a/n: I am starting too many stories! But they just keep coming and well, it's summer so I have some time! Enjoy and review. I sort of know where this one is going so…. Yeah
Disclaimer: Don't own.
The Unsent Letters.
Chapter I: No More
He promised himself, as he walked stiltedly out of the grove with his hands fisted tightly at his sides and his mouth in a tight white line, that there would be no letters. He promised himself, as his vision blurred with tears and the blossomed trees that lined Lovers Lane became indistinctive, that he would not write to her; he couldn't stand it. He promised himself, as he mindlesslystaggered past the gate to his own home and tripped clumsily when he turned around too fast; he had been heading to her home, that he would get over her. After all, he was Gilbert Blythe and she was only the love of his life. He would survive.
He took a seat on the porch of his parents' house and rubbed his face with his hands, he promised himself he would not cry anymore. He looked out at his front yard, at the two Elm trees that grew next to each other. He had always fancied they looked like lovers. His chin rested in his hands and he flicked his gaze to the gate that he had forgotten to close.
'Gilbert?' His mother. He acknowledged her with a respectful, if absent, nod of his head. By now he wasn't staring at anything but rather, his darkened eyes were unfocused and looking at something far away.
'Gilbert, what is it?' Mrs. John Blythe was a perceptive woman and in tune with her son's moods, she had, after all, raised him. She took a seat next to him on the porch and waited till his eyes, she flinched at the look in them, turned to her. 'What is it?' She asked again.
'Mother,' Gilbert smiled, an odd twist of his lips, and then frowned when he saw her pale. 'Despite it being summer, the nights are still very cool.' He looked back at the gate. 'I wonder if fall will come early.'
What is wrong with you? Such a polite remark and so unlike him. She had no notion of what had caused this change in her son. He had left the house after dinner full of merriment and rosy cheeks. He smiled and given her a smacking kiss on herface and then winked on his way out the door. She had looked out the window to watch himstroll down the lane; oh, he had gotten so big! And he had been whistling to himself with his hands comfortably in his pockets. Yes, Mrs. John Blythe was a perceptive woman and she knew that her son had been happy when he had left after dinner for a walk in the twilight. She also knew that now he was devastated.
'I'm going to leave a day early.' Gilbert continued andran a hand through his hair, wincing as his fingers caught in knots made by the wind.
'Oh? Have you talked to your father about this?' Now he winced at the accusation and worry that laced her voice. He turned to her and this time managed a passable smile.
'No Ma, but I have to go early to set up boarding for the summer.' And I absolutely can not stay here. I could not stand it; Avonlea is simply not the same anymore.
(Letter I, August 18)
Dearest Anne,
Things have been running smoothly at the Daily News office, though I must admit that I would much, much rather be in Avonlea right now. Avonlea, with its beautiful May flowers out in full bloom and lovely walking spots, and you. Of course we must have our wedding in spring so I can see you walk down the isle surrounded by flowers. My darling, how I miss you so! The news office is very tedious: I am in charge of half the pre-editing process of some of the stories sent in by various people. Oh Anne, it is frustrating job; it would be different if half the people who sent in stories could write half as well as you I would be content. As it is, they cannot and so my job could be defined as a means of torture on some days. Being cooped inside all summer is not particularly enjoyable but this is for a good cause. I would not be able to stand continuing within the news business, people here are to shrewd, almost everyone has an angle. So I guess it is a good thing I plan on being a simple doctor! I think of your face often my darling. I wish you loved me.
All my love and more,
Gil
After closing the letter, Gilbert Blythe put his pen down and leaned back staring at it pursing his lips into a thin, white line. Contemplating for a moment, he picked up the letter and crumpled it. He tossed the ball into the trash receptacle that sat to his right. He stared out the window that was directly in front of the writing desk. He watched a plum tree that sat outside the window as its branches moved in the wind. He roughly ran his hands through his hair, and reached forcefully into the bin to retrieve the letter. Smoothing it out, he sighed. Eventually, after being reread and winced at, the letter found its way into the bottom drawer of an almost forgotten desk. Pushed into the far left corner it sat; Gilbert swore it would be the first and the last one he would ever write to her.
Well, one must give him some credit for he was partially right,
It was the first.