Chapter 27

On a clear evening in late July, Anne lifted her head from her work at the sound of the door. Janet had not yet arrived home from a call to her neighbour, and so Anne rose to answer it. She was startled to find John Douglas on the doorstep, his hat shifting nervously between large hands.

"Good evening, Mrs Blythe. Is Miss Sweet at home?"

Anne paused, her shoulders lifting in apology. "Mr Douglas, I'm afraid Janet hasn't arrived home- she went to assist Mrs Leander next door."

His face fell, however, he managed a small smile. "I suppose I shouldn't have assumed she would be here, Mrs Blythe. Would you be so kind as to give her my regards?"

On an impulse, Anne stopped him as he turned to go. "She will be home soon, I think, Mr Douglas- would you care to wait for her on the veranda? I was about to organise some tea for myself- and it's such a lovely evening outside." He hesitated, and Anne spoke carefully. "I know that Janet would be very sorry to miss you."

John looked over toward the nearby farmhouse and gave in with a slight smile. "Thank you. I will wait for her, I believe."

A few minutes later Anne emerged from the house to lay the tray on the table, as John unfolded his long legs to stand. Anne waved him back to his seat with a chuckle. "You remind me of my husband, Mr Douglas- he comes to his feet so quickly when a lady enters the room."

John smiled, sitting back down again. "A gentleman should."

"Indeed. I suppose that would be your mother's fault- a gentleman is made by his mother, I believe."

"I- I suppose so." He seemed uneasy, and Anne poured the tea, her grey eyes studying him furtively. The prayer meeting fiasco had been the previous week- and her heart twinged now at the memory of his face when Janet refused him.

John appeared to rouse himself to make conversation over his drink. "Mrs Blythe, may I inquire after your husband? I trust that he is well?"

Anne smiled, passing a plate of cookies to the older man. "He is. He was busy proofreading a series of articles about farming, in his last letter. Something about the shift from wheat to mixed farming since confederation."

A humorous look passed over John's weather-worn face. "I see. And does young Mr Blythe know anything about the subject?"

A spark of green flared in Anne's grey eyes, although her voice remained mild. "Gilbert is the son and grandson of a farmer, Mr Douglas," she said, her chin lifting slightly. "He was out on the land from the time he could walk."

Unbeknownst to Anne, John hid a smile at Anne's obviously protective manner. "I see. Forgive me, Mrs Blythe. I assumed that the two of you grew up in the city."

"No. We lived just a few hours by train from here, actually. In Avonlea."

To her surprise, he bowed his head in deference and took up the cup that Janet always saved for him. "I subscribe to a few farming periodicals, Mrs Blythe; perhaps I should buy the Halifax Times, this week." There was a silence for a time, and when Anne looked up at Janet's guest, she saw a shadow fall over his face. "You are fortunate, I think. To have come together so young," he said quietly.

Anne floundered a little. "I- I suppose we do seem young to be so settled; yes."

There was a long pause as John Douglas shifted on his seat uncomfortably, a slight coolness appearing in his manner as he cleared his throat. "I wondered if you would explain to me what happened at the prayer meeting last week," he said, at last, his tone unyielding. "You- you indicated that you had suggested that Janet refuse when I asked to see her home from prayer meeting. I don't understand."

Anne paled slightly. "I did. I am very sorry, Mr Douglas- it was unforgivable of me to interfere. You must have seen that Janet didn't wish to do it."

John's eyes held her own steadily. "It was convincing enough, Mrs Blythe. I'd very much like to know why. I'm a stranger to you- and you hardly know the two of us. What were you hoping to accomplish?"

"Mr Douglas, I know that it's hard to believe, however, I was only trying to help Janet. Clearly, it didn't- I mistook the situation completely."

"But why- why would that help? Did- did she say something to you about me?" he asked faintly.

Anne swallowed, feeling sick at the thought of her conversation with Janet. "Mr Douglas, I don't wish to break Janet's confidence."

He turned pale and swallowed, working to control his emotions. "I wouldn't want you to do so."

Anne's heart fell as the uncomfortable silence grew, and she closed her eyes, praying that she wouldn't complicate the matter any further. Eventually, though, she spoke.

"Mr Douglas? Why haven't you married Janet when you care for her so?" she asked softly.

"That is no one's business but my own and Janet's."

With a sinking feeling, Anne realised that Janet could exist in this state for the rest of her life if something didn't change. Her voice was gentle. "Mr Douglas, if you don't ever plan to marry Janet, then it would be kinder to tell her so. You- you must know that she loves you. She deserves to know it if nothing is ever going to happen."

This seemed to be the breaking point for the man who had endured so much, and he leapt to his feet, his eyes flaming. "You don't understand- I would give anything, anything, Mrs Blythe- I would give up everything I possess to be free to act now. But I made a promise- I was sworn to a promise that I cannot break," he choked. "I can't tell her when. I can't tell her why. You don't understand what it has meant to me to watch her live her life alone- to watch the two of us grow older when it should have been me by her side all of these years." A dumbfounded Anne watched him pace to and fro on the porch, as the words flooded from him.

"Mr Douglas," Anne said desperately, "You don't owe anyone an explanation- certainly not me- no one except Janet herself. You need to tell her this."

John was breathing heavily, and Anne saw the agony on his kind face as he leant against the rails of the veranda. "And what if an explanation is the one thing I cannot give her?"

Anne's lips thinned, yet her voice was unknowingly gentle. "Mr Douglas, who is it that binds you to something that is causing both of you such pain? Are they still living?"

To her surprise, John began to laugh, a laughter that was immensely painful to Anne's ears. "Come now, Mrs Blythe, who would bother caring who- or when- an old bachelor married?"

Anne set her cup down with shaking hands, her face stricken. "Your mother."

He fell into his seat, his eyes dull. "At first- I actually believed that she didn't know what she was making me promise," he mumbled. "Twenty years ago, we thought she was dying. She made me swear that I wouldn't bring another woman home until she was dead. I thought it was out of fear- I thought she would relent when she recovered, that she would care more about my happiness than a promise that I was wrong to make. But she never did. She is merciless. My father indulged her all her life, and it was left for me to make her happy when he died. And I wanted to do it- I loved my mother- but I soon realised that she couldn't really love me. Not if she can punish me the way she is. She'll never release me, Mrs Blythe. I've tried for twenty years. I went to her on my knees the other night- I begged her- and she told me that it was- cruel- to lead Janet on- that I might as well let her go her own way. She baits me in front of her," he said, his voice shaking with fury. "She does it, not caring that it hurts me, that it hurts her, and to Janet, who has the kindest heart I've ever known- someone who has waited for me for most of your lifetime. She made me swear that I wouldn't tell Janet- that I wouldn't tell anyone. And I know that I would have happiness in my grasp if I were only willing to break my word- but if I do, what will I have left?" he choked, his words tumbling over themselves. "What kind of man will I be if I attained a wife by breaking my word? I'm trapped, Mrs Blythe. You can't know what it's like to be able to do nothing. I can't leave the farm, and Mother would make Janet's life a living hell if she were to come to us against her wishes. I've had to see us grow older- I've had to watch our neighbours go on to have children, and build families and move away, and she is alone- she is alone because she waited for a man who isn't free."

He dropped his head into his hands, and Anne watched him, her eyes dimmed with tears. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "Mr Douglas, you need to tell Janet this. She deserves to know. And she loves you- I'm sure that she will understand if you will only tell her why."

He lifted his head, his face set in grief. "I swore an oath, Mrs Blythe. I let that woman use our family Bible to bind me to this. I- I shouldn't tell Janet anything."

Anne stared at him unflinchingly, then. "And yet you told me."

"I- I was wrong to do so."

Anne paused, her eyes troubled as she tried to express the ideas only forming now. "Mr Douglas, I- think there is more forgiveness available to us than we imagine," she said slowly. "We all have times where we fail our convictions. It hurts- but we forget that we are frail. If it was wrong to promise something so devastating to you both, it is right to tell Janet. You should never have been made to promise otherwise. I- I think there is a higher law at work here- if you must keep your word that you will wait, then tell her why."

John was silent for a full minute, his eyes on the distant garden. He then gave a dry laugh. "I suppose I have already broken my word once. I should at least make it count for something. But a man doesn't like to let himself- to let God down."

Anne gave him a small smile. "'He knows our frame; he remembers that we are dust'," she quoted softly. At the older man's startled look, Anne chuckled tiredly, pushing a red curl back from her forehead. "Mrs Lynde- a neighbour of mine- used to tell me that when I was younger- lest I became too full of myself, I believe. I only ever heard the judgment in that, then. It was only when I was older that I understood the grace in it- He knows us for what we are- and shows us compassion anyway."

There was quiet then on the veranda for some time, until a light step was heard on the pathway, as Janet approached the house. Anne watched as John Douglas stood up to meet her, his hat forgotten on the chair. He took her hand in his, his voice low.

"Janet, will you come for a walk with me? Please?"

Anne held her breath as Janet blinked up at him in shock. "John, whatever is the matter?"

Anne was forgotten as his eyes glittered in the moonlight. "Just- just come with me."

Somewhat in a stupor, Anne watched the pair disappear into the darkness of the orchard, before pulling herself together and realising that she would be better occupied doing the dishes, than standing on the veranda staring after them dumbly.

July 9th

It was terrible of me to do it, Gil, however, I couldn't seem to stop myself- proving that my impulsiveness is not dead yet. I remain unrepentant, though- Janet's love for him, and his own convictions could have held them in this torturous limbo forever. And if I have learned anything over the past six months, it is that secrets are far more damaging than facing the truth. There, don't I sound wise and venerable? Especially since both Janet and John keep reminding me that you and I were infants when they first fell in love. Oh, perhaps their happiness may only exist in stolen moments right now, but it is more than they were living with- they know that they love each other, and perhaps, for now, that is enough. John Douglas and Janet belong together- they should have a house full of strapping sons and loving daughters: kindness and togetherness, and a life not controlled by the machinations of a selfish, older woman. I feel as helpless as I did before- but then what would you or I have done in that situation? I fear that I would have gone stomping off down the road much sooner, that is certain.

Janet was teary and yet positively glowing when she came inside- although she reprimanded me at once for speaking for her. Although I'm not sure I can call it a reprimand, not when it was accompanied by extra cream in my tea. I apologised profusely, however, she only sighed and stuffed me full of her butter tart, her eyes as dreamy as any schoolgirl. She is at peace, at last. We discussed it over another cup of tea- Janet insisted on me having one with her, much to my dismay- three big cupfuls at nighttime is too much for comfort! Nevertheless, I was relieved to see Mr Douglas walk back down the path that night with a new spring in his step, despite the burden he still carries. He thanked me, you know- something I don't quite think I deserved. Janet told me candidly that nothing could change between them yet- but she knows the truth. That was all that mattered, and now they can continue on together. I can't help feeling cross about the situation, myself, for what has been solved? Why should Mrs Douglas continue to get away with her manipulation? And yet she- they, are happier than they have ever been. I have to believe that something will change one day; although I sincerely hope in the meantime that I won't be asked over for tea at the Douglas farm anytime soon. If I am, I fear that my tempest in the Avonlea school teapot will look like child's play next to the red-headed volcano that will erupt if she torments either Janet or her son in front of me.

July 15

Well, for starters, Anne-est-of-Annes, I wouldn't have made the promise. You can't blackmail a Blythe, we're way too stubborn for that. I hate manipulation, I hate pretence- you are the very furthermost thing from that, which is part of the reason I was so attracted to you. Plus, you know my mother would have proposed to you for me, if she thought it would get us to marry earlier- she would have adored to have us both under one roof (not something I dream about, I assure you) -although I wouldn't complain about anything after hearing about Janet and John Douglas. You wouldn't have waited twenty years to confront me about it, either, sweetheart. You would have gone storming down that road, I would have stormed right after you, and probably grabbed you and kissed you senseless- ie, confusion over. That sounds far more like us. I honour their faithfulness and the love they have for each other, however, it should never have had to be tested that way. We can only hope something will change while there is still time for them to be together.

As the weeks of July passed, Anne began to turn her attention toward hearth and home, knowing that in only five weeks they would be back in Kingsport together. Gilbert celebrated the half-way mark by writing that he had found a pretty tea set in pink china, from a warehouse filled to the brim with wares from the orient. His landlady had suggested trying there, and he had spent a happy afternoon browsing through the waterside building, watching the ships come and go through dingy windows. He had attempted to sketch a design of the teapot and cups in his letter to Anne, who laughed and commented fondly to Janet that if his drawing was accurate, it would never hold water. He had sent a pretty locket with his letter, a silver oval etched with a sinuous dragon that delighted Anne. He hadn't been extravagant at all, he protested, their finances were well in hand for the upcoming year; however, evidently, she needed something to prove to the townsfolk that he was still alive and well- this was after a certain Samuel Toliver had proposed to Gilbert's supposed widow one evening. When he was informed that Anne's very-much-alive husband was a young, athletic, college fellow who would join her in a little over a month, he proceeded to backtrack quickly, scurrying down the darkening lane and leaving Anne and Janet in fits of laugher on the comfortable sofa inside.

Anne had noticed a certain lightness to Janet's spirits, now. John Douglas still came and took her driving, walking her home from prayer meeting as he had done for twenty years, and outwardly all was the same. At Wayside though, the intimacy between them had grown, and happiness was evident in both of their eyes. Anne managed to spend a Sunday dinner at the Douglas home without incident, affecting to remain as nonchalant as the couple in question were- and several times she caught the older woman looking at Janet and her son with suspicion in her eyes. Janet wore her pretty pansy dress that day, much to Anne's satisfaction. Her greater satisfaction was in the hours the couple spent together away from the older woman, where Anne shamelessly abandoned her post as a chaperone. In those times, she took Gilbert's letters and her notepad to the creek, the green swampland a place of beauty in the summer sunshine.

The letters between the Anne and Gilbert had flown thick and fast, kept and read over a hundred times that summer. Certainly, the Valley Road postmaster was kept busy with Anne's replies, giving an indulgent look as the red-headed schoolmarm dropped off another missive. He never told tales outside the office, however, his broad-faced wife gushed to all who would listen that young Mrs Blythe wrote to her husband three times a week; she was desperately in love with him, she averred- it was all terribly romantic. There was other correspondence of course- Anne's weekly letter to Green Gables, letters to the girls and various college business- including a thick envelope, much battered through two crossings. Janet was quite overwhelmed with the correspondence that came for her boarder and soon grew to know Gilbert's upright, black script even before she had turned the envelope over to read his name.

To Anne's delight, long bubbly letters from Diana began to arrive as the summer waned, bright and cheerful even though the honeymoon period had ended completely, she had stated. In her letters, she spoke of her adventures in housekeeping, including the strangeness of having to wash a man's underthings, her mother-in-law's edicts on what a Wright household should look like, and of her shock at just how much pie Fred could actually eat. Her mother had begun grilling her weekly at Sunday dinner on whether or not she thought she had fallen pregnant yet- and Mrs Wright Senior kept glancing at Diana's torso, no doubt trying to check the same thing. It was most infuriating, Diana wrote- especially since they had been so kind as to inform her how revoltingly she would feel when she entered that blessed state. Anne could only laugh- Diana would make a wonderful mother, she knew, although she knew that her friend wanted a little time before the stork came visiting. Time would tell, she supposed.

One letter had been particularly startling- in view of the conversation before Diana's wedding, she had thought that Anne would appreciate hearing her more positive perspective on the marriage bed- slyly suggesting that Anne should destroy the letter before she went home to Gilbert. Anne had made the mistake of reading it while Janet and John were talking quietly in the corner of the parlour, and both had looked up in consternation as she choked over her cup of tea, her cheeks a brilliant scarlet, and almost incoherent in her assurances that nothing was the matter. In a short time, she had fled to her room to recover. Diana's surprisingly colourful descriptions were filled with details about Fred Wright that she sincerely wished she had never known, while Anne attempted to focus on Di's bright reassurance that it was quite pleasant, and nothing to fear. The problem, Anne thought dryly, was what to do if you happened to possess an especially visual sort of imagination- something that kept her wide awake for some nights afterwards. In her mind was always the picture of Gilbert's twisted smile, the brown curls she hoped their distant children would inherit, and bashful memories of the way he pressed her close to him. Try as she might, her cheeks would flush and her pulse would beat rapidly, and she would wonder if Gilbert ever grew as distracted as she was about him. As she snuggled down in her bed that night, she would remember the glazed expression he sometimes wore when she looked at her- and she couldn't help smiling. Oh, she rather thought that he might.

In early August Anne returned from a rare weekend at Green Gables to a series of thunderstorms that hovered over the valley. She clutched her umbrella as she walked to and from school in the driving rain, and Janet met her at the door each afternoon with a warm drink and a clean, dry dress laid out on her bed. It was always the way in summer, Janet told her placidly- the back lawn was at present under several inches of water, and the washing was hung out on lines under the veranda.

When Anne was warm and dry on this day, she was handed her stack of mail, beaming as a particularly fat one of Gilbert's topped the pile.

To Anne's surprise, Janet looked at her wistfully, sitting down on the sofa beside her.

"I'm going to miss having you here, Anne," she said slowly. "It's been nice to have someone I can talk to."

Anne blinked in some shock. "Isn't Esther coming back as soon as I go, Janet?"

"Oh, yes," Janet said dully, not sounding at all like her usual self. "Esther is a dear girl, of course- but she has her own friends- and I fear that things with John will go back to the way they were before you came."

"Janet, you know that isn't so," Anne said firmly. "He seems to be around here almost every night, right now. I assume the weather has kept him away for the past two days."

Janet smiled wryly. "I most lived for the few times I saw him, before. I've become spoiled. And I think John feels better about coming around here with a married woman here- he's really very proper, you know."

Anne chuckled. "I think he will find a way to keep seeing you, Janet. And maybe- maybe someday-"

Janet shook her head, a determined smile on her face. "No, no maybes, Anne- and no somedays. I can't live for that. I just need to be grateful that I know how he feels, now." She stood up, then, brushing her tidy apron down. "And now I'd better be getting on with supper- that fish is not going to fry itself."

Anne smiled as Janet exited the room, putting her feet up on the sofa as the fire crackled soothingly. She slit the envelope of Gilbert's letter carefully, as she had learned to do. This time several red leaves fell out, making her chuckle- last time it had been some sand from the bay at Halifax. That was the last time she had opened his letters on her bed. She could almost see the cheeky grin on his face as he sealed it- and across the dried leaf he had printed- See? Autumn is coming. How he had gotten his pen to cooperate, she couldn't tell. She set the leaves aside, turning now to unfold the pages.

It's been blowing a gale, here, he had written. The wind is quite cool for late summer- although I am assured that that is normal. Let's not move here, sweetness- Kingsport is comparatively sheltered, weather-wise. I had a letter from Mrs Whitley the other day, the house is fine- and she's having the chimney swept this week. She's looking forward to us being back, I think- and asked me to give my greetings to you. There was a stern warning in there to make sure you are resting properly- now, does she know something I don't, or is it just something a mother needs to do? And you have many people who love to mother you, sweetheart. I'm grateful, since I can't be there for you yet.

In answer to the question you will no doubt fire back, I'm fine too. Hale and hearty and gearing up for our final year. I study at night, but I've taken to tossing the books aside for a few hours each weekend- and I go on walks around the city, I poke my nose into the little shops and districts that I've never seen before. I've been to an Armenian street market, Halifax's little Italy, and to a fair in Chinatown. It's exciting and invigorating, and I find that I study much better after a break. Yes, yes, I know, Anne has told me that before. Anne is very smart. Now, Anne should stop talking, and let Gilbert get a word in edgewise.

I had an adventure, last weekend- I was walking through the newspaper office with a box of files on Saturday morning, and from out of nowhere I was hit by twin tornadoes- the files went every which way (as did my limbs) and when I looked down, it was into the brightest sets of blue eyes I've ever seen- a boy and a girl, blazing red-heads, the both of them. I must have looked particularly bemused since the boy asked me bluntly if I had a concussion. I suppose he might have wondered- it was only you that I was thinking about then, and it took several seconds for me to answer him coherently. His sister was a tiny thing, hiding behind her big brother- and in talking with them I discovered that they were the eldest children of one of the staff. Stanley McClain came along to claim them soon enough, one of the journalists. He roused on the children for disturbing me, and of course, I told him that they weren't, and somehow I ended up with an invitation for Sunday dinner. The children farewelled me in a completely docile manner, thus leaving me unprepared for the sound that met me on Sunday.

Now, I know I'm an only child, but I didn't think it was possible for a household to be as noisy as that was. You remember the old AVIS gatherings at the Pye household? Like that, only good-natured. The root of it seems to be in Stan himself, who is partially deaf- he was too close to gunfire out west on assignment. No one else seems to mind it, the volume of conversation is just loud to compensate. They have five children including Billy who is just a baby- although he too seems to be able to keep up with his siblings as far as noise is concerned. Meggie is the second youngest at five, and she is a sweetheart- red headed girls were always able to wrap me around their little fingers, it seems. Heaven help me with our daughters. The shyest of the bunch, she sidled up to me with a picture book, asking me to read it to her while everyone else was busy. I assumed that she was simply quiet until her older brother tormented her about something or other- and then she erupted like the volcano you threatened to emulate in one of your letters. I almost died from laughing, she was every bit as ferocious as you can be- she had to be caught by her father (in one arm, he's a big, strapping fellow) and told sternly that it wasn't polite to shout in front of strangers. I'm going back there this week. Honestly, it's the most fun I've had since I've been here; although my ears were ringing when I left the house, as all seven of the family stood out on the doorstep hollering goodbye to me all the way up the street.

I've been dwelling on it ever since I left there- and it's what I want with you, Anne-girl. We've always talked about having a family one day, but it's never seemed so real to me. I can leave behind all my ambitions, if need be, and be thoroughly happy to work and grow and have a family who loves each other. Those fiery red-headed children made me long for the day when you and I become more than just you and I- where we become mother and father to our own little people. I had Meggie and Billy on my knee at one point, and couldn't help but choke up, especially being so far from you right now. You would have adored it there- and you would have enjoyed swapping stories with Stan's wife at the top of your lungs. You can't help doing it to be heard in that house.

I know that we have a unique situation and that we have so much that needs settling before we begin to think about such things- but as you reminded me, we're learning to share the things closer to our hearts. You've shared yours with me, and I want to share mine with you- and distant future or not, I came away from that house with a picture of us surrounded by our own precious family. Only don't take to shouting if I suddenly grow deaf, it's most disconcerting for the guests.

Not long to go now, love.

All of mine to you,

Gil.

Hey everyone! Thank you so much for your lovely reviews, and for taking the time to tell me what you think- and for encouraging me to keep going too! Although don't worry, I've never not finished a story yet. I don't think I could handle leaving it myself- despite the occasional freak-out. Now, several people have asked me about my posting schedule- I really don't have one. I think a week is fairly reasonable for me, however, as you know I've had to have much bigger gaps lately. Like everyone else on here, I have a fairly insistent real life, one that includes 3 autistic children and a beagle with Special Needs. Naturally enough I write around the demands of the family- and as far as recreational time goes, writing has been it for me for years, now. I love hearing from you all, and I love those little nudges I get when it's been too long, however, sometimes it's just going to be like that. I took a little liberty with John and Janet here, I was pondering about how differently the couple could have viewed Anne as a married woman- and maybe had conversations they would not have had with a young, single girl. As with everything, this is just my perspective- and I'm having an absolute ball writing it. Love to you all,

Cate.