Timeline - Anne's House of Dreams. Approximately two or three months into Anne and Gilbert's marriage..
For a shorter narrative, I am combining events that occur in this book and introducing ideas and characters in a different order. Some characters I am not using at all. It is very helpful to know the events of this book even if I elect to take liberties.
Chapter 38: Serendipity
Anne Blythe hurried along the dusky path, her head tucked to her chin and her right hand in Gilbert's left. She moved as fast as she dared and concentrated on not feeling queasy. The ocean sounds and scents were beginning to overwhelm her shaky equilibrium. But Gilbert said he might need her to heal the old man, so she let her husband pull her along. Dr. Blythe sensed the Great Destroyer encroaching on the lighthouse. Once alerted to the threat, his magical powers informed him it was not too late to thwart an attack.
Anne berated herself for not investigating her suspicions earlier. Captain Jim's chair was vacant for supper and it was unlike him to break a promise. Gilbert had not been concerned. He claimed that a person had to monitor the light at all times, and the good Captain didn't come because he had misjudged the availability of his assistant.
It was when Anne collected the dishes and took them to the sink for washing, she realized the lighthouse light wasn't right. The flare had no intensity. The seaside ships were in peril because the warning beam was essentially gone.
Goose-flesh erupted over her skin from her danger-tinted worries. Captain Jim would never let the lamp grow so weak, not if he could help it.
Dr. Eugene Felder circled the table with the hot water kettle, trying to be useful in the wake of Gilbert and Anne's sudden departure. His shoes made a clopping sound as he crossed the gap between the cook-stove and the dining area. He bypassed Anne's cup, which was still full of tea, and Gilbert's cup, which had an annoying mustache guard, and hovered over Miss Keith's.
"More hot water for you, Miss Keith? No reason why our cups should go dry while Anne and Gilbert run over to the light. I do hope Captain Tim is alright."
Dora giggled wondering how the man in question would respond to being rechristened. She had spent too much time in recent days thinking about boy's names. Timothy was a nice name, but it wasn't one suited for the Captain that had shown her how to do a jig. She corrected Dr. Felder in a heartbeat.
"It's Captain Jim. And no thank you, I don't want any more hot water right now. I've got this mess to deal with."
She was elbows deep in dishes but cocked her head towards the direction of the light. Anne had left the faded curtain pulled back.
Eugene returned the kettle back to the stove. "Suit yourself."
"Thanks anyway, Doctor."
"You're very welcome, Miss Keith."
Dora smiled warmly over her shoulder and toward his loud footsteps. He was nice. Not every man would be so considerate. Ralph would have expected her to drop everything and serve him. And, it wasn't that long ago that she would have done it too.
Eugene returned to his chair and sipped his weakened tea. He wasn't quite sure what to do and found himself reading Gilbert's abandoned newspaper. Hiding thus seemed to be a good distraction, until Dora was done with her chore. He would have helped her dry, but the kitchenette was small and she stood in the tightest spot. Perfect for the newlyweds but not necessarily for two others.
Finally, Dora set the last pot on the drain board and was attempting to strain the dirty water by passing it through cheesecloth.
"Do you need help?" Eugene offered as she struggled with the weight of the bucket.
"No," Dora said as she dumped the liquid down the drain. The tub grew lighter as the volume decreased. "I can manage. I've been doing the dishes for Anne since I got here, except the day that..." Dora cut herself off.
Eugene completed her ellipse. "Since the day you lost your baby?"
Dora slumped her shoulders, her voice was laced with frustration. "Yes, that's what I was about to say." She wiped down the counter, not looking back.
"Oh, I wish I could have done something to save you from all that. I regret it so. I am sure that's why I've been so preoccupied with you… I mean, your crisis. Maybe someday there will be a viable way to save both mother and child."
Miss Keith's grief stirred up to the top, like chicken fat in soup. And Dr. Felder scanned the opposite wall to give her time to recover from his mentioning of it. He always said too much. Control Gene! Control.
"I do know that, Dr. Felder. But it happened, and now..." Dora once more cut herself off, but this time for lack of vocabulary. She didn't know how to put her raw emotion into words and not dilute the experience.
"Now?"
"I'm changed," Dora announced. "I can't go back to the person I was, no matter how much Marilla might want me to. It's why I stayed here a bit longer. She expects me to pick up where I left off, and I, can't."
Eugene appreciated her predicament. His expression was non-judging. Of course, he had felt the same in the aftermath of his great tragedy. He had been unable to continue his life as a musician. He abandoned his natural gifts to acquire new ones, thus, becoming a better man.
"Yes, I think I know what you mean."
Dora mimicked his head nod. "I thought maybe you would, Dr. Felder."
Eugene pushed her chair out from the table using his foot. The object seemed to move on its own accord, possessed like. Dora jumped back at first and then laughed at her own surprise. Anne and Gilbert's friend was asking her to join him at the table.
Gilbert knocked briefly at the door before he barged in, announcing himself loud enough that First Matey, the Captain's house cat, ran up the swirling stairs that reached to the top floor and its light.
"Captain Jim? It's Dr. Blythe. It's Gilbert!"
Anne also entered the strange little abode. She was more familiar with the layout of the furniture and veered off to a small sitting area as Gilbert pressed forward, calling out again.
"Jim!"
"Oh, thank God you're here!" A male voice hollered back from the deep. The voice was not that of the crusty old sailor but of Mr. Owen Ford. "Captain Jim fell from a ladder, a good ten feet. He was trying to hurry down when he slipped on one of the treads. I heard a big thump and his wail. The rest of my days, I don't think I shall ever forget that hollow, bouncy thud."
Anne blinked through her building discomfort as her imagination provided the horrid acoustic. She forced her invention out of her head if only to keep herself from taking ill. Instead, she made herself useful. The room was dark and Gilbert would need strong light. She lit the table lamps in the front and back rooms as Gilbert made his way to the voice. The hexagonal interior and its shadowy angles brightened, revealing a dire scene.
Captain Jim laid awkwardly on his side as a shirtless Owen Ford leaned over him, his hands pressing down above the old man's compromised limb. The fracture was ugly. The bone poked through Captain Jim's pant leg and his forehead had a nasty abrasion from where his face hit the floor. Anne glanced to a chair wondering if she should sit, her fingers and hands were shaking from nerves.
"How long has he been like this?" Dr. Blythe moved in and examined the tourniquet around Captain Jim's thigh. Owen sacrificed his shirt in an attempt to save Captain Jim's life.
"I'm not sure," Owen replied as Gilbert inspected the knot. The blood looked fresh still. He confirmed that impression when he caught sight of Owen's chest, where he had left blood smeared. It was bright too, which was good. Meanwhile, Owen guessed how long it had been. "Ten minutes? Fifteen? I had an inkling that he was in trouble and so I hurried over. I had to."
Anne brought the afghan from the sofa chair and spread it over Captain Jim's torso. Leaning over the body had made her dizzy. Squatting was out of the question for her, she sat on her rump and slowly breathed away her fussy head.
Gilbert approved of Anne's thoughtfulness with a head nod towards her which turned into a worried expression.
"Gil, what can I do?" Anne nestled behind Captain Jim's head where her back was supported by a wall. She wrung her hands together to stop their anxious shake and watched as Gilbert rent the trouser inseam.
"Anne, can you talk to him?" Gilbert suggested as he set back on his heels. He removed his gloves to channel is power into his patient. "Try to keep him awake through this. Once he starts slipping, it will be harder to bring him back.
"Owen, I ... ah." Gilbert hesitated to tell Owen what he was about to do, heal the leg with his magic. There was no time to explain and no point in making up a story. What could he possibly invent anyway? Owen was going to learn by watching.
Gilbert presented his hands, slowly, bringing them down over the break. "I've got this now. Give your arms a rest."
Owen let go of the pressure point, releasing more blood into the wounded leg. Captain Jim stirred.
"Captain Jim, can you hear me?" Anne said as she stroked one of his mutton chops. "Talk to me please." As Anne soothed his face, she wiped away some of the red stains and found his skin less damaged than she had first believed. The old man answered to her caress.
"Dare schoolmaster's trade. I ricollect it now. It ware a woman she wants. A fair maid… I sees it now. Tware a … a trap. He couldn't hide forever. Dare winds know … so windy." His eyes closed as if he was trying to hear the whispering gale coming in off the ocean.
"Captain Jim, what do you mean?" Owen wanted to know. "Jim!"
Gilbert did not try to find the logic in the old man's testimony. This level of confusion was a bad sign. He was going into shock.
"Gilbert, hurry. Whatever it is you mean to do, hurry." Owen was frantic as he rubbed his achy forearms.
"Captain, this won't hurt, what we're about to do. I know you're in a lot of pain." Using bilocation, Gilbert projected his healing magic into Captain Jim. He'd get the benefit of his duel channeling methods. Mending that crumpled leg would take a lot of supernatural strength.
"Anne. I … I need you." Gilbert whispered. His eerie call cut through the silence as loud as a shout.
Captain Jim knew he was a witch, even if Gilbert never confirmed it. The weathered man wouldn't look at him any differently. Gilbert feared, however, the same could not be said with Mr. Ford. He never talked about witchcraft, which led Gilbert to believe Owen disclaimed his magical connection through his ancestor, the original Four Winds witch, John Selwyn. The Toronto journalist was going to get the scoop of his life.
Anne dropped her hands on the top of Gilbert's. Instead of providing a stabilizing effect, this time, his powers surged.
Even Gilbert was amazed as the broken bone retreated. He momentarily forgot about Owen's weighted stare. Anne wasn't helping him channel his powers, but was channeling their child's. His baby's magic mirrored his, like a supernatural game of follow-the-leader. It was almost as if he could see his little girl next to him, with her hands up and head back, asking him to lift her up. And mentor her he did. Where-ever Gilbert sent his energy, his Joy did too. He was so proud he thought he might burst.
The healing took a toll on Anne. She shook from the lost energy and collapsed against Gilbert when it was over.
Owen fell to his knee and examined the leg anew. His gray eyes darted back and forth, from Anne and Gilbert to Captain Jim.
"I don't believe it." Owen sputtered as he rubbed the limb to be sure what he felt lined up with what he saw.
"Owen," Gilbert's voice was heavy. "Let's just say, I'm a very good doctor, and leave it at that."
"Oh, I can't do that," Owen frowned, shaking his head. He stared down his fine nose at both Blythes. "Besides, I see the truth. Anne, you're a witch. Just like ... my mother?"
Anne needed time to react to Owen's confession. He had once joked with her that he had a sixth sense about things. He said that Captain Jim's Life-Book would sell when Anne wondered about the potential market. They were alike in many ways, except that one. Owen's certainty was not stemming from his vast experience as a journalist, but from a more ethereal source. Why should she be surprised at his thread of magic, when he was the schoolmaster's grandson.
Anne extended her urchin face to Owen's, widened her eyes as she found herself agreeing with his accusation, and then looked away, realizing that the baby inside her had joined her Papa in the healing.
"Wat jist happened?" The croaky old shipmaster asked as he pushed up off the floor and took a few limp-less steps to the nearest chair. The leg he stretched out was straight and strong. Perfect. The only flaw was his trousers. They could be repaired but blood stains would always be there.
"I knew Gil twas a witch," the sailor insisted. "Yer a witch too, Mistress Blythe?"
Anne slipped her hand into Gilbert's. Had they been alone, she would have asked him a few questions about what she just did, but somehow, they exchanged that discourse for something more tactile, and she came to the same conclusion an hour of conversation would have brought. She addressed the question without grandeur or hyperbole but spoke as one does when confronting great stress with no immediate solution.
Anne said, "For the next few months, I think, that I am."
Dora Keith entered the kitchen with a large sketch pad under her arm and a few pencils in her artist cup. She spread out her work so the materials were in front of her. The pictures were upside down to Eugene, but not any less impressive. He didn't know much about visual arts, but he knew talent when he saw it.
"Oh, my! These are really nice." He tried not to be too effusive in his compliment, lest it go to her head, but Mrs. Inglis hadn't lied when she reported Dora's skill in drawing. "And you are self-taught?"
Dora blinked up from her page and blushed a 'yes'.
"You, Miss Keith, should go to art school." Eugene stared at the page before him, amazed at the still life she had drawn. The bowl of fruit seemed perfectly rendered. "Proper training will make you even better."
"I've always had a knack at drawing, but I got better a few years ago. Minnie May Barry gave me one of Diana's old drawing books for my birthday. The rest of the winter, I went through it page by page and learned perspective."
"Natural skill will only take you so far. Trust me, I know," Eugene departed a bit of his past to her. He hadn't always been a doctor. He could remember himself as a young man, being shipped from city to city to perform like a circus act oddity. "I can't remember a time I couldn't play the piano, but I didn't get really spectacular at it until I got myself a proper training. I even met my wife in conservatory."
Eugene was prepared to depart more sage advice to the young woman, but she surprised him with a question his friends refrained from asking. Her frankness caught him off guard.
"What was she like?"
"Victoria? She was plain and proud and she hated me to pieces." Eugene confessed, but he blushed to the memory too. "We butted heads a lot." -Chuckling- "I was a prodigy, but she didn't care. She saw my flaws and pointed out how conceited I was not to fix them. And I assumed because I was gifted I didn't need to practice. She was right though."
"She was?"
Eugene nodded. In retrospect, he couldn't blame his late wife for her initial impressions of him. His notoriety won him solos over her superior work ethic.
"We were assigned to do a duet together and oh, goodness!" Eugene took stock at Dora's peaked face and sobered his grin. Her pencil was no longer moving as she listened. He spared her the more interesting details of that duet. "Well, I finally admitted she was right, and she changed completely."
"Do you still play?" Dora glanced to the direction of the Moore's, where she and Mr. Ford had been practicing Christmas songs.
"Oh no," Eugene shook his head. "I made a deliberate decision after she died to abandon my gift. Walk away before it swallowed me whole."
Playing the piano meant remembering his family, and remembering meant feeling powerless, and feeling thus meant wine. Had he not quit music, he would have turned into a drunkard. But, he wasn't going to tell that to Dora.
"You shouldn't have done that," Dora criticized. "God blessed you for a reason. Like He blessed Gilbert with magic."
Eugene laughed at her flattery, "I don't think it's the same thing. Plenty of people have musical talent. Just like some are good at drawing."
"But you must have been exceptionally good if you were a prodigy," Dora insisted. "That's sort of its own magic. And, you don't have to hide your ability like Gilbert and Miss Blythe do."
Eugene laughed even harder and joked, "You really think Helen hides her abilities?"
Dora turned pink as she saw the flaw in her character assessment. "You know what I was trying to say." She tried to contain her guffaw but found she could not, not when there was a great chuckle across from her. Not too many days ago, she thought she might never laugh again. Dora was chortling so hard, she had to put down her pencil.
Eugene returned to her collection of drawings. He placed a finger over the one that intrigued him the most. "May I see?"
Dora consented and pushed the drawing closer to him. "This is just a practice piece."
Eugene adjusted his glasses and held the drawing out in front of him, as he tried to increase the focal length for clarity. "You know, I saw an old photograph earlier today of this very spot, only, there was a dock there too."
"What?" Dora thought he was lying.
"Oh yes!" Eugene placed that drawing back on the table and turned the page so it was upside down to him. "It was a long one, actually. From here to here." And he tapped the beginning and end points.
"Hmm," Dora said and she took her pencil to modify the sketch. She roughed in a few lines and shaded planks between the just drawn posts. "That would make getting to the sandbar easy. I've asked Captain Jim if he could row me out there and he says 'no' each time."
"I would think a sailor would love to share his mistress, the sea."
"It's not the case," as she traced in a small boat moored to the structure with a rope. "He says that the sandbar has too many bad memories. It's not a safe place anyway. It's sand. It's shifty. When he was growing up, before the lighthouse was built, pirates hid treasure there."
"I think one day I'll have to meet this Captain Jim. I was supposed to meet him tonight." He selected a new sketch to admire. "What about this one?"
"Oh, that one!" Dora got a bit more animated. "I like how the little path to the lighthouse stands out. I added some ferns in the cobble. It looks rustic now. Quiet and peaceful."
Eugene smiled, generally impressed at how such a small detail added an aura of seclusion. "Artistic interpretation, I get it."
"And this one," Dora leaned in, showing him what she had done. "This one I like because of how I've shaded the ocean. More shading here and here for depth. I'm making a drawing for Anne and Gilbert for Christmas. Their first home together. It's why I want to visit the sandbar. So, I can see how the sun hits the House of Dreams."
"Well, they'll love that, especially Anne." Dora had proven her skill.
"I think so. They've helped me so much." Dora gushed a bit, feeling odd that Dr. Felder was taking an interest in her work. "Plus, it's been a good distraction until I have to go home."
"What will you do then?
Dora became serious, her eyes on the pencil as she made heavier lines. "What I want to do is tell all my friends about my son, and about how he came to be, but I promised Marilla I wouldn't unless I'm asked."
"You want to tell your girlfriends about your event?" Dr. Felder's intrigue peaked. There were so many stuffy and wishy-washy women his age that would never be so frank. And here was a sixteen-year-old girl wanting to advocate reproductive issues. "You're not scared of ruffling feathers or causing scandal?"
"No," Dora's eyes flickered. "I know girls that believe the stork brings babies. I just want to sit them down and tell them the truth. It's to their benefit. I suppose it won't be easy for some to hear, but it might give me a chance to talk about my son, Keith."
Eugene crinkled a grin. "You named your son, Keith Keith?"
Dora laughed again, "No, his name is Keith C. Andrews. He does have a father, you know, and it's important to me to recognize that, even if Ralph is a jerk."
"And what does the 'C' stand for?"
"Cuthbert, of course." Dora selected a new pencil from her cup. "To honor Marilla and Green Gables. It's sort of a bribe as I've decided I want the operation you wrote about."
The corners of his mouth curled up into his cheeks. "So, you got my letter after all? I did wonder."
"It took me a few days to discover it. It's not as if you mailed it like a normal person." Dora pointed out. She almost had committed the correspondence to the fire when she discovered it. She thought the envelope was too heavy. "You hid your letter with my note to Ralph."
"Well, I didn't want Anne or Gil to know I sent it." Dr. Felder tilted his head, thinking back to his thought process. "I know Gilbert pretty well. I was certain he'd give you back that card. So, I slipped my letter in when no one was looking. I hoped you'd find it. Um, Gilbert didn't see it, did he?"
Dora shook her head. It would be embarrassing for Gilbert to know about the letter. But there was one problem with the document and Dora told him. "You didn't give Gilbert enough credit."
"I didn't?" Dr. Felder ran a hand over his bald spot. "Well, do put me right."
"Since the moment Gil knew I was pregnant, he's recommended your expertise. He wants me to work with you."
"Ah, I see," Dr. Felder leaned forward and caught Dora's hazel eyes. "I would like to help you, very much. And in return, would you be willing to speak up for my procedure, once you have it? I don't want to push you into this, but, when you were mentioning how you want to tell the world about Keith, I thought ..."
"Yes." Dora cut him off.
"Well, don't say 'yes' quite yet," Dr. Felder said. "You'd have to travel to Baltimore. The operation wouldn't cost you anything as Johns Hopkins is a research hospital, but there would be other expenses and there would be a lot of paperwork." He swallowed, "But, I'd be very grateful."
Dora didn't smile back, not exactly, but it looked like she wanted to. Her face glowed with an interest in his project. "I want to help you with your mission. In a way, doing so makes Keith's life matter. So far, you're the only one that hasn't hinted that I should forget about him."
Eugene exhaled with a huff and eye roll. "People can say the most foolish things because they're not old enough to know better. I promise you though, not everyone will be that way."
Dora wrinkled her nose, confused. "I'd hardly call Marilla 'young', she's in her seventies."
"Humph," Eugene cracked a grin. "Age is just a number, Miss Keith. You'll see this to be true one day. It's one of the few platitudes I actually believe."
Dora remembered how Anne once called her an old soul. He had only reworded a sentiment. She decided what he had said was closer to the truth.
to be continued