XI
Pre-Author's Note: YAY! I *knew* that making this a category would draw more readers. And I'm glad you all like my story ::dances around the room:: Anyway, since there seems to be some confusion about this, I actually *do* like Hamlet, I just wrote that right after an *extremely* stressful Hamlet test which made up almost my entire English Lit grade, so I wasn't exactly in a Hamlet happy-place, if you will. (I got an A on the test though ::dances around the room again::) And yes, I *did* think Paul Gross' portrayal of Hamlet, complete with sundry (help--too much Chaucer!) writhing, was, er, *interesting* Of course, I'm not a theater buff.
The week preceding the banquet went by in a whirlwind for Anne. She and Diana busied themselves with their dresses, the patterns of which they would reveal to no one save Marilla, with whom they consulted and entrusted the secrets to take to the grave. Anne had strayed from her usual green and purchased the "just sweet" yellow patterned silk, while Diana had gone with a rosy pink (of which Anne was resignedly jealous). Anticipation for the event had risen to unparalleled heights for the event among Anne's set. Former Avonlea schoolmates had resurfaced from the ends of the earth-the White Sands hotel was full to bursting with Islanders who claimed some distant connection to Jane. Anne and Diana, as two of Jane's closest friends, were on the banquet decorating committee. The Avonlea Hall had been adorned and beflowered to the point of no return (but not repainted, much to Anne's chagrin-there hadn't been an adequate amount of time).
Through all the hustle and bustle, Anne hadn't (or pretended she hadn't) had time to think about Gilbert at all until Saturday night. She lay on her bed, gazing at the ceiling, her yellow dress hanging finished in the closet. As always when her flashing temper subsided, she regretted some of the things she had said to Gilbert. His friendship, at least, would have been valuable, but now that was certainly impossible. She had insulted his pride-twice-in front of others. However ignorant she was in relationship matters, she at least knew that one did not do that to a man. What had possessed her to say those things? Her own pride, she guessed. Well, pride was said to come before a fall, and she had certainly fallen.
Goodness, she was depressed. Now was the kind of time, when, five years ago, she would have signaled to Diana and divulged all her woes. But, Anne thought with a sigh, times had changed. She sat up and gazed out the window across the fields to Orchard Slope, to Diana's dark uninhabited bedroom. No one was there to answer the three flash signal now.
She remembered with a jolt something that Diana had asked before she went to Redmond, if she cared for Gilbert Blythe. Goodness, even Diana had seen what Anne had been too blind to notice. Well, there was no use going over should-have-beens now. Although she was still confused about what had occurred at the store a week ago. She shuddered with pleasure over how he had looked at her, just for a split second. Ugh, she was confused. She sought refuge in sleep, not wanting to look like a raccoon at church the next day.
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Gilbert likewise lay flat on his bed, eyes shut but not asleep. So David was taking Anne to the banquet. Fine. He was indifferent to the whole thing. Of course, knowing David had a girl in Toronto to whom he was on the point of being engaged helped to no end, but…
He was *not* looking forward to escorting Josie to the dance. Somehow he had been conned into the whole job, and was not happy about it. Had he said something to lead her on? No, he doubted it. Was Josie that much of a conniving, malicious little sneak? What else could it be?
Gilbert sat up abruptly and pounded his fist into his pillow. In his reflections, his memory of that day had suddenly returned to him. He saw himself gazing at the approaching Anne, daydreaming, and heard Josie speaking. He knew of her loathing for Anne, whom she too must have seen advancing. Ugh! Josie had probably only said he'd asked her to the dance to infuriate Anne. And he had fallen for it!
Oh well, it had probably turned out best in the end. At least he'd found out Anne's true feelings before he'd made a complete fool of himself. Except for the fact that now he had to endure a whole banquet full of Josie Pye. The very thought made him sick to his stomach.
One little thought nagged at him, though-Anne's blush under his gaze at the store the previous week. What-why-why did she constantly perplex him like that?
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Diana yawned and stretched, lying down on her side of the bed. Little Fred had *finally* ceased his fussing. Fred (the big, her husband) was still straining his eyes over some pamphlet in the sitting room; heaven only knew if he had enough light. She left the candle burning for him, intending to drop off into a well-deserved rest.
But something was bothering her-ah, yes, the predicament of her two bone-headed friends. Anne hadn't talked about Gilbert much, although Diana had tried to get her to open up. But Diana had thought they would make the perfect couple ever since Anne had cracked the slate over his head. And, indeed, nothing had happened since then to dispel her notion. Oh, of course, Anne had denied having feelings for him time and time again, but that made no difference.
She recalled the last time she had seen them together, besides the amusing incident at the store. It had been at her wedding. They, as best man and maid-of-honor, had proceeded up the aisle in front of her and her father. The tension in the room had risen, along with the color in their faces, as Gilbert and Anne had met and locked arms. They had just looked *right* together. Oh, well.
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David Owen sat up suddenly in bed and silently cursed the stupid Prewitt baby in the next room who would *not* cease crying. But soon his thoughts turned to other things. The banquet on Monday would certainly be, well, *interesting*, especially if his little plot worked. Of course Anne and Gilbert were both too mule-headed to see through it, an aspect that made it especially diabolical. Actually, he thought to himself with a grin, there really wasn't much to his scheme at all-Anne and Gilbert were doing such a good job on their own, why ruin it? Eventually something had to lead them to each other, though. Why not him on Monday night? Then they would forever owe him and have to name one of their kids after him or make him godfather or something. That had a good ring to it-Godfather David.
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Anne filed into the Cuthbert pew at Avonlea church, sandwiched by the twins, Davy and Dora, with Marilla and bringing up the rear. It seemed like of all the things in her life that had changed, good old Avonlea and its church had remained the most stable. Of course, change had crept in even there, with the absence of some familiar faces and the addition of some new (and loudly bawling) ones.
She glanced around the church before the service started. Oh, there was Josie Pye, looking quite self-satisfied under the shade of a new (and preposterously extravagant) hat. She caught Anne's eye and smirked. Anne rolled her eyes and looked away, inwardly seething.
"Look, Marilla, it's Gilbert Blythe," Davy, who had been visiting a friend and not in church the past couple weeks pointed out in a whisper. "He doesn't look like he almost died at all. He looks fine."
Marilla hastily shushed Davy and glanced quickly at Anne, wishing that boy had a little more tact. Anne, however, seemed to be in a state of oblivion-it didn't look like she had heard Davy at all.
But she had. And she followed Davy's stare to the Blythe pew on the other side of the church. Yes, Davy was right, Gilbert was looking well. Oh, well, it was nothing to her. She remained, however, in the same foggy state throughout the entire service-at least, until the last hymn.
"I have loved you, with an everlasting love," crooned the choir. Anne blinked suddenly, and stared at the words in her hymnal as if seeing them for the first time. She had heard (and sung) this song many times before, but…
"I have called you, and you are mine."
She lifted her eyes from the book and involuntarily glanced across the multitudes of people, to [you guessed it] the Blythe pew. Gilbert's deep hazel eyes met her grey ones.
The choir repeated the refrain, "I have loved you, with an everlasting love/I have called you, and you are mine."
Her eyes still locked with Gilbert's, Anne reflected that the song seemed to strike some sort of chord deep within her. Then, as suddenly as they had begun, the choir ceased singing-the song was over. People began to disperse.
"Anne, come on," said Marilla, shaking her shoulder. Anne glanced one last time at Gilbert and colored, and then walked out behind Davy and Dora.
Gilbert looked curiously after her, then shook his head a little to make sure he was awake. What had just happened?
Post-Author's Note: Okay, I'm not quite sure who the song belongs to, so I can't disclaim it. But I do know that I don't own it. I'm also not sure (not being a Presbyterian myself) whether they would sing that hymn or not, but I heard it in my church and it struck me as appropriate, I don't know. Anyway, I think I've stretched it out long enough. We are finally going to get to the banquet next (unless I think of an additional plot complication. Any ideas?) where, I hope, there will be some sort of action. But not necessarily a conclusion. ::laughs evilly::
Pre-Author's Note: YAY! I *knew* that making this a category would draw more readers. And I'm glad you all like my story ::dances around the room:: Anyway, since there seems to be some confusion about this, I actually *do* like Hamlet, I just wrote that right after an *extremely* stressful Hamlet test which made up almost my entire English Lit grade, so I wasn't exactly in a Hamlet happy-place, if you will. (I got an A on the test though ::dances around the room again::) And yes, I *did* think Paul Gross' portrayal of Hamlet, complete with sundry (help--too much Chaucer!) writhing, was, er, *interesting* Of course, I'm not a theater buff.
The week preceding the banquet went by in a whirlwind for Anne. She and Diana busied themselves with their dresses, the patterns of which they would reveal to no one save Marilla, with whom they consulted and entrusted the secrets to take to the grave. Anne had strayed from her usual green and purchased the "just sweet" yellow patterned silk, while Diana had gone with a rosy pink (of which Anne was resignedly jealous). Anticipation for the event had risen to unparalleled heights for the event among Anne's set. Former Avonlea schoolmates had resurfaced from the ends of the earth-the White Sands hotel was full to bursting with Islanders who claimed some distant connection to Jane. Anne and Diana, as two of Jane's closest friends, were on the banquet decorating committee. The Avonlea Hall had been adorned and beflowered to the point of no return (but not repainted, much to Anne's chagrin-there hadn't been an adequate amount of time).
Through all the hustle and bustle, Anne hadn't (or pretended she hadn't) had time to think about Gilbert at all until Saturday night. She lay on her bed, gazing at the ceiling, her yellow dress hanging finished in the closet. As always when her flashing temper subsided, she regretted some of the things she had said to Gilbert. His friendship, at least, would have been valuable, but now that was certainly impossible. She had insulted his pride-twice-in front of others. However ignorant she was in relationship matters, she at least knew that one did not do that to a man. What had possessed her to say those things? Her own pride, she guessed. Well, pride was said to come before a fall, and she had certainly fallen.
Goodness, she was depressed. Now was the kind of time, when, five years ago, she would have signaled to Diana and divulged all her woes. But, Anne thought with a sigh, times had changed. She sat up and gazed out the window across the fields to Orchard Slope, to Diana's dark uninhabited bedroom. No one was there to answer the three flash signal now.
She remembered with a jolt something that Diana had asked before she went to Redmond, if she cared for Gilbert Blythe. Goodness, even Diana had seen what Anne had been too blind to notice. Well, there was no use going over should-have-beens now. Although she was still confused about what had occurred at the store a week ago. She shuddered with pleasure over how he had looked at her, just for a split second. Ugh, she was confused. She sought refuge in sleep, not wanting to look like a raccoon at church the next day.
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Gilbert likewise lay flat on his bed, eyes shut but not asleep. So David was taking Anne to the banquet. Fine. He was indifferent to the whole thing. Of course, knowing David had a girl in Toronto to whom he was on the point of being engaged helped to no end, but…
He was *not* looking forward to escorting Josie to the dance. Somehow he had been conned into the whole job, and was not happy about it. Had he said something to lead her on? No, he doubted it. Was Josie that much of a conniving, malicious little sneak? What else could it be?
Gilbert sat up abruptly and pounded his fist into his pillow. In his reflections, his memory of that day had suddenly returned to him. He saw himself gazing at the approaching Anne, daydreaming, and heard Josie speaking. He knew of her loathing for Anne, whom she too must have seen advancing. Ugh! Josie had probably only said he'd asked her to the dance to infuriate Anne. And he had fallen for it!
Oh well, it had probably turned out best in the end. At least he'd found out Anne's true feelings before he'd made a complete fool of himself. Except for the fact that now he had to endure a whole banquet full of Josie Pye. The very thought made him sick to his stomach.
One little thought nagged at him, though-Anne's blush under his gaze at the store the previous week. What-why-why did she constantly perplex him like that?
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Diana yawned and stretched, lying down on her side of the bed. Little Fred had *finally* ceased his fussing. Fred (the big, her husband) was still straining his eyes over some pamphlet in the sitting room; heaven only knew if he had enough light. She left the candle burning for him, intending to drop off into a well-deserved rest.
But something was bothering her-ah, yes, the predicament of her two bone-headed friends. Anne hadn't talked about Gilbert much, although Diana had tried to get her to open up. But Diana had thought they would make the perfect couple ever since Anne had cracked the slate over his head. And, indeed, nothing had happened since then to dispel her notion. Oh, of course, Anne had denied having feelings for him time and time again, but that made no difference.
She recalled the last time she had seen them together, besides the amusing incident at the store. It had been at her wedding. They, as best man and maid-of-honor, had proceeded up the aisle in front of her and her father. The tension in the room had risen, along with the color in their faces, as Gilbert and Anne had met and locked arms. They had just looked *right* together. Oh, well.
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David Owen sat up suddenly in bed and silently cursed the stupid Prewitt baby in the next room who would *not* cease crying. But soon his thoughts turned to other things. The banquet on Monday would certainly be, well, *interesting*, especially if his little plot worked. Of course Anne and Gilbert were both too mule-headed to see through it, an aspect that made it especially diabolical. Actually, he thought to himself with a grin, there really wasn't much to his scheme at all-Anne and Gilbert were doing such a good job on their own, why ruin it? Eventually something had to lead them to each other, though. Why not him on Monday night? Then they would forever owe him and have to name one of their kids after him or make him godfather or something. That had a good ring to it-Godfather David.
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Anne filed into the Cuthbert pew at Avonlea church, sandwiched by the twins, Davy and Dora, with Marilla and bringing up the rear. It seemed like of all the things in her life that had changed, good old Avonlea and its church had remained the most stable. Of course, change had crept in even there, with the absence of some familiar faces and the addition of some new (and loudly bawling) ones.
She glanced around the church before the service started. Oh, there was Josie Pye, looking quite self-satisfied under the shade of a new (and preposterously extravagant) hat. She caught Anne's eye and smirked. Anne rolled her eyes and looked away, inwardly seething.
"Look, Marilla, it's Gilbert Blythe," Davy, who had been visiting a friend and not in church the past couple weeks pointed out in a whisper. "He doesn't look like he almost died at all. He looks fine."
Marilla hastily shushed Davy and glanced quickly at Anne, wishing that boy had a little more tact. Anne, however, seemed to be in a state of oblivion-it didn't look like she had heard Davy at all.
But she had. And she followed Davy's stare to the Blythe pew on the other side of the church. Yes, Davy was right, Gilbert was looking well. Oh, well, it was nothing to her. She remained, however, in the same foggy state throughout the entire service-at least, until the last hymn.
"I have loved you, with an everlasting love," crooned the choir. Anne blinked suddenly, and stared at the words in her hymnal as if seeing them for the first time. She had heard (and sung) this song many times before, but…
"I have called you, and you are mine."
She lifted her eyes from the book and involuntarily glanced across the multitudes of people, to [you guessed it] the Blythe pew. Gilbert's deep hazel eyes met her grey ones.
The choir repeated the refrain, "I have loved you, with an everlasting love/I have called you, and you are mine."
Her eyes still locked with Gilbert's, Anne reflected that the song seemed to strike some sort of chord deep within her. Then, as suddenly as they had begun, the choir ceased singing-the song was over. People began to disperse.
"Anne, come on," said Marilla, shaking her shoulder. Anne glanced one last time at Gilbert and colored, and then walked out behind Davy and Dora.
Gilbert looked curiously after her, then shook his head a little to make sure he was awake. What had just happened?
Post-Author's Note: Okay, I'm not quite sure who the song belongs to, so I can't disclaim it. But I do know that I don't own it. I'm also not sure (not being a Presbyterian myself) whether they would sing that hymn or not, but I heard it in my church and it struck me as appropriate, I don't know. Anyway, I think I've stretched it out long enough. We are finally going to get to the banquet next (unless I think of an additional plot complication. Any ideas?) where, I hope, there will be some sort of action. But not necessarily a conclusion. ::laughs evilly::