As always, I don't own Anne with an E
[Author's Note: thank you so much for the positive feedback in the reviews. Knowing that people enjoy what I write makes this whole experience that much more enjoyable. ]
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Anne wasn't really sure what she'd expected coming back here again. Somehow the place seemed smaller. Maybe because of how much she'd grown. As they crossed the entryway and made their way to main stairwell, Anne determined that she would not let this place frighten her anymore. She still bore the scars of her time here, both physical and emotional. But she knew in this moment, with Cole and Gilbert beside her, she COULD be brave.
"Matron's office is upstairs. Come along this way."
Following along the distantly familiar hallway, Anne thought about the past. Her emotions were in turmoil. Her senses triggered a multitude of bad memories: the smells, the sounds. Even the sight of the dingy not-quite-white paint on the walls summoned ghosts she'd thought long forgotten.
There she was, hiding at the bottom of the stairs, trying to stay out of sight of the other orphans.
There she was again, darting through a doorway, weeping desperately at the injustice of it all.
After reluctantly releasing Gilbert's hand to better navigate the stairs, Anne was reminded of the many times she'd been forced up this very staircase to answer to Matron. She swallowed down the lump that had worked it's way into her throat and reminded herself to be brave.
"Anne," Gilbert called out as they reached the top. She wanted to answer him, she really did, but she was distracted by a familiar open doorway near the stairs. She peeked in and saw the groups of beds, lumpy and uncomfortable looking, that were placed haphazardly throughout the chamber.
"This was my room," she spoke softly, sensing him beside her. "Well, it was the room I slept in, anyway."
Gilbert didn't trust himself to speak any more just yet. Righteous fury bubbled in his gut like molten lava, threatening to erupt with volcanic ferocity. It took all his effort to hold it in, but he did, knowing that for all he felt, he could not change one second of what she had endured.
She called this a room. Objectively, Gilbert supposed it would be an adequate bedroom for one person, if a little cramped. But there had to be at least twelve beds juxtaposed across the floor, with barely enough space to walk between them. The one window on the far wall was so small and dirty as to let in almost no light at all. Hopelessness clung to every surface, despair bled from the walls. Gilbert would rather be back in his cramped hammock in the bowels of the steamer then ever sleep in this place.
Gilbert lost his tenuous hold on his emotions, except it wasn't anger that escaped, it was love.
"Oh, Anne," He reached for the young woman in the doorway beside him and pulled her into his embrace.
He couldn't change a damn thing that had happened to her, could only guess at the true extent of the agonies she'd endured. He knew he'd never get the full truth from her, sensing that she would hold back to spare his own feelings. But he could give her this. He could give her himself. And though he knew he couldn't erase the past, he fervently prayed that he could help lessen the sting of it.
XXXXXXXXX
Standing in the doorway of her old room, Anne felt the cold of the orphanage seep into her skin. It was a familiar feeling, one she'd grown used to being in this place. Harsh winters, thin walls, and threadbare clothes weren't exactly known for keeping one warm. Anne felt the chill filtering through her many layers of finery as she stood frozen, locked in the grip of memory. She felt like she'd never be warm again.
And then she was engulfed in flame. Too stunned at first to recognize what had happened, Anne felt that she was burning. The sudden change in temperature threw her off balance and she would've pulled away, but then Gilbert spoke again.
"Anne, I am so, so sorry for everything you went through here. When you're ready, let's go to that office so we can get the information you need. And then I promise, you never, ever have to come back!"
She realized that he was embracing her when she felt the vibration of his voice against her cheek. The muscles of his chest were broad and firm, and he held her so that his hand cupped the back of her head, keeping her close to him. She suspected that he must be uncomfortable, her hat must be poking at his face, but he held her tight.
Anne melted into Gilbert's embrace as warmth trickled back into her limbs. She wasn't sure how long they stood like that. It felt like hours, but must've only been a few minutes before she heard Cole clear his throat, and they broke apart.
"It's this way," She murmured, her voice raspy. No sooner had the thought of how nice it would be if Gilbert reached for hand again entered her mind, then he was there, fingers entwined with hers once more. It grounded her.
On impulse, Gilbert pulled Anne's hand to his lips, placing a quick kiss on her knuckles.
The gesture melted Anne's heart and in that moment, she felt like she could face anything the Matron had to say.
XXXXXXXXXX
The door to the office was open, but Anne could hear voices echoing from within. They would have to wait until the matron's current audience was finished.
A soft sniffling sound drew Anne's attention to a young boy and girl, clinging to each other and weeping quietly on the far side of the room. They couldn't have been older than five or six years old. A sense of foreboding settled in Anne's stomach and she tuned into the conversation going on in the office.
"-they get older, what do you want us to tell them?" That was the matron.
"Tell them I'm dead," A masculine voice answered.
"Anne?" That was Gilbert. Anne realized that she'd been squeezing his hand rather tightly and loosened her grip. She turned to answer him, but couldn't find the words to describe her fears.
Gilbert, growing more and more alarmed at Anne's wide eyes and ashy countenance, was distracted by the clatter of a man leaving the office in some haste.
"Papa! Papa!" The young boy cried, leaping up to run after his father.
Tears in his voice, the man pushed the child away, saying "I can't keep you, son. Damn it, I can't keep you!"
Of course, Gilbert thought. She's probably wondering if she was left the same way all those years ago. Those poor children, to be so young and so very alone in the world.
He leaned over close to her to whisper, "Anne, remember it doesn't change anything. Remember who loves you back home."
Anne heard him, but wasn't quite able to bring herself to respond. Not yet. She was stunned by the violence of her own emotions. Every part of her being wanted to turn tail and run. Just run far away and never look back.
Her very worst memories of the orphanage were suddenly, vividly before her eyes. She was petrified at the thought of entering the office. Well, no that was not quite accurate. It wasn't the room leaving her frozen, shivering with fear. It was who was in the room. Matron.
For all the other orphan's cruel actions, they could not match the sheer malevolence of Matron. In their case, Anne understood how hurt people hurt people. She could pity a tortured soul. But the matron? The woman was a sadist. Anne had looked up the word in the dictionary. It fit Matron almost perfectly. She never met another human being so single-mindedly focused on being as heartless as possible.
Suddenly, Anne found her eyes no longer saw the walls around her. She was reliving a memory.
She was younger. It was one of those brief times at the orphanage between her postings in other homes. One of the other children, in an effort to escape his own misery, had smacked her hard across the face. She'd been standing at the top of the stairs, not far from where she'd stood with Gilbert before. This boy had ambushed her on her way back to her bed; she'd been lost in a daydream. He was older and much larger than she was. The force of the smack throwing her off balance, Anne had fallen down the stairs. She'd landed at the bottom in a heap, her arm broken.
To this day, she can still remember the pain. It was the worst she'd ever felt in her whole life.
But it wasn't the memory of the pain that brought her back to that moment in her mind, it was the memory of Matron.
No doubt called by Anne's cries of pain, Matron had arrived quickly that night.
"Quiet! Quiet! You little wretch. I said be quiet!" The older woman bellowed, breath and girth heaving as she stomped down the stairs. "You carrot-haired little freak, I should've known it was you. Demon child! What have you done now?"
Anne remembered the rough way she was man-handled on to her feet. She remembered the piercing, white-hot agony as the jagged edges of bone ground against each other. She remembered the screaming, recognizing her own voice being responsible. But she could not be quiet. She couldn't comprehend that Matron had commanded her to be so."
And then her face, so recently abused by the odious boy, was pinched in Matron's iron grip. Her nails, meticulously kept and filed to point, dug deep into Anne's skin. Matron knelt to Anne's level, and forced her to meet the cold, dung-brown of the older woman's eyes.
"I'm telling you for the last time, you disgusting heathen. You will BE SILENT. Or I will cut out your tongue. Now, that's a fine Idea, I think. I'll enjoy being rid of your ceaseless chatter."
Her mind in turmoil, Anne forced herself to obey. The scream died on her lips, and she collapsed in a dead faint.
XXXXXXXXXXX
"Anne?" Gilbert was starting to wonder if bringing Anne back to this place was a good idea after all. He shared a look with Cole over her unresponsive head. The boy was just as uncertain as he was.
Gilbert had a slight suspicion of why Anne was so quiet beside him, though the notion surprised him and he hoped he was wrong. Soldier's fatigue affected military men, not schoolgirls. And yet, Gilbert recognized that same thousand-yard stare.
Dr. Ward was one of the proponents of the talking cure for soldier's fatigue, and regularly met with a few officers in his practice. As an apprentice, Gilbert had become familiar with their cases.
Anne was back on the battlefield, he realized. The thought sickened him. Gilbert crouched before her, bringing their eyes level.
"Anne?" He called softly, cradling her hands in both of his. Her fingers felt like ice. Gilbert knew he needed to do something to ground her, to bring her out of her head.
He reached out to cup her cheek and tilted her head up so that she faced him. She stared without seeing him, eyes glassy with unshed tears. Her lips were trembling.
"Should we smack her out of it?" Cole whispered.
"No!" Gilbert regretted the vehemence of his denial at the younger boy's flinch, but remained firmly resolved against the suggestion. Slapping Anne might bring her back to awareness, but the pain could further traumatize her. No. He would not cause her more pain. She's endured enough, he resolved. But Cole's thought, though misguided, was born from logic, not cruelty. Anne needed a shock, something to bring her back to the surface. But what could he do that wouldn't cause her more pain?
Gilbert's mind rang with the memory of a long-forgotten story he'd once been told, an answer...maybe. It was worth trying, he resolved.
Determined to help Anne ground herself in the present, Gilbert leaned up, and pressed his lips to her own.
XXXXXXXXX
Anne felt herself solidify back into reality just in time to witness Gilbert lean in. She watched, stunned, as his face descended, eyes fluttering closed, lips puckering in obvious intention as he closed the distance and kissed her.
Her mind wanted to deny what was happening, but not because she was afraid. This was so very different from the only other time she'd been kissed before. That had been taken from her against her will. She realized in that moment that she wanted to be kissed by Gilbert Blythe. That's why it can't be real, she determined. She was still daydreaming, it was only no longer a nightmare.
Well...since it's only a daydream, a mischievous voice whispered from Anne's subconscious. Why not? She answered herself. Anne wrapped her arm around Gilbert's shoulders and deepened the kiss-
Only to be startled back to reality by the noise of Cole pointedly clearing his throat. But... Gilbert was still there. Not a fantasy!
Anne pulled back and met his eyes with her own. His eyes were impossibly dark, rich and brown like melted dark chocolate. Anne felt like she was on the edge of some abyss, staring into those eyes. The thought sent a thrill of anticipation through her chest. It was immediately followed by a shot of anxiety. Anne looked away, glancing around the room in an effort to ground herself, and remembered why she was here. Matron.
"Anne?" Gilbert voice was gravelly, it sent shivers of some electric emotion up Anne's spine. Her thoughts flashed with an echo of their kiss. She wanted to lean in and kiss him again.
Not now, she thought. She stood hastily, inadvertently causing Gilbert to lose his balance, falling out of his crouch to the floor below.
"Sorry," she muttered, and briskly walked across the room and through the doorway to the office.
The haggard woman hunched behind the wooden desk within was not what Anne expected. Time had not been kind to Matron. Her dark hair had paled to a brittle gray and frizzed out around her head. The flesh of her face hung in flaccid wrinkles from her skull. Her eyes, once so frightening to Anne, now simply looked empty.
"Yes? May I help you?" Her voice had not changed. It's razor sharp intonation threatened to pull Anne back into the grip of memory once more.
Matron raised an eyebrow at Anne's continued silence.
"Well?"
Cole stepped forward beside Anne and addressed Matron.
"We're looking for some information. My friend was an orphan here for a number of years. We're hoping to track down her family. Might you have some information about her? Her name is Anne Shirley, she was placed here as a baby."
"Hmph," Matron grunted. "We may have at one time but not anymore. Records were stored in the basement and the rat infestation ruined everything we had a few years back. Whatever we may have had would've been destroyed a long time ago."
No! Anne couldn't believe she'd come all this way for nothing. There had to be something, somewhere.
"There names were Walter and Bertha Shirley. They died of a fever." She exclaimed.
"Well, if that's what happened, we've got nothing that says anything about it. Like I said, everything we had was destroyed."
Anne couldn't speak again. Her heart was breaking. Cole (blessed, dear Cole!) thanked the older woman for her time and guided Anne away.
"Wait," Matron called out. She'd stood from her desk. Anne turned back and met the older woman in the middle of the room. She watched apprehensively as the matron looked her over from head to foot.
"I believe I do remember something about you. Did you used to talk a lot?"
Anne nodded and Matron leaned in as though to whisper in her ear.
"I remember now. You had the devil in you. Your parents probably dumped you here because they sensed it, if you didn't murder them with your witchcraft. But just look at you now. You may look the lady, but I know the truth. You'll never be anything but a demon child."
Anne reeled back, simultaneously stunned and yet unsurprised by the other woman's callousness. She fled out of the room, passing her companions, to make her way down the hallway and then to the stairwell.
Distantly, she heard the hurried steps of Cole and Gilbert behind her. As she descended to the floor below, Anne took a few steps forward, and then paused. The others stopped beside her.
"I have to go back!" She exclaimed, and turning back, once more ascended the staircase with renewed purpose.
Higher and higher she climbed, until she'd made her way to the attic. She crossed the room to where she'd hidden her writing so long ago. Anne crouched down as best she could and lifted away the floorboard. Her stories lay below, untouched. She reached down and picked up the sheaf of loose papers.
"This is where I can to write." She spoke aloud after noticing Cole and Gilbert watching her. "I wasn't prepared when they told me I would be going to Green Gables. It was a surprise. My stories got left behind."
Cole stepped forward and picked up the top page in her hand.
He began reading what she'd written. Anne remembered the story. It was after Mrs. Hammond had brought her back. She'd run away into the nearby woods, determined to live as a dryad. They'd brought her back, of course. So she'd stolen up to her lofty tower to daydream once more of her eventual daring rescue. It repulsed her now to remember.
"It's so stupid!" The words tore out of her with unbridled agony.
Cole watched, his heart breaking for the girl before him as she cried out her anguish. It was a sensation not unfamiliar to himself. He remembered standing on that cliff edge all to well. Anne was standing on her own cliff edge now. And like she had done for him in the not-so-distant past, he swore, he would do all in his power to keep her from hurtling herself into the abyss.
XXXXXXXXXX
What happened next was a blur to Anne. She supposed they must've descended the staircase, but she did return to awareness until they were at the door when a distantly familiar face shocked her back into the present.
"Please excuse me," she murmured. But wait!
It couldn't be...
But it was. There, crouched on the floor, scrubbing, was the bane of Anne's existence at St. Alban's.
"Is it really you?" The older girl questioned. "Well. I'd heard you got out. Must've done well for yourself. What'd you do, witch? Trap some rich bastard in your spell? Bet that's why your here, huh? Get yourself into a spot of trouble? Come to drop off some trash?"
"I beg your pardon? How dare you?!" Cole exclaimed, as Gilbert draped his arm over Anne's shoulders and pulled her away. Anne kept her eye on her tormentor, and saw that which she hadn't seen as a child. The older girl was tormented, too. Empathy flooded Anne's psyche, chasing away her fear.
"I'm sorry you're still here." She stated as Gilbert led her out the front door. She could hear the protestations behind her, but continued moving forward.
Anne wanted nothing more now than to go home.
