Very sad news with the passing this week of Canadian actor David Fox, beloved for many things including Road to Avonlea and especially, for me, his wonderful portrayal of John Blythe in Anne of Green Gables: The Sequel. My love of John Blythe and my fondness for writing his character really stems from this portrayal of him, which in a few brief scenes captured his wry humour, his wistful yearning for things that could not be (in his exchange with Marilla), his clear, unwavering allegiance to Team Anne and, most of all, his love of and pride in his boy. Vale, Mr Fox. Give our love to Jonathan x

Chapter Thirteen

A head could be beheaded

Gilbert was the first to stir, feeling the pressure of a hand still clasping his, and looked over to see a blaze of hair obscuring a fair face as it rested against his arm. His head cleared even as his throat tightened to see her… not Iris, but Anne… here, now, real and breathing beside him… not a figment of his imagination, sedation or the mercurial morphine.

He longed to touch it… to run his hand through those titian locks; the curling tendrils at her nape and the heavy waterfall of wonder currently sequestered in a plait coiled near her crown and secured far away from his long fingers. That would have certainly been a way to wake her, but he had to settle in this instance for the breath of air he directed gently towards her, against her cheek, as if a stray breeze whispered a calling card.

She gave a little sound as she moved, turned her head, and stared straight into his waiting gaze.

He saw her grey eyes flare green, and her mouth began as a disorientated o of surprise before stretching into a smile.

"Gilbert!"

"Hey, Carrots."

It wasn't exactly the darling they had miraculously exchanged earlier as he had been gripped by pain, but it still spoke of fondness and shared history, and was perhaps intimate enough for their current circumstances. All the same Anne moved, apparently flustered to hear her old nickname from his lips and in such a setting, realizing she still held his hand and releasing it with an almost guilty flush.

"How are you feeling?" her voice was throaty and low.

He took time to contemplate her question. "I think… better. The pain seems a little less, each time I come out of the morphine. I'm sorry I couldn't talk earlier… that I had to…"

"No, Gil! Don't think on it for a second longer. I'm just… we're all just… so very happy and relieved that you are going to be all right!"

He nodded, giving a soft smile.

"And are you… all right?"

Anne was clearly startled by his question, concentrating as she had been on his welfare, rather than her own.

"Of course! I'm fine, Gil… I was so lucky… and the staff here have been so good… and Dorothy so thoughtful…and… and…" her inarticulate response petered out, teetered momentarily, and then collapsed upon itself. And that's when her tears came.

If Gilbert had previously been saddened, confused – and occasionally, perversely encouraged - by Anne's tears, in this moment they devastated him. He could do nothing but watch helplessly, struggling to sit up in bed by himself in an attempt to try to comfort her, unable to even offer her as much as a napkin.

"Anne…" he crooned, his freed hand unable to reach her, as she leapt from her seat to pace about before him, her cheeks flaming with equal parts upset and embarrassment.

"I'm so sorry, Gil! What an idiot I must appear, blubbering away when you've been through so much!"

"Anne…" he struggled to find the right words to encompass the enormity of what had passed the previous few days, trying to clamp down on his own distress at seeing hers. "You have been through something terrifying yourself. We all came out of that fire scared… and scarred… whether obviously or not. And you've had the worry of me, and contacting my parents, and navigating the hospital, and the waiting through it all… and … you… astound me. You have been incredible. Don't you believe for a second that… your own experiences and feelings… don't matter."

She stopped up short at his words, encouraged enough to dash at her tears and give him an uncertain smile.

"Come and sit, Anne, please," he urged. "Why don't you share some of what has happened whilst I was… not quite myself?"

Calmer, she sat herself again by his bedside, reaching to retrieve a pillow that had almost fallen to the floor. Thoughtfully, she readjusted it, ensuring he was comfortable as he sat back, hazel eyes upon her noting a new, more assured smile.

"What is it?"

"Ah… well, Gil … how to say it? I think that…whilst you've been in hospital… your past has caught up with you."

He gave a quizzical smile in response. "How so?"

"Your nurse… the sweet, young one, is…"

"…is Isabelle Chalmers… from my time at White Sands," he raised both black brows amusedly.

"You knew?"

"Not till a little while ago," he gave another, more secretive smile. "She looked strangely familiar and I didn't quite know why."

"Well, she has a lot of time for you!" Anne looked speculative, her own auburn brow arched sardonically. "She made a point of telling me how fondly you were remembered there."

"Good to know," he gave a broad smile, reassuringly as the Gilbert of old. "She has a rather lot of time for you as well, Miss Shirley."

Anne colored slightly, not wanting to decipher his teasing tone, and couldn't even joke to him about the mortifying speculation over her so-called engagement to him, which she realized, worryingly, the nurse was one of a few still believing. She dared not think what Dorothy and Jem thought, and having lit on the Gardners, she recalled the other tidbit she needed to share.

"Your Nurse Chalmers isn't the only coincidental occurrence lately, Gilbert Blythe."

"Oh?"

"Our friend Jem…" she began.

"Jem? From the guest house? He's all right, isn't he?" Gilbert began to immediately panic. "I can't believe I haven't even thought to enquire about Jem or anybody else who – "

"Gil!" she was quick to reassure, reaching for his hand again in a thrillingly familiar way that was not lost on him. "Jem hardly had a scratch, thanks to you. He has been here at the hospital, virtually all the time, most anxious about your recovery and so grateful to you. He's really just a very lovely young man."

Anne smiled rather rapturously, to his mind, at the thought of their comrade from the fire, and this was not lost on him, either.

"I'm… very glad to hear it," Gilbert replied carefully.

"There's something else about Jem that you need to know." She squeezed his hand again ever so slightly.

"Oh…?"

"His surname is Gardner. Jem is… Roy's cousin."

Rather breathlessly, as the afternoon shadows lengthened on another long day, Anne recounted events, as he had asked her to, while you were sleeping, as she had charmingly put it. Of her searching for a way to get to him after the fire and finding, fortuitously, Dorothy and Jem instead. How they had both been loyal and supportive and the former an absolute brick. How, amazingly, Roy had come, sitting by his bedside and offering hospital fees and accommodation alongside his olive branch. How he had called them brothers, which made Gilbert cough startlingly, so much so that Anne insisted on water for him and very nearly rang to fetch medical assistance.

"No, I'm fine, Anne!" he spluttered. "I just… it's just that…"

"Yes, Gil?"

He swallowed carefully, wondering if he should divulge anything of his fantastical dream, or leave things well enough alone. After a beat he figured Anne's imagination was more than equal to the task of hearing it.

"When you said that Roy viewed us as brothers just now… it's the strangest thing, Anne… but I dreamed whilst I was sedated – the weirdest dream you can imagine – and Roy and Jem were in it, as were my parents… and you."

"Roy and Jem?" she gulped.

"Yes… and in my dream they were my brothers."

"When…" she took the leap herself, "you were Morpheus?"

He paused, considering his answer. "Yes," he nodded emphatically. "Did I, er…make some remark to that effect?"

"You did call yourself Morpheus," she gave a gently amused smile, which faded rather quickly. "Gil, did the dream feel like the Underworld to you?"

He expelled a long breath.

"Yes… confusing as it sounds, the dream felt more real and fathomable to me than what else was obviously happening. Perhaps it was the way my subconscious could cope with things… to just take off completely to another state of being. I felt free and without pain and purposeful…"

"Whereas your body was trapped and your mind at a loss… almost in limbo."

"Yes. Exactly." Gilbert quirked a brief grin. "On some strange level I've obviously connected Roy and Jem… though I must say, Roy liked me in the dream about as much as he does in actuality."

Anne felt the relief in her own smile. "I dare say he has since revised his opinion."

"Then something good came of all this," Gilbert rolled his eyes expressively.

"Mr Burke came too, yesterday. He was very grateful, and his wife left a lovely note for you."

"I'm glad all his family are well," Gilbert answered intensely. "And they have you and Jem to thank too, you know."

Anne gave an embarrassed smile, looking down with a heated gaze at their entwined hands.

"Do you… remember… anything else? When you were dreaming, that is."

Gilbert's lips might have quirked at the overly casual way she broached the question, but for the fact his heart hammered in his chest for her to be raising the subject.

"Yes. I remember you."

Anne's eyes were smoky when they finally raised themselves back to his.

"Iris?"

"Iris," he affirmed. "Messenger extraordinaire. Goddess of, well, practically everything, but definitely…"

"Of rainbows," she bit her lip, having woken in the early hours and worked through her own remembered notes on every mythological being she could recall, finally making a little sense of her new moniker.

"Yes…" his eyes didn't leave hers. "When I was in the darkness, Anne, you – Iris – you were my hope and light. You were my way out. You took my hand…" he struggled to compose the words, and followed with the action himself now, "and you were my guide, in every sense. I felt your touch, reaching out to me in my dream. It was…" he choked now, his emotions getting the better of him, "it was one of the most powerful things I've ever felt in my life."

Their hands pressed together now, fingers grazing as they had that electrified time when Gilbert had offered his letter to her before the fire. The tears in her eyes were echoed in Gilbert's, and the moment between them felt like a declaration, and even a vow.

She thought of that other vow she had made… I marry you I marry you I marry you…

"Anne…" he offered haltingly, as if he could read her mind. "Did… anything survive the fire?"

"I'm… I'm afraid not, Gil, according to Dorothy," she blushed, despite herself. "Most of the upper floor was destroyed. Definitely our room, and Jem's… We only had the clothes we stood up in."

Gilbert nodded, resting once more against the pillows, dark brow furrowed.

"That outfit…" he glanced again quickly, "it's not what you wore the night of the fire, is it?"

Her own brows drew together now, not knowing what he was getting at.

"No… your parents brought along a bag Marilla had packed for me… just as well you won't remember, as I was wearing Dorothy's sister's clothes yesterday… they were not exactly a great match for my coloring!" she attempted to joke.

He smiled vaguely, but she could see his mind was whirring.

"So… it was lost then, too," he murmured, almost to himself.

"What was?"

"Oh…" she thought she saw his cheeks flush slightly. "You might not even remember, there's been so much happening since then. But I gave you a… letter… before the fire."

Her own cheeks flamed again, incriminatingly. "I remember," she replied, unsteadily. Her pulse pounded, but she knew she had to force out the words. "Gil," she whispered, "I – "

Gilbert sighed, too lost in his own thoughts to hear her. "Maybe just as well," he chuckled softly, in a tone tinged with chagrin. "We probably have enough to be going on with at the moment, without any sappy sentiments into the bargain."

It took her a second to process his meaning. Sappy sentiments? Did he regret his words to her and the charged emotions behind them? Did he regret the question he had asked of her?

Oh, this was awful! Not only did half the hospital and the Gardners still believe they were actually engaged, but was Gilbert now regretting even suggesting the possibility?

And then… awful and more awful still… As he turned his head back to her, his contemplative gaze holding firm, she realized the terrible assumption he had just made… that the letter really had been destroyed along with everything else.

Hadn't he seen her at the time tuck it into the pocket of her skirt? She was sure he had… If indeed he had, he obviously didn't remember now… or else preferred not to. Or did her tongue-tied silence confirm his misconception?

If the letter was not mentioned… if infact it was believed lost… did it nullify the offer within it?

Helplessly, she stared back at him, till they were interrupted – or perhaps, for once, rescued – by the return of the Blythes, who had looked in earlier during their joint nap with alternatively fond (his) and curious (hers) smiles, giving the pair a chance to rest and become reacquainted. As the doctor came to see Gilbert, followed not long after by the arrival of his supper, it seemed as opportune a time as any to bid him a reluctant farewell. She would await his parents in the waiting area, keeping company with her own confusing thoughts. Tomorrow would be a telling day in his recovery, with a promised visit from Dorothy and Jem to boot.

Mr and Mrs Blythe were almost merry as they headed back to the hotel, so happy and relieved were they to see their son doing so well, having accompanied him as he took a more confident walk after supper, noting how pleased Dr Johnston was with his progress. Anne was a quiet contrast to their relative alacrity, her mind troubled by the letter weighing heavily in the pocket of her skirt, and yet another miscommunication she seemed to have had regarding Gilbert.

They all felt it was wrong to take advantage of the dining room when Gilbert was still in the hospital; moreover the Blythes would have spent a fair amount on their passage over and were hardly flush to begin with, and she herself had not a cent in the world on her person except the small sum Marilla had been able to spare that had accompanied her bag of provisions. Instead, they all shared the one generous tray, again in the Blythes' room, making slightly more comfortable small talk than the previous evening, until the subject turned to plans come September.

"The doctor seems to think Gilbert will still be able to start at the medical school in the fall," Clementine Blythe smiled proudly.

"Yes," she nodded enthusiastically. "That is really marvellous."

"Goodness knows he has had a good inside view of the hospital already," John chuckled, giving Anne a wink.

"And what are your plans come September, Anne?" his mother enquired pleasantly, having moved on from the misunderstanding over an engagement with her son.

There was no malice behind the query, but Anne still, unaccountably, felt the sting of it. Truth be told, she didn't know which way to turn regarding her future, which seemed as if shrouded in fog; unclear and undecipherable. Up until a month ago she had thought herself on the path to marrying Roy; turning her back on him had meant turning her back on any sort of certainty, and where once she may have welcomed a free and unencumbered future, now she felt lost and rudderless.

Her as yet unsigned contract for the principal position at Summerside awaited her back at Green Gables, and she was certain by now she would have received a polite but firm request to contact the school board at the first opportunity with her answer. So too, undoubtedly ready for her, would be Miss Stacey's reply to her plea for advice, sent well before they had left for Bolingbroke. Anne had applied for the position in the first place out of both personal curiosity and professional pride; she had not thought more than that she might be shortlisted, and to be offered the top position and a three year contract had been heartening and gratifying, if not exactly her heart's desire. Currently, she hardly knew what her future desire might be; miserable now to even think of her sickbed declaration – I marry you I marry you I marry you… If the letter was thought lost and unread, then surely the proposal within it was likewise deemed lost and unanswered, and despite the passionate feelings that had stirred within her with regards to Gilbert - and even their clandestine experience in that stuffy shared room before the fire – perhaps in the cold light of day they were nothing more than smoke and sparks, soon reduced to ashes, as everything else had.

Anne cleared her dry throat.

"I am currently still considering an offer as Principal of the high school in Summerside, Mrs Blythe," she finally answered, feeling some small relief in being able to at least offer this information.

"Oh gracious, Anne! How impressive!" Clementine beamed in motherly fashion.

"That's a mighty fine prospect, Anne," John Blythe added generously, though his look was slightly troubled.

"Would Marilla be happy for you to go far away again, after all your years here in Kingsport?" Mrs Blythe pressed.

Anne let out a despairing breath, though she was able to summon a wan smile. "Probably not!"

"Well, you always were a career girl," Clementine Blythe clucked, almost fondly.

Anne's smile froze on her face, and she took her leave soon after, barely making it back to her next-door room before collapsing on the bed in woebegone sobs.

There was a time when to have been defined as a career girl would have been a point of pride, but now it seemed merely salt in the wound of her tender feelings. Her studies and her teaching had been vibrant and vital facets of her life, but she was hardly the sum of those parts. Was the role of career girl how Gilbert defined her, too? Did he believe on some level her career aspirations had governed her refusal of Roy?

But he had asked her to marry him. Surely some part of him realized she was not, despite appearances, averse to the institution, and had responded to the idea of the orphan girl wanting to build her own family some day?

And yet… and yet…

With three years of medical school ahead of him, perhaps Gil now believed he had written a proposal to her as rashly as the one he had made in the orchard of Patty's Place, and was likewise wary of it resurfacing.

Red faced and wretched, Anne sniffed to herself, dashing at her tears and extracting Gilbert's letter, contemplating it forlornly before rereading it as she wept.

If Gilbert was relieved for her never to have read it, what was the point in further torturing herself? Should she still keep it at all?

It really was hopeless.

She had a little fireplace in her room, and the recent warm spell had gentled. It was cool enough tonight, by chance, to request a fire be lit, and none would think it strange.

Perhaps Gilbert's letter should meet a fittingly flaming end, as he thought it already had.

Perhaps the letter had met a flaming end, Gilbert puzzled later, laying awake and starring at the ceiling in frustration.

The returned wave of pain pinched him, but it was more manageable now, and he only accepted a strong powder for his pounding head, which was probably due more to the pressure of his bleak thoughts than anything related to his injuries.

He had asked of the letter, and Anne's embarrassed silence was one he hadn't wanted to prolong for her. If it had been lost or fallen prey to the fire he hadn't wanted her to be distraught about it… but if her reaction was embarrassment because she had read it and wanted to spare him the pain and humiliation of yet another refusal, then surely it was better to not rake over the ashes?

He had warned her that the letter would act as a point of no return; that there was no coming back from it. Was this Providence's way of safeguarding their friendship from his clumsy romantic overtures? Fate's way of stepping in this time and saving him from himself?

There was no denying the emotion of their exchanges today; of the flood of feeling behind their words and their clasped hands. He was ever grateful that Anne and the others had been saved and that he himself had survived; he had heard the sad, sobering news of the two casualties and knew there but for the grace of God… Though he missed the heat and hunger of their forbidden night together prior to the fire, their renewed and strengthened friendship was a warmth all its own, and he was no longer petulantly positing that her friendship could no longer satisfy him when he instead now wondered how he had sleepwalked through two years at Redmond without it.

He might have only heard beloved from her when she thought she would never see him again, but he had been brave enough, finally, to own to darling, and all the terrible circumstances after did not take away from their before.

And yet… and yet…

Pieces of the letter came back to him, as if he was snatching at the memory of his words… Let there be no more miscommunications and missed chances… Oh, the irony! And further, the simple, heartfelt truth… I loved you then and I love you still. *

I love you forever… he sighed to himself.

If she had read the letter, what really, aside from his love, could he offer her? Another month playing nursemaid followed by three years of fruitless, frustrating waiting whilst he finished medical school? It was not such an attractive proposition.

And if Anne hadn't read it – if it had been sacrificed in the fire alongside so much else – then there was no harm done, and they could go on as before.

He scowled. That wasn't such an attractive proposition, either.

It did all seem rather hopeless.

Fatigue finally claimed him, and this time he hoped he did dream, for at least then he could be with Anne under any guise, and despite any circumstance, and he would then feel he could take on Fate and the world and the Underworld and everything inbetween.

Chapter Notes

The chapter title is from the King of Hearts in Alice's Adventures in Wonderland Chapter 8 'The Queen's Croquet-Ground'.

*from Gilbert's letter to Anne in this story, Chapter 9

A Little Correspondence…

DrinkThemIn: Dearest thing – it is torturous for me to write all the back-and-forth between these two when, just like Billy Crystal in When Harry Met Sally, I long to skip to the last page (or at least the last few!) So I DO feel your pain! And thank you for picking up on the fact that, although Gil has gone through the wringer, it is Anne here (and also in the upcoming chapter) who is actually having the hardest time of it. Meanwhile, I fear I haven't staged nearly enough medical goings-on within these hospital scenes, but thank you for your support of the setting, for what is DOES allow is for all these delicious heart-to-hearts!

Snowgirldeb: So lovely to hear from you and thank you for your gorgeously kind comment! I am absolutely committed to finishing this story soon… and hope this all continues to read true to Anne and Gilbert for you x

Guest of Nov 9th: Thank you lovely guest! Sorry for the slow updates – still marching forward with THIS story at least!