Timeline - Anne's House of Dreams. The first few chapters.

Chapter 29: Would-be Sister

Anne Shirley once more found her hand absorbed in the comforting clutch of her bosom friend's as they winded their way 'round the perimeter of the Lake of Shining Waters. They took turns styling the air with "do you remembers". Anne bore the weight of the conversation in her homage and Diana Wright's peals skipped across the serene waters all the way to the bridge where Helen Blythe, Dr. Eugene Felder, and Jane Inglis stood. The wind then carried Diana's laughter to the orchard where Gilbert Blythe, Davy Keith, and Fred Wright arranged chairs for tomorrow's morrow service.

Gilbert strained to hear his beloved's laughter too, but Anne's laugh while given easily didn't have the tonal quality to carry across a void. He settled for visual confirmation of her whereabouts in lieu of an auditory. His bride and her best friend were dots on the other side of the pond. Their queer-shaped silhouettes marred the otherwise gorgeous expanse of golden sun.

"Do you know, Diana, that I still remember the words of our solemn vow and pledge? Do you?"

"Wasn't it. . ." Diana's eyes twinkled as black fringe floated off her pale cheeks. She then gravely repeated, "'I solemnly swear to be faithful to my bosom friend, Anne Shirley, for as long as the sun and moon shall endure?'*"

"Oh, Diana!" Anne kissed her dimple in a light and fast motion. "You're so right! And not even the advent of a husband can make me break my promise to you. You are my first mate."

"And not your last one, nor your finest. You and Gilbert will have a wonderful marriage," Diana predicted.

"Yes, I believe we will," Anne flushed. "We plan to repeat deathless vows and be married forever and ever. When two people love each other, vows are most appropriate. Lovers or friends, does it really matter?"

Diana heard Anne's hint loud and clear. Anne's communication was the boldest part of her personality.

When Anne first arrived in Avonlea, Diana struggled to understand her. Anne's vocabulary was an interesting mixture of evocative and precise language. Now, fourteen years later, Diana understood Anne without a flourish of words assaulting her. Diana relinquished her grip and their hands parted. She felt some shame in abandoning her kindred for a principle.

"Anne—I don't think I can write a marriage certificate for Helen and Katherine as I don't believe that is a marriage. It's not God's way." Diana disquieted when she brought up the divine. She didn't know why she mentioned Him in this. Her hardened position had little to do with religion. It had to do with Minnie May's rebellion. She had cropped her hair and declared herself as good as any boy. No one could convince Minnie May that being a woman was a wonderful thing too.

"Helen is your friend."

"She is. She's a dear."

"Is it not possible to do something difficult just because someone you love asks?"

"Do you really think that Helen and Katherine's wedding certificate should be written by someone that didn't support the life they wished to enter into together?" Diana frowned feeling certain that she was paying them a favor in saying 'no'. "Every time they look at it they'll be reminded of the arm twisting they did to get it."

"But the document isn't about you," Anne retorted. "It would be about them. Helen knows you object and she's able to separate your feelings from it enough to ask. She loves your penmanship, as we all do." Anne's slender fingers brushed Diana's arm. "You gave me your vow so long ago, why not help Helen and Katherine with theirs?"

Anne observed a slight change to Diana's countenance as her argument concluded, a breathy relinquishment or a sigh of defeat. She returned Anne's imploring expression with a tiny nod.

"Thank you, Diana," Anne grinned. "Gil and I will buy the frame when it's done."

"I'm not yet decided, Anne, but you've given me an idea." Diana clarified.

Their arms re-linked as they approached the landing that Diana's father built for the pond. The bridge wasn't far away now. Helen, Gene, and Jane lingered on it, waiting for their company. Helen waved and called for them to hurry, but Anne meandered.

"Diana, I'm going to miss you!" Anne bemoaned. "You are the sweetest part of Avonlea."

"We'll visit each other, I'm sure." Diana reasonably said. "And the telephone. . . "

"Oh, drat the telephone," Anne crinkled her nose as if this thought were a disgusting smell. "The telephone will never be the same as this! Walking hand and hand, arm and arm. We are together sharing the same spectacular night! Look at the heavens above! The brush strokes God makes are thick and bold. The sun projects orange and the clouds blot them pink and purple. The phone can deliver words but not the ambiance."

"Anne," Diana petted the arm linked in her own and they halted before the bridge's entrance. "When you have your house of dreams with Gilbert, at first, you will be far too interested in wearing the word 'wife' to notice the sunset. You're not at all worried, are you?"

Diana's demeanor was mostly soft and sweet, a virtuous example of a happy wife. Yet, Anne relished the sauciness that sometimes bubbled behind her rosy face. It was a delicate thing, to speak of husbands and sex, and Anne worried she'd learn too much about Fred if she were to ask about all things male. And how could she ask anything at all without telling Diana too much about 'Gilbert the uncircumcised' and his unexpected endings?

"Diana," Anne blushed a color resembling the painted sky. "Alas, I fear that might be true. But I made a promise to Gilbert that I wouldn't seek or listen to the advice of wiser women, but instead, trust him."

"Anne," Diana kept her voice low. "What does Gilbert know about being a woman? I know he is a doctor now, but still."

Anne snickered at that thought. The snicker grew until it was a hearty, uncontrollable laugh.

Diana dropped Anne's arm and appeared abashed. "Anne Shirley, what is so funny?"

"It's just that. . . " Anne bit her lower lip and rolled her eyes at the thought. It was a stupid, inconceivable idea. "You know Gilbert has a second body when he bi-locates?"

"Fred did say something on the subject, once." Diana wasn't sure she had quite forgiven Gilbert for catching her in the middle of nursing. She never said a thing about it to Anne though.

'Um-hmm," Anne returned to her snickering, "But Gilbert recently mentioned to me that his second body is super-flexible now, his bi-locational magic has grown, and he can make his other body be anything he wants. He could make himself small, tiny even, or bigger. He might change his hair or he could turn himself. . . "

"Goodness no!" Diana's jaw hinged open when she saw Anne's line of thought. "You're not saying he could make himself a woman?"

Anne once again laughed, "I don't think he'd want to, but, strictly speaking, he can be anything he wants. A woman, a fox, a turtle, a frog."

"Your princely frog," Diana snorted before starting out on the bridge. Her eyes sought a lily pad where a frog might be croaking to his maid. "Although, Gilbert is a great name for a frog**. I am never going to look at them the same way again. I might need to take a page from Helen and call him 'Bertie' from now on."

Anne chuckled at Diana's feign and was still chortling when they joined the others. From their perch, she leaned over the rail and observed the source of the acoustic drizzle. The waters languidly streamed. No gushing currents today.

"Are you looking for your dory, Anne?" Helen asked, as she too leaned over the barrier to gaze upon the stagnant and murky pool.

"My dory?"

From behind them, Jane explained, "I was telling Helen and Eugene about the time you almost drowned in this pond, Anne."

Anne's heart skipped a beat in remembrance of the panic she felt trapped inside the doomed vessel, her small hands unable to bail out the water. The support of the bridge was her hope as she escaped a watery grave.

"It was this piling under us that I clung to, once the dory sunk."

Eugene chuckled, "Thankfully, Gilbert was stalking you that day and came to your rescue."

"Stalking?" Anne abruptly turned around and stared down the good doctor. "You don't really think he was stalking me?"

"Not maliciously, no," Gene said as Diana and Jane's simpering underscored Anne's blindness to certain youthful truths. "And perhaps not even with his own knowledge, but, I get a feeling he was always nearby back then."

"He was," Jane agreed. "In fact, I knew Harry was serious about me because where ever I went, there he was too! Just like, where ever Anne went, there was Gilbert! Mind you, Mr. Inglis always had a watertight excuse for these encounters. He wanted to make gifts of charity to my school and kept asking what I needed. When I asked for a piano and got it, well . . . I knew then."

"What a lovely anecdote!" Anne flattered Jane. "To be wooed by a gift of music. Go on!"

"Neither of us can play it," Jane laughed and Anne could not help her smile too as a gust of wind lifted the brim of her hat. Jane glanced around at the others, they all held polite expressions. "I asked for it because I honestly thought it would be too much, and then he would go away. But then one day it was delivered, with a bouquet of roses for me and music books for all the children." Jane bowed her head, her bashfulness beautifying her plain features. "People say I'm sensible but when the piano arrived, I knew Harry was trying to convey something more than an interest in my students. I was an irrational mess for a few days."

Eugene's lifted his lids as if he too were remembering a tenderness. "You and Mr. Inglis managed to compose your own love ballad despite your ineptitude to play. You have a handsome and healthy son. Don't delay in naming him. Might I suggest Mozart or Chopin?"

Jane laughed again but she was too flustered to speak further on her courtship.

"Well, Mr. Inglis' excuses might have been 'watertight' but my father's dory sure was not." Diana rounded the conversation off. "I honestly thought we had murdered Anne."

"Why so?" Helen said before Gene could.

"Oh—Jane and Ruby and me, we convinced Anne to be Elaine in our little play re-acting the Lily Maid." However, Helen puzzled over this answer, so Diana rephrased. "Elaine the Fair? Elaine of Astolat?"

"Helen, it's alright." Anne patted Helen's hand. Anne alone knew that Helen did not have formal schooling in her youth. "We studied Tennyson's poem, The Lady of Shallot, and I acted the tragic part of Lady Elaine. According to Arthurian legend, Lady Elaine died from unrequited love. Her burial was on a barge that floated to Camelot. Hence my demise in a dory."

"But if I recall, you really wanted Ruby Gillis to be Elaine because she was so blonde." Jane's recovered voice said, but her cheeks were still stained pink from bashful blush. It was a painful thing for Jane Andrews to admit she had been so moved by love to change her name to Jane Inglis. Her eyes emoted that it was never Harry's wealth that convinced her to fall, only his affections.

Diana now had her arm linked in Jane's. The two shared a kinship as young mothers. Anne could sense the heat of motherhood's torch coming towards her as she considered the pair, but she could not yet join their society.

"Ah, this mysterious Ruby again," Eugene commented. "I can see the hole she makes in your foursome. The three of you can't stop talking about her."

"Dear Ruby, now, there's a story of unrequited love. She fancied Gilbert for a very long time. Another reason why she ought to have been Elaine." Anne mulled a moment wondering what might have happened if Ruby had been willing to 'play dead'. Anne's brows lifted some knowing Ruby never wanted to, not even now when she was dead. "In fact, she feels more alive to me than ever with Jane here. Which is why I went to her grave the other night to asked her to be my bridesmaid."

"Oh, Anne!" Jane admonished as her sensibilities awaken. "Only you would think of such a thing."

But Diana could spot trouble between her two longtime friends as their personalities clashed. She pulled Jane away from their small congress and down the path. "Tell me more about your son, Jane?" Diana prompted.

"Jane! Diana?" Anne beckoned to no avail.

"Let them go," Helen answered. "Gene can tell you the reason why we got on the topic of the dory was due to me being a bit more forthcoming than necessary. I was complaining about the memories lodged in Gilbert's old room and how they haunt me in my sleep."

"Does Jane know you're a witch now?" Wide gray eyes asked.

"Secret's safe, thanks to Gene."

"I was able to deflect some of Jane's curiosity before Helen had to reveal she was a witch." Gene piped in.

"Thanks for that, I do forget myself at times."

"It's what I do." Gene grinned. He rather missed deflecting nosy people away from discovering the Blythe magic. "Among other things, it's what I do."

"Well Anne, your story answers some of my questions, but not all of them. There's something not quite right. When I was at Four Winds Harbor today, the sensation was particularly strong." Helen's blue eyes darkened. "I felt such a gut-wrenching sadness for this girl in a dory, Anne. It's still connected to you but it doesn't fit."

"It's the legend you're seeing, not my reenactment," Anne explained. "Elaine died from a broken heart. Of course, you'd sense the grief of that."

"I suppose that makes as much sense as anything else," Helen touched her prominent Blythe chin in thought. "But, it still doesn't feel right."

Dora Keith found her brother in the barn as he retrieved Matthew's big, wooden ladder from its many pegs at the gable end.

"I 'preciate you helpin' me," Davy grunted as he steadied the ladder as best he could. It wobbled on the hard floor, the base of the rails were no longer flat and flush to the ground from the splintering wood. Davy pondered if he ever got dreadfully bored, he could spend a fortnight just sanding it smooth. He advised Dora, "Grab some gloves from the bench."

Dora's eyes darted around before she found a rough worktable in the corner of the structure. She normally didn't go this deep into the barn, leaving the domain for Davy and the other menfolk that Marilla hired to work the acreage.

What she saw on the table piqued her interest. There, on the flat surface, was an embroidered picture of a bird still in its hoop, ready to be pinned to a wall. She wondered if Davy had taken up needlepoint. If so, she could help him improve. The stitches were large and the threads thick. It was a crudely fashioned presentation.

"Check the drawer," Davy wheezed. "Hurry!"

Dora scrounged the drawers; opening them and digging through their bellies until at last, she found something that might have been worn by the great Matthew Cuthbert himself.

"Have you taken up embroidery in your spare time?" she asked as she put on the very old, leather gloves that had lost their luster and flexibility. She turned over the project and saw the word "Marin" penciled on the back.

Davy was too busy judging the dimensions of the barn against the ladder and ignored her question.

"I should have waited for you, but, I didn't know this old thing was going to be so heavy. Help me lean it back so it doesn't fall?"

Dora took one look at her brother who was positively dwarfed by the ladder and ran over to aid him. "Like this?" Dora grabbed the rails and relieved Davy of the fear the ladder would escape his control.

"Yeah, that will do," Davy had a height advantage and guided the ladder's descent. The nearest wall braced its mass as it was angled down. When it was on the ground Davy dabbed his brow to remove the sweat building in his hairline.

"That was close!"

Dora stared at him, "What is this about? Surely Marilla doesn't want the gutters cleaned."

"Please don't suggest that!" Marilla couldn't stop cleaning and was running out of things requiring her attention. "I told Mrs. Lynde and Marilla I would hang the swags and buntings in the orchard, and then, Mrs. and Miss Marin sent Anne and Gilbert a tree ornament as a wedding gift."

"Oh, is that what I saw on the table?"

"Yep," Davy stepped over the ladder so he and Dora were on opposite sides and ends. Their twin-senses told them where the other needed to be. "Mr. Blythe brought it over last night, told me to hang it up high in the orchard. It's supposed to encourage birdsong."

"Birdsong?" Dora grunted now as they carried the ladder outside and towards the apple and cherry trees. It was not light and her muscles strained. "Most of the songbirds are long gone."

"You never know, it could work."

Davy heard his sister's doubt and silently prepared a lie in case she asked more. Mr. Blythe said the ornament was a talisman. Millie had stitched the bird and Mrs. Marin put bits of animal charming magic in it so the birds would come and sing. He had no plans in telling her outright the Marin's secret but at the same time, he didn't want to rely on falsehoods.

As luck would have it, she didn't challenge him.

"How is Miss Marin doing in Cuba?"

"It's hard to say. I'm not allowed to write her directly, only in the care of her grandmother. But, her grandmother writes she is adjusting. Maybe she is a bit lonely."

"You miss her?"

"I do. I miss her all the time," Davy confided as they came to a stop at the orchard gate.

He had no say in the matter of her departure, but the lack of one eased his heartache. Their separation wasn't his fault or hers. And he honestly felt he had done his very best to show Millie he was still there for her, no matter how great the distance. But, it was only after Millie had left the grief set in. He recognized the same hurt in his sister, only, her mourning started months before his and still continued. Davy admired Dora all the more for leaving Ralph because she had done it for him.

"Dora, did I tell you that Ralph apologized to me?"

Dora snapped her head around to look at him. "No, did he really? Why didn't you tell me before?"

"He apologized a few days before Mrs. Marin showed up in Avonlea," Davy answered. "Her leaving made me forget to tell you."

"You forgot about me?" Dora sounded hurt. "Davy!"

"I'm telling you now, trying to make it right."

Dora swallowed down the isolating anxiety of being forgotten. "Well, I think we're even. I never thanked you, Davy." Dora was willing to be fair. "Because you never told Marilla, did you? That it was Ralph that hurt you."

Davy shook his head 'no'. "I had my reasons not to, believe it or not."

It was the birds that reported Ralph's treachery with their well-aimed poop. Davy worried that his telling Marilla would start a line of questions that would make it impossible to keep his promise about Marin magic. But, Dora had heard Ralph's confession, Ralph had told him as much.

"You never told Marilla either."

"I might have if she had asked why we call it off," Dora said as she bore her end of the ladder. "Haven't you noticed, she never asks me anything. I'm just a 'good girl' and nothing else."

"You're a lot more than that and I'm sorry Marilla has a hard time showing she loves you."

If Davy's hands were free he would have hugged Dora with one arm. Instead, they were employed in the task of moving the wooden ladder. It was a great relief when at last they could drop their loads.

"So, you do see it? How I'm ignored," Dora responded. "I mean, even you forgot about me."

"I'm sorry, Dora." Davy stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets and moseyed up to her. "But, you're not wrong. I just hope that with Anne marrying Gilbert, Marilla might talk with you more. Things will change. You'll see."

They positioned the ladder under the boughs over the minister's podium. Davy's mind's eye placed the fabric swags and buntings. The dark green leaves were a perfect backdrop to the flags and canopies Anne wanted to add. The talisman would blend right in. Davy hoped that there was at least one songbird on the island left to sing for Anne and Gilbert.

Davy and Dora spent the rest of the day moving the ladder and hanging the decorations. It was towards the close of the day he was able to place the tree ornament high above the chairs. Dora helped him by stringing yarn through the small eyelet at the top of the hoop and by holding the ladder as he ascended to the highest tread.

He hated heights but he loved Millie and would do anything she asked. He pulled the end of a tree limb down and secured the talisman by winding the yarn around the flexible bough a few times. The branch then snapped back into position in a way that felt satisfying. Millie's magic was still part of his life and he heard a wren chirp.

Davy relived a bit of his heartache as he descended, once again separated from Millie and her magic. His pain could not be helped, not until he was old enough and he had money enough to go to Cuba and woo her back home. Dora, on the other hand, chose to leave the person she loved.

"I think I might owe you an apology, Dora."

"For what?"

"You know I don't like Ralph, but, I had no idea how much your separation from him would hurt you." He wondered if he might regret his next statement, but, Ralph had apologized and he was keeping a respectable distance away. Davy's own lonesomeness made him generous. "I say this because I don't want you to hurt. That was never my intent. Fix it with Ralph, but be sure he knows, if he does anything like he did in the past, or hurts you, he will be the one to have a 'fall in the woods'."

Green Gables, on the destined morn of Anne's wedding, was perfumed with the enchantments of a painstakingly prepared potion designed to bring two people (and two families) together forever. The ingredient of friendship was tossed into the cauldron a long time ago when Gilbert relinquished Avonlea school for Anne. And a few years later, Gilbert offered the seasonings of love and devotion. It might have taken his enchantress a few years to appreciate the gift, but when she did, Gilbert was quick to seal the pot with an engagement promise. Three years did the mixture stew.

Today he and Anne would lift the lid and pass their tonic to all gathered to witness their love. Anne Shirley and Gilbert Blythe would never be individuals again. They would be partners in life: They would be partners beyond death.

This scent threaded itself throughout the house as a sunny orange haze pulsed into the kitchen and forced atypical behaviors on the folks therein. At the cook-stove, it was a calm and cool Mrs. Lynde fixing breakfast as Marilla was too busy wringing her hands and fretting.

Rachel put a stack of pancakes on the buffet next to Marilla's best plum preserves and Davy transferred a few layers to his empty-again plate. It was one of the few mornings where he received no comments about his appetite. He could eat twice as much as the rest of them combined if they let him.

"You and Dora got all the swags and buntings up last night?" Marilla addressed her son. She had to wait for Davy to stop chewing before he answered.

"Yep!" Davy chugged down his water and scraped the syrupy remains into the tines of his fork and licked it clean. He then pleaded, "Mrs. Lynde, I don't suppose I could have some eggs?"

"No, not today." Mrs. Lynde said. "All the eggs are in the cake, that's what!"

"Oh," Davy's disappointment didn't last long. He took a different plate and stacked it with a couple more pancakes and a dollop of jam. Mrs. Lynde almost said something about his greed when he ejected, "Dora needs this. She's busy doin' her hair and didn't want to waste time downstairs. Besides, I know you'll want to talk to Anne as soon as she comes down, and, you won't want me and Dora around for that."

Marilla blanched at Davy's inference but couldn't say anything from the shock. He was old enough to know about honeymoon nights after all. She managed a stern nod to indicate Davy could go.

Mrs. Lynde clipped her forbiddance short seeing as Marilla excused him. Normally, Marilla didn't allow snacking in bedrooms, much less meals. But this month had been a month of ignoring things. It all started with that gift Miss Minerva Tomgallon sent. Davy may not have understood or cared about it, but its message hadn't escaped Marilla's or Mrs. Lynde's notice. But what could they say to a twenty-five-year-old woman marrying a doctor?

"It's a miracle that Anne's not pregnant, that's what! Young people are so fertile, Marilla! You'll see how quickly they'll outgrow that icebox." Mrs. Lynde spoke as an expert on the matter. Her grandchildren were popping out babies at an alarming rate. Her Yankee grand-daughter was going to have twins.

"I really dropped the ball there, didn't I?" Marilla admitted, but she knew she wasn't really to blame. It was their decision even if she did grieve it. "Three years is a very long time when you're in love."

"You've still got Dora, Marilla." Mrs. Lynde reminded her. "Don't fret!"

"True, but today it's all about Anne," Marilla said as she collected Davy's used plate. "And I've got five hours before she ceases to be mine, knowing her, she'll manage some scrape of epic portions."

Davy knocked at Dora's door before opening it. "Breakfast for the best twin sister in the world!"

Dora sat at her vanity, in her bloomers and chemise, quietly unwrapping her many rag curlers. Her knee-length hair was a mess of blonde crimps tumbling every which way and out of control. She employed her wide-tooth comb to separate her waves without adding frizz and ignored Davy as he passed the plate of food under her nose.

"I did leave some for you." He then belched and smacked his lips. "Tasty the first time, tastier the second."

"Davy, that's disgusting!" But Dora was looking at the food with some interest and took the platter out of his hand. She used the fork and portioned a morsel. "Did Mrs. Lynde make these?"

"You know it." Davy paced to the other side of her vanity and admired the fancy dress Dora had waiting on the outside of her armoire's door.

"Is that the dress you're going to wear?" Davy thought it might be a bit grand to babysit children in. They were in charge of the toddlers before the ceremony started. He tsked and Dora knew he thought her dress inappropriate for the occasion.

"I hope Anne will ask me to be her bridesmaid when she sees me in it." Dora had sewn another ruffle on it last night, using her Helen-taught skills to make a faux train. Her dress was as nice as Anne's, maybe even more elaborate.

"Oh, Dora!" Davy's stomach sunk to his feet and it had nothing to do with the fourteen pancakes filling his gut. "Anne would have asked you by now. This is Anne we're talking about, she's been planning her wedding since birth."

"Yes, I know, but . . . I can't stop hoping."

She turned and stared at her gown, ready to go. It was the palest of pinks with lots of frills. Dora was sure when she put it on, it would transform her from invisible to visible. Everyone there, everyone important to Anne, would finally see her and think, "Dora Keith makes a fine sister."

"Wear the yellow dress," Davy suggested.

He somehow could see Dora outshining Anne if she came downstairs in this standby. "I know I made a big fuss about the yellow dress last year when you chose to wear it for Mr. Marin's funeral, but it is a nice dress."

Dora mused over Davy's suggestion as she finished her breakfast plate and rested it on the foot of her bed. It was her nonverbal way of telling Davy it was time for him to leave. She picked up her corset and Davy raced to the door.

"See you downstairs, and think, next time we eat, Gilbert really will be our brother."

"Thank you for bringing me breakfast, Davy," Dora said as the door closed.

Dora approached her closet. It was then she realized she might have just asked Anne if she could be her bridesmaid. But Dora had held out for the hope of being selected for the honor. Anne wouldn't hurt her feelings if she asked her if she might. Dora gritted her teeth as she removed the pink gown from its hanger.

"I'll just have to make Anne see what a good bridesmaid I can be."

"I don't want to hear it, Davy," Dora said as the two of them corralled the Wright children in the orchard. "I worked really hard sewing this dress and I want to wear it. And I am going to be Anne's bridesmaid, I just have to ask her. Anne wouldn't hurt my feelings."

Davy emitted a deep sigh accompanied by an enormous eye roll. He was about to disagree with Dora, but as he searched for the right words, he caught the sight of Mr. and Mrs. Barry approaching with their sixteen-year-old daughter in tow.

"Oh, crap!" Davy swore and then he clapped a hand over his mouth hoping that Freddie Wright hadn't heard. He had become quite the blurting mimic.

"What?" Dora asked as one of Freddie's balls rolled over her foot.

"Here comes Minnie May."

Now it was Dora's turn to roll her eyes to the forthcoming spectacle. Everywhere Minnie May Barry went, she caused a commotion. She dressed like a boy, trying to pressure her parents as much as she could to let her go to Queens. They had told her, only boys belonged in high school and college and although Anne Shirley was smart, her education was wasted now. Girls did not need higher education. Minnie May thought otherwise, so, until her parents relented, she would be their 'boy'.

But the small lad and lass did not see this part of their Aunt Minnie May's rebellion. They only saw the love she had for them.

"Auntie M! Auntie M!" they grinned as she stepped into the playpen. Fred Jr. zoomed to her side as fast as a three-year-old might go, and small Anne Cordelia toddled behind him with her grubby hands up.

Minnie May scooped up her niece and kissed her cheek. "How's the nicest niece in the world?"

Small Anne Cordelia didn't reply but picked her nose and showed off her booger.

"What happened to your hair?" Fred Jr. asked with his head tilted way back to see all the way up to Minnie May's face.

"What's wrong with my hair?" Minnie May almost shouted, so that others, particularly her parents, might hear.

"It's so short!" And Fred Jr. ran his fingers through his own soft locks and produced a toothy smile. He was so excited to see his aunt that he couldn't help but jump a bit at the base of her feet. Minnie May leaned so Freddie could touch her very short hair and Anne Cordelia kicked her legs.

"I know! Isn't it great! I look like a boy now, don't you think? I told your grandmother I want to go to Queens and when she said no, I gave her my braids. . . alright Miss Squirmy-Wormy, down you go."

"And what did that prove?" Davy asked as small Anne fell on her butt and Dora scrambled to rescue the girl's dress from grass stains, "You got yourself in a heap of trouble for that."

"Big changes cannot happen without little ones preceding it." Minnie May rebutted. "I'm all for women's rights and universal suffrage you know. I'm going to study law and be my own support and then, maybe, just maybe, I'll get married."

But as Davy and Minnie May sparred back and forth, Dora once again got that invisible feeling. If people were looking their way, they weren't seeing her. Only Minnie May and her new eccentricities. Dora glanced up at Anne's garret window. She'd have to go inside and interrupt her grooming. The desire to be her attendant had grown into an unassuaged need.

Dora excused herself and dreamlike walked towards the lawn, passing people sitting in the chairs, and pass the crowd on the veranda and almost made it to the oak door.

"Dora," a voice called after her. "Dora, wait, please."

Dora stopped and turned to face Jane Inglis. And not far behind her, she saw Jane's brother, Ralph Andrews too. He was wistfully looking her direction and then caught himself gazing. When he looked away, his blush magically transferred to Dora's face.

"Your dress is so beautiful," and Jane's gloved hand slipped into Dora's and they took a few steps away from the busy doorway. "Too beautiful. Dora, Anne must be the star today."

"But, Anne doesn't have a bridesmaid and I was hoping. . . " Dora was tired of explaining. "I was about to ask Anne if she might let me."

Jane leaned into her would-be sister-in-law and smiled sweetly. "Dora, you can't be Anne's bridesmaid, although, you'd be a lovely one. Anne told me the other day she asked. . . "

"No. . . Anne didn't ask anyone." Dora interrupted to her own dismay. Not since Davy had shut her in Mr. Harrison's toolhouse had she felt such alarm. Trapped and forgotten, how long did she sit inside that dirty, cold, rat-infested shed until someone noticed her missing? Hours and hours. It was hard not to panic.

Jane's face softened in sympathy once Dora's apologetic eyes floated back up to hers. Jane took Dora's other hand now, she had a feeling Dora would take the news hard.

"Anne asked Ruby Gillis to be her bridesmaid."

"What?"

"I know, it doesn't make sense to me either. That's what she said yesterday when I was here."

Dora's head filled with the sounds of her own circulation. Her heart pumped extra hard. Thud-thump. Thud-thump. Thud-thump. She couldn't have heard correctly.

"But Ruby Gillis is dead." Dora growled, "She asked a dead girl?"

"That's right," Jane truthfully repeated as she squeezed Dora's trembling hand. She prayed that her color might return soon.

"Anne doesn't care anything about me, does she?"

"Now, now. . ." Jane soothed as Dora used a hand to wipe her face. "I'm sure that's not true. Anne can be a tad odd."

"Anne never even considered me." Dora frowned. She didn't understand why a dead girl made a better bridesmaid than she, but it was an Anne-thing to do. "I'm such an idiot."

The ceremony was about to start. Reverend Allan had walked around them on the way to the orchard. Jane had to leave or forfeit her place. But Dora was still shaken up.

"Dora, I can't leave you alone like this, so upset, come with me, we'll sit in the back, together," but Dora wouldn't budge. So, Jane then motioned to her brother who was observing them a polite distance away.

"Ralph! Ralph! Dora needs you!"

Dora ignored how her heart lurched with some trepidation at the word 'need', she didn't want to admit it, but it was true. She needed him to see her, and she thought, if nothing else in the world was certain, she could at least rely on the fact he would. Ralph remained in love with her, or so Jane kept telling her in private. Dora pivoted her neck and found herself staring back into his wonderful eyes. Eyes that expressed admiration and instantly, Dora's strength buoyed.

"Ralph, will you stay with Dora until she calms down?" Jane pleaded.

"Yes, of course, I will," Ralph assured.

For Ralph's part, he had found the last year of his life unbearable without Dora Keith and her kisses. He swallowed as Jane moved Dora's hand out of hers and into his. When he felt Dora's clutch, Ralph took a step closer and kissed her on her cheek.

Jane excused herself, returning to the chairs in the wake of Anne and Gilbert's procession. With everything that was happening around them, they were oblivious to anything else. Not even the wedding march had made their notice.

"Don't you have to be at the service?" Ralph offered his arm so he could properly escort Dora to her chair upfront.

"I should be," Dora whispered. "They. . . Marilla and Mrs. Lynde, they won't miss me."

"You can't blame them for that, I've got dibs on missing you first. I've missed you enough for everyone else combined." Ralph captured her stunned expression. "Dora, I still love you. I always will. Will you not forgive me too? It's been awful without you."

It was the Christian thing to do, to forgive and turn the other cheek. "I'm sorry I ran away, Ralph."

"I understand why." Ralph hushed. "I can wait if that's what you want. I'm actually learning a lot about agronomy at Queens. I won a scholarship and I can put it to good use. For us, that is."

"Ralph, I wasn't ready . . ." Dora considered her next word. Would propriety win out when she so desperately felt a void in her heart? She was a year older now and naturally wiser. "I wasn't ready. . . then."

"Then?" Ralph's broad chest spread and his face flickered to new life. Did she mean what he thought he heard?

Dora squeezed his hand and motioned to the vacant house. Everyone was outside, in the orchard watching Anne and Gilbert's wedding service. "Ralph, no one is going to miss me," Dora said. "We can talk in my room."

to be continued

*Anne of Green Gables, Chapter XXII: A Solemn Vow and Promise
**Gilbert Blythe is the namesake of my mother's concrete garden frog. He was named back in 1989 after I had watched AoGG: The Sequel and fell in love with Jonathan Crombie's portrayal. Today, after many decades, this statue is still known as Gilbert.