Thank you to all who have kept faith and interest in this fledgling fic - even when it looked like I had gone to sleep on it! - and for your lovely comments so far.
Chapter Three
'And sang a kindred soul out to his face'
The familiar feeling on the edge of déjà vu settled itself upon her like a comfortable but slightly too-heavy cloak about her shoulders, the moment her wondering grey eyes took in the harbour, winking cheekily in the sunlight, and swept along to survey sand dunes and a red sandstone cliff, rising in delighted hulking magnificence to greet them.
"Are you sure I never came here to Glen St Mary, mom? Even as a baby?" she almost pleaded, seeking any explanation as solace, as their hire car momentarily stuttered at the sizable hill confronting them leading up to the town.
Her mother frowned in concentration, stopping to pause for a batch of boys, already golden baked by the sun, sauntering across the road, fishing poles brandished idly.
"Let's see…" she murmured. "The last time I came, it was probably the last big multi family gathering… the dedication of the lighthouse as a National Trust building. That was…" she paused, contemplating. "Well, your dad and I were married by then… it attracted quite a bit of press, because of the connection to Captain Jim and also the play of the Life Book, which had not long finished its run … but I was pregnant with you at the time. Does that count then, love, to you being here before?"
"I don't think so…" Anne sighed, doubtful memories could be transferred through the umbilical cord in the same way as vital nutrients. She looked about her in awe tinged with a troubled awareness. "It's sleepier than Summerside, here, that's obvious, but I think it has more character. It's really beautiful. Dad used to joke about it as if it was halfway to Hicksville. Why didn't he want to come back?"
"The dedication," her mother groaned dramatically. "His gradual … alienation from the place probably began much before that, but certainly that whole business spelled the end. It wasn't the best received idea around here. The way it was done, anyway. Various townsfolk wanted to fundraise the money for the restoration of the lighthouse, as a community effort, but your dad and your grandad especially were of the mind that they had the money and it would be churlish not to offer it. Unfortunately it was seen as the Fords big-noting themselves yet again. It became less about the lighthouse – and even about the beloved old Captain - and more about what your dad's family had done with his story. Hijacked was a term bandied about, if I remember correctly. I mean, your dad wasn't to blame for how the press covered it… well, the local press at least. The mainland papers loved it, of course."
"What did the local papers say that was so terrible? Saving a crumbling lighthouse seems like a terrific thing to do."
"It was. It's just that it wasn't so much what was said but who was saying it… which would have been one of your dad's cousins who was editor."
Anne's expression was appropriately scandalised.
"Dad's cousin?" she bleated.
Her mother gave a light little chuckle. "I can't even remember which one it was now… or how far removed… there are rather a lot of them around here. Your dad wasn't famously close to his cousins and the extended family but that did nothing to help relations, that's for sure. There came to be less and less inducement for him to return… your grandad started letting out the old summer house year round… It was a shame, really. I found all the family, particularly some, to be very nice. And everyone was always lovely to me."
Of course they were… Anne hid her wry grin. The well known, beautiful young actress from 'The Life Book' itself in their midst…
"At any rate, do be careful, love, not to get into any of your entertaining … discussions… with any of the locals," her mother continued warningly. "We wouldn't want to cause a fresh wave of offence the moment we set foot in the place again."
Anne rolled her eyes extravagantly, looking out as they made their way along the main road in a neat little circuit, before turning onto the downward slope leading back to the harbour. "Perhaps the locals might do well to not be so touchy and defensive, then?"
"Perhaps… but still, darling. Be mindful."
"I will," Anne gave a rather haughty sniff in familial solidarity. "As long as they are also mindful of me."
He had sometimes feared the weighty anchor of home would drown him these past few years; he would dream he was twisted in chains, sinking steadily into the deep, the waters darkening below as the surface sunlight faded. For a time he was content to be adrift; university in Kingsport was a shimmering pool of variety and vibrancy, and he had relished diving in – and making a splash – even as it often felt his breath was trapped in his chest and his lungs burned with the effort to continue on.
And now he was caught again in the margins; between the great, alluring unknown and the tranquil, restorative waters of home. Just at the time he had truly made peace with this place and his own place within it, now perhaps he would have to leave it again – for years. The thought of that had been nothing when away at Redmond but became a dangerous dull ache here. He had only been back a week and already the sleepy town – of 'drowsy noons… And evenings steeped in honied indolence' * – had woven its otherworldly spell. The UMAT, however, was a startling reality he could not ignore, though he had tried to rally himself to resume his preparation for it for days; indeed his 'Ambition' in contrast to the bright, beckoning summer sun was very 'pale of cheek'. **
Honestly, he was almost certain a knowledge of Keats was unnecessary for entry to medical school. He would have to get a hold of himself.
He paced the sprawling house, his steps echoing in the emptiness; it was too big for them even when his mother was alive, but it had been in the family for as long as anyone could remember. He came to a stop and contemplated the distant view down to the sea. Already the heat hung in the air; it would be a scorcher today. The beach and the harbour would be thronging with locals and visitors alike; there would be no respite from the crowds there or anywhere in the town for that matter. And yet to remain indoors on such a day would be a travesty of a different kind.
He frowned at his phone. Gillian had updated her status. Well, fine, if that's the way she wanted it. He wished he felt the hurt more deeply. 'Oh folly! What is Love? and where is it?' he chuckled darkly to himself.***
With new resolve he thundered back up the stairs, shoved books and notebooks into his backpack, and was downstairs again and out the door without a backward glance.
The restlessness beat at her like a ceaseless drum. Her mother wanted to regenerate in the cool surrounds of their hotel room overlooking the harbour, particularly after their exhaustive exploring of the town the previous day, but Anne clawed the walls like a caged animal. The ocean views here were gorgeous, too, though she couldn't see a square of sand that wasn't hugged by ever-reddening bodies, and a kaleidoscope of swimmers and boats choked the water.
She would rather not be amongst people today. Or, dare she say it, in proximity of the ocean. She saw that quiet country lane. She saw the shade of the trees. She saw her chance of escape, and perhaps of connection, though she hardly knew, still, what she dared connect to; what was the unseen thing she was reaching out to grasp?
She left a note for her mother. She took her bag and her books and her vague sense of disquiet with her.
He was uncertain how long he had remained, unmoving, half hidden by the dappled shade at the edge of the grove of maples in the wild clearing that had always been known, within the family at least, as Rainbow Valley. He only became properly aware of time passing when his left leg began to ache in protest, and his dry throat felt tight and scratchy in the heat. He usually felt uncomfortable with inaction, preferring to always be occupied, whether it be in physical or mental pursuits, but the unexpected view before him had been so startlingly surprising he had stopped up short, and there had remained, standing awkwardly, crippled by uncharacteristic indecision. There was never anyone in the valley, at this time, in this weather, in this place. His place.
Until today.
It was too late to alert her to his presence now, lest she discover his surveillance of her and, understandably, run off post haste to alert the local authorities. He hadn't meant to stare; usually he was the object of such fascination, not the purveyor of it. However, he had been mesmerised by the glint of sun escaping through the canopy of leaves and colliding with the burnished copper of her hair; the pale legs only permitted the merest hint of escape from the protection of the shade of the familiar wild oak she leaned against; the slim hands furiously scribbling notes in the margins of the heavy tome she perused; her face obscured by the shade and the angle but he guessed at the frown of concentration and the way her brows drew together, deep in thought.
After a time she huffed and heaved the textbook off her lap, throwing it on the grass next to her with a heavy thud. She stretched luxuriously, gulped down some water from the bottle beside her, and then scrambled around in her backpack, withdrawing a novel. With a small smile and a satisfied sigh, she settled down to reading. He was close enough to just make out a man and woman on the cover, embracing. A romance novel. That made him grin to himself, and then his own dark brows met with consternation. She could be hours yet. He couldn't stay here, like this, any longer.
Withdrawing as stealthily as he could, he managed to back up around ten paces, moving agonisingly slowly, aware that the slightest noise, the snap of a lone twig, may alert her to his impossible-to-explain presence. Then he took a breath, hoisted his own backpack in place, and let out a rather tuneless whistle. He crashed around noisily to his right, in a slight arc, and then moved forward, towards the sun; towards the tree; towards her.
By the time he reached her, she had hidden the incriminating paperback, rather amusingly; had opened the textbook to a random page on her knee; and was staring at him wide eyed. He had been deliberately fiddling with the strap of his backpack, but then he looked up, saw her, and did his own engineered double take.
"Oh! Sorry! I didn't know anyone was here."
He came to stand a few feet away from her, and she leapt up, brushing down her colourful gypsy-like skirt self consciously, the textbook falling away to the side, her eyes, an unusual shade of grey with lighter flecks, which could be blue or green, staring intently. Her pale face – had it ever seen the sun? – flushed at his words, making the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose stand out dramatically, and her soft pink lips formed a startled o of surprise. She made no move to speak, and he worried for a moment that she perhaps didn't understand English; was possibly a holidaymaker from some far off, sun deprived clime, or perhaps his own appearance was too startling and sudden, frightening her into silence.
"Hello?"
"Hello…"
"Oh, right. Hello. I didn't mean to startle you."
"That's fine… you didn't. That is, you didn't very much."
She offered a small smile, her eyes now in thoughtful appraisal of him. Her gaze was almost studious, as if she was trying to record his features for future reference. Perhaps for a 'Most Wanted' poster. After having caught her off guard he now felt ridiculously as if he himself was the one at a disadvantage. He wondered at his own face, flushed from the heat; the casual t shirt and cargo shorts he had thrown on that morning, a little heedlessly. He fervently hoped he didn't have any stray vegetation sticking out of his mad hair.
"You're not local? I'm sure I would have remembered seeing you before."
"No," she agreed, a little archly. "Not local."
He raised an eyebrow at her reticence.
"And yet," he said a little leadingly, "you are out here, certainly off the beaten track, and laying claim to my tree."
"Your tree?" her smile widened to wary bemusement.
"Absolutely," he smiled smugly. "I have my initials carved on it."
She looked at him incredulously, and then whipped around the back of the sturdy trunk without hesitation.
"This is you? GDB?" she called out.
The curious creature had found it, then. "Indeed it is."
She came back around to face him. "These are your initials?"
"Pretty much."
"Can you prove it?"
He spluttered a laugh at the challenge. "Well, I can't prove it absolutely now, can I? You've just told me the initials, so I could come up with any random names for you."
She frowned at that, caught out.
"But you'll undoubtedly have your wallet and license on you for verification," she remembered quickly, pleased smile forming.
He sighed at that, fiddling with the strap of his backpack again. Touche, he thought to himself, not knowing whether to be impressed or slightly annoyed.
They surveyed one another for a few moments in silent impasse. He was amused by the game but he really was dying for some water, and the three MCAT-inspired medical textbooks he was lugging weren't exactly lightweight. Additionally, she was the interloper, whether she acknowledged it or not, and he'd spent enough time being held up in his inadvertent observation of her already.
And another little pinch, like the prick of a mosquito bite; usually girls were rather keen to make his acquaintance; rather desiring of it, in fact; particularly strange girls he encountered here during the summer. He was intrigued by her insouciance, even as he was growing marginally impatient with it.
Right, then.
"Greetings, then, squatter at my tree," he moved forward slightly and held out his hand, strong and tanned and sure, "I'm David."
She hesitated only slightly, and then offered her own hand, small and slim and soft and lily white. As their skin connected and her hand was engulfed in his, there ran a little bolt through him; he looked into her eyes, startled, to find her own had widened, perhaps feeling the same.
"Hello, I'm Anne," she admitted, and her pale cheeks pinkened slightly under his gaze.
"Anne." He smiled. "Welcome to our humble shores."
He managed to share the shade of the tree with her; the heat was so oppressive now, he felt it was cooking him from the inside. He relinquished the backpack with relief, and they both took some water, standing together in awkward if eager communion.
"David doesn't start with a G, you know," she announced suddenly, head tilted to the side.
"Excuse me?"
"The initials. GDB."
"Oh," he smiled, again, a little sheepishly, shoving hands in pockets. "Well, that's because I go by my middle name."
"Why?"
He blinked at her forthrightness. "Believe me, you'd go by your middle name, too."
"Is it that bad?" she gave a little laugh.
The sound unaccountably warmed his cheeks, and he shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance.
"It's just a family name…"
"OK…" she looked at him with a wry smile. "Gary?" she questioned.
He laughed loudly, the appreciative sound making her chuckle despite herself.
"Oh, we're playing this, are we? Well, then. Nice try."
"Um… Gavin?" she pressed, undeterred.
His lips smirked and his hazel eyes danced about.
"Sorry, no. You'll never get it."
Her smile was knowing, then, and her grey eyes narrowed at the challenge.
"George."
He shook his head slowly.
She blew out a breath. "Guy? Gus? Greg?"
He shrugged his shoulders sadly, as if heartily disappointed by her ineffectual deductions, his mouth still quirked in amusement, and slowly moved past her to examine the trunk of his tree, his long fingers reverentially tracing over the old carving, the initials worn with time but still distinct. How old had he been when he had done it? Twelve? Thirteen?
He came to face her again, leaning his tall, broad shouldered frame against the trunk, reasserting his claim on it. Her eyes tracked the movement, and she crossed her arms defensively in front of her.
"Gideon!" she threw at him now, with a toss of those bright tresses. "Giovanni!" she became deliberately more outlandish in her choices, something sparking in those grey eyes. "Garrett!"
His brows drew together, considering, and he crossed his own arms. "I wouldn't have minded Garrett, actually," he mused, smiling teasingly.
She raised an imperious auburn eyebrow. "Wow. This is sure to be good, then."
He noted the change in her tone, which had been approaching warm but had plummeted in temperature in seconds. Perhaps this wasn't exactly the way to win her over.
He came carefully back to her, hands in pockets again, endearingly abashed. He looked at her very directly.
"Gerald," he delivered in deadpan fashion.
He held her grey gaze with his hazel one, daring her to react. After a surprised beat she pressed her lips together, trying not to giggle.
"Obviously my parents did it on a dare, or else they thought it would be character building," he offered wryly, and her eyes smiled at his self deprecation.
"I guess I'd go by David as well…" she teased, and then her hand swept back her hair in a little self conscious gesture, just short of coquetry. "We all have our crosses to bear," she muttered dryly, coloring.
He grinned, ducking his head towards her, and his voice was a little low in reply. "You'll find yourself amongst friends here, Anne," he remarked, just short of flirting. "Half my family has red hair."
She bit her lip, pleased, and he wondered why that should make him pleased in return. What was happening today? Was he due to awaken, having dropped from heat stroke, to find he had dreamt the whole thing?
His gaze fell on her abandoned textbook, and he leaned over to peer at the title of the doorstop facing him, though he would have rather seen the title of the one he was not meant to know about.
"Seven Centuries of Poetry," **** he intoned, nodding impressively. "A bit of light summer reading for you, then."
She rolled her eyes, quirking a chagrined smile. "Yes, indeed. I am going to be a senior this year."
"College?" he asked, surprised. She looked too young.
This caused a very flustered response. "Oh, no! Um, high school. But I'm taking some college subjects."
He nodded, his smile encouraging. "Who's your favourite, then? I'm guessing you're a romantic poets kind of girl."
She rolled her eyes. "Oh yes, of course! I'm female, so it stands to reason that I'm just swooning over Byron and Keats!"
He quirked a knowing eyebrow.
"All right!" she laughed. "Maybe Keats."
"He did have a rather tragi-romantic end," he acknowledged.
"Oh, yes he did! I know! So sad – he was so young!" she was instantly animated, smile sparking, and her sudden enthusiasm was quite charming.
David couldn't stop his self congratulatory little smile. "That thou, light winged Dryad of the trees…" ***** he flicked a glance at her, to catch her in a deep blush. "Probably my favourite line of his, actually."
Anne paused, considering.
"That I might drink, and leave the world unseen
And with thee fade away into the forest dim." ******
"Oh, sure, that's cheerful!" he guffawed, to her laughter.
A convivial moment passed. It seemed slightly surreal, this meeting of minds, out here in the valley, trading lines of poetry.
"He could have been a doctor, you know. Keats, that is," David ventured.
"Yes, I know," she surveyed him as if he had just made a very obvious remark about the heat being a little excessive. It rather shut down his reliable conversational gambit. *******
"Are you at college, Mr Don't-Call-Me-Gerald?" she asked.
He muzzled a grin at her mockery. "Just finished. Bachelor of Science at Redmond in Kingsport. Although there is a little pesky something called the UMAT…" he rolled his own eyes, and crouched down to forage in his backpack. "I give you Exhibits A… B… and C…" he heaved each medical tome onto the ground, like heavy rocks tossed in the river.
"Oh, no!" she laughed. "Why would you do that to yourself?"
"I've been asking myself the same question."
"I'd stick with the poetry if I were you. Most science nerds I've met wouldn't know their Byron from their Bunsen burners."
"I don't know if there's a compliment in there or not." His hazel eyes flashed to hers as he straightened, catching her blush again. It made her grey eyes very bright in her otherwise pale face.
There was a slightly embarrassed pause.
"Really, we should sit down before we fall down, Anne-Visitor-To-My-Island," he instructed.
"Is that your medical opinion, then?" she threw at him with a smile, settling herself against the trunk as he had originally found her, leaving him to lounge languidly on the grass, stretching his long legs before him.
He smiled knowingly, allowing the jibe. Really, what sort of fey creature had he discovered out here? She was certainly unlike most of the other local girls, with her witty rejoinders not an attempt at flirtation so much as a combative enjoyment of words and arguments. And she was hardly like the Redmond girls, either; although she shared their directness and certainly their intelligence she completely lacked their self aware knowledge of their own charms, and the flash of fire engendered by Keats spoke of a love of learning that was such a contrast to the Trojan-like trudging he had encountered in Kingsport, as people in their desperate battle to complete their degrees grew to hate the very things that they had come there to study. Perhaps it was her comparative youth; she couldn't be more than eighteen. Or perhaps it was that he had just felt so old lately.
"What brings you here then, Anne? Glen St Mary is not exactly on the tourist trail."
He thought her look grew pensive. "I think we are here to lay a ghost to rest," she answered cryptically, almost to herself.
His brows drew together. "As in the literal or the figurative kind?"
"Well, literal only if you believe in ghosts."
He chuckled. "True."
"Maybe both, then," she smiled sadly.
"So you believe in ghosts?"
She paused, sighing, darting a glance to him and then back to her hands in her lap. "I… I know that the world… that my world… isn't as straight forward as it once was… there are things to contemplate and figure out… I've felt… I've felt things that make me question everything… I guess 'there are more things in heaven and earth' ******** and all that." She trailed off, self conscious.
"Yeah, poor Horatio," he grinned. "I've met a few Horatios in my time. They are quite content in their cluelessness."
"It would be nice if we all could be!"
"But…" he looked at her thoughtfully. "You seem to be someone who wants answers. And you think some of the answers you need are here in the Glen?"
She worried her bottom lip over this.
"It's where everything originates for my family, in a way, so yes…"
"Your family?" he asked a little sharply, sitting up. "You have family here?"
"All over this place, apparently."
"I probably know some of them," he grinned. "I can give you the lowdown if you like."
She gave another laughing response. "That's very kind of you, but I have no means of identifying them, apart from a general air of inbred entitlement – "
"Ouch! That's harsh, Visitor Anne," he groaned. "What have Glen residents ever done to your family?"
Her grey eyes grew stormy, and her fair features darkened. "They drove my father away," she announced, her voice lowering.
There was a pause of several beats. "Your father? What do you mean? Who is your father?"
Her lips pursed. "It doesn't matter."
David tried not to scowl. "Hold on, Anne. That's a pretty big accusation to be tossing around when you won't give me any particulars from your end. I can't help you if I don't know what I'm dealing with."
"I don't need any help. It doesn't even concern you!"
He blew out a long, frustrated breath. Well, things had certainly taken an unexpected turn, that was for sure.
"Of course it concerns me! I'm from here. You know, one of those inbred entitled types you mentioned."
Her face flamed. "I didn't mean you…"
David drew a hand through his hair. "Well, why not me? And if not me specifically, you only have to throw a stone in a straight line and you hit one of the many members of my family. So are you going to tar them with the same brush too?"
"Well, that's just ridiculous!"
"Yes, I agree," he said shortly. "The entire argument is ridiculous."
It was possibly not the sort of discussion for the heat and the haze and the strangeness of meeting in this secluded part of the valley. Her face reddened by degrees even as her lips turned pale in suppressed anger.
"Sorry… I'm sorry about that. I didn't mean it that way."
"Yes, I think you did." Her reply was all affronted head toss and tilted chin.
"And you're not sorry about saying we're all inbred? That reeks of its own mainland prejudices, you know!"
"I didn't say that! I was only implying that your attitudes were!"
"Oh, well, thanks for clarifying. That makes me feel better."
She huffed grievously.
"I really must be going, don't-call-me-Gerald. Thanks so much for the company. Have a fabulous summer, won't you?" she dripped sarcasm as she gathered her things, rising in the one fluid motion.
"Anne…" he scrambled. "Really, you don't have to go…"
"It's hot. And I've obviously outstayed my welcome. I won't deprive you of your sacred spot any longer."
She whipped her head around to give him a final doleful glare, and that's when the slight breeze caught those red tresses, her hair fanning out in a kinetic dance he realised he had seen before.
"I know you!" he breathed.
"Pardon?"
"It's been bugging me since I first saw you. You were on the ferry with me coming over. With a tall brunette lady… you lost your hat."
Those grey eyes widened. "You were spying on me?"
Er… not on that occasion…
"Of course not! I was standing on the deck above you. It was extremely windy – it always is. The wind caught your hat. I'm… I'm sorry you lost it."
She paused for a moment, blinking rapidly.
"Well, that's the least of what I've lost," she replied, giving him a look he didn't want to try to fathom.
She turned to get her bearings, the sun high overhead.
"Wait, and I'll see you back to your hotel or B&B or wherever," he offered, shoving his great weighty texts back in his bag.
"That's really unnecessary," she frowned, though she didn't exactly make a move to contradict her protest.
"All part of the Island service," he deadpanned. "And really, I wouldn't advise you coming out here into the valley again by yourself."
"What? Because you claim not just the tree but all the land here as well?"
"No," he rolled his eyes, and his tone grew exasperated. "Because it might be dangerous. I could have been anyone you know!"
She gave a tight lipped grimace at this, as they began walking, but only muttered a very ineffectual response.
"I have survived living in and going about Toronto by myself, for your information."
"Oh, well, that explains it."
"Explains what?"
"The misplaced air of superiority," he answered blandly.
She gave a short, derisive laugh. "Yours or mine?"
They smirked at one another as they headed back through the trees, up the hill and towards the main street through town. Honestly, if they could be civil for a few minutes – and steer clear of loaded discussions concerning their families – she might have been an intriguing sort of girl to know. Except for occasionally frustrating and annoyingly obtuse. And disconcertingly pretty. He would never ever admit it – he'd never hear the end of it, of the howls of delighted derision such an admission would bring from the younger male members of his family – but he had a bit of a thing for redheads.
Back up in the town the crowds and the heat pressed against them, and it felt another world had crashed into them. They stood awkwardly.
"Thank you for walking me back," Anne managed. "I'm good from here."
"No problem. I hope you enjoy the rest of your visit." He looked about briefly, and then pointed across the road and further up the hill. "Ah, that's my dad's office there. He runs the local law practice. I'm David Blythe by the way – that was your missing initial. If you need anything while you're here, well, don't hesitate."
Her expression was one of clear surprise at his offer.
"Oh, well. Thank you. And I'm Anne Ford. That's if you ever need anything if you visit the big city and all."
He nodded, rolling his eyes again even as he flashed her a smile. She really couldn't help having the last word, could she?
"Bye, Anne."
"Bye … Gerald."
She turned gracefully and joined the throng heading back down to the harbour. He shook his head at her cheeky farewell even as he was trying to process the information she'd left with him. Simultaneously, one of his mates waylaid him, and it was several minutes before he turned back to see if he could still spot that red halo of hair, but she was long gone.
Well, then, Anne Ford from Toronto.
Anne.
Ford.
From Toronto.
His intake of breath was quick and sharp, and his mouth actually dropped open in complete astonishment.
Without even knowing it, Anne Ford had just met one of her long-lost, much maligned Glen St Mary relatives.
Anne crested the crowds on her way back down to the glimmering harbour which was now not so much choked as teeming, and dived gratefully into the quiet cool of their hotel lobby. She had certainly done the right thing in heading inland for a few hours. Well, mostly.
Their suite was empty, and she drifted up to the counter where she had left her note. Her mother had added her own message.
Hello Darling!
Headache better! I went to the restaurant downstairs and had a lovely lunch!
Just popped out to get a few things. We are going out tonight!
Text me when you return and I'll come back straight away.
Isn't this just a lovely place?
Love,
Mom x
Anne stared at the note a few moments, biting her lip. There was something about the tone of it. Her mother was a resolutely upbeat person – amazingly, considering what she had been through – but this here was a feeling that leapt off the page. Happy. The note was awash with it.
Which made her feel there had been a long, long time when she had thought she'd read that tone from her mother, and actually hadn't.
She started peeling off her clothes, bypassing the deep, luxurious claw-footed bath for the instant relief of the shower. She turned it on as hot as she could bear and let the stream of water pummel away her misgivings. She thought back over her most extraordinary afternoon.
She attended a girls' school in Toronto and wasn't quite as well versed in the ways of young men as she might have been; invariably she was either tongue tied in their presence or conversely overconfident and outspoken; it had certainly been the latter today. She knew she had clearly said some stupid things… not least that entire thing about her father… that had been idiotic and ill-advised. It wasn't the sort of impression one wanted to leave your average gorgeous Keats-quoting college graduate.
She had meandered off the main road and had found the valley quite by accident; the beauty and seclusion of it beckoned her, and she felt able to breathe again, despite the encroaching heat. Anne had woven in and out of the trees, coming to see the oak: a lone, proud sentinel, and she had wandered over to seek its generous shade, circling the trunk and finding the initials there, like a calling card from another time. Settling down to an hour of careful and conscientious study she then felt able to reward herself with the long awaited reunion of Sir Roy Gardner and the fair Lady Cordelia Fitzgerald. Of course, the heroines were always fair, in appearance and in persona, when they weren't dazzling brunette beauties. She was yet to find one whose hair matched her own. It was rather harder for a hero to rhapsodise over red.
So she abandoned herself to the delights of Sir Roy; he all dark, dashing and debonair, but with the secret tortured soul of a true hero – Darcy by way of Heathcliff. The hour was upon them; he would have to declare his love for Cordelia and propose, or lose her forever. She was likely to faint in his arms. There was certain to be a scandalous amount of kissing.
And then… Anne was so engrossed she hardly heard it; the whistle, the crashing about – had some lone rambler lost their way? – and then, to her left, he emerged from the trees, as if born of them.
Flabbergasted wasn't quite the word. She was shocked and stunned and temporarily mute. And momentarily convinced she had fallen prey to her own fever dream. Roy had been on the page, and now he was here. Tall and poised, golden and still, dark haired and hazel eyed, with an impish half smile that called to mind Puck, although he looked wildly handsome like she had always imagined Lysander.
And those crazy, entirely adorable curls, too boyish, really, for a would-be medical student; the knowing intelligence in his speech and his smile; those searching eyes, gently laughing at her; the amusing incongruity of actually being called Gerald; his hand shaking hers, as if transmitting an electrical current; the unlikely wonder of Keats under the tree.
But then also…
His subtle mockery… his shades of ego… his prideful over defence of his hometown… his quick flare of annoyance in being challenged… his too-obvious awareness of his own attractiveness…
She sighed. She wouldn't see him again. It didn't matter, how she had acted or what he had thought. Well, only a little.
She scrubbed at herself, almost as a chastisement, and then hopped out, towelling off and continuing her attentions in front of the mirror. She supposed her hair was darkening to auburn, but that was not the most convincing consolation. Her mother had refused laser surgery on her freckles. Her eyes were unusual, too, and made her sometimes look a little possessed. Which was obviously the general state of affairs she was going for lately… She might have tittered and simpered before him, out in the valley, but such games were anathema to her; hence, her friends at school would have it, and most of her Toronto cousins too, that this went a long way towards her general absence of a boyfriend. Despite, or even ironically because of, her family and their connections.
It didn't matter.
She heard the door, and her mother come in; Anne would say her mother bounced in, as if on springs, if she didn't know any better. There was a summer glow to her in her smile and about her eyes.
"Oh, darling! How long have you been back?"
"Hi, Mom. Not long. I just thought I'd take a shower first."
"Oh, yes, it's so sticky out there, isn't it?" her mother planted a kiss on her hair, and then waved her top about as if trying to catch a draft to eliminate some of the non-existent effects of the heat she had just herself come from.
"A bit of shopping there, Mom? Couldn't wait for Charlottetown?"
Her mother gave a grin. "There is a nice little dress shop not far from here. I have the prettiest sundress for you, love. I thought if we were going out…"
"Yes, I saw the going out bit. But where? You've already had a meal downstairs."
At this reminder her mother gave a disconcertingly girlish smile. "Well, about that. We have an invitation to dinner!"
"Dinner? Dinner where, Mom? Dinner with who?"
"Whom," her mother corrected absently.
"Mom?"
"I did have lunch downstairs…" she ventured, as if trading a huge confidence, "and there was this very nice man who – "
"Oh, Mom! You're kidding? There's always a very nice man buzzing about you…"
"Anne!"
"I only meant that as a compliment. All men look at you like that. You've never cared to notice it before. Till now, at least!"
"Really, sweetheart. Such an overreaction! It's nothing like that. And don't interrupt. I bumped into one of your dad's relations downstairs. We had lunch, and discovered the connection, and he invited us to his home tonight for a meal. That's all."
"Mum – you just can't go around trusting random strangers like that!" she paused, biting her lip at her own inadvertent irony. "How do you even know he was a relative?"
"About twenty family anecdotes about your dad growing up, for starters."
"You can't go to his place! You don't know him. He could be… creepy."
"I didn't say I. I said we…"
"That's even worse! I can't go to this supposed relative guy's place! He has no interest in me!"
"He actually has a great interest in you. He wanted to know all about school and what you hoped to do after. And it wouldn't be the three of us. He has a son, which means – "
"Oh, Mom! Now you are kidding me! It's my holiday! Am I expected to put up with some annoying little guy wanting me to –"
"Hardly little, actually, and hardly annoying, I should imagine. His son just graduated science over in Nova Scotia."
There was the expression the blood freezing in one's veins. Anne could describe it now, exactly. It wasn't a slow trickle snaking its' way through her circulatory system. It wasn't a soft, cold mist. It was an instant flood, sharp and biting, making her stop up short, instantly immobile. It was fortunate her body was turned away in that moment, brushing her still-damp hair before it started fluffing madly, or else her mother would have seen her turn so pale as to be in danger of collapsing at her feet on the plush pile carpet.
"Nova Scotia?" Anne squeaked.
"Yes, love. So you could talk universities with him, I'm sure. Nice to get some insider information… and you could talk law with his dad… I know you're still tinkering with that idea. Rob's the town lawyer, apparently."
Anne swallowed with great difficulty. Of course he is… And then, another thought, just as disconcerting… Rob? First names already?
Anne turned with feigned calm back to her mother was holding a new pretty top in front of her in the mirror. Her mother was all rosy glow and wide smile and looked about twenty.
Happy…
"Did he tell you his last name?" it was the final, desperate attempt to stave off this madness. There could be several lawyers in town. Every other twentysomething guy probably studies science.
"Blythe. Rob Blythe, darling. Which is definitely a name I've heard before."
It's a name I've heard before too… she thought wretchedly.
Anne's brush clattered back down onto the nearest surface. She was swathed in the towelling robe from the hotel, and drew the tie around her more tightly, cocooning herself against this ungovernable discovery. Her eyes flickered back to the mirror, and she could actually see the slow blush rise up and overtake her cheeks. Anne considered carefully.
"You really sure you need me to go, Mom? I could just stay here and watch some in-house movies…"
Her mother turned. "Not need. Want you to go. Would love for you to go. To see some relatives who have nothing to do with any editorial views in the local newspaper… then or now."
I'm sure some of them still love editorialising, though… and have decided views themselves… and searching hazel eyes…
STOP.
She marched back into the bathroom and sat on the edge of the bath, covering her face in her hands.
"Mom… I don't know if I feel the best, you know…" she called out.
Coward.
"Darling?" her mother questioned from the other room.
"I might have caught a bit too much sun today. You know – sunstroke."
Lying coward.
Her mother came back to appear at the doorway.
"Sweetheart?" her voice and face registered her innocent, instant concern. "Anne, honey, if you don't feel well enough, I certainly won't go… I won't leave you if you're not feeling up to it. It's not that important."
Anne's face was flaming now. She had very rarely played upon her mother's devoted nature, and certainly had tried her best to avoid doing so since her father had died. It would be so very easy to do so in this instance. To crush that little spark she had seen; to dim that smile; to dull those newly merry eyes. So easy… and so wrong.
She sighed.
"I think I should be fine… I might just need some water and a lie down for a while."
"Only if you're sure, sweetheart."
She paused. "I am."
She rose up and crossed to the basin, to splash some water on her face, and followed her mother out to the lounge area. She would have to lie down to make good on her word now, but perhaps that wasn't such a bad thing.
Anne saw a deep green swathe of material peeping out of one of the shopping bags her mother had deposited near the sofa.
She took a little breath. "Is, that, um, my new dress, then?"
Some stubborn, belligerent, prideful thing in him made him return to the tree for an hour after she had left, flipping through his UMAT texts absently, fighting the insects and the heat and the tang of regret that he could still taste in his throat, like a bitter pill he hadn't quite successfully swallowed. He convinced himself it didn't matter… that some girl he had seen once before and would be most unlikely to see again and whom he was only perhaps remotely related to wouldn't care one way or another whether he wished he had been a little more charming and a little less condescending.
David rose slowly, pausing to again look at his initials sliced into the tree, this time with rather an aggrieved air. He placed a long fingered hand on the wood, remembering the touch of her own hand in his. That little jolt… of what? Of nothing. It was nothing. It was a random, chance, once-only encounter.
He managed to rationalise the entire episode perfectly well, till he stalked back into the house… to hear something he hadn't heard in a very, very long time… his father whistling.
"Dad?"
"Son! Glad you're home. I was not long off ringing you…" Rob Blythe rounded the corner, head in a towel, vigorously drying his own still mostly dark hair after his shower. "David, look at the state of you! Don't tell me you were out in it today? It's a damned furnace out there!"
"I know," he huffed, making a beeline for the fridge. "Dad, what gives? Are you… are you going out?"
"Not exactly," his father smiled leadingly.
It couldn't be a date. His dad didn't go on dates. His dad lived a quiet life now of work and fishing and occasional sparring with his closest cousins and friends over a beer on a Friday night. And he didn't wear cologne at three in the afternoon.
"You need to get cleaned up, son, and then we have to get this place in order. And I need to cook something or other. We have approximately four hours."
"Dad…?"
"I stopped at the foreshore hotel before lunch; had to drop off some papers and whatnot, and nabbed a drink at the bar. And there was… this ravishing woman there, sitting all by herself…"
"And you approached her…" David couldn't help his indulgent smile. Well, then. He guessed it was time.
"Of course I didn't approach her. Don't be stupid! I was obviously terrified of her. So I sat at my table with a drink for half an hour till I was sick of Rory Clow harassing her, and then I went up eventually and we started chatting, and old Rory skulked off, and I've only just come home after lunch with her."
"Well, that's brilliant Dad… I'm happy for you. Really, I am."
"Well, thanks, son. I'm rather happy for myself," he grinned a rather Blythe grin, "but we are only talking lunch here."
David sat down heavily on the couch with a beer. Goodness knows he needed some inebriation and quickly. He toyed with the label, wondering if he should inform his father about someone he had met this afternoon. And decided against it. What purpose would it serve?
"I'll help you with the cleaning, sure, Dad, and then I'll clear out after. Catch a movie or something. Though the meal is completely your disaster to contemplate – I'm worse in the kitchen than you are."
"Oh, no, son, not so fast! You're in this too you know! I need you here tonight as well!"
"Dad, believe me, a ravishing woman you met in the hotel bar coming here for dinner… you do not need me here tonight."
His father flushed at the implication. "It's not like that at all, son. Honestly! What do you take me for?"
David surveyed his father carefully. I take you for a man who is still young and still handsome… and has been alone too long.
His father was obviously trying to read his expression, like the lawyer he was.
"David? I hope it doesn't bother you? If it does I can – "
"Dad, easy! It doesn't bother me. It would bother me more to have you without any friends or… companionship… Ma would think the same. She'd be yelling in your ear, telling you to get over yourself."
To get over her.
His father's expression was wistful. "She would, you know, wouldn't she?"
"Definitely. I even hear her in my head lecturing me about the UMAT."
They shared a sad, knowing chuckle.
"So, Dad," David was eager to take back the conversation before his father lost his nerve. "About this dinner guest of yours…"
"Actually, that would be two guests. She has a daughter she's bringing along."
He groaned loudly. "Dad, I love you and I want you to be happy. But I think for the sake of our future relationship I can't be playing Cluedo for three hours with some nine year old."
"She's hardly nine, son…" his father's eyes were contemplative, and his own slight smirk was traded back to him. "She's pretty much your age, or, well, maybe a year or so younger."
"Dad…" his protest was despairing. "I don't need to be set up either!"
"Hardly set up, David! They're family!"
He froze. Family was rather a loaded concept for him today.
"What do you mean?" his tone had dropped to a quiet rumble.
"I was going to save it as a surprise… but, well, they're family members. Tessa Ford, the actress – or she was - and her daughter… from Toronto."
David was relieved to still be sitting down at that point. His eyes opened wide and kept widening, as he fixed his gobsmacked stare on his beer bottle. Oh, blast…
"Toronto, you say?" he amazed himself with a voice that was approaching calm.
"Indeed. I know you haven't met many of the Toronto crowd. For crying out loud, I haven't seen much of them… we're talking decades. But Tessa and her daughter are travelling round the Island, and I thought the least we could do…"
"The least we could do for a ravishing relative…?" he teased.
"Oh shut up, you smart alec!" Rob Blythe laughed, a little shamefacedly.
David surveyed his father, who continued to chuckle to himself, smile wide, eyes bright and alive again. Isn't this what he had wanted? And he should have known that a spot of reluctant fishing and a little bonding time was hardly going to do it… He should have realised it might have been a woman. He couldn't deny him this for the sake of saving his own embarrassment.
"Well…" he stood, stretching carefully. "I need a shower. As in really need a shower. And then… well, I guess two able bodied, eligible bachelors can rustle up something edible."
The look he was given was more grateful than he deserved.
"That's the spirit, son!"
The big, white house with the fairy tale garret and the wide, shaded verandah welcomed them all the way back from the road. Anne's heart beat wildly, and she felt the familiar tug of memory; the heaviness pull at her, as if she was struggling against the undertow. She took short, sharp breaths. What was happening? What was going on?
She knew this place.
She couldn't possibly know this place.
"Oh, Anne, love – isn't it charming?" her mother exclaimed. "Don't you just love these old houses?"
"It isn't too old… and it isn't too young…" ********* she thought errantly, like a demented Goldilocks.
They approached the steps leading to the wide front door, and although her mother climbed up nimbly in her ever-present heels, Anne paused at the first step, and turned to note the vast lawn with its trees sloping down to the walled garden and beyond, to stare in awe at "the sunset splendour of glen, harbour and gulf". **********
She bit her lip.
This can't be happening.
"Oh, honey – look, it even has a name," her mother announced. "There's a little brass name plate here. It says…"
"…Ingleside…" Anne breathed to herself, her throat tightening with her bewildered tears.
Chapter Notes
My chapter title is again Robert Browning from 'O' Lyric Love'.
*from John Keats Ode on Indolence
** Ode on Indolence
*** Ode on Indolence
****Seven Centuries of Poetry in English John Leonard (ed.) was my beloved school Literature textbook in Australia. I am sure you can find the equivalent in Canada
*****from John Keats Ode to a Nightingale
****** Ode to a Nightingale
******* Any especially kind readers who have wandered over from my other story The Land of Heart's Desire would know that my Gilberts have a fondness-even-beyond-that-of-canon for Keats and Shakespeare, and a slight obsession with Keats' medical training.
The first scene I ever wrote for fanfiction was the one here between Anne and a hazel eyed, curly haired young man; it was originally to be a modern retelling set in Avonlea, and the initial G in question was of course for Gilbert. When I wanted a Keats-as-would-be-physician conversation for my other Anne and Gilbert (that which takes place on the train) I repurposed that conversation from this scene; what is left is a tiny glimpse of it here, and I hope you forgive the double-dipping!
******** from William Shakespeare Hamlet (Act 1 Sc 5)
********* paraphrasing from Anne of Ingleside (Ch 2)
**********Rainbow Valley (Ch 2)