Chapter 4 - A Moonlit Trek

"Moody, let me off at the corner," Gilbert Blythe leaned forward from his seat in the wagon to tap Moody Spurgeon on the shoulder with his request. The wagonload of partygoers was traversing along the dirt road, heading back from their evening's enjoyment at the White Sands hotel. It was dark already, quite late, and Gilbert Blythe had been eyeing a light in the distance worriedly, ignoring the light post-party chatter of his fellow passengers.

"Why do you want me to let you out here?" Moody asked, reining the team to a halt and turning in his seat to regard Gilbert with surprise. He was delivering his passengers home and had already dropped off Diana Barry and few others, but the Blythe homestead was quite a ways off yet. "We're not even near your place yet," Moody protested.

"I know," Gilbert acknowledged, already beginning to disembark. "There's a light on at the Miller place. I'd like to check in on them."

"Ohhhh," Moody droned knowingly. "Gilbert the Good checking in on the neighbours," he taunted mildly in derision as a few titters rose up from the other passengers at the obvious sarcasm in Moody's tone. If Moody Spurgeon chose to mock Gilbert Blythe on this occasion it was only because of a slight case of envy--envy for the respect Gilbert Blythe was earning in Avonlea for his repeated demonstrations of goodness and kindness.

Gilbert's expression turned a little dark. "Thank you for the ride Moody," he said out of obligatory propriety and nothing more, not about to let a bit of mild taunting hinder him from his mission. "Goodnight, everyone," he raised a hand in parting to the group, his farewell gesture barely visible in the low light of the evening's moonshine and the single carriage lantern with its weak flame.

Moody shook his head and turned back in his seat. Gilbert Blythe could just walk home then if he persisted in such a foolish notion as to pay a call on his neighbours at this hour of the night. He picked up the reins in preparation to flick them on the horses' backs.

"Wait!"

It was Anne Shirley, decrying the command from the other end of the wagon as passengers jerked in surprise, not the least of whom was Moody Spurgeon who had turned to fix Anne Shirley with an astonished glare. But Anne wasn't looking at Moody, she was eyeing Gilbert in the darkness. "I'll come with you," she announced to him and the others before quickly gathering up her skirts and turning out of the wagon before anyone had a chance to do or say anything. Disembarking on the far side, she stood on the opposite side of the wagon, she and Gilbert bookending the vehicular contraption.

"Suit yourselves!" Moody Spurgeon declared in frustration. They're both looney, he muttered lightly to himself, before rapping the reins on the horses' backs and urging them onwards so preciptously that the wagon jerked away. Only a few 'goodbye Anne' and 'goodbye Gilbert's floated back to the pair from the other travellers already receding in the distance.

The wagon now vacated from between them, Gilbert and Anne stood a roads-width apart, and regarded each other. The air was suddenly still and silent around them and it was darker now that the soft glow of light from the lantern had been carried away with the wagon's departure. It was Gilbert who broke the silence that had descended around them.

"Anne, you should have gone home with the others," he admonished, partly out of concern for her well-being and partly for his own. Hadn't tonight at the party been torture enough? Did she have to torture him more, he wondered darkly. He was only beginning to realize how difficult it was being the same room with someone you loved and always having to mask that love. He'd purposely avoided her at the ball tonight. Had avoided her as soon as he'd spotted her in her elegant evening gown, looking so breathtakingly lovely he'd wanted to....to....well, to do things he had no right to want to do. Even their one obligatory 'duty-dance' had been fraught with unease, for as soon as he took her into his arms he'd felt the strange yet familiar jolting sensation he often felt at such a connection with her. A sensation not unlike the little shocks he and some of his school-chums had discovered years ago when they'd wet their fingers lightly then touch the light switch at the newly electified White Sands hotel. Touching Anne Shirley was just like that. Or that was as near a description as he could give to the puzzling, confounding and disturbing sensation. Deep down inside himself he knew it was something else, something more than just an electric current, but he'd been struggling all summer long to deny it's existence, to denyher existence. But it was hard to deny her now when she was standing before him like this, when they were alone together in the soft moonlight, the paleness of her dress glowing luminescent off moon beams. She was only a few feet away and she filled his senses with her presence. He could see her, feel her,breathe her, and it was torturous.

"Marilla will be worried about you," he reminded her.

"Not once she know's I'm with you," Anne countered rationally. There were few people in Avonlea more trusted than Gilbert Blythe.

Gilbert's expression darkened at Anne's words and the subtle implication behind them. For right at this moment, he didn't know justhow trustworthy he was. He knew he was a man with a good deal of self-control, had prided himself always on that trait but now, just now, he felt that self-control stretched to the breaking.

"So, what's wrong Gilbert?" Anne asked suddenly.

"What?" Gilbert's eyes widened in surprise at Anne's question. He hadn't known he'd given any indication that anything was wrong. He thought he'd hid his niggling worry as well as he hid most of his feelings, especially those concerning Anne.

"What's wrong?" Anne repeated. "Why are we checking in on the Millers?" Anne clarified, wondering at Gilbert's motives. For some reason she had picked up on something, something there in the wagon when he'd announced his intentions, intentions that she intuitively perceived were more than casual neighbourliness. Gilbert Blythe was worried about something and it was her sudden blinding intuitiveness about that and him that had motivated her impetuous desire to join him.

Gilbert paused a moment before replying slowly, "Their light is on."

"So?" Anne promptly blankly.

"So....," Gilbert began carefully. "So...the widow Miller is....," he paused, trying to find the most respectful way to phrase it. "The widow Miller iscareful with her finances. She wouldn't be burning lamp oil this late at night unless....," Gilbert trailed off his sentence.

Anne nodded with slow understanding. "Unless something was wrong," she finished, for some strange reason feeling a surge of pleasure at the small nod Gilbert made at her correct assessment of his words. That the widow Miller wascareful with her money was a huge understatement considering that since she'd lost her husband over a year ago the family had lived on the fringe of penury. Anne didn't know why she hadn't thought of it herself earlier on. A woman barely able to feed her children would not be burning expensive lamp oil so late at night.

"Well let's go then," Anne pronounced firmly in get-to-it authoritativeness, taking a step or two in the direction of the distant light. She stumbled in the darkness and would have pitched forward if a pair of sturdy nearby hands hadn't reached out to grasp her arms to steady her. "Oh I'm sorry Gil," Anne apologized with a hint of sheepishness in her voice at her own clumsiness. "It's a little hard to see in the dark," she explained, conceding the idea that an excursion in the dark whilst wearing a long evening gown perhaps wasn't the most easily achievable feat.

Gilbert dropped his hands away from Anne's arms and clenched them into fists at his side, his brain--or was it his heart?--having registered the familiar jolt from their touch.

"You'd better follow me," he said, almost gruffly, fighting the urge to feel the jolt again, to touch her again. Turning on his heel he headed off towards the Miller house, with Anne following behind, her path outlined by the man in front of her.

Silently the pair trekked the distance to the Miller house, as Anne followed closely behind Gilbert, clearing her skirts from the ground as she concentrated hard on her task, not wanting to hinder their progress. She put so much effort into her concentration that she didn't even engage in her usual prattle and chatter, as Marilla liked to call it. But still it was difficult. The path was uneven in places making it trecherous in the dark, with rocks and stones and growth of vegetation producing invisible obstacles. And it was growing colder now andAnne shivered in her sleeveless evening gown, a gown not suited to an intemperate nighttime trek, the warmth of the travelling blankets in the wagon but a distant and longed-for memory. Suddenly Anne let out a small cry as she took a misstep and was thrown precariously off-balance.

Again, steadying hands appeared out of nowhere, righting her, stilling her. "I'm so sorry Gilbert," Anne wailed almost tearfully. "I don't mean to slow you down." Anne felt sudden remorse for her impetuous decision. After all, Gilbert hadn't asked her to come along, she'd decided that on her own. And now she was flailing about the countryside, only hampering his efforts.

Gilbert felt a softening inside himself, in some place very near his heart, at Anne's mournful declaration. "You're not slowing me down," he told Anne softly, refuting her claims. His hands were on her arms and this time he'd made no hasty motion to remove them. Suddenly he became attuned to the tremors beneath his palms. "Here, you're cold," he said matter-of-factly, quickly turning out of his evening jacket and wrapping it around Anne's shoulders.

Anne inhaled sharply at the action. It was a comforting feeling, that was sure enough. To feel Gilbert's coat around her shoulders, still warm from his body, easing away the chill that had seeped into her skin. But it was something else too. Something else that she couldn't quite describe.

"It's too dark to move very safely. We'd better stay together," Gilbert said, reaching for Anne's hand and pulling her gently along behind him. It really was better this way, Gilbert rationalized the move. It would be easier for Anne if he guided her this way, she would be able to feel the terrain better even if she couldn't see it. Or at least that's what Gilbert told himself as he continued on the way, his hand clasped gently around Anne's.

For her part, Anne used her other hand to raise her skirts as she followed along, for some reason not minding that he'd given her his coat, that he had taken her hand. It really was better this way, she rationalized to herself. It was much easier when he guided her this way, she could almost feel the terrain now, even though she couldn't see it. If only it weren't for that one small distracting thing. That one small thing that niggled in her brain--or was it her heart? It was just a small thing really, she admonished herself. It was hardly worth bothering about. But just for a second there, just when Gilbert had taken her hand, she'd felt the most curious confounding sensation. Something she'd never felt before. She puzzled on it a moment, trying to find a word in her mind to describe it, before settling on the only one that would do.

She'd felt....a jolt.

Author's Note: the next chapter picks up from here, there is more on the 'Miller' storyline, but I thought this would bea good place to end this chapter. Please, please, please (did I say please?) leave me reviews. :)