The next few days were a blur of worry, work, and hope for Gilbert. Every morning, he faithfully dropped off a basket at Green Gables for Anne, a basket that contained various tokens of affection - often flowers, but always an apple or two or three from the secluded apple tree. Gilbert made daily pilgrimages to said tree, at first struggling to find it again, but after a time, he was able to find it as easily as his own home.
The day's basket contained apple cake (that Gilbert had baked himself the night before), two apples, and a spray of vivid red maple branches. The basket was left quickly and quietly on the back step of Green Gables in the predawn darkness, with Gilbert rushing away like some sort of reverse thief in the night. His speed lessened as he came closer to his own farm, and as he started to walk, he thought of his wood sprite and wondered if he, in turn, was some sort of lovesick elf.
The Blythe farm came into view just as the rising sun peeked over the eastern hills, illuminating the red sandstone barnyard below and the old buildings upon it. The barnyard was teaming with life: the cows were lowing in the barn, the rooster was crowing among the hens, and the hogs were squealing noisily in their pen. Their loud squeals would end soon, as Uncle George had arranged for both families' hogs to be butchered one day hence. Then there would be ham and ribs aplenty to serve at the apple picking party. Gilbert rolled up his sleeves and headed to the impatient cows.
Chores were accomplished as briskly as possible along with breakfast. His mother expressed some frustration at the sudden absence of the apple cake. Had Gilbert actually eaten it all? She debated whether this was a good or bad possibility. With a suspicious glance at her son, she decided to let it go. Gilbert almost felt amused at her confusion, but not wanting to clarify the matter, he hurried off to the schoolhouse.
Plans for the apple picking party were well underway, with much of Avonlea eager to attend. Church service a couple days prior had been a means to invite folks, and most were excited at the prospect of a party. The fact that it was also labor bothered none. Hard work was commonplace in Avonlea and far superior to amusement. From quilting bees to barn-raisings, gathering together for work was an eagerly anticipated occasion.
Part of the excitement came from young ladies who were delighted to attend a party at Gilbert Blythe's invitation. Even if the specific inviting had been done by his mother, that was just proxy for Gilbert, surely. Nothing had seemed to come about with Anne Shirley's return to Avonlea. What an odd cat she was! It was good to see Gilbert coming to his senses and hosting a party to find someone more suitable.
If Gilbert had any idea that the young, eligible women of Avonlea were approaching this party akin to Cinderella's ball, he might have had misgivings about hosting it. As it was, he looked forward to the event. At the very least it would be a distraction from the disastrous state of affairs with Anne. At the very most, well, that remained to be seen. For Gilbert had devised another plan.
If, by all goodness and mercy, Anne were to attend the apple picking party, he would spirit her away to the special apple tree, where Gilbert would declare his love and respect for her and beg for a second proposal. It was a precarious plan at best, but Gilbert clung tenaciously to it. If it could not come to pass, he would simply continue to bring her gifts until the end of time. There would be no other for him. That was that.
The day of the butchering, Anne's basket contained a nosegay of asters (a lucky find), three apples, and a bird's nest (that had been knocked from a tree near the Blythe barn). The fledglings had long since left, but Gilbert found nests and other nature paraphernalia fascinating, and he thought Anne might, too, so in it went. Later, as he came in for breakfast clutching the milk pail, his mother asked him about her market basket.
"Do you know where it is, Gilbert? I swear I had it in the storeroom, but it's gone completely."
Gilbert shrugged, hurrying past her. As his mother puttered about making breakfast and continuing to search for her wayward basket, Gilbert strained the new milk and set it aside. The cream had risen to the top of the previous evening's milk, and he scraped it off and plunked it in the butter churn. He began to churn the butter as his mother set the table.
"Have… have you heard at all from Green Gables?" Edie asked hesitantly.
"Hmm?" Gilbert asked, pretending deafness, yet the increasing vigor of his churning belied his ears.
"Um, nothing," said Edie, eyeing the churn. "Gilbert, careful, you'll - "
The churn gave an ominous cracking noise, and Gilbert abruptly stopped his efforts. He sheepishly inspected the churn before recommencing more carefully.
Breakfast was a quiet affair, Edie not wishing to press Gilbert further, and Gilbert feigning ambivalence. The silence was gratefully broken by the arrival of Aunt Kitty through the kitchen door.
"Hullo, you two!" she said cheerily. "George is just about ready. A spot has been cleared afore our barn and a fire built."
"Wonderful," said Edie rising. "I've sharpened the knives."
"I'll herd the pigs over," Gilbert added, rising and exiting out the backdoor.
Gilbert had cancelled school for the day in order to focus on butchering, a wise decision, he thought. The unsuspecting hogs were not keen to follow his lead to the Fletcher farm, being far more interested in rooting around in whatever came across their path. It was just as well, thought Gilbert, as he used all his strength to pull the ropes wrapped around each hog's chest to move them onward, he wasn't so keen to kill them.
After much struggle, Gilbert arrived with the hogs, and work commenced. His uncle had two hogs himself, so there was plenty to do. Pacifique Buote had brought his wife and four little ones to help. The Buote small fry all ran for cover, their fingers stuffed in their ears, for each hog's demise, but all returned happily to help with the busy preparation of the meat. The barnyard was a hive of activity as the meat was made into sausage or headcheese or put in the Fletcher's ice house or smokehouse. The Fletchers' smokehouse was the envy of many a farmer in Avonlea, a substantial affair of solid oak slats with trenches like footpaths that were filled with the savory smoke of burning maple wood chips. The hams and shoulders were hung from the numerous ceiling hooks throughout the smokehouse. The smokehouse roof had two adorable, miniature brick chimneys that merrily puffed the delicious scent of smoked meat throughout Avonlea.
It was little surprise that the delectable smells drew passerby. Josie and Gertie Pye arrived for an untimely call to chat about the upcoming apple picking party. They expressed their disgust over the butchering whilst they busily ogled Gilbert and finally left bickering, but not before sampling the pork belly that Kitty was frying up. Old Hiram Sloane conveniently showed up at dinner break, just as all were taking a much needed rest to eat fried pork belly with biscuits, and "kindly offered to taste test because of his discerning palate." It was only when Davy Keith and Milty Boulter came by that Gilbert appreciated the intrusiveness of their neighbors. The boys had taken advantage of their day off from school to go fishing at Barry's Pond, but when they were unable to catch anything, they followed their noses to the Fletcher place.
"Say, would anyone miss a few of those biscuit sandwiches?" said Davy. "It's just that we're awfully hungry. We ate all the lunch Marilla packed for us ages ago."
Gilbert set aside his work with a smile. His family exchanged glances as he hurried to offer the boys refreshment. When the boys were happily eating, he sat down beside them.
"How are things at Green Gables?" he asked rather nervously.
"Fie," said Davy through a mouthful of sandwich. He swallowed tremendously. "Say, Gilbert, do fairies exist? I want to know. Because fairies keep bringing us things."
"Have they?" said Gilbert, fighting a smile.
"Yeah," said Davy with a shrug. "I asked Anne if it was fairies, and she said maybe."
"How is Anne?" Gilbert asked hesitantly.
"Boring," Davy sighed. "But at least she's not sad anymore."
"She's not?" Gilbert asked in surprise.
"No, she came downstairs and baked plum puffs day before last," said an unassuming Davy, "but they're all gone. Thankfully, the fairies brought apple cake yesterday. Hey, do you think we could write a note to the fairies with requests? There wasn't anything to eat in today's basket, and I think there should be. Jam tarts, for one."
"Sure, why not," said Gilbert, adding a conspiratorial wink. "Write the fairies a note. Couldn't hurt."
When the boys finished their sandwiches they lingered to help, or rather to play with the Buote children. It was some hours before they wandered on home. As evening fell, and butchering finally wrapped up, the Blythes, Fletchers, and the Buotes gathered together to eat supper. Old blankets were spread out to picnic in the twilight, and dishes of pork chops and mashed potatoes smothered in gravy were passed around. The bonfire cast a welcome warmth on the outdoor supper. The air had a chill in it, and a freeze was likely to come soon. Thankfully, the apple harvest would be in by week's end, and the harvest would be over for the Blythe farm. Stars began to wink above the evening picnic, and Gilbert lay back to observe them. Harvest end no longer held the same anticipation Gilbert had felt as he had devised his plan to propose to Anne. But perhaps the apple picking party held the opportunity to begin resolving the proposal disaster. Hope was slim, but it still beat a steady rhythm within his heart.
Yet, as the couple days between the butchering and the apple picking party slipped away, Gilbert began to dread the whole event. Rumors had reached his ears of the supposed intent of the party, and the eager anticipation of the young women in Avonlea. Why they were interested in him following his family's descent into illness and poverty, Gilbert had trouble comprehending. What he was unaware of was that his family's struggles were not exactly public knowledge. If it had been, perhaps it would have deterred interest, but in general, inheriting a house and farmland was plenty sufficient for many an aspiring bride in Avonlea. To have that house and farmland belong to the gorgeous Gilbert Blythe had all the makings of a happily ever after in Avonlea.
Despite his difficulties in understanding his appeal in monetary terms, Gilbert was aware of his looks. In his younger years, perhaps too aware. But grief and disappointment had humbled him, and the fancy others felt for him seemed misplaced. The only admiration he cared about was one he now had the least right to expect. And that is where most of his dread lay. For his dread for the party was not solely due to the bevy of unattached women who would come, but also his increasing certainty that Anne would not.
When the day of the party finally arrived, Gilbert was in a state of dreadful nerves. All lay in readiness. The barnyard had been swept clean and strung with winking lanterns. A ring of tables laid neatly with ironed tablecloths and doilies awaited platters of roast pork and mounds of mashed potatoes, creamed corn, and dishes of assorted pies and more. Chairs and blankets spread on hay bales were scattered liberally. A pile of baskets and trugs for apple picking led the way to the orchard. The various musicians of Avonlea were gathering in a corner of the barnyard tuning their instruments, as apple pickers began to arrive.
Soon a throng of people filled the barnyard, taking baskets and moseying on over to the apple orchard. A hubbub of cheerful activity shook the orchard, quite literally as younger children climbed into trees to shake apple-laden branches, while others plucked the low-hanging fruit more carefully. In vain, Gilbert looked for Anne, his efforts hindered by the many young ladies constantly catching his arm. Hope dwindled within him, and the merrymaking surrounding him became dull and monotonous. As apple pickers returned to the barnyard with heavy baskets, Gilbert decided to manage the cider press in an effort to avoid the dance floor. Any apple not suitable for storage or sale was sent to the cider press, which Gilbert cranked with single-minded determination at the edge of the barnyard. His efforts to avoid the dance floor were successful, however his subconscious aim to avoid attention was not, as a crowd of young ladies gathered around him to ogle. And not just young ladies.
"He cuts a fine figure, doesn't he?" remarked Mrs. William Cartwright, every day of fifty-five years, to Almira Andrews, decidedly elderly.
Instead of responding, Almira shoved a huge bite of boysenberry pie into her mouth and smacked her lips.
Much of the crowd around Gilbert lingered despite the enticing tunes played by the musicians catty-corner to the cider press, although others took to the earthen dance floor to twirl and clap beneath the winking lanterns and stars. The fiddles sang folksy and true with the twang of Ol' Uncle Abe's banjo (more enthusiasm than talent), when a discordant harmonica entered the song. Many looked around for the unexpected source, including Gilbert.
Davy Keith, happily and noisily playing a harmonica, danced about with abandon on the other side of the barnyard. Gilbert's eyes widened. If Davy was here, then maybe…
Gilbert rapidly surveyed the revelry before him. A flash of red hair caught the lantern light, and Gilbert's heart leapt into his throat. Anne had come! After all his hopes and all his fears, he could scarcely believe that she truly had come.
The ladies around him squealed with delight and squabbled amongst each other as he abruptly headed for the dance floor, and they all vied to be closest should he ask for their hand. He pushed past them, and the squeals and squabbles turned from delight to dismay as they watched his path toward Miss Anne Shirley? She stood at the edge of the dance floor, as though waiting for a partner, a role Gilbert seemed eager to fulfill as he hurried toward her.
Gilbert's heart soared. All was not lost. She had come. She was lovelier than ever, her cheeks rosy, her eyes sparkling, and she was dressed in a gown that was NOT BLACK, but a soft shade of purple, nearly pink. A thick-knit, creamy shawl and matching tam kept the chill at bay. Gilbert's heart beat a rapid tempo as he watched her smile, and he gathered his courage to take her to his secret apple tree, to plead for her love.
Yet as he drew near to her, Gilbert saw that her smile had not been for him. He stopped abruptly as Anne accepted the arm of none other than Charlie Sloane, who stood beside her. The Sloanes had conveniently missed the apple picking aspect of the party, but had now arrived en force for the dinner and dancing. Charlie was quite literally puffed up with self-importance, and as the pieces fell into place in Gilbert's mind, he realized that Anne had come to HIS party with CHARLIE SLOANE. For a moment, he felt the full weight of this injury, her intention to wound him instead of not attending. He wanted to flee, disappear. But the sight of Charlie's pompous, goggle-eyed face suddenly sent a rumble of anger through him, as Anne likely intended.
Looking pleased as punch, Charlie led Anne onto the barnyard dance floor. Almost before Gilbert had realized what he was doing, he had hastened to the farfetched couple. In keeping with his newfound momentum, he sharply tapped Charlie on the shoulder.
The couple paused at the interruption, Charlie swelling with importance. "I say, Gilbert, wait your turn," he complained, trying to take Anne's hand again. "I'm escorting Anne, and we've only just begun."
"I'm afraid I insist," Gilbert said rather loudly. Realizing his volume, he lowered his voice and turned to the woman he loved. "I need to speak with you, Anne."
"We're rather preoccupied, Gilbert," she said stiffly, accepting Charlie's hand and beginning to dance away.
Gilbert blinked, his heart sinking. Rather stupidly, he stood there in the middle of the dance floor, watching his love swirl away from him.
Their interaction had not gone unnoticed, even beyond the petulant young women nursing their disappointment on the sidelines. Edie and Aunt Kitty looked nervously on, as others smiled gleefully to themselves over the possible uproar. Fred hurried over to intervene, leaving Diana at the dessert table wringing her hands.
"I'm sorry," Gilbert mumbled, red-faced, to Fred when he appeared before him.
"Sorry for what?" Fred said, trying to be lighthearted. "Come on, let's get you something to eat."
Obediently, Gilbert shuffled off the dance floor with Fred, who clapped an arm across his shoulder. However, as they approached the tables piled high with victuals, Gilbert eased away from his friend. The initial desire to flee and disappear had returned with a vengeance, and even before Fred could belay him, Gilbert was hurrying away into the darkness beyond the lantern light. He broke into a haphazard run through the orchard, dodging lingering apple-pickers and a few young couples seeking secret embraces. His heart twisted painfully at the sight of their affection. Past the orchard, he slowed to a walk, his head in his hands. A chilly breeze blew a kaleidoscope of autumnal leaves across his path, and he realized that he was in the woods, subconsciously making his way to the secluded apple tree. Seclusion seemed ideal, and he picked up his feet. He wound past the marshes, past the moody spruces and the maples, their red leaves fluttering in the October zephyr. The lonely apple tree came into view before him, and he heaved a sigh and laid a hand on a sturdy bough.
The trees around him swished and creaked in a haunting gale, and memories of Anne, Anne, Anne filled his mind. With pain, he recalled the day he pulled her braid and called her carrots. The pink candy heart he had given her flashed into his mind along with the image of her crushing it beneath her shoe. He thought of her drenched, white dress as he rowed her to shore and the fury in her eyes as she sent him running. Would he always run from her? he wondered, tears welling in his eyes.
A soft footfall from behind had him hastily rubbing his eyes and turning with embarrassment to his intruder, likely Fred.
But it was not Fred. With some shock, Gilbert found himself facing Anne herself.
She was no longer the cold, aloof woman on the dance floor. Her face held sorrow and pain as she beheld him, and Gilbert's heart seemed to stop and restart with a vengeance as she came closer to him. When she was directly before him, she gently placed her hand upon his cheek, and quite unable to help himself, Gilbert leaned into her delicate touch. He placed his hand atop hers and found his voice.
"I'm so sorry, Anne," he murmured. "For everything." The tears that had threatened to fall came forth and trickled down his cheeks.
Anne swallowed somewhat nervously and slowly withdrew her hand, Gilbert's following before dropping to his side. She turned half away from him, as though thinking.
"The letter," she suddenly said. "Did you mean it?" She glanced back at him.
"Every word," breathed Gilbert fervently. Could he dare to hope?
"Why did you bring me a bird's nest?" she asked next, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
Gilbert's heart began to spread its wings. "I thought you might like it," he said, a small smile now trembling at the edges of his own mouth.
"I did," she admitted.
The wind swirled through the dell they stood in, momentarily silencing them as it blew the leaves and set the apples upon the apple tree a'swinging. Anne's eyes caught the movement, and she gave a delighted little gasp.
"An apple tree - and away back here!" she exclaimed.
Gilbert's tentative smile grew into a true grin. "Yes, it's a rare find, a mile away from any orchard." His eyes lingered on her as she gazed at the tree.
"I suppose it sprang years ago, from some chance-sown seed," said Anne dreamily.
"I suppose so," said Gilbert, his heart a drumbeat within him. "And yet it has grown and flourished and held its own here."
"The brave determined thing!" Anne declared.
She plucked an apple and peered at it in the semi-darkness. "These are the apples you have been bringing?"
"Yes, although I hoped I could bring you here," said Gilbert. Then, with a thought to carpe diem, he boldly asked, "Why did you follow me, Anne?"
Anne paused, her eyes on the apple in her hand. She then turned to him, saying rather too innocently, "Charlie kept stepping on my feet."
"Vixen," Gilbert said and realized he had spoken aloud. Yet the look of surprised indignation on Anne's face nearly made him laugh, despite the tension. With a cockiness he thought long-gone, he grasped her hand and tugged her closer. "C'mere, Anne-girl."
"Gilbert!" Anne exclaimed, now in full indignation. Face to face, she looked up at him in some amazement. "Anne-girl?"
Gilbert grinned. "Perhaps I should call you 'vengeful vixen' instead?"
Anne spluttered wordlessly. Gilbert gave into the laugh he had been repressing, and then caressed her cheek and lifted her chin.
"Anne-girl, darling, my love… " he sighed, sobering. After a momentary silence, he wiped roughly at the tears that had returned to his eyes. "I love you more than words could say. I'm so sorry for the pain I've caused you."
She watched him intently, deciphering the depth of his words and seeing the pain in his eyes no levity could hide.
"Anne," Gilbert continued, bringing their clasped hands up to his heart. "I will always love you, whether you forgive me or not."
Anne's lips trembled, and she turned her head away, eyes closed tight. Her body quivered with restrained sobs. "Oh, Gilbert," she said thickly. "I cannot bear not to."
Utterly distressed at her reaction, but growing light-headed with joy at her confession, Gilbert cried, "Oh, my darling, my only love!" and crushed her to him. He pressed heated kisses to her cheeks. "You forgive me?"
Under the deluge of his passion, Anne found herself laughing through her tears. "Eleven-year-old me would be appalled at my capitulation. But she didn't know what it was like to love you."
Gilbert smiled and stroked her silken cheek. "My love, you can't imagine how grateful I am." His eyes shone with emotion. "I don't deserve it," he murmured, his eyes on her soft, full lips and the luscious freckle. He caressed her jaw with his fingertip and guided her lips to his, kissing her tenderly. She kissed him back, her lips warm and inviting, and an overwhelming thrill filled Gilbert until he thought he might take flight. She tasted like honeysuckle, her scent like springtime. His heart soared. Could there be any greater happiness?
Yes, there could, Gilbert thought, his lips still gently pressed against hers. With a final, delicious kiss to the corner of her mouth where that tantalizing freckle lay, Gilbert slowly drew back and spoke.
"Anne, you asked me a question last week," he said with a nervous smile. "If you ask it again, I think you will have a different answer."
"Will I?" Anne asked rather breathlessly with an arched brow.
That arched brow sent a quiver of nervous energy through Gilbert, and he anxiously nodded.
Anne suddenly seemed unable to speak, and Gilbert felt wretched with worry and despair at her silence and downcast eyes. But then she looked up at him, her eyes shining with the love-rapture of countless generations, and looked into his for a moment.
"Would you like to marry me?" Anne asked softly.
Gilbert's breath caught as a wave of happiness broke over him. It almost frightened him.
"Yes, oh, Anne, my love, yes," he replied, just as softly. He drew her into his arms and kissed her again. Anne sighed into his embrace and deepened the kiss. Her fingers gently caressed the nape of his neck, and a spark ignited within him, kindling into flame.
Gilbert had to be dreaming. There could be no possible way the woman in his arms would have forgiven him - in one week! An engagement was even more implausible. He pulled her closer, unwilling to waken.
A frigid and all too authentic wind swept through the dell in which they stood embracing, sending Anne into shivers, although not of pleasure. Their lips broke apart, but Gilbert was glad to recognize that the woman he warmed in his arms was no fantasy. He wrapped her in the folds of his jacket and rubbed her arms to warm her. Soon, they would need to return, but first he braced himself for another question that beset him.
"I am hesitant to ask, but what made you change your mind?"
"You should be more afraid to look a gift horse in the mouth," Anne said teasingly, but Gilbert could hear the warning in her words.
Silence fell between them, Gilbert desperately afraid to say or do the wrong thing.
"Marilla," Anne said eventually. "Marilla changed my mind."
There was no further explanation, and Gilbert dared not press her. As the momentary tension disappeared between them, they lingered beneath the apple tree, sharing kisses and stammering shyly of their shared future in lover-fashion. It was only the chill of the autumn evening that persuaded them to leave the apple tree. They walked slowly back, Anne wearing Gilbert's jacket, while he was wrapped in her knit shawl.
"I'm sorry about Charlie," Anne said. "I suppose I truly was a 'vengeful vixen.'" She then gave a gasp followed by a sharp laugh. "Oh, dear. What about Charlie?"
Gilbert scoffed and pulled her against him for another kiss.
A/N: Hello and apologies for the delay in posting this new chapter! Real life has limited my writing time lately, and I've had some writer's block, too. I'm actually a slow writer, and it was kind of a miracle that previous chapters were posted so rapidly. The next chapters may continue to take me awhile. :(
On another note, I hope this chapter cheered up any readers distressed over the last one! It was hard to write this sudden swing back to a proposal, so I'm curious to hear your thoughts.
Thank you for reading and for all the wonderful reviews and private messages! They mean so much to me, thanks!