The Monday following the longest church service of Anne's young life started very uneventfully. She went to work at the library and spent her day busily sorting books and emptying crates in order to refresh the shelves with new reads on Tuesday. She was so busy she ended up forgetting about her dream and all the confusion and embarrassment of Sunday. Brianna wasn't working today so there was no one inquiring about Gilbert and no college girls had come in glaring at her so she was feeling pretty good.
Her shift was nearly over and she was back in the storeroom sorting the empty book crates. Lost in a daydream about Paris thanks to the travel book she had unpacked earlier in the day, Anne failed to see the large, sharp nail poking out of the book crate she was moving. She slide her hand down the side of the crate for more leverage to lift the crate and screamed in pain as the nail sliced deep into her palm. She looked down and saw red.
"Everything okay in here?" Came the voice of her boss, Miss Winthrop, as she pushed through the door into the storeroom, face sinking in horror as she saw Anne clutching her bloodied hand.
"Oh Anne, what happened? How bad is it?" She immediately started stammering.
"I cut my hand on that crate somehow. I'm not sure how deep it is," Anne replied as calmly as possible despite the throbbing pain in her hand.
"Let's see it," Miss Winthrop replied, peering down toward the hand Anne was clutching with her good hand. As she released pressure, more blood oozed and the jagged cut was clear.
"Anne you are going straight to the hospital. That might need stitches. Let's wrap it up," Miss Winthrop stated matter-a-factly and she pulled out her handkerchief to help Anne bind the wound as best they could. She then fetched Anne's reticule and apologized for not accompanying her to the hospital as she shoved her out the door. Anne brushed her off; she could handle a short walk with a bloody hand just fine.
The walk to the hospital was blessedly short and she made it there with no issues other than some very weird looks from passerby's thanks to her bloodied hand. She informed the receptionist of her problem and was taken to a small examination area surrounded by curtains to await a nurse or doctor. She sat on the small examination table, hand absolutely throbbing at this point, willing the blood not to fall in her skirt. It was a pretty blue and white calico she had recently sewn and she would hate to have it ruined but this unpleasant turn of events.
Suddenly the curtain was being drawn back and a very familiar voice greeted her.
"Hello there, how can we help today?" Gilbert said as he pulled back the curtain, face going white when he realized who was sitting in the examination table. In one stride, he was beside her, eyes searching her for the cause of her visit frantically and a slightly horrified look on his face. She could practically feel the panic radiating off him. She spoke up before he could even ask.
"Cut my hand on a nail. I don't think it's horrible but it might need stitches. Try not to act like I am dying Doc," she replied, trying to lighten the mood with her words.
Gilbert gave her an exasperated look as if to say, Jokes? Now? Really Anne? before taking her bloodied hand into his to examine it. His hands were warm and gentle and his eyes were completely focused on the task at hand as he peeled back the bloodied hankerchief as softly as he could. As her jagged cut become visible, she saw Gilbert wince. He looked closely at the wound and prodded the area as gently as he could but she bit her lip to keep from crying out in pain. Gilbert looked up before she could school her expression and the look of sheer concern and complete apology his face nearly broke her.
"I am sorry that hurt Anne. But, I am so glad you came in. This definitely needs stitches and a good dose of aniseptic as we don't know where that nail has been," he stated in a more relaxed voice but the worry was still prevelant on his face.
"That sounds unpleasant," she replied, nose wrinkling at the thought of how much the antiseptic was going to hurt in her wide open wound. Gilbert rolled his eyes at her,
"It's either this or risk a nasty infection and I am not willing to lose my best friend over a stupid nail." His words were light but after all these years, she could tell just how deeply he cared for her wellbeing. He always had.
"Fine. Send the doctor in."
"Sorry but today you are stuck with me. The doctor began a surgery just before you came so I am handling things as best I can until he is finished. I assure you I am capable of stitching you up," he replied, his smirk returning as he relaxed. She knew the hospital valued his work but she didn't realize they were letting him complete procedures now. She was impressed but not surprised that Gilbert was doing so well in his chosen field. She smiled at him, unworried about his skills but never able to pass up an opportunity to tease.
"Try to sew in a straight line then or I'll be forced to give you lessons." Gilbert laughed at her words and made his way toward the curtain opening.
"I'll be right back," he gave her one more caring glance and he turned to walk down the hallway.
He returned a few moments later with a tray of medical tools. She recognized the needle and thread right away but wasn't sure about the other items.
"I am going to disinfect the area with a carbolic acid spray first. It is a fascinating new chemical that is vastly limiting the amount of infections we see," Gilbert chattered on about sprays and medicine while he mixed the chemical into a small metal canister that must spray. She grinned at his enthusiasm; she was quite familiar with Gilbert's fascination of all things medical and she had been on the receiving end of many a lecture about germs and medicines.
He turned around, the metal canister in his hands and a small grimace in his face.
"I wish this weren't necessary but it really is to protect against infection. It's going to burn terrribly in your open wound Anne and I am very sorry to have to cause you extra pain," he stated as he grasped her wounded hand and positioned the canister above it.
"Just get it over with," she spit out through gritted teeth as she tensed against the anticipated pain. He pressed down on the top of the canister and she could not help but gasp as the liquid burned in her open wound. She reached out and grasped Gilbert's arm with her good hand to steady herself as she battled the urge to scream at the continued burning. He looked physically pained as well as he pressed down again to deliver another shot of liquid into her wound. This one she didn't feel as strongly and after a few moments the burning disapated and she was able to release his arm.
"I am having a very hard time not holding that against you Gil," she stated wryly, not truly mad at him.
"A small price to pay but worth it to keep you healthy," he said with a grin before spraying his own hands with the chemical.
"Why did you use it on your hands?" She asked, curiosity getting the best of her.
"Because I am going to stitch your wound, I would not want to add any germs from my hands to the freshly cleansed area and risk infection. Just like this cleansed your wound, it cleanses my hands to make touching your open flesh more safe against infection," he replied as he expertly threaded the needle with the fine thread. She smiled; wouldn't Mrs. Lynde be surprised that Gilbert Blythe could thread a needle as well as she.
He stepped forward again to her injured hand, which was now reduced to a low throb of pain.
"This is going to pinch a bit as well. I'm sorry to hurt you but it's the only to heal this properly."
"I've had stitches before Gil, I will survive," she replied before gritting her teeth in anticipation for the pain she new was coming. She had fallen as a 6 year old girl and sliced her chin open on the hard slate floor of the orphanage. The area had required stitches and she still remembered the pain every time she saw the small scar on her chin.
He grasped her hand as gently as he could and began the stitches. She let her mind take her away and ignored the pain as best she could. She tried to keep her face passive as she knew Gilbert would pick up on any expression of pain and would feel bad for causing her that pain and she didn't want him to do that. She watched him, hunched over her hand in complete concentration as he closed the would with neat, tight stitches that could rival any quilter. He was so devoted to his path to become a doctor and based on her interaction today, he would be an excellent one at that. She knew few people who cared as deeply or as sincerely as Gilbert did.
He was nearly done closing the wound, his hands soft and gentle as he deftly moved the needle along her skin. His dark curls were held back by pomade today but one had escaped to fall over his forehead. His face was a mask of concentration, right down to the top of his tongue peaking out the corner of his mouth as he focused on the job at hand. Before she could stop her thoughts, her mind conjured her dream and all the things that tongue had done to her. She shivered involuntarily as a spurt of heat jolted through her core. Gilbert looked up suddenly, having felt her shiver.
"Are you doing okay? Is it hurting to much? I am so close to finishing," he said with alarm in his voice as his hazel eyes searched hers for signs of discomfort.
"Just a little chill, please continue," she replied, surprised that she was able to keep her voice even. He turned back to her hand and quickly added the final two stitches to close her wound. He discarded the needle and thread on the tray before returning with a strip of white cotton.
"I am going to dress and bind the wound to protect it. It will help keep out the germs and keep the swelling down. I can stop by later tonight and check it again," he said as he firmly bound the soft cotton around her stitched wound. She rolled her eyes.
"I don't think I need a house call."
"Oh you certainly do because doctors orders are for you to take it easy with this hand and that means I have to cook you dinner so you don't overdo it," he replied, a giant smirk on his face and determination in his eyes. She knew better than to argue with him when he had an idea, not to mention, she would appreciate the company.
"I'll consent but I am going to reserve judgement until after I have survived your cooking. I have a hard time believing it is going to be as good as your sewing," she replied with a laugh. He held out a hand to her and helped her down off the examination table.
"Remember, don't overuse that hand. I'll be over around 6 and you are going to be pleasantly surprised, " he said confidently as he rolled open the curtain around the small examination room and walked her out to the reception area.
At 6:05, there was a quick knock and Anne put down the novel she had been reading and made her way to the door to let Gilbert in. She opened the door to reveal him, arms full of food, and a big smile on his face.
"Gilbert I have groceries! You didn't need to go to the market for goodness sake," she said exasperated as she moved back to let him enter the house and closed the door behind him.
He walked straight back toward the kitchen, replying over his shoulder.
"I didn't know if you had what I needed for dinner and now the old ladies across the street will just think I am the delivery boy."
Anne shook her head and followed him to the kitchen where he was already setting out food on the small counter.
"You just sit down in that chair and stay out of my way. Until I need you to point out where utensils are... speaking of which where is your soup pot?" Gilbert said, turning from the counter to face her. Wordlessly she pointed to the lower left cabinet and he bent to remove the large pot and set it on the stove.
"So what's for dinner Chef Blythe?" She asked to fill the silence while he chopped vegetables.
"Chicken and dumplings," he replied over his shoulder. She was surprised he knew how to cook such a thing.
"When did you learn to make chicken and dumplings?"
"When I went away to Alberta with dad, mom sent us with a box of recipes so we wouldn't starve. I ended up cooking most of the time because dad was so poorly and I got pretty good at a few of moms recipes. This is probably the one I can do the best," he stated simply. Anne watched him in silence, her heart hurting for the young boy he had once been. A boy who had to cook for a sick father while thousands of miles from his home and had to mature so quickly. It was easy to forget about John Blythes poor health history as today he was a healthy, jovial man who lived to work his farm. She had spent many hours in the Blythe house studying over the years and she adored Gilbert's parents. John was kind and perpetually smiling; it was easy to see where Gilbert got his affable personality. His mother, Elsie, was as strong as they come and cared deeply for those around her. They both loved their only son dearly and had sacrificed greatly to set him on his path to becoming a doctor.
Realizing she had been silent with her thoughts, Anne spoke up,
"All these years and you still manage to surprise me with something." Gilbert laughed as he added ingredients to the large pot. He turned back to look at her and said with a cheeky wink,
"I'm full of fun surprises Anne Shirley."
She couldn't even deny the shiver that went down her skin at his words. He set the pot on the stove to simmer and came to sit at the table with her.
"I'm going to rebandage this now because I want to see how much it is bleeding after stitching," Gilbert said, reaching for her banadaged hand. Ever so gently, his warm fingers peeled back the cotton and revealed the jagged cut, now cleanly stitched up. Gilbert leaned over the table to look closely at her hand and then looked up at her with a smile.
"Very little bleeding and swelling. This is a great sign," he stated, beaming at her.
"Good. I wish I could show this to Rachel Lynde as she will never believe me that Gilbert Blythe can stitch as well as she does," Anne replied with a little chuckle. Gilbert laughed out loud at the notion. He retrieved fresh banadages and a small jar from one of the grocery bags and turned back to her with a slightly wicked grin,
"I for one am quite glad Mrs. Lynde is not currently here."
Anne knew he had a point. Mrs. Lynde, along with most of Avonlea, would not approve of their quiet dinner, alone in her house. Avonlea had always chirped with gossip about the nature of their friendship and the hours they spent together. Their complete lack of chaperone for the entire summer thus far and the evenings spent alone together would scandalize most in the small town. Anne couldn't find it within herself to care; she was a grown woman- a modern, college woman- and she could make her own decisions about how she wanted to spend her time and who she wanted to spend it with. What the gossip mill of Avonlea didn't know wouldn't hurt them.
She shook those thoughts away as Gilbert sat back down across from her, opening the small jar to reveal a white salve.
"This salve will help the area stay moist so it will heal faster. I can't believe I forgot to give it to you at the hospital but good thing I make house calls for my best friend," he winked at her again and then spread the salve ever so gently on her wound with his warm fingers, watching her face closely for any signs of pain. She felt no pain, instead, her eyes were locked on his, noticing the golden flecks around his hazel eyes and his long dark eyelashes. His hands lingered around hers even after the salve was dispersed. She noticed his pupils widen and darken under her gaze and he quickly dropped her hand and looked away to pick up the bandage. His normally deft hands fumbled with the bandage slightly and she noticed a touch of pink in his cheeks. He quickly recovered and bound the cotton around her hand before he stood to check their dinner, looking just a bit frazzled.
"It's ready. Where can I find bowls?" He asked after giving the pot a stir. She silently pointed toward the top left cupboard and watched him move easily around her kitchen, while her brain conjured images of a future she had not anticipated wanting. A little house near the water, a doctors bag sitting by the back door at all times, a dark haired man helping her with dinner and sliding into bed beside her at night.
He placed a steaming bowl in front of her, breaking her train of thought, and then he silently took a seat across the table from her with his own bowl. They said a quick grace. Anne took her first bite and was amazed at the flavor. It was really good. She glanced up to see Gilbert watching her intently with a familiar look on his face and ignoring his own bowl.
She knew that he was anxiously awaiting her approval. She recognized the look from many times she had edited his papers and essays while he looked on, awaiting her feedback. For all his confidence and perceived ease in most things, Gilbert did need reassurance that he was doing enough. She didn't know for sure but she guessed it was some lingering anxiety from his return to school after two years away in Alberta and his concerns that he would not be able to catch up with the other students, even though that was never the case.
"It's very good. I am impressed at your culinary skills," she said warmly, wanting to reassure him. Not to mention, it was completely true. The simple meal was hearty and well flavored. She could find no error. His face lit up at her praise and he smiled widely at her before finally digging in to his own bowl.
They ate their meal in quiet company with easy conversation about their jobs and projects. Gilbert was focusing on medical hygiene and antibacterial options for his Cooper prize research. She teased him that she should be featured in his paper since he had practiced his theories on her that very day. He inquired about her book and she admitted that finding the inspiration to write had been hard. When their meal was complete, Gilbert quickly washed the dishes, insisting that she simply could not risk getting her fresh bandage wet when he was there and perfectly capable of doing the job. As he collected his things to leave for the night, she felt a small sadness creep into her heart. She did not relish in the quiet of her home alone as much as she thought she would. She walked him to the door around twilight.
"I will plan to stop by tomorrow night to help you change the dressing again and make sure no infection is creeping in," he said, glancing at her bandaged hand yet again. She nodded her assent.
"Thank you for everything tonight Gilbert. You are a true friend," she replied, with full sincerity. He blushed lightly at her words and his warm eyes met hers intensely.
"I am always happy to help. And I'm so glad that it wasn't more serious." His eye contact was electric and Anne felt heat bloom through her body.
"Don't forgot to change the bandage in the morning and please continue to take it easy with that hand," he implored her, eyes still locked on hers. She had to forcibly break eye contact to regain her senses enough to give a breathless but teasing reply.
"You got it Doc." He laughed and turned to open the door. Before he stepped onto the porch, he gave her one last glance, hazel eyes liquid fire in the waning sunlight.
"See you tomorrow, Anne," came his soft, husky voice.
"Good night Gilbert," she replied softly, already looking forward to the next day. She watched him walk down the path and before she shut the door, she saw him give one last smile over his shoulder in her direction. As she locked the door and settled down for the evening, she felt foggy and lightheaded... but she suspected it had absolutely nothing to do with blood loss.
