All thought escaped Gilbert's mind.

"Did you really just ask…"

Anne's cheeks, already red, darkened considerably, the flush extending to her hairline.

"Yes - yes," she stammered. She looked up at him hesitantly… expectantly.

"Did my mother put you up to this?"

Anne frowned and slowly sat back. "I beg your pardon?"

"You are truly asking me to marry you?" Gilbert asked wildly, trying to find some way to comprehend what had just occurred.

"Yes," Anne confirmed, her eyes filled with distress… and hope.

Gilbert leapt to his feet and began to pace. He suddenly halted and turned to her. "You're in love with me?" he questioned in disbelief.

"I've always been in love with you," Anne said firmly, yet her hands twisted nervously in her lap. The rose Gilbert had plucked for her fell unheeded to the ground.

Gilbert began to pace again, and a cold dread stole over Anne.

"Do you love me in return?" she asked. Her voice trembled.

Gilbert stopped again to look at her incredulously. "You have my love, Anne! You'll have it until my dying day! I'm just - reeling."

A tense silence fell, Anne stiff and cold on the stone bench, Gilbert heated and frenetic in front of her.

"I nearly lost my courage in asking you," Anne said coldly, breaking the silence.

"Well, maybe you should have!" Gilbert exclaimed. "You couldn't trust that I might have a plan for us?"

"What plan?" Anne hissed. "Chastising me? When I've offered you my life and love?"

"When did you realize that you didn't love Roy?" Gilbert asked rashly.

"What does that have to do with this?" Anne asked fiercely.

"Well, you're the one who brought it up!" He gestured at her. "In your proposal."

Anne's heart dropped like a stone. Gilbert, caught up in his own reaction, was unaware of the devastation that crossed her face.

"You realized it in the moment he proposed to you, didn't you?" Gilbert said, realization dawning on his face. He stopped pacing. "Damn, I almost feel sorry for the man. Loving one man whilst courting another."

"Stop, Gilbert!" Anne cried, jumping to her feet. She shook her head rapidly back and forth, utterly distressed. "Please, no more! I wasted two years of that poor man's life!"

Gilbert gave a hysterical laugh. "Poor man?"

Anne went white. She stood stockstill for a moment, absorbing the terrible outcome of her confession and proposal. Then, almost as though she was dreaming, she gently dusted off the front of her dress and walked away. It took Gilbert a moment to realize that Anne was leaving him in the garden.

"Anne!"

She ignored him and continued to walk onward, the picnic basket left behind. Sheer terror suddenly gripped Gilbert as the circumstances of what had just occurred doused him like a bucket of ice water. Anne had proposed, and, in his shock, he had reacted badly, so badly that he had hurt the one person he hoped never to give cause to regret. He hastened after her in desperation.

"Anne, stop! Please! I'm so sorry! I don't know what came over me!"

He caught up to her and touched her arm. She flinched away and swept around to face him, her eyes flashing.

"Anne, forgive me," Gilbert said, his voice shaking. He trembled like a leaf. He fell to his knees in front her, in part due to the shakiness of his own legs. "I love you. Yes, yes, I'll marry you. It's all I want."

"Well, I revoke my offer," Anne replied in a dangerous voice. Suddenly, she heaved a sob, her voice breaking. "You aren't the man I thought you were."

She then turned and ran from him. Rooted to the spot, Gilbert remained on his knees, staring after her in abject distress. A ghostly shiver of horror swept over his skin. He had to be dreaming this nightmare. He would wake up, and all would be well.

But no, there was Anne fleeing from him, with all his hopes and all his dreams. And it was all his fault.

He rose unsteadily, eyes wide and staring. His mind was a whorl of shame, guilt, and heartbreak. Should he follow? Should he beg? He would. But if he knew anything about Anne, she was loathe to forgive.

How long he stood there, he could not say, but he eventually recalled the abandoned picnic basket. He stumbled back to Hester Gray's garden in a daze, thinking he could perhaps return the basket to Green Gables and gain an opportunity to grovel before Anne. Perhaps there was still some hope…

The basket was on the ground near the stone bench with the fallen rose beside it. He reached to recover it as well and hissed with pain as a thorn cut him. Cradling the rose and ignoring his bleeding thumb, he turned his attention to the picnic basket. Upon opening it, he saw the chocolate cake within, beautifully frosted and topped with sugared plums. Tears welled in his eyes, and he thought of her plan to propose to him with a cake in a garden filled with the ghosts of romance and love. Carefully, he placed the rose beside the small plates and silverware tucked into the basket. Holding the basket gently, he made his way toward Green Gables, hoping against hope and berating himself every step of the way.

He expected to be turned away when he arrived, and sure enough, a stone faced Marilla was waiting for him. Sunset was at hand, and she cast a long shadow as she walked towards him. She met him at the gate, preventing him from approaching the house. His already aching heart gave a painful twist at the severity in her eyes.

"Gilbert," she said curtly, crossing her arms.

"Miss Cuthbert," Gilbert said softly.

"I can't let you see Anne," Marilla said. She then added, "She is distraught, and I can guess that it has something to do with her notion to propose to you."

Gilbert lowered his head in anguish. "I love her, Miss Cuthbert."

Marilla pursed her lips. "I imagine so, although it would be reasonable to question that." She shook her head slowly. "I have often thought of you as a better version of your father, but you're more like him than I expected. He broke my heart, too."

Shock coursed through Gilbert, and his mouth opened and closed wordlessly. He stumbled back a step.

"I'm going to ask you to go home, Gilbert," said Marilla firmly. "We'll see what tomorrow will bring."

Somehow, Gilbert nodded. He set the basket down at her feet and backed away. Slowly, he walked home as darkness gathered, his thoughts an agony of lost hope. When he came in through the kitchen door, his mother rose from the table where she had been preparing supper. The kitchen was strangely dim, thought Gilbert.

"Gilbert! Gilbert?" his mother queried anxiously. "My God!" She rushed to him as he swayed. He felt her grasp his arm just as he keeled over, and the world went blissfully dark and silent.

Gilbert was senseless only for a few moments, and his eyelids fluttered as he quickly regained consciousness. He breathed in sharply as the kitchen swung into focus and he tried to scramble to his feet.

"Don't get up, Gilbert," Edie said firmly from where she knelt beside him. She pressed a hand to his forehead. "You walked in white as a sheet and then collapsed. Get your bearings for a moment."

The gaslamp shone brightly on the kitchen table, and the stove glowed with a welcome warmth. Gilbert shivered a bit as his mother pressed a cool cloth to his forehead.

"You're all clammy," she scolded. "This is what comes from not eating enough. I know you're walking on air around Anne, but you need to come down to earth sometimes."

Gilbert's face twisted with pain at the mention of Anne, and Edie noticed and paused her ministrations. Momentarily free, Gilbert hastily rose, grasping the table edge to steady himself as the blood rushed to his head. Edie scrambled to her feet to stand beside him.

"Careful!" she exclaimed, trying to support him. "Has something happened with you and Anne?" she added worriedly.

Embarrassed, Gilbert gently rebuffed her attentions as tears came to his eyes.

"Gilbert?" she asked softly. "What has happened with Anne?"

A few more tears squeezed out of the corners of Gilbert's eyes, despite his efforts to restrain them.

"Gilbert?" Edie pressed.

"I've ruined everything," Gilbert said thickly.

Edie listened with wide eyes as he relayed what had occurred.

"Oh, Gilbert," she said, dismayed. She sank into one of the chairs with a dazed look on her face.

"I've broken her heart," Gilbert said in distress. "And mine, too." He also sat down and put his head in his hands.

"I think we need tea," said Edie, still dazed. She rose and poured water into the tea kettle.

"What did Marilla mean, Ma?" Gilbert asked slowly. "How did Dad break her heart?"

Edie paused for a moment, before placing the kettle on the stove. She turned around to face her son. "I don't know, Gilbert… I knew they were sweethearts once, a few years before he courted me." She sighed, her eyebrows drawn together in thought. "He said it was a misunderstanding. It was a sore subject for him, so I let it go."

Gilbert rubbed his eyes. A hollow feeling grew within him.

"It was wrong of Marilla to say such a thing," said Edie firmly.

"No, Ma," Gilbert said, shaking his head. "She's protecting Anne." He heaved a sigh. "And she was right that it's my fault Anne is distraught. I behaved abominably."

Edie sat back down and pursed her lips in worry. "What are you going to do now?"

"Write," said Gilbert.

Dear Anne,

I fell in love with you the moment you cracked a slate over my head. I have been in love with you ever since, and even 'love' seems insufficient a word when it comes to what I feel for you. I have been afraid to confess the depth of my feelings for you, afraid to learn if you love me, afraid to ask to be yours. I was afraid, in part, that you would not feel likewise, and I preferred to dwell in the possibility of your love rather than knowledge of its falsity. However, I must also confess that part of my fear was that my love might be requited. I am only a poor farmer and school teacher, Anne. There will be no diamond sunbursts or marble halls with me. Far from it. Instead there will be potatoes and patched clothes and debt. There was one time that I thought my life could be more, but I am now certain that my life will not change. This life, and its circumstances, is all I have to offer you. However, I could not help beginning to hope for a life with you when you returned from Redmond unengaged. It took me some time, but I decided that I would try to seek your hand regardless of my circumstances. I had only begun to plan for how I might propose when you did. All my insecurities came rushing back with your dear, loving words. Words that I had dreamed of, but not believed in. It was too incredible for me to comprehend, and I became the worst version of myself, a bitter coward. I hurt you, the woman I love, and I cannot apologize enough. I am so sorry, Anne. I doubt there is forgiveness for me, and I accept that. I am a fool, and I tend to be at my most foolish when it comes to you. I know there is now little hope for a future with you, but if there is a second chance for me, I will not hesitate like I did before. I will leap for it, my love. How I have longed to call you my love, and how I have shied from it! I know I have likely forfeited that right before even gaining the opportunity for you to be mine. Forgive my forwardness. You are so intelligent, fascinating, beautiful, humorous, and you have entranced me from that fateful moment with the slate. You are so wonderful, Anne, and you deserve all the world has to offer. I am deeply and profoundly affected that you asked me to marry you, and I am desperately sorry for how I hurt you. If it is in your heart to forgive me and start anew, I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. If not, I shall love you from afar.

Love,

Gilbert

There was no sleep for Gilbert that night. After several drafts of the all-important letter, he lay in bed and waited for dawn. His thoughts were restless, and the wait was nerve-wracking. He felt he had little reason to hope. How could he expect Anne to forgive him? She, who had held a grudge against him for five years for calling her 'carrots?' He had just spurned her offer of marriage. What was the price of this transgression? Eternal banishment from her life, Gilbert guessed.

Before dawn even broke, he rose and dressed himself carefully, but plainly. He left the house and walked through the dewy fields in the predawn light. In the shadowy nooks and hollows of the fields and woods where clusters of autumnal wildflowers grew, Gilbert gathered the prettiest blooms. Flowers were rather scarce as it was now October, and Gilbert contemplated adding the vivid branches of golden birch leaves or the royal crimson of the maples. In his search for more flowers, he wandered deeper into the woods, beyond the marshes and the harvest hills that were now basking in an amber sunrise radiance under an aerial sky of rose and blue. The woods around the head of the marsh were full of purple vistas, threaded with gossamers. Past a dour group of gnarled spruces and a maple-fringed dell, he made a discovery.

An apple tree, aged, yet strong, growing with vigor alone and afar from any apple orchard. It was adorned with fruit, red and ripe. Gilbert approached it slowly, hardly daring to believe that the tree before him was more than the morning mist. He ran his hands along a sturdy bough and plucked an apple. It was firm and crimson, and he rubbed it against his sleeve until it shined. Taking a bite, he thought he had never tasted a more delicious apple. He eagerly picked a few more, filling the small basket he had brought with him to hold the flowers he had picked. He carefully arranged the blooms to make room for the few apples, regretfully wishing he had brought a larger basket. When the basket held as much as it could without harming the flowers, he stood for a moment, memorizing how he had arrived in this extraordinary place. Then, with a bracing breath, he picked up the basket and began to head for Green Gables.

He felt his courage rising as he steadily walked, and he idly wondered if the apple he had eaten had been imbued with the same strength the tree had in growing so far from an orchard. He needed that strength as Green Gables came into view, the farm stirring with morning chores. He must have been spotted from a distance, for someone was dispatched to send him away. The someone, however, was not Marilla, but Dora. The little girl approached him with both shyness and determination in her task.

"Anne doesn't want to see you," she said softly but firmly. "You hurt her feelings."

Gilbert sadly nodded his head. "I did," he said. "And I'm so sorry."

"She sent me to tell you to leave her alone, please," Dora continued in her sweet, child's voice.

Gilbert gave a sad smile. "If that's what she wants," he agreed.

Dora gave a sigh of relief at his compliance. Confrontation involved everything she abhorred: speaking up and standing out. But she would not fail Anne, whom she adored as both sister and mother. Dora would face any of her fears at gentle Anne's request.

"Before you go," Gilbert said quickly. "Could you please give this to Anne?" He held forth the basket of apples and flowers with one hand and then with the other, carefully withdrew the letter from his breast coat pocket.

Dora hesitated, unsure. Her instructions had not included anything about gifts. Should she accept or refuse?

"Please, Dora?" Gilbert pleaded.

His face is so sad, thought Dora. She was not privy to the details that had led Anne to cry upstairs and avoid Gilbert's company, but she thought Mr. Blythe was a good and kind teacher, and so handsome, too. Anybody should be pleased to accept gifts from him. Making up her mind, she nodded shyly and took the basket and letter from him.

Gilbert watched as Dora returned to the house, and he prayed that all was not lost. When she disappeared within the home, he walked slowly back to the Blythe farm and the farm work that awaited him there. The cows were milked and herded to pasture; the chickens were fed, and the eggs gathered. Breakfast was served and eaten, as Edie observed her son with worry. He was so quiet, and he ate so little. Where had he wandered to this morn? she fretted. Had he gone to Green Gables again? No answer was forthcoming from Gilbert, and as it was the weekend, he left for the fields instead of the classroom.

Mechanically, he swung the cradle and cut stalks of oats, moving steadily down the field. Swing, cut, step. Time lost all meaning as he pressed forward with no thought but the seemingly endless field in front of him. He had no notion of how long he had been in the oat fields, when his work was interrupted by a loud call of his name. He paused and looked around for the source.

His heart quailed at the formidable sight of Diana Barry marching across the shorn oat field with a red-faced Fred Wright in tow.

"Gilbert Blythe!" Diana called as she came closer. "I have something to say to you!"

Gilbert quietly set down the cradle and waited for justice. Fred seemed to be trying to keep Diana from whatever she intended to dole out.

"Di, darling, this really isn't necessary."

He tugged gently on her forearm as they came up to Gilbert, and she yanked her arm away from her fiance.

"I was hoping and praying for so long that you and Anne would get together," Diana admonished with a shaking finger at Gilbert. She then poked said finger into his chest. "I thought you two were just made for each other. You have LOVED her for AGES! Granted, Anne's methods are rather unusual… but we all know that! You've really disappointed me, Gilbert. I CANNOT BELIEVE that you would be such an IDIOT to not LEAP at the opportunity of marrying Anne, no matter how it came about! That poor girl is devastated. All she does is write and write and then tear up the pages! I saved what I could!"

She dug into her pockets and tossed scraps of paper at him. Gilbert managed to catch a couple. Fragments of poetic lines were scribbled on the bits of paper. One simply said,

Our blindness betrayed like minded fools.

And the other said,

Must set my broken wings to the wind.

Gilbert's face crumpled, and he slowly bent to retrieve the scattered papers among the oats. Kneeling at their feet, he gathered the scraps carefully into his hands.

"Di, please, his heart's broke," Fred pleaded.

"He broke it himself!" Diana exclaimed mercilessly.

"Di!" Fred cried. "I'm sorry, Gil," he said, sending a concerned glance down to his friend. "Di, come away. That's enough."

"It's fine, Fred," Gilbert said dully. "It's no more than I deserve." Indeed, the lambasting felt righteous, and Gilbert replayed Diana's searing words to himself in order to feel their full measure.

Diana heaved a breath, still angry. She glared down at him. "The thing is, Gil, that Anne might still love you."

Gilbert's head jerked up to lock eyes with Diana.

"Yes, it's true," sighed Diana. "Do you love her?"

"I've always been in love with her," Gilbert said fervently.

Diana's eyes narrowed. "Well, you've got a funny way of showing it!"

Gilbert cast his head down, and Fred yelped, "Di!"

"You MIGHT be able to make this right, Gil," Diana said, and Gilbert looked up again. "You've been such a fool, Gil, and I never thought of you as a fool. Fix this, and perhaps you can find happiness together."

"I don't know, Diana," Gilbert said mournfully. "She begrudged me for half a decade after I called her 'carrots.' As much as I hope otherwise, I fear there may be no coming back from this."

Diana gazed down at him imperiously, but she was softening. "Anne has been a fool at times, too." She sighed, then gave a small smile. "Anne's older and wiser now, and I thought you'd be, too. Try again, Gil. Don't give up, especially when it comes to Anne. She's worth it."

A pinprick of hope ignited within Gilbert's heart. Diana smiled a bit more, and Fred gave a sigh of relief that the diatribe was over. He extended a hand to Gilbert and pulled him to his feet. Diana gave Gilbert a nod and then departed. Fred shrugged sheepishly and hastened after her. Gilbert watched them go, a warmth growing within him. Perhaps there was still some hope for him after all.

A/N: There were direct references from the Anne of Green Gables series in this chapter. I claim no credit to anything you may recognize from the original books. That's all the wonderful work of L.M. Montgomery. I have also quoted from a beautiful song, which I have attributed to Anne's poetic musings in this chapter. It is the lovely work of SHEL, in their song called "Like Minded Fool." There is a also dialogue in this chapter that was inspired by MrsVonTrapp's Let Love clasp Grief lest both be drown'd in Chapter 4: Reckoning. I just love what she did with that chapter, and she kindly let me use the idea for mine.

What a debacle Gilbert has worked himself into in this chapter, and I was pleased to see that some of you saw this coming in your reviews! Thank you so much for your lovely reviews and private messages. They mean the world to me, thank you!