I don't own Anne of Green Gables or Anne with an E
[Author's Note: I am so happy with the response I've had on this story so far. I'm gonna try and update regularly, but I work full time, so I won't be able to commit to a strict schedule.. This is pretty much my AU of season 3, so I think this story with go through all the events of the show, but with a lot more Gilbert/Anne because I am a hopeless romantic and I live me some Shirbert. :) ]
Beautiful. Beautiful. Gilbert Blythe had told her she was beautiful. Anne wanted to dismiss the thought. Part of her scoffed at the very notion. Anne? Beautiful? No, she knew better.
But she also knew Gilbert. At least, she felt she knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't be intentionally dishonest, or needlessly cruel. Why, oh why did boys have to be so confusing? No. She couldn't think on this now.
The carriage ride to the water had been unnaturally short. Anne feared for the poor horses. Surely they must've been mistreated in order to make the journey so quickly. She had a thought to give the driver a piece of her mind, but realized when they left the carriage that the horses were fine. She guessed it was just nerves.
Anne walked meekly behind her two friends as she pondered this, following them onto the ferry before sitting on a nearby bench. Was she really so nervous about returning to St. Alban's Orphanage? But this was different now. It wasn't fear and disgrace that led her, but courage and self-discovery. The icy fingers of apprehension she felt tickling along her spine belied her attempt to convince herself otherwise. She was glad now more than ever that she would have her friends with her. Cole and...and Gilbert. Surely, they were friends now? She felt bad for inadvertently betraying the edict of the other girls, but agreed with Gilbert. The whole concept of 'dibs' had baffled her even back then, but she'd felt it necessary to go along with it. He was right though, that he had the right to choose his own friends. If he wanted to be her friend...OR MORE. (Her traitorous thoughts would not be silenced.) After all, he'd been looking at her an awful lot lately. He'd called her beautiful. And when he talked about COURTING, earlier. She tried to smother the hope that had taken root in her heart. Of course he was only speaking hypothetically. He was a kind-hearted boy. They were friends and nothing more. All this ruminating was not distracting her from the heavy weight of dread low in her belly. She'd always hoped that she'd left the orphanage behind for good. That she'd left all her past behind for good. She had a home now, she was wanted. Loved, even.
Anne was surprised by the certainty she felt in that statement. But she was! Anne Shirley-Cuthbert was loved. She wouldn't call Gilbert a liar, so it must be true.
The fear she was battling, lessened somewhat at this realization. It must've called for retreat, she surmised.
As her thoughts quieted, Anne realized that someone was speaking her name aloud and had been for some time. The voice was quiet, but she could hear the underlying tone of worry.
"Anne. Anne. Please say something, Anne. Tell me what you're thinking. Anne!"
It was Gilbert. He was sitting on the bench beside her. She lifted her head to make eye contact with him. Immediately, she felt wrapped in his concern as though it were a warm embrace.
"I'm alright, Gilbert" She answered him. Realizing as she spoke that it was the truth. "I'm apprehensive about going back. I don't have happy memories of my time there, but I think I'm okay. I'm glad you're with me. And Cole. I mean, I'm glad you're both here." She blushed at her imagined neglect of her kindred friend, but realized upon observation that he wasn't heeding the conversation. Cole was standing further away, looking out over the railing at the water.
She was effectively alone with Gilbert. The thought made her suddenly very nervous, and she would've stood up and joined Cole by the railing, but Gilbert spoke.
"Anne, do you think someday you might tell me about your life before Avonlea? About growing up in the orphanage, the homes you had before Green Gables? I would love to know more about you. On-only if you want to tell me, though. I don't want you to feel like you have to tell me."
"There's not much to tell, Gilbert. The orphanage was better than others, but worse than some, I imagine. It was...bleak. Colorless. Logically, I know there must have been some color, but I can't remember any. It's just...loneliness and cruelty. I didn't have any friends or...well, anyone really. I was too...different. I'm sorry, this probably isn't the description you imagined, but everything was the same you see. Day after day. It was monotonous seeing the same faces, the same walls. We weren't often allowed outside, so there wasn't much scope for the imagination."
"Was it better in the other homes?"
"No, it was much worse. They weren't homes, Gilbert. They were just places. At the orphanage, I got to go to school. I slept in a real bed. And the chores were mostly evenly distributed. Being in service when you're an orphan, well. It's like being less than human. All my life I've been told that I had to earn my keep, that I was a nothing but a worthless burden. The people I was sent to, they didn't want a daughter. They wanted a slave."
Gilbert was horrified by what he was hearing. He'd suspected she'd been mistreated, especially after seeing the kinship between the girl beside him and Bash, his brother in all but blood. They understood each other on a level he never would, and Gilbert wondered if this was part of it. He always hoped that the rumors were exaggerated, but now? Gilbert couldn't imagine enduring the kind of treatment he suspected Bash and now Anne had endured. He was overcome by empathy for her. She was so brave. So very, very brave. If he hadn't already known he loved her, he would've realized it in this moment.
"Anne." Speaking her name aloud, Gilbert realized he'd been silent for too long. But what to say? He knew what he wanted to say, but he also knew that that language was inappropriate for a friend. He knew that there would be time to explore that possibility, but not today. Today Anne needed Gilbert, her friend, and he would not be selfish. No matter how much he might wish to declare himself.
"Anne, you inspire me." That hadn't been what he wanted to say. Well, truthfully he hadn't yet figured out what he WANTED to say. He'd been thinking that and it just slipped out.
"What?" She whispered, the word escaping on a sigh.
"You inspire me. To be a better man, I mean. All the unkindness you've experienced, and yet I can't imagine someone with a kinder heart than you. You are so brave."
Anne was silent for a, moment, and then, "Melkita'ulamun."
"What?"
"Oh. It's a name. Well, my name I guess. My friend Ka'kwet gave it to me. She's from the Mi'kmaq village near our 've met her; you ordered a hockey stick from her father." At Gilbert's nod of acknowledgement, Anne continued. "It means 'a strong and brave heart.' Ka'kwet told me 'when your eyes seek and your heart is open, that is true brave. '"
"Your friend is very wise, Anne. Would you teach me how to say your Mi'kmaq name? I'd love to learn."
Excited by the prospect, Anne quickly set to her task. She spent the rest of the ferry ride teaching Gilbert everything she had learnt so far from her new friend.
When they disembarked from the ferry, Anne felt the dread that had so recently lifted, settle low in her belly once more. Be brave, she told herself. You are not alone this time.
She was startled by a sudden warmth enveloping her right hand. Gilbert. She squeezed the hand now holding hers and he squeezed back. Neither looked at the other, but she could feel him adjusting his hold until their fingers were entwined. Perhaps it was inappropriate, but Anne grasped the lifeline for what it was.
It would be a short walk to the orphanage. Anne knew the way. Using her free hand to brush some imagined dust from her skirt, she stepped forward. Her two companions following alongside. She felt secure with them beside her. Guarded. She was reminded of Jane Eyre, summoned back to the deathbed of Mrs. Reed. Anne resolved that she, too, would meet animosity with grace. But she would not return to the orphanage as the terrified child who had left. She was an adult now. A woman. Maybe not quite in age, but she looked the part and would act it. She would get answers. She would.
Anne soon recognized the familiarity of the passing scenery. They were close. With another few dozen paces, the gates were upon her.
"This is where you came from, Anne?" That was Cole. "It looks haunted."
"I suppose it is, in a way. Filled with the ghosts of childhood dreams. 'It was a perfect graveyard of buried hopes.' Hm...I said that phrase to Marilla once. I didn't quite understand what it meant until now."
She met Gilbert's solemn gaze with her own. She felt like he was asking her a question, though he remained silent. The hand holding hers squeezed lightly.
"I'm still okay, " She said. "Shall we go?"
In answer, Cole stepped forward and opened the gate to allow them to pass. Then it was a short walk to the door. Anne reached for the knob, but Cole got there first. He turned it and pushed the door open. The other two entering behind him.
Gilbert was struck by the truth in Anne's description from before: this place was truly colorless. His heart grieved for the young woman beside him. Glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, he saw her face firm in her determination. The hand holding his was steady.
Together they made their way further into the house.
