It hadn't been an easy path from his hospital room in Toronto to the auditorium of the White Sands hotel, but he was determined. Gilbert Blythe was a man on a mission. He was a survivor. Having tasted the bitter flavour of death, Gilbert was more resolved than ever to right past wrongs, to fix what was broken, to heal all wounds. He would make things right with Anne come hell or high water. He could not be stopped.
Doctors were amazed by Gilbert's progress, shocked even. His commitment to rehabilitation surpassed that of any patient they'd ever treated. Furthermore, he was an avid student; he peppered his medical team with questions, wanting, needing to know the why behind every what. It drove the nurses mad! His recovery had also taken on an unexpectedly spiritual dimension. He spent hours upon hours in the hospital chapel, discussing the known and unknown worlds with the chaplain there. Perhaps even more impactful were his late night conversations with the First Nations man with whom he shared a room for about ten days towards the end of his hospital stay.
Toronto was not a welcoming space for Indigenous individuals and families. Those who migrated to Toronto faced discrimination and bigotry and Oronhyatekha, a Mohawk physician and celebrated Torontonian, was no exception. The two patient roommates spent many evenings sitting awake in their hospital beds in the dark and talking together after everyone else had gone to sleep. Gilbert spoke of his brotherhood with Bash and his greatest hopes and biggest fears for Delphine and the community of Avonlea. Oronhyatekha spoke to his unlikely path to medicine and his unwavering commitment to his community and their traditional ways. The night an attendant had called his visiting wife "a full-blooded squaw," Oronhyatekha and Gilbert had both cried at the indignity of it all.
A few days before Gilbert's release, Oronhyatekha invited him into the chapel when no one else was around and offered to perform a smudging ceremony. Not knowing what a smudging ceremony was but trusting his new friend entirely, Gilbert consented. Oronhyatekha burnt medicinal plants of tobacco, sage, cedar, and sweetgrass and wafted the smoke into his eyes, heart, mouth, ears, and head in a spiritually cleansing. He invited his friend to do the same. Gilbert accepted the invitation, and was deeply moved by the beautiful ritual. Understanding that this ceremony was akin to praying, Gilbert surrendered himself to the moment and felt a wave of peace and healing come over him as he smudged.
Before their parting, Oronhyatekha presented Gilbert with a small beaded leather pouch containing the four medicines attached with a long leather band that he could wear around his neck.
"Wear this," he said to Gilbert, "to remind yourself of the promises of the heart you made this week. At night, put it under your pillow and listen to your ancestors."
"Thank you," said Gilbert in a whisper, too overcome with emotion for words. "I will."
Two days later, Gilbert was released. He immediately booked a train ticket to Carmody and packed up his things. It was time to go home.
Smiling, blushing, limpid eyed, Anne tripped back and gave a quaint, funny little selection that captivated her audience still further. She curtseyed at the applause, slowly looking up hoping to catch a glimpse of the Gilbert mirage she'd seen earlier. Alas, and not surprisingly, Gilbert could not be seen, as he simply was not there. Instead, it was her friends from the Dramatic Society at Queen's she spotted jumping to their feet in a standing ovation.
'What in the heck are they doing here?', she thought to herself, smiling at the audience and curtseying once more.
When the concert was over, she tracked them down immediately and posed this very question.
"Why, we simply could not miss your While Sands debut, could we, Miss Shirley? What are friends for, after all?" said Esther.
"Indeed!" added Timothy.
Christopher looked up from his program sheepishly and smiled as though to second what his friends had said, but his eyes betrayed his true motivation: he had missed Anne desperately and was still very much in love with her.
It wasn't but a moment when a stout, pink lady—the wife of an American millionaire—took Anne under her wing. Anne quickly said goodnight to her drama guild friends who were staying at the hotel and, somewhat ashamedly, scanned the room to confirm that ghost Gilbert was, in fact, a ghost and not a man. Her suspicions were confirmed: Gilbert's presence was a hope and a dream but not a fact.
Mrs. Evans popped up and chatted with her, telling her that she had a charming voice and "interpreted" her selections beautifully. Even Mrs. Bugle paid her a languid little compliment. When it was all over, Anne and Jane came merrily out into the calm, white moonshine radiance. Anne breathed deeply, and looked into the clear sky beyond the dark boughs of the firs.
Oh, it was good to be out again in the purity and silence of the night! How great and still and wonderful everything was, with the murmur of the sea sounding through it and the darkling cliffs beyond like grim giants guarding enchanted coasts.
"Hasn't it been a perfectly splendid time?" sighed Jane, as they drove away. "I just wish I was a rich American and could spend my summer at a hotel and wear jewels and low-necked dresses and have ice cream and chicken salad every blessed day. Anne, your recitation was simply great, although I thought at first you were never going to begin. I think it was better than Mrs. Evans's."
"Oh, no, don't say things like that, Jane," said Anne quickly, "It couldn't be better than Mrs. Evans's, you know, for she is a professional. I'm quite satisfied if the people just liked mine pretty well."
"I've a compliment for you, Anne," said Jane. "At least I think it must be a compliment because of the tone he said it in. Part of it was anyhow. There was an American sitting behind Tilly and me—Josie Pye says he is a distinguished artist, and that her mother's cousin in Boston is married to a man that used to go to school with him. Well, we heard him say, "Who is that girl on the platform with the splendid Titian hair? She has a face I should like to paint.' There now, Anne. But what does Titian hair mean?"
"Being interpreted it means plain red, I guess," laughed Anne. "Titian was a very famous artist who liked to paint red-haired women."
"DID you see all the diamonds those ladies wore?" sighed Jane. "They were simply dazzling. Wouldn't you just love to be rich?"
"We ARE rich," said Anne staunchly. "Why, we have sixteen years to our credit, and we're happy as queens, and we've got imaginations. Look at that sea, Jane—all silver and shadow and vision of things not seen. We couldn't enjoy its loveliness any more if we had millions of dollars and ropes of diamonds.
"I DON'T know—exactly," said Jane unconvinced. "I think diamonds would comfort a person for a good deal."
"Well, I don't want to be anyone but myself, even if I go uncomforted by diamonds all my life," declared Anne. "I'm quite content to be Anne of Green Gables, with my string of pearl beads. I know Matthew gave me as much love with them as ever went with Madame the Pink Lady's jewels."