CHAPTER SIX
Gilbert stirred uncomfortably; sweat trickled down his pale, clammy face, yet he was cold, so cold. With a groan of pain, his eyes flickered open. Spots of faint colour trickled before his eyes. The room was darkened, yet a stream of dim light poured in through the window opposite his bed.
He eased himself gently up from his lying position; he cried out in pain as his head collided with the headboard. At once, thoughts of Anne rushed into his mind. Where was she? What was she doing? Was she back in Avonlea? He panicked. He felt his entire body contract uncomfortably, as a knot developed excruciatingly in his stomach. The yearning and the desire to see Anne, to touch her skin, to hear her voice once more, was almost unbearable. She had been gone far too long, and their parting had been truly unfortunate. Anne, please come back! I need you. I will make you happy. Give me another chance to prove myself!
'Gilbert, are you awake?' His father's voice issued from outside his door.
'Yes, Dad,' he called weakly. His father entered, concern and relief etched upon his face.
'Gil,' he said, 'Gil, I've been so worried…how are you feeling?' His instinct was to hug his son, for words could not explain how concerned he had been for his welfare. However, Mr Blythe, a man not comfortable with emotion, nor with expressing himself physically, found it awkward and so dismissed the idea; instead, he stood, awkwardly, at the door.
'All right,' Gilbert said, 'Dad, have you seen Anne? Is she here? On the Island?'
Mr Blythe shook his head. 'No, I don't believe she is,' he confessed, gently. 'Fred was around a few days ago, but he didn't say anything to me about Anne. I'm sure he would have, had she been back.'
Gilbert's heart sank, and his head span from the disappointment. For a split second, for a brief moment, he had held hope in his mind that his illness might be rectified. If Anne were there, then it would all be worth it. He would be able to say all the things he thought and felt without hesitation. Being in a coma and having been so close to death had taught him one vital lesson: to treat life as something precious. He could not rely on tomorrow, for tomorrow is always a possibility and never a guarantee. From now on, he vowed, I will tell everybody how I feel as soon as the moment is available.
'Get some rest, Gil,' Mr Blythe said, venturing over to his bed and placing his hand on his son's forehead. 'You've had a rough month and a rough night.'
'Goodnight, Dad,' he said, but knew that he would get no rest now that he knew that Anne had not returned to the Island.
Gilbert stirred uncomfortably; sweat trickled down his pale, clammy face, yet he was cold, so cold. With a groan of pain, his eyes flickered open. Spots of faint colour trickled before his eyes. The room was darkened, yet a stream of dim light poured in through the window opposite his bed.
He eased himself gently up from his lying position; he cried out in pain as his head collided with the headboard. At once, thoughts of Anne rushed into his mind. Where was she? What was she doing? Was she back in Avonlea? He panicked. He felt his entire body contract uncomfortably, as a knot developed excruciatingly in his stomach. The yearning and the desire to see Anne, to touch her skin, to hear her voice once more, was almost unbearable. She had been gone far too long, and their parting had been truly unfortunate. Anne, please come back! I need you. I will make you happy. Give me another chance to prove myself!
'Gilbert, are you awake?' His father's voice issued from outside his door.
'Yes, Dad,' he called weakly. His father entered, concern and relief etched upon his face.
'Gil,' he said, 'Gil, I've been so worried…how are you feeling?' His instinct was to hug his son, for words could not explain how concerned he had been for his welfare. However, Mr Blythe, a man not comfortable with emotion, nor with expressing himself physically, found it awkward and so dismissed the idea; instead, he stood, awkwardly, at the door.
'All right,' Gilbert said, 'Dad, have you seen Anne? Is she here? On the Island?'
Mr Blythe shook his head. 'No, I don't believe she is,' he confessed, gently. 'Fred was around a few days ago, but he didn't say anything to me about Anne. I'm sure he would have, had she been back.'
Gilbert's heart sank, and his head span from the disappointment. For a split second, for a brief moment, he had held hope in his mind that his illness might be rectified. If Anne were there, then it would all be worth it. He would be able to say all the things he thought and felt without hesitation. Being in a coma and having been so close to death had taught him one vital lesson: to treat life as something precious. He could not rely on tomorrow, for tomorrow is always a possibility and never a guarantee. From now on, he vowed, I will tell everybody how I feel as soon as the moment is available.
'Get some rest, Gil,' Mr Blythe said, venturing over to his bed and placing his hand on his son's forehead. 'You've had a rough month and a rough night.'
'Goodnight, Dad,' he said, but knew that he would get no rest now that he knew that Anne had not returned to the Island.