Chapter 6 - A Bedtime Story
Anne stood in the children's bedroom, casting her eye about the room as she held the oil lamp high, its flame spilling shadowy flickers across the barren walls. It was a small bedroom, spartan of furnishings, with a single bed in the middle, a washstand to the side, and a chest of drawers upon which sat a few wooden soldiers and a stuffed handmade doll. "Ah, your nightshirts," she said aloud as she completed her survey, having spotted the two bedtime garments drapped across the small chair in the corner. She set the oil lamp atop the chest of drawers and went to fetch the shirts, tossing the smaller nighshirt to Gilbert who stood uncertainly just inside the bedroom door.
"That one's Henry's," she informed him, a bit of an implied order behind her words. Anne turned away and led Lizzy to one side of the bed. "Hop up Lizzy," she instructed. The little girl immediately complied, bouncing as she sat on the edge of the bed. With expert fingers, Anne began to unlace the child's shoes, removing them along with her stockings. Vaguely she was aware of Gilbert mimicking her movements with an opposite child on the opposite side of the bed. She reached for the buttons on the play apron that covered Lizzy's dress.
"What about the castles? The castles from long, long ago," Lizzy prompted from beneath Anne's busy hands, remembering the storytelling bargain.
"Not yet. I'll tell you all about it as soon as you're ready for bed," Anne replied, focussed on her task. When Lizzy slumped dejectedly in disappointment, Anne's eyes began to twinkle mischievously. "Besides, we're trying to beat them, you know," she informed Lizzy casually.
"Huh?" Lizzy looked up inquisitively, not understanding.
Anne juttered her chin towards the opposite side of the bed, gesturing to the man and boy across the way. "Them. We're trying to beat them," Anne explained, expertly shedding the apron and moving quickly on to the buttons on the child's dress. "We can't let them be first," Anne said.
"Be first what?" this was from Gilbert, clumsily fighting with a stubborn button on Henry's shirt.
"The first one ready for bed," Anne explained the here-to-fore unknown competition to everyone.
Lizzy's eyes widened in understanding and pleasure of the game now afoot. "Hurry up Miss Shirley!" she exclaimed in delight, overcome by the thrill of the competition as she raised her arms enthusiastically above her head, enabling Anne to tug her dress off with ease and to begin working on the shift underneath.
"Hey, this is the first I've heard of this!" Gilbert objected in mock outrage, doubling the speed of his own child-assisting efforts. Anne merely looked up for a second to flash him a challenging impish grin. Gilbert almost laughed out loud. Was everything always a competition with her? he smiled, remembering their school days rivalries. Only he had to admit that their current day rivalries were more fun than had been any of the scholastic variety.
Even without advance notice, it was a fair competition. Yes Anne had more experience readying children for bed and her expert fingers fairly flew about the task, but then again Gilbert had less work to do since Henry was a boy, not a girl, and his clothes hadn't the number of buttons requiring attention that Lizzy's did. In the end it came down to a strategic error. Both nightshirts went over each child's head at almost the exact same second but Gilbert had forgotten to unbutton the opening of Henry's nightshirt and the garment sat atop his head and didn't budge. With Lizzy's shirt successfully over her head Anne tweaked the final button closed and hustled the girl under the covers and into bed.
"There!" Anne announced triumphantly, as Lizzy giggled in pleasure. Anne turned to regard the scene across the bed with amusement. "Can I help you there Mr. Blythe?" she asked teasingly.
"No thank you, Miss Shirley," Gilbert replied in mock formality, clumsily trying to rescue a child hidden beneath the folds of unco-operative clothing. "Henry and I are doing just fine," he stated in an air of prideful independence, finally finding and releasing the hindering button. The nightshirt floated downwards and Henry emerged from his temporary prison. Gilbert met the child's eyes and smiled. "We're just fine, aren't we Henry?" he asked conspiratorially.
Henry regarded Gilbert with fascination, with more fascination and interest in the person than he'd had in the previous game or of their winning or losing. Henry had no father in his life and having a man in the house, helping him at bedtime, was to the little boy something new and strange and kind of nice. Henry nodded and adopted something of Gilbert's tone as he repeated, "We're jus' 'ine." Gilbert smiled in approval, a bit of male comradie now cemented between the two. Gilbert helped Henry thread his arms through the shirt's sleeves and then coaxed him under the covers next to his sister. His task completed--and it was a first for him, assisting a child with his bedtime routine--he looked over at Anne.
"I believe this is where you take over," he taunted lightly with a smile, a reminder that while he was all done his work, she had more to do. She was the one who'd promised a story, had used it to entice the children to get ready for bedtime.
Undaunted by the task before her, Anne returned Gilbert's look with a smile of her own. She wasn't intimidated, this was the part she loved best. Stories and storytelling. Anne nudged Lizzy over and sat herself down on the bed next to the two children who snuggled together in anticipation. Anne tilted her head upwards a moment or two in thoughtfulness, while Gilbert pulled the small chair from the corner up close to the bed opposite Anne and sat down. He watched Anne's face with interest, almost seeing the workings inside her head as she rifled through her mind retrieving fragments of imaginings she would use in her story, the light from the lamp glowing softly over her face and form. It was but a moment later when she returned from her reflections and leaned sideways over the children's lower halves, arching one arm over them onto the mattress to prop herself, enveloping them in a protective arc. She looked down on the two attentive faces and began to speak.
"Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, in an enchanted castle high above the forest floor....." the story began innocuously enough, with Anne's voice sure and steady in the telling, as if she were merely recounting a remembered event, and not a fabricated one delivered from the depths of her imagination. Soon the story was filled with the the promised moats, and dragons and princesses. There was even an heroic Lady Lizabeth and a valiant Prince Henry. Mesmerized, the wide-eyed children listened, not moving a muscle, except to blink and except for Henry who had tentatively moved his thumb to his mouth to suck on it. Anne smiled at that, but didn't pause in the storytelling. She only softened her voice and slowed her speech, deliberately wooing the children towards slumber.
Gilbert Blythe leaned forward to rest his forearms on his knees as he watched the scene before him with something like awe on his face. Anne's soft measured words were the only sound in the room and the scene was intimate, too intimate. The low lamplight highlighted Anne's face and the children's faces, illuminating them out of shadowy surroundings. Anne's gaze was locked on the children, as theirs were on her, mirroring between them an almost tangible connection. Gilbert felt an odd tugging in his heart, almost a wishfulness or perhaps a wistfulness. Surely anyone peering into the room just now would think the scene an odd picture. The elegantly dressed woman in an evening gown sitting on a bed in a drab and barren room, entertaining two small children. But Gilbert had the sudden thought that he'd never seen Anne more beautiful than right at this moment. He'd seen her at the White Sands ball tonight, had seen the admiring looks the other men had cast her way, acknowledging her loveliness, but this was a different beauty. Now there was an added softness, an added warmth and womanliness. Her voice was filled with gentleness and tenderness for the two small youngsters for whom she wove a magical tale of castles and dragons and princesses. She would be that way, Gilbert realized. She would be that way with her own children, the thought came to him, the sudden revelation tearing at his heart. Her children. But not his. He swallowed hard at that reality and dropped his head. It was almost too much to bear.
"There," Anne breathed the single word quietly. "There," she repeated, and Gilbert looked up. The room was quiet and Anne was brushing the hair across Henry's forehead out of his eyes. The child was fast asleep and so was his sister. Gilbert hadn't realized the story had ended, or so he now supposed. Anne's "there" had been spoken from a silence, he now realized, so the story must have ended. Or maybe she had just stopped because the children were asleep. He didn't know. He had become so lost here in this little room, with his thoughts and his wishes, so lost in her that he hadn't realized when she'd stopped talking and the silence had taken over.
"They're alseep now," Anne whispered, gently tugging the thumb from Henry's mouth before turning her head to look Gilbert's way. Their eyes met and Gilbert inhaled sharply. It was one thing to watch her with the children, to watch her gentleness and caring, but to read it in her eyes was another thing. He held her gaze, something smoldering darkly in the depths of his own. Anne blushed and dropped her gaze, feeling suddenly confused and uncertain.
"I guess...I guess we should go now," she said, peering up underneath her lashes to catch Gilbert's nod. She turned back to the children and smoothed the blankets over them, then delivered a feather-light kiss to each forehead before rising. Gilbert also rose, watching Anne as she made her way around to him, picking up discarded clothing from their earlier fastest-to-bed contest as she went. Anne stopped at the now vacated chair and draped the clothes carefully across the back. Gilbert took a step back, politely deferring the exit path towards the door to Anne. After a final little look at the sleeping children, Anne turned and headed out the door. Gilbert, too, indulged in a final glance at the children before he turned and followed on Anne's heels, closing the door quietly behind him.
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