Today, September 10th, is my four year Fanficaversary.

I still remember vividly the excitement - and terror! – of my first post, which was the first chapter of The Land of Heart's Desire. I paid very scant attention to my poor children that afternoon, wandering back and forth from the screen for an hour, wondering if I had made a terrible mistake… or that the story wasn't quite enough to catch a reader's interest.

Before I really knew much about traffic stats, faves and follows, I knew about reviews, and it is horrible to sit there thinking no one wants to respond or engage with something you have poured your heart and soul into. Writing is a personal business and it's hard not to take things personally. And my early responses (I shudder to even call them reviews!) of other stories here were very of-the-moment and personal indeed (hello elizasky!) But you do learn a little critical distance… and you also learn to enjoy, but not to live and die, by the responses you do receive… and to (mostly!) remember that this is all meant to be a bit of fun (hello oz diva!) I have loved the wide ranging conversations I've had and the connections I've made here.

Our lovely and loyal Excel Aunt was my very first reviewer; I hope she knows how I still treasure her words and her encouragement, but mostly the validation I felt from the very act of her sharing a response. And I have been bolstered by every review and message from every reader since, and am so grateful. If you are a writer here or elsewhere, I would wager you remember your first reviewer, too. I hope I have been able to pay that forward in a very small way myself. And if you are a reader, remember you are never 'just' a reader; you are audience and cheer squad combined, with occasional flashes of that high school English teacher everyone was just a little scared of (spoken as a former very non-scary English teacher!) We are all rather wonderful in this particular fandom in trying to acknowledge the efforts of everyone who takes the leap.

I have been blessed by my readers and your responses; encouraged, entertained, educated and inspired by amazing fellow writers; and cherish the friendships I have made here with my own very special Anne-girls. It has been fabulous to share a love of Lucy Maud with you all (and for many of us, the Sullivan series as well – hello DrinkThemIn!) and to find some 80's film fanatic kindred spirits too (hello mavors4986!) My life without fanfic would be like Pleasantville before color, and I cannot comprehend what that black and white world would be like to live in anymore.

Stay well and stay safe,

With love and thanks

MrsVonTrapp x

Chapter Ten

'Let us get to the shore, and then I'll tell you my history'

Only the good doctor could persuade distraught Miss Shirley that she would not be helping Mr Blythe by such loud and frightening demonstrations by his bedside, and that, going on the nurse's reluctant report, he must insist she seek some sleep or likely drop from nervous exhaustion.

After much back and forth he agreed on the concession that she may recline on a sofa in the little tea area usually reserved for staff, until such time as formal visiting hours commenced. Miss Shirley, before even moving from Gilbert's room, first begged the assurances of both doctor and nurse, and a cleaner commenced work to boot, that she would be roused the moment there was any change in his condition.

It was there Dorothy found her, having left Jem to sleep before he was later tasked with greeting the returning travellers, whilst the erstwhile and ever-wonderful Miss Gardner came back herself with fresh clothes and personal supplies – and most definitely a foundational undergarment.

She hesitated to wake the sleeping beauty, staring with a wistful fondness at the pretty, pale face surrounded by that extraordinary flame of hair, secretly lamenting, as she didn't know Jem also had, that Anne Shirley would only ever be linked to them by the ties of friendship and not the bonds of marriage. Roy had been infuriated and infuriating in the week after Anne's refusal, brushing his hurt and rejection aside by immediately squiring about any number of young ladies in their circle, but their break away down the coast had mellowed and quietened him, so that he was somewhat back to his melancholic, mellifluous best.

"Anne, darling?" Dorothy gently shook that narrow shoulder.

Anne was awake like a startled rabbit, her shadowed grey eyes wide and frightened on Dorothy's, emitting a little gasp as she broke away from whatever relief had been offered by her slumber.

"Dorothy! What is it?" she breathed.

"Darling, all is well. I looked in on your Mr Blythe on my way. He is resting as he was, and there's been no change."

Anne took a moment to seemingly digest this. "And the time, Dorothy?"

"It is a little after 8 o'clock. The doctors will begin their morning rounds soon."

Anne nodded, and Dorothy assessed the need to spell things out for her slowly.

"I have some things for you, Anne. You're more Aline's height than my own, and I'm afraid to say her taste is fussy in the extreme. But no matter, as I'm sure you'll feel ever so much better after a wash and change of clothes. There is a washroom just near here, and I can lace you if you are sore and have any difficulty."

"Thank you, Dorothy. You are a marvel," Anne gave a watery smile. Her face was worryingly white, but her red-rimmed eyes at least remained dry, and she seemed to have adopted a composed, weary resignation, which was apparently, according to the young nurse just finished her shift, at least an improvement on events that had transpired whilst Dorothy had been away.

Anne took the little offered valise and walked back down the hall, first stopping at Gilbert's door, staring at his silent, still form, and the wretchedness on her face was enough to have Dorothy almost reaching for her hankerchief. To care for someone with that sort of passion and open, bare-naked vulnerability was unknown to any Gardner, save, Dorothy suspected, potentially their young cousin. No… Roy, sadly, wouldn't have done for Anne Shirley. He wouldn't have done for her at all.

Anne folded her clothes and packed them in the valise, careful to remember to extract her letter, staring again at it wonderingly, swallowing back her tears. She could not become a weeping woman in a heap at his feet; she needed to find some strength and have him borrow it. She would simply will him to wake up.

She brushed and rebraided her hair, and then coiled it and secured it at her nape, wincing with even this slight effort, remembering how Gilbert's eyes had darted to her hair over her shoulder as the room at the guest house had flooded with light, and she had seen him half dressed and beautiful.

I love you.

Dorothy had, so thoughtfully, included a bottle of scent, all the better to mask the tell-tale smoky odour she knew emanated from every part of her. Anne seized upon it gratefully, till she looked at the label, sighing painfully.

Water of Violet.

Of course, only violets – the perfume – for the fashionable and well-heeled Gardners, and typically that's what often Roy - or his mother – had sent her. Anne could still see the violets in their lovely box, preening and eager to accompany her to Convocation, and knew now as she had bypassed them for Gilbert's lilies that she had been making a choice.

I loved you then and I love you still.

She couldn't wear the trace of violets any more than she could have accepted Roy. She couldn't go to Gilbert smelling like a stranger.

Will you marry me?

The breath hitched in her throat. If only she had read his letter immediately. If only she had been able to answer. If only she had realized in time what the bond was that had held her to Gilbert… Nothing was of any value without him. She belonged to him and he to her. *

I marry you I marry you I marry you.

She would shout her declaration from the rooftops if it meant that he would hear it. She would whisper it into his ear by his bedside, until his unconscious mind accepted it as truth. He could not go away from this life thinking that she did not care. *

Go away from this life? He would be well amused by her melodrama, and insulted by her lack of faith in him.

"You can do better than this, Carrots," his teasing baritone sounded in her head, so clear and confident and real he may as well have been standing right beside her.

She blinked back her self-pitying tears, staring at herself in the little glass of the washroom, thinking of that other washroom where she had stood, contemplating her foolhardiness and demanding she pull herself together.

She tilted her chin and squared her slight shoulders.

I'm coming, Gil, she answered.

Anne repositioned herself by Gilbert's bedside, taking up his hand again in hers, composed and with a challenge in her grey eyes for anyone who dared discourage her.

I shall sit here… on and off, for days and days ** she was prepared to tell anyone who cared to know, and soon the staff on the morning shift quietly accommodated her presence, and Anne attempted to be as unobtrusive as possible when they entered the room to check on the patient. Dorothy was there as a second doctor looked in on Gilbert, apparently briefed on the requirements of both patient and visitor, cheerfully determining that they should by rights begin to see improvement today as the sedative wore off, and for Anne to alert them if she noted any response or movement herself.

Anne looked to Gilbert and then Dorothy hopefully, as the latter gave an encouraging smile, before informing that, tragically, there was news two older folk had perished in the fire, and an investigation would almost certainly be held into the safety of the building, the manager's role in dealing with the fire and why it was well over its guest capacity in the first place.

Anne look in this news quietly.

"Half a dozen," she offered falteringly.

"Pardon me, darling?"

That grey gaze was haunted. "There would be half a dozen more souls perished, but for Gilbert and Jem."

"And you," Dorothy clasped her free hand, squeezing tightly.

Dorothy departed, to join Jem in greeting her family, with a promise they would both return that evening, and but for intermittent medical staff, she and Gilbert were again alone, for the entire day.

"Here is how we will do things, Gilbert Blythe," Anne ventured bravely, a flash of her old fire in her voice. "You said in your letter that it would be my turn to speak, and so I gladly take the floor. You may indeed be regretful that you have offered, and I regret you have little opportunity to stop me at present. But here we are."

Her voice softened as she gazed at him, tremulous fingers reaching to stroke his brow, to smooth the stray curl as she had done as he lay sleeping back at Patty's Place, when something indefinable and still unknown to her had drawn her to him all the same.

"Oh, Gil…" she breathed now, as then. "I called you my beloved. It was quite the journey for me. Shall I tell you the story of how I arrived there?"

And so she documented her history, to the point where it became theirs; all the schoolhouse happenings, when she was cold and cutting and condescending, and here when he believed himself to be beneath her notice she couldn't face the fact he was actually front and center of it… The infamous Lily Maid disaster, where she was awed by his arrival, relieved to be rescued and mortified to think this boy-man the one to perform such courtly service, and that she hated to be in his debt even as she briefly leapt at the thought of finally being his friend… The time at Queen's when she realized what a splendid chin he had and how nice it would have been to have walked and talked over their courses together… The moment she properly thanked him for the sacrifice of Avonlea school and the generosity of spirit that still brought tears to her eyes, and the handshake that sealed the moment when good enemies became good friends… the best of friends… schoolteacher comrades and A.V.I.S stalwarts and the moment at the Stone House after Miss Lavender's wedding, when he had talked so beautifully and meaningfully of a couple not divided by misunderstandings, instead coming hand in hand all the way through life, with no memories behind them but those which belonged to the other… ***

"Did you know that was a moment for me, Gil?" Anne smiled through her tears to still think on it, kissing his hand again and laying her cool cheek against it. "You had poetry in your soul that day, and you looked down on me, and something in me changed… It was like a veil had been lifted, and I was there under the warmth of your gaze, standing in the light of some sudden shaft of illumination… *** I could hardly bear to look at you, you know. It was like I had seen you for the first time… and what's more… what's more… I realized you had always seen me."

Anne lifted her head to stare down at Gilbert, finding him, even now, so still and serene he may have been under an enchantment.

"Well, I haven't even gotten to Redmond yet, have I?" she laughed to herself, and brushed away her tears. "And you might think you know that part of our history yourself. But you… you… you don't fully know my shame and sadness and regret, Gil. You don't know how I often think about our lost two years there… and reflect on my conduct. You were so wonderful to suggest we start again, afresh, but we both carry the pain of it. Maybe it just forms a part of us, now. You said you loved our Before time in spite of all that… you have always been more forgiving than I, Gil. And Gilbert, I'm very sorry…" and here Anne leaned in, close to his ear, "but I broke your necklace. The chain holding my pink heart pendant. I was jealous of you and Christine… and when Phil told me on the way to the ball that you were almost certainly engaged to her, well…" Anne sighed. "I'm sorry, my love. Argh, my temper! It always gets the better of me. ****

Anne sat back, feeling at least slightly more comfortable to have made her confession.

"So…" she paused, looking at her hand clasping his, and back to his beloved face. "If I can tell you that, I can tell you anything. The most important thing. That I realized that I loved you… at Phil's wedding, as I stared at you before you asked me to dance, and I knew… I knew… but perhaps some part of me had always known… I have been living in a dream, Gil. And you woke me up."

"And now, oh Gil… we find ourselves in a nightmare. And I need you to wake up now! Please, Gilbert! Come back to us! Come back to me! *****

He might have stirred in that moment; the slightest flicker of movement, but she was crying again and couldn't trust her judgement.

Or possibly it was because there was a motion in the doorway, stirring the air… stirring her senses. The young nurse, back for her next shift as she had vowed. And a visitor.

"Ah, Miss Shirley?" the nurse queried. "There is…"

Anne's tearstained eyes widened, and she thought she was perhaps still dreaming.

"Roy!"

Roy was there in the doorway, and then in the room, as the nurse came to check on Gilbert, her expressive face betraying her avid interest in these new developments. Roy had no doubt shared his influential name to gain admittance himself, from the nurse's own awed response, and even Anne found herself standing involuntarily to greet him.

"Roy!" Anne repeated, amazed.

He was as handsome as ever, if seeming a little harried, still in one of his fine travelling suits and having perhaps come from the station to the house and almost immediately to the hospital.

"Anne," he greeted, clutching his hat firmly. His brown eyes looked on her with a searching wariness, so different from the melted chocolate warmth of the previous two years, or even the blistering hurt during the recriminations following his rejected proposal. "I have just come from our house down the coast. We have literally arrived back in Kingsport an hour ago, and Dorothy… and my cousin Jeramiah… they have told me the most extraordinary tale."

"Yes, I'm sure," she murmured.

"Extraordinary…" he shook his head, trying, understandably, to fathom developments.

"Yes," Anne sighed, dashing at her wet cheeks.

"You are… well? Unhurt?" he asked, with a betraying catch to his voice.

"In a manner of speaking," she gave sad half smile.

"Yes, of course. And… Mr Blythe?" his eyes strayed, hesitatingly, to the bed.

Anne turned back to Gilbert, working with difficulty to catch a new sob.

"He is… unchanged."

"I am… most sorry to hear it."

She would not cry… she would not cry in front of Roy. His parting words to her in the pavilion, even clouded by his hurt, surprise and disappointment, still smarted, and she would regrettably remember them always. And there had been the little matter of him deputizing Dorothy to come later to Patty's Place, which had just added further stress and confusion to an already tense and confusing evening.

"May I… talk to you, for a moment, Anne?" Roy suddenly implored.

"I can't think we would have anything more to say to one another," Anne held firm. "But at any rate, I cannot – and will not – leave Gilbert, so any further conversation would be confined to this room."

"Very well," his lips tightened, but he did not betray himself further. Instead, Anne gestured to the free chair, and he sat down on it, awkwardly positioned beside Gilbert in the bed, glancing at his still form sorrowfully, almost regretfully.

"I trust he is receiving the very best of care?"

"Yes, indeed, thank you."

"Because if you had any concerns at all, I would most certainly have a word with –"

"Thank you, Roy, but the staff have been kind and attentive, and are currently doing what they can."

He nodded, his fine features uncharacteristically grim.

"I am more relieved than I can say that you and Mr Blythe escaped, Anne."

"Thank you."

"And with regards to my cousin… I believe that we… as a family, we… owe yourself and Mr Blythe the greatest debt. As Jeramiah tells it, you helped him, a perfect stranger, to escape the blaze. And that Mr Blythe was truly selfless and courageous, at great personal risk to himself. I cannot put into words what the saving of my cousin means to us. As I am without children at… this stage…" there was the slightest stumble, which he covered quickly, "he is my heir. His loss, in every possible way, would have been incalculable for all of us."

Roy's face had heated with his words, and there was a touching emotion behind them. Gone were the histrionics in the wake of his failed proposal, and instead here was a Roy she felt she knew better. Anne blinked back rapid tears. She may as well try to offer an olive branch.

"We have gotten to know, like and respect Jem immensely, even in this short time," Anne ventured quietly. "I may say he acted with great courage himself. I wonder…" she paused, before continuing, "that you never mentioned him to me before?"

Roy's brown gaze was hooded.

"I was looking forward to introducing you personally," he explained tightly.

Anne bit her lip, her own face warming. No matter how badly their relationship had ended, he had acted faultlessly throughout their courtship, had entered into it with good faith, and had asked for her hand after having received every indication his suit would be happily and gratefully accepted. Her refusal had not been his fault, but hers.

"I'm very sorry, Roy," she offered throatily.

He turned to her, his long-lashed, liquid gaze contemplative.

"As am I, Miss Shirley," he gave a small, wistful smile, before his face clouded. "And Anne, as to my ungentlemanly behaviour on the night we – "

"Forget it, Roy," she put a hand on his arm. "That night did neither of us credit, and I believe Gilbert would say the same for his actions attempting to intercept us."

Roy nodded briefly, looking to Gilbert again, finding refuge in organizational matters he could help control.

"I have arranged to be billed for the cost of Mr Blythe's medical care at the hospital, and for any ongoing treatment, should he require it," he began. "If you or Mr Blythe require the slightest thing, please don't hesitate to send word, either directly to me or through Dorothy. I will also arrange a room for you at The Madison; it's the nearest hotel to the hospital, and I can assure you, every safety measure is thoroughly executed there."

Roy stood slowly, looking on Gilbert again for a few breathless beats.

"I presume Mr Blythe's parents are on their way?" his voice was low.

"Y-yes…" Anne replied, flustered now by his kindness. "Dorothy sent word to them; I would expect them to arrive in a few hours."

"Very good. I will see to it they have the room next to yours, for as long as they have need of it, with my compliments… and gratitude."

"Roy – "Anne gasped. "This is all so very good of you! I don't know how we can th-"

"No, Anne. It is the least thanks I can offer you both... to Mr Blythe. I didn't think… I didn't think that our paths would ever cross again, and for many weeks I didn't want them to. But you will always hold a place in my heart, and Mr Blythe…" Roy sighed. "I thought that Gilbert Blythe was my nemesis, but I see now that his actions in saving Jem will always make him… as a brother."

Anne gulped. "Thank you, Roy," the tears came, unbidden and unchecked. "I hope you find the happiness you deserve."

"And you, Anne." He paused again, before offering his hankerchief, a passing note of tenderness in his look. "I give Gilbert my eternal thanks and every wish for a full and fulsome recovery."

Roy swept out, rather more majestically than he had entered, but paused at the doorway.

"And please, Anne, have Dorothy take you to one of her ladies' boutiques. She has an account with all of them, I'm sure. Aline's clothes don't do you any favours…" he quirked the tiniest smile, "or her."

Anne was left, stunned, standing in the middle of the room. And she realized, perhaps for the first time, that Roy had seen the joke in something.

The afternoon staggered by. Anne was pressed to eat and drink but hardly did either. The original admitting doctor, Dr Johnston, appeared again, serious as he examined Gilbert, checking his pupils and responses and frowning at his chart, but would not be more forthcoming aside from the assurance there was still more than enough time for Gilbert to wake as the sedative wore off, and to actively talk to him to encourage him to rouse, which Anne did until she felt she had no voice left. Every part of her ached, not least her heart, which felt as if it was in the clutches of a large fist, periodically squeezing until she experienced actual pain.

She tried to compose herself in readiness for the Blythes, not knowing what to say to them or how they might react to these terrible circumstances, and feeling that her own position by Gilbert's side was becoming increasingly tenuous. Who in the world am I? ****** she worried to herself. The Blythes knew her, most recently, as the girl who had scorned their son for two years, after having callously rejected his proposal; moreover they would undoubtedly have heard the reports of her courtship with Roy, and even the gossip over what everyone believed was her likely betrothal. Though she could be seen as having apparently regained enough ground with Gilbert to become friends again, she could hardly think they'd reunite with her with open arms. In their brief few weeks before coming across for Phil's wedding she had only seen Gilbert's parents after church and his mother once in the village, and if Gilbert had intended to invite her to Blythe Farm, the opportunity had evidently not presented itself before they had departed for Bolingbroke.

What would they believe of their relationship now, if she herself couldn't even define it?

She certainly did not feel herself, and Aline's clothes, as even Roy had noted, felt - and looked - like a bad (if expensive) costume she longed to rip off. The only thing she possessed that felt like hers was his letter.

Her musings were interrupted by more arrivals, but not those she has been anticipating; instead it was Dorothy and Jem, coming in with wide, hopeful smiles, which faded quickly at Anne's wavering composure and the sight of Gilbert still so unnaturally quiet in the bed.

"Anne," Dorothy embraced her. "I see that Mr Blythe is still requiring his rest. I wish you had been able to do so!"

"Am I looking that worn and haggard, Dorothy?" Anne tried to joke, errantly remembering Roy's own attempt.

"You look marvellous, considering, Anne," Jem remarked gallantly, clutching her hand. Close up and with a sleep and a shave behind him, she could better detect the resemblance between himself and his cousin. Jem was younger, fairer and with lighter eyes, but they had the same bearing and good looks, and a similar courtly manner.

Anne smiled wanly. "I think I might keep you on, Jem, if ever I need bolstering!" She turned to Dorothy. "There was another visitor, earlier."

"I certainly hope he behaved himself," Dorothy looked stern.

"On the contrary, he was kind and very generous," Anne colored. "It was good to see him, though the circumstances are so awful. I am glad though to part…" she hesitated to give too much away before Jem, "on better terms."

"He left my aunt immediately to see yourself and Gilbert," Jem interjected, as if to offer up this information in defense of Roy.

"He mentioned rooms at The Madison?" Dorothy pressed.

"Yes, darling. Thank you both. How is… your sister? And Mrs Gardner?"

"Probably the same as ever you found them," Dorothy gave a knowing smirk.

"They were equally grateful to yourself and Mr Blythe," Jem assured, perhaps overstating things slightly.

"Anne, we are more than happy to sit here while you take a break and stretch your legs. I'd wager you have been in this room all day."

"Well… actually… that would be wonderful, Dorothy," Anne assented, looking back to Gilbert with a flash of guilt which she had to work hard to clamp down. "If I could just freshen up before Gilbert's parents arrive, I'd – "

"Excuse me?" came a voice behind them. "Is this where I may find – "

They all turned to see a handsome, stocky man looking in anxiously and fiddling with his cap. Anne and Jem exchanged a surprised look.

"Mr… Burke?" Anne's voice was strangled.

Mr Harry Burke, whose wife and young family had been the first to be hoisted down their bedsheet ladder as the guest house burned, stepped carefully into the room, his eyes trained on Anne and Jem.

"Beggin' your pardon, Miss," he began. "But you may remember me from – "

"Of course I remember you!" Anne exclaimed. "Mr Burke. Harry, wasn't it?"

"Yes, indeed, Miss –"

"It's Shirley, but please, call me Anne."

"Anne… and …."

"Jem Gardner, Sir. And this is my cousin, Miss Dorothy Gardner."

"Pleased to meet you, Miss. You'll all forgive me, that night is still just a blur to me, and I have no head fer names. Exceptin' the one… There was a dark-haired gentleman… Gilbert?"

Anne realized the three of them had been blocking the bed, leaving Harry Burke unable to discern who was in it. When his eyes came to rest on Gilbert's still, prostrate form, he visibly blanched.

"So it's true. The fellow – Gilbert – you were with. We heard different stories, mind, but we weren't sure, as they ferried us away from the fire pretty quickly, on account of checking the young 'uns, and me wife Marian is sorry she were too distraught t'come today, but we just had to see yer and thank yer all for savin' us."

"Thank you so much, Mr Burke," Anne rasped.

"We are very happy to know your family is safe and uninjured," Jem added.

"Speakin' of injuries…" the man's gaze again reluctantly travelled to the bed, "we are real sorry to hear about Gilbert. That is, if you could give our best to Mister…er…"

"Blythe," Anne's voice caught.

"Mister Blythe. Please give our best to Mister Blythe. What a true hero n'all he was. I wish I'd had 'is name fer the newspaperman."

"Newspaper?" Dorothy echoed in amazement, sharing an incredulous look with Anne and Jem.

"Here we are!" the young nurse had returned, with some very expected visitors.

Anne froze on the older couple before her, who both looked as she felt – faces etched with worry and concern, and that haunted, horrified look in their eyes.

They both stared, flummoxed by all these strangers in the room.

"Anne?" Mrs Blythe's eyes had searched her out.

"Oh, Mrs Blythe! Mr Blythe!"

"Gilbert!" Clementine Blythe looked past her to her son, her face crumpling as she moved towards the bed. "Oh, my darling! Oh my boy!"

Mrs Blythe began weeping uncontrollably by the bed. Mr Blythe, struck by indecision, attempted to greet Anne, but was waylaid by Mr Burke, pumping his hand and muttering about heroism, which then encouraged Jem to enthusiastically do the same. The nurse began to make polite ineffectual protests about the noise and the number of visitors in the room. Anne was unsure how to comfort Mrs Blythe and whether to offer her a hankerchief, regretfully recalling the only one in her possession was that given by Roy, embroidered with his personal monogram, which may have rather sent the wrong message. Dorothy attempted to explain to the nurse the identities and relationships of those present. Meanwhile, most regrettably, the Matron they had first encountered – and had sincerely hoped not to encounter again – bustled into the already overcrowded room, appalled by the scene she was witnessing, loudly and most officiously demanding the removal of all parties save the patient himself, who had given the softest of groans but his response had remained undetected when in competition with the general cacophony.

"Out!" the Matron commanded shrilly. "You all cannot come bursting into this room! Everyone leave at once!"

"But Matron!" the young nurse interjected. "This lady and gentleman just arrived are Mr Blythe's parents!"

"Well, then, family only!" Matron persisted darkly.

"But…" the nurse defended. "She is family!"

"Who?"

The nurse indicated Anne with a tremulous smile. "Miss Shirley!"

"Miss Shirley?" John Blythe puzzled, having finally been permitted to join his wife by the bed.

"Yes, Miss Shirley!" the nurse nodded firmly. "She's his fiancée!" ****

Chapter Notes

The chapter title is from the Mouse in Alice's Adventures in Wonderland Chapter 2 'The Pool of Tears.'

*Anne of the Island Chapter 40 'A Book of Revelation'.

**the Frog-Footman in Alice's Adventures in Wonderland Chapter 6 'Pig and Pepper.'

***Anne of Avonlea Chapter 30 'A Wedding at the Stone House'.

****A Sullivan series reference (The Sequel or Anne of Avonlea to be exact; part of a gorgeous scene between Anne and Marilla, discussing Gilbert). Because you know I try to throw them in at every opportunity! And you know you want to go and watch that again, now.

*****A little nugget from Somewhere in Time. Ditto above reasons.

******Alice in Alice's Adventures in Wonderland Chapter 2 'The Pool of Tears'

If you have guessed I have taken some inspiration for the end of this chapter from another Sandra Bullock gem, While You Were Sleeping, then full marks to you!

And some correspondence…

Kitti: Thank you for your lovely words and encouragement on Ch 9! I really wanted Anne to realise she loved Gilbert even slightly before his accident, but obviously mortal danger intensifies all emotions! I'm so glad you liked Gilbert's letter. I really had to think about what I wanted him to say – and ask! – in it!

Bright Promise: So glad Gilbert's letter was a highlight for you! I wanted it to be heartfelt but also a little irreverent - as he is. I did really look carefully at what I wanted him to say - and what would sound authentic. And yes, we are going to get him well, I promise!