Timeline - Anne of Windy Poplars, The Third Year. Approximately chapters 9 & 10. I'm skipping several months and going into March. There's really not a lot happening in the books at this point.

Chapter 27: Sacrifice

The caller interrupted Davy Keith's reverie and the mechanisms in front of him whirred to life. There were times he couldn't believe the series of events that led him to his job, but knowing Miss Helen Blythe, one of the best saleswomen for the Avonlea Telephone Exchange, and being a reliable, young man, had coalesced to his advantage, and there he was, hired to work the switchboard at A.T.E.

Ring! Brr-ring!

The Charlottetown operator was waiting for him to respond as the black, cylindrical receiver shook on its hook. It was common to have long periods where nothing happened and then suddenly move into another period of great activity.

Davy wrapped the massive headset around his ears and neck so his hands might be free to patch calls.*

"Avonlea speaking, sorry for the wait. How may I serve you?" His voice cracked.

"Avonlea, this is Charlottetown, I have an incoming call from Florida for Mr. John Blythe. Can you ring ahead?"

"Please hold," Davy slid down to the other end of the switchboard and employed the dialer. He wondered who Mr. Blythe knew in Florida.

"Hello?" A sleepy Mr. Blythe responded.

Davy felt bad for waking him up, but Mr. Blythe never left his receiver off the hook to stop inconvenient calls.

"Avonlea Telephone Exchange calling for Mr. John Blythe."

"Davy Keith, is that you that I hear? What time is it?"

Davy hated being identified, especially since most of the community used a party line. All he was was a friendly voice that manually connected calls.

"Yes, Mr. Blythe. You hear correctly. It's about nine o'clock. Are you able to take a call? It's coming in from the States."

"Wow! I won't ever get used to this. This telephone thing, well, it's almost like magic." Mr. Blythe chuckled. Hearing no laughter from Davy, he whispered, "You get it?"

Davy's eyes rolled. Six months ago, following her father's funeral, Miss Marin had confided in Davy her secret, that she was a witch with supernatural powers. Her confession brought Davy more fully into the society of witches and Mr. Blythe loved talking about magic, particularly Blythe magic as compared to Marin magic. Davy didn't have the heart to tell Mr. Blythe he learned about Gilbert and Helen a long time ago.

"Mr. Blythe... "

"Just a moment Davy,"

There was a long pause. He put Mr. Blythe on hold and assisted another customer before returning.

"Davy? Davy?"

"Sorry, I had to put you on hold for a moment."

"You must be coming up in the world, you normally work later, don't you?"

Davy quickly explained, "I'm just covering a few hours tonight."

He agreed to come in early even if it meant missing Anne's birthday supper. Honestly, he had forgotten about Anne's twenty-fifth. He wanted more work: He wanted to help Marilla now that he was old enough to make an impact.

Last fall he opted not to return to school when this job presented itself. He had considered the pros and cons for a week before deciding. He knew he wanted to farm and had no aspirations for an education beyond the three 'R's. He wasn't sure if he'd continue on as a switchboard operator for the summer, but in the winter after the harvest, it felt wonderful to earn a salary.

He had a hard time convincing Marilla. She wanted him to go to Queens and try for a teacher's certificate. Even if he never taught, she wanted him trained up to support himself like Anne was. "Overnight telephone work isn't lucrative," she had said.

"Neither is teaching," Davy had countered.

Mrs. Lynde took his side at the supper table and reiterated his thoughts in her brisk, opinionated way. "What's he going to do with Latin and advanced geometry, Marilla? That won't make the potatoes grow faster. He has a chance to earn some money, he might as well. We'll need his help next winter, what, with Anne leaving."

Marilla agreed when she looked at things fiscally. His time was probably better spent outside the classroom, even if she would have preferred to give him the luxury of that final year of public education.

Davy never looked back at his decision to drop out. He was good at his job and the pantry was full.

"Mr. Blythe, your caller is from Florida."

"Florida?"

"Yes, can you hold again, please? I want to be sure they're still there."

Davy returned to the incoming call. "Charlottetown? Thank you for holding. I have Mr. John Blythe, may I..."

"Just a moment, Avonlea."

Typical. He drummed his fingers across the oak switchboard. He hoped Mr. Blythe would continue to hold for him.

"I'm sorry. There's a lot of static, but my caller's name is Marin."

Davy gave himself two seconds to recover and convinced himself that Mr. Blythe knew lots of people by the name of Marin, even people in a different country, even people over two thousand miles away.

"Avonlea?"

"I'm here."

"Better patch the call while the line is hot."

Davy returned to Mr. Blythe and attempted to feign a professional detachment; however, something in his timbre betrayed his curiosity.

"Sir, the Charlottetown operator said the caller's name is...Marin." A long lost relative? "There's a lot of static. I need to stay on the line to make sure the call is good on your end."

It was another long pause until, "Davy, it's nothing to worry about, but please, don't tell Miss Marin about this. And don't listen in."

"I need to make sure the call is good though. That's my duty."

"It will be fine, Son. But don't listen, please."

Davy stared at his terminal for a moment. He could eavesdrop, find out what it was about. Mr. Blythe wouldn't know. Ultimately, Davy decided he wouldn't.

"Please trust me, just patch it through."

"Yes, sir!" Davy relented. He inserted the prong into the groove, connecting the wires and then tapped out just as he heard a woman's voice with a Southern drawl say, "Hello!"

Gilbert dinged the metal bell, calling the clerk of his boarding house to his station behind the dark, mahogany counter. Mr. Perry arrived with his apron and white sleeve guards still on. He was a tall, lean man, whose physique reminded Gilbert of an older Eugene. Only, Mr. Perry wouldn't admit he was bald and presented himself to the world with an aggressive, iron-gray combover plastered to his head.

Gilbert tapped the tiny-but-loud bell again and received a "stop that" look.

"Yes?" Mr. Perry moved the summoning device out of Gilbert's reach.

"Mail?"

"Oh, right!"

He went to the table where mail was sorted on a mission to retrieve Gilbert's latest bundle.

Gilbert could see the inside of the 'staff-only' office now. The ledgers were out and pillars of paper were stacked on the desk's corners. Mr. Perry was in the middle of balancing the books for the end-of-month transactions.

"You've got another letter from Summerside, Mr. Blythe." He handed over Gilbert's mail with his ink-stained fingers. "This one came in a half-hour ago. Today's postmark even."

Mr. Perry knew Mr. Blythe was engaged to his childhood sweetheart. That tidbit was from the other Redmond student boarding. As Mr. Blythe was rarely seen, coming or going, or even eating in the dining hall for that matter, no one knew much about him.

A moment of brightness flashed over Gilbert's face as he retrieved Anne's letter. Her handwriting, generally a mess of loops, was a welcomed sight. Mr. Perry used the change in Gilbert's countenance as confirmation that Summerside was his betrothed.

"What's funny?" Gilbert asked as he reshuffled the rest of his mail.

"Your Summerside correspondent writes prolifically. You could return the favor from time to time and send her a letter or two. I can be trusted to mail them. Franking is part of your room and board."

"Why do you believe it's a lady writing to me?"

"You frown a bit if there is no A. Shirley letter and light up like a match when there is." He gestured with those same ink-stained fingers, "But it is the handwriting itself. Looks like a girl's."

"Well, thank you just the same." Gilbert tucked the letter into his inside pocket, trying not to give clues to this pale and male version of Mrs. Lynde.

"And you missed supper again!" Mr. Perry tried to wiggle a bit more conversation out of Gilbert. "Do you want something from the kitchen? I'll go get it for you."

"No, I ate at the hospital," Gilbert spoke loudly as he was already ascending the staircase. "It's not the best food, but there's plenty."

He was anxious to read the letter. Concerns for Anne's safety nagged him since her birthday. He wasn't sure exactly why, but, sometimes he got inexplicable hunches. Like the time he had a hunch to go out in a dory on the lake of Shining Waters. He wasn't sure why he had felt pestered to do so until he found Anne clinging onto the piling.

Gilbert hurried his black coat off and tossed all the other documents onto a small table. He opened Anne's letter first.

What he read almost made his heart stop cold.

I am invited to have supper tomorrow night with a lady of Summerside. I know you won't believe me, Gilbert, when I tell you her name is Tomgallon...**

Gilbert dropped the letter. He told himself to breathe as the shock abated. He couldn't have read correctly. He was done dealing with Dean Tomgallon, wasn't he?

Gilbert plucked the letter from the floor and reread it, valiantly hoping that he had suffered a hiccup in his ability to understand English. It said the exact same thing. Former worries resurrected and eddied around him as he read Anne's excited reaction to the invitation Gilbert was sure had a nefarious purpose.

Miss Minerva Tomgallon. You'll say I've been reading Dickens too long and too late.

Dearest, aren't you glad your name is Blythe? I am sure I could never marry you if it were Tomgallon. Fancy. . . Anne Tomgallon? No, you can't fancy it.

This is the ultimate honor Summerside has to bestow. . . an invitation to Tomgallon House! It has no other name. No nonsense about Elms or Chestnuts or Crofts for the Tomgallons.**

"Anne, what the blazes are you doing?" Gilbert spoke.

He couldn't be blithe about Anne dining in that cursed house. He racked his head for a reasonable answer to her agreeing to go. Didn't they discuss the Dean's curse-breaking plan last year?

Gilbert was sure he had. It involved sacrificing someone lucky, someone like Anne. Gilbert's breath hitched.

"Anne!"

Why couldn't Anne have guessed this invitation might be suspicious? Even Anne remarked what a momentous name Tomgallon was. Wouldn't she remember it? She was right. It sounded Dickensian. How could she forget it?

The answer burned him. Anne would remember a name like that! He must have never mentioned the Dean's name because had he, she would have noticed the surname's literary potential back then.

But how did the Tomgallons know about Anne? He'd have to solve that mystery later. The Tomgallons were having Anne Shirley for supper. His first and primary duty was to protect Anne.

As soon as Miss Marin's head touched Davy's shoulder Henrietta squealed. Davy ignored the oinks as Miss Marin lifted her head and directed her attention to the sow.

"Stop scolding us!" Miss Marin implored with a twist to her mouth that threatened to become a smile. "We're just sitting, resting. Until Mr. Blythe returns from Charlottetown."

Henrietta's feet paced back and forth against the pickets as she vocally admonished the pair. Davy couldn't make heads or tails out of her grunting, but he recognized the matronly air she commanded. Miss Marin's expression changed from embarrassment to objection. She almost stood up to say something back to the worldly sow but Davy caught her at the elbow and she fell back into his arms.

"What she's saying?" Davy asked after they scrambled to separate themselves.

Henrietta protested to their flirting and she squealed again as Miss Marin righted herself in the seat.

"Oh, I hardly think I'm going to repeat that."

Miss Marin's eyebrows knitted together and she tossed Davy a look that made his heart thump.

Henrietta's oinking didn't stop as she flopped to the ground to show off her firm teats and growing sides. Henrietta was going to have another litter soon.

"Oh...Oh! Well then!" And Miss Marin gave Davy another mysterious look that made him feel impish.

Returning her attention to the noisy beast, "Davy's not like that, Henrietta. And, I really didn't need to know that about Hector... Yes, I'm sorry, but, you're not the only sow around these parts. And you forget, Hector is a pig!"

Davy was rather used to being the third party in all of Miss Marin's animal interactions. Sometimes he could piece together the conversation, as Miss Marin tried to speak in a manner that included him. It took paying attention though. It was amazing the way her powers built a language bridge between herself and the creatures of the earth.

"You mind telling me what it was that got your goat?" Davy insisted. He didn't want to be blushing and not know why.

"It's unmentionable!" Miss Marin replied.

"No secrets anymore, remember?" Davy lifted his eyebrows into his hairline as an adoring smile stretched across his face.

The no secret part wasn't quite true. There was that call a few weeks ago from Florida. He had promised Mr. Blythe to stay quiet about it, so Davy did. And Davy had another secret he wanted to share, only, he hadn't worked up the nerve to say it.

Gesturing towards the pig-pen with her delicate, tan hands, "Henrietta said," Miss Marin took a deep breath and raced, "Youwanttohavepigletswithme."

"What?"

Davy leaned back, trying to translate her translation. Something about piglets and wanting them. He liked the last litter well enough, even if Charlie and Rosy were sold in the Charlottetown auction a few months back.

"I'm fine with piglets."

Miss Marin buried her face in her hands as Henrietta honed her oratory skills.

"No…!" She attempted to explain. "She said, now Davy, mind you, she's an animal. But she thinks that you want to have piglets with me."

Davy smiled again, not so much at the thought of making piglets with Miss Marin, but at all the choices that had been handed to him for a response. He liked watching her flustered. He could poke fun at this pig situation for a while, but, he mercifully let those opportunities slide.

"I don't think that's possible." Davy confidently said.

A wave of disappointment flashed across her face and again, Davy was wrought with naughty thoughts. His wilder dreams crept closer and closer to the foreground. Davy knew he wasn't quite the gentleman he should be all the time. Still, he believed fifteen and fourteen were too young for anything serious. Henrietta's warnings were a vanity as they were not Ralph and Dora.

"Ralph apologized to me," Davy blurted out once he remembered.

"Really? He apologized?" Miss Marin's tone changed from something flirty to more serious.

"Well, he tried to, even if the words fell a little short." Davy snorted on the memory. "It felt really strange the way he hemmed and hawed through it, but Ralph, he tried. I can give him that much."

"He just wants Dora back," Miss Marin concluded. "He's just like Hector. As soon as he gets what he wants, off he goes."

"He didn't mention Dora. When it was done he said he's decided to take a third year at Queens. Said he won a scholarship."

"I dunno, Davy," Miss Marin shrugged. "He doesn't seem to be the, 'I'm sorry' type. Did you forgive him then?"

"Yeah," Davy's voice shimmered with some uncertainty. "I can't be eaten up anymore about it. It's been nine months since it happened. Dora and Ralph are no longer engaged; haven't been for almost six months." He looked at Miss Marin meaningfully. "They're too young for that anyway. Don't you think?"

"Yes," Miss Marin slowly said. "Too young."

Satisfied, Davy continued. "Not that I'll forget what he did, but, I've got to move on too. Holding grudges is poison."

Miss Marin dropped her hand onto Davy's. She knew how traumatic it had been for him, but he probably didn't know it was traumatic for her too. One of her songbirds watched it happened. The bird flew to her, thinking Davy was dying. Her fears became the schoolmaster of her emotions and she learned something about her heart and what made it beat.

"You're a better person than I am."

"I'm not so sure," Davy turned towards her to better explain. "If I am, it's because I got my inspiration from your father. I asked myself, what would he do? Mr. Marin would have said there were bigger fish to fry than Ralph Andrews. Besides, if I rejected Ralph's apology, he would have a real reason to be mad at me, instead of this segregation hogwash."

He lifted their joined hands a moment. He loved how his white hand supported her brown one. Their skin tones complemented each other, making their clasp a thing of beauty. There was no clash.

"Papa really liked you. I miss him so much you know."

"I miss him too. If it didn't look like rain, we could go see him if you like."

Whether Davy was correct in his summation of Mr. Marin's character, he never knew for sure. What Davy did know was that he had earned his daughter's trust and her secret was now his to keep. The world around her didn't seem strange anymore. Her blossom bearing birds, her friendship with Henrietta, Rival's inability to keep a secret, it all made sense now. Davy even knew that she had magicked the songbirds to poop on Ralph, even if she wouldn't admit to it.

Knowing she was an animal charmer inspired a deeper need to protect her. He was proud to be that person, her confidant. Where Davy was still a bit uneasy about Gilbert being a witch, with Miss Marin, he felt privileged. He held her secret tenderly in his heart and planned to guard it for the rest of his life.

"Davy, if you don't leave soon, you'll be caught in the rain."

"Maybe Mr. Blythe will let me crash here if that's the case?"

"I don't think Helen would permit that," Miss Marin jumped up from their bench. Her black skirt swished from the motion. "It's one thing to be alone together in the barn, with the cows and Henrietta as chaperon, but sharing quarters overnight is something else."

"We wouldn't be sharing quarters." Davy couldn't quite believe what she had hinted as he stood to follow her. "We'd have our own rooms, or I'd take the couch."

"I know, but Helen is really strict when it comes to you."

Miss Marin opened the barn door just as Mr. Blythe's buggy pulled up to the house. Two women sat in the back, protected by the canopy. Mr. Blythe jumped down and drew back the buggy's awning so the ladies might exit.

Davy saw he was needed and stepped towards the rig when he suddenly felt Miss Marin pull him back. He smiled weakly at her and then tried to take another step forward, only to feel her hand grip his tighter.

"What?"

Miss Marin did not reply but stared at the passengers.

The first lady was elegantly dressed and bejeweled with diamond earrings. She pulled her skirts up a tad to adjust the drape and whispered something to Mr. Blythe. Whatever her question was, Mr. Blythe said 'yes' with a bob of his head. Both of them then smiled in their direction before she stepped aside and opened a silly parasol. The second lady was an extremely dark, colored woman, dressed modestly in brown calico.

"Davy!" Miss Marin didn't shout but there was urgency. "It's Mama!"

Davy turned to his girl. Her eye's leaked a fascinated panic.

"No, your mother passed away. It can't be."

"I swear, she looks exactly like Mama."

"There's only one way to find out who she is." Davy did not let go of her hand when Miss Marin tried to retreat back to the stable. Instead, she hid behind him as the colored woman approached.

"Hello, I'm Flora," The woman said kindly with a glaring white smile. "You're Mr. Henry Marin's daughter, aren't you?"

Miss Marin nodded.

"I'm David Keith, Ma'am," Davy used the lower tones of his register. He suddenly felt conspicuous. "Most folk just call me Davy though."

The three of them looked at each other for what seemed to be an uncomfortable eternity.

"How did you know my father?" Miss Marin stepped out from behind Davy, her curiosity finally getting the best of her.

"I really didn't know him that well, but Mrs. Marin here..." Flora turned and indicated the older, bejeweled woman waiting by the rig. "She told me all about her son on our trip from Cuba. You see, my oldest sister, Mary, was your mother."

Miss Marin squeaked from the surprise. She looked back and forth from Flora to the woman with the umbrella, her grandmother. Davy prodded a gobsmacked Miss Marin to speak with a chin point, but she would not. Her hand fell away from his when she reached forward to touch her aunt's arm.

"You look a lot like Miss Marin's mother and I think it's tied her tongue." Davy tried to explain.

"You're my aunt?"

Flora was bending low as her niece's hand continue to trace her outline.

"That's right!" Her smile blazed. "I'm told all the time I look like Mary. Your grandmother brought me with her for that reason. She hoped you'd be comforted by the resemblance." Flora paused and then most unexpectedly said, "We've come to take you back to Cuba, to your father's home."

Mr. Blythe found Davy in the stable as Davy picked out the crud from Rival's hooves. He was frustrated and rougher than he normally would be. The hoof jam sprayed some, instead of dropping to the ground. Davy didn't even hear Mr. Blythe enter the stall. It was Rival that whinnied for Davy to wake up and take notice.

Davy glared at his mentor. He had kept the secret about the call from Florida. Had he said something, that moment out in front of the house might have been a lot less of a shock for her and for him.

Mr. Blythe sighed. He decided a few months ago to keep Davy out of the loop. He had a hard enough time keeping Helen quiet about the development and he feared what Davy might do should he learn. Adolescent boys in love sometimes make hasty decisions when it came to their girls. Nevertheless, Mr. Blythe wanted to tell Davy everything now.

"Davy, we can't stop it. Miss Marin's leaving. They'll stay in Charlottetown a few weeks before they board a ship back to Cuba. Helen's tagging along with them to help Miss Marin adjust, until. . . Bon voyage." When Davy said nothing, Mr. Blythe picked up the curry brush and started to groom Rival's side. "You know, we're not any happier with the situation than you are. She's family now. She belongs, she even has powers."

Davy dropped Rival's hoof and proceeded to the other. Rival didn't lift it for him when he tapped the front, instead, the horse bent down and nudged Davy away. Davy didn't realize how upset he was until he stumbled. Frustrated, he jammed his tool's point into the wood fencing. It was sort of a senseless reaction, but it bought him time to compose himself. Davy's red, watery eyes had nothing to do with never seeing Miss Marin again and everything to do with the approaching storm stirring dirt and pollen into the air.

Mr. Blythe spoke as he groomed, switching between curry and dandy combs.

"Hank and his mother sent messages to each other with the migrating birds. When there was no message last winter, Mrs. Marin started to make inquiries. She hired a fancy attorney in Charlottetown to approach us. Telegrams raced back and forth and then a few calls. I confirmed her granddaughter was in my home. I told her we were happy to have her."

"And. . . you're just going to let her go?" The question was served on a plate of disbelief.

"We could fight it, Davy, but it would mean releasing Miss Marin to be a ward of the state and to a colored orphanage. There's no legal guardian right now. And then we'd have a custody fight, between me, a poor farmer and her, the widow of a well-to-do cigar maker."

Davy felt sick. There were more important things in the world than money. Being happy was one of them. She was happy with the Blythes.

"Even if we won, how old would Miss Marin be at that point? Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen? Where would she be in the meantime? Someone's house? Doing what? A pretty girl like her in a place that's probably less Christian and more barbaric? We can't do that to her. She needs stability right now. But there is one ray of hope."

"Which is?" Davy exhaled.

"I'm convinced Mrs. Marin loves her granddaughter and I know Hank wanted the rift between himself and his parents to heal. I believe that was his dying wish, and his leftover magic is working to make that happen, and his blessing is fixing his broken home. Now, with Hank's father passed away too, Mrs. Marin, she's finally allowed to right the wrong her husband made. She says she's loved her granddaughter since the moment she heard she was born. Never once got to see her. All that love, dammed up, going nowhere. I can't say I blame her for traveling so far. I'd do the same.

Besides, she needs guidance. Mrs. Marin insists that her granddaughter learn her magic from someone that . . ."

"But Helen. . . " Davy sputtered. "Helen's a witch too, she can help her."

"We all said that," Mr. Blythe leaned on the fencing that barricaded Rival's enclosure. "Mrs. Marin made excellent points though that she is more qualified. Us Blythes learn magic higgledy-piggledy, but the Marins have been passing down their knowledge of magic for many millennia. They have traditions and records as old as Noah."

"You still could have told me." Davy's sternness wasn't lost on Mr. Blythe. "I'm her friend. Her best friend. . . her beau."

"Davy, what would you have done?" Mr. Blythe enquired as only a wise father could.

Davy stared down the question. What would he have done? He was flooded with ideas of hiding her, helping her run away, possibly even, marrying her.

When his jaw dropped Mr. Blythe continued his speech. "Eloping wouldn't fix the problem, only add to it. You would have been found too. Mrs. Marin is a talented witch."

"I just don't want her to leave," Davy huffed.

Rival turned as best he could in the narrow stall and headbutted him again. Only this time, it was done affectionately. Davy teetered for a moment, before finding balance from Rival's side and Mr. Blythe's hand.

Davy was a young man. He wasn't the little boy anymore that clung to Anne's skirts as she prepared to leave for Redmond. He refused to let his eyes dampen more than what they were, a resolve that proved harder when Mr. Blythe decided to hug him. At first, he wanted to push him away, but Mr. Blythe insisted. So Davy hugged him back, telling himself it would be the last time he would ever allow himself to be caught off guard with his own feelings. He needed to brave up and tell Miss Marin exactly how he felt.

"Why don't you come over tomorrow morning and spend the day?" Mr. Blythe asked when he had finally let go. "I'll insist that you and Miss Marin have leave to do almost anything you'd like. And you and your girl can have a nice goodbye."

"I don't think I can tell her goodbye." Davy's chest tightened.

"Well, then don't," Mr. Blythe suggested. "Just tell her what's on your heart. It will hurt more not to."

Anne felt Gilbert's hand stroke her outer arm and her skin tingled from his touch. She wasn't sure where she was for a moment. She knew she wasn't in her Windy Poplars bed or at Green Gables. The setting still felt familiar in that Gil was there, next to her bedside, urging her to wake.

Anne noticed once she stretched that Gilbert wasn't in his nightshirt. Tonight, he hadn't bi-located himself for a short visit. He was wearing his heavy winter coat and matching hat. He had magically traveled straight to her side. For what purpose, she didn't know.

"You're really here?" Anne marveled.

"I got your letter a few hours ago. And I...Anne, I want to walk you home."

Her memories of the evening returned. She was a guest at Tomgallon House, a dismal home of faded glories. And Gilbert had come to save her. Not that she needed saving. She was pleased to wait out the March tempest in Miss Minerva's keep.

"It's not necessary," Anne was pleased to see him just the same.

Lightening cracked outside, its unbridled electricity lit the darkened room and Anne saw hazel eyes wild. She wasn't sure if the vivid thud was thunder or thrill. She wanted to pull him to herself and hold him through the lonely night. Instead, she moved to a sitting position and rested her torso on the dark-wood headboard.

"Let's go"

"I can't leave," Anne told him. "It would be the height of rudeness. This old place is lonely for some new blood to grace the halls."

"Oh, Anne. . . " Gilbert's horrified voice intoned. "You don't. . . How could you understand? I'll explain."

Gilbert found a match from the nightstand's drawer. Soon the room was bathed in a warm, flickering candlelight.

"Anne, why are you here?" Gilbert ran his hand through the thick waves of his hair as he paced her bedside. "The invitation to supper. Tomgallon? Don't you realize? Anne, this is a trap."

Anne pushed aside the crazy quilt cover, summoning him to her side with a pat.

"What do you mean, a trap?"

"Don't you remember?"

He could remember her eyes flecked with anger when he reported how he had shown the professor his healing powers and then that professor had made threatening demands. Now her eyes were wistful and he wasn't sure if she were listening to him, but lost in other thoughts.

"I told you that the Dean of the Medical School wanted me to break a curse. The Dean's name was Tomgallon."

"Tomgallon?"

"Yes, Dean Tomgallon was once a resident of this cursed place."

"But Gilbert, I thought the Dean's name was Hart. My student Jimmy Hart was related to the Dean."

"That doesn't mean that they would have the same name."

"No, I suppose it doesn't, but you see how I assumed."

"I made an omission. I think I felt it was less disparaging not to say his name when I complained about his plan. Dean Tomgallon wanted to sacrifice someone lucky and have me heal them. He wanted bloodshed. He was mad. I honestly thought you knew his name, but, if I never clarified. It's my fault."

Anne hunched forwarded now understanding Gilbert's urgency. "First of all, stop blaming yourself. Second, I can't believe Miss Minerva Tomgallon is so sinister as to commit to such a grisly plot, but I can't even consider leaving and getting drenched, I'll get sick with pneumonia again. Unless you can magic me out?"

"Well . . ." Gilbert was hoping it wouldn't come to this. His feeble idea was to escort Anne through the dark night and back to Spook's Lane. "I don't have my powers just yet. I needed Katherine's help to guide me here."

"No powers?" Anne rubbed the top of his hand. "Well, we know how to get them back quicker, don't we?"

Gilbert flipped his hand over and let her fingers rest inside his palm. He loved Anne with all his heart but engaging in a kissing session wasn't on the agenda yet.

"Help me figure this out, Anne." Gilbert rose from her bedside and glanced around, his eyes settling on Annabelle Tomgallon's eerie portrait. The woman's face glowered back and he diverted his eyes. Gilbert thought he saw a shadow move from under the door. When he tried the knob to check, he learned it was locked.

"Anne, it's locked!"

"I know," Anne bit her lower lip. "The maid locked it on her way out. I'm sure out of habit more than anything else. I called after her but she's quite deaf. She's a very old servant, Gil."

"Now I'm convinced. Miss Minerva invited you for a particular reason. I don't think her donation to the school library was the catalyst for meeting you. You were targeted and she made the gift to lure you here. Somehow, the Tomgallons were able to link us together. But how?"

Anne quietly processed a few different scenarios to answer the question but it always came back to "Jimmy Hart."

"I agree." Gilbert mused, now investigating the corners of the room. "The connection is through your school and Mr. Hart is the most obvious link. Did I tell you that I spoke with young Mr. Hart when I substituted for you last year? He had told all his friends that you were dying. I assured him you were very well and I also told him I was a medical student at Redmond."

"That explains so much. You really piqued his curiosity because he asked of you more than once. He even knew we're engaged. Would you have told him so much if you knew he was related to the Dean?"

Gilbert shook his head. "Definitely not! Too much risk of word getting back to Kingsport." He grumbled, seeing how things probably played out. "Instead, I handed him a medical miracle to pass over to his great uncle. The Dean collected miracles." His cloudy thoughts cleared. "All this time, I wondered why Dr. Hart didn't investigate your recovery. He was probably told to leave it alone."

"Well, it can't be helped now." Anne answered, "But the house is definitely cursed if everything Miss Minerva told me is true. The first thing she did after I laid down my hat and coat was point out the stair where her great-grandfather broke his neck the night of the house-warming." Anne sat erect as she re-enacted her hostess' nasally air. "She said, 'This house was consecrated by human blood***'."

"Of course it was," Bone-chilling excitement pumped through his veins as more puzzle pieces fell into place. "That's why the Dean wanted a live sacrifice because the curse had been fortified by unlucky blood so long ago. So he thought if he could find someone lucky . . ." He gave Anne a knowing glance, "Who's luckier than someone that's survived advanced pneumonia?"

"Oh, Gilbert! You really do think I was invited here to be. . . . " Anne couldn't say it.

"Anne, nothing's going to happen to you." Gilbert firmly announced. "You know I won't let it."

His voice instantly soothed her ruffled anxieties.

"Listen, I'm closer to figuring this out. We know when a witch loses someone they love, the joy of their heart, their powers die too. But when a witch dies, their powers stay behind to become either a household blessing or a household curse. A peaceful death means a blessing and an angry death means.."

"A curse!"

Despite the duress of the evening, Gilbert was happy to have gained some magical insights.

"I know how to break it," Anne announced it before she had thought it out. "With lots of love, a sacrificial love."

It occurred to Anne, as Gilbert talked about luck and blood, that there might be a way to break the curse that didn't involve actual death.

Marilla Cuthbert heard the storm raging and worried about the new cherry trees planted in the orchard. Those trees cost more than her budget allowed, but, she was convinced that if the plantings were successful, Green Gables would recoup the expense in two year's time. Fruit tree seedlings were slow to take root and the gale threatened to undo her hopes. She pulled on the white cotton sheet, bringing it up to her chin as she tried to settle back to sleep, but her worry bested her.

It was Anne that taught her how to love cherry trees with their silky petals and enchanting scent. Marilla couldn't look at one in bloom and not think of Anne and feel her presence about the place. Which was why she wanted a small grove planted. Anne was leaving soon.

The wind picked up strength and Marilla rose to close her shutters. She hoped that Davy and Dora were old enough to figure out the same.

There was a knock and she heard Davy say, "Marilla, may I come in?"

"Yes," Marilla reached over to her nightstand where her oil lamp burned low. She adjusted the wick to improve the light. "Will you close the parlor shutters before you go to work?"

"I have the night off," Davy forgot to tell Marilla. He had called in a favor so he could spend tomorrow with Miss Marin. "But I'll double-check. I want to talk to you."

Marilla worked her way back into bed, adjusting the covers as Davy watched. Between the intermittent flashes of light, Marilla's memory juxtaposed a very young Davy, frightened of the storm, with the grown-up version in front of her now. It was as if she could touch a memory.

"What is it, Davy?"

"May I please have my mother's ring?"

Davy walked over to Marilla's jewel box, where he knew she kept it safe. At Easter time, after polishing the silver, Davy would come upstairs, take the ring out from its cubby and polish the silver band. He never forgot.

"It's supposed to go to me, right?"

Marilla tried not to roll her eyes. It was dark and Davy sounded too earnest to have noticed the disdain in her pitch.

"Mary said it belongs to both of you. You and Dora."

Davy pulled the ring out and looked at it, contemplating all the things it meant to him. It was the evidence that his mother loved him and Dora. She made a plan to save it for them before the unscrupulous undertaker stole it to pay his bill.

"But Dora won't need Mama's ring when she marries, her fiancé will give her one." Davy rationalized. "I think it's time Mama's ring was passed to me. If I can be trusted to help you with the budget, I can be trusted with this."

"Yes, well, I can't say I find fault with your reasoning, but, what exactly are you thinking, Davy?" Marilla asked hoarsely. "Does this have something to do with Miss Marin?"

Davy nodded. "This has everything to do with Miss Marin."

Marilla put her hand up over her eyes in exasperation. "Davy, what is it with you twins? You're too young to get married."

"I know that, but I don't have a lot of options, and my idea. . ." Davy looked at his guardian. "I just hope it works."

"You're going to have to explain yourself," Marilla told him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"She's leaving Avonlea, Marilla." His face fell. "It's a long story, but, she's leaving, but with this ring, I hope this will bring her back."

The cracks in the ceiling annoyed Gilbert. He couldn't do anything about them though. It wasn't his house or even his bed. Yet, the plaster showed a spiderweb of intersecting lines. Were he and Anne flies in this stranger-than-strange web? Maybe Miss Minerva Tomgallon had slyly orchestrated this stayover. Was it possible? No. Wake up, Blythe! Be logical. An old house like Tomgallon House probably had multiple issues in addition to the resident curse. Cracked plaster was to be expected.

The morning sunrise coaxed Anne awake. His chest was her pillow and when she peered up at him, his heart melted. She was radiating all the loveliness he felt for her.

"Good morning, Mrs. Soon-to-be-Blythe."

"Good morning yourself, Mr. Soon-to-be-Dr. Blythe."

That got a chuckle from him and he deposited a small kiss on her crown. "How do you feel?"

"Loved," Anne answered. "And rested. And, extremely, extremely lucky."

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Traditionally, I believe that's my line. Being lucky and all that."

"No, I definitely believe that I am the lucky one."

"We're the lucky ones." Gilbert echoed. "But we'll never be who we once were."

"I wasn't expecting philosophy this morning." Anne chuckled. "Gil, we were pushing that line already."

"Anne, maybe we shouldn't have done that," Gilbert gave her what he hoped sounded like an apology. The truth was, the sensations he felt riveting through his body was something he wanted to remember and feel again.

"Gil, how could have this gone any other way?" Anne inquired. "Last night was so romantic, what, with the tempest and the curse to contend with. Like a modern fairy tale. I was the damsel and you were my prince. . . It was going to happen."

"Well, I'm not sure if we... if it actually happened."

Anne snorted. "No, it happened, at least in our hearts. We turned to each other in love."

"Do you think we broke the curse?"

Anne examined the room. The golden rays streaming in were choking the shadows to nonexistence. The bed they shared was an altar of sorts. Last night he had made her bleed but she wasn't going to make such a blunt report.

"Yes! The house feels at peace now. Can't you tell?"

"I just wanted you to confirm it." Gilbert kissed her cheek, "I love you, Anne-girl."

"I love you too."

Davy Keith escorted Miss Marin along a waterlogged and debris burdened road. Davy had asked what she would like to do on her last day in Avonlea and she thought she ought to see her father. The walk to the cemetery wasn't a long one from the Blythes and they ambled. They side-stepped puddles of red mud and sometimes climbed over branch. Davy got quite dirty from clearing brush as he went.

Verbal complaints were not made about the situation, which was an effort for both of them. They showed their frustration in their posture. Davy kicked rocks with the point of his shoe and Miss Marin withdrew into herself.

"We should try to be more cheerful," Davy finally decided. If he had learned anything from knowing Miss Marin, complaining just made a hard time harder. "The storm is over and the air is really fresh and clean. And, Marilla only lost one cherry tree."

Miss Marin turned back to him, her old slat bonnet firmly tied under her chin. If he was going to try to point out the good, she would too. "The birds are happy this morning." Her voice came from the tunnel of her visor.

"Yeah, I thought I heard a whole lot of them singing me awake. That's one of your tricks, isn't it?"

Miss Marin chuckled a confirmation. "Not completely. They're really joyful this morning."

"Why are the birds happy?" Davy pointed to a tree that had been struck by lightning. A large limb swung down from the trunk and would eventually peel off. The storm had viciously pruned the woods. "Their homes are in shambles."

"How can you not be happy when you're a bird?" Miss Marin replied. "They can fly! They always have a choice on where they want to be." She slowed down and let Davy catch up. When he was an arm's length away, she stretched her hand towards him, asking him to take it. "Besides, they can rebuild easily."

"My hand is muddy." Davy showed her his palm with its red, caked-on splatter.

"That mud is looking pretty good then."

"Well, if you insist."

Davy needed his hand back when they reached the graveyard. The gate was still chained. If they were younger and smaller, it might have been possible to slip between the gaps. The spear-shaped posts looked like a rather imposing climb. Scaling the barrier might have appealed to Davy at one time, but he judged himself too big and heavy now to make the attempt. With wet shoes and rainwater everywhere, gripping the iron bars would be difficult.

"Well... " Davy rattled the entrance hoping somehow the chain would break. "I didn't expect this."

"It's all right," Miss Marin was not upset. "I can see Papa's headstone. I'll just say what I want from here."

"Do you want some privacy?" Davy offered. "I can stand a few feet off."

"No, stay. Papa always liked your company."

Her thin fingers wrapped around the slick poles and she pressed her head into the gap and began talking.

"Papa, I just want you to know your Mama came for me. She's really sorry about what happened between you and your father and she wants to make it better. She's a widow now and a bit lonely. I'm going to your childhood home in Cuba, but I won't forget you. I suppose you know this. You wanted me to know my family and what's happening is the blessing you left. Your magic is working to fix a wrong. But, I'm scared to leave the Blythes and Davy. They've been so nice and kind to me.

"Grandmother says I'll have nice things to wear and my own horse if I like. She says there's even a piano and I might learn to play it. Imagine that! Me living in a house as fancy as Preacher Wright's!

"And I'll get to know my aunt. I didn't know I had an aunt but she looks just like Mama. When she hugged me I thought. Just for a second. "

Davy stepped a few feet away to give Miss Marin some room as she continued. The things that she said cemented the decision he had made last night. When he stopped hearing Miss Marin's voice, he returned to her side. Miss Marin's bonnet had slipped back off her head and the sides were winged out. There were long dents pressed into her face from her leaning into the poles. She ran the base of her thumb over her tear ducts. She was just teary, and not particularly overwrought with grief. She had had her good-bye.

Davy handed her his handkerchief. "You know, I can help you with your Papa. I can bring flowers and clean his marker."

"Oh, I was going to ask if you might," Miss Marin returned his cloth. "Shall we go then?"

"Maybe I have something to tell Mr. Marin."

"Oh, really!" Miss Marin brightened up.

Davy took his turn to speak. The metal was cold when he pressed his forehead on it.

"Mr. Marin, I figured it out, what you were trying to tell me." His glance to her hinted of old boyhood mischief. "Thank you! And I know you wouldn't have given me an empty assurance. It's because of that, I can smile today for a happier tomorrow."

The walk back to the Blythe homestead was even slower than the walk to the cemetery.

"I don't want you to be scared," Davy finally said as he realized that they were nearing the drive that led up to the Blythe house. There was a certain conversation he was meaning to have, his mind practiced it all day long. "And I'm sorry we couldn't do more visiting. I wanted to take you over to New Halifax but the roads are a mess. I hope this was a nice afternoon, overall."

"It was." Miss Marin replied. "I was with you."

"I've decided there's something I want you to have with you in Cuba." Davy stood still and reached into his pocket. He hesitated a little bit before pulling his hand out. "Please understand that I'm not asking you anything. I just want you to have it."

In his fingers was a silver engagement ring, its diamond glinting prettily in the sunlight.

"Mind you, I'm not, not asking," Davy said again as he pressed the jewel into her soft, brown hand. "But I'd feel so much better if Mama's ring was with you."

The reflected light once more glimmered like a shining hope. He never lost his little boy feeling that he could talk to his deceased mother by admiring her sparkly ring. As the jewel disappeared into Miss Marin's clasp, he knew his decision to give away his heirloom was the right one. He felt his mother's smile descend upon them from paradise.

"We're too young to make any sort of promise, so know that you are completely free, like a bird. Please don't feel obligated to me. Otherwise, my purpose here is lost."

Davy touched the side of her stunned face.

"I would prefer if you could stay of course, but, you getting to know your family is a very, very good thing. Please give them a chance to love you, and try to be happy, but if it's too much and they're unkind, the ring can help you."

Miss Marin stood nonplussed in front of him as the light danced off the diamond. Stiffly, she handed it back, her face sad and apologetic.

"Davy, I...I can't take your mother's ring. It's the only thing you and Dora have left of her. Her ring is precious to you."

He hadn't expected her to refuse and she was able to pass it back. Davy toyed with the band one last time, slipping it on his thumb as far as it would go and removing it again.

"Miss Marin, you're right to say this ring is important to me, and I sincerely hope I see it again. But I won't be coming to Cuba one day because the ring is precious, I'll be coming because you are." Davy's eyes pooled with emotion. "I love you."

"Davy!"

"I need to know you're safe." Davy presented it again and she touched it with the plump of her fingertip. "I'm really hopeful that this will be a good turn for you, but if I'm wrong, you can sell it and run away. It's a real diamond and should be enough to leave Cuba and go where-ever you want. So, I want you to have it because I want to give you a choice. It's the best I can do."

Davy hadn't meant to make Miss Marin cry. What started as an excess of moisture in her shining eyes quickly turned into a waterfall of gratitude. She wrapped her arms around Davy and hugged him for all her worth and whispered "Thank you" into his ear.

It took Davy a moment to match her strength, unsure if he could trust himself to let her go.

"Davy. . . " Miss Marin rubbed his head over his hidden scar, fluffing slightly damp hair. "You mustn't call me Miss Marin anymore. You may use my Christian name, please. It's the only thing I can give back to you, and you earned it."

Davy put some space between their bodies but continued to hold her. They were both breathing roughly.

"All right, Penny," Davy leaned forward and brushed his lips on the apple of her wet cheek. His risk paid off when she smiled. "But, you'll always be my Miss Marin too."

Miss Marin made a face at him and then laughed, breaking their embrace completely. No longer sad, she glowed.

"Davy, my name is not Penny." She couldn't stop giggling now. "That was Papa's joke. My name is Millicent. Papa liked to call me Li'l Cent instead. And then it became Penny. You know, a penny is a cent. I've always hated my name."

"Millicent?" Davy laughed as he remembered Mr. Marin's healthy sense of humor. "That's a wonderful name. So much better than Dora or Eunice, but it is a mouthful. Can I call you Millie instead?"

"You can call me anything you want." She was busy putting the ring on her necklace for safekeeping, "But when I write to you, I will sign it 'M' for Millicent and then 'I-L-Y' for 'I love you' because I do."

to be continued

*From the Frank H Woods Telephone Museum's Website. Youtube a scene from "Yes Man Telephone" or "Frank H Woods Telephone" for a clip of the place. The following paragraph was captioned below a photo of Gilliland Harness:

The extremely heavy 10.5 pound Gilliland Harness (shown on the manequin [SIC]) was worn by early day telephone operators in the 1880s. It allowed the operator full use of both hands to operate the keys and cords to make the call connections. Originally, young boys were operators because it was feared young women would be at risk working night shifts. Eventually, the young boys were replaced in part because of their non-professional behavior.

**Anne of Windy Poplars, Year 3, Chapter 9.
***Anne of Windy Poplars, Year 3, Chapter 10

Author's Note: I am also very happy to finally give you Miss Marin's name, if you didn't know or suspect it already.

10/27/2019: I published an update to this chapter to remove some repetitive thoughts and sound effects. The scene with Anne and Gilbert in Tomgallon House was changed to remove ambiguities. Originally, I wanted you to decide what happened so I wrote it allow a flexible outcome. My update today will affect the context of some reviews for this chapter, which I apologize for, but you wanted to know what really happened!