XV
Disclaimer: L.M. Montgomery owns it all (lucky her) except my oh-so-complicated plot complications (lucky me--ha).
***The next day…
Gilbert grabbed the paint and brush, figuring he'd have another go at his rose-tinted fence. After a surprisingly restful sleep, considering how much he had to go over in his mind, he'd roused himself that morning feeling refreshed. Or perhaps, he thought, it wasn't the slumber that invigorated him-maybe it was something else. Possibly the fact that for the first time in three years, (except for that single day after Miss Lavender's dinner), he had awakened with an optimistic, idealistic feeling of anticipation in his heart. Yes, conceivably, that could be it. He smiled to himself slightly as he began to examine the previous night's events in his mind, grasping at them almost reluctantly as if afraid that assessment would cause the memories, and thus the realities, to evaporate. He dipped the brush into the paint.
Swish. One brush stroke. He and Anne had pulled apart after the realization that the music had stopped. She had gazed into his eyes for a moment-how he loved those eyes, those ever-changing orbs that could transform from stormy to tranquil in a split second.
Swash. The second stroke. There had been so many things he'd wanted to say, but the huge lump in his throat and the dryness of his tongue prevented him from articulating any of them. Anne had looked as if she'd been similarly rendered speechless.
Swoosh. Another stroke. The moment had shattered as Mrs. Harmon Andrews, Jane's hopelessly tactless mother, chose that instant to inform Anne of Davy's latest escapade (he had dyed the curly end of her prize pig's tail a vibrant blue). As if Anne had needed to know that exact second! She certainly couldn't do anything about it. Gilbert had given Mrs. Harmon a murderous glare and resolved then and there that if he ever came across her stupid hog he'd do more than dye its tail.
Sploosh. He dipped the brush back in the paint. Anne had diplomatically attempted to apologize to Mrs. Harmon, grey eyes dancing while imploring Gilbert not to keep looking at her, for fear she'd burst out laughing. He could tell from her comically solemn expression that Davy would get not just one, but two extra spoonfuls of plum jam on his slice of bread that night.
Splat. He flung a huge glob of paint at the fence, seeing as how he wasn't making much headway with thin brush strokes. He had intended to wait while Anne, er, smoothed over the situation, but a demand from Josie Pye to be taken home had thwarted that plan. Their eyes had locked one last time, just for a split second, but so much had been said in that one look. He'd never felt more connected to Anne than he did at that moment. He'd then left the hall and taken Josie home, telling her exactly what he thought of her and her stupid schemes in the carriage along the way.
"Gil!" Ker-plunk. Startled at the sound of a voice, he dropped the brush into the paint, splattering droplets all over himself, the grass, and the person behind him.
A hand clapped on his shoulder. It was David. "Thanks a lot," he said sarcastically, wiping a glob off his nose.
Gilbert stood up and turned to face his friend. "Oh, it's you," he responded deprecatingly. "You're welcome."
David raised his eyebrows and said significantly, "No, *you're* welcome."
"I didn't thank you."
"Well, you should have."
"For what?"
"I'm not blind, unlike you, Gilbert Blythe. I saw you and Anne dancing last night."
Gilbert's cheeks reddened slightly. "Fighting is more like it."
"No, *kissing* is more like it. Yes, I saw you. So what happened?"
Gilbert let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Whoa, wait, back up. What do I have to thank you for?"
David threw up his hands in exasperation. "Don't play dumb with me."
"I'm not! If anything, I should be punching your lights out, the way you tried to steal her from me last night."
David burst out laughing. "You are SO dense, Gil, so dense. You fell for the bait, hook, line, and sinker."
"Bait?"
"You were so jealous of me and Anne, weren't you? With my *four* dances and everything? Well-"
Gilbert interrupted him. "Wait, you mean you and Anne had a plot?" he asked, the suspicion rising in his tone with every syllable.
"Slow down there, jumpy. *Anne* and I didn't have a plot, but I'm not denying that *Diana* and I-"
"Anne wasn't part of it?" Though he tried hard, Gilbert couldn't keep the relief out of his voice.
"No, though if she had been, it would only mean that she wasn't as completely thick as you. But it was just me, at first; then Diana got in on it. Both of you-wow, I mean, it just went perfectly. That dance card thing was pretty elaborate, too-I can't believe it didn't get messed up."
"Dance card thing?"
"Goodness, Gilbert, you're bright, figure it out. Her dance card was just *lying* by the punch bowl…"
"You put it there!" he declared in an accusatory tone.
"No, Diana put it there. I had enough work to do, making you jealous. 'Oh, Anne's so pretty, I think I really might like her.'" David gave a mock impression of himself, capped by peals of laughter.
Gilbert just stared at his friend in silence. He'd never been so confused in his entire life.
David patted him on the back again. "Gil, Gil, Gil. Don't you see? You and Anne were almost at the point of no return. And you're both so stupidly stubborn; how else could we have gotten you two even within close proximity of each other? I mean, the fact that you both *wanted* to dance together so much (but of course pride got in the way) certainly aided the cause. You were just begging for intervention." Then, noting Gilbert's silence, he prompted, "And it looked like you had a good rip-roaring argument anyway."
Gilbert laughed a little. "Yes, well, I'd insulted her earlier, then she slighted me, and it went on from there."
"A little romantic tension?" David interjected.
Ignoring him, Gilbert went on. "I didn't think that she even cared about what I was saying until I saw-until she-," his voice trailed off.
"Started crying?" David pressed.
"No, she didn't cry, really, just one tear-I must have, I *did*, hurt her. Oh, and I never apologized! I didn't get a chance! I left," Gilbert put his hand to his forehead and began to deplore himself. What if-what if things still weren't right between them?
"I'd say you apologized quite nicely," David said with a satisfied smile.
Gilbert glared at him. "Did a lot of people see?"
"No, no-especially not Mrs. Harmon. Diana and I could've strangled her, she ruined our fairy tale ending."
"*You* could have strangled her? What about me? I was about ready to execute her on the spot! She had the whole blasted banquet to say something to Anne about Davy and chose that moment! I'm beginning to think the gods have it in for me," Gilbert concluded with a rueful smile.
"Have it in for you? No, if anything, the gods are smiling on you, Gil. Anne looked at you like you were a knight in shining armor during that toast-"
"Which she made because she wanted to kick *you*," Gilbert interrupted.
"No, which she made because she wanted to kick *me* for attempting to embarrass the two of *you*," David corrected. "Big difference."
"So you set me up, huh, Dave," Gilbert stated in a strangely toneless voice, dipping the brush into the paint again.
David looked at his friend with misgiving. "Yes," he answered warily, "but I thought you needed-"
Interrupting his sentence, Gilbert flicked the brush at him, splattering still more paint.
"Oh, this is war!" David cried, grabbing a spare brush.
Neither of them noticed the strange carriage that rumbled by at that moment, turning down the lane toward Green Gables.
Post-Author's Note: Oooh, mysterious... Actually, not really. I bet a bunch of you will guess what's going to happen next. I'll try to post the part 16 soon, since I have Winter Break (yay!). *And* I won't be spending odd hours at the school anymore (I know, the *school* during winter break--ugh) because we kind of gave up on our yearbook deadline. Sigh. *But* I got the third Philip Pullman book from the "His Dark Materials" triology for Christmas--now I have to reread them all! Hopefully that won't take away from my writing time. Well, please review.
Disclaimer: L.M. Montgomery owns it all (lucky her) except my oh-so-complicated plot complications (lucky me--ha).
***The next day…
Gilbert grabbed the paint and brush, figuring he'd have another go at his rose-tinted fence. After a surprisingly restful sleep, considering how much he had to go over in his mind, he'd roused himself that morning feeling refreshed. Or perhaps, he thought, it wasn't the slumber that invigorated him-maybe it was something else. Possibly the fact that for the first time in three years, (except for that single day after Miss Lavender's dinner), he had awakened with an optimistic, idealistic feeling of anticipation in his heart. Yes, conceivably, that could be it. He smiled to himself slightly as he began to examine the previous night's events in his mind, grasping at them almost reluctantly as if afraid that assessment would cause the memories, and thus the realities, to evaporate. He dipped the brush into the paint.
Swish. One brush stroke. He and Anne had pulled apart after the realization that the music had stopped. She had gazed into his eyes for a moment-how he loved those eyes, those ever-changing orbs that could transform from stormy to tranquil in a split second.
Swash. The second stroke. There had been so many things he'd wanted to say, but the huge lump in his throat and the dryness of his tongue prevented him from articulating any of them. Anne had looked as if she'd been similarly rendered speechless.
Swoosh. Another stroke. The moment had shattered as Mrs. Harmon Andrews, Jane's hopelessly tactless mother, chose that instant to inform Anne of Davy's latest escapade (he had dyed the curly end of her prize pig's tail a vibrant blue). As if Anne had needed to know that exact second! She certainly couldn't do anything about it. Gilbert had given Mrs. Harmon a murderous glare and resolved then and there that if he ever came across her stupid hog he'd do more than dye its tail.
Sploosh. He dipped the brush back in the paint. Anne had diplomatically attempted to apologize to Mrs. Harmon, grey eyes dancing while imploring Gilbert not to keep looking at her, for fear she'd burst out laughing. He could tell from her comically solemn expression that Davy would get not just one, but two extra spoonfuls of plum jam on his slice of bread that night.
Splat. He flung a huge glob of paint at the fence, seeing as how he wasn't making much headway with thin brush strokes. He had intended to wait while Anne, er, smoothed over the situation, but a demand from Josie Pye to be taken home had thwarted that plan. Their eyes had locked one last time, just for a split second, but so much had been said in that one look. He'd never felt more connected to Anne than he did at that moment. He'd then left the hall and taken Josie home, telling her exactly what he thought of her and her stupid schemes in the carriage along the way.
"Gil!" Ker-plunk. Startled at the sound of a voice, he dropped the brush into the paint, splattering droplets all over himself, the grass, and the person behind him.
A hand clapped on his shoulder. It was David. "Thanks a lot," he said sarcastically, wiping a glob off his nose.
Gilbert stood up and turned to face his friend. "Oh, it's you," he responded deprecatingly. "You're welcome."
David raised his eyebrows and said significantly, "No, *you're* welcome."
"I didn't thank you."
"Well, you should have."
"For what?"
"I'm not blind, unlike you, Gilbert Blythe. I saw you and Anne dancing last night."
Gilbert's cheeks reddened slightly. "Fighting is more like it."
"No, *kissing* is more like it. Yes, I saw you. So what happened?"
Gilbert let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Whoa, wait, back up. What do I have to thank you for?"
David threw up his hands in exasperation. "Don't play dumb with me."
"I'm not! If anything, I should be punching your lights out, the way you tried to steal her from me last night."
David burst out laughing. "You are SO dense, Gil, so dense. You fell for the bait, hook, line, and sinker."
"Bait?"
"You were so jealous of me and Anne, weren't you? With my *four* dances and everything? Well-"
Gilbert interrupted him. "Wait, you mean you and Anne had a plot?" he asked, the suspicion rising in his tone with every syllable.
"Slow down there, jumpy. *Anne* and I didn't have a plot, but I'm not denying that *Diana* and I-"
"Anne wasn't part of it?" Though he tried hard, Gilbert couldn't keep the relief out of his voice.
"No, though if she had been, it would only mean that she wasn't as completely thick as you. But it was just me, at first; then Diana got in on it. Both of you-wow, I mean, it just went perfectly. That dance card thing was pretty elaborate, too-I can't believe it didn't get messed up."
"Dance card thing?"
"Goodness, Gilbert, you're bright, figure it out. Her dance card was just *lying* by the punch bowl…"
"You put it there!" he declared in an accusatory tone.
"No, Diana put it there. I had enough work to do, making you jealous. 'Oh, Anne's so pretty, I think I really might like her.'" David gave a mock impression of himself, capped by peals of laughter.
Gilbert just stared at his friend in silence. He'd never been so confused in his entire life.
David patted him on the back again. "Gil, Gil, Gil. Don't you see? You and Anne were almost at the point of no return. And you're both so stupidly stubborn; how else could we have gotten you two even within close proximity of each other? I mean, the fact that you both *wanted* to dance together so much (but of course pride got in the way) certainly aided the cause. You were just begging for intervention." Then, noting Gilbert's silence, he prompted, "And it looked like you had a good rip-roaring argument anyway."
Gilbert laughed a little. "Yes, well, I'd insulted her earlier, then she slighted me, and it went on from there."
"A little romantic tension?" David interjected.
Ignoring him, Gilbert went on. "I didn't think that she even cared about what I was saying until I saw-until she-," his voice trailed off.
"Started crying?" David pressed.
"No, she didn't cry, really, just one tear-I must have, I *did*, hurt her. Oh, and I never apologized! I didn't get a chance! I left," Gilbert put his hand to his forehead and began to deplore himself. What if-what if things still weren't right between them?
"I'd say you apologized quite nicely," David said with a satisfied smile.
Gilbert glared at him. "Did a lot of people see?"
"No, no-especially not Mrs. Harmon. Diana and I could've strangled her, she ruined our fairy tale ending."
"*You* could have strangled her? What about me? I was about ready to execute her on the spot! She had the whole blasted banquet to say something to Anne about Davy and chose that moment! I'm beginning to think the gods have it in for me," Gilbert concluded with a rueful smile.
"Have it in for you? No, if anything, the gods are smiling on you, Gil. Anne looked at you like you were a knight in shining armor during that toast-"
"Which she made because she wanted to kick *you*," Gilbert interrupted.
"No, which she made because she wanted to kick *me* for attempting to embarrass the two of *you*," David corrected. "Big difference."
"So you set me up, huh, Dave," Gilbert stated in a strangely toneless voice, dipping the brush into the paint again.
David looked at his friend with misgiving. "Yes," he answered warily, "but I thought you needed-"
Interrupting his sentence, Gilbert flicked the brush at him, splattering still more paint.
"Oh, this is war!" David cried, grabbing a spare brush.
Neither of them noticed the strange carriage that rumbled by at that moment, turning down the lane toward Green Gables.
Post-Author's Note: Oooh, mysterious... Actually, not really. I bet a bunch of you will guess what's going to happen next. I'll try to post the part 16 soon, since I have Winter Break (yay!). *And* I won't be spending odd hours at the school anymore (I know, the *school* during winter break--ugh) because we kind of gave up on our yearbook deadline. Sigh. *But* I got the third Philip Pullman book from the "His Dark Materials" triology for Christmas--now I have to reread them all! Hopefully that won't take away from my writing time. Well, please review.