Dear Friends

My last update before this one was after a delay of two and a half years, so the fact this update has 'only' taken 13 months is surely an improvement?! Of course, I jest. Apologies all round and if you are still reading, or prepared to pick this up for the first time, my sincere thanks. For readers of 'Down the Rabbit-Hole', you will know from a recent update that life has interfered somewhat with writing this year. I am so delighted this story is still finding new and ever-patient readers!

With love

MrsVonTrapp x

Chapter Thirteen

'The face of all the world is changed, I think'

If Anne had conjured visions of Ariel a few days ago, she now felt as Belle in Beauty and the Beast… entering this library for her was just as remarkable and revelatory.

David watched her progress with loving bemusement tinged with an uncertain emotion, possibly the pinprick of envy, or even awe, to see unfolding before him the idea of Anne embracing her birthright. As a Blythe was to medicine – or as he hoped one day to be – so too were Fords to the written word.

And the Merediths didn't disappoint on this score, either; if the remainder of the mansion was feminine and slightly fanciful, this had most definitely been the enclave of Judge Jerry; calm, considered, masculine but meaningful, from the generous ceiling-high shelves that embraced three walls to the comfortable leather club chairs and low table nestled in one corner. Everywhere there was an understated opulence, though the richness of the furnishings paled in comparison to the treasures on the shelves.

"Wow," Anne finally offered.

"Yep," David nodded understandingly.

He clutched her hand, pulling her across to an area a great deal more colorful than the leather-bound tomes lining so many of the other shelves.

"I think…" he quirked a cheeky smile, "that you are probably familiar with some of these titles…"

Anne gave him a furrow-browed look, before flicking a glance over some rather salacious offerings, seeing a veritable bounty of bodice-rippers and gasping at a title and cover she knew all too well…

Lady Cordelia and Lord Roy.

She had been so involved in their relationship at the start of the summer, engrossed in their fictional story, little knowing that she would meet the long-ago author, let alone have stumbled upon her own life changing romance. Shyly she took out a volume, the twin still sitting in her suitcase back at the hotel, flicking through it with a studied nonchalance.

"Sure beats Seven Centuries of Poetry," David remarked leadingly.

She gave a soft snort. "Yeah, it sure does…. Hang on! How did you know I had…?"

The grin was wrapped around his face, until his smile turned sheepish.

"Sorry, Anne. I guess… confession time. I might have seen you read it after going through the poetry text, the day we met. Under the oak tree."

Her confused look evidently deserved further explanation.

"Argh…" he ruffed his curls, caught out now. "I might have come across you a little earlier than I indicated. I was so surprised to see anyone there that… I stopped up short. I didn't want to disturb you, but I was trapped. I saw you put away the poetry book and take up a paperback, with a pretty recognisable sort of cover…"

"Oh my God!" she blushed furiously, mortified.

"I wasn't being a stalker or anything… I just… the sight of you was a little… mesmeric. I didn't know if I had dreamed you up or not… I'm still not sure, half the time."

His beautiful sentiment trumped any privacy infringement, clearly, especially now.

"Well… you emerged as if you were of and from the trees… I thought I was the one who was dreaming…" she murmured.

"We're… OK, then?"

She made him wait for a delicious beat. He had rescued her from drowning, after all.

"We're OK."

Anne turned back to her novel, flicking through until something caught her eye.

"Hey – there's a mistake in this!"

"What mistake?"

"Well… the character, the hero, is named Sir Roy Gardner, not what it says in this copy – Sir Roy Garrison."

David chuckled. "Well, that's probably because Aunt Dellie had to change it."

"Why? It had such a nice ring to it!"

David made a face. "If you say so. Likely because he was a real person, and she might have been sued. She was always taking inspiration from life and the family – sometimes too closely." He took the novel to flip through himself. "Grandpa James told me about the series she wrote in the fifties or sixties about flying aces – with lots of thinly veiled references to some particular pilots in the family – I think you can guess who." *

"Great Grandad Gil?" her eyes lit.

"Yes, and Shirley. One was pretty pleased – and the other was very not!"

"I can imagine…" she quirked a knowing smile. "I wonder if Roy Gardner was real… and where your Aunt Dellie knew him from…" Anne murmured in conjecture.

"Well, I'd hold onto your copy, Anne. It'll be a collector's item now…" he replaced the salacious tome on the shelf, taking her hand and leading her across the room. "I don't know about Gardners, and I've been learning about Fords…" he gifted her a grin, "but Aunt Dellie is keeper of the flame – and the photos – of all manner of Blythes and Merediths…"

In a special cabinet below photos of the Meredith girls growing up – all flashing-eyed, delicate dark beauties – there was housed a collection of ornate leather-bound photo albums; the precious ones, with black pages and corners in which to secure the photographs, as well as a more modern collection in old spiral bound albums with their sticky pages and clear film.

"Oh, wow…" Anne breathed. "Some of these look really old…"

"I am figuring this is where I lose you, Anne Ford," he shook his curls in chagrin.

"Would it be rude to Aunt Dellie if I spent a few moments with these?"

"Of course not. She'd be delighted. But I might need to wander back… I don't want them to wonder what we are getting up to in here. I have my reputation to consider, you know."

She kissed him, joyously and impulsively, on the lips. "Thank you!"

He seemed more than pleased with their parting, grinning as he left the quiet hush of the library, whilst Anne pulled up a club chair and settled in gleefully.

David might have later wished he'd stayed with Anne in the safety of the library, bunkered away, for there was a decidedly different air to the gathering he had left not fifteen minutes before in a much more congenial state.

"How can I not know this?" a stricken Rob Blythe asked the room, his eyes pleading with his father James and Aunt Dellie.

David's own eyes were wide as he sidled up to Max.

"What gives?"

Max Meredith gave a blue-eyed eye roll. "I think we are seeing your dad's family tree go up in flames."

"What?"

"And I thought the Meredith side was a bit choice – you know, teen weddings and whatnot," Max whispered back to his cousin, careful not to be overheard by the very couple he was referring to, his own grandparents Tim and Cheryl, currently not knowing which way to look. "It seems, bud, that your – what? – Great Grandpa wasn't actually your Great Grandpa…"

"What?" David continued uncomprehendingly, swinging his eyes back to his father, seated next to an awkward-looking Tessa.

"Robbie, darling," Aunt Dellie worried a bejewelled hand in his direction. "It was a different time… it was a way of honouring our Sam who loved his brother and became so devoted to Zoe and James here. Losing Wally was a terrible tragedy that rocked us all. It almost destroyed Uncle Jem and Auntie Faith…" **

"Wally Blythe was my Great Grandpa?" David muttered in astonishment, beginning to catch up. "How?"

"You need a birds and the bees refresher, Dave?" Max's father Michael Meredith chortled, shut down quickly by his own father's stern look.

"Wally had a brief shore leave…" Aunt Dellie began to explain, stuttering to a stop lest she encourage the smirks a few in the family were sporting.

"Biologically, yes, he was, David," James Blythe, whose paternity was currently under the microscope, called gently from across the room, "although Sam was my pa, in every way that mattered, and Rob's grandpa, and was a fabulous great grandpa to you in the few years he had with you." James turned to his son Rob, "and you know that, too," he urged, smiling encouragingly.

"Of course I know that, Dad!" Rob frowned. "But you knew? All this time, and didn't tell me?"

"He didn't know till he was old enough to understand, Robbie," Dellie interjected with some alacrity. "It was hard for Zoe at first. She was rejected by her family, at least initially. All the Blythes and Merediths rallied round her, of course, but James' christening was certainly a fraught – if joyous – event. Zoe was still quite solitary till Sam returned, and he was shattered himself by the war, and they helped heal one another. They grew quietly together as a family – in the same house you've lived and loved in yourself."

Rob was quiet, and David looked across to him in sympathy, understanding the disappointment of believing one thing and realising it was another, even if that secret had been kindly meant. As his Grandpa James explained, his paternity hadn't started as a subterfuge, but becoming the son of Sam Blythe when he and his mother Zoe did marry went some way towards safeguarding the young boy against any prejudicial townsfolk or circumstances, until, in time, the townsfolk forgot… or didn't bother remembering… and then it became a loyalty and a kindness towards Sam Blythe, who had acted so lovingly and honourably; the quiet, steadfast gentleman who had won the hearts of them all.

And there had, after all, been more than one family in the Glen forever altered at the end of that second great war.

"It doesn't change things, son," James Blythe now encouraged the man who had hung onto history the past two years, partly as a way to cope with the pain of the present. He crossed over to Rob and gave him, perhaps, a Wally Blythe-strength pat on the back, as Linda Blythe looked on in sympathy.

"Doesn't change anything except those whopping great spreadsheets," Michael was heard to remark, with characteristic bemusement, and David gave an internal groan.

Anne had experienced her own family revelation in the library, smiling through several photo albums of Merediths and the occasional Blythes, including a loving and extended homage to Nan and Jerry Meredith's wedding, before coming across another single wedding photograph that almost made her topple her comfortable club chair.

She and David.

Or… far more accurately, Anne… and Gilbert.

She dropped the album heavily on the low table as if scalded by its touch, initially recoiling from the image confronting her in every way. Everyone, she was sure, had an historical doppelganger somewhere… few though could maintain that their long-ago twin had been their own direct ancestor. But here the image was startling and irrefutable; Anne Shirley and Gilbert Blythe, lovingly recorded on their wedding day in September, 1890. This was no feverish midnight flash in an airless attic in Avonlea, though the age of this Gilbert – as then, with at least a half dozen or more years on David – was absolutely comparable. But Anne… this Anne… was an image through a crystal ball, to herself as an adult, poised and serene, with dancing eyes and a delighted smile wanting to tug at the corners of her mouth. Through the constraints of their formal pose, beautiful all the same in its stilled severity, she could feel the happiness radiating from them both. Their love warmed her even as the reality of the image chilled her… because she knew, in her marrow, that she had been there.

She could continue hyperventilating later… she needed to show David now. But first, she snapped a few images on her phone, and then needed to stow a few photographic doorstops back in their cabinet, brushing the edge of the dark shelf as she did so and fingertips coming up against a forgotten carved box.

She withdrew it, flushing as she looked around the empty room guiltily, feeling she was perpetrating an illicit act, already wary of the last time she had explored a shelf at an Islander's abode on her own. It was a beautiful dark wood and ornately carved, with a little brass nameplate proclaiming ownership of one A Meredith. Well, that had to be Nan, christened as yet another Anne, wife to Jerry and mother of those three girls smiling at her from the top of the cabinet, with the middle daughter and current hostess holding court in the next room.

Anne's fingers traced the grooves of swirls and flourishes, feeling sure a peek inside couldn't hurt. What she discovered would be a Pandora's Box in every respect; a collection of bundled letters, musty and faded, and as she carefully, reverently, ran the pads of her fingers across them in excited wonder, she felt an initial jolt course through her; an electricity that came from both outside and from within…

What was that? And what were these?

Anne was breathing quickly and raggedly, frightened but feverish, feeling as she never had when she had picked up Rilla's diary, but gasping now as she unfurled one missive with shaking hands, the thin paper pulsing in her grasp as if it was alive.

She scanned as quickly as her disbelieving eyes would allow.

Windy Poplars

Spooks Lane

May 30th

Dearest-And-Then-More-Dear

It's spring!

Perhaps you, up to your eyes in a welter of exams in Kingsport, don't know it. But I am aware of it from the crown of my head to the tip of my toes. Summerside is aware of it….

Everything is calling 'spring' to me… the little laughing brooks, the blue hazes on the Storm King, the maples in the grove when I go to read your letters…

Just another month and I'll be home for vacation! I keep thinking of the old orchard of Green Gables with its trees now in full snow… the old bridge over the Lake of Shining Waters… the murmur of the sea in your ears… a summer afternoon in Lover's Lane… and YOU! ***

Oh my God. Anne felt the room spin. She had seen that orchard at Green Gables, in its modern guise as guest house… she had clung for dear life to that bridge, having taken her own beleaguered craft out onto that lake… she had dreamt of old fashioned boots crunching the path of that very lane, making the journey as reality with David beside her… She had been there, in the here and now and back then… It was real. All of it was real, and to her, irrefutable. The evidence of her own hand. These were love letters. Anne's love letters to Gilbert… her own free, looping script starring back at her, and a fair few of his in return as well, in a firm, upright style… all of them, as she raced to read snippets of as many as she could, infused with love and laughter and longing.

They had been separated; Anne in Summerside and Gilbert in Kingsport. For years by the looks of things. But engaged, and very much together in spirit, though she would have rather read more of her feelings for her fiancé than these ceaselessly chatty epistles detailing everyone Anne Shirley had ever encountered, centring on a rather eccentric character called Rebecca Drew and another young girl named Elizabeth. ****

And she had been right… the feeling she couldn't shake when they had first arrived in Summerside… the lines from her letters coming to her as if carried on the breeze… she had been writing to him, then! It was both revelation and relief to know it for sure. But there were so many things she still didn't know… Anne swept a glance over the letters spilling out across the table and still jumbled together in the box. She had to read them all, savour them, learn from them – and she couldn't! There wasn't opportunity, with them heading back to the Glen tomorrow, and there certainly wasn't time.

Almost manic, she began snapping again with her phone, so quickly she feared she would blur the images, the pads of her fingers burning with the power of her connection to the letters – and to them. To show David these would be too much, too soon, and she couldn't take them with her, much as her soul cried out to be reunited with her own words, and the loving memories they stirred. But she had to record as many as she could before he returned, and she was breathless with fear lest she be discovered too soon.

Shoving the last letter as carefully as possible into its home, she closed the lid with a silent sob, bereft already and dizzy with her discovery. She started restacking the remaining photo albums as well, back in the cabinet, completing this process when the door opened, heralding David's return.

She looked at him, willing him to sense something was different with her, but he was buzzing with a weird energy of his own.

"Anne! You won't believe what kicked off out there while you were taking a trip down memory lane!"

"Really?" she squeaked.

"Yes, but it will be best if I fill you in later. But just a heads-up; Dad has had a bit of a time of it. He might be a little out of sorts this evening."

"Is everything all right?"

"Of course," he grinned. "But I think we'll need to be gentle," he answered quizzically, reaching to fold his arms around her. "Meanwhile… how did you go in here? Any new discoveries?"

The smile nearly collapsed on her face, but she forced it back into position. The letters were one thing, but the photo might have to wait, too.

"Nothing earth shattering," she answered, lying with admirable aplomb.

"Well, come away now, Belle, or I'll never get you out of here!" David grasped her hand, and she reluctantly followed, looking back to the closed cabinet almost apologetically as they took their leave.

They all made a subdued party that evening, having a quiet dinner together with James and Linda Blythe, whilst the various Merediths had taken themselves off to other friends in Charlottetown. Max later tried unsuccessfully to coax David and Anne out for a night on the town, with David begging off, his exhaustion over the recent MCAT finally catching up with him, and Anne happy to instead catch up with a few dozen photos now on her phone.

Rob wished his parents a goodnight and farewelled a characteristically sweet and understanding Tessa, finding himself back in his room, morose and at a loose end, David already in deep repose and no wonder. He tried to shake his disquiet over the revelation of Wally Blythe but was always a dog with a bone over the details, frowning to himself that a lifetime's belief – and decades in research – could be overturned in an afternoon.

His phone buzzed, but it wasn't Tessa.

"Mike?"

"Rob! I'm in the bar of your hotel. Get your sorry ass down here!"

"It's late, Mike!" Rob hissed, looking to ensure David hadn't awoken. "Can't we just catch up back in the Glen tomorrow?"

"Like I've been trying to catch up with you all summer?"

"Look, Mike – I'm sorry. I know I've been busy."

"There's busy and then there's obsessed. C'mon, Robster, I've needed a friend lately, and you've got a lot of time to make up for! I'll see you in five!"

Michael Meredith rang off, impatient as ever, and Rob sighed deeply. It was true that his time with Tessa and Anne had left little remaining for his best friend, third cousin and brother-in-law. Mel's renegade brother had been inadvertently put on the backburner this summer. If he'd had the time and the presence of mind – when it wasn't exploding over Wally Blythe – he might have better attempted to check in with him, for Mike had been unusually reticent of late and that wasn't like him at all. And where was the love of Michael's life in all this? He had almost expected Mike's wife Suzie to have made the trip up to Charlottetown as well, but when Rob had enquired of his sister-in-law he had almost been fobbed off.

Rob straightened himself up, left a note for his son and took the lift down to the lobby. Behind Reception was a very nice Art Deco-inspired bar, housing the unmistakable figure of Michael Meredith lounging on a stool and leaning into a beer.

"If you call him, he will come," Michael quipped as Rob took the seat beside him.

"And here I was ready for a quiet night."

"You mean a quiet night obsessing loudly over Grandpa Wally."

Rob rolled his eyes. "Give me a schedule for how long you are going to annoyingly reference this, will you? To save time."

Michael indicated a beer for Rob to the barman, turning with a grin to consider this thoughtfully.

"I don't think there's a statute of limitations on this one, Robster."

"Oh, doing fine with the lawyer talk there, Meredith."

"Learned from the best," Mike smiled into his beer.

Rob chuckled low, pausing for his own drink, running long fingers thoughtfully along the brim.

"So, Mike, what's up?"

"What do you mean what's up? Does there have to be a reason for me to wrestle Tessa Ford for some time with you?"

"You leave the idea of wrestling and Tessa out of the same sentence, thank you very much."

Michael smirked.

"Really though, Mike. What's going on? Where is Suzie, for goodness' sake? I can't remember the last time I saw her."

There came over Michael a sudden and very unnatural stillness.

"Suzie is… probably seeing a divorce lawyer, about now."

"What?"

Michael concentrated on his drink for long moments.

"Mike, what's happened?"

"Well, a lot, apparently."

"You're telling me! Mike, you're getting divorced? You are going to have to back up here. Why didn't you tell me? Have you tried couples counselling? What about the kids? When did this all start?"

"Hey, stop badgering the witness, counsellor!"

"Jeez, Mike, I'm sorry, but this is… a shock."

"You're not kidding."

"So you've been having… problems?" Rob's brows drew together in concern.

Michael Meredith had never been one for introspection, but here he paused and sighed deeply.

"The problem, Rob, has been with me… and I think it always has been."

Rob frowned into his beer. "That's a bit too cryptic for me at this hour."

Michael sighed again, passing a suddenly tired hand over his face.

"Did… you have an affair?" Rob probed carefully.

"Look, Rob, I love Suzie…"

"That's not an answer, Mike."

"Of course I didn't have an affair! I mean, maybe in my mind, a few times, but not in reality. I wouldn't do that to her. Or the kids."

"Have you met someone else? Or has she?"

Mike cleared his throat. "In a manner of speaking."

"Jesus, Mike, quit the double-talk for once and just spell it out! You met another woman?"

"No, Robster. I met… a man."

Hazel eyes grew round and rounder still, the only part of Rob's person that had moved.

Mike gave a twisted smile, indicating another round.

"You still breathing there, Rob?"

"Ah… barely."

"I guess… I might need to explain a few things."

"The floor is yours," Rob tried for encouraging and could only managed a rather strangled yelp.

"Right, then. Well, ah… probably back in high school – "

"High School?!"

"Are you actually gonna sit and listen to this explanation?"

"Of course. Sorry, Mike. Go ahead."

"Right, so there's high school, and I know I was your average chauvinistic teen pain in the arse. I know I played the field a bit. I guess I was just perhaps… you know… overcompensating."

"Overcompensating," Rob echoed.

"Yeah. You know, trying to be something I wasn't. Or… trying to hide from myself."

Rob nodded slowly. "Okay."

"I probably didn't like myself as much as I thought I did. Or that I made out that I did. And then… I started to have feelings for… this guy."

"Right," Rob nodded more firmly.

"So…" Mike emitted a long, low whistle. "It was never gonna work out with him. He wasn't even gay. I mean, I didn't properly know if I was gay. I mean I liked girls well enough, too, and so – "

"Bisexual?" Rob offered with an eagerness that wanted desperately to be supportive.

"Yeah. I guess I was. I mean, am." Mike seemed to contemplate the quiet truth of it, so long unspoken. "So, then I met Suze, and she was terrific, and honestly, I didn't look at another girl – or guy – in forever. I was happy. We were happy. Until, well, we weren't."

"What changed?" Rob queried quietly.

The bartender offered their second beers and Mike took a noisy gulp.

"I met someone. I was attracted, for the first time in a long time. It really shook me. I was in Montreal, a big insurance networking thing, and I met another broker, and we just got to talking, and boom! It had an effect on me I hadn't felt in decades, Rob. No slight to Suzie. It just felt different. I felt different. And nothing happened, I swear to you. It could have, easily, but it didn't. He was in a relationship and I was married and we weren't some horny jerks who only cared about themselves. But I came back, and I had a big, awkward and painful talk with Suzie. I laid it all on the line, and she was amazing."

"Where the hell was I in all of this?" Rob was incredulous. "Why didn't I have any idea that something was up?"

Mike winced in remembered pain. "You had a bit on your plate… you were starting with Mel on her chemotherapy."

"Oh, Jesus…" now it was Rob's turn to rub his face in despair at those memories.

"Suzie and I decided to keep any issues we were having on the downlow," Mike continued gently. "For the kids' sake, of course, and Mum and Dad's, but also for yours and Mel's. No one was needing to know about my midlife crisis at that point. And after a time, the feeling faded, and Suzie and I tried again. But some kind of spark had gone out. We couldn't restart it. And that came from her as much as it came from me. So we decided to quietly separate. Just informally. Both still in the house but separate areas. There was plenty of space for it – we virtually had different wings. The kids were in and out, they hardly noticed. We were still parenting, both of us still involved. We've been waiting for Maddie to finish up school, and then we thought we'd give the kids this last summer. Suze has been pretty much doing her own thing, though. Just to get the kids used to not seeing us together, but honestly, I don't think they are going to be surprised, and they have their own lives now anyway."

Rob took time to slowly digest this, as he might a steak that needed to be chewed over carefully.

"You've known about this for years, Mike, and didn't tell me," he grimaced.

"Jesus, Rob, you were hardly in a state to hear it! You were pretty down these past two years. Understandably, you know, we all miss her. I was all set to tell you – in fact it would have been nice to spend more time with you lately – but then you met Tessa, and so goodbye summer, and adios to the amigos having their big bro talk."

Rob sighed, acknowledging the point.

"And so what will you do at the end of the summer?"

"We'll file for divorce. It's the fairest thing. Suze needs an opportunity to live her own life now, as much as anyone. I'll convince Dad I should wind up the business – the old dude is retired now, so the end of Meredith Insurance should be my call anyway. And it isn't what it used to be. Everything's centralised and online; a storefront is pretty redundant. I might try joining a bigger firm, here in Charlottetown or maybe over on the mainland. We'll split the proceeds of the business between Dad and myself, Suze gets a decent chunk of my half, and we'll decide about the house later."

"Sounds like you've got it all figured out."

Mike rolled his eyes. "Should do. We've planned it for long enough."

Rob frowned morosely, staring at his large hands clasping his beer a little too tightly.

"You're going to have to let me feel sad about this for a time, you know."

"Oh, well, thanks for vote of confidence!"

"No, Mike! Not about that! You know I support you one hundred per cent!" Rob offered desperately, hating to think he had ruined such an important conversation. "Just the end of an era, you know? First Mel…" he gulped, "and now you and Suzie. There was a time when we four did everything together. God, I miss that, sometimes."

When there was no reply, he turned to see Michael's full-bodied teasing grin, dark eyes flashing merriment.

"Gotcha, Robster. Pleased to know I still can," his broad smile faltered, and his tone gentled uncharacteristically. "And sure I knew you'd be supportive. There was never a question. Same… with Mel."

"Mel knew?" Rob turned incredulous eyes upon him.

"You know how she was. She could sniff something fishy from ten paces. I wasn't about to lie to my cancer-stricken sister, you idiot."

Rob huffed an aggrieved breath, unable to argue.

"Everyone will be OK, Rob," arresting black eyes held a glint of something intangible. "Even, I'm pleased to discover, you."

They were quiet for long moments.

"I'm really touched you trusted me with this, all the same, Mike," Rob offered earnestly. "I can't imagine the whole process has been as easy-breezy as you describe it."

"At times it hasn't," he shrugged. "But it's a different world, now. There's a lot of support out there, once you start actually looking for it. I've come up here to Charlottetown a bit. There's a group I go to. Suzie found it, and we both attended for a while. It was easier than it would have been locally. Wouldn't have wanted to go through it when the old uncles did, though."

"You're right there," Rob nodded. "I always thought…"

Michael looked at him curiously. "What did you think?"

"Well, that you were always a bit, ah, threatened by them. Or, well, maybe more uncomfortable. I thought it was because you didn't approve of them."

Mike shrugged. "I don't know. I think it was all way too confronting for me, back then. They held up a mirror to me and I sure as hell didn't want to look into it. Old Carl was good value, but damn Shirley didn't half freak me out, and on his flipping death bed, too."

"What?"

"You remember when we went up to see him, you, Mel and me? To the Lowbridge house. God, it was ages ago - we were all still in school. He wasn't doing too good at all. And we each had a moment with him, privately, kinda to say our goodbyes, I guess. And he said to me, the bastard, that he saw me, that it was no good trying to hide from myself. That if I did, I'd regret it." *****

"Jesus, Mike!"

"Yeah, well, I ran as far and as fast as I could, then. Straight into the arms of as many girls as I could find."

"As I recall, you found a few…" Rob grinned, striving to lighten the moment.

"Didn't I just?" Michael gave a pleased guffaw.

"So…" Rob thought back over the conversation. "What happened to Montreal Guy?"

Michael shrugged broad shoulders. "Damned if I know."

"You don't know what happened to the guy who awakened all these feelings?"

"You mean reawakened. The feelings were always there. They were just stirred up again."

Rob's brows drew together. "That's right," he nodded, finally switching on his lawyer brain. "You mentioned a guy about the time we were in high school. That means he's got to have been local. Is he still here?"

Mike's gaze slid away, and he drew on his beer. "Yep."

"Wow. Did you ever, ah, tell him?"

The muscle in Mike's cheek twitched. "Nup."

"I guess… that's not the easiest conversation, even now. Especially if he's straight."

"Not really."

"As long as… please don't tell me… it was Tony Tennyson Drew," Rob joked, remembering Mel's painful dalliance with him as a teen before they went up to Redmond.

Mike gave a wolfish smile. "Even I have my standards."

Rob chuckled to himself. "Glad to hear it."

They drank in companionable silence, born of the closest bond crossing ties of both friendship and family, and stretching back before both of them were born. Rob again worried the rim of his beer, thoughtful and reflective, uncertain if he should pursue the subject, wondering what purpose it would serve, but unable to quite let it go.

"You know you want to ask," Michael offered gruffly after a time, having watched Rob turn things over in his mind. "So, ask."

"Mike…" Rob ventured, a slow, creeping flush finding him. "You are not in any way compelled to answer, and of course it wouldn't change things one way or the other, and – "

"For the love of God, Rob!" Mike hissed, exasperated. "You can be really painful, sometimes! Of course the mystery guy from high school was you, you jackass! Who else would it have been?"

Rob could have claimed that the secret suspicion of years had crystalised for him, but the honest truth was that he had never suspected, and didn't know what he would have done if he had. He stilled in surprise, lost for words, a circumstance not lost on Michael.

"I feared all this was too much for you. On top of Grandpa Wally and all," he smirked.

"Mike," Rob gulped, twisting his signet ring, the one both Mel and Mike had gifted him decades ago. "I'm… sorry."

His companion rolled his eyes extravagantly. "There is nothing to be sorry about, you great Blythe turnip. So I had a bit of a crush, maybe, when we were kids, skinny swot that you were. It was a road to nowhere and I got over it. I didn't pine for you for the last thirty years, you know. And you did marry my sister, so there's that. At least we kept it all in the family."

Rob spluttered a laugh. "When have we not?"

That earned him a soft snort. "Yep, pay that, Robster."

They each silently contemplated their drinks, sharing a knowing smile that might have been Blythe or Meredith, originally, but was now impossible to tell.

Chapter Notes

The chapter title is from Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Sonnets from the Portuguese, 7.

*With apologies and thanks to elizasky for me hijacking Dellie's writing output.

**Reminding readers I take my inspiration and main details here from elizasky's The Happiness We Must Win, particularly in her affecting creation of Jem and Faith's sons Sam and Wally Blythe and the establishment of James' parentage (see also notes on the previous chapter of this story).

***Anne of Windy Poplars Chapter 12

****My own sentiments, absolutely!

*****From a chapter still to come, though Rob has alluded to this visit himself after Anne's discovery of Shirley's letter in the copy of Leaves of Grass at Ingleside.

Regarding the coming out conversation between Michael and Rob: I hope this reads fairly authentically, or at least within the confines of this story. I am, as ever, hoping my respect for anyone who has dealt with similar issues is evident in the treatment of this scene. I have a fondness for Mike Meredith and have enjoyed writing several flashbacks (or Interludes) in which he takes part, and all his interactions with Rob I have plotted, from the beginning, through the prism of him privately questioning his sexual orientation, seen through his actions and interactions. This was not an easy thing to contemplate in the 1980's, with the fear of AIDS and the ever-present possibility of resulting anti-gay sentiment. Whether this has been something readers have picked up on or has been too subliminal, I would be interested to hear. It was certainly fascinating to explore the effect Carl and Shirley's relationship had on subsequent generations, from Michael, Mel and Rob to David and Anne themselves.

And some extremely overdue correspondence…

A huge thank you to everyone who has reviewed this story in the last year or sent me a lovely PM message about it.

Back in July 2021 when this was last updated, I posed a question about whether or not to incorporate any reference to Covid in this narrative, considering it begins in the northern summer of 2017 (and I was writing it then in real time) and was going to cover the space of the next five or six years, which would land the second half of the story squarely in our current time period. I appreciate all who addressed this question at the time, and the general feeling (and my own inkling) was to leave the pandemic untouched. So indeed I will, drawing on the privilege of a fictional story, with my heart going out to all the many readers out there who, over the past two and a half years, have instead, regrettably, had the pandemic touch them.

Guest #1 July 3rd 2021 (appearing before Denie): Thank you sincerely for your review of the previous chapter, and for your careful consideration of the question referred to above. Yes, I heard you very much at the time when you referred to Covid as being a sensitive issue, and of course it still is. It is strange and sad to think how much the pandemic has continued to evolve and challenge us.

Guest #2 July 3rd 2021 (appearing before DrinkThemIn): Thank you for your support here! Yes, as previously discussed, Covid constitutes narrative waters I will not wade into. I really appreciate your feedback.

DrinkThemIn: Darlingest, thank you for the words of love and encouragement! I chortled to myself as I worked towards this little collision of universes that the photo shoot at the Blythe gate symbolised. Note to self to make narrative use of those photos at a later date!

Lollypop: Thank you for your lovely words and encouragement! I am so glad you were enjoying this when I last updated, and sincerely hope you will be pleased to pick it up again. Apologies for such a long wait!

Severedwasp: Aww, thank you for that amazing encouragement! I will do my utmost to comply with your wishes! In the meantime, yes, the past two years and this half year besides have been a waking nightmare, and I hope an end to this collective misery will eventually arrive. Take care out there, too.

Bright Promise: Thank you for your long ago new year tidings! I am delighted you were pleased I kick started this story again (and hope it will likewise again splutter back to life!)

Guest of January 26th (Ch 3): Thank you for your lovely reaction. I am very glad you made the leap with this story! I deliberated long and hard about what I should name my main male protagonist. It felt a bit of a cheat to name him Gil or Gilbert, and I wouldn't perhaps have enough distance between him and his ancestor. Of course Anne is still Anne, but she is not interacting with her past self as much; it is more how she relates to others. And I did like the double bluff of another G Blythe! Of course, names have an added importance in this story, so when and how a character uses them is something I try to be thoughtful about. Thanks for your observation!

Guest of January 29th (Ch 10): Oh it is always wonderful to find another Somewhere in Time enthusiast! Thank you for sharing your own love for that gorgeous film, and what fantastic atmosphere and romance the music would have brought to your wedding! The soundtrack is stunning, not only the Rhapsody which is so lush and beautiful, but the rest of the soundtrack , which is just sad and wistful and haunting, and apparently was John Barry's favourite of his scores, and no wonder. Everyone is tremendous of course, including Christopher Plummer making the most, as usual, of a rather thankless role. Excess within control! And the sheer beauty of and real-life chemistry between Christopher Reeve and Jane Seymour bygosh! It was a real homage for me to include references from the film, and even better when they are so understood and enjoyed x

Guest of January 30th: Your lovely words touched me tremendously and I thank you so much for them! Already the wait in even replying to them is much, much too long. And a new update being compared to Christmas morning is just next-level praise that had me grinning shamelessly! Unfortunately my updates must seem as rare as, indeed, a sighting of Santa. A situation I am definitely attempting to address! Thank you for following this and my other stories – I am so absolutely delighted to have your enthusiastic readership!

Guest of May 16th: Your comment made me grin dear Guest! I certainly don't want to earn the ire of the fanfiction gods and so will dedicate myself to the humble endeavour of completing this story. I have spent the last two weeks writing and plotting this story going forward (and reminding myself of certain story threads lest the entire thing unravel!) Thank you for your lovely words of encouragement!

Whitewave: Thank you for your lovely comment and encouragement after so long without an update! I feel perhaps it was the final nudge to help propel me forward!

With special acknowledgement of some lovely pm's received from Therese, untertasse and Liron x