Author's note: Good day to you, my dear Kindred Souls. Here I come, with a new chapter for you, hopefully one that will satisfy your needs.

Before we get started, I've got a little announcement to make. As you could have seen, I've managed to keep the updates regular so far, which for me is a great achievement on its own. However, life's hard sometimes; and writing can be demanding and neither of this is helped greatly by the university responsibilities hanging over your neck.

Oh, and, well. There is also that thing about me working on 467262 stories at once.

What I'm trying to say here is, I'm already working on Chapter 8 of this story. But it's difficult to grasp and with other things going on, I simply may not be able to update as soon as I'd like to. There is a chance; but it's not a very big one.

Alright, so that would be all! Please let me know how you feel about this particular chapter - it's a really important one to me.

Lots of love and God bless you all,
annewithagee

Chapter 7
A sister, a daughter, a friend

Contrary to Gilbert's wishes, the upcoming night was not to be a peaceful one.

It did seem so at first; there was no sign of change nor danger when Anne returned inside, nor was there any when she eventually made her way upstairs to see the twins. Unsurprisingly, she was greeted with much enthusiasm by both, each of the children displaying their affection in the manner that suited them best: Dora, smiling shyly at her but at the same time refusing to let go of her arm, curled up by her side with all the trust her little nature could summon, while Davy jumped around the room, telling stories and prompting Anne to share her own.

He refrained from climbing onto her lap this time, as she had half expected him to do; he was a boy of twelve now, after all, and as such he had a new code to follow, especially in regard of the fairer sex and his show of affection towards its representatives. He did take his place by Anne's side, however, and after a moment's consideration, he decided to give her a most heartfelt hug, having come up with two very good reasons for changing his mind.

First was, of course, the fact that in his eyes Anne was nothing but a sister and being one, she could hardly fall under the same rules that the girls in his class did.

The second was the fact that he had not seen her in months.

Anne remained with them for a long while, answering their questions and coming up with a few of her own, trying to make up for her previous delay in the best way she could think of. Being a young woman of twenty-two, she had no rules forbidding a display of affection before those dear to her heart and thus felt at ease keeping the children close to her, much to their contentment.

She expected to stay with them as long as common sense allowed and even went as far as to promise them so, remarking however that they should also remember of their school duty on the upcoming day.

"But can't we just stay home with you?" Davy pleaded obstinately. "We could help you around the house and I could go on with those repairs I started with Gilbert today – you know Anne, he really isn't the greatest farmer, even though Mr Blythe is so good at it – so we wouldn't cause any trouble to you or Mrs Lynde, would we, Dora?"

"You are always causing trouble," his sister answered wearily and yawned, remembering, however, to cover her mouth like the little lady she was trying so hard to be.

Anne smiled at both comments and shook her head at them.

"There is no need for you to sacrifice your time at school, Davy-boy, especially now that I'm back to help Mrs Lynde with all the chores," she said with a meaningful look before she ruffled the boy's hair playfully. "You are going to school tomorrow, young man, whether you like it or not."

"But then we won't get to spend any time with you!" Davy protested instantly. "And we're not doing anything important at school anyway."

"I dare say your teacher would strongly disagree. And as to spending time with me – I'm not going anywhere. I know I haven't been around much today, staying with Marilla and all, but I promise you that it won't be like that every day. And then, when Marilla recovers, we will have a whole summer to spend together in whatever way we please!"

"Does that mean you'll see us off to school tomorrow, then?" Dora inquired timidly, finally joining the conversation.

"Yes, about that!" Dave added, before Anne managed to even open her mouth to respond. "Gilbert is very nice and all but I don't think he knows very much about children, does he, Anne?"

Anne's eyebrows rose a little at the exclamations as well as the question that had prompted it. She looked into both little faces attentively.

"He used to be a teacher himself, you know," she said with a careful smile. "And since I know him to be a good one, I'd say he knows just enough."

"But he isn't you, Anne!" Dora objected suddenly, pressing her face against the other girl's upper arm, as if surprised by her own boldness behind such a statement.

Anne's smile widened at this unexpected exclamation, the best proof of how much these two children still cared for her. Her own heart swelled with joy at this display of how loved she was – she, the orphaned Anne Shirley, of whom no one had spoken with concern a little more than a decade ago! - and she could hardly react differently than by embracing them both, holding them even closer to her than she had before.

"And it's for the best, I assure you – I don't think Avonlea would have survived two Annes, and in the same classroom, no less," she answered laughingly before she leaned down to kiss the crowns of their heads. "Regardless, I think I can promise you to be the one to walk you to the gate tomorrow morning and hopefully, every day for the rest of the school year as well. Would that be enough for you, my dears?"

They had no chance to respond to that question as Mrs Rachel dashed inside, urging Anne to follow her at once while simultaneously ordering the twins to go their respective beds with no further delay. All three complied without demur – all three paling instantly, realising that there could only be one cause for such an abrupt change of air.

As the twins dived under their duvets, Anne followed Mrs Lynde to Marilla's bedroom, not yet realising that it was there where she would spend a greater part of the night, not able – or willing – to abandon her post until well after dawn.

Time seemed to have slowed down painfully, as the same few hours that had passed so quickly in the morn now dragged into eternity. There was such fear, such doubts when they didn't know whether they should call the doctor already or whether their own care and common sense would be enough to let them endure it all unharmed. It was the second option that won, with Mrs Rachel's strong argumentation that neither the high fever nor the coughing that accompanied it were anything she had not seen or fought before – that supported by her assertion that Doctor Spencer had given specific instructions on how to act in such circumstances in this particular case.

By the end of her watch Anne's exhaustion had come to a point where she could barely keep her eyes open anymore. Her skin was pale as it had not been in years, not since the day she had seen Matthew fall; her slender hands trembling as she rubbed them against her face, trying to wipe away her own tiredness, together with the tears that came with it.

It was so great that when Marilla calmed down at last and Mrs Lynde suggested that the two of them should use the chance and go to beds as well, Anne could hardly find it in herself to protest. Bearing in mind the promise she had made to her adopted siblings on the preceding eve as well as the other duties that the new day had in store for her, she surprised her companion with a compliant nod and short but heartfelt wishes of a good night.

Quietly, she made her way to her little white room and to her own bed.

Unlike on the two previous nights, she fell asleep with no further trouble.

It was three hours later when she left her bedroom again and came downstairs to lit the fire before she returned to the upper floor to make sure Davy and Dora left theirs in time. She was beyond glad to realise that Mrs Rachel had not beaten her to either of those tasks and that she was, in fact, still soundly asleep, snoring healthily in her own part of the house; and the children, aware of the peculiarity of the situation, were determined to behave their best, too.

They dressed up and breakfasted readily and even managed to refrain from asking too many questions while doing so – and when Anne had said her goodbye at the gate, Davy eagerly promised her that he would not make any turmoil during the classes, either. Even if, he added solemnly, it meant having to ignore Milty Boulter's insufferable bragging about his height.

As for Anne, the hours that followed their farewell all seemed a blur to her. With Mrs Lynde taking care of Marilla for the day, Anne found herself running in and out of the house, taking on chores so different from one another as brewing tea was from looking to the cows. She worked relentlessly, determined not to give herself too much time to think, choosing a next task for herself before she was done with the current one, thus ensuring she would not end up unoccupied.

The fresh country air did her good, bringing to her cheeks some of the colour she had lost during the night; the coolness of the house allowed her to catch her breath after the time she spend exposed to the sun and heat outside.

During those hours of restlessness Anne's eyes often turned towards where Marilla lay, be the place represented by the window seen from the garden or the staircase that led upstairs. That nervous little habit was of no surprise to her and could easily be explained even to those who knew nothing about the Green Gables household at all… If not for a small detail that accompanied it.

Whether she liked it or not, Anne could not deny that while her thoughts ran towards her sick guardian, her eyes were no less driven to the gate before their house and the hill that loomed in the distance on the other side of it.

The hill behind which the Blythe farm stood.

She tried not to think much about the matter, reminding herself of Gilbert's own words. He had told her that he would come, and that itself should have been enough to silence her anxiety – after all, when had he ever failed to keep a word given to her? But he had also said that he could not name a specific hour of his arrival, so it was even sillier to doubt him so early in the day.

And yet, as the lunchtime came and went, with Mrs Lynde once again leaving her to occupy herself in whatever way she chose, Anne was forced to admit that even the rational part of her was too weary to see much sense in this kind of explanation. Had she been allowed to tend to Marilla now, she would have been fine; had the twins been at home and in need of her help, she knew she wouldn't have minded the present setting, either.

And yet, Mrs Rachel was not one to bend easily, and it was a truth Anne had known well, having tested it on the matron more than a few times herself – and then having watched Davy do it in her stead all over again. And it would be a long while before the twins were be back, too.

Miserable and weary, and most importantly, with her guard let down, she found herself finally crumbling under the tension which she had managed to ignore for so many hours now. The awareness of that particular error had come to her too late and much too suddenly to prevent the consequences it brought; within moments she could be seen hunching, her eyes watering with a new set of ready tears and only so much reason left as to make her seek support on the old sofa in the parlour instead of falling on the floor right where she stood.

She collapsed onto her seat helplessly, bringing her hands to her face as she sobbed violently into the only handkerchief she had got.

She remained like this for long minutes, undisturbed by company and deaf to all noises that would have caught her attention, had she not been in a state of such distress. The singing of birds no longer brought comfort to her; the whistling of the wind could spark no joy. She did not care for the sound a breaking branch made nor the thud that echoed in the distance when it fell to the ground, and even less so for the commotion it caused between the animals on their farm.

And if she heard the gentle knock that came to her front door or the creak of the hinges as it was opened and closed, she paid it no mind, regardless of the concerned, caring calling that followed so soon afterwards.

In the same way it had been when he'd come to Patty's Place three days afore, Gilbert Blythe was not to be warned about her state.

"Goodness, Anne, what's the matter?" he cried out, alarmed, as soon as he had spotted her slouched figure and set off towards her in a rushed stride, startling her equally with his actions and words. In a moment he was by her seat, kneeling before her as he tried to meet her eye and then was forced to grasp her wrist when she had raised her hands in an attempt to cover her flushed face once again. She fought him for a time but gave up eventually, knowing she was too weak to keep doing so for long.

It was also then when she remember how much she had missed him before.

"Anne, please, just tell me what it is," she heard him plead but shook her head, begging him with her eyes to give her those few moments necessary to regain her composure and calm down enough to speak.

Unable to see through the curtain of her pain, Gilbert failed to understand the message this time.

"Whatever has happened, you don't have to deal with it alone," he urged her. "I'm here and I'm listening, only -"

"Gilbert, please," she managed to choke out then, successfully making him fall silent for a moment. The look he gave her was questioning and so filled with ache that Anne was sure it must have mirrored her own perfectly; not wishing to upset him any further, she closed her eyes and swallowed painfully. "Just… Just give me a minute, will you?"

Given the circumstances, Gilbert could do little more than nod and even that gesture could not be seen by the girl who had asked it of him. Impatiently, he waited, striving not to give in to the visions that had overcome him at her sight and the terrible scenarios that rushed in his mind as he gazed at her attentively.

Almost exactly after the promised minute he felt her seat back and pull her hands away in the obvious attempt to free them from his clasp. Taken aback, he released his already loosened grip and felt her slim wrists slid out of it – and then was amazed again at the realisation that Anne's intention was not to pull away from him, but to take his hands in her own instead.

Regardless of the fact that only in the course of the last few days he himself had initiated such contact three times, as well as his awareness that Anne had not protested to such boldness on his side once, he could not help but think of how different it was this time.

Namely because it was the first time in their history when Anne herself was the one to initiate it.

His musing was cut off abruptly when he saw her open her eyes again. Still not quite sure of herself, Anne did not dare to speak to him – though to be completely honest, she was not able to tell whether gazing at Gilbert as she chose to do instead was calming her, or was it maybe the reason why she suddenly wanted to cry even more.

"Oh, Gil, I've been such a fool!" she exclaimed unexpectedly before she broke into sobs once more. She did not try to raise her hands to her eyes again, choosing to tighten her grip on Gilbert's fingers instead; praying that he could find it him to be as patient with her as she needed him to be.

Unaware of her prayers and yet unconsciously fulfilling every one of them, Gilbert knelt before her silently, his heart breaking at the sight of the girl so beloved and his own helplessness in the time of crisis. There was nothing he wanted more than to aid her; to soothe and comfort and to tell that all would be well and that the time of her suffering was to be over soon; to simply take the place by her side and draw her close, holding her in his arms until she realised these truths herself – and if not, then to at least show her her the real magnitude of his support and readiness, and love.

And yet, he did neither. The former he couldn't do, if only for his lack of knowledge and his reluctance to feed false hope, especially when he still had not learnt where the problem lay.

To do the latter was not, had never been his right.

Before he could think of anything else, Anne raised her head again, meeting his eyes while her own still sparkled with tears.

"I didn't realise how bad it really was," she stammered eventually. "I had been so scared at first, so sure that it had been too late when we came back that I let myself get lost in my own relief when they told me it was not. I allowed myself to hope and to… relax… to put my concerns away, believing that my presence and care would be enough to make her well again. Only it obviously is not."

She sniffed inelegantly and bit her lip, fighting her urge to succumb into her weeping again. Gilbert, who didn't need to look any closer to see the struggle written all over her, gave her hands a little squeeze; then he withdrew one of his, only to bury it in his pocket, searching for the handkerchief his companion undoubtedly needed.

Wordlessly it was given; wordlessly it was received.

And Anne's trembling hand never stopped clutching his.

"She barely recognises me," she whispered brokenly after a while, her breathing uneven and her voice weak. "I paid it no mind at first. I knew she'd be exhausted and that she needed her sleep; Mrs Lynde warned me that her answers might be groggy and I went to her expecting that. But… This isn't groggy, Gil. It's unconscious."

She shuddered again at her own words then and closed her eyes tight while she pressed the now damp handkerchief to her lips in the hope of muffling the little moans that escaped her mouth against her will.

"It just isn't right," she resumed. "I want to have faith but I fear it's too arrogant of me to have it. I want to pray for her recovery but when I kneel down, I'm too full of anger and hurt to do so. And every time I decide I will simply focus on looking after her physically I realise that I have no idea how to effectively do that."

For the last time she fell quiet, the silence around them heavier than it had been at any point that day. Gilbert realised that she hadn't finished her confession yet, and that this upcoming part was probably the most substantial one of all.

And yet even he couldn't foresee the words she was about to cast at him.

"I had watched people go down with pneumonia so many times before I came here. Mrs Thomas' neighbour and friend; Mr Hammond's brother in law; the children at the asylum and even one of the staff that worked there. Not one of those cases was as sever as Marilla's is – and they all died anyway."

She said nothing more after that, letting the silence wrap over them once more, no longer disturbed by the sounds of her words nor even the crying that she had somehow managed to hold back. It was a bitter silence that came, not at all like one they had basked in so often in their happy days of old; not even the heavy but still tolerable silence of shared worry and companionship that had fallen on them so often on their way back home only two short days ago. Gilbert needed little time to sense the difference and even less so to point out the reason for such change after he had.

Anne was not hiding her feelings from him now.

She simply was too broken – to hollow – to have any.

"Alright, Anne, this stops now," he announced unexpectedly, rising to his feet and pulling a very surprised – and to his relief, very compliant – Anne with him. "I know you're afraid and now I can fully understand the reasons why; but you know it won't help, and even though personally I think you deserve a good cry just like anybody else, I also know that you'll be the first to reprimand yourself for wallowing in your sorrow any longer than you really need to be."

"Oh, but don't you see?!" she cried out then, yanking her hands out of his clasp while her eyes flashed with green for the first time in days. "There is nothing else I can do now. I've tried to keep myself busy for most of today, tried to tell myself that taking care of the farm is as important as looking after Marilla right now. That if I can't be of any use to her health then I can at least take care of the place she loves. But it won't do; it won't make a difference. And as long as it doesn't, it just isn't worth the time."

Defeated and scared, she wrapped her arms around her waist and stepped away, suddenly feeling she needed to increase the distance between them, even if for reasons she couldn't completely understand. She sighed deeply and added, "I could have stayed at Patty's Place as planned and it wouldn't have mattered, either."

"Again, this isn't true – and again, you know it," Gilbert contradicted her resolutely. "Do you seriously need me to spell it out for you? To tell you how your arrival has unburdened Mrs Lynde or how much more at ease Davy and Dora are just because they know you're here for them now?"

"And what does it change for Marilla?!" Anne responded heatedly. "Even when I am allowed to be with her, I can do nothing Mrs Lynde hasn't done yet. I'm not a nurse – I'm not even a daughter – and as much as I wish otherwise, my hands certainly don't heal. My endeavours don't matter. My stay here doesn't matter."

"I'd say it matters a great deal that Marilla now has two fairly well-rested nurses instead of a single overly tired one; and don't you try to pretend you suddenly stopped worrying about the twins because we both know you could hardly come up with a bigger, more ridiculous and improbable lie. Now if you would just look at me -" Gilbert's stern tone suddenly changed as he stepped ahead and reached out to grasp Anne's shoulders, as if to make sure she wouldn't run away now. "I can't make you cease to worry but please, for my sake, try to be reasonable just for a moment. Doctor Spencer is coming to see Marilla this afternoon, Mrs Lynde has told me that herself; and when he does, you may ask him about anything that concerns you, share all your observations and doubts, and I'm sure he'll give you all the guidance you need in his turn."

"And until then?" Anne asked in her last attempt of protest, although she too could say that her defences were crumbling down rapidly. "It will be a good few hours before he gets here, Gil. I'm not sure I can wait this long and still keep my sanity intact."

Gilbert's gaze was tender when she met his eye again and he even dared to squeeze her arms gently before he let go of his grasp and stepped back courteously again.

He smiled at her reassuringly and said, "I suggest you go and get some rest instead of trying to finish a week's worth of chores in one day as you apparently have before. A nap would be best, given how little you must have slept last night; and if that's beyond you now, then simply sit down and read or maybe go to the garden to do it there."

"I'll do the laundry," Anne responded to that with a new determination that made Gilbert bite his tongue before he could oppose and remark that it was not exactly what he'd had in mind.

He wanted to follow her and ask if he could at least be of some assistance to her, when suddenly he heard the front door open and a very agitated Davy call his greetings to the many inhabitants – and one guest – of the old household.

With a sight that was a mixture of weariness and relief, Gilbert turned on his heel and set off to welcome both of the twins, ready to listen to their stories and aid in their studies accordingly to their needs.

And in the meantime, he hoped Anne would be alright.