Hello, readers!

I'm happy to be back with another Anne FanFic!! I apologize for my last retelling of Anne, it was very clear to me and some of you that I hadn't closely read the books at that point, I was only fingerling over the stories I'd been told. As of now, I am culturing myself (finally), and have officially read the majority of the Anne series! Book readers - this one is for you, book readers - and hopefully you can forgive me for my atrocious piece last go around (it was my first fanfic, and as the time passes I cringe all the more). With this said, I felt I have much more appreciation for Montgomery's books, and wish to respect her work. She is a brilliant writer. The only diversion I would think that came within this FanFic is the change to have Gilbert deliver baby Joyce, and not Doctor Dave. I feel that there could be some more personalization with the change. Also, I added a bit more within the moments that Montgomery had displayed, to give a bit more of my take on it (as it is a fanfic) all the while doing my best to respect the treasure already written. Anyhow, enjoy the story, and thanks for reading!!

KEY: * - directly used from Montgomery's House of Dreams

…

The tick of the clock pinged uncomfortably, a reminder of the passing time. A time fervently waiting for a signal that his Anne-girl would be alright, that she would fight to stay with him, if only to awake to a heartache that, in his eyes couldn't seem to end. Joyce was beautiful in every sense of the word. She took on characteristics that resembled the likes of both her mother and father, a sight Gilbert had only dreamed of at a young age. It all seemed to surreal for his dreams to come true. Anne as his wife was a dream he'd thought up the moment he laid eyes on her, only more so after she bitterly broke her slate over Gilbert's head. It was then that he began to build up such a store of dreams about the two, dreams that couldn't have been realized until this very moment.

Yet it seemed that some dreams were too good to be true. Gilbert's anticipating smile of pure joy as his little girl entered the world softened ever so slightly as he recognized that his daughter's life would be short-lived. The thought gnawed at him, every ounce of Gilbert fighting for a life he could not save. He scoffs bitterly at the years of training, angry that his experience seemed to flee from him in the moment of need. There was nothing to do but to hold the girl gently in his arms, treasuring every moment he could before — Gilbert dared not to think ahead. He only prayed softly in the earliest hours of the morning, as the sun peeked out of its hiding place for the recovery of his wife, a miracle for his little girl, and the courage that be it God's will to deliver the news. He prayed once more that it would not come to that.

In the midst of his soft-spoken prayers, a gentle hand joined his. Anne looks at her husband lovingly, her smile brightens as she marvels at her first born, cradled in Gilbert's left arm. He looked at his wife, breathing a soft sigh in gratitude that his Anne-girl would be alright. She looked paler than he'd like, but after the long night that came to bring Joyce into the world, Gilbert didn't worry so. His mind was preoccupied. Some good, some bad, yet a thought hovered his mind, one that brought a joyful grin to his face. For the briefest moment, he had all life could offer him, 'house o' dreams' and all.

~~~

He kissed his wife gently on the forehead, handing Joyce over to the eager Anne, which one could only describe as the joys of motherhood.

"I'll go tell the others." He whispered softly, catching a glimpse at his dream before closing the door. It took a moment to compose himself. Even then, he didn't do so very well, in the eyes of Marilla Cuthbert. The others were fooled, but the others didn't know Gilbert the way Marilla did. Gilbert's face, though smiling he was, held a bit of melancholy that Marilla couldn't quite place.

"Well?" The eager Susan waited for some confirmation that the mother and babe were alright.

"It's a girl." He said simply, to the relief of Marilla and Susan.

"Thank God," shuddered Marilla.*

Susan waisted no time to make her way to the kitchen, her eyes bright with the joyous news.

"Now for breakfast," she said briskly. "I am of the opinion that we will all be glad of a bite and sup. You tell young Mrs. Doctor not to worry about a single thing--Susan is at the helm. You tell her just to think of her baby."*

Gilbert hitched his breath softer than a whisper, the ache in his heart settling in once again, unseen to the happy women below him. It appeared to Gilbert just then that he didn't move from the second to last stair, only peeking at the women when he delivered the news. A coward, he thought to himself, using the stairway to somehow mask what could very well be in the future. The two woman seemed to mock Gilbert with the laughter and smiles, though he knew deep down it was not their intention. Would the two be just as welcoming with the information if they knew that their own kin couldn't save the one thing that drove those wide smiles. Yes, Gilbert thought to himself. A coward he was, but a father, for however long the Lord shall grant him, he must be.

~~~

Gilbert found the courage to make his way to his girls, smiling at the way the tone ringed quite nicely as he gazed at the picturesque scene. Marilla soon followed, after remembering that she was to be no use in 'Susan's kitchen' or so Marilla called it. An overwhelming feeling tugged at her heart as she saw Anne, in all of the chaos being the mother she never had. Matthew would beam over the news, had he been alive to see it. Little Joyce clings to Anne's finger as if she were dependent on it. When Anne finally took her eyes away from the sight of her child, noticed a thoughtful Marilla, and motioned the woman to draw near.

"Little Joyce," she murmured, when Marilla came in to see the baby. "We planned to call her that if she were a girlie. There were so many we would have liked to name her for; we couldn't choose between them, so we decided on Joyce--we can call her Joy for short--Joy--it suits so well. Oh, Marilla, I thought I was happy before. Now I know that I just dreamed a pleasant dream of happiness. This is the reality."

"You mustn't talk, Anne--wait till you're stronger," said Marilla warningly.

"You know how hard it is for me not to talk," smiled Anne.*

"You were never one to injure your tongue, even on the most taxing of adventures. But I do declare this is one time I'm welcome to it. We were worried for you, Anne, that's for sure and certain. Thankfully that Gilbert of yours knew what he was doing, the good Lord saw to that."

Gilbert turned away from the sight, partly for privacy between the two and partly for his own sake, as the signs became clear that a miracle may not be in store. Anne's smile fades into a queer purse of the lips, curiosity overwhelming her as she peers at Gilbert, his face almost unrecognizable. Marilla saw it too, patting Anne's hand softly before exiting the room, her ears alert as she hopes to ease the burning questions in mind.

"Lord, give me strength." Gilbert thought, looking to the sky for a form of courage. Courage did come, though it took time for the words to form. His eyes brim with tears, unable to face Anne's gaze.

"Gil?" Anne looks to the window, Gil's shadowy figure blocking the morning sun. "What is it?"

"I should have told you, I should have but I couldn't. Not when I thought that you'd vanish too." He took a moment to recompose himself, Anne's eyes glance fearfully at Joyce.

"Gilbert," whispered Anne imploringly, "the baby--is all right--isn't she? Tell me--tell me."* His teary eyes meet hers, when Gilbert mutters softly.

"I couldn't save her, Anne. I tried and I tried, and I prayed for those deathly quiet hours to do so, to save our little girl."

"But you did, Gil. I'm here, Joyce is here-" Gilbert cut her off, finding it hard to see her so sure of a thing that won't come to pass.

"She's not going to make it. I knew from an early stage—I hoped, prayed for some sort of miracle. But… Anne, I'm so sorry."

A horrific cry strained Anne's vocal cords, horrified at the news. They held Joyce close, unison in their sorrow. The house seemed to grieve together at the news. Anne never let go of Joyce, and no one would pry her away, not even Gilbert. Instead, they clung to one another. Their tears came like rain, falling on the bed below like a waterfall. It was a queer emotion, any outsider would question how a person could be mourned before death comes, and yet, in the midst of the pain they cherished Joyce will all they could muster, from dawn to dusk.