CHAPTER SEVEN

Rachel Lynde was becoming a nuisance, at least to Adam Lynde's thoughts and desire for peace and elongated moments in which to daydream about Anne. The noisy chatter around him caused him to grow heady; his head throbbed and he began to sweat from such close proximity with so many people, who were all so fiercely fending for his attention (or at least Rachel Lynde, who could be considered the equivalent of eight different people in her excitable enthusiasm).

'Excuse me,' he said, 'I think I'll go for a walk around Avonlea…enjoy the sights, meet a few locals…'

'Would you like somebody to go with you?' Rachel fretted. 'I'd hate to see you lost. Avonlea is a rather large town, when one thinks about it long enough.'

Marilla exchanged a look with Rachel. 'Rachel, Adam is a grown man; he doesn't need your clucking.' To Adam, she said, 'Go, Adam, and get some fresh air. Enjoy yourself, but please be back by dinnertime. I'm serving a roast meal, and I'd hate for you to miss out.'

'Absolutely,' Adam replied; 'I wouldn't miss my first home-cooked meal here for the world.'

Marilla smiled. 'Run along, then. And Rachel, don't look so gloomy. He isn't running away from you.'

The Avonlea air was fresh, crisp and cool that afternoon, Adam noted as he strode purposefully through the winding dirt roads and past throngs of perfumed throngs of flowers and orchards. It was all so scenic, so beautiful; no wonder Grandmother said she'd never ever leave…I wouldn't want to leave, either…though I do have an alternate motivation, he considered again.

The main street of Avonlea was quiet that afternoon; it seemed everybody was enjoying the pleasures of their own homes and gardens. Thoughts of Anne continued ringing through his mind; like a melody in his mind, a joyous song that never ended. He wanted nothing more than to have his love returned, to hold this girl in his arms, to marry her. He'd never felt feelings so strong for a woman before, and not one he'd only known for little more than an hour!

A memory suddenly returned to him; being in Nova Scotia on a medical conference a few years earlier. He'd met a young man named Gilbert Blythe, rather handsome and congenial. They'd quickly become good friends. If Adam was not mistaken, Gilbert had said he lived in Avonlea. He'd have been Anne's age; they must know each other! Adam and Gilbert had lost touch since that conference, but the memory let forth a new surge of hope and love for Anne. He resolved to go, immediately, to visit Gilbert and ask him for his advice. Gilbert was a sensible lad, and being an Island boy through and through, he would know what to do.

Adam stopped at a small baker's shop and stepped up to the counter, running his fingers through his silken hair. He glanced around the shop; it was so quaint, so homely and smelled so wonderful!

'Excuse me,' he said to the salesperson as they emerged from the back room. 'Would you happen to know where a Mr Gilbert Blythe lives?'

'Why, continue to the end of this road and turn to the right, and then the left. His is a large white farmhouse with green trimmings; you can't miss it, it's got a horse and buggy in the garden, and it is rather large.'

Adam thanked the woman, and as a return for her assistance, purchased five loaves of fresh bread before departing and following her directions, almost skipping along the roads leading to the Blythe farmhouse. The world seemed so much more refreshing, so much more welcoming; the scents were fragrant and the world sweet. He was sipping from an overflowing cup of pure joy and elation.

He knocked on the door of the house he presumed to be Gilbert's. He stood and jiggled his legs impatiently, waiting for an answer. Finally, a tall, lean man with greying hair answered. Adam's heart fell.

'Good afternoon, sir,' Adam said, 'would you happen to know where Gilbert Blythe lives? I'm an old friend from Nova Scotia.'

'I'm his father,' the man said, 'Mr Blythe. Hello. My son's just woken up from a coma, so he'll be looking for visitors. Come in.'

The room was dimly lit with candlelight, and just a faint stream of daylight from the windows. Adam quietly entered, and pulled off his cap as a sign of respect.

'Gilbert, my old friend,' he said cheerfully. 'Hello.'

Gilbert was taken aback at this sudden and unexpected arrival. Why would Adam Lynde come and visit him all the way from Toronto? The idea was almost laughable, yet it seemed to be the only explanation. It was rather amusing, in fact, to picture him suddenly halting all his plans, all his work commitments, and taking a ship over the Island, at the news that Gilbert Blythe had been taken ill with scarlet fever.

'Why, hello, Adam,' Gilbert said. 'What brings you here?'

'I'm staying with my grandmother and Marilla over at Green Gables for several months, during my break…I needed a change of climate, a change of atmosphere, and wanted to see new places.' Adam added, as an afterthought, 'I heard you were ill, and I thought I'd come and visit…to see how you were…' He knew it was an embellishment of the truth, but he thought that he could be forgiven just this once. 'Are you feeling any better?'

'I feel a little weak, thanks,' Gilbert replied hoarsely, 'but I assume I'll pull through in a few days.'

'That's good. Scarlet fever is a nasty experience, I assure you. I had it when I was seven – it nearly killed me, mind you.' He laughed, rather boyishly.

'So,' Gilbert said, 'have you made any new lady friends, since Agnes?'

Adam considered his question carefully. 'Hmmm,' he said. 'Now, I don't even know if I remember Agnes,' he admitted. 'But I courted Josephine for awhile, and Patricia, and another girl, whose name I don't remember…oh yes – Jennifer and May…I think there may have been another one, but I am not sure.' He laughed dryly. 'There have been so many since you last saw me. I was even engaged to Helen Bowing, for several months, but she ran off with another beau.'

'How terrible for you,' Gilbert said.

'No,' Adam laughed, 'quite the contrary. She was terribly horse-like, and not at all attractive. I remember my mother cajoling me into the engagement. I was never interested. And she was a child.'

'How old?'

'Eighteen,' Adam said, 'when I was twenty.'

'That's not terribly young.'

'No,' Adam admitted, 'but she seemed it. She had a terrible tinkling laugh, you see, and she cried a lot.'

Gilbert was rather annoyed with Adam's attitude. He dismissed these women with no more than a passing shrug. He treated them like objects, like pebbles on a shoreline or stamps in a stamp album! It was disgraceful, he thought. Adam has changed, he realised. He is no longer so friendly. In fact, he is downright arrogant and quite slimy.

'But now I am interested in somebody new, Gilbert. In fact, perhaps you could advise me about it. I met a girl today. She lives at Green Gables, with Miss Cuthbert and my grandmother. Her name is Anne Shirley. Do you know her?'

Gilbert's stomach turned, and he felt his face drain of any little colour that was left. Anne was here? Here in Avonlea? And she had not visited? How could that be? Don't be daft, Gilbert, he thought, why would she come and see you? You fought with her the day she left. She said she never wanted to speak to you again. He rebuffed this thought by considering the fact that they had called a truce during their mail correspondence; but perhaps she was still bitter. Oh, why hadn't she visited? Now Gilbert felt physically ill. He swallowed audibly, feeling tears choking at his throat, though he used every ounce of energy left in his body to hold them down

'Gilbert?'

'Oh,' Gilbert said. 'Yes. I do.'

Adam grinned. 'That's wonderful!' he said. 'I'm in love with Anne,' Adam said. 'Oh, goodness, I love her. She's so beautiful – she has the sweetest personality, and such a fiery one at that. I looked at her once, and I've only spent one afternoon with her, and I already adore her. I'm sure Miss Cuthbert would disapprove, though. She's such a formidable woman. And I think Anne may love me too, though I don't know. She looked at me so much today, Gilbert, and she blushed when I spoke to her directly. Oh, I don't know what to do!'

No! He cried in his head. No! She can't do this to me! A thousand screaming voices tore through his mind. Anne is mine! I love her! I love her more than anything in this world. I am the only one supposed to be with her. At that moment, for a split second, he wanted to die. And then he felt a surge of anger and murderous feelings toward Adam. If he could not have her, then nobody else could.

'What ought I do, Gilbert? How should I win her? Should I tell her?'

Gilbert's initial reaction was to give him the opposite advice to what he should. However, he realised that Anne did not care for him any way, and so it made little difference whether he advised him ill or not. He sighed. And if Adam was direct with his feelings – perhaps, if Anne did not care for him in that way, she would nip any attempts of his sentimentality in the bud. With this hope in mind, he offered the advice that could either save or devastate Gilbert.

'Tell her how you feel,' he said, wishing he could be anywhere but there at that moment, 'It's the only way. Say exactly what you feel.'

'All right, Gilbert! Thank you very much!' Adam said, jumping up. 'I will go now, and do just that. I shall come and pay you a visit soon, I promise. Get better soon, won't you, dear friend. Goodbye.'

After Adam left, Gilbert let an obligatory tear slip down his cheek. Soon after, Mr Blythe entered the room. Before he could say anything, Gilbert spoke.

'Father,' he said, 'I'm going to England.'

Mr Blythe was clearly taken aback. 'What? Gilbert? Why?'

'Anne is in Avonlea,' he said.

Confused, his father said, 'But wouldn't you want to stay?'

'She has not come to see me,' he said. 'And she must have known about me. She does not care for me, father. She is too busy falling in love with dreadful, grovelling bores from Toronto.'

'But you can't -'

'I can and I will. I can't stay here, knowing she is in this town and I cannot have her. It would be a worse torture that the irons, Dad. I can't stay.'

Mr Blythe paled. 'If you say so, son,' he said, dumbfounded.

'But you must promise me, Dad,' Gilbert said, 'you must tell nobody where I have gone. You do not know at all. I don't want people trying to contact me. I need to begin a new life, with new people.'

'If you say so, Gil,' Mr Blythe said. 'I hope you know what you're doing.'

'I do,' Gilbert said, but inside, he was thinking, 'So do I, Dad. So do I.'