Missing Scene .02
Authors note: I this takes place before chapter XIX in Anne of Avonlea.
The Green Gables front door was rapped by a dark haired, hazel eyed boy; many of the residents of older Avonlea believed him to be a boy. Though this twenty year old thought otherwise. He stood on the old verandah gazing about without a thought or care as the sound of footsteps drew nearer to the white wooden door.
"Good morning Gilbert, what brings you here on a day like this?" Gilbert held up a worn book with a burgundy cover. The one who greeted him realized exactly what it was and snatched it from his hands immediately. "Oh I forgot I lent that too you. Here I was just yesterday tearing my room up for it and the bookcase down stairs!" the girl hugged it to her body like an old friend.
"Then I hope Marilla was not upset that her house was turned upside down for a book."
"No more than usual," said Anne with hearty laugh. "I hope you enjoyed it."
"Yes I did immensely."
"I knew you would Gil."
"So….what are you doing here on a day like this?"
Anne stepped aside, her casual invitation of inviting people inside. "Come inside, I will show you." He did so, closing the door behind him. "I was in my room sorting though my old box of odds and ends and I came across these old stories." Anne, excitedly, had already found herself in the kitchen. "There must be millions here." That there were, or so it seemed. Spread across the table were sheets of paper with other odds and ends hauled up from Anne's childhood.
Gilbert took a seat, and began picking up and looking over the different names of the stories. "How foolish some of these are. Fairies. Goblins. Witches. Wizards. Old haunted castles. Enchanted forests. Girls with magical golden voices that could raise the dead," Anne ended with a sigh and looked over the different stories in her hands. Gilbert looked up at Anne, and a smiled crossed his lips. Unlike the schoolmarm during the week, her hair was down, the two front sections were pulled behind in a crooked plait. The ends of her hair coiled and curled. If Gilbert had called on any of the other Avonlea girls they would not present themselves in such a way. But there was something too her relaxed look, that was unlike any other Avonlea girl. The faded blue dress which was obviously not her Sunday best. Sleeves were rolled up. And all seven freckles were present. Anne looked up to find him staring, and apologized for looking a mess. "I got home from church…and I just couldn't be in those clothes any longer. As much as I love and adore dressing up and looking my best, there is something comforting about being in my homely dresses."
Gilbert shrugged, not caring. Anne was a chum after all. She did not care for him in that way, nor him for her. "May I borrow one of these stories if I have your permission. My junior boys and girls who do not have to sit the History test I set the older students, won't have anything to do. But I think perhaps you have inspired me with an idea."
~~***~~
"Junior class…pay attention please." The whispers, which flooded the White Sands school hall, faded as Mr. Blythe called them to his attention. "As you may know the senior students have a History test set for after dinner. Since we can not have too much commotion as they need to concentrate very hard." Gilbert caught a few of the older children, namely boys, snickering over his sarcastic comment. He gave them an imposing look and their eyes flew to their books. "So I have an activity. How would you like to write a creative story?" The younger ones cheered and the older ones moaned about how Mr. Blythe was unfair. "shhhh, what did I say about commotion huh? A friend of mine lent me a story she wrote when she was not so much older than you, Perhaps it will give you some inspiration? So crowd around the front and I will read it to you."
The children followed his friendly orders, coming to the front of the class. Gilbert sat on the raised platform with some of the students sitting beside him. While others sat on the floor infront. With all of them comfortable and silent, he began to read Anne's story. Occasionally looking up at his students he was delighted to see them with their mouths open, eyes wide hanging on every word. Their mothers would have be appalled. But seeing children intrigued or interested enthused him.
"That was wonderful sir!" concluded a young girl with a heavy sigh.
"Who wrote it sir? A real writer?" asked another.
"Yes a real writer…but not a published one. She is the school teacher over in Avonlea."
A boy of no more than seven, with blonde hair and pants with holes in them jumped in stating "Miss Shirley is her name right Mr. Blythe?"
Gilbert nodded "Yes it is little Thom and your cousins go to school in Avonlea?"
"Yes Sir – they say that some of the Avonlea folk reckon'd your in love with Miss. Shirley!" A girl whom was nicknamed Piggy elbowed him to be quite. He ignored her jab and the stares of others and finished what he was saying. "Perhaps she loves you too. There is an awful lot of lovey dovey stuff in that there story and that's why you are showing it off!!"
Gilbert who felt like a schoolboy all of a sudden, just sat there staring at the seven year old. "You're an outspoken lad Thom!" Gilbert finally said with a hearty laugh. "Why did you say such a thing?"
"I…I don't know. Harris Brown likes showing off Mary Kays things. And they are in love, or that is what Mackie Bonser says."
Gilbert stood up, placing the story on his desk. "I think perhaps it is time for dinner and for you Thom to put such foolish thoughts out of your head and filling your head with ideas for your story!"
~~***~~
Gilbert sat on the step of the schoolhouse, keeping watch over the children. It was a fine afternoon, and the children were commencing in a game of cricket in the May afternoon. The older children ordinarily asked for him to join in their game, and he did so most of the time. He got on well with the older boys – but today he didn't quite feel old. He didn't feel there, is what he thought. His body was physically there sitting, silently rolling an apple in his hands. He couldn't understand why young Thomas McKlinen's comment had made such an impact on him. He didn't love Anne. Once, in old Avonlea school days he had a crush on the elusive Anne whom he sought to be her friend. Now they were friends. There was no crush now, nor any love for Anne. If any it was from the purest of friendship. Nothing more.
She was not like any other Avonlea girls. The only girl going to Redmond from this area. Anne worked her way through life, her head held high no matter what. She had a thirst for knowledge. The debates they would have over books, philosophies, religion, and politics. They were always bickering. She was indeed one of his best chums. There were no Avonlea girls he could have such discussion with. If he ever did their reply was "Um…" while Anne would start throwing out notions and ideas. Her eyes would obtain that passionate look. She was stubborn. And how she aggravated him at times.
Charlie Sloane had openly admitted that he himself cared for Anne and thought her beautiful. Anne had dropped hints to Gil of how Charlie was always insistent on walking her home and how it aggravated her. She said once, "I know he is a good friend of yours Gil, but I can not stand him at times. He is nice and his intentions are good – but I wish he had no intentions of me." He merely laughed over it later, and knew Charlie would be devastated had he known so, he kept it to himself.
She did have her spats of anger, but she was caring of everything and everyone around her. She saw good in everyone. She saw beauty in everything. Anne brought beauty to everything. Not only was her way beautiful. He always enjoyed going on those long walks, wandering the forests. Lying beneath the trees and amongst the ferns. Gazing upon Anne as she closed her eyes. If he was lucky she would sometimes forget he was there and hum a sweet song to herself. How she made his heartbeat quicken when she was near. The hair that she loathed, but he loved…
"I love her."
The apple had rolled from his hands without him noticing. Everything ceased to exist. All that he could hear was his heart beating quicker and louder by the minute, and the continued sentence 'I love her' playing like a record through his mind.
Was this old? This feeling? Had he always loved her? Perhaps he never did grow out of the crush, it only grew once they became friends. Gilbert admired her, and now that admiration had grown into full bloomed love. At that moment, something was lost but something was gained.
"I love her – I love Anne."
~~***~~
A week had passed, and Gilbert had managed to avoid Anne. How he wished it was winter so he could board at White Sands. Perhaps if he stayed away he would grow out of it. No matter how much he continued to avoid her during the week and thinking up wild schemes to vanish from Avonlea, Anne would never leave his mind. His mind he could not get rid of, nor memories of her.
Gilbert who was sprawled face down on his bed heard the knock on the door. He growled, muttering various words under his breath wishing for them to go away.
"Anne!" answered Gilbert in alarm. "What are you doing – here?"
"Do you or do you not know what day this is?" Gilbert stood there, like a dumb muddled schoolboy. "Friday afternoon? Redmond – studies"
In all the avoiding Anne and the rest of society, he had forgotten their weekly studies. And picking Anne up. How he wanted to slam his head against the door or vanish. But he opted for an apology.
"Oh Anne I'm so sorry. I don't…I forgot. I'm so sorry. Please don't me mad at me. Its been a hectic week." Gilbert ended with a sigh, gazing over Anne. "Besides, it seemed you got yourself lost in the forest with the fairies and they adorned you in flowers" Without thinking Gilbert let his fingers graze across her cheek to take from her hair one of the flowers. Realizing immediately what he had done, his hand fell down to his side. He hopped Anne saw nothing in it – and begun desperate pleas for the earth to open up and suck him under were becoming more frequent by the second.
"I should be angry at you, Gilbert Blythe. But once I entered the forest I couldn't be. I just gave myself to the forest and it gave itself to me. I am glad you had a memory lapse, because I was reminded of the forests beauty on dreary Friday afternoons. The flowers were splendid. Wild spirits growing wherever they pleased."
"So…are you mad?"
"No, no, Are you well Gil, you seem anxious and nervous. I am not mad at you if that is why you are nervous. I do not have a slate in my arms, only books which I honestly plan to study with and not throw over your head!"
THE END
Authors note: I this takes place before chapter XIX in Anne of Avonlea.
The Green Gables front door was rapped by a dark haired, hazel eyed boy; many of the residents of older Avonlea believed him to be a boy. Though this twenty year old thought otherwise. He stood on the old verandah gazing about without a thought or care as the sound of footsteps drew nearer to the white wooden door.
"Good morning Gilbert, what brings you here on a day like this?" Gilbert held up a worn book with a burgundy cover. The one who greeted him realized exactly what it was and snatched it from his hands immediately. "Oh I forgot I lent that too you. Here I was just yesterday tearing my room up for it and the bookcase down stairs!" the girl hugged it to her body like an old friend.
"Then I hope Marilla was not upset that her house was turned upside down for a book."
"No more than usual," said Anne with hearty laugh. "I hope you enjoyed it."
"Yes I did immensely."
"I knew you would Gil."
"So….what are you doing here on a day like this?"
Anne stepped aside, her casual invitation of inviting people inside. "Come inside, I will show you." He did so, closing the door behind him. "I was in my room sorting though my old box of odds and ends and I came across these old stories." Anne, excitedly, had already found herself in the kitchen. "There must be millions here." That there were, or so it seemed. Spread across the table were sheets of paper with other odds and ends hauled up from Anne's childhood.
Gilbert took a seat, and began picking up and looking over the different names of the stories. "How foolish some of these are. Fairies. Goblins. Witches. Wizards. Old haunted castles. Enchanted forests. Girls with magical golden voices that could raise the dead," Anne ended with a sigh and looked over the different stories in her hands. Gilbert looked up at Anne, and a smiled crossed his lips. Unlike the schoolmarm during the week, her hair was down, the two front sections were pulled behind in a crooked plait. The ends of her hair coiled and curled. If Gilbert had called on any of the other Avonlea girls they would not present themselves in such a way. But there was something too her relaxed look, that was unlike any other Avonlea girl. The faded blue dress which was obviously not her Sunday best. Sleeves were rolled up. And all seven freckles were present. Anne looked up to find him staring, and apologized for looking a mess. "I got home from church…and I just couldn't be in those clothes any longer. As much as I love and adore dressing up and looking my best, there is something comforting about being in my homely dresses."
Gilbert shrugged, not caring. Anne was a chum after all. She did not care for him in that way, nor him for her. "May I borrow one of these stories if I have your permission. My junior boys and girls who do not have to sit the History test I set the older students, won't have anything to do. But I think perhaps you have inspired me with an idea."
~~***~~
"Junior class…pay attention please." The whispers, which flooded the White Sands school hall, faded as Mr. Blythe called them to his attention. "As you may know the senior students have a History test set for after dinner. Since we can not have too much commotion as they need to concentrate very hard." Gilbert caught a few of the older children, namely boys, snickering over his sarcastic comment. He gave them an imposing look and their eyes flew to their books. "So I have an activity. How would you like to write a creative story?" The younger ones cheered and the older ones moaned about how Mr. Blythe was unfair. "shhhh, what did I say about commotion huh? A friend of mine lent me a story she wrote when she was not so much older than you, Perhaps it will give you some inspiration? So crowd around the front and I will read it to you."
The children followed his friendly orders, coming to the front of the class. Gilbert sat on the raised platform with some of the students sitting beside him. While others sat on the floor infront. With all of them comfortable and silent, he began to read Anne's story. Occasionally looking up at his students he was delighted to see them with their mouths open, eyes wide hanging on every word. Their mothers would have be appalled. But seeing children intrigued or interested enthused him.
"That was wonderful sir!" concluded a young girl with a heavy sigh.
"Who wrote it sir? A real writer?" asked another.
"Yes a real writer…but not a published one. She is the school teacher over in Avonlea."
A boy of no more than seven, with blonde hair and pants with holes in them jumped in stating "Miss Shirley is her name right Mr. Blythe?"
Gilbert nodded "Yes it is little Thom and your cousins go to school in Avonlea?"
"Yes Sir – they say that some of the Avonlea folk reckon'd your in love with Miss. Shirley!" A girl whom was nicknamed Piggy elbowed him to be quite. He ignored her jab and the stares of others and finished what he was saying. "Perhaps she loves you too. There is an awful lot of lovey dovey stuff in that there story and that's why you are showing it off!!"
Gilbert who felt like a schoolboy all of a sudden, just sat there staring at the seven year old. "You're an outspoken lad Thom!" Gilbert finally said with a hearty laugh. "Why did you say such a thing?"
"I…I don't know. Harris Brown likes showing off Mary Kays things. And they are in love, or that is what Mackie Bonser says."
Gilbert stood up, placing the story on his desk. "I think perhaps it is time for dinner and for you Thom to put such foolish thoughts out of your head and filling your head with ideas for your story!"
~~***~~
Gilbert sat on the step of the schoolhouse, keeping watch over the children. It was a fine afternoon, and the children were commencing in a game of cricket in the May afternoon. The older children ordinarily asked for him to join in their game, and he did so most of the time. He got on well with the older boys – but today he didn't quite feel old. He didn't feel there, is what he thought. His body was physically there sitting, silently rolling an apple in his hands. He couldn't understand why young Thomas McKlinen's comment had made such an impact on him. He didn't love Anne. Once, in old Avonlea school days he had a crush on the elusive Anne whom he sought to be her friend. Now they were friends. There was no crush now, nor any love for Anne. If any it was from the purest of friendship. Nothing more.
She was not like any other Avonlea girls. The only girl going to Redmond from this area. Anne worked her way through life, her head held high no matter what. She had a thirst for knowledge. The debates they would have over books, philosophies, religion, and politics. They were always bickering. She was indeed one of his best chums. There were no Avonlea girls he could have such discussion with. If he ever did their reply was "Um…" while Anne would start throwing out notions and ideas. Her eyes would obtain that passionate look. She was stubborn. And how she aggravated him at times.
Charlie Sloane had openly admitted that he himself cared for Anne and thought her beautiful. Anne had dropped hints to Gil of how Charlie was always insistent on walking her home and how it aggravated her. She said once, "I know he is a good friend of yours Gil, but I can not stand him at times. He is nice and his intentions are good – but I wish he had no intentions of me." He merely laughed over it later, and knew Charlie would be devastated had he known so, he kept it to himself.
She did have her spats of anger, but she was caring of everything and everyone around her. She saw good in everyone. She saw beauty in everything. Anne brought beauty to everything. Not only was her way beautiful. He always enjoyed going on those long walks, wandering the forests. Lying beneath the trees and amongst the ferns. Gazing upon Anne as she closed her eyes. If he was lucky she would sometimes forget he was there and hum a sweet song to herself. How she made his heartbeat quicken when she was near. The hair that she loathed, but he loved…
"I love her."
The apple had rolled from his hands without him noticing. Everything ceased to exist. All that he could hear was his heart beating quicker and louder by the minute, and the continued sentence 'I love her' playing like a record through his mind.
Was this old? This feeling? Had he always loved her? Perhaps he never did grow out of the crush, it only grew once they became friends. Gilbert admired her, and now that admiration had grown into full bloomed love. At that moment, something was lost but something was gained.
"I love her – I love Anne."
~~***~~
A week had passed, and Gilbert had managed to avoid Anne. How he wished it was winter so he could board at White Sands. Perhaps if he stayed away he would grow out of it. No matter how much he continued to avoid her during the week and thinking up wild schemes to vanish from Avonlea, Anne would never leave his mind. His mind he could not get rid of, nor memories of her.
Gilbert who was sprawled face down on his bed heard the knock on the door. He growled, muttering various words under his breath wishing for them to go away.
"Anne!" answered Gilbert in alarm. "What are you doing – here?"
"Do you or do you not know what day this is?" Gilbert stood there, like a dumb muddled schoolboy. "Friday afternoon? Redmond – studies"
In all the avoiding Anne and the rest of society, he had forgotten their weekly studies. And picking Anne up. How he wanted to slam his head against the door or vanish. But he opted for an apology.
"Oh Anne I'm so sorry. I don't…I forgot. I'm so sorry. Please don't me mad at me. Its been a hectic week." Gilbert ended with a sigh, gazing over Anne. "Besides, it seemed you got yourself lost in the forest with the fairies and they adorned you in flowers" Without thinking Gilbert let his fingers graze across her cheek to take from her hair one of the flowers. Realizing immediately what he had done, his hand fell down to his side. He hopped Anne saw nothing in it – and begun desperate pleas for the earth to open up and suck him under were becoming more frequent by the second.
"I should be angry at you, Gilbert Blythe. But once I entered the forest I couldn't be. I just gave myself to the forest and it gave itself to me. I am glad you had a memory lapse, because I was reminded of the forests beauty on dreary Friday afternoons. The flowers were splendid. Wild spirits growing wherever they pleased."
"So…are you mad?"
"No, no, Are you well Gil, you seem anxious and nervous. I am not mad at you if that is why you are nervous. I do not have a slate in my arms, only books which I honestly plan to study with and not throw over your head!"
THE END