The rain had been steadily falling for an hour when Gilbert heard the front door open in early May. He dropped his book to help Anne with the basket of washing, now protected by a sheet that had most certainly been dry two minutes earlier.

Anne gave a sigh of relief, wiping the rain from her face. "Thank you- Mrs Whitley offered me with an umbrella, however, I couldn't carry it with the basket."

Gilbert followed Anne into the bedroom, a bundle of letters in his hand. "And does she really want-"

Anne nodded, a slight smile on her face. "She does. You know that Mrs Whitley's requests are more like commands." She began to fold her underclothes and his, not realising that she did so now with no embarrassment whatsoever.

Mrs Whitley had come across Anne two days before the April exams were due to begin, balancing a textbook on the windowsill above the laundry tubs and muttering odd sentences aloud while she scrubbed. Within minutes she had taken over her work, shoo-ing the young woman out the door and saying that she was to return for tea in one hour, sharp.

Gilbert had found Anne at their kitchen table afterward, teary over the strain of examinations, last minute assignments and feeling as if she couldn't keep up with the housework- and Gilbert was already doing his share of it. He had done his best to make her laugh, and to assure her that they had a holiday coming soon- of sorts- and they would come through the lot without a scratch. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and when it was time, Anne made her way to the boardinghouse kitchen to sit down with Mrs Whitley, who proceeded to inform her that she would be taking over the young couple's washing immediately. Anne was somewhat taken aback by this generosity and protested that it was really no trouble- until she thought of the basket of dirty washing that was almost full again, and her face crumpled against the lack of sleep and an essay that just didn't want to be written. Anne would later blush in embarrassment when she admitted to Gilbert how she had broken down in front of their landlady, and the way the older woman had called her poppet and told her that everything would be well. Of course, Anne could not know that Mrs Whitley's mind had strayed to her only daughter somewhere on a prairie in Saskatchewan- she only knew that she kept finding unexpected kindness at the hands of the older woman, well beyond what was showed to a tenant.

After Anne had discussed the situation with Gilbert, they went back to Mrs Whitley with the suggestion that they would be grateful for her assistance- if she allowed them to pay her a small fee each week. They both wished to be independent in the cottage, however, Anne's tears convinced Gilbert that they needed to accept help. The resulting agreement was satisfactory to both parties, and Gilbert had to admit that he didn't miss the long hours over the tub trying to clean his collars either.

Exams were almost finished, now, and as far as the pair were aware, they were holding their own. Anne declared in disgust that she now knew far more than she ever wished to know about the inner workings of Freud's mind- she believed that the great psychologist had some- er- issues- that needed dealing with. Gilbert would only retort that knowing the inner workings of the human body were far more useful- who didn't want to know what a spleen was?

Gilbert sat back on the sofa later that same evening, his book pushed to one side as he sorted through the letters on his lap.

"What news from the future Mrs Wright?"

Anne settled beside him, her bare feet resting beside him on the lounge, making him smile when her toes brushed against his thigh. He watched her snuggle down against the cushions, the plentiful pages in front of her. "Her bridesmaid is annoying her terribly," she said, a wistful smile on her face. "The wedding is in four weeks, now. Clarissa insists that her collar is too high, the hemline is too low, and the colour clashes with her engagement ring. Even Mrs Barry is growing impatient with her."

Gilbert grinned, stretching out his long legs. "Do you think she's forgiven us yet?"

To his chagrin, she sighed. "No, not quite yet. There is hope, though- she did at least comment that I would not behave as Clarissa is. Diana feels that is reason to hope. Oh, Fred is hoping to meet with you before the wedding, apparently- Diana believes he is growing a little nervous after waiting for so long for the wedding, and she is sure that you can help him stay calm."

There was a little smile on his face then, followed by a short sigh that Gilbert didn't even try to explain. He turned to see Anne lower the letter, her brow knitted.

I can't believe it's almost the summer," she added softly. "We'll be going home so soon."

Gilbert grinned. "Home in our own woods in a month, oh Dryad. Even if it is just for a few days." He saw the shadow cross her face, and turned to face her. "What is it, sweetheart?"

Anne gave him a resigned look. "Your mother's letter said that Marilla has been having more headaches, lately."

Gilbert gave her knee a squeeze. "I know. She also said that Mrs Lynde and the twins are looking after her well- they would have told you if it was serious."

Anne nodded, and chuckled wryly. "Not that Marilla would ever admit to needing help. Or even that she wanted me to come home," she added quietly.

Gilbert slid his hand into hers comfortingly. "Soon, love. Marilla knows you're coming." He saw the downcast look in her eyes, and hesitated. "Anne- what if you didn't work this summer?"

Anne blinked at him in shock. "Gil, we have tuition, textbooks, other expenses- we worked it all out months ago."

"Maybe we could look at the figures again," he said mulishly.

At this Anne's eyes blazed in anger. "No, Gil. I know where you are heading with this- you off working, while I spend a nice summer back at home. I won't do it."

Gilbert took her hand in both of his, aiming to be at his most persuasive. "You'd get time to see everyone. You could spend a few months at Green Gables- Marilla would be thrilled to have you home- although my mother will fight for a share of you too. You could properly rest, too," he said bluntly. "You're getting tired, and don't even bother trying to deny that."

Anne glared at him. "No."

Her husband folded his arms, his eyebrows rising. "So- no discussion about this, then?"

"We don't need to discuss it. We had an agreement, Gil," Anne stated, her eyes green. "We are partners. I am not sitting around while you work yourself into the ground this summer for both of us, I will find work as well. There are summer programs in some of the bigger schools on the island- Stella suggested that I write to them first. I am working."

Gilbert scowled at her, before sitting back on the sofa. "Of course, I would marry the most independent woman alive," he grumbled. "Are we going to be having this same argument when we start a family?"

Anne chuckled, seeing the slight twinkle in his eye. "No. I will resign myself to becoming a lady of leisure- you will be the breadwinner while I raise our many children."

Gilbert began to laugh, a warmth stirring in his belly at her words. "Many?"

Anne rolled her eyes. "Well, as many as it takes for them to not be only children."

"Theoretically, that's just two," Gilbert said slyly, dodging the hand that sought to slap his arm. "But many sounds nicer." He studied her in the low light for a moment, and asked something that had been bothering him. "Anne- later on, are you really prepared to give all this up?" he said carefully.

Anne gave him a curious look. "The Mushroom?"

"No. I mean- giving up college, a career," Gilbert said slowly. "It's what everyone does, back home. When Anne only looked at him, he exhaled. "I suppose I wondered if the expectations of that life might have been one of the reasons you wanted to leave Avonlea- and why you didn't plan on marrying anytime soon."

Anne drew in a breath, her eyes on the flickering fire. "I won't lie- it did have a bearing," she admitted. "I wanted to experience more in life, I wanted to learn and grow. I didn't want what Diana had placed before her." She saw a sudden look of outrage that crossed Gilbert's face and hurried to correct his impression of her words. "No, I don't mean Fred, Gil; Di adores him and wants nothing more than to be his wife. I meant a life that was defined by what her mother said a woman and a wife had to be." He calmed then, and she continued. "You know that she wanted to go to Queens with us. Oh, not for the teaching, exactly, but for the adventure. She has waited so patiently for Fred- and in the meantime she has done everything her parents expected of her, even giving up the schooling she loved. I- I couldn't have done that," Anne said slowly. "At least in Avonlea, I could be a teacher- I was there to be with Marilla, as I should have been; I was studying with you- I had a purpose. I couldn't have existed merely crocheting doilies, and learning the fine art of housekeeping. Not without giving space for my own dreams- not without wanting to go further. Is that so terrible?"

Gilbert slipped his arm around her, his manner gentle. "Of course not. You know that I was the same." She looked up at him in regret, and he smiled sadly. "Come on, Anne, picture me staying home to be a farmer. That's what Avonlea expected me to do as a farmer's only son."

She studied him and then shook her head. "You would have been miserable, Gil."

Gilbert turned so that his lips brushed her soft red curls, and sighed. "I needed broader horizons too- and like Marilla, mother and Dad made sure that I could leave when it was time. You and I are right where we should be."

For a moment Anne closed her eyes, enjoying the quiet moment between them. When she spoke, at last, her voice was decided.

"When it comes time to give up this college life, in a year's time- I will have done what I set out to do. I am armed with everything I need to continue growing- curiosity, the ability to learn- and there is always a bend in the road," she said lightly. "Somehow, I think that you and I have everything we need."

Gilbert smiled and turned to recline on the sofa, pulling her to rest against him as they watched the gentle firelight. He suddenly chuckled. "I'm going to remember this moment, you know," he said, and even without looking Anne knew that his hazel eyes were twinkling. "When you and I have seven children running around our house, when the chaos is at its worst, I'm going to remind you that you gave up the academic world voluntarily."

"And that is when we will take the children home to their grandparents for a visit."

Gilbert's smile was huge, and he let out a deep sigh. "So you're determined to work this summer."

"I will not dignify that comment with an answer," Anne stated, stretching lazily against his side. "I've written to the Maritime school board and some schools here, I just have to wait and see. You need to trust that everything will be fine."

He scowled, watching Rusty complacently curl up on his old cap on the other chair. Which, of course, was why Anne had suggested mildly that he should hang it on the hook each time. "I am trusting that- but I don't like our future being as nebulous as it is right now. And I really don't want to leave you."

Anne turned around on the chair to face him. "Gilbert, we knew from the start that the next few years would look different to everyone else."

He grimaced. "I know that."

"Then you need to accept that we are doing this," she said, exasperated. "You need to let me work with you."

He gave her a disbelieving glance even as he began to laugh. "Anne Blythe, as if I 'let' you do anything."

She gave him a smug smile. "Just you remember that."

The conversation was on Gilbert's mind over the next few days, and it was only a week later that he met Anne at her class with another bundle of letters in his hand- including one addressed to Anne from a school on the island. He walked into the classroom as he had so many months ago to see Anne conversing with Professor Winston, and at the back of the room, Roy was lingering over his papers. Gilbert gave him a bland smile before moving up the aisle, wondering if he was imagining the dark blue eyes boring into the back of his head.

Anne turned to him with a smile, however, he could see a strain on her face, and came to her side in concern.

The professor turned to him easily.

"Mr Blythe, good to see you in our part of the world again. I must say, the faculty are certainly happy with your work this year." At the way the couple glanced at each other, the older man chuckled. "We all like to brag about our favourites. Your name comes up at the staff meeting occasionally. Have you picked your subjects for your final year?"

Gilbert grinned. "Yes, sir. The science faculty will get most of me, then."

Professor Winston looked at him curiously. "So we won't get you then either? There's nothing wrong with being a good all-rounder, you know. As I recall you were second only to your wife in English, in your first year."

Gilbert saw the smile on Anne's face, and his eyes twinkled. "That was because she corrected most of my essays, sir."

The man turned to Anne in surprise, and she shook her head, chuckling. "That isn't true, Gil- I only helped you make your arguments better."

"Yes. By arguing with them," he muttered good-naturedly.

Professor Winston took up his bag, smiling. "I would expect no less, Gilbert. Well, must be off- Anne, do think about what I said, won't you?"

He moved away, and Gilbert turned to his wife in surprise, seeing an odd look cross her face.

Anne shook her head at the unasked question and took his hand. "Later, Gil. Let's go."

Anne carefully kept the conversation light as they walked home, domestic concerns taking over once they had arrived at the Mushroom. There were chores to be done, and a meal to prepare, and as the two of them moved around the house in their normal pattern Anne found herself pausing to watch Gilbert at the stove, teasing Rusty with a square of ham. She turned back to the broom in her hand wistfully, somehow wishing that they could remain as they were for the summer.

That night, after an uncharacteristically restless Anne insisted that the dishes could wait, the pair sat on the floor before the small fire to examine the mail that would decide the course of their plans for the summer.

"Well, I've got news," Gilbert said reluctantly after a few minutes, looking up from a yellow sheaf of official-looking papers. "Mr Druthers doesn't need anyone for the whole summer at the paper- he said he would give me what work he could, however, he was contacted by a colleague- another editor in Halifax who wants someone for the whole summer. He recommended me for the job."

Anne paled slightly. "Halifax?"

Gilbert sighed. "It's just a few hours away by train- and the pay is good. If you were working here I could come home on the weekends."

Anne winced. "Well, as it turns out, I had a letter too. It's not from here- it's a position on the island."

Gilbert's face fell, however, he was swift to push that aside, and took her hand with a steadying smile. "You'll be closer to home, at least."

Anne nodded, handing him the letter to read for himself.

"Valley Road- is that in the east?" he said after a minute, frowning.

Anne nodded. "South-east, actually. Stella's hometown is somewhere nearby, I think."

Gilbert rose to follow Anne back to the kitchen while she put on some tea for them, and he leant against the counter reading. "Esther Haythorne is the regular teacher- why do I know that name?" he said, puzzled, and Anne's eyes sparkled with fun.

"That's because she was at Queens with us in the first year classes," she said lightly. "She was a tiny thing, you remember, highly nervous, and she fainted when-"

"That's right- when Frank Stockley put that mouse on her desk," Gilbert interrupted, beginning to laugh.

Anne shook her head at him reprovingly. "You really can't blame her, Gil, she didn't grow up on a farm as we did. And shame on you for teasing her back then- didn't you learn anything with me?"

"An eighteen-year-old boy is still a boy, Anne. And Frank was the one to do that, not me," Gilbert protested as she pulled the cups out of the cupboard.

"Oh, I remember you laughing," Anne commented caustically, before giving a sudden squeak of surprise when Gilbert suddenly backed her against the counter, a teasing smile on his face as he placed a hand on either side of her.

"Of course I did," he said smugly. "You were watching." There was a slight sound from her throat toward the negative, however, he only grinned. "I'm sure it's no surprise to you that I wanted your attention, Anne. It was a surprise to find that I often got it."

Anne's jaw dropped. "I'm sure you exaggerate," she scoffed, trying to keep the conscious look from her face. "I was merely studying-"

"Me," Gilbert stated, his eyes twinkling, his nose close enough to brush her cheek. "It wasn't Frank. It was me you were glaring at, while everyone fussed over Esther. Remember?"

Anne turned back to the teapot, her cheeks a dull red, and she suddenly realised that she had miscalculated his proximity again when she felt him close behind her. His hands wrapped around her waist then, a teasing touch that made her skin prickle.

"Would it be so very awful to admit that you were watching me back then?" Gilbert asked in a deceptively soft voice, and she chuckled at the smirk she knew would be on his face. Anne turned in his arms to face him then, her eyes challenging. After six months of marriage, she had learned a few things about relationships between men and women. He did love to rile her up- but then he could be so easily unseated from his complacency.

"Fine. I was watching you then," Anne said coolly. "I was just waiting for you to grow up."

To this, he would only laugh, but she was pleased to see a flush of colour on his brown cheeks as he gave her waist a final squeeze and released her. Anne turned back to the bench to complete the tray, and she sighed as her eyes fell on the letter Gilbert had dropped on the counter. Valley Road was precisely what she had been looking for- a small class who needed her for the summer. Her pink lips tightened, and a faint crease of worry appeared on her brow. Three months was not so long- and yet she had an uneasy feeling that it would feel like the longest summer of her life away from Gilbert.

The last weeks of the junior year moved swiftly. Exam results were returned in good time, and Gilbert insisted on taking Anne out for dinner to celebrate the two of them receiving excellent marks through the uproar of the past six months. Anne agreed, and on their six-month anniversary, they toasted their results in a little diner nestled between warehouses, hosted by a rotund gentleman who insisted on congratulating them loudly. The evening was a pleasant end to a tumultuous six months, and the pair walked home in the dusk to greet a cat who proudly placed a dead mouse on Gilbert's pillow. Whether or not it was meant as a peace-offering as Anne insisted, Gilbert could be heard warning Rusty that his bed was off-limits- and it was decided that Rusty would be sent to Patty's Place over the summer.

While their classes began to wind down, preparations began in earnest for the close of the year and the beginning of the next. Anne felt somehow detached from the calendar- she found herself looking at the date, wondering at the fact that against all odds, she and Gilbert had survived their junior year. Their tickets home to the island had been purchased, and Anne had written that they would be home two days before the wedding- leaving plenty of time for them to recover from what would be an intensely busy week with the close of classes and the convocation ball for the seniors.

Anne and Gilbert had chosen to stay with the Blythes for the short time they were on the island together. Gilbert would travel to Halifax the day after the wedding, and Anne would go then to Green Gables before she was due to report for her classes at Valley Road. Anne had been the one to suggest the Blythe's house, knowing that she would have the opportunity to travel back to Avonlea once or twice over the summer. Amelia wrote that she would be putting the couple in the spare room together, as Aunt Mary Maria had taken possession of the upstairs bedroom.

I am sorry, darlings, John tried to have her move her visit until after you had come- however then she got tears in those big blue eyes, and developed a sudden cough that hadn't been there a minute earlier- and your father caved. Anne, dear, ordinarily I would never want to turn John's family away from the house… she, however, is a different kettle of fish. I'm sure Gilbert can tell you that. I've already had a battle royale with her over not putting my married son and daughter-in-law upstairs in Gilbert's tiny bedroom- she didn't see why I shouldn't give her the spare room, when the pair of you would only be staying with us for a few days. I still plan for you to have a restful time- and so the spare room bed is all yours. I do trust that you will be comfortable in there together- and I think you would not wish to be apart, not when you will miss more than two months over the summer. I am sure you will be glad to have the time together while you can. Speaking of which, I have been given the most darling pattern for a baby's quilt- now, I wonder how much time I would need to complete it for my first grandchild?

Later, Gilbert would comment that he really should have waited until Anne had finished her tea before reading that last part out loud.

On a bright, clear afternoon in May Anne took a detour through the park on her way home from classes. She wasn't expecting Gilbert home for some time yet- he had barely had time to see her since he ran out the door for an early class that morning. Of course, he had caused quite a sensation that day by flying past her in the dining hall, pausing only to snatch her to him with one long arm around her waist and giving her a firm kiss before the entire dining hall. He winked as he pulled away, and he and a large plate of sandwiches sailed out of the dining hall only moments later. Had he stayed, he would have seen a decidedly dishevelled Anne smoothing her green dress with a pretty blush on her cheeks and Phil and Priscilla in fits of laughter across the other side of the table from her. Stella carried on eating in unconcern, pausing only to point out mischievously that Anne didn't exactly look displeased at his impromptu greeting- and would someone pass the salt, please?

St John's graveyard was a bower of green that afternoon, and Anne loitered along the pathways, pausing to collect violets that grew along the paths. She stopped underneath one of the willows to sit down, the long fronds curtaining her from the rest of the graveyard.

Anne pulled from her bag a sheaf of notes that was heavily crossed and lined in red. She raised her hand to pull the straw hat from her glossy, red head, resting it back against the trunk with a deep sigh.

It was a little thing, really. Professor Winston had asked to see what she was writing, and she had taken him a short story about a child being raised by an elderly aunt. There were others at home, of course, a short sketch she had written from the roof of the old Copp duck house, found amongst an old box of Story Club manuscripts. The story was pretty, and she smiled again at the memory of Diana peering out from the barn while she stood on a barrel with only an umbrella for protection. Anne had spent time reworking it until she was satisfied- and she had decided to send it away to a magazine over the summer. Other poems and sketches had been worked on in quieter hours over the long winter, some of which she had even allowed Gilbert to read.

Her writing had changed since the disaster that was the Rollings Reliable contest, she had realised with a slight smile. The melancholy heroes who had once only spoken in poetry would not behave thus, any longer. No, they had changed shape as she supposed her ideals had- thus becoming harder and harder to write, as they began to take the shape of someone very familiar to her. It was better to leave the romance for now, she realised, with a confused blush- at least until she had figured out where she stood in the romance that was concerning her most right now.

Anne closed her eyes on the spring afternoon, wondering dully what she should do about her story. Professor Winston's reaction to The House Under the Pines had been cautious, and he was modest in his praise- saying that technically, it was quite well done. The character of the older woman was absolutely good, he had told her- brusque, with a softer side hidden from others. For the rest- Professor Winston had handed her back the paper, his hands folded on his desk.

"How do you feel about it, Anne?"

She had stumbled slightly, before lifting her chin. "You asked me to write something real, sir. I was hoping that this story was a beginning."

He gave her an odd look, then. "It feels- disconnected," he said gently. "Almost as if you were writing something you felt you had to write."

Anne stilled herself. "Then clearly, I failed."

There was a slight smile on Emile Winston's face, then. "Anne, if this is the calibre of the work you create when your heart is not involved, then I should like to see what you do when it is. It isn't at all bad. However, reading between the lines, you seemed to falter with your main character." He seemed to debate with himself about his next words. "I should like to see more of yourself in this. Great writers take the things in their life that break them- and they write it. They write it to understand themselves. Anne, the character of Sara Walters is the success here: in contrast, your young Isabelle is generic, a blank slate. She doesn't appear to struggle with anything, doesn't make mistakes- and thus we are unable to connect with her."

Anne's eyes were stormy as she ran her hand through the soft grass beside her now, the older man's words echoing in her thoughts. Oh, he was right. She had known that the story had issues- her heart hadn't been in it from the start. Poor Isabelle had more in common with Dora than she did her harum-scarum creator at that age- something Anne had wanted to avoid. Who would want to read about a girl who drowned a mouse in pudding sauce, or scorched the handkerchiefs when she was daydreaming? Who would wish to know the circumstances of an orphan's life before they were adopted?

Anne shivered on the warm afternoon, her mind returning again to the basket under her desk that held the remains of a very different story. She had tried to write it on evenings when Gilbert had been out- and each time had wound up sitting before the desk, her pen frozen, as old memories began to make themselves felt. The heaviness of the buckets of water in six-year-old arms- the whippings she had received when she dropped them. The endless fights and screaming in the homes she had lived in- the chill of the orphanage that was ever present.

Anne wrapped her skirts around her legs tightly. It wasn't something she had ever spoken of to anyone. Marilla had asked questions in the beginning, however, even she had been reluctant to press Anne for details, when she had heard the sparse facts of Anne's previous ten years. It had been enough that she had kept her- and her younger self had been too relieved to find herself amid the new conditions of her life, to reflect back on what she had escaped.

A bird chirped in the tree above Anne, and she looked up, her grey eyes troubled. She had told Gilbert no more than she had told Diana- it hadn't been relevant then, she told herself sternly. She and Diana had grown up side by side- and when the time was right, she and Gilbert had become friends. They had accepted her as she was, loved her imagination and spirit, even when they didn't fully understand her. For ten years she had been surrounded by people who loved her- she had been blessed, and if she had looked back on her childhood, she would have said that she had survived. For weeks she had been plagued by the odd sense that she needed to tell Gilbert something- anything about her past. But why? To see his sympathy, his concern for her? Her chin rose stubbornly. No, she didn't need pity- she wouldn't tell him just to elicit a reaction. She had more pride than that.

The sun had moved lower in the sky when Anne finally rose from the ground, and she picked up her belongings to walk home in the spring afternoon. She unlocked the front door to be greeted by an affectionate Rusty, feeling some guilt in the fact that they would be without him over the summer. He would be fine, of course- and Rusty would no doubt enjoy trouncing the neighbourhood cats around Patty's Place once again. She sighed, pulling off the light cardigan she wore, and raised her hands to unpin the braid wound around the crown of her glossy head.

In the silence of the little house, Anne pulled The House Under the Pines from her satchel. She glanced down at the comments written along the margin, and her lips thinned. She wouldn't do it again- she wouldn't write to please anyone else. In a move that felt mechanical, Anne crossed the room to her desk, opening up the box carefully hidden beneath the dark interior. She pulled out the other manuscript, leafing through the pages with something that bordered on revulsion. She stood up suddenly, moving with purpose to the fireplace where Gilbert had laid some kindling for a fire that had not yet been necessary. Her hands were shaking as she lit a match, and began to place the papers on the growing flame.

Anne watched the edges of the pages crinkle in the fire, and she blinked furiously at the stinging in her eyes.

The past wasn't relevant, now.

It had no power to hurt her unless she chose to remember- and she wouldn't do it any longer. She was here at Redmond where she belonged, and with Gilbert. His strong presence was beside her, and the twisted smile she wanted, no, needed to be in her life. Somehow, he had become her anchor.

It was for the best that he didn't know anything. If he knew, he would view her differently- he had enough to be dealing with as a married college student as it was. The flames fed on the ink-spattered paper, now and then throwing up a word, a sentence that seemed to laugh in derision at her foolishness.

When it was done, she rose and dusted off her skirts, her cheeks pale in the still house. "No more," she said quietly.

When Gilbert arrived home that evening, eager to see his wife, he didn't question the ash in the grate or the slight skittishness in Anne's manner. He gave her his usual greeting, the two of them falling to work beside each other as was their custom in the evenings. After she had finished her chores in the kitchen Anne suddenly moved to his side, turning her face into his shoulder as long arms wrapped around her tightly. Gilbert held her close without saying anything for a time, wondering at the way his wife clung to him. After a minute he pulled away, his hazel eyes watchful.

"Is everything alright, Anne?"

She shook her head, her eyes focused no higher than his chin. "Of course," she said lightly. "What did you want to do this evening?"

Gilbert could feel a slight tension in her body, and he forced himself to behave naturally. "I don't want to work. We could read together,if you felt up to it."

She smiled, and for just a moment her forehead touched his. "That sounds perfect."

He released her, his look quizzical. "You're sure? You don't want something different?"

Anne surprised him further by raising herself up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, before turning away, her troubled gaze not meeting his.

"No. I want what we have right now."