As winter turned slowly to spring, Anne threw herself into her work. She buckled down in all of her classes, making up for the time lost to the play and then some. She took up the mantle of the AYA and chaired both their Volunteerism Committee and the Special Events Brigade. And most importantly, she gave herself over to the campus newspaper and wrote a startling three-part series on the horrors of Indian Residential Schools and the tragic story of her dear friend Ka'kwet and her family.
Anne's story caught the attention of a junior editor at The Charlottetown Gazette and was rerun with her permission in their current affairs column that March. Even more remarkably, a few weeks after her first byline in an established regional newspaper, she got a telegram from Toronto's famed The Globe newspaper. Editors at The Globe were quite taken by Anne's story in The Gazette, and wanted a meeting with the author. She held in her hands an invitation to travel to Ontario all expenses paid and an opportunity to interview for one of only three coveted internships with the paper.
"Diana, can you I believe it?"
"Of course I can, Anne. You are a brilliant journalist! What newspaper wouldn't want you on their writing staff?"
That night, with the telegram tucked snugly under her pillow, Anne tossed and turned, completely at odds with opportunity before her. On the one level, she was elated. She loved writing; the rush of performing was nothing to the thrill of exposing the truth of a situation or shining a light on the realities of contemporary life. This was a once in a lifetime shot at writing for a major media syndicate and she got goosebumps just thinking about it. But she felt horribly at the notion that Ka'wket's pain and the violence she was enduring at school were Anne's golden ticket.
Neither Anne nor Ka-kwet's parents had had any contact with her since agents of the government had dragged her back to school against her will at the end of the summer. So much time had passed by this point that they were starting to assume the worst: Ka-kwet was suffering or, worst still, she was dead. Even before she'd heard from The Globe, Anne was questioning her romantic world-view and starry-eyed ideals. How could the God of the flowers and the trees forsake her friend in this way? The thought of somehow prospering off of Ka-kwet's suffering made her sick to her stomach and reminded her for the dark corners of her own lived experience which haunted her still.
There was another level to Anne's restlessness that she was even less inclined to acknowledge: Gilbert lived in Toronto. It had taken Anne a full week to face the world again after Gilbert broke her heart (or was it the other way around?) She'd hid at Miss Barry's for as long as humanly possible - or approximately one week - before re-entering civilization. From the moment she'd stepped outside and felt the warm sun on her face, Anne had done everything possible to put Gilbert out of her mind. It hadn't been easy but day by day things were improving. She found she thought of him only once, maybe twice, a day these days - usually when a professor shared a startling new fact about the world that she thought would amuse or shock him, or when a character in one of the books she was reading for her literature class said or did something familiar. That night, however, as much as she tried she could not put him out of her mind. His brown eyes were all she could see, and it was a devastating view.
Where Anne's approach to life post-breakup was reasonably well-rounded and diverting, Gilbert's was entirely focused and single-minded: win the Gold Medal, impress Dr. Osler, and land the coveted Toronto General Hospital second year placement.
His university friends saw hide-nor-tail of him that winter and spring. Gilbert always made time to correspond with Bash of course but entirely dogged his brother's questions about Anne. Bash had considered making the trip to Toronto to connect with Gilbert face-to-face when Marilla had filled him in on the nuts of bolts of what had happened but, in spite of Muriel's encouragement and willingness to lend a hand, he simply couldn't square away the trip with his parenting and agricultural obligations. This was his first season at the helm of the Blythe apple orchard and Mr. Barry was counting on him; everyone was counting on him.
Gilbert's friendship with Christine was particularly strained that semester and she wasn't sure why. Seeing as they'd been quite close when Gilbert and Anne were together, what could possibly be so different now that they were broken up? If anything, she'd thought Gilbert would need his friends now more than ever. What she didn't know was that deep down Gilbert was angry at himself for lashing out at Anne for her friendship with Christopher. He had all but insisted that men and women could not be close friends so how was he to continue carrying on with Christine. Of course he knew it was all poppycock and that he was entirely in the wrong, yet he was unable to accept this and his bosom friendship with Christine was sacrificed on the altar of his ego. It certainly was not Gilbert's finest hour.
His professors, on the other hand, were dazzled by his fine intellect and unparalleled dedication. Never had they seen a student more determined to succeed and make a difference in the world. Gilbert's paper on the natural healing properties of the oil of wintergreen, bloodroot, and high bush cranberries as discovered and practiced by the Indians living on the East Coast had drawn accolades from the Dean of Medicine himself: Dr. W. T. Aikins. Gilbert was delighted to receive an invitation to attend the Dean's luncheon that March where he was seated with a handful of other Gold Medal contenders.
"What's your grade point average?" asked one unnervingly straightforward chap.
"I'm happy with my results thus far," responded Gilbert, uncomfortably.
"Where are you interning this summer?" pressed another. Without waiting for Gilbert to answer, he added: "I am headed to the Sarbonne. I can't stand the French but there simply wasn't anything on offer locally to tempt me."
It was at that moment that Gilbert politely excused himself citing an upset stomach. He quickly donned his cap and jumped on the King West streetcar headed in the direction of the Wheat Sheaf. He burst in the front door to discover The Trolly Dodgers were losing by more than 100 points. Not wanting to overstep with friends he'd ignored for almost three months, he lingered in the back until he was spotted by Paul on his way to the bar for a refill
"Gilbert? Hey! Guys, it's Gil!" he called to the others. They all jumped out the seats and rushed at him, handshakes and side hugs all around.
"Please, Gilbert, we're lost without you. The Know It Ales are destroying us! Please, I beg you, pull up a chair."
Gilbert felt lucky to have the kind of friends who would overlook a prolonged period of bad behaviour on his part, no explanation needed.
"You bet," he said, smiling. He looked around the room quickly, registering that Christine was not amongst them that evening. John, sensing Gilbert's question, offered:
"She's not here. Something about her dad? She's gone home for the weekend."
Gilbert nodded. His first instinct was to be concerned however he was still not at peace with the question of whether or not women and men could truly be friends.
"Oh, well, I hope everything is alright" he said, neutrally. "Alright, let's do this. Lead the way, old chap!"