoy learning ever so much." She smiled even as she hoped he couldn't see the impossible yearning on her face that she felt so profoundly in her soul. "Isn't it splendid to think of all the things there are to find out about? It just makes me feel glad to be alive—it's such an interesting world. It wouldn't be half so interesting if we knew all about everything, would it?"

Anne paused in her tangent when she noticed the way Gilbert was staring at her, like she was a mermaid, perhaps, or a woodland dryad, or some other mythical creature he couldn't quite believe actually existed. She shifted uncomfortably under the attention, wishing with all her being that she would at some point in her life learn the lesson to not talk so much.

"What?" she demanded heatedly, trying to cover how flustered she was. She was all too aware of the way her cheeks were heating, much to her chagrin. She was already red enough without flushing cheeks.

"Nothing," Gilbert said after a lot of stammering. "It's just—I've never heard anyone speak quite like you do."

A familiar sensation of her stomach unpleasantly clenching overwhelmed her. "Am I talking too much? People are always telling me that I do, and it seems to cause no end of aggravation—"

"Not at all!" Gilbert cut in, almost startling her with how loudly and earnestly he declared the words. He coughed, and then said in a more sedate tone, "I'm enjoying our conversation."

The statement was so genuine that it made Anne pause for a moment, stupefied. In all her sixteen years of life, Anne Shirley had never had a friend (unless she counted Katie, but she was rather too old for imaginary friends at this point). She had known those who were vexed by her, those who merely tolerated her, and those who openly hated her. But she had never known anyone like Gilbert. Someone who had helped her out of the rain despite the inconvenience to himself, someone who seemed to truly enjoy her company, someone who actually wanted her to talk.

She couldn't hold back a grin, and said, with perhaps a bit too much honesty, "I'm glad."

They chatted well into the evening, and never once did Anne feel as though she was being annoying.

Gilbert wanted to know all about her, but spoke little of himself. He told her how he liked to study in the lighthouse when being at his own house got to be too much, but that was as personal as he got.

Anne did not say much of her situation herself, neglecting to mention the details of her past other than that she was an orphan and had been all her life.

As delightful as the conversation was, however, she could hardly keep her eyes open as the sun fell below the horizon and fatigue swept over her. She thought she should say something, should probably get up and go back to face the consequences of her actions. But she was far too cozy to make any sort of movement.

She instead dozed off several minutes later, never once realizing that the conversation had drifted to a stop and Gilbert was left to sit smiling lightly at her sleeping form.

Chapter Three

"Carrots."

A gentle tug on her braids had Anne's eyes darting open, her hand flying out to strike at whatever had been meddling with her hair before she could consciously think better of the action.

"Hey, calm down. It's just me," said a voice that had very recently become familiar to her.

Anne shot to her feet, or at least she attempted to—she only really succeeded in getting her legs tangled in the blankets still enveloping her slim figure, and would have fell down if it weren't for Gilbert's quick maneuvering to steady her. She swatted at him, fighting against the heavy weight of the blankets to put some distance between them. Her temper flared with every misstep, and completely ignited when she finally comprehended just what Gilbert had called her.

"Do not call me carrots!" Anne lobbed her most fearsome scowl at Gilbert. "It is an exceptionally rude thing to say!"

Gilbert's eyes widened, ostensibly at her extreme reaction, his mouth falling open and his foot backing up a step. "I'm sorry, Anne. I meant no insult— I was only teasing."

Anne turned away, still frowning, tears forming in the corners of her eyes—not from any perceived slight, but because of how ridiculous she was acting. She had been teased plenty before now, but it had never been harmless. The people taunting her had always meant every insult, and she didn't quite know how to handle anything as innocuous as Gilbert's playfulness. She sniffled and forced herself to calm down, saying as evenly as she could, "It's alright… I overreacted."

The lines of Gilbert's brows turned contemplative as he scrutinized her. Finally, he ventured, "I really am sor—"

"What time is it?" Anne interrupted, rather obviously, not wanting to hear another apology. She became aware of the light filtering through the windows and sucked in a sharp breath, the staccato beating of her heart picking up into a gallop. "Is it morning?! Oh, Mrs Hammond is going to kill me!"

Anne flung off the blankets still draped over her, unperturbed by the lack of modesty she was displaying when there were other, more important, things to worry about. Namely Mrs Hammond's—and thereby Mr Hammond's—wrath. She gracelessly manipulated her body back into her—admittedly undersized—dress and expertly lifted her basket of clothes into her arms with every intention of dashing back to the house as quickly as her legs would let her.

"Anne! Wait!"

"I have to go, Gilbert!" Despite these words, Anne turned back to Gilbert for a moment, expectant.

He was holding up a book. She couldn't read the title from this distance, but she didn't have to. "This can tell you a bit of the history of Prince Edward Island. I thought you might like to read it."

Anne swallowed involuntarily, unexpectedly touched by the thoughtful gesture. She nodded. "Thank you."

Gilbert smiled and took a few careful steps forward, as if he were creeping up to a doe. For some reason Anne couldn't (or didn't want to) fathom, her breathing sped up with every step closer he got, as if anticipating something—though she didn't know what. All he did was place the book in her basket amongst the garments, however, before nodding and stepping back.

She nodded in turn, and then spun back around. The door was open and her foot on the threshold when Gilbert called out her name once more.

Anxiety bubbled in her stomach, and she fought not to snap as she wheeled back around again to face him. "What?"

There was a heavy silence as Gilbert stared at her, his mouth pinched and a suddenly desperate look in his eyes. He opened his mouth but then closed it, opened it again and then paused, visibly struggling with what he wanted to say. Anne softened, attempting to force her features into something more friendly and non-judgemental in the hope that it would put him at ease enough for him to say whatever it was he wanted to say.

"I— " he choked out eventually. "Will you…?"

"Gilbert?" she prodded gently.

Gilbert dallied some more and then huffed, as if frustrated with himself. Finally, he said, "It's just… you'll come back, won't you?"

Anne's eyes widened in surprise. She hadn't known what Gilbert was going to say, but if she'd had to guess, she certainly wouldn't have guessed that. A warm feeling zipped through her veins, something she imagined might be giddiness. He wanted her to come back.

Gilbert wanted her to come back.

"Of course!" she said, with perhaps a pinch too much enthusiasm. She sobered a tad and continued playfully, "I'll need to bring your book back when I finish it, after all."

The tense lines of Gilbert's broad shoulders noticeably relaxed, and the smile he sent her was probably the sweetest she'd received from him yet. He nodded. "I'll see you, then."

"Goodbye, Gilbert." With that she was out the door, bolting before he could call her back again and she inevitably conceded.

A smile brightened her face as she all but flew across the open field, back to the Hammond's house, her boots squelching in the mud from yesterday's rain, the sun shining brilliantly on her face. A splendid breeze caught her skirts and made them flutter merrily against her skinny legs, carrying with it a salty fragrance from the sea that tickled her nostrils.

Her gaiety disappeared in an instant when she saw Mrs Hammond standing like a sentry on the back porch, clearly waiting for her. A severe frown twisted her lips and her eyes pierced Anne like an arrow through her soul. Dread swelled in her throat until she was almost choking on it.

"Mrs Hammond, I can explain— "

"Didn't I tell you to never go near that lighthouse, you little wretch?" Mrs Hammond demanded, shrilly.

"I— but…" Anne was thrown, so flustered that Mrs Hammond seemed to be more upset that she had been to the lighthouse than anything else to really devise a way to defend herself.

"That place is cursed, didn't you know that?"

Anne's next blunder would surely cost her all feeling in her behind. "How can a lighthouse be cursed?"

Before the words were fully out of her mouth, Anne knew they were a mistake. It was too late to reclaim them, however, and Mrs Hammond growled and snatched her upper arm, disregarding the basket still in Anne's arms and dragging her into the house. "Just you wait until James comes home, girl. We'll see how impertinent you're likely to be then."

It was hours after the sun had set, and Anne was standing on the back porch with only the full moon for company. She stared up at it as tears silently trickled down her cheeks. An ache on her lower back, derrière, and the backs of her thighs was hard to ignore, but she still strove to concentrate on anything else.

Right now, her thoughts were with Gilbert. She wondered if he had actually been real, or if she'd go back to that lighthouse only to find it empty, their entire encounter turning out to be but a figment of her overactive imagination.

But no. Gilbert was unquestionably real. Even an imagination like hers couldn't create something as marvelous as him.

Before Anne went inside to sleep, she brooded over how such a lovely morning could lead to her standing here, now, aching and overcome with sadness. Mostly, though, she just thought about how much she wanted to see Gilbert again.

Chapter Four

The book was lovely. While Anne might ordinarily prefer fiction novels, most especially for the way they allowed her imagination to roam free and take her places she'd never even dream of, she enjoyed learning of the history of her new home. Well, the place she was living now, anyway.

She hadn't had the opportunity to see much of the island, but what she had seen—and what she'd read about—made it impossible to doubt the charm of the region.

Stealing away outside on the porch late at night was her only real chance to read in peace—although she did sneak moments during daytime when the children were behaving and Mrs Hammond wasn't there (or wasn't paying attention). She devoured the book by candlelight, having been starved of a story, any story, for so very long.

It took a week for her to find the right time to go back to the lighthouse, even though she'd technically finished the book days earlier. It was so very late at night that it was early, and Anne couldn't even be sure that Gilbert would be there. If he had any sense, he would be at home in his bed, fast asleep. As far as she could recall, there certainly hadn't been a bed in the lighthouse from what she'd seen.

And yet, she couldn't deny how much she hoped Gilbert didn't have that sort of sense at all.

She crept out of the house quiet as a mouse, her boots barely touching the wooden floorboards. Anne couldn't risk taking another candle, so she'd have to rely on the light of the moon, little as it was, to get her to the lighthouse.

It was cold outside, colder than she expected, but this time she brought a coat with her. She had been able to buy it with the savings she'd set aside from the jobs she'd been working since she was just a young girl, and while it wasn't a fancy, expensive thing, it did the job.

Her feet carried her over the fields. The waves lapping at the cliff walls in the distance was a comforting backdrop on her lonely journey, and she focused on the sound as a breeze circled her, unexpectedly chilly and making her jaw twinge painfully.

Anne was reminded of Mrs Hammond backhanding her, only hours before, presumably because of one of her shortcomings, although Anne couldn't entirely remember what she'd done to deserve it that time. The reminder made her stomach clench. She was not supposed to be out here, and certainly not meant to go back to the lighthouse Mrs Hammond hated so much. She would have to be quick, as she knew she had only minutes before the sun made its first appearance.

Her knuckles rapped on the door as soon as she made it to the lighthouse, her heart in her throat. Whether she was more worried about the prospect of returning home to a very angry Mrs Hammond or the possibility that this was a wasted trip because Gilbert was not even here was yet unclear to her.

However, the relief that swept through her entire being when Gilbert pulled the door open answered that question indubitably.

"Anne?" A grin lit up Gilbert's face, setting Anne's insides alight. "You're back."

"I told you I would be." Anne pushed her way inside, Gilbert sidestepping with ease when he realized her intention. "And I brought your book. Oh, I absolutely loved it, Gilbert. You have no idea how much I've missed reading! I'll read anything, you know, even a fire manual when that's all there is to read, but I do find a history book ever so much more interesting."

"I'm glad," Gilbert said as he shut the door. A lone candle was the only remaining source of light. "I have others if you'd like. You can read whatever you want." He led her to a magnificent bookshelf, absolutely filled to the brim with books. Anne stared at it in awe.

"Do you really mean it?" she asked quietly. Her head was a muddle of disbelief. Gilbert allowing her access to his divine collection of texts was a most treasured gift, and, unaccustomed as she was to receiving gifts, Anne was struggling to vocalize the proper gratitude she felt so ardently.

"Of course," Gilbert said easily, as if he hadn't just offered her the most precious thing in the world. "Anything for you."

The words, spoken with such earnestness and sincerity, knocked the breath from her lungs like a physical blow. Questions ran rampant in her mind, like, What did he mean by that? Did she really deserve such thoughtfulness? Did Gilbert not realize the enormity of his gesture?

The one thing she wanted to know most, though, was why he would do all this for her.

She couldn't bring herself to ask, though.

"Oh!" she exclaimed after an uneasy moment where she just stared at him. She cleared her throat. "Um, I'm sorry for coming here at such an early hour… I didn't wake you, did I?" The query seemed warranted, even though it was rather clear by the lack of bed, how put together he looked, and how aware he seemed that Gilbert had not been asleep. That realization gave her even more to think about.

"Oh, no. Not at all." Anne raised an eyebrow at the stilted response, and Gilbert looked like he wanted to elaborate, even opened his mouth to do so, but closed it again before any more words could tumble out.

"... Alright then. Good." Suddenly, it occurred to her just why Gilbert might be here. She asked, respectfully as she could, "And I hope your father's doing well?"

It was not the right thing to say. Anne's stomach clenched unpleasantly as she watched Gilbert's lips pinch, the line of his expressive brows creasing and something painful flashing through his hazel eyes before it was gone again, leaving a dull emptiness in its wake. "Yes. He's fine."

It was a lie. She had not known him long, so she didn't know how she could be so sure, but she absolutely was. Gilbert was hiding something, but she would not push.

She hadn't the right. Gilbert had owed her nothing, yet offered her more than Anne thought she deserved. The least she could do in return was respect his right to his own secrets. With that, she resolved not to ask about his father again unless Gilbert himself brought him up.

She nodded. "Good. Well, I'd better be off—"

"But you only just got here." Gilbert's protest surprised her after the uncomfortable exchange only moments before. Did he really want her to stay?

"I know, but I really ought to be back before Mrs Hammond wakes up. She might kill me if she learns I disappeared to the lighthouse again."

"Kill you?"

"Well, perhaps that's a bit of a drastic proclamation, but she certainly wouldn't be pleased."

Concern writ itself across Gilbert's features like something almost tangible. "I suppose I can't persuade you to stay and watch the sunrise, then?"

A bubble of longing expanded from somewhere deep in Anne's chest. "Sunrise?"

"It really is beautiful to watch from the top of the lighthouse."

She gnawed on her bottom lip in indecision, but only for a moment. "Well, maybe if I'm quick to get back afterwards. I can tell Mrs Hammond I couldn't sleep and got up early to start the chores."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes," she declared with conviction. "I want to watch the sunrise."

Chapter Five

Trying to climb the spiral staircase to the top of the lighthouse really put into perspective just how tall it actually was, Anne thought with a huff.

When they were two-thirds of the way up, she had quite thoroughly convinced herself that she had stumbled unfortunately upon a staircase that was never-ending, and that she would be mounting stairs for the rest of her days.

Thankfully, her proclivity for dramatics proved unfounded this time as they at long last reached the top of the lighthouse. She concentrated on the breaths expanding and contracting her chest, subtly attempting to regulate her breathing. When she turned to Gilbert she was quite irked to find that he didn't appear winded in the slightest. She frowned.

The only comfort offered to her was the fact that Gilbert had probably been coming to this lighthouse for the better part of his entire life, and therefore was well-accustomed to climbing the stairs by now.

Anne's attention was drawn away from Gilbert the moment she laid eyes on the huge lamp planted in the center of the floor in front of her. She wondered idly as she studied it how many lives of sailors' had been saved because of its light beaconing them towards safety. She felt a strange pang inside her that she recognized as sympathy for the way it had been abandoned here, left to gather dust and exposed to the open air laden with moisture that had birthed a patch of mold at its base.

If a lamp could feel, she wondered if it would be betrayed by those who had deserted it or take pride in the accomplishments it had attained while it had still been in service. It was a silly thought, of course, even for her, so she pushed it to the back of her mind and ventured out onto the external walkway, the considerable drop back to earth barricaded by a circular wall.

Gilbert followed her out with only a quiet warning for her to watch her step and settled beside her at the barrier, his tranquil presence an unexacting comfort.

In a moment, her heartbeat levelled and a wave of serenity washed over her. Beyond the royal blue of the ocean, the sun broke free of the horizon, her streaks of light painting over a blue canvas with fiery reds and blazing oranges.

"Oh, I really do love to watch the sun rise," Anne said in a soft voice, afraid anything louder would shatter the peace. "It is thrilling how the sun provides us with a new day, everyday, without us earning or even asking for her light."

Gilbert did not respond, but Anne knew he was listening to her every word.

She pulled her coat tighter around her torso and rambled with little thought put into her words, "I know I'm always despairing of my homeliness, and it's true that my red hair is the bane of my existence… But perhaps my freckles are not so terrible. I read once in a book that freckles are kisses from the sun. I'd like to believe the sun has shone favor on me."

"It would be a fool not to."

Gilbert had a way of knocking Anne's whole world askew when he said such things. They were always said with such certainty, such confidence. His unwavering belief in her was a powerful force she had no way to shield against, even if she'd wanted to.

Being rendered speechless was not a phenomenon Anne was familiar with, and yet she could find no words to reply with before Gilbert was speaking again.

"Do you truly believe you are homely?" he asked, turning away from the beautiful spectacle to look at her instead.

She flustered under his gaze, her cheeks heating in a way that had nothing to do with the sun. "Well… yes. It's rather obvious."

"Why is it obvious?"

A pang seared through her. Why was Gilbert being so cruel? Why would he force her to detail all the ways in which she was not beautiful, as if he didn't already know? Couldn't already see? "I already told you, Gilbert!" she cried out, taking a step back as if to get away from him, or get away from the hurt he caused her.

Gilbert followed her, his face pained. "Anne," he pleaded, grabbing her wrist before she could turn tail and flee. His grip was loose enough that she could pull away if she really wanted to, and she thought about it. She thought about running away and never coming back, just so she never had to face this awful conversation again.

Her feet rooted in place.

Gilbert shifted closer, ever so slowly. His gaze roamed over her face before locking on her chin, his jaw clenching. Anne's brow furrowed in bewilderment when he lifted his hand and grazed a light fingertip over a mark on her chin.

She flinched.

"Sorry!" He snatched his hand back, retreating a few steps. "What happened? Are you alright?"

"What?" Suddenly Anne remembered the twinge in her jaw and Mrs Hammond striking her. "Oh! No. I mean—yes! I'm fine. I just… ran into a wall. I'm terribly clumsy, you see."

"You ran into a wall?"

"Yes. But I'm perfectly fine now. Honestly, I can hardly feel it." This time Anne did turn around, making for the stairs as fast as she could without making it seem like she was running away. "Anyway, I really do need to go now. Mrs Hammond will have my hide if I'm not there when she wakes up."

She hefted her skirts up and hurried back down the endless steps, watching carefully where she put her feet. It would do no one any good if she snapped her neck while tripping because she was being her usual heedless self.

"Anne!"

Anne could hear Gilbert only a few steps behind her and quickened her pace before he could grab her again. "I'm sorry, Gilbert, but I really can't stay!"

A split-second later her foot found a small puddle of water from recent rainfall that had clearly not had a chance to dry yet. Her vision blurred and her heart stopped beating, as if time was stalled. The breath left her lungs in a cut off shriek. She was falling. There was no time to think, no time to brace herself, no time to grab onto something, anything, that might save her.

There was only enough time to close her eyes.

Whatever she was expecting to happen never came, because when she was finally able to pry her eyes back open, she was staring up into wide, hazel eyes. Gilbert's arm circled her waist, his other hand latched tightly onto the banister. A panicked silence rang in the space between them for an eternal moment before Gilbert whispered, "Are you alright?"

Anne's heart thudded in her chest, and she imagined it to be quite similar to the beat of a war drum. No, she wanted to say. Yes, she probably would have said, if she'd given herself the chance. "Thank you," is what actually came out of her mouth.

Before she could linger too much on what just happened, and before Gilbert could say something else, she pushed away from him again and proceeded down the remaining steps, this time with the utmost care.

Gilbert did not call out to her again.

Chapter Six

Anne ran back to the house as quickly as she could and was fortunately able to start cooking breakfast before Mrs Hammond came out of her room. As the sharp aroma of bacon permeated the small kitchen, Anne's thoughts turned back to the lovely morning she'd had. Getting to watch the beautiful sunrise on top of a majestic lighthouse in the company of her best—and only—friend was certain to become one of her most precious memories. It was up there with her first meeting with Gilbert alongside the first time she had set foot on the sandy beach that bordered the Hammond's property.

Looking out over endless ocean, her toes sinking into the cool sand, and the wind whipping her braids back and forth and side to side, she had never felt more elated or freer. She had imagined that if she'd just lifted her arms she could take off into the open air, soar like an eagle across the boundless blue skies, touch the clouds, and even return the sun's kiss.

Of course she'd eventually had to go back to the Hammond's, and as the days passed and her bare feet forgot the feeling of sand beneath them, and her nose grew accustomed to the scent of the ocean, and the children became more of a burden to her than miraculous proof of new life, the novelty of an oceanside dwelling began to wear off.

Anne hoped she'd never forget how it felt the first time, though. If she'd had any paper, she would have written down exactly what it was like to stare out into the distance farther than she'd ever seen before and imagine the incalculable possibilities hidden just beyond the horizon.

The rest of the day proceeded much like it normally would. It was only nearing sun down when Anne stepped out on to the porch to beat out a rug that she noticed something peculiar. A book with an unremarkable cover was laying on the rickety, old table right under the window. She lowered the carpet to the floor and approached the book, noticing that on top of it was a note written on a small, rectangular piece of parchment.

Anne,

I apologize for forgetting to give this to you this morning.

I hope you'll enjoy it as much as the last one.

– Gilbert

Anne grinned so hard she was worried her cheeks might crack, and she grabbed the note and held it closely to her chest.

She knew she was a bit odd, and most said she was rather difficult to deal with, and yet, even with how she'd acted that morning, Gilbert was still unconditionally generous. She thought it was high time that she returned the gesture.

When the night arrived that Anne could sneak away back to the lighthouse, it was with a much heavier heart than she'd imagined it would be when she had found Gilbert's book—another history book—outside on the porch.

She knocked, the motion hesitant and her knuckles barely even tapping the door. For a moment, she could almost hope that Gilbert was not there, but then the door was being pulled open and the moment she saw his face, Anne knew she could never truly be unhappy to see him.

Another of his delightful grins lit up his face, but all it did was cause the heavy weight of guilt inside her stomach to grow heavier still. Her contrition must have shown on her face, because Gilbert's smile lost its radiance and his brows pulled down in concern.

"Anne? Are you alright?"

Anne swallowed down the painful lump in her throat and said, "May I come in?"

Gilbert stepped to the side immediately, gesturing her inside. Together they rid her of her coat, and Anne held the book she had brought with her close to her chest as Gilbert hung the garment on the hanger by the door.

"Would you like to sit down?" he asked after a long moment of silence where he regarded her still form. From the way his voice strained, Anne could tell it was not the question he really wanted to ask.

She nodded anyway and took the seat she'd sat in the first time she'd come to the lighthouse. It was a bit uncomfortable without blankets cushioning it, but Anne hardly noticed. Her fingers trailed down the spine of the book in a familiar rhythm as Gilbert took a seat across from her. It was not the book Gilbert had lended to her, but instead one of her most beloved stories that she had decided she wanted to share with him. At this point, it seemed more a pitiable gesture than affectionate offering.

When Anne maintained her silence, Gilbert motioned to the book in her lap. "What's that?"

She snapped out of her despondence and forced a small smile to her lips. "Jane Eyre," she said quietly, almost a whisper. "It's my favorite book. I thought you might like to read it."

She carefully lifted the book and held it out across the distance separating them, her hand shaking even though the book was not that heavy.

Gilbert reached for the book, slowly, as if he was hesitant to accept it. His fingers brushed over the hard cover, and though he supported most of its weight, he didn't actually take it. Instead, his other hand came up, his fingers brushing back the sleeve of her dress from her wrist to reveal a mottled brown and green ring around the joint. He traced the skin around the bruise with utmost gentleness, and Anne couldn't help the bumps that raised her flesh or the shiver that ran down her spine.

"What happened?" Gilbert asked, keeping his head down, never once pausing his soft caress.

The breath that left Anne was shaky and wet. "I'm sorry, Gilbert," she blurted. "I know I shouldn't have been, but I was reading the book you gave me while folding the laundry, and I—I swear, I thought she was asleep! But she—But M-Mrs Hammond found me, and she took it."

Mrs Hammond had taken it. She had also ripped the pages from the spine, torn the sheets to shreds, and threw them in the mud. But Anne couldn't bring herself to tell him all that.

"She did this to you?" Although he phrased it as one, it was not really a question. So Anne didn't answer it as one, merely stared at Gilbert's fingers as they stroked her skin, her eyes filling with tears that she refused to let fall.

Finally, Gilbert removed the book from her hand and eased it onto the table next to where he sat. Then he stood up and wandered to a cupboard. He started rummaging through things, opening drawers and shuffling papers and shoving objects aside as if he was searching for something specific. He didn't turn back to look at her when he asked, "Why do you stay there?"

Anne's breath caught, surprised by the question. Obviously, it was her job. She had to live somewhere. Who else would take her in, give her food, a roof, and a bed to sleep in? At least she knew her place in the Hammond household. That was her only security.

Even as she listed all these reasons, reasons she'd given herself again and again for why she stayed, the more she went over them in her head, the more they started to sound like excuses. She used to imagine becoming a Bride of Adventure. She used to have so many dreams, so many aspirations for what her future might look like.

But the older she became, the bigger her uncertainties grew. She wasn't like other people—she wasn't like Gilbert. If she jumped on a steamer ship right now and failed to make something of herself, she didn't have a home to come back to. She didn't have anything.

So she asked, with distressing honesty, "Where am I to go?"

It was clear by his resounding silence that Gilbert didn't know how to respond to that. Eventually it seemed he found whatever it was he'd been looking for and came back over to her, kneeling in front of her. He was so close, Anne could feel his breath as he exhaled through his nose.

He opened a small glass jar that was filled with a white cream. "This is an ointment I prepared for bruising. Is it alright if I use it?"

Anne hummed in an affirmative, watching as Gilbert swept up a dollop of the cream with his finger. She let him take her arm and start massaging the ointment into her aching skin. "You know how to prepare ointments?" she asked after a moment of enjoying the way Gilbert's gentle touches felt in contrast to her throbbing wrist, curious.

"I want to be a doctor," Gilbert admitted. He suddenly paused in his ministrations, completely frozen. Anne grew concerned and was about to call his name when his head shot up and he stared at her with wide, brilliant eyes. "I planned on taking the Queen's entrance exam at the end of this school year. Anne, you could take it, too."

The words didn't make any sense in Anne's brain, completely grounding all her thoughts to a halt. "What? Gilbert—"

"No, Anne, listen," Gilbert insisted. "If you pass those exams, you'll be let into Queen's. You could go to college. Didn't you say you'd always wanted to go to school? Anne, you could study anything you wanted. You could become anything you wanted."

Everything Gilbert said left Anne reeling. Something bubbled up inside her, something thrilling and provoking. Something like hope.

But...

"Gilbert, students study for years before taking that exam. How could I possibly learn everything I need to know to pass in such little time?"

"I'll tutor you," he answered without delay. "It'll be a lot, I know, but I've seen how smart you are. I know you can do it, Anne."

Anne shook her head, "I can't ask you to do that, Gilbert—"

"You're not asking, I'm offering. And besides, it doesn't hurt me any. It just gives me a chance to become even more familiar with the material."

Visions of attending Queen's flashed before her eyes, herself in a gorgeous blue dress with puffed sleeves and an elegant hat, her hair drawn up all ladylike. She imagined the classrooms and the professors she could learn from, her peers all there for precisely the same reason she was—all taking steps towards a brighter future. She absolutely yearned for it. And yet.

"I can't. I could never afford it."

Gilbert sighed, capping the jar of ointment. "Don't worry about that, Anne. I said I would help you. Let me help you."

Anne stared down into his earnest hazel eyes and knew what a fool she'd be to turn him down. "Are you certain?"

"Positive."

Anne nodded. "Okay. Alright. I'll do it."

Chapter Seven

She only ever sneaked out late at night. She listened carefully for the loud snores that came from Mr Hammond, filtering through the walls and under the bedroom door, and then took off into the night as she always did. Although she couldn't go to the lighthouse every night, she made an effort to try and visit Gilbert for their lessons at least four times a week.

Weeks turned into months. Gilbert tirelessly tutored her in all the subjects he thought she'd need to know for the exam—reading, writing, arithmetic (unfortunately), history, grammar, rhetoric, and geography. The first time he had listed out all the lesson plans he'd made for her, Anne wondered if she might weep. It was so much. How could she possibly learn it all in so little time? But Gilbert had reassured her that she could do it—after all, she only needed to pass. She didn't need to score first above every other student on the island—and his faith in her was at least half the reason why she didn't immediately give up upon seeing the terror that was geometry.

She did not ever risk sleeping in the lighthouse. If she were caught, the consequences would be too great. She could not chance Mrs Hammond's wrath—she might find a way to keep Anne inside the house all the time, or start keeping a closer eye on her, or—worse—she might get rid of her entirely.

Gilbert was always kind enough to make sure she didn't actually fall asleep when she looked about to nod off, insisting that she go back to the house even when she tried to pretend she wasn't exhausted. She inevitably always agreed because she knew Gilbert would need to sleep, too, even though he never mentioned it.

Anne truly aspired to be as kind and generous and compassionate as him someday.

Sometimes she wondered why Gilbert did so much for her. Could it really just be because he considered her a friend, and that was what friends did? She thought about how she almost never saw him outside of this lighthouse, and wondered if he might be lonely out here by the ocean. Anne herself had never met anyone else their age around here, and she didn't think it was so far-fetched to assume that she and Gilbert's father were the only real company Gilbert had.

Anne could not bring herself to go so far as to ask, but she knew what it was like to be lonely—oh, did she know—and yet lately she wasn't feeling so alone anymore. Gilbert was like blazing sunshine breaking up the perpetual rain clouds in her life, and she wanted to be the same for him. Or, she tried to at least be an imitation of it.

The holidays came and went. Anne spent the best day-after-Christmas she had ever had with Gilbert, who had promised not to get her anything—anything more, anyway—because he knew she could not afford to get him anything in return. Instead, Gilbert read out loud from a book his favorite Christmas story, and in return Anne performed a poem she had written, not ashamed or embarrassed to be herself when it was only Gilbert watching.

And then a blessing was presented to her on the first cloudless day of the new year. She raced for the lighthouse, knowing Mr Hammond had left for the day and Mrs Hammond was much too busy dozing on the front porch while the baby slept to notice Anne wasn't immediately doing what she asked her to do.

"Gilbert!" she called as she grew near. "Gilbert, are you in there? Come out, quick!"

The merriment she felt when Gilbert opened the door never diminished, no matter how many months passed in the presence of his company. In fact, Anne sometimes thought her delight upon seeing him grew every time they met with each other. This time was no different.

She grinned widely at the surprise painting across Gilbert's face, coming to a halt only a couple of feet before him.

"Anne?" he said cautiously, although a warm smile of his own appeared on his lips.

"Gilbert, Mrs Hammond is allowing me to go into town to buy some groceries. Would you like to come with me?" The upward inflection at the end of her question was unmistakably hopeful. So when Gilbert's face twisted in an odd expression before settling into a remorseful frown that she wished she couldn't recognize, her disappointment was impossible to deny. Quickly, Anne backtracked. "It's all right if you don't want—"

"No! That's not—" Gilbert's eyes were pained as he looked at her, and his gaze felt so heavy that she had to look away. "I would love to come, Anne, I just… I can't."

Anne tried to swallow the words—it really wasn't any of her business—but then they were already leaving her tongue. "Why not?"

Gilbert did not answer for a long time. His stare was burning as his eyes swept over her face. Anne wished she knew what he was looking for. After an achingly long moment of painful silence where Gilbert contemplated what to say, he finally came out haltingly with, "I just… My dad. I—I need to be near him, in case… well—"

"Oh." That made sense. At least, Anne thought it did. Maybe. She hadn't asked him about his father since that first time, knowing how much it upset Gilbert to speak of him, and suddenly she wondered just how bad the man was faring. "Of course, you're right. You should definitely stay. I—Well, I'll see you then."

"Anne." Gilbert tried to reach for her, but she was already backing away.

"Goodbye!" she called. She spun on her heel and hurried away, telling herself it was only because she didn't want Mrs Hammond seeing her near the lighthouse when she had a job to do.

There really wasn't any reason to be upset. Gilbert already gave up so much of his time to spend with her, and she could hardly expect even more from him. Maybe it had been selfish to even ask, knowing what she did about his situation with his father. She cringed as she began the long walk towards the town, praying Gilbert would not grow tired of her and all she asked of him.

Perhaps, she thought, she could do something to make it up to him.

Chapter Eight

The town was not nearly so interesting as Anne had hoped it would be after Gilbert's rejection. In fact, it was much like any other town she'd been in—relatively small with all the usual shops and people ambling up and down the streets.

After she'd bought everything on Mrs Hammond's list, she ran into a woman who was buying rather a lot of potatoes, who told her she was buying them for her students back in a place called Avonlea. Anne was gratified by her recognition of the name after all her studies with Gilbert, and excitedly chatted with the woman about the experiment she wanted to try with her students.

She left the woman—who had introduced herself as Ms Stacy—almost an entire hour later feeling much better than she had after her meeting with Gilbert. A smile graced her lips and a lovely tune played inside her head on her way back to the house.

Perhaps it was her good mood that made her buy hair dye from a peddler she came across on the path home, blinding her from all the potential consequences. She was always so careful with the money she saved, but it seemed like a blessing she could not possibly pass up.

It was really no blessing at all.

The pounding on the door echoed in the dark night, but Anne was much too miserable to care about the noise. "Gilbert!" she called frantically. "Gilbert, let me in!"

She pulled the towel around her head further down, until it almost covered her eyes. Tears clung to her eyelashes freely, as she was getting tired of wiping them away. "Gilbert!" she sobbed, and then she knocked some more.

The door was wrenched open before she'd finished knocking, and she fell forward in surprise. Large, strong hands grabbed her arms before she could hit the ground, steadying her.

"Anne?" Gilbert breathed, his eyes a little wild as he looked her over. "Are you all right? What happened?"

A wave of emotion struck her at seeing his obvious worry. "Oh, Gilbert. I'm such an idiot!" she cried as she pushed past him and collapsed upon the chair she'd thus claimed as her own.

"Of course you're not an idiot," Gilbert was quick to reassure, his voice soft, a tension in his shoulders loosening. He sat in the chair opposite her. "What's wrong?"

She didn't want to tell him. Not really. She didn't think she could bear the humiliation, but she had few other options seeing as she herself could not think of a solution and would rather die than let Mrs Hammond see her like this. And, if she were honest, she'd come to view Gilbert as someone who could make anything better. Someone who could never let her down. There wasn't anyone on this island—no, there wasn't anyone on this earth—whom she trusted more.

So she closed her eyes and let the towel slip from her head.

Silence.

Anne slowly opened her eyes to find Gilbert simply sitting there, staring at her. She hiccuped and looked away. "It—It was hair dye," she tried to explain. "When I saw myself with raven hair, though, I wanted nothing more than to look like myself again. I—I looked like a demon possessed. I tried and I tried to wash it out, but—" she broke off when her breath hitched. Oh, what was she going to do? For Heaven's sake, her hair was green!

Gilbert slowly stood and walked towards her. His hand reached out, but then he hesitated. "May I?" he whispered.

She nodded.

His touch was gentle. His fingers brushed over the tangled mess of her hair with complete thoughtfulness. When they accidentally skimmed against the tip of her ear, she sucked in a sharp breath, and Gilbert took his hand away.

"I— I think we may have to cut it," he said after a moment.

Anne sighed and nodded, but somehow her anguish was not as enormous as it had been. She thought it might have had something to do with the way Gilbert had said "we." As if he didn't expect her to fix this by herself. As if it hadn't even occurred to him not to do what he could to help.

And although she was of course still a bit embarrassed, she couldn't help the thrill of the thought that maybe they were a team.

Half an hour later found them in front of a large mirror that had been pushed back up against the lighthouse wall where a heavy sheet had been covering it. The horror of Anne's green tresses had been snip, snipped away, and she now bore shorter hair than she ever had before.

It felt like a tremendous loss.

After a moment, Gilbert squeezed her shoulder and murmured, "Just a moment."

Anne did not see where he went off to, too caught up in the image she made. She tried to tell herself that it wasn't terrible. That it could have been worse. She wasn't sure that it was working.

And then Gilbert was presenting her with a beautiful ribbon, blue as a clear sky on a sunny day. "Here," he said. "I want you to have this. It was my mother's."

Anne blinked at the ribbon in uncertainty. This wasn't the first time Gilbert had mentioned his mother, but from what Anne had gathered, the woman had died when he was very young. How could she take perhaps one of the only possessions he had left of her? She turned to face him. "I couldn't possibly take that from you, Gil."

Gilbert's eyebrows pinched and then smoothed. He grinned a little. "Why not? It's not like I'm ever going to wear it."

The giggle in Anne's throat died before it could fully form. "It belonged to your mother," she tried to insist.

Gilbert shook his head. "Please? It would be a shame for it to sit in here gathering dust forever."

Anne bit her bottom lip, her misgivings vying with her absolute delight at being given such a significant gift. Then she nodded. "Thank you."

But before she could take the ribbon, he snatched it out of her reach and tapped on her shoulders until she stood facing the mirror again. Then he wrapped it around her head and tied it in a lovely bow at the top. "There."

They grinned goofily at each other for a few moments, and Anne's heart felt incredibly light. But then Gilbert's grin faded and his eyes turned earnest.

"You know that you're beautiful, don't you, Anne?"

Anne's heart beat a rhythm against her ribcage that was almost uncomfortable, and her gaze averted. So now they finally came to it. The crux of this entire dilemma.

Her own vanity had been a sore spot even before this moment. She had always believed that she would be more beautiful if only her hair was a darker color. If only her lips were a little plumper. If only her freckles were not so prominent. If only.

But now she recalled the way Gilbert would always look at her. The way he never made her feel anything less than pretty. The things he said to her that day on top of the lighthouse…

—"… I'd like to believe the sun has shone favor on me."

"It would be a fool not to."

—"Do you truly believe you are homely?"

"Well… yes. It's rather obvious."

"Why is it obvious?"

Gilbert had never seen her as anything else but what she was. And he had never judged her for that. It was hard to believe, but he made her feel beautiful.

Finally, she said, "Sometimes I forget."

Gilbert tilted his head and regarded her through the mirror, as if searching for the truth of that statement. But eventually he nodded and said, "I can remind you."

Chapter Nine

There were only a few weeks left until Anne and Gilbert were set to take the exams when Anne found herself with a free afternoon. She didn't hesitate to pull out a basket and fill it with some fruit and two sandwiches she made up. Though she would have liked to take with her some of the sponge cake she'd baked earlier that day, she had a feeling any of its absence would be noted, and she was already risking a lot just by taking the fruits and sandwiches.

Anne didn't make a grand affair of leaving the house, even though all the Hammonds were out, always cautious and on-edge in the Hammonds' household. But she couldn't help the skip in her step as she stepped outside, breathing in the scent of the sea and grinning as a soft breeze swept over her, ruffling her short hair and causing her blue ribbon to flutter.

When Gilbert opened the door a short while after her knock, he didn't look particularly surprised to see her. "Hello, Anne." He smiled. "What are you doing here so early?"

"I've come to see if you'd care to join me for a picnic," Anne said, swinging the basket in her hand pointedly. "If you're not too busy, that is," she teased.

"Too busy for you? Never."

Gilbert seemed to pluck something up from inside—a book, it looked like—before he sweetly offered her his arm, which Anne gladly took, and together they were off. Though she had hoped to leave the lighthouse and—more importantly—the Hammonds' house a good deal behind, Gilbert insisted that they not stray too far, and so they only walked for a little while until they found a good place to settle.

Anne set the basket down in the sand and pulled out the ratty, old blanket she was used to sleeping with. After shaking it out, she laid it out on the sand beside the basket and sat down. She looked up at Gilbert when he didn't immediately join her and patted the spot beside her, still smiling.

He chuckled and shook his head, but did as bid. Once he'd settled, Anne grabbed the basket and placed it in front of them, picking out both wrapped sandwiches and handing one to Gilbert while keeping the other for herself.

"Thank you," Gilbert said, taking the sandwich. "So… what's all this about?"

Anne bit her bottom lip while she slowly unwrapped her sandwich, carefully crafting her response. Finally, she declared, "It's a thank you. For all you've done for me." She shrugged. "I figured that, after all the nice things you've done to help me, I could return the favor. And anyway, you should get out of that stuffy, old lighthouse more often." She laughed, all the while nervous about how he would take the words.

She relaxed upon hearing his own laughter. "You're probably right."

Anne's breath hitched at the lovely smile he turned on her, shocked by the way her heart began to race. She had always felt… odd… when Gilbert looked at her in that way, brown eyes gleaming and pink lips quirking up in a genuine smile, but the feeling had never before been so… intense.

Gilbert gestured out towards the sea. "This is… good. It's— " He paused, his eyebrows pinching in contemplation as if he couldn't think of the right word.

"Beautiful?" Anne supplied, a little breathlessly.

Gilbert's face smoothed, and he turned to look at her for a very long moment. "Yes," he finally agreed. "Beautiful."

Anne's cheeks were suddenly—inexplicably—overly warm, which she blamed on the sun beaming down on them, and she averted her eyes. She plucked out an apple from the basket—for no reason in particular, it seemed—and then inanely handed it over to Gilbert.

The amused sparkle in Gilbert's eyes went ignored as he graciously received the apple, and the moment passed.

For most of the rest of the afternoon, they chatted back and forth, comfortable and content with each other. Anne still, after all these months, wasn't quite accustomed to how easy it was to be with him. But she never planned to give him up—not if she could help it.

These were the thoughts that filled her head as she finished regaling Gilbert with a story she had made up about a girl locked in a lighthouse—much like Gilbert's, in fact—her only companion a boy she could hear and feel, but never see.

Gilbert was always attentive when she narrated her stories—he was undoubtedly the best (and only, really) audience she'd ever had—but this story seemed to have him more rapt than most of the ones she'd already told. So pleased was she that she hardly even noticed Gilbert hadn't taken a single bite of the food she'd given him, and she was sad to have the story come to an end, if only because it meant he would stop looking at her like that.

But she wasn't disappointed for long, for Gilbert soon pulled out the book he had brought with him and opened it to the first page. And he began to read to Anne, his voice rich and strong and soothing—

"This is what you shall do; Love the earth and the sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy,

devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people,

take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families,

read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul,

and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint in your body."

Anne stared at Gilbert when he turned to look at her after he had finished, her heart filling her chest at the sight of the setting sun turning his skin orange and pink, his hair tousled by the wind, the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkling with his smile, and all she could think was…

Beautiful.

She swallowed involuntarily, and she must've lost her mind because in the next moment she was leaning forward, and her hand was reaching out, and she was touching him, her fingers brushing over the soft skin of his cheek.

And then she was kissing him.

It was everything that was Gilbert—sweet and enchanting, pure and lovely, comfortable and exciting all at once. It was everything he made her feel—delighted, grateful, and content but also a little crazy. Hopeful and inspired, deserving and, yes, beautiful. It was every perfect moment he had ever given her, of which there were so many.

And it was over far too quickly, a split second, an immeasurable instance. Gilbert jerked back, his eyes wide and his smile lost. A look of sheer panic shattered his earlier tranquility.

He might as well have slapped her, for it would have been less painful than the heartache that look gave her. Immediately, she shot up, a need inside of her that begged only to get away, even as apologies tripped off her tongue.

"I— I'm so sorry, Gilbert." Already, she could feel the first pricklings of tears in her eyes. "I didn't—I shouldn't have—" She stumbled on her words like she stumbled on her feet trying to back away from him.

Gilbert stood up as well, reaching out as if to try and stop her. "Anne, wait. Please, let me explain."

"No, no, Gilbert, you don't have to—" To her complete mortification, a hiccup cut her off. It would soon be followed by a sob, she realized, if she didn't get away now.

Anne spun on her heel, completely disregarding her blanket and basket, and ran away as fast and as far as she could.

"Anne!"

She ignored Gilbert's calls, at last allowing the tears brimming in her eyes to fall. They left streaks running down her cheeks that felt frozen when the late breeze hit them, and her nose started running.

Why, oh, why was she so stupid? What had possessed her? She'd had no right to kiss Gilbert like that. Just the thought of what Gilbert might think of her now sent a stabbing pain through her chest.

She couldn't even see the lighthouse anymore when she finally stopped running, exhausted and more than a little worn. Gilbert had made no attempt to chase after her, and she wasn't sure if she felt more relieved by that, or disappointed.

Idiot, she admonished herself. Why would he come after her?

She stood there a long while, until the sun had almost disappeared beneath the horizon, body almost numb and mind blank. Eventually, a wisp of a thought entered her head that it was late—it would be dark soon—and she should probably head back.

But then the look on Gilbert's face after she'd kissed him came unwelcomed into her head, flooding her eyes with fresh tears and a need to make things right.

She had to go to him and explain. She would tell him the kiss had been a mistake—even though, at that moment, it hadn't felt like one—and promise that she would never, ever do it again. It didn't matter if Mrs Hammond was angry with her for being gone so late. All that mattered was that she didn't lose Gilbert. She simply couldn't.

With that thought in mind, Anne turned around and started striding back the way she'd come with purpose. This situation really wasn't as terrible as she was making it out to be, she told herself. Gilbert would understand, because of course he would. He was Gilbert, the kindest boy she had ever known.

It took a few minutes to reach the spot where she and Gilbert had settled for their picnic, and when she got there, the blanket and the basket were gone. That Gilbert hadn't just left her stuff lying there raised her spirits a very little bit, although she was hardly surprised. That was just the kind of boy Gilbert was.

Anne kept walking until she came to the door of the lighthouse, which she now saw was propped open with her basket, the blanket folded neatly inside. She frowned and drew closer, pausing to knock on the door. "Gilbert?" she called.

When no answer was forthcoming for several moments, she pushed the door all the way open and was met with darkness. An uneasy feeling formed in the pit of her stomach that she valiantly ignored. Just because she had never seen the inside of the lighthouse so dark before—Gilbert always had at least a few candles lit—didn't mean anything. He had probably gone home to his dad, she thought reasonably.

She called out his name one more time, just to be sure, but there was no answer. The uneasy feeling in her stomach grew.

Anne shoved the basket all the way inside the lighthouse and closed the door before pivoting and setting off with a new destination in mind. It occurred to her that she had never actually been to Gilbert's house before, but it couldn't have been too far away. And if the coming night—and its accompanying shadows—made her a little nervous, well, it wasn't enough to put her off her quest.

She headed further inland, away from the Hammond property, where there grew more trees and thicker greenery. Every rustle in the branches or snap of a twig made her jolt, and she felt silly for being so jittery. She felt even sillier for partaking in this quest in the dark, wondering now if she had made a mistake in not waiting until the morning. At the very least, she should have brought a candle. But it was rather too late to turn back now.

Finally, after what felt an age, Anne approached a two-story building, the dark structure an imposing figure in the faint light. It was made even more eerie by its overgrown garden and the vines that crawled up its brick walls, but somehow, she was sure this was Gilbert's house.

She angled around the building and walked up to its front door, the porch steps more than a little dilapidated and creaking with every step she took. A lump had formed in the back of her throat by the time she reached the door, whose paint was cracked and chipping in places. A stray thought had her wondering if perhaps she should have turned back when she had the chance. But she was here now, and even though her heart was racing she forced herself to knock.

And again, no one answered. She reasoned it was her lack of surprise that had something to do with why she took the door handle in hand and twisted.

The door opened with a groan, and Anne's heart stopped.

The house was empty. Completely empty. There was no hint of furniture—no chairs or tables, no carpets, no pictures hanging on the walls. No chests or cabinets, not even any leftover wood in the fireplace. Nothing. A thick layer of dust coated the floors, webs hung from every nook and cranny, and the place smelled awfully stale, as if it hadn't been aired out in years.

No one could possibly live here. Certainly not an extremely ill man and his only son.

Anne backed carefully away, her mind racing for an explanation that was just out of reach. She had been sure this was Gilbert's house. Where else could it possibly be? And where was Gilbert?

The steps seemed to groan even more loudly as she descended them, but she hardly even noticed this time. She stalked to the other side of the house, desperately searching for some explanation, some clue.

And, unfortunately, she found one.

As she kept walking further away from the house, she came upon stones protruding from the ground, and when she neared them she realized they weren't mere stones at all, but gravestones. She had entered a burial ground. It was too dark for her to make out any of the engravings on the stones—for which she was unaccountably relieved—but they were still enough to put ideas in her head. Enough to get the wheels in her mind turning, deducing, putting pieces of a puzzle she hadn't even known existed together.

No—her mind screeched to a halt. No.

Anne sprinted away—away from the dark, abandoned house, away from the gravestones that filled her with so much dread and sorrow she could barely breathe. Away.

"Gilbert!" she screamed as she left the shadows of the trees. "Gilbert, please! Where are you?"

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

"Gilbert!"

She raced towards the lighthouse, scarcely slowing down before she burst through the door. Gilbert's name was wrenched from her lips as she crossed the threshold, again as she climbed the spiral staircase, stumbling on the steps often in the darkness, and again when she reached the top of the lighthouse.

But Gilbert was nowhere to be found.

Her breath left her in rapid gasps, her entire body quaking, and tears burned in her eyes. The steps taken back down the stairs were much slower than when she'd gone up, as she feared her severe shaking would cause her to trip. At the bottom of the staircase, she grabbed a match and lit a candle, the light feeble but just enough for her to make out the table she and Gilbert usually studied on.

She ambled nearer to it, her heart in her throat, and her breath caught when she saw what had been placed upon it.

Her focus went first to the book, the very same one Gilbert had read from that evening. Next to it was a small chest, and beneath that what looked to be a newspaper clipping. Finally, her eyes found the letter, upon which her name had been written in ink. The handwriting was achingly familiar.

Anne glanced away from the letter and brushed her fingers over the small chest. It didn't appear to be locked, so she opened it with clammy hands, her jaw physically dropping by the paper bills lying within, filling the chest almost to the brim. She had never gazed upon so much money at once in her life. She quickly snapped the covering closed, pushing the small box out of the way. Then she picked up the newspaper clipping.

That was when her heart nearly stopped.

It was an obituary, dated back more than three decades. She could not seem to read the whole thing, so her eyes merely skimmed it, picking out words and phrases, in no particular order, such as Gilbert Blythe… typhoid fever… just two weeks after his father, the late John Blythe… tragedy… bright young man…

Tears ran down her cheeks in unstoppable rivulets, and she was biting down on her lower lip so hard she could taste the metallic tang of blood.

No, no, no… This wasn't happening, this wasn't real. It couldn't be.

"Gilbert," she sobbed quietly, not more than a whisper of a word. She carefully, oh-so-gently set down the clipping, and at last, her gaze was unavoidably drawn to the letter. She didn't want to read it. She was still stubbornly in denial of what she already knew to be true. But it was Gilbert's letter. Those were Gilbert's words. So, with trembling hands and blurry eyes, she picked the letter up and held it up to the candlelight…

Dear Anne,

I am so sorry that I never told you when I had the chance, and I know it's too late now to say goodbye. But I am writing this letter to assure you I never wanted to abandon you. I admit that I don't have your gift with words, but I need you to know how grateful I am to have known you. You are the best friend I have ever had, Anne. My Anne with an E. Thank you for your comradery, your warmth, your wisdom, and your uniquely beautiful way of looking at the world. And, more than anything, thank you for reminding me of what it's like to be alive.

For so long I have been bitter and resentful of my fate. I wanted to go to medical school. I wanted to become a doctor. I wanted to help people. I wanted to save them. I thought I was cursed to forever exist on the outside, to be able to see, feel, think, but never do. But now I know this was a blessing. An opportunity... to meet you.

I hope you will remember me as you blaze your way through life, leaving your mark on every rock, tree, river, and person you come in contact with. I know I will never forget you.

I love you.

Eternally yours,

Gilbert

Chapter Ten

Two Years Later

—

Gilbert Blythe

June 7, 1848 — October 14, 1866

Anne stared at the headstone without really seeing it. Even after two years, just seeing his name brought back a tumult of emotions that she found difficult to manage. Grief and regret still warred in her heart, as well as a tiny shred of anger. Perhaps the worst—and the best—was the nostalgia.

She remembered the last time she'd been here—how she'd run away. Run from her fear and her dread and her heartbreak. Guilt had festered in her heart during the years she'd been away for never coming back here. For never saying goodbye, or at the very least paying her respects.

She supposed she could blame it on her busy new life, but in the end they were just excuses.

After the revelation of Gilbert's… death… Anne had packed up her life by the sea and taken a train down to the town of Avonlea, where the teacher she had met—Ms Stacy—lived. Ms Stacy had helped her with the rest of her studies and made it possible for her to take the exams. Once she'd passed, she had gone on to Queen's (with the help of the money Gilbert had left to her).

There, she had made more friends than she ever had in her life. One Diana Barry had become a kindred spirit—and one of Anne's best friends. The concept of family had never been more possible.

It was a rigorous two years and left her with little time to dwell on what—and whom—she had left behind.

But she had never forgotten Gilbert. Nor could she. Sometimes she'd see a head of dark curls in the corner of her eye, and her heart would start to race. Of course, when she got a proper look it was never Gilbert. Gilbert was gone and had been gone for many years.

Sometimes she wondered if her time with him had all been in her head. After all, "ghosts" had always seemed fanciful and intriguing, but not real. Ghosts were for books and fairytales and scary stories told around a fire.

If it weren't for the letter Gilbert had left her—the one she kept on her person at all times, as a reminder—maybe she could believe that none of it had been real. But she didn't want to believe that. She didn't want to believe that Gilbert Blythe had never been in her life.

Anne thought about him often, even though she had tried hard not to. His lovely smile and his kind eyes were forever embedded into her brain. His soothing voice and his cold touch were constantly filling her dreams. Every time she answered a question in class, she wondered what Gilbert's opinions on it would have been.

His absence had left a gaping hole in her chest that ached constantly, although some days were worse than others. Some days she just wanted to lie in bed all day and forget everything. Some days she longed so fiercely for his company that she doubted she'd be able to move forward without him. And some days she remembered him fondly, not allowing herself to think about anything but the happiness he'd made her feel.

She had questions. Of course she did. The most pressing had always been, how had Gilbert existed at all? And why had he left?

It took months for her to accept that she would only ever be able to speculate, that Gilbert would never be there again to answer her questions. Would never be there to talk to her, to encourage her, or to just simply be her friend.

At least she'd been able to accept what he was—a boy with a tragic end and a story that hadn't been over. It didn't matter what she called him. A ghost. A spirit. A lost soul. If nothing else, she understood now why he had never left the lighthouse. Why his touch was always cold. Why he hadn't been at school and why he'd never spoken of his dead father. Why he didn't ever seem to mind her constant presence—the realization that he must have been terribly lonely all those years had broken her heart.

She read his last letter to her over and over again and thought that he'd tried to explain it to her the best he could in the limited amount of time he'd had. He had been angry at the world before he'd met her. Unfulfilled, she imagined. And she couldn't blame him for that. Gilbert was an exceptionally bright young man who had been born to do great and amazing things—she was certain of it. But fate had taken him too soon.

Anne wondered—seldomly—if her kissing him had been the cause of his departure. He had looked so shaken, so panicked. Had called after her so desperately, knowing he could not follow and would not have the time to explain by the time she'd finally come back. She didn't think about it often because regret was powerful, and if she pondered too long on what she wished she'd done differently, she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to move on.

It might have been easy to squander the chance Gilbert had given her—to live in despair, to dwell on the what-ifs and the could-have-beens—but she couldn't. She told herself that it wasn't what he would've wanted for her, and she was pretty sure she was right.

But standing here, staring at the evidence of Gilbert's permanent loss from her life—God, it hurt. The hopeful future ahead of her—her new friends, her scholarship to the University of Toronto, everything Gilbert had set in motion—was almost lost in the face of this reminder that Gilbert would not be beside her on whatever journey she took next.

Anne shook her head and blinked her eyes, dispelling the tears that clung to her lashes. She came here to thank Gilbert, not to linger on her sadness. A red rose was cradled in her fingers, and a note with Gilbert's name on it in her own pen was clenched in her other hand.

She placed both gently on top of the headstone and bowed her head in silence. Words bubbled up from her throat… Thank you. I'm sorry. I wish you were here. I miss you. I love you. She didn't say any of them. She didn't think she could.

Gilbert had said she had a way with words, but right now, only three seemed to hold any meaning. Her speculated why and how. The reason. Everything. She gave Gilbert these three words on a single sheet of paper and hoped they brought him peace as much as they had given her purpose.

And they rang inside her mind even as she left, one heavy foot in front of the other.

You saved me.

Epilogue

The campus was as gorgeous as she had imagined it would be. Even more so. The beautiful sprawling grounds—ever so green—the architecture, the color.

If this was what living a fairytale felt like, Anne wasn't sure she was deserving of it. All her life she had dreamed of a future far brighter than the life she'd been living, and now it was so close all she had to do was reach out and grab it.

The thought thrilled her.

She almost couldn't believe how her life had changed. She'd been an orphan girl with nothing to her name, and now she was attending a grand school on a scholarship that she'd earned through all of her hard work. Everything she'd always wanted was more than a dream—it was a possibility.

If only Gilbert could see her now. She hoped he would be proud.

The train ride here had been a long one, and as much as she wanted to explore, she was sure that if she didn't find her dormitory soon all her fatigue would catch up with her and she'd collapse under the biggest and loveliest tree she came upon.

Anne hitched up her bag and started forward, following the map she'd been mailed. She wondered if she should write to Diana as soon as she got to her room, or if she should wait until tomorrow. A small, familiar ache panged in her chest at the thought of her bosom friend. As much as she wished she could be with Diana, she knew she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

The University of Toronto had been where Gilbert had wanted to go. She remembered the way he'd talk about it, his passion and clear yearning for something he'd never have (not that she'd known that at the time).

Anne had decided that, if she was accepted, she would attend here even though—despite the fact, because—Gilbert could not. She thought of the letter he had written her—every new person she met, every tree she touched, every rock she stumbled over; she would be thinking of him.

As she walked, her attention was focused solely on her map and that was when she collided with something—someone.

"Oh!" the person exclaimed. "Excuse me, miss, I'm so sorry. I didn't see you there."

Large, broad hands gripped her arms to steady her, and she hadn't realized she had stumbled. Because they were warm.

Her body recognized his touch before her mind could make the connection. Her ears remembered that rich, soothing voice even as her brain struggled to explain how she could be hearing it.

She looked up and stopped breathing. Dark, curly hair. Warm, brown eyes. Thick eyebrows, always so expressive. Mouth a taut line—concerned.

Oh.

She knew that face. She knew that voice. She knew those hands.

"Gilbert," she breathed, his name like a prayer on her lips.

The boy in front of her stared at her in surprise, his eyes widening ever so slightly, his brows raising. He let go of her.

Her mind rang; itshim, itshim, itshim.

"I… I'm sorry— Have we met?"

Have we met?

Suddenly Anne was sixteen again. The sky was pelting her with rain and thunder echoed in her mind, a memory she'd only just realized she had forgotten. A lighthouse towered over her, and in front of her… a boy.

Come with me.

She blinked rapidly and the image disappeared. Gilbert's hair was dry, not dripping and plastered to his forehead. His cheeks were pink. His clothes were different, but his eyes… his eyes were the same.

Something stuck in her throat that she thought might have been hope. And that was sort of terrifying. It occurred to her that Gilbert—or, the boy who looked a lot like him—was still staring at her. Still waiting for an answer.

Have we met?

Yes. "I— no. Sorry. You just…" Look familiar. But no, that wasn't right. You're dead. You shouldn't be here. Why don't you remember me?

Gilbert's brows furrowed like she'd seen them do a million times before. "Are you all right?"

Areyouallright, areyouallright, areyouallright. How many times had he asked her that?

"Yes. I'm fine."

Nonono.

Gilbert nodded, slowly. "Okay. Good. I, uh—" he gestured over his shoulder. "I've got to go, so…"

Don't go. Don't leave me. Not again.

"Of course."

What was she doing? Gilbert stared at her for one last, long moment. What did he see, she wondered.

Then he was turning away.

Oh no. Please no.

"Wait!"

Gilbert stopped. He turned back around, his eyes filled with confusion. "Yes?"

Anne swallowed hard. "Would you maybe… like to have lunch with me tomorrow? Here." She'd insist on apples. This time, she'd make sure he ate one.

Gilbert's chuckle was barely a huff of air. He still looked slightly baffled, but now he was smiling, and that smile was so blindingly familiar it was a miracle she didn't start weeping.

"Sure."

She watched him leave, her heart feeling like it was about to implode. Yes, she thought. Her future had never looked so bright.