Timeline - Anne of Windy Poplars, The Second Year - March (Anne's birthday).
Allow me the latitude to connect this narrative to the of chapter 11, where Anne has a cold, but officially, that chapter is about April or so.

Chapter 19: Tomgallon

In the dungeon of Old Main, the largest and most derelict of buildings on campus existed a canteen where medical students gathered for second-day bakery items and jolts of Caribbean coffee and English teas. Eugene Felder and Gilbert Blythe usually could be found there promptly after class; they collaborated their notes as they snacked. Eugene would purchase the tea and Gilbert would use his pocket knife and cut up an apple. Sometimes others would join them, especially those that didn't care for the smell of cigar smoke, their booth was always non-smoking; however, today was different. Gilbert had hastily left for Summerside to heal Anne and Eugene was left to his own devices.

Eugene entered the cue for coffee and rolls. A few fellow medical students noticed that Gilbert wasn't with him and questioned Eugene over Dr. Diagnosis' whereabouts. Eugene just gave them a shrug and said, "Family matter." Which was true enough. Anne Shirley was his family: Anne Shirley was his life when it came down to it. Eugene felt a tad guilty for his evasive answer. The fact that Anne and Gilbert were not married was just too linear of an idea. Time existed in a circle and sometimes it was possible to acknowledge the things of the future for the present. Saying Anne was anything less than family for Gilbert would have been more dishonest.

Eugene set his piping hot coffee aside and crammed the end of a Bismark into his mouth as he searched his pockets for coins. He had forgotten that he had handed over to Gilbert his cash for the ferry ticket to Summerside. In the past, Eugene flirted with the employees to make up for a few slight shortages in payment. Usually, his flattery was enough for the forgotten cafeteria worker to bend the rules. This one though was a real challenge. You could tell just by looking at her. Her aura reeked of unpleasantness and unspoken pains. She looked at his angular physique and balding head with a slight sneer, wondering if he was able to fork over the pennies. Eugene was about to give up when he heard another man say, "How much is it Mrs. Stempson?"

He pivoted his neck to see his benefactor. Surprise overtook him and his eyebrows went to the sky as his teeth snapped off his bite. The doughnut fell from his mouth and into his hand. It was Dean Tomgallon paying his balance. How embarrassing! The dean and the clerk seemed to know each other well enough as the exchange was made. Mrs. Stempson pressed a few buttons on the cash register and its drawer ejected forcefully. The change clanked as she counted into his fat fingers.

"Sir, thank you!" Eugene uncomfortably swallowed the morsel lodged in his throat. "I do hope you'll let me repay you."

"Mr. Felder, your scholarship brings this school a lot of attention. You were published in the London Medical Journal and now you're translated to German for the Kaiser's medical staff. That is well done! Consider the Berliner a fair trade!" Tomgallon steered an elated Eugene off to the side and out of the crush of students. Then the matron called Eugene back for his cup of coffee. Like a forgetful child, Eugene backtracked his steps. The Dean chuckled and waited for his return.

"Mr. Felder, I'm really glad I found you today. I've been reviewing your application for early graduation and have a few questions. I don't suppose you could stop by my office this afternoon?"

"Yes, I think that's possible. Would three be too late?"

"Let me think," He noticed that Eugene was struggling with the tasks of walking and holding his roll and coffee. He pointed his student to a booth. "Let's sit for a second before you spill on yourself."

Eugene felt his face grow hot pink. Was he such a klutz that even the dean knew?

Taking a chance Eugene ventured a conclusion for the meeting, "I'm glad that my application has met your approval."

The dean squeezed into the other side of the booth. Dean Tomgallon was a fat man, no stranger to a donut himself. His protruding belly demanded the table be pushed forward and into Eugene. For a brief moment, Eugene thought him a tropical, bald version of Father Christmas. Tomgallon noticed Eugene staring at his middle. He patted his stomach and said, "Just wait twenty-five years. The wife will do this to you too if you're lucky."

At the word 'wife', Eugene was instantly flooded with memories of his dear deceased spouse, Victoria. Had he really been so young once to think death would never touch him? He sweetly embraced the sour memory of holding her as she passed away. Their newborn daughter also next to them, dying. The moment paralyzed him into perpetual action. Never again would a man suffer this loss, not if he could help it. His marriage had only been a year of his life, but it had changed him forever. Wife. Could he really do that again?

And then Eugene's thoughts diverted to Helen Blythe and how they easily they got along. Was it all right to wish for more? Probably not since she was engaged.

"Mr. Felder?" Eugene snapped out of his reverie. Dean Tomgallon was digging in his waistcoat for a cigar. "Would you like one?"

"Sir? Forgive me, but I thought it was well-known that I am a widower. It was the circumstances of her passing that called me to medicine." He declined the Cuban cigar being shoved in his direction.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I did know that."

Dean Tomgallon looked around trying to find something else to bring up. Finding nothing, he returned his small, black eyes back to Eugene's. "Getting back to your application, I think the answer will be yes, but there are a few details that I need to settle with the board, mostly your credentials from Johns Hopkins. Three then? Could I persuade you to come sooner, at two?"

Eugene frowned as he set his cup down. Swallowing to speak once again, "No, I'm so sorry, sir. I'm auditing geriatrics today. I'm taking notes for a friend, Mr. Gilbert Blythe."

"Oh, yes. I heard that Mr. Blythe made a sudden run over to Summerside. He dropped something off at my office before leaving. You rooming with him, correct? Do you know what happened?"

"It's something to do with his fiancée. She's not well. I am sure he means to return as soon as he can." Eugene apologized profusely on Gilbert's behalf. He had already spoken to a few of their professors about his absence. Most of them were not very understanding.

Dean Tomgallon gave a hearty, encouraging laugh. "Trust me! Mr. Blythe is not in trouble. You wouldn't know it to look at me, but I'm a big fan of romance, but when he comes back, have him stop by my office. I will help him smooth over assignments with the professors that are less inclined to believe in the magical power of love."

Eugene tried to keep his jaw from dropping at the dean's modifier. He hadn't been suspecting such blatant subtext from the dean and did not have his poker face at the ready. All thoughts of early graduation were discarded as Eugene suspected slyness afoot. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose to further obscure any revelations that might be seen in his eyes.

"That's an interesting turn of phrase from an academic."

"Oh, perhaps you're right. I ask, what is a man without the love of a woman? I'm a family man first and I can't fault Mr. Blythe for going to his li'l lady. It's God's way. It's magical, don't you think? Keeps us all rather connected. Love that is."

Eugene tried to not challenge the dean on the subject of God's way. Eugene regarded himself as a man of science; not myths. His disagreeing countenance cut through the tobacco haze the dean puffed.

"Don't you believe in God, Mr. Felder?"

Normally, religion was a topic Eugene avoided. He didn't fault others for having faith. In fact, sometimes he wished he could resign himself to have it too. He framed his thoughts to words, "I appreciate religion and those that are religious, but I find I do not trust in God. Not after He ignored my prayers to save my wife and newborn daughter. If there is a God, He is callous and cruel."

His statements were as daggers to Dean Tomgallon's heart, but he didn't hold Eugene's comments against him, as astonishing his opinions were.

"Well, I believe in the supernatural, Mr. Felder. I've seen too many miracles in my life not to believe."

Dean Tomgallon rose from his seat, pushing the table even closer to Eugene to make room for his aforementioned girth. His suspenders did a spectacular job of holding his pants up as he twisted and turned to stand. Eugene's coffee sloshed in its cup, remixing the cream and sugar liberally added. Before leaving, Dean Tomgallon leaned into Eugene to say, "I thought perhaps you've seen more than your share of magic too, so you surprised me. You really surprised me, Mr. Felder."

Eugene looked at Dean Tomgallon as blankly as possible, "Sir?"

The Dean laughed again and placed his chubby hand but a strong hand on Eugene's shoulder. "Fine! We'll do this your way. I'll see you later."

Eugene politely nodded. "At three." He drunk from his cup as the Dean strolled away but found he could no longer swallow.

Gilbert resisted the urge to stroke Anne's shoulder when she positioned her head over his thumping heart. The picture he woke to was a pleasant way to come out of bi-location. Anne was nestled against him; trusting him; watching his dormant body in her slumber. He had just feigned his departure from Windy Poplars with his second body. He had just convinced Rebecca Dew and the widows that Anne was on the mend. He had also urged them to let Anne sleep the rest of the night and not disturb her. Briefly, Gilbert wondered if in his second body he had the gift of mesmerizing people as the three ladies bought into his suggestions without question.

Now he and Anne were alone and holding on to one another without fear of scrutiny. They rested in harmony with none of the accidental notes of discord their impropriety should be striking. Shouldn't they be nervous, or excited, perhaps aroused? Gilbert's father, in one of their awkward talks, advised sex and intimacy were two different things, and that sex was the easier of the two. Mr. Blythe thought they had the intimate part down already. Gilbert couldn't quite grasp his father's meaning until then, as he held her so contentedly.

Gilbert marveled knowing that they had already achieved such a close connection. Her body was slack against his and grew more and more vulnerable as her sleep deepened. His feelings for Anne matured and grew as she slept. He wasn't sure how it was possible he could be more in love with Anne at the end of the day than he was at the front of it. But he was. They were perfect together! So why be apart?

Lately, Gilbert had been questioning his efforts to become a physician. How did it make sense to learn everything he had to when he could rely on his magic? Why were they waiting for his graduation? Wouldn't it be nice to just go off and elope?

He sighed and stroked her shoulder anyway.

Gilbert knew the game he played was wicked, pitting his heart against his mind. He knew the reasons for his study: He knew that magic was not reliable. He still wanted to be a master of healing and didn't care what method he used; modern or ancient. After review, he once again determined his decisions were sound and their troth-plight would have to continue. He must find glory in the wait. Joy would come from it.

A short time later a huge, gray cat sprung up onto Anne's bed. The cat glared at him, perhaps suggesting Gilbert shouldn't be there. Gilbert searched his memory for the cat's name. Dusty Miller then gave him a warning hiss as he curled into a corner. Gilbert couldn't remember the last time a cat hissed at him, not since he had gotten his powers back anyway. He supposed this cat had never seen a man before in a house full of ladies.

Another half-hour passed and Gilbert fidgeted with Anne's weight on him. Not that she was heavy, she wasn't, but his limbs were falling asleep. He strove off his natural instinct to move. After a few more minutes he decided he just had to anyway. He kissed once more the top of her crown, inhaled her scent, and then slid out from under her, moving a few pillows to where he had been. If Anne woke when they separated, it was only for a second, for soon she was pulling the cover over her delicate frame.

Gilbert needed Katherine Brooke to show up so she could help him get back to Kingsport. He wondered what the delay was, Rebecca Dew had returned an hour ago from Katherine's boarding house. He thought about bi-locating back to his dorm room to study, but he didn't want to leave his body vulnerable for so long with the possibility of Katherine showing up at any moment.

Instead, Gilbert wandered the room until he happened upon a map of "Tomorrowland". Anne wrote frequently of the place. He touched the edges of the parchment where Anne and her young friend, Elizabeth Grayson, had delegated places for love, hope, and magic to exist. He liked to tease Anne in his letters about Tomorrowland and disclaim the place and the magic therein, for no reason other than to hear Anne fight for its reality. Her insistence that magic was real made him and his powers feel normal. Anne knew the truth of it all as he protested in vain.

Gilbert needed something to occupy his mind. He remembered the stack of student papers on Anne's desk waiting for her attention. He decided to mark them for her until Katherine arrived to collect them. He trimmed the lamp wick and found himself remembering her order. She always did what was hardest first, and for her, that meant starting with mathematics. He found Anne's Euclid in her bag and used it as a refresher as he went through the two-column geometry proofs.

He lost himself in grading and was surprised when he heard footsteps on the stairs. Katherine Brooke's unmistakable voice floating up from below as she told Rebecca Dew she didn't need tea. Gilbert put down Anne's pen and swiveled at the waist to see her approach. Concern fused her bushy black eyebrows when she saw him. Gilbert automatically stood as she reached the center of the room. He wished his father hadn't trained him so thoroughly on gentlemanly customs.

Katherine acknowledged the gesture and asked him to sit as she removed her cloak and hat. She found a home for her accessories next to the blue cushion on the small bench. Katherine next looked to Anne who was sleeping soundly in her over-sized, elevated bed.

"She was so sick when I sent her home," Katherine paused to see if Gilbert were listening. "I wasn't horribly surprised to be summoned here after I returned from the train station. I came as fast as I could. I apologize for the delay, I was seeing Helen home."

"Helen was here? With you?"

"Yes. She came of her own accord. Delivered my new dress. But she's probably back in Carmody by now. I took my time walking home, I really needed to think."

It didn't take too much imagination for Gilbert to figure out the true nature of Helen's trip to Summerside. There were hints of a love affair in Anne's letters. Gilbert erroneously assumed with Helen's engagement to Charlie Sloane she meant to stay loyal to him. But then, Gilbert also knew as well as anyone, a heart wants what a heart wants. And Helen had been pretty clear that any marriage she would make wouldn't be for love. From what he could tell, Charlie accepted her condition. Why he didn't care was a mystery to him.

Gilbert might have said something on his thoughts; however, he needed Katherine's help. He didn't want to vex her.

"I told the widows you should collect Anne's school things, but I really need your help in getting me back to Kingsport. Thank you for coming."

"The note was hard to ignore!" Katherine picked up what looked to be a stack of homework off of Anne's bedside table. "It said that Anne was dying and to call at Windy Poplars pronto, but when I got here Rebecca Dew told me you had just left. I know well enough what happened. That must have been your specter they saw leave since you are still here? Didn't healing her wipe you out?"

"No," Gilbert replied with a firm shake of his head. "It was Anne, she helps me with my abilities and respiratory issues are super easy for me if it had been something else, perhaps."

"Your gift within a gift?"

"Maybe."

Gilbert thought to his diagnosis paper and how he abruptly left his outline with Dean Tomgallon's effeminate secretary as he dashed off to the docks. Healing respiratory issues was a strength, that was true, but diagnosing was his gift as a healer.

"Gilbert, I wonder how it is you know so little about your powers." Her voice was less scratchy to him now. She moved easily around the room, having visited Anne many times since the winter holiday. Gilbert tried to explain why he seemed so unacknowledged but she waved off his interruption. "I am accounting for the fact you went a long time without your abilities. It's still amazing to me. Do you know what your weakness is then?"

He frowned, "Weakness?"

"Yes, if you have a strength as a healer then you'll have a weakness too. Keeps everything balanced." Gilbert's blank face made her chuckle, "I suppose you'll find out soon enough."

Katherine paced before the bed. Dusty Miller hissed at her as her skirt brushed against his corner. He jumped down and scurried out of the room with his fur puffed up and his back arched.

"I hate that cat!" Katherine said. She looked at Gilbert as if he were crazy to allow him into Anne's chamber. Her amber eyes darkened. "I don't trust any cat that has a first and last name! You shouldn't either! How long has he been in here? Anne usually shoos him away when I visit."

"You don't think that cat is a familiar? Do you?" Gilbert suppressed his laughter. "I grew up with cats, that cat is just a cat."

"Let's strive forward on that assumption then," but Katherine found she could not make the heroic effort, "You don't have the gift of tongues, do you? All languages, and talking with different species? I just hope he doesn't understand us."

"I've never heard of anyone doing that except St. Peter at Pentecost," Gilbert rubbed his weary face. He handed over more piles of papers to Katherine. "Katherine, thank you for handling Anne's work, but do you suppose I can get some help in getting back now?"

Katherine huffed, "I was right not to tell you about me. Now you want favors, just like all the other witches I've encountered. Very well. Let's get it over with."

Anne lifted her head up as Katherine and Gilbert continued their stressed discourse. They had forgotten about her. She dropped her head back to the pillow and she quietly listened. The wintergreen scent Gilbert left in her sheets comforted her. She closed her gray eyes and focused on his tired voice.

"How exactly do we do this then?"

Anne knew they were near her desk by the way the words entered her ears.

"Hold my hand and pass some of your magic through me, just like you do with Anne. Only, unlike Anne, who strengthens you, I'll weaken you again as I guide you. Your magic will remember my ability as your powers come back. I won't force you this time. It's up to you."

Anne froze when she heard her name in reference to Gilbert's abilities. She had grown used to hearing such thoughts from Gilbert, about how she helps him with his powers, but hearing about herself from Katherine Brooke was quite another matter.

"Gilbert, just do it. Imagine us standing over there."

There was a long pause that followed Katherine's instruction. Anne waited to hear Gilbert give up. Instead, she heard a slight shout of joy in a different direction.

"Ha! I did it!"

"We did it. There's no I in this. You can't do that without my help. Some abilities require two at first. Keeps you witches humble."

"I'm grateful for your help."

Anne heard them shuffle closer to her bed and she opened her eyelids a tad. Through the fringe of her ruddy eyelashes, she saw Gilbert help Katherine with her coat. Miss Brooke adjusted her hat by feel and then wrapped her red scarf around her neck.

"Gilbert, lately I've been thinking about our conversation about Anne and her abilities to filter your powers." Katherine soothed. Anne's breath caught in an inaudible gasp and her eyes widened to hear better. "I dismissed your argument too quickly. Perhaps there is something to be said about her love for you that helps you with your abilities, maybe Anne's not like me at all, as I previously said."

Gilbert sighed, "Thank you for saying that Katherine. It's funny that you did; I was starting to think that you might be right, that Anne does have a passive ability just like you do, and the fact that we love each other doesn't matter in this regard. Maybe the reason I noticed Anne so keenly from the first was that I sensed this about her. It would explain a lot actually."

"Gilbert, don't go all chicken 'n egg on this, which came first?" Katherine replied coolly. "You'll only drive yourself nuts. You love each other now and it doesn't matter how you got there. Goodnight Gilbert."

"Goodnight Katherine"

Anne heard Katherine's departure and then she heard Gilbert's heavier footsteps approach. Anne sat up to see his hazel eyes beaming down at her.

"How much did you hear?" Gilbert asked as he sat down. "Scoot over, please."

"Enough" Anne moved to the cool side of her bed to make room for him.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"They're higher priced than that," Anne's eyebrow arched. She wanted to ask Gilbert about his speculation. "Do you think she's right? That I'm a leech like she is? That I have some sort of magical draw?"

"No," Gilbert said as he tucked in next to Anne. He flipped to his side to mirror her. "She has a good point, that's all. I know you better than she does. I know us better than she does, and I'm telling you, Anne, no leech could help me recover as you do. Remember Diana's healing and how you knew I needed you? That's love."

Anne reached to touch the side of his face, her thumb caught by chance the drooping curl of his mustache. "I do love you." Her hand stayed on his jawline, feeling his evening shadow.

He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. "I love you, too."

They held hands as they stared languidly into each other's eyes, both of them trying not to drop their lids with weariness. Gilbert knew he couldn't stay overnight, but he couldn't leave yet either. His powers were still recovering from the bit of magical travel he did with Katherine across the room.

"What are you going to do tomorrow, Anne? I don't think you should teach," Gilbert's tired voice was husky. "You're perfectly healthy now, but, everyone saw you sick. Stay home and recover; otherwise, people will ask."

Anne rolled onto her back and drew her hand away. "Gilbert, I have to go to school," Anne answered. "We have no substitute teacher to cover my classes. Unless. . ." Anne moved up to her elbows and tossed a braid aside. She gave Gilbert a huge grin and chortled through her thought. "You're still a teacher. Your certificate is still good, I even have a copy of it somewhere in my belongings."

"Oh no!" Gilbert perked up a bit. "I can't stay. I've got my own classes to attend, and it's too far away for me to bi-locate for more than twenty minutes. The whole reason for Katherine's coming here was to give me the power to travel magically back. I have to be there Anne."

"But the ferry doesn't get back to Kingsport until the afternoon," Anne reminded him, her gray eyes were defiant to his protests. She held back her smile realizing that she was probably going to win this argument. "Do you really want to beat it back to Kingsport? That might be difficult to explain."

"Oh, that would be unwise," Gilbert admitted. His following yawn became contagious. "Of course you're right, but ah—I can't stay here tonight. I do have to go back for a little bit, even if it's just to eat. Rebecca Dew and the others already think I've left. I bi-located an exit. They'll bust at the seams if I come downstairs for breakfast. That will be a whole new set of problems for us."

"I was wondering why those women weren't watching you."

"What?"

"Oh, I'm tired too," Anne said as she snuggled next to him. "How long until you get your powers back?"

"When you're next to me, never too long," Gilbert held her tighter. "So, what time does my boss want me to report to work?"

"You'll do it then?"

"I will. I'll do anything for you."

"The staff meeting is at 7:30." Anne rubbed his outer arm, over the bulging cuff of his rolled-up sleeve and rested her palm on his exposed elbow.

"May I kiss you, Anne?" Gilbert said, not quite sure if he needed an answer. "I need to hasten my departure."

"No, you may not kiss me. I don't want you to leave."

"Just one? Please?"

"Fine—one kiss Gilbert Blythe!" Her smile was cut off as Gilbert rested his forehead over hers and he teased her nose with his. He felt his eyes shut as his puckered lips pressed chastely upon her mouth. When Anne felt his kiss, she held the back of his neck so he would be there for her repayment. Her kiss was not polite and exacted from him a more passionate one.

"I think I'm good to go now," Gilbert said as he broke away from her enchantment.

"Say hello to Eugene then," Anne answered.

"I didn't mean Kingsport," Gilbert blushed. "But that too."

The dormitory's east-facing windows helped her tenants rise with the sun. Eugene pulled his pillow over his head to cover his eyes from the glaring sunshine as it splashed out the darkness of night. It was then he heard something move. Thinking he had been alone all night he jolted out of bed to find Gilbert in his brown suit before his vanity mirror. He had just placed his mustache curler on the heat register.

"Oh!" Eugene said with a glad sigh. "I thought for a moment it was someone else."

"Someone else?" Gilbert answered as he straightened his tie. "Who else but me, Old Man?"

"I don't know, that isn't important. Aren't you suppose to be in Summerside now in my mother-in-law's house?"

"Yes, I am supposed to be in Summerside and I never made it over to her place. I ended up spending a good chunk of the night with Anne."

"After you healed her?" Eugene's face twitched. "Whatever were you doing?"

"Quit diggin'," Gilbert kept his conversation short as he employed his small, curling iron to his mustache. Any excess movement might cause a burn to his lip.

Eugene, now half-dressed approached Gilbert. He pulled his suspenders over his shoulders. "Gilbert, while you were gone, Dean Tomgallon intercepted me. He wants to see you, as soon as you get back."

"I'm not back yet, not really," Gilbert replied as he applied his comb to his mop of brown curls. "I'm substitute teaching for Anne today while she feigns recovery."

Eugene hesitated. "Gilbert, I think Dean Tomgallon knows you're a witch. He used the word 'magical' with me when our conversation turned to you. His syntax was too weird unless he knows."

"He doesn't know, Gene. You really worry too much." Gilbert patted Eugene's shoulder as he moved around him. "Do you mind going downstairs to the cafeteria and grabbing a few sandwiches for me? I prefer pastrami if they have it. I'm starving, but I can't be seen yet. The ferry gets back to Kingsport at two in the afternoon."

"Gil, listen to me! I was called to his office to discuss early graduation. Yes that's right, I applied, but anyway, I'm telling you, Dean Tomgallon is a superstitious man open to the idea of supernatural powers! If he doesn't know outright, he's guessed." Eugene huffed as he put on his slippers and made his way to the door, "He had a massive file with your name on it sitting at the top of his desk. When he left the office I took a peak, the top page is stamped, 'Miracle'"

Gilbert felt his jaw lock as he quickly inhaled. "Really?"

"Yes!" Eugene retorted. "You might try to sneak a peek at it, use bi-location."

"I'll think about it," Gilbert answered with knotted brows. "First, food. I really am famished."

Gilbert Blythe left his coat and hat in Anne's office after the morning staff meeting. In his hands, he carried a copy of Great Expectations and Anne's lesson plan and ledger. He was running a tad behind the bell. When he entered the class of fifteen, about ten girls and five boys, he noticed that all the girls were crowded around one boy. Their handkerchiefs were out and they were blowing noses and stifling cries.

Gilbert set his things on the desk and opened the ledger, attempting to call the class to order.

"Hello, will everyone please take their places," Gilbert said, finding his teacher's voice once more. A couple of girls froze as they looked at him, unable to sit down as instructed. They gaped at him wide-eyed instead. Gilbert pointed to the desks. "Quickly, I apologize I am running late."

The brunette with wavy, waist-length hair finally sat down. When Gilbert looked down to read the roster, she leaned into her girlfriend and they both silently mouthed, "Oh my God!" One of the girls drew a heart on her slate but wiped it off before it caught anyone's notice.

Gilbert wrote his name on the board, "Mr. G. Blythe" and quickly explained. "Anne, I mean. . ." He shook his head and restarted. "I am Miss Shirley's substitute." At this statement, a girl in the front row started crying theatrically, dabbing her white hankie to her eyes.

"Uh," Gilbert tried to figure out what was going on. He addressed the young lady. "Do you need to leave for a moment? Get a sip of water?"

"Oh no, Mr. Blythe, you see, Jimmy told us Miss Shirley died, and now you're here as her substitute, so it must be . . . true!" The mournful voice of his pupil caused Gilbert to blanch a bit. Suddenly, all the ladies in the room were sobbing again. The boys even looked crestfallen.

Gilbert strode to the front of the desk. "Class, I assure you, Miss Shirley is alive and recovering nicely. She asked me personally to fill in for her while she recuperates. She'll be back tomorrow."

"Really?"

"Yes! I have my own classes to take at Redmond. She's well and just needs a day to thoroughly rest."

All ten of the girls turned around to stare down one boy with brown, shaggy hair. He wore round glasses similar in style to Eugene's. It was him that the class had surrounded prior to Gilbert's entrance. Gilbert heard him whisper, "I swear, that is what father said."

"You young man," Gilbert looked at him directly, "Mr. …?"

The boy stood in response to Gilbert's questioning, "Mr. Hart...Mr. James Hart, Jr. I apologize, but my father told me last night Miss Shirley was struggling to breathe and to pray for her, she didn't have long. My father is the doctor that called on her."

"A doctor?" Gilbert returned back to his desk and rested his rump on the edge of it. He folded his arms across his chest. "Well, your prayers worked then. Miss Shirley is fine. I promise."

Mr. Hart frowned, not because Miss Shirley didn't die, but because he knew his father to be a good doctor and Mr. Blythe's news didn't make sense. The young man sat down and endured the ridicule of his peers for the false information he had given.

Gilbert spent the next hour leading the class through a few sections of Great Expectations. At the end of the lesson, he read aloud Anne's list of study questions for homework. A few students stood to go to their next class, one of them was Mr. Hart.

Gilbert quietly called the young man over to his desk as he passed.

"Mr. Hart, I am guessing that your father trusted you tremendously to reveal such confidential information about Miss Shirley. Sharing that information to impress your classmates is a breach of that trust. You could get him into a lot of trouble. I know, I'm a medical student."

The younger man's forehead furrowed at Gilbert's admonishment. "Yes, sir." His shoulders hunched when he looked at the ground.

Gilbert tilted his head. He didn't mean to be so stern with the fellow. In a lighter voice, he added, "I meant what I said too, thank you for praying for Anne last night. She is my fiancée. I'd be quite lost without her."

Fate played a cruel trick on Davy Keith as he departed for home from the Blythe residence. The gangling adolescent with dirty blonde hair found himself walking a little behind Miss Marin. She was on her way to New Halifax via the Carmody road and he was headed in the same direction to Milty Boulter's to see Milty's cousin Mildred, who was pretty but had the personality of drying plaster. They were the only two people on the path and given their similar ages and direction, it did look like they were walking together. That was unplanned. Both of them would have told you that if you asked, but eventually, they found themselves next to each other on the road anyway.

Davy, at fourteen, wasn't the blurter he used to be, but he found silence annoying and after kicking a loose rock on the red road he said, "So, do you like Prince Edward Island?" Davy then bowed his head down surprised of himself. He wasn't really trying to get to know Miss Marin. He was merely attempting to liven things up until the road forked.

From under her pink and yellow slat bonnet, he heard her say, "Yes, I think so." Miss Marin turned her head and looked at him through the tunnel of her visor. "Papa and I been here a few months now. But we both found work right away and the Avonlea church gave us a nice barrel of food. We were able to make that last a while."

"Oh?" Davy said surprised. "Are you coming to church in Avonlea? I haven't seen you there, of course, I'm usually not paying attention."

Miss Marin looked away from Davy. After taking a few more steps, she suddenly stumbled and fell to her face, like a rabbit disappearing down a hole. Davy squatted next to her, kindly asking if she was all right, as Miss Marin righted herself into a sitting position. Her bonnet had slipped off her head and Davy could see her tea-colored skin that matched her brown hands. The rosy blush that spread across her face added a pretty warmth. She kept her golden-brown eyes on her feet, as she unlaced her shoe.

A bird landed next to them and Davy stopped looking at Miss Marin and instead noticed the white, downy feathers that mixed nicely with the more showy brown plumage of his top feathers. The bird chirped boldly until Miss Marin said quietly, "You can go on now. I am fine."

"It wouldn't be right for me to leave you like this," Davy answered. His voice spooked the bird and it flew off. Miss Marin snapped a puzzled expression to Davy. Seeing him offer his hand, she declined it.

"I just need to fix this." Miss Marin removed a small, thin board from her shoe. It was the front cover of an old book. As she reinserted it, he could see that her shoe had a large hole in the leather sole. "I stepped on a rock and I felt it move the board, but now it's fine." She re-laced the strings through the worn holes and then stood up without any assistance from Davy.

"You need new shoes," Davy said matter-of-factually.

"These are fine. I'm not complaining. Complaining is a tool of the devil."

Miss Marin then pulled the pink and yellow bonnet strings so her all-encompassing visor covered her head. He could no longer see her large eyes, not that he had any business looking at them anyway.

"That was a cover of a book in your shoe, wasn't it?" Davy aimed to change the subject of the conversation to something more dignified than holey soles. "You must like reading."

"I love stories!" Miss Marin answered.

"Well..." Davy's voiced annoyingly cracked in an adolescent way which caused him to pause from the embarrassment. "Anne is always coming home with small books from school for us. She's a teacher over in Summerside. Most of those stories are for girls, so I'll give you some, once Dora is done with them." He then realized that Miss Marin probably didn't know anything about Anne and Dora.

"Thank you, Davy. I'd be happy to look at them." She pointed to her turn. They were at the fork. "I have to go now, Papa will worry if I'm much longer."

"See you later then, Miss Marin."

"Goodbye, Davy"

Davy stood at the fork for a while as he watched Miss Marin continue her way alone. He thought that maybe he should be escorting her, but she was safe enough, New Halifax was only a half-mile off. He scratched his head as he mentally filed the thought away for later before running up his side of the fork towards Milty's.

"This, Mr. Blythe, is not the paper I asked you to write!" Dean Tomgallon said as he handed back Gilbert's outline. The large man sat down once again and leaned back in his swivel chair. He glanced up at his wall crucifix in a silent prayer for patience. Gilbert followed his eyes to the corpus. He had always thought the inclusion of a corpse on a cross a counter-productive argument towards the resurrection. Tomgallon found what he needed from his reflection. Returning to Mr. Blythe, he more kindly said, "I am relieved that you do know how the rest of us mere physicians diagnose a patient. At least I can graduate you from this school in a year's time."

"Sir?" Gilbert gingerly flipped through his outline looking for notes or corrections. There were none. He attempted to ignore the disapproving countenance the dean delivered. "This is the method of modern diagnosing. It is the topic you assigned me." He didn't know what more he could say. His preliminary bibliography should have been enough to prove his research was current and topical.

Dean Tomgallon's eyes grew angry. "I asked you to write a paper on how you make diagnoses, not how the rest of the world does. I thought I was clear." He stood and Gilbert felt himself cower a bit to the Dean's hulking if unfit form.

"You were clear. This is how I make diagnoses." He lied. He saw no choice. And Gilbert knew he was a terrible liar.

Tomgallon laughed, slightly menacingly, and he pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. It was his habit when he showed stress. "Mr. Blythe, you're only making this worse for yourself. This is medical school. Everyone here is bright and we're all men of observation. This.. . ." He pointed his index finger down at the desk to illustrate his displeasure, "is not how you make diagnoses. Do you want me to tell you what I think your method is?"

Gilbert noticed he was rubbing his hands on his trousers, removing dampness collecting in his palms. His jaw jutted once more.

"Here's the rub, if you were to tell me something you rather not anyone else to know, I'd have to honor that, as a matter of confidentiality. You certainly wouldn't be the first student to use me in that capacity."

Gilbert felt his heart quicken a bit. He hadn't planned on telling Tomgallon a thing about being a Blythe. But if he were to keep it secret. . .

"But if I tell you what I think, then the terms of confidentiality are less constrictive, after all, my opinion is just that, a supposition that I wish to explore."

"Sir, I don't know what you are thinking, but please, explain to me. How do you think I diagnose patients then?" Gilbert couldn't admit anything so important that he was a witch with the college dean.

Tomgallon drummed his fingers on his desk mat frowning. "I am not sure you truly understand the opportunity I have given you here, Mr. Blythe, so I decline to answer you right now. But I will eventually, you need time to think."

to be continued