Anne's POV
Friday, December 18, 1885
Dearest Diary,
I set pen to page on this early morning, the day before our wedding. 'Tis the wee sma's, darkness lies over the Island, along with a thick fleecy blanket of snow! My fervent prayers for snow have been answered! Hopefully that was not a sacrilege, but I cannot bear the thought of a winter wedding without snow. Can you imagine, dear Diary? A snowy, white wedding is so romantic, and I am so thankful that the heavens have finally sent a whole host of snowflakes upon dear old Avonlea.
I am filled with happiness from the tips of my toes to my (unfortunately) very red hair that I am soon to be Gilbert's wife. I love him so dearly, and I am almost frightened that I should be so happy. Surely no more ill fortune will beset us? But it is true, the more dear your people are to you, the more you fear losing them. Matthew was such a one, yet to lose Gilbert… no, I won't envision it, if only to avoid inviting dread.
I only just returned from arranging my things at my soon-to-be home, and I have a confession, dear Diary. My passion for Gilbert led me to nearly lose my maidenhood this very night. I shudder to think that we could have… No, Diary, I must be true to you and entrust my secrets to your pages, however depraved they might be. You see, the truth is that I am not ashamed of what nearly occurred. There. I have written it. In fact, I rather regret that Gilbert ended our embrace, and my only shame lies in the embarrassment that he stopped us. How scandalous I am! What a relief it is that our wedding is tomorrow with no further delay.
Anne set aside her pen, and with a sigh, looked out the gable window at the dark world filled with swirling snowflakes. Propping her chin upon her hands, she gazed out at the snowy spectacle, building dreams as of yore. It was some time before she looked away, her eyes then settling on a white gown hung carefully beside the bed. Mrs. Lynde had reworked her daughter's wedding dress for Anne to wear. Mirabel's wedding had been more than a decade prior, but Rachel's deft fingers had altered the dress to the latest fashion. The dress was an elegant affair, albeit more simple than the swaths of lace, silk and seed pearls that bedecked wealthier brides.
Anne gently touched one of the dress's satin roses. Despite the winter, she would have white roses one way or another. Tears came to her eyes as she recalled the first pretty dress she had worn, a brown gloria, also sewn by Mrs. Lynde. A rush of gratitude swept through Anne, and brushing away tears, she sat again at her table to write.
I'll forever be grateful to Mrs. Lynde and her daughter Mirabel for my wedding dress, and I feel rather guilty for my less-than charitable thoughts I have had toward Mrs. Lynde at one time or another. Without them, I'm not sure what I would have worn. But because of them, I have a beautiful wedding dress, white as the snowfall gracing Avonlea, trimmed with satin roses, ready to make me a wife. With Mirabel's permission, Mrs. Lynde's deft fingers fearlessly cut and altered Mirabel's wedding dress to become my own. I shall carry a bouquet of holly and evergreens, which I will gather today with dear friends.
My friend from Redmond days, Alice Henderson, arrives this afternoon, to stay at Green Gables for the wedding weekend. Diana will come over as well, and I plan to have a day held sacred to girlish fancies. I wish I could also have my other dear friends here today, but Stella will arrive on the morrow, and Jane and Priscilla were unable to attend on such short notice. Jane is in Winnipeg and Priscilla is in Montreal. Dear Ruby is in God's city, beyond our reach. At least, it will be wonderful to see Alice and Stella again. My other Redmond friends declined to attend. (Large inkblot). I also wish that I could have Dorothy here, but of course, as Roy's sister, that would be inappropriate.
Anne heaved a sigh, thinking of her lost friendships. But any regret she had was surpassed by the relief she felt. Gilbert was hers, and a marriage with Roy would never be. The rightness in her heart sang this truth. She and Gilbert belonged together, and tomorrow they would be man and wife. Her heart felt ready to burst at the thought. Could anything be more delightful than a wedding to the man you love, only one day hence? Yes, a wedding today, of course! At least, a day with bosom friends would be a very welcome distraction. Her mind filled with all the 'girlish fancies' such a day could bring, and she once again set pen to page.
I should very much like to introduce Alice to all our favorite haunts, should the weather permit. And a lovely afternoon tea to welcome her to Green Gables. Diana, of course, will also be there, and we can reminisce about our girlhood. Today shall be a day to celebrate cherished friendships. I expect to be very 'blithe' indeed!
Several hours later, a frazzled Anne could not be said to be very blithe as a certain Mr. Blythe knocked upon the kitchen's back door. Only somewhat less frazzled than her bosom friend, Diana answered the knock, and Gilbert looked in on the kitchen melee as he doffed his hat. A commotion of cooking and baking and cleaning filled the kitchen and the rest of the house, with all the Green Gables women (and Diana) hard at work. Anne clutched her arm, sore from beating egg whites, and looked at Gilbert with alarm.
"Gil, surely it's not yet time to fetch Alice?!"
Gilbert rubbed the back of his neck ruefully. "I'm afraid we're actually a bit late, sweetheart. Got swept up in the wedding preparations at the Fletcher's and lost track of time. We'd better hurry."
"Oh dear," moaned Anne, hurriedly setting aside the egg whites. No afternoon tea to speak of! And the house and bride herself were far from presentable! Anne ran from the kitchen in search of her hat and coat, patting frantically at her hair. Diana hastened after her, and they hastily put on their coats in the entry.
"Oh, Diana, I am sorry," said Anne breathlessly as she fastened her hat. "I hadn't planned on putting you to work!"
"Don't you worry," said Diana, pulling on her gloves. "I'm happy to help. Hold still a moment."
Anne paused in flustered confusion. Diana deftly wiped away a streak of flour from Anne's cheek.
"There, all ready," said Diana with a smile.
"What would I do without you?" Anne exclaimed.
"Very well, I should think," said Diana reassuringly, but immensely pleased all the same.
As the two young women came back into the kitchen, Mrs. Lynde said, "Don't you fret, Anne, we'll have things ship-shape before your return. I had ten children married off, and I know better than anybody what to do."
"I won't deny that Rachel has had her share of wedding experience, which we will certainly rely on," said Marilla wryly. "We'll have Green Gables respectable and ready. But perhaps, Gilbert, it would be best to keep the horse to a walk on the way back."
Gilbert grinned. "Will do, Miss Cuthbert."
The trio hurried through the back door, nearly colliding with Davy, who clutched two freshly plucked chickens by the feet as he came up the porch steps. After a few precarious moments, Davy entered the kitchen, and Gilbert helped Anne and Diana into the waiting sleigh.
"Oh, the first sleigh ride of the year!" said Diana happily, settling into the backseat with Anne.
Anne was still too preoccupied by the frenzy of the day. Had any stray chicken feathers landed on her? She really could not bear the thought on top of everything else!
Gilbert chirped to the Fletcher's horse, and off to the train station they went, bells jingling. At the sound, Anne gave a squeal of delight. With shining eyes, she realized the enchantment of the snowy afternoon, and her concerns blew away in the wintry wind. She clasped hands with Diana and called out her gratitude to Gilbert, who laughed.
"I can't believe you didn't hear the bells as I drove up to Green Gables," he said with a wink. "But nobody could hear me knock at the front door, either!"
Alice Henderson was a sophisticated and solitary figure at the edge of the Carmody train station's platform. Dressed in an elegant winter coat with fur trim and a velvet hat, she drew much interest from the other travelers clustered in the warmth of the station's indoor waiting area.
"Probably thinks she's too good to associate with the likes of us in here," said a Mrs. Hodge from Long River, enviously admiring Alice's jaunty velvet hat.
Alice was quite content at the edge of the platform, as her interest lay in observing this island she had heard so much about. The quaint town of Carmody gave way to delightful, rolling white hills and a thicket of evergreens from which a snowy lane emerged. Upon this lane, a horse-drawn sleigh made swift progress, bells jingling, toward the train station where Alice waited.
An orphan herself, Alice had been raised by her inordinately wealthy uncle who had bestowed her with riches, but not love. Her lonely heart had opened to Anne's effusive overtures of friendship with a loyalty unshaken by the refusal of Roy Gardener. Anne had been a rejuvenating force in Alice's life, and Alice had thrived in her company, breaking free of her loneliness and embracing life with a newfound joy. After a freshman year of friendship, Alice had brought Anne to live in the house she rented on Spofford Avenue. Too proud to accept outright, Anne had chosen the smallest bedroom and paid for its value. The two had rounded out their circle of friends with Anne's Queens friends (Stella Maynard and Priscilla Gordon) and new friends Clarissa Patterson, Pauline Adams, and Roy's sister Dorothy Gardner. As much as Anne had hoped otherwise, the new friendships had fractured over Anne's refusal of Roy. Except for Alice.
Alice's eyes lit up as the sleigh approached the train station and a merry trio disembarked. One of the ladies had unmistakably red hair, and in a welcome breach of etiquette, Alice ran joyfully to greet her friend.
"Anne!"
"Alice!"
The two embraced, all bright smiles and happy chatter.
"How GOOD it is to see you!"
"It's been AGES."
"I've missed you so!"
"I hope you've not been waiting long!"
"Not at all!" cried Alice as they drew apart. Blushing at her exuberance, she looked shyly over at the man and woman beside them.
"You must be Miss Barry," said Alice, ingrained propriety returning to her. "And you must be Mr. Blythe."
Gilbert smiled and removed his hat. "Guilty as charged."
"How do you do," said Diana politely, narrowly avoiding a curtsy, as if to royalty. She felt so discomfited beside the exceedingly elegant Alice. It was almost as if a swan had come upon a hen. From Anne's description of Alice, Diana knew that she would have fine feathers, but it is one thing to hear about it and entirely another to behold it.
"Are these your bags?" Gilbert asked, gesturing to the trunk and valise beside her.
"Yes, thank you," said Alice. "But I will take my valise."
Diana was momentarily surprised by how little Alice had brought with her. Alice picked up her valise and held it carefully as Anne linked arms with her and then Diana. Holding Alice's trunk, Gilbert led the way to the sleigh, allowing Alice to observe him fully for the first time as she followed with Anne and Diana. He cut a dashing sight, and Alice glanced at Anne to see the bride's own admiring eyes upon her intended. Smiling to herself, Alice felt that she finally understood why Anne could not marry Roy.
Anne herself was feeling all the blithe feelings that she had hoped to feel this day. The sleigh flew over the white lane, the bells jingled, and Gilbert gave her a roguish wink that sent her heart aflutter. The afternoon was clear and frosty, all the better to be enjoyed by a sleighful of young folks. The evergreen pointed firs stood up with snow powdering their branches and the wind whistling through them. Anne thought it was truly delightful to go skimming through all this wintry loveliness with your bosom friends and your lover. She gave a shiver of happiness as Gilbert's free hand found hers.
The sleigh made good progress - too good, for Marilla's request - and so they stopped when they came upon a bountiful holly bush. With Gilbert's pocket knife, they cut the best branches, and then all had to endure the frightfully sharp leaves as they drove on. So it was with some relief that they arrived at Green Gables and disembarked. The front door opened in welcome, and greetings commenced. Gilbert carried Alice's trunk into the Green Gables entry then politely withdrew to the sleigh. Anne trailed after him. This moment would likely be the last they would have together before their wedding on the morrow, and Anne did not want to squander it. Gilbert paused, hazel eyes warm and inviting. The romantic goodbye Anne had been about to voice vanished from her mind entirely and was quickly replaced by the thought of their passion from the night before.
"I'm afraid I'm scandalously in love with you, Gil."
A mischievous glint came into Gilbert's eyes that reminded her of their youth. "Then I'm the luckiest of men," he replied in a husky tone that thrilled her. His hand found hers and drew her closer.
"Where did all this shrubbery come from?" shrilled Mrs. Lynde.
Startled, the couple separated.
"I had better go," said Anne reluctantly.
"'Parting is such sweet sorrow that I will say goodnight till it be tomorrow,'" quoted Gilbert. He sought to tease her but spoke more earnestly than he had anticipated.
A tingling flush suffused Anne's cheeks, and she suddenly felt rather woosy. Is this what it felt like to swoon, she wondered? It was not at all like how she expected.
Observing her reaction, Gilbert grew concerned and came toward her. Was she unwell?
Her senses sharpened at Gilbert's worry, and she waved him away, managing a laugh to reassure him.
After a searching look, Gilbert tipped his hat. "Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow!" he called as he got into the sleigh and took up the reins. With another tip of his hat, he was gone.
Rather dazed, Anne went into the house where a lovely tea awaited. As plum puffs were served, Anne smiled gratefully at Marilla and squeezed her hand. Equal gratitude for Mrs. Lynde's efforts diminished as Rachel began to describe her first infamous meeting with Anne, yet Anne was determined not to think 'less than charitable thoughts' of her wedding dressmaker. Still, she was relieved when the tea was drunk and the cakes eaten.
The afternoon became infinitely more delightful as the girls traipsed up the stairs to Anne's room to admire the wedding dress. Dora was also included, and she keenly felt the honor of being with such elegant and grown-up young ladies. After the appropriate raptures over the gown, Alice opened her valise, and to everyone's astonishment, drew forth a dozen long stem white roses. Carefully wrapped in damp towels and then again in waterproof leather, the roses had traveled all the way from a hothouse in Halifax. Smiling shyly, Alice presented them to Anne.
"For your bouquet, Anne."
Speechless for the second time in one day, Anne gently took the roses into her arms. "Oh, Alice," she breathed, amazed. She carefully laid the roses on her little table, then threw her arms around her college friend. "Thank you!"
Thus passed a pleasant afternoon of delightful conversation and friendship. The young women had not been long conversing, when a knock upon the door revealed Davy positively weighed down with evergreens.
"I had seen the holly you brought with you," said Davy, rosy-cheeked from the cold, "and thought you might like some of these brawly nice branches. I cut the best ones I could find, you see."
"You lovely lad!" cried Anne joyfully. "Thank you." She gave him a kiss upon his brow, and Davy blushingly retreated.
Supplied with plentiful 'shrubbery,' the girls commenced the manufacture of garlands, wreaths, and of course, one very special bouquet. When all was complete, they admired their handiwork.
"Now to arrange everything!" said Anne happily.
Garlands were draped and wreaths hung until Green Gables positively effused holiday charm. Scrubbed, dusted, and polished, everything glowed with care. Delicious delights filled the kitchen, and the weary decorators sat gladly at the kitchen table to eat a light supper. Diana excused herself afterward, to return home, but vowed to be there early the next morn. Marilla and Mrs. Lynde urged the bride and her guest upstairs to relax, while they did the dishes with the twins.
Anne led Alice to Dora's room, where she would spend the night, as no spare room was to be had. Dora would sleep in Anne's gabled room for the night and call it her own one day hence. In the need for boarders, there had been a planned shuffling of rooms, in which it was decided that Anne's room was too small to serve lodgers. The twins would instead be obliged to move into other rooms, along with Mrs. Lynde. Davy would sleep in the lean-to, where John-Michel had once slept. Mrs. Lynde would share with Marilla and give up her adjacent sitting room. And thus, rooms would be made available for boarders.
Alice peered out the window at the falling snow as Anne set a full pitcher of hot water on the basin of the room's washstand.
"Anne," said Alice with some hesitation, "I have something to tell you." She turned away from the window to see Anne pulling a heavy quilt from underneath the bed.
Anne paused, hearing the significance underlying Alice's soft spoken words. "Yes, dear?"
"I leave for Egypt in the new year," said Alice. "I have been hired to join an expedition."
Anne gazed at her in sheer amazement. The quilt dropped from her arms.
"I've always wanted to go, you know," continued Alice hurriedly. "And I applied to the Egypt Exploration Fund, thinking they would perhaps have some use for a geology B.A., but never actually thinking they would hire me. But th-they did." She looked at Anne earnestly. "I have never wanted anything more."
"They hire women?" Anne asked, still dazed.
"Well," said Alice with hesitation again. "I'm not exactly sure. I applied as 'A. Henderson,' you see." She laughed under her breath. "It may be a bit of a shock when I arrive."
Mirth broke free of Anne's astonishment, and she giggled helplessly. The girls' laughter filled the small gabled room like the merriest of bells.
A thought suddenly occurred to Anne, and she ceased laughing mid-giggle. "Your uncle?" she asked, concerned.
"He seeks to prevent me, of course," said Alice, unfazed. "But I come into my majority before I leave. I will no longer need to rely on him."
Anne smiled at her friend. "I am so happy for you, my dear. Although I will be frightfully sad that you will be so far!"
Alice clasped Anne's hand. "I had wanted you to come with me as my companion. But then I received your wedding invitation. I am so happy for you, too, Anne."
"You're going to get along splendidly with Gilbert's Aunt Katherine," said Anne with a grin.
Fatigued by her journey, Alice soon retired for the night, and Anne went to her own gabled room to bathe. She soaked and scrubbed herself slowly, fatigued from the day, her thoughts filled with the morrow. The washcloth sank to the bottom of the tub, the soap in its dish forgot. Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow…
She cupped her breasts, felt their soft weight, and wondered what Gilbert would think. And, more importantly, she thought with a small smile, what would she think of Gilbert, trouser-free? Wresting free from her thoughts, she found the washcloth and continued her ablutions, until there was a knock upon the door.
"Anne," came Marilla's voice. "Are you decent?"
"Just a moment!" Anne called. She hastily wrung out her washed hair and rose shivering from the tub. She toweled herself off with quick, rough strokes and hurriedly put on her nightgown. She had had the forethought to warm her dressing gown with the hot water bottle beneath her sheets, and she sighed with pleasure as she donned it, its warmth combatting the chill.
"Come in!" she called to Marilla.
Marilla came in more slowly than her usual brisk step. She paused in the doorway, her eyes on Anne, whose tall and slender silhouette stood before the window, her eyes shining in the candlelight. How had her little girl grown so quickly into this beautiful and elegant bride? wondered Marilla. How had this girl, this young woman, utterly changed Marilla's life for the better? Marilla would never quite be able to put her finger on the how, but she would be forever grateful.
Unsure how to relay such thoughts, Marilla picked up the hairbrush on Anne's vanity table and motioned for Anne to sit. Anne came slowly to Marilla, sat at the vanity table's chair, and looked up at Marilla with luminous eyes.
"Oh, Marilla," she said passionately, "What would I be without you?"
Marilla's throat felt tight with emotion. "Dear child," she said hoarsely. "What would we be without you?"
Tears welled in Anne's eyes. Marilla began to brush Anne's long hair, gently and slowly, airing out the damp strands. A solemn silence came over them, and Marilla brushed Anne's hair as long minutes passed, neither speaking, both thinking of life and loss and hope. At last, Marilla laid down the brush and pressed a kiss to Anne's brow.
"You are a treasure, Anne," she said, then quietly left the room.
Anne watched her go, smiling sadly. She braided back her hair, then surveyed her room. Leftover greenery still lay scattered throughout, and she gathered it up. Dora then shyly crept into the room to take her bath. Anne ensured the water was still hot enough, before she went downstairs with the greenery in her arms. There was still one task to do.
The kitchen was dark and quiet, its cupboards and shelves filled with food aplenty on the eve of her wedding. Anne lit the gaslamp, found a cookie, then sat at the kitchen table with the greenery arrayed before her. With love and care, she fashioned three more wreaths. One for Matthew. One for Ruby. And one for John Blythe.
It was late when she tied the final ribbon, her eyes blinking sleepily. Yawning, she retired to her gabled room. The washtub had been emptied and dried, and Dora sweetly slept in Anne's bed, pressed into the corner, conscientious even in sleep. Anne smiled at the tender sight, then went to lay the wreaths upon the vanity table. Her eyes fell upon The Manuscript, awaiting her pen. Incomplete, yet filled with promise, it gave voice to Matthew Cuthbert's final secret. She laid her hand upon the manuscript, thinking of his life and vowing to write of it.
Anne blew out the gaslamp, then climbed into bed with Dora, tucking her in against the chill. It was her final night in this gabled room; Dora was to inherit it when she had gone. Nor did Anne wish it otherwise; the little room was sacred to youth and girlhood - to the past that was to close tomorrow before the chapter of wifehood opened.
"Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow… " she murmured to herself before sleep overtook her.
A/N: Thank you for reading! Goodness, I had planned to post three chapters before Christmas, and that definitely didn't happen. I'll try to post more often, but we'll see. I'm a very slow writer, although I'm trying to work out a plan to write more. Thank you so much for your patience. I know I said that this chapter would be the wedding chapter, but I just had to get in this bonus chapter with Anne! I hope you had a wonderful holiday season. Happy New Year!