Chapter 13 - Sour and Sweet

With a basket hooked over her arm, Anne walked down to Orchard Slope about a week later to the spot she normally met Gilbert at and was surprised to find herself alone. Well, she supposed she was a little early for their noontime appointment. She set the basket down underneath the tree in the sheltering shade and scanned the vista. But where could Gilbert be? He would have told her if he was working somewhere else today, as he had on the few occasions when he'd gone to work for one of the other neighbours further away, in which case they'd forgone their daily ritual. Anne's brow furrowed. Had she forgotten then? It wouldn't have surprised her. She'd been engrossed in her story-writing all morning and it wouldn't have surprised her if she'd forgotten to remember the change in routine and had merely acted out of habit. And that's just what these picnics were to her now...an easy, comfortable habit.

Deciding she had better look around a little, Anne headed off to the little utility shed at the end of the field. That was pretty much the only place Gilbert could be and if he wasn't there then she had definitely mixed up her days and would head home, she thought to herself, for some unidentifiable reason finding herself disappointed at that prospect. No sign of anyone as she approached the backside of the small haphazard structure Anne rounded the corner and stopped dead in her tracks, inhaling sharply at the sight before her. Gilbert Blythe stood before her, stripped to the waist with his legs braced apart as he leaned forward over a basin of water set upon a waist-high tree stump, splashing water vigorously over his torso and face, the loops of his suspenders hanging in low circles at the side of each thigh. The blood rushing to her face to stain her cheeks a crimson red, Anne turned her back swiftly on the scene, mortified to have interrupted such an intimate display, and took a hasty step away in preparation for an even hastier departure.

"Anne wait!" Gilbert called out, having spotted Anne's unexpected arrival. The command stopped Anne in her tracks but she kept her back to the scene, her body rigid with tension. "I'm sorry Anne. You caught me washing up. I'll only be a moment," Gilbert explained, continuing with his ministrations, reaching for the hand-towel to quickly dry himself off and then expertly swinging a clean shirt over his shoulders and buttoning the front in one smooth uninterrupted progression. He'd always been careful to bring a clean shirt with him and to wash up on the days Anne was coming, but he hadn't expected her to find him so.

"No Gilbert, it's I who should be sorry. I'm a little early today," Anne conceded her error, cursing her own stupidity. She should have known. She should have realized Gilbert washed up before their picnics. He was always neat and clean when they met. What had she thought? That he didn't sweat while he worked? How stupid of her not to realize.

"It's a nice day, isn't it?" Gilbert asked the question lightly to Anne's back, filling the awkward gap while he finished dressing.

Anne stared straight ahead and took a deep breath to steady her nerves. "Yes, a lovely day," she agreed, feeling Gilbert presence behind her as he closed the distance between them. Even with her back to him she could hear and sense his motions and right now he was tucking his shirttails in, she realized, swallowing at the knowledge.

"There, all presentable," Gilbert announced matter-of-factly, drawing the final suspender up over his shoulder and taking a step up next to Anne. Anne cast a quick sideways glance at his shirt, not really needing to verify his words but finding herself doing so just the same, before she turned her attention back towards the other side of the field.

"The basket is up under the maple tree," she said, gesturing the direction.

"Well, let's go then, shall we?" Gilbert said smoothly, taking a step forward.

Carefully averting her gaze, and looking everywhere but at the man beside her, Anne matched Gilbert's steps and together they strode the short distance to the waiting lunch in silence. Anne was still flustered and she didn't quite know why that should be. True, she had never seen Gilbert without his shirt on before, actually, she'd never seen any man without his shirt on before, the proprieties of the day dictating a certain decorum between the sexes be observed at all times. The only people she'd seen partially clothed were children, the ones she'd helped to take care of years ago, and more recently little Lizzy and Henry Miller. But Gilbert Blythe in his half-dressed state little resembled any of those children. Did all men have muscles like that, she wondered, the recent picture of arms and chest and shoulders imprinted vividly in her mind. How very different he was from her, she marvelled, both in size and proportion. Even his arms were different. Each arm bore a few sinewy cords that stood out as they travelled a path from below his elbows to his angular squarish-shaped hands, the overall picture gave off an impression of size and strength, and one very unlike her own body. Unconsciously Anne crossed her hands flat over her stomach, and ran one hand up undernearth her sleeve to feel the contrastingly smooth expanse of her own arm. She had a brief thought, wondering what Gilbert's arms felt like, before she stopped her thoughts altogether and dropped her hands to her sides, blushing at the direction of her ruminations.

As they came up to the maple tree and the picnic basket, Gilbert reached for the nearby blanket and shook it out upon the ground. Complicitly Anne took her usual spot, still averting her eyes, while Gilbert reclined against the base of the tree, his legs stretched out before him. "What did you bring today?" he asked lightly, in a tone of polite pleasantry, as he tried to steer the visit back to its more normal footing. He knew Anne had been embarrassed to come upon him washing up like that. Heck, he was a little embarrassed himself. But he knew it was worse for her. Ever since her recent revelations, Gilbert had begun to think of Anne as younger than her chronological years. Younger, and as someone who perhaps needed to be kept protected and sheltered, with a reassurance of their platonic standing. After all, it was his recent decision to wait several years before he broached anything different on that score because he wanted to give her time, time to outgrow her youthful perceptions. Appearing before her in a half-clothed state was not a situation meant to augment his decision or his plan.

Happy to have some task upon which to direct her focus, Anne began to pull items out of the picnic basket. "Well, I made some lemonade," she said, hoisting out a large canning jar filled with the aforementioned liquid and setting it next to the basket. "And there's some fresh peach cobbler," Anne looked up to gauge Gilbert's reception to that piece of information, but instead she inhaled sharply and looked back down at the basket contents, her face once again flushed and flustered, as she began to wildly pull items out. Gilbert raised a brow of surprise at the strange turn but Anne didn't see it. It's just that she hadn't expected him to look like that. Didn't he know? Didn't he know his hair was still wet and causing random damp tendrils to curl around his face? Or that the hollow of his throat glistened with moisture? Anne sighed. Well, it was her fault that he'd been forced to prematurely cease his ministrations so she could hardly blame him for his appearance. But it was disconcerting just the same.

"There you go Gil," Anne said quietly when all the food had been unpacked.

"Will you join me, Anne?" Gilbert asked, inviting her to share the lunch with him as he always did.

Anne shook her head this time, declining the offering. She was too....too discombobulated....to eat right then anyway. She wrapped her arms around her knees drawn up before her and stared out onto the field, her body turned slightly away from Gilbert's.

Gilbert eyed Anne's silent form for a moment, then reached for the jar of lemonade, twisting off the lid before tilting his head back to down a gulp. His eyes widened in surprise, but he forced the mouthful down before setting the jar beside him and reaching for a sandwich.

A few moments passed in silence before Anne decided she'd had enough of her own silliness. Just because she'd seen Gilbert without his shirt on, was no reason to act like a silly schoolgirl. She searched for and found a topic of conversation to broach.

"So Gilbert, your family must be very proud of you," she said, turning her head a little to look at him. At Gilbert's questioning look, she elaborated, "Going to medical school and all."

Gilbert shrugged lightly and took another bite of his sandwich. His hair and neck were dry now, Anne noted, and the mundane task of eating a sandwich made the whole picture much more normal-looking. Suddenly, the uneasiness of the past moments vanished and it felt like just another one of their picnics. Turning more fully towards him, Anne persisted, "It's a very noble profession. Becoming a doctor."

Gilbert swallowed his bite, and stared at Anne, reading something behind her words. "Not you too, Anne," he sighed with apparent disappointment.

Anne's eyes widened in surprise. "Me too what?" she asked.

"Not you too with the noble doctor routine," Gilbert clarified. "You have no idea how hard it is when everyone keeps telling you what a noble thing you're doing. People don't understand."

"Understand what, Gil?" Anne asked, wondering at his statement. It was strange, really, she'd always thought being misunderstood was her domain, and it surprised her that someone like Gilbert felt the weight of other people's assumptions.

"I'm not becoming a doctor because it's a noble thing to do," Gilbert stated, meeting Anne's eyes with a revelation or two of his own. "As much as I enjoy working outside and farming in the summertime I know I could never do it for my whole life. Not like Fred, or Charlie, or Moody could. I need to do something more, Anne," Gilbert explained. "Farming isn't enough for me, so you see, becoming a doctor is really a very selfish thing, not noble by any means."

Anne mulled on Gilbert's words for a moment, wondering that she had never questioned him before about his ambitions. Gilbert Blythe was a smart man, she'd known that for a long time, ever since their schooldays. That he wouldn't be satisfied with a life as a farmer didn't surprise her. "But you could have decided on something else, Gil. Something besides farming. Why a doctor?" she asked.

"Well...," Gilbert trailed off, something of a sheepish expression coming over his face. "I like to help," he finally confessed. "It...makes me feel good. Doctoring seemed like a natural fit."

"You like to help?" Anne repeated. Well, she knew that Gilbert often did help others, but this was the first inkling she had that he liked it, that he got some fulfillment out of it. "And that's not...noble?" Anne teased with a smile, deliberately baiting him.

Gilbert grinned back. "No, it's not. Now let me finish my sandwich," he ordered in mock severity, implying there would be no more questions about either his surplus or deficiency of nobility.

Anne smiled secretly to herself, but sparred Gilbert any more questions. For some reason it pleased her that he had shared this information with her, to know that she was not the only one who sometimes felt misunderstood by others. And, whatever his claims to the opposite, wanting to become a doctor and help others, even if it was for personal fulfillment, was a noble undertaking.

"You know Gilbert....," Anne tilted her head upwards as she pretended a fierce contemplation. "I've never understood why doctors call it 'setting up a practice'. Practice. There's no meaning in a word like that. I shouldn't like a doctor who was only 'practicing' on me! I'd want one who actually knew what he was doing!" Anne met Gilbert's eyes, her own wide in mock horror.

Gilbert Blythe's shoulders shook a second or two before the laughter boiled over and erupted from his gut. "And...and just what would you call it then?" he managed to sputter out between the hearty guffaws of his mirth.

"I dunno," Anne waved a hand in the air, her eyes dreamily contemplating the possibilties. "How about 'Dr. Blythe's Healing Emporium'? It would certainly inspire much more confidence in a patient than 'Dr. Blythe's Practice'," Anne asserted with authority. Gilbert smiled over Anne's obvious distaste for the uninspired 'practice' and he began to laugh as he imagined the reaction if he one day hung 'Dr. Blythe's Healing Emporium' on the shingle outside his office. "And 'patient'....what kind of a word is that?" Anne continued on, apparently not the least deterred by Gilbert's laughter. "There's no meaning in a word like that....,"

Gilbert clutched his stomach and laughed, knowing where this was headed. "Don't you dare!" he called over in playful authority to Anne, interrupting her newest attempt to rename the solid, serviceable appellations of his chosen profession, while Anne only laughed at his attempt. It had been fun to rile Gilbert this way, Anne thought, he was such an easy target! Reaching for her hands, Gilbert pulled Anne to her feet, both of them laughing as they faced each other, Gilbert still holding Anne's two hands in his. Slowly the laughter died on their lips, and they stared silently at each other for a second or two before Gilbert released Anne's hands and took a step back away from her.

"I should go," Anne said, staring down at the remnants of their picnic.

"I'll...I'll walk you past the barn, Anne," Gilbert offered, while Anne nodded and bent to begin to pack up the dishes. Spotting Gilbert's half-empty jar of lemonade, she lifted it and offered it to him. "Did you want to finish this?" she asked.

Gilbert nodded and took the offering, stealing himself a little before he downed the contents in one long draw and handed the empty jar back to Anne. Soon the pair were walking side-by-side towards the Barry barn, which at this time was busy with the activity of a few other of the hired hands Mr. Barry had taken on for the summer. Stopping near the barn, Gilbert turned to hand Anne the picnic basket, just as Charlie Sloane came out of the barn's interior, loading a cart of vegetables onto a nearby wagon.

Spotting the pair, Charlie couldn't resist a comment. "Well, well, if it isn't Gilbert Blythe and the little wifey," he mocked the pair, partly out of meanness, partly out of envy. After all, none of the other workers had anyone bringing them a lunch on a daily basis and especially not anyone as pretty as Anne Shirley and Gilbert Blythe's unfathomable luck was beginning to be a sore spot with Charlie Sloane if not the others.

Anne inhaled sharply at the mocking words, stunned and mortified at the same time. To be teased in such a way! She'd always hated whenever anyone had even assumed Gilbert was her beau and this was worse, much, much worse. Two splotches of outraged colour came to her cheeks. Quickly Gilbert turned and stepped in front of Anne, facing her as he blocked her view of Charlie and the handful of other men, who were now watching the scene with interest.

"Will you come by tomorrow, Anne?" Gilbert asked, his voice low between them. Anne looked up to meet his eyes, her cheeks stained with the pink of her moritifcation but her eyes defiant. If Charlie Sloane thought he was going to upset her by his teasing her he had another thought coming!

"Of course I will, Gilbert," Anne replied, her head high and her chin jutting out defiantly.

Gilbert smiled, proud of Anne. "Well, good. I'll see you then," he said, watching as Anne turned and retreated, ignoring Charlie just as she would anyone attempting to torment her. Anne left as swiftly as she could. It was hard to remain dignified and defiant for very long, when what you most wished for was that the ground would swallow you up instead.

Gilbert watched Anne until she rounded a bend and disappeared out of sight. Turning, he took five long deliberate strides over to where Charlie Sloane, a smirk of satisfaction on his face, stood next to the wagon. With one easy motion, Gilbert grabbed Charlie by the front of his shirt and pushed him roughly back against the wall of the barn and held him there, Gilbert's fist clenched tight in the folds of Charlie's shirt.

"Don't you ever do that again." Gilbert's words were low, deceptively low and his face had taken on a dark menacing look as he ruthlessly stared Charlie down.

Suddenly wide-eyed and cognizant of his huge mistake, Charlie sputtered in alarm, his voice filled with placating remorse, "I...I was only teasing Gil!"

Just as quickly as he'd grabbed him the first time, Gilbert released his hold and Charlie slumped against the wall in pitiful comeuppance. Gilbert turned and strode off, back to the fields and the job he was hired to do. The remaining men exchanged wide-eyed glances. They didn't say anything to one another but the scene they'd witnessed had effected the same reaction on them as it had on Charlie Sloane. No man there wanted to be on the receiving end of Gilbert Blythe's displeasure. There was only one clear course of action and none of them would dare to breech it again.

There would be no more teasing of Anne Shirley.

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The screen door banged behind Anne as she entered the back door of Green Gables. She lifted the picnic basket onto the table and began to empty its contents.

"Anne is that you?" a voice called. Anne smiled.

"Yes Marilla!"

Marilla strode into the kitchen, her posture one of unmitigated outrage. "Anne Shirley, what have you done?" she demanded.

"Marilla?" Anne looked up from her task to ask in surprise, wondering what her latest offense could possibly be.

"Rachel Lynde just about died when she took a swig of your lemonade! Why didn't you tell me you hadn't sweetened it yet?" Marilla asked.

Hadn't sweetened it yet! Anne's eyes grew round in recollection. She'd forgotten to put sugar in the lemonade? Now that she thought on it, she did remember squeezing the lemons but as for adding the sugar....oh, she knew she'd been too distracted today!

"Oh Marilla, I'm sorry!" Anne was instantly contrite. "I guess I forget," she acknowledged the error.

"Well, don't let it happen again," Marilla instantly softened at Anne's apology. That girl was one for forgetting things and absentmindedness, but Marilla didn't really mind Anne's quirks and foibles. "We'd better not serve Rachel Lynde any more unsweetened lemonade. She's quite sour enough, don't you think?" she asked with a devilish smile, as Anne broke out into laughter at Marilla's sudden wickedness.

"Yes, you're probably right, Marilla," Anne conceded with equal wickedness.

Suddenly Anne's attention was captured by the empty canning jar she had taken from the basket and placed on the table. Gilbert's lemonade. The same lemonade as Marilla had served to Rachel Lynde.

"I'd better get back to my sewing," Marilla said, and turned to go.

"But...but...," Anne sputtered to Marilla's retreating back as she pointed to the empty jar, trying to understand. Why hadn't Gilbert mentioned the sour lemonade? Why had he drunk a full jar of what amounted to unsweetened lemon juice without raising a single complaint? Anne stared at the jar with a stunned expression, as if merely willing it would cause the jar to divulge the mysterious secret.

"But what?" Marilla had turned back to ask.

Anne met Marilla's eyes and blinked blankly, slowly taking in what might be the only possible explanation. Was it possible? Was it possible Gilbert hadn't wanted to hurt her feelings by mentioning her failed lemonade?

"Well?" prompted Marilla at Anne's still perplexed expression. "What is it?"

Thinking over the past summer and all she had learned about Gilbert in that time, Anne knew with sudden clarity that she had her answer. Looking up she met Marilla's eyes, her own eyes glowing with an unexpected softness, her words the complete opposite of her feelings.

"It's nothing, Marilla."