It is very exciting for me to arrive at this point in the narrative, when everyone is poised on the threshold of a new academic year.
Thank you one and all for your enthusiasm and kind comments. I am so happy to be updating both this and Betwixt the Stars on a regular basis now, and to be planning the next chapters for Down the Rabbit-Hole.
Hope you enjoy!
Love
MrsVonTrapp x
Chapter Thirty Three
'All precious things, discovered late'
Gilbert remembered with chagrin his long-ago petulance back at Christmas, spending the time in Avonlea without Anne, and had resolved to honour the young lady in question and count his blessings by throwing himself into his remaining time back home, mindful and more grateful than ever that he had one. He assisted his father around the farm, helped with odd jobs, fetched provisions in the village for his mother, visited with Fred and Diana and the Fletchers, and spent companionable evenings with his parents. He passed by the schoolhouse and noted its shingled roof with a knowing grin, and he even called upon the residents of Green Gables with some gifted cider he had himself made with his father's cider press, under his eagle eye, which he was assured would have the young twins gulping in delight upon their return from their summer activities, and had Marilla finding a generous smile, remembering his father's own such endeavours for her benefit a quarter century before.
Gilbert was rather thankful Mrs Lynde was visiting with some of her nearest-located children and their families over the fortnight, more than happy to wait for Tom to come back from the lower fields with Matthew, conversing companionably with Marilla Cuthbert about his hopes for his studies the coming year and a little of life at Redmond. It was still amazing to him, the thaw that had taken place in relations since the start of the summer, and he wanted to build on it where possible, remembering how Tom had been a good friend in their youth, and knowing how delighted Anne would be by the prospect of them spending time together in her absence.
Tom came in through the back door and stopped up short, his surprise evident and understandable, but soon recovered, washing up and then extending a hand to their visitor, Matthew Cuthbert following suit, and soon Marilla was laying out some currant buns she had made that morning, to accompany the refreshing cider, clear, sweet and tasting of summer.
"Would you… like a wander outside, Gilbert?" Tom finally offered with less awkwardness than Gilbert may have expected, and he eagerly assented, catching Marilla's encouraging look to the both of them as they ambled back out again, with similar long strides as they fell into step with one another, as if remembering a long-ago rhythm.
"It felt strange coming over here without a fishing pole in my hand," Gilbert smiled, as they paused in the sunshine just beyond the barn, taking in the sweep of fields to the right and the Cuthberts' own orchards to the left.
"Doubt I'd even find mine these days," Tom offered in return. "Davy took up with it years ago."
"Good times," Gilbert nodded, leaning against a fence post. "We never returned empty handed, either."
"One summer I think we had trout every second night," Tom chuckled, easy and low.
They lapsed into a friendly silence.
"You'd not have much time for fishing now, I'd wager," Gilbert offered. "What with the farm and your wood carving."
"Not really," Tom gave an expressive sigh.
"Congratulations again, Tom. I hope you know how delighted we all are for you."
"Thanks, Gilbert. I appreciate that."
They resumed their exploration, both almost unaccustomed to such aimlessness. Tom managed some enquiries about Gilbert's upcoming year at Redmond, before talk inevitably turned to Anne.
"Anne… got off alright, then, last week?" Tom asked him, over-casually.
"Yes, absolutely. And well fortified for her journey. Her trunk weighed a ton!"
"When has it not?" Tom smiled slyly, remembering how he had tried to haul it halfway up the platform at Bright River back at Easter.
Gilbert chuckled warmly, before lapsing into seriousness. "Tom – about Anne. You might recall a letter I sent you – "
"Yes, 'course I do," Tom thrust his hands into his pockets.
"Well, I just wanted the opportunity, even after all this time, to follow it up properly. To thank you for the way you've helped us all… navigate… the tricky times of the past. For your generosity. And to let you know that… well, how much… she means to me. How important she is to me. And I know, obviously, for you too, but I – "
Tom had turned to him as he struggled, a fleeting smile of understanding fluttering about his lips. It was a rare occasion indeed to see Gilbert Blythe so tongue-tied.
"I know you are doing right by her, Gilbert," he offered gently, invoking their old vow. "I've never seen her so happy."
A tension Gilbert hadn't known he had carried within him immediately eased; a coiled spring unravelled.
"Thank you, Tom. That means so much to me. Truly."
Tom nodded, his smile widening. "Doesn't mean to say there aren't a few of us at Green Gables ready to hold you to account if things change," he offered, his words undercut by the wryness to his tone.
"Don't I know it!" Gilbert laughed in his engaging way, Tom smirking with a tinge of satisfaction, holding out his hand to Gilbert, who shook it gratefully.
There was a lightness to both men as they began to make their circuitous route back to the house, falling into talk of farming matters, and the depletion in the ranks of young people remaining in Kingsport, Gilbert loudly and amusingly lamenting the loss of Fred and Diana, the new Mrs Jane Ingliss, and Ruby, who had just scraped through her secretarial course and was now searching for employment – and no doubt simultaneous marriage opportunities - from Avonlea to Charlottetown.
"At least now the girls remaining will be able to take rooms together," Gilbert mused, before feeling he might need to clarify, "that is to say, Miss Phil Gordon, our friend from Bolingbroke, was arranging things over the summer so that – "
"Yes, I heard that," Tom nodded. "It will be a great experience for all of them, I'm sure."
"Oh, did Anne write of the news to you, too?" Gilbert asked, remembering his smile.
"Yes, she did, not long after she got back to Summerside, but I also had the news from Pris, so that I might have her new address."
Tom had his face upturned to catch the afternoon sun, so did not note Gilbert's raised eyebrows, and in his surprised silence it took his blonde companion a few further beats to realise he had perhaps said more than he may have wanted.
When those pale blue eyes swung back to him, they were surprisingly steady, though there was a quick flush of embarrassment which was quickly suppressed.
"Ah, Gilbert, that is not, ah, common knowledge, about my exchanging letters with Miss Grant. Anne knows, of course, but – "
"Not at all, Tom. My lips are sealed." Gilbert could not resist his grin.
Tom's sandy eyebrows drew together, and his eyes betrayed a tightness about the corners. "It's not like what you are thinking…" he protested, almost frowning.
Actually, I believe – and hope – it's very MUCH like what I am thinking… Gilbert mused to himself, though he nodded respectfully and schooled his features as much as possible.
Gilbert generously steered the conversation onto other subjects – Tom's various wood carving commissions, which were to take him soon up to Charlottetown; their hopes at Redmond to build further connections with the Paterson Street school – and the moment passed, but he was quietly confident in his suppositions, and in the spirit of debts owed, resolved to promote and support this promising possible relationship as much as he was able.
The twins had been very sorry to miss Gilbert, but some Blythe cider more than made up for the loss, and Tom was happy to hear about their respective days with Ralph Andrews and Minnie May Barry before milking the cows and then striding to the barn, to sit aside his lathe and work on some of his commissions… and a good number of his frustrations.
He knew that Gilbert's sharp, speculative mind was ticking over with thoughts of he and Pris, Tom working harder than he should have needed to put any conjecture to bed. He had made a telling slip in talking of their correspondence but had to admit that his growing, slow-dawning partiality for Miss Grant had not exactly been hidden – there had been the dances at Jane's wedding, their interactions at the Carmody Fair, their chatting at Fred and Di's engagement party and sitting next to her at their group seaside picnic.
Their friendship was one he treasured, more than he may have liked to admit, and even less able to admit that his thoughts had strayed to the forging of an even deeper connection. But perhaps friendship was all Pris herself saw in it? After his experience with Anne he could no longer trust his instincts and had little faith in interpreting a young lady's signals, even one as straight forward and open in manner as Priscilla Grant.
If he hadn't made such an ass of himself over in Spencervale yesterday, he may have at least known where he stood one way or the other.
On a glorious summer's afternoon the previous day, in her next to last week before returning to Kingsport, Priscilla Grant was, sadly, not out and about their little village, or picking up her new wardrobe for Redmond from the Carmody dressmaker, or even communing with their few cows out in the sunny meadow, but instead serving tea cake and enduring painful small talk in their little parlour with Herb Spencer.
Not that there was much requirement for small talk on her side, mind, for Herb appeared to have enough for both of them, conversing easily on myriad subjects and occasionally even remembering to ask her own opinion. He enquired after her course for the coming year. He was effusive regarding her father's mentorship of his own fledgling business skills and charming regarding her mother's recent awards. He was, as she strove for fairness, more than tolerable and perfectly nice looking, well dressed and with a ready smile, which he employed frequently. And, her mother would be at pains to add, he was a Spencer, with money and property behind him. He was, as Phil or Ruby might venture, quite a catch.
Unfortunately, she was not in the mood for fishing.
Instead, her mind drifted to Tom. She didn't know, in her remaining time home, when she might get over to Avonlea again. She had run out of excuses to make the trip, and it already felt, in between Jane's wedding, her two brief stays at Orchard Slope which included her visit to Green Gables, the trip to the seaside and Diana and Fred's own engagement party, that she had spent half her summer there already. Was it not a little unseemly to continue to chase Tom Caruthers in this manner?
She winced internally, rising to defend herself. She had never chased Tom Caruthers. He was a friend. They exchanged letters in the spirit of that friendship and she had supported him at the Carmody Fair as any friend would. She had danced with him at Jane's wedding – twice, admittedly - alongside other men and she had spent the day at Green Gables at his invitation, which had also involved both Gilbert as fellow guest and Anne as temporary resident. She had chatted with him and a dozen others at the engagement party. She didn't know if he was just being friendly in return or if indeed there was any real indication of his partiality, or was she hoping too hard for it?
There had been many moments that had quickened her breath and her pulse; when he had bent to whisper to her as he helped her into the buggy after Jane's wedding… the hushed confessionals in the barn loft and the migrating peck on the cheek… even the communion of many a shared look or joke. She thought they had been building towards something… but if that something was too subtle and indeterminate, was she not as if back at the schoolhouse in Carmody, years ago, trying to coax Tom down from the roof?
She felt if there was one positive, irrefutable sign from him, she would be happy to go on in their gentle, undemanding way.
Her musings were interrupted by some sort of muffled exchange she could just make out down the hall by the front door, and then her brother Sam, leaning into the room and announcing with smirking delight that she had another visitor.
"Excuse me one moment, Herb," Pris was flooded with relief to vacate the parlour for a few minutes, coming to the door and noting the new arrival with a thrumming-pulsed astonishment.
"Tom!" Pris greeted wonderingly, and then, remembering her sibling and his eye-widening observation of the scene, "that is to say, hello, Mr Caruthers."
"Miss Grant," Tom had the presence of mind to remember formalities himself, tipping his hat and offering a shy smile and some beautiful yellow roses. "Please forgive the intrusion, but I had some business in Bright River, and as I was nearby I thought I'd…"
Pris surveyed Tom in a daze. He was wearing his charcoal suit. He had brought her flowers. This was a proper call. He had come calling…
"Herb Spencer is in the parlour. This might get a little crowded!" Samuel offered with a cheeky grin, accurately but also unhelpfully.
"Mr Spencer…?" Tom's eyes swung back to hers, surprise sparking their depths.
"Yes…" Pris assented reluctantly, turning briefly to give her brother a sharp, warning glance. "Mr Spencer was kind enough to, ah, call today…"
The comedy of errors continued, her father emerging from his office to enquire as to all the noise, greeting Tom in his welcoming fashion, which then heralded her mother from the kitchen to offer a greeting with a wary politeness and rather less enthusiasm behind it. Finally, Herb Spencer himself, relinquishing his refreshments and the comfortable wing-backed chair, emerged from the parlour into the growing cacophony.
"Won't you come in, Mr Caruthers?" Pris offered desperately, unaccountably flustered.
Tom seemed to take stock of the situation, weighing the scene before him in the balance.
"Thank you, Miss Grant, but I wouldn't wish to… intrude… on your afternoon any longer. I only wanted to…" here he paused, as if searching for appropriate reason, "to thank you for your generous help at the Carmody Fair, and to… that is… to wish you well in your coming year at Redmond."
"Thank you very much…" Pris answered miserably. "The flowers are very lovely and that is… too kind…" the empty words were automatic, and wholly inadequate.
"Well, I will leave you to your guest and your afternoon," Tom nodded. "All at Green Gables send their best to you and your family. Good day Miss Grant, Mr Grant, Mrs Grant, Mr Spencer, Master Grant…" he tipped his hat at all those crowded around the doorway, gave a tight, trying-hard smile, and strode back down the path without a backward glance.
Pris stood in the doorway, staring after him helplessly, in two minds whether to stomp her foot in frustration or just sit down and have a good, sorry-for-herself cry.
Gilbert was thoughtful and quieter than usual at supper that night. Seeing Tom had only made him think of Anne and miss her more acutely, his last memory of her in Avonlea tied to her heartfelt, tearful departure from the old house at the edge of the woods.
"How did you get on at Green Gables, love?" Adela Blythe asked him conversationally.
"Fine thanks Ma. Good. The cider went down a treat thanks, Dad."
"Always did," John Blythe smirked, avoiding his wife's exasperated glance.
"You've a bit over a week left, Gilbert. Anything you wanted to still do, darling? We could go into White Sands together, or get up a picnic, or…"
"Oh, Ma, it's fine, really…" Gilbert demurred.
John and Adela shared a glance, the former raising his expressive eyebrows and the latter shrugging her shoulders delicately. They had both observed their son's energy and enthusiasm begin to deplete in recent days, like a wind-up toy left abandoned and slowly winding down, feeling they had a more than reasonable idea of the cause.
"Or…" Adela smiled gently, unseen by that curly head bowed over his plate, as if his body was sighing to itself, "you could perhaps go up to Redmond early, after a visit to Summerside to see that nice Dr McCubbin… and another of our acquaintance who is currently staying there."
It took a moment for the offer to register. Gilbert had succeeded in conducting himself with good grace the nearly two weeks Anne had been gone, instead pouring out how much he missed her into near daily letters.
It was something he himself had thought often, but had not mentioned – to spend a week with the good doctor, having an open invitation now to stay with him, and obviously see Anne when she was free of her own commitments, and then go up with her, together, to Kingsport. But it had meant cutting his time with his parents so short as to appear completely ungrateful and selfish, and he had been loathe to do it. But to have their blessing…
That curly head shot up, hazel eyes lighting, and his parents knew they had their answer.
Tom had absolutely no answers to his Pris Grant dilemma. Seeing Gilbert had only opened the floodgates on his confusion and embarrassment. The rare impulsivity shown in turning up on her doorstep, unplanned and unannounced, had backfired spectacularly. It had certainly been a harsh warning to him to never do anything so rash and reckless again.
He felt foolish to have stumbled upon her entertaining Herb Spencer, annoyed that she would have the fellow there in such a capacity and despairing of his own conduct in laying down arms when yet another young lady who had stolen his interest, let alone possibly his heart, looked set to be claimed by another. Must he forever cast himself as second fiddle?
Well, it hardly mattered now. If Pris had harboured any deeper feelings towards him at all, they had been quashed by his own actions in proclaiming his visit had been nothing but a polite thank you and… farewell.
Farewell. Pris would be off back to Redmond and back in the embrace of fellow scholars, eagerly entertaining a whole swathe of visitors alongside the other girls of this Patty's Place, and if she didn't find anyone to her liking in Kingsport there was always Herb Spencer, eager and at the ready, and an obvious favourite of her mother's to boot.
Tom had rarely felt more hopeless.
Herb Spencer was oh-so generous in staying an additional half hour after Tom's departure. He was delighted that it seemed all arranged that Pris would write to him from Kingsport, eager to start back work with her father and pleased to confer admiration of her mother's newspaper notice now on display, before finally setting off with the self-satisfied air of a man who was achieving all his objectives without needing to exert very much effort at all.
Back in her room, Pris almost screamed into her pillow.
Well, there was nothing for it but to get to Avonlea now, borrowing the buggy and driving herself if she had to, and demanding an audience with Tom, even if he was entertaining the entire single female Avonlea populace in the kitchen of Green Gables in retribution.
Flushed with feeling, she marched back into her own kitchen to lay out her wishes and came across a kerfuffle of an entirely different making; her mother upbraiding her brother Sam whilst brandishing a letter that turned out to be from Queen's, apparently unopened in the business of summer pursuits and languishing on his desk for days. It explained with regret that one of the larger houses traditionally accommodating many young male boarders would no longer be available due to the sad and unexpected death of its mistress, and that those who had planned to room there – including one Samuel Grant of Spencervale – would need to find alternative accommodation, post haste. Although the college would do everything in its power to assist the students affected, it strongly recommended families make the journey several days before admission time in order to best secure new lodgings.
And other families had already had this information for the better part of a week.
The upshot was they would all have to head to Charlottetown, the day after next, to see what could be done. They had already arranged to travel together as a family to settle her brother and then farewell Pris onwards to Kingsport. They hadn't been due to leave for five days, and now they needed to move up their departure, Pris included. They required her help and knowledge of Queen's and surrounds and her mother would not countenance her staying on alone in Spencervale until her own passage.
Pris was frantic, having spent half her time trying to write some sort of explanation to Tom and the other half assisting her parents with arrangements and everyone's trunks, having to take her wayward brother in hand or he would leave all his Queen's essentials behind altogether.
Their neighbours would kindly keep an eye on the house and take care of the farm animals while they were away. As a further indignity, Herb Spencer gallantly transported all of them to meet the train at Carmody. Pris had to collect her new garments from the dressmaker and somehow find opportunity to post her letter, and was more than slightly frazzled as she left her family - and Herb – at the station as she headed for the familiar town center.
"Gilbert!" his name was called on the summer breeze, and he turned from outside the Carmody haberdashers, having collected a new mint-green tie for himself, to see a tall, stylish young lady, blonde tressed and pink cheeked, weave her way towards him.
"Pris! What a lovely surprise to see you!"
"Oh, Gilbert!" Pris began rather breathlessly. "You are the best bit of good luck I've had for days!"
"Well," he smiled easily, "I'm glad to be of service!"
"Oh, I hope that you can!" the two pink spots on her fair cheeks were deepening. "I wonder if you might help me? I need to give a letter to Tom quite urgently, and I hope you might deliver it? My family needs to leave for Charlottetown in an hour!"
These two and their letters! he would have grinned, if not for Pris's evident distress.
"Pris, I'm so sorry. Normally I wouldn't hesitate, but I'm off to Summerside myself, probably the train after yours."
"Oh, no!" she sighed, her face falling. "I mean, of course that's lovely. Anne will be so thrilled."
He did allow himself a soft smile at that. "Thank you, Pris. It will be so nice to be able to go up to Redmond together with her. But I thought you weren't meant to leave for days yet?"
"Oh, it's my dratted brother's fault!" Pris despaired, appraising him quickly of the sorry saga.
"You know, it might be a blessing in disguise," Gilbert reasoned. "When we were all at Queen's I had some friends stay at her rooms and she was a complete battle-axe," he rolled his eyes, before remembering himself awkwardly, "er, God rest her. I myself stayed just around the corner, in a little place near the post office. With Mrs Wilson. She was brilliant."
"Oh! Do you think she'd still have any room?"
"She's pretty particular…" Gilbert mused, and then grinned his delightful Blythe grin. "I only got in there because she was a friend of my teacher Miss Stacey, but a personal recommendation from her favourite past Gold Medallist might sway her."
"Oh, Gilbert Blythe, I could kiss you!" Pris yelped.
"I regret I'm taken, but thank you kindly for the thought," he deadpanned, hazel eyes twinkling.
"Would you wait, Gilbert? I just need to collect some bundles from inside," she indicated the haberdashers, "and I still have to post this letter now!"
"The letter to Tom?"
Pris nodded bleakly.
"It would sadly miss him anyway, Pris. I visited him yesterday and he was set to go up to Charlottetown himself, to gather details for his commissions. I think he was heading there tomorrow."
"You mean… we will both be in Charlottetown and he won't know?"
There was no need for Gilbert to speculate about Pris's feelings - her face and tone carried the disappointment he had so often felt himself, in the past, regarding Anne. He remembered his vow to assist and promote these two, however he could.
"My fair Miss Grant, I have a plan – and we haven't much time…" he urged reassuringly, leading her into the store.
John Blythe did not have much cause to travel down the long lane and up the sweeping drive to Green Gables, but there was a time, seemingly a lifetime ago, when he could have made the short journey blindfolded.
That afternoon he was somewhat bemused by his mission, but had noted the earnestness with which it had been given, and the urgency behind it. His strapping boy, young man now before his eyes, had apparently been at his charming, problem-solving best, if the grateful reactions of that other rather anxious family on the platform at Carmody, with the pretty blonde lass from Gil's year at Queen's and now Redmond, were anything to go by.
And after waving them off they then waved off Gilbert, the sadness at seeing him depart for another year away from them softened considerably by the happiness so evident on his handsome, beloved face.
Now, another face came into view as he parked the buggy, once beloved itself and now softened by years of another kind of love and fulfillment.
"John!" Marilla Cuthbert greeted him on the veranda, understandably surprised to see a second Blythe on her doorstep in as many days.
"Hello there, Mar," * he answered cheerfully, easily falling into his old, affectionate name for her.
"What brings you around to us? I wish I could offer you some cider but unfortunately the twins cleared us out!"
"Glad to hear it!" he chuckled. "What brings me here is to pass on a letter. From a young lady. For your boy."
A letter from a young lady… for Tom. Marilla's throat tightened. Tom had had very uneven luck, over the years, in receiving letters from young ladies.
Something in Marilla's face made him want to explain, as he came up the steps.
"Gilbert met the young lass, Miss Grant, in Carmody today. She was leaving with her family and we were seeing Gil off to Summerside."
At this Marilla gave her rare, wonderful smile. "Oh, to see Anne? How lovely! They'll be missing each other so."
John swallowed at her reaction, touched that she should be so gracious now about the relationship between Gilbert and Anne, when it had once clearly trampled on Tom's own hopes.
"Yes, indeed. He was sad to leave us but pretty excited to go."
Marilla's smile became more knowing. "I can imagine."
John cleared his throat.
"Well, at any rate, Gilbert couldn't pass on the note for Tom, so arranged for me to do it instead."
He held out the letter, and it was accepted with another fond smile.
"Thank you, John. We appreciate it. And thanks, too, to Gilbert. Please pass on our best for his studies this year."
John tipped his hat. "I will, certainly. And best wishes to Tom, whether it be with his wood carvings… or his young lady."
His young lady… Marilla's mind whirled as she saw John off. It had taken so long for Tom to get over Anne that she had dared not hope there would be another young lady on the horizon. But Miss Grant, tall, attractive and merry, had featured in a number of exchanges that Marilla had carefully noted and filed away…. Dancing with her at Jane Andrews' wedding; the visit with Gilbert to Green Gables; arriving with Tom, breathless and smiling, for the competition announcements at the Carmody Fair, and her pleasure later in introducing her parents; and then the seaside picnic she had helped to organise in Tom's honour.
And Tom himself, all the way to Bright River regarding his commissions the other day, in his good charcoal suit. Bright River was not so very far from Spencervale. It had made Marilla wonder at the time, but Tom was so tired-looking and tight lipped when he had arrived home that she dared not pursue it.
Marilla looked at the letter, suddenly trepidatious. She prayed it would not contain yet more romantic disappointment for him. But, of course, regardless, he must have it, and much effort had gone into ensuring he did.
He would be in the barn, in the loft, sketching some designs and organising some wares to take with him on the morrow. Tom Caruthers; farmer, woodcarver and now businessman. It was all wondrous and wonderful, but what she wanted most of all might be the most elusive… his happiness.
Anne farewelled the last of her charges after their summertime picnic along the shorefront, delighted to see the girls so happy and full of color and life, able to relax and have their hair flow freely instead of buried under their modest white caps as during term time.
She wished she could say her two weeks at Summerside had gone by quickly, but at least they had passed productively, both for the girls and for her writing. Averil's Atonement had been re-edited and sent into the competition, before she could mull over it too much and change her mind about it, a la Phil. She had sent letters to the erstwhile Miss Gordon, as well as to Katherine, Diana, Tom and all at Green Gables (including a special, heartfelt note of thanks for his surprise figurine), the Blythes and numerous missives to Gilbert, full of the loving sentiments she so missed saying to him in person.
She longed for him more than was at all fair or reasonable; the only consolation was his newest letter she would open after supper, savouring it as any mouth-watering dessert, and the knowledge that in just over a week she would be on the train and heading back to Kingsport to reunite with him.
The front doorbell chimed in the distance, heard through the heavy doors leading to the staff apartments left slightly ajar and all along the grand ground floor. Anne, just back to her room for some respite, sighed deeply. Of a weekday after 5pm, she and Miss Baker, in order to spare Matron Burgess further work into the evening, took it in turns to answer any doorbells and direct any late deliveries. At a quarter past five this summons was more than irksome, but tonight was her turn, and with a weary tread she made her way back to the front door, peering out into the soft summer dusk.
"Good afternoon, Miss. I was looking for accommodation and wondering if you had a broom cupboard free?"
Anne stared, disbelievingly, at Gilbert, materialised on the front porch, complete with delighted grin and a definite twinkle in those beloved roguish hazel eyes.
She leapt into his arms with a shriek of delight sure to wake the resting Matron.
Chapter Notes
This week's title is a slight departure, but is still connected to Anne of the Island – from Alfred, Lord Tennyson, 'The Arrival', quoted as part of Lucy Maud's inscription to the novel, and speaking so eloquently of the themes and relationships she writes about in AotI:
'All precious things discovered late
To those that seek them issue forth,
For Love in sequel works with Fate,
And draws the veil from hidden worth.'
*We of course all owe this tremendous contraction of Marilla to oz diva's John Blythe x
And some correspondence…
Guest of Oct 1st (Ch 32): Dear Guest – there are never too many questions! I love your thoughts about this story and questions from readers always make me think about my writing and help ensure I am going forward with a story in the clearest and most comprehensive way possible. To start with the easiest question first – thank you for your note on Katherine! She was a joy to write and I really loved everyone's engagement with the Summerside arc. She is enjoying Italy at the moment and embracing that wanderlust that both canon and Sullivan Katherine have been concerned with. I assure you that she will return, but not for a little while… Yes, it was empowering to write an Anne who welcomed the Rollings Reliable opportunity and wasn't embarrassed by it – this Anne has needed to be a little more practical and a little less fanciful… and double yes to the great loss of canon Aunt Jo's tremendous pile of cash and its' future ramifications… Patty's Place is going to be a blast to write, though I can assure everyone right now there will be NO cats harmed in the process… And finally, yes indeed Gilbert in particular is very pleased with himself at the moment! There are unfortunately a few bends in the road coming up, as there needs to be, and further growth for this version of his character – I hope you can stay tuned! Thanks so much for your comments!
Guest of Nov 1st (Ch 32): Ahh, the more frequent updates! Don't worry, you have not been the only one caught out by this very changed-up posting schedule! I am so glad that readers feel more confidence in getting behind my stories now, and that you enjoyed this update too 😊 I have long been looking forward to writing of the second year at Redmond. Thank you for your enthusiasm!
DriinkThemIn (Ch 32): Darling, the time I MYSELF can write without any 'high faluting mumbo jumbo' is going to be a happy day; I can hardly blame Anne is she does fall into this trap, but my Anne is a little more practical and a little less whimsical than canon Anne, though her writing does become a more important story thread in the future… although I'd love to write a scene reminiscent of our beloved classic Sullivan one! (why LMM ever gave this important conversation to Mr Harrison I'll never know; it works so brilliantly for Anne and Gilbert!) Meanwhile there is, necessarily, more Herb Spencer on the horizon, and more than that I cannot say! Finally, argh, transition chapters are really tricky! Thank you for your note on that! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, which attempts to further some of the threads started previously… x
Guest of Nov 8th (Ch 32): Thank you! It makes me so happy to know that readers are now pleasantly surprised by an update rather than losing hours of their lives checking to see if there's actually been one..! Back to Redmond will be a really enjoyable outing I hope!