Timeline - Anne of Windy Poplars, The Second Year. This chapter contours chapters 5 & 6.

Chapter 16: Come to Jesus

Fred Wright sat alone in his kitchen with one ear out for his wife in the parlor and another ear out for his young son. Diana was showing off their infant daughter to Anne, Gilbert and Miss Brooke. Fred had stayed only long enough to say hello and shake Gilbert's hand. He had work to do that Sunday afternoon in addition to managing their napping toddler.

Diana had prepared a plate of finger foods for Freddie and Fred's job was to bring him down for the snack once he woke. But until then, Fred had decisions to make. On the large table, next to his Bible and the official documents of the Avonlea church, was the application of a man wanting to join. Fred's duty as an elder was to investigate the applicant's qualifications. He filled his cup with tea and sat down, resolute to reach a final conclusion.

Mr. Henry "Hank" Marin had no education or trade. He was a poor widower and father of one, but what he lacked in schooling he made up for spiritually. He was filled with the Holy Spirit and lived day to day trusting in Providence. He was joyful in his demeanor and credited Jesus for his happy attitude. And Fred, among others, found his contentment in Christ remarkably infectious.

Hank's request should be an open and shut case, but last weekend, Fred visited Mr. Marin at his home in New Halifax, the colored community. Fred was surprised by his address for Mr. Marin was white. He discovered that Hank's deceased spouse was colored and his daughter's complexion reflected this fact. What a pity!

Fred interviewed the young lady briefly. His daughter was thirteen, sharp as a tack and equally on fire for the Lord. She worked odd jobs in Carmody to help support their rather meager household. Fred might have dashed their hopes then and there realizing that Mr. Marin's colored child would not be accepted in their white church, but he didn't. He just couldn't do that. Fred felt he owed them due process if nothing else.

Instead, he gave Hank an encouraging smile as they worked on the printed questionnaire. He collected Hank's demographics, learned that Mr. Marin had been a sailor and brought his wife to Nova Scotia after marrying her in Havana. Fred also learned Hank had received his faith radically, a real 'come to Jesus' moment where the Almighty had to be acknowledged. "I was such a doubting Thomas," Hank said. "I didn't want to believe. God had to slap me across the face to wake me up, and after, I just—well, I had to believe. I could do nothing else but be amazed."

As Fred received the story, he couldn't help but inwardly chuckle as he envisioned Mrs. Lynde, or Mrs. Andrews, being put in their place by his witness. All those prim and proper, self-righteous church ladies that enjoyed the sin of gossip would be put to shame once they realized the shallowness of their faith compared to Mr. Marin's.

Fred attempted to succinctly record Mr. Marin's faith walk on the blank lines. "Maybe you could write a letter to the church, explaining your 'come to Jesus' moment?" Fred suggested. "My summary doesn't do it credit."

"My writing isn't too good," Mr. Marin apologized for his lame hand. He lifted it up and showed his fingers, "I got the shakes out at sea. And my hands haven't gripped right since. I'm no good to a captain if I can't pull a rope. Can't hold a pencil right either."

"Well, we'll manage as is then," Fred declared. "I'm not requiring you to write it down. Your oral testimony is strong enough, as long as you don't mind repeating yourself." Fred went back to the paper, having yielded so much time to Hank's story. He asked the final question uncomfortably. "Forgive me in asking, but why do you want to join the church in Avonlea?" He added, "Isn't the colored church closer and better for your daughter? Are they not accepting you because you're white?"

"School for my daughter," Mr. Marin explained. "If we were members of your church, then maybe my girl could go to the good school in Avonlea. The Carmody school won't take her and our school here in New Halifax has no books."

"Yes, I see," Fred replied. That was wishful thinking. He picked up his pen and held its point over the blank to fill. "And is that the answer you want to give for the other elders?"

Hank rubbed his chin in thought. "No Sir! Say instead that the Avonlea church is better for me and my girl. Fits work. I want to help with the planting and the harvest. I want to farm. Avonlea will be our home soon, God willing."

Fred completed the form and stored it away in his briefcase. He thanked the Marins for their hospitality. The tea had been hot and strong and the slices of pumpkin pie excellent; however, Fred worried that Mr. Marin's request would not come to fruition.

For the rest of the week, try as he might, Fred could not find anything in the articles of their faith that a church member could use to stop Mr. Marin's application from moving forward. The man was white after all! He couldn't see any grounds for refusing. So he completed his portion of the application with his recommendation and would leave it with the senior elder. He would simply have to wait and see; although, he suspected, that the graybeards would dredge up some old canonical law and stop the application in its tracks, once they learned of his bi-racial daughter.

Those same graybeards would then approach him over the controversy. It was his recommendation after all. Fred sincerely hoped he would be able to withstand the scrutiny. He needed to plan a defense. Saying 'no' to the man was not in the spirit of their faith or even civic community, at least not in Fred's estimation.

His ear picked up the laughter of women from the parlor and then the noise went mute again. He supposed that someone had left the room. A moment later Gilbert stepped into the kitchen. Fred motioned for Gil to sit down next to him as he neatened up the papers into piles and closed his Holy Bible.

"Has Anne stopped crying yet?" Fred asked. She had made quite the performance when Diana introduced their new baby. "She's part woman, part water fountain. You better watch yourself there!"

"You can hardly blame her, you and Diana!" Gilbert smiled, "That was really, really, nice; naming your daughter Anne Cordelia. Thank you!"

"No Gil, it's our way of thanking the two of you," Fred countered. "You brought us Dr. Felder. You, Gilbert, did more than what anyone might expect."

"Well, that might be true," was all Gilbert would acknowledge, not sure if Fred had made an allusion to his powers. Changing the subject to a safer one, Gilbert pointed at the collection of church by-laws stacked near him. "You've got quite the pile of paper. Maybe you should have gone to Queens with the rest of us. You had it in you."

"Yes, who would have thunk it?" Fred managed as he stifled his laughter. He was momentarily distracted by Gil's appearance. Gil's dark, handlebar mustache made him look a dandy. "You know Gil, I never availed myself much to paperwork at school, but since I became an elder, it's nothing but. It's read this budget, or study this sermon, or here's next week's agenda. And it's nothing but meeting after meeting."

"Why do you think I said no?" Gilbert picked up Fred's Bible and started thumbing through it. "I briefly considered teaching a Sunday School class but decided against it. Maybe I should have said 'yes'. I got typhoid right after I gave my answer."

"Well, that will teach you!"

Gilbert's laughter fell quiet as he silently read from the thin, white pages of Fred's black, leather-bound Holy Bible. Fred grew nervous watching him. He had heavily notated any reference to witchcraft in the margins and Fred did not want Gilbert to see his scribbles. He knew he had stepped on Gilbert's toes when he mentioned Helen and her claims of being a witch last Christmas. But lately—well, Fred couldn't suppose it. He wouldn't believe his hunch that Gilbert was a witch too. Not unless he had to. Not unless it was forced on him. His notes reflected how the thought pestered him.

"I had a selfish reason for agreeing to become an elder, Gilbert. I wanted to give Diana and our children a bit more standing in the village. To be honest Gil, sometimes I think maybe I'd be better off without the church. Especially when common sense and scripture collide."

Gilbert did not respond to Fred's statements, instead, he bent his head down as his forefinger glided over some verse.

"So, what are you reading?" Fred asked nervously, with one brow pushed up to his hairline.

"Acts 2," Gilbert answered. "Pentecost. You've got some interesting notes here in the margin." Supernatural powers, not witchcraft was written in Fred's minuscule hand.

Fred's reply surprised Gilbert, "I've been thinking about St. Peter lately. He was Jesus' friend and a terrible one at that. Denied Him three times. And then by the grace of God he gets all these supernatural powers after Christ's ascension. Something happened to that apostle when he received the Holy Spirit and I need to know what it was. Speaking in tongues is only one of the supernatural gifts he had, he could also see things, he could also...heal."

Gilbert shivered for reasons not related to the temperature outside. Fred was suspicious of him. He felt in his pause and heard it in his inflection. Gilbert never figured Fred to be stupid.

"Gilbert, let me ask you what you think about the supernatural gift of tongues. St. Peter speaks and the crowd understands him in their native languages. The list of nations represented in the crowd of three thousand is extensive. Do you think perhaps this gift Peter has is proof that we're all one tribe now? That we're all one nation with one language? That the doctrines espousing 'separate but equal' are in error?"

More surprises from Fred! Gilbert was glad though not to talk about the seeing or healing powers of St. Peter. "You're saying that the miracle at Pentecost atoned for the Table of Nations*?" Impressed, "That's very insightful."

Fred grimaced thinking of Mr. Marin and his mulatto child. "Do you think my argument holds water? I'm anticipating a problem with other presbyters and I thought that my example would help my position. But I've got no letters behind my name and I'm no theologian either."

"Well—honestly Fred," Gilbert leaned toward him a tad. "I think the more important question is, do you believe your argument holds water?"

"I think I'm right," Fred answered. "Perhaps the private revelation of a farmer means nothing to learned men, but I sense I'm on the cusp of understanding something important, something bigger than myself. There are things I've seen and they're making me rethink everything. But in this case, I do believe though that my instincts are right."

"Fred, you don't need my opinion then!" Gilbert rallied, "Just live your convictions and trust that good will come from them."

Marilla Cuthbert permitted Dora Keith to attend the Christmas Concert and Abner Sloane's post-party after an exhausting conversation with Mrs. Barry. In typical fashion, Mrs. Barry approached Marilla about the matter immediately following church services with Dora in earshot. All forms of flattery were poured out to beguile Marilla's consent. Dora could even stay overnight at Orchard Slope. Marilla felt cornered. It was impossible to point out her objections without offending Dora. Instead, Marilla insisted that it would be better if she could call on Orchard Slope that afternoon.

Marilla stepped out of Green Gables wearing her best hat and her amethyst brooch double pinned on her winter coat's lapel. She walked steadily down the path with more than a little bit of steam driving her legs. She wasn't going to be told by that silly woman what was right for her ward. Marilla mentally repeated her objections against allowing Dora to attend what was sure to be a very grown-up party.

First—Dora was too young. She and Davy had just turned fourteen a couple of weeks ago. Second—Dora would probably find herself lost in such a big crowd. Social butterfly she was not. And third—and this was the primary reason that Marilla was inclined to withhold consent, Dora Keith was beautiful.

Anne was a pretty girl with delicate features and a lively personality, but Dora resembled a Norse goddess. She was tall and buxom—with long blonde hair and soft green-brown eyes and skin as smooth as cream. She looked nineteen, not fourteen, and Marilla had already seen grown men stare at her in a way that made her uncomfortable. Sending this pretty, yet socially awkward girl to Sloane's party would only invite trouble. Marilla was sure of it.

Mrs. Barry, however, made Marilla many, many assurances that Dora would be watched closely and that all her dance partners would be boys that she already knew. Mrs. Barry herself would maintain Dora's dance card just to be sure no strange men would be allowed to dance with Dora. The Barry's also planned to leave early, as Mrs. Barry wanted to stop next door and see her Diana and her baby. Marilla caved after Mrs. Barry reminded Marilla that Anne was a similar age when she was first allowed to attend such events with them.

On the walk back to Green Gables, Marilla chastised herself for letting her resolve slip. She agreed to allow the Barrys to chaperon Dora because she was sick of trying to build arguments that were ignored. And Dora was a good girl after all. She did agree with that characterization. She just had to drill into Dora's head what was expected.

"You promise not to dance with strangers or strange men?" Marilla decided she needed to cast a pretty wide net. Dora was too congenial at times and there were quite a few more kooks around town these days.

"Yes Marilla," Dora said.

"And you'll help Mrs. Barry and do what she asks?"

Dora nodded.

"Well, I know you to be a good girl and I don't expect you'll slip on that point."

"Marilla?" Dora asked. "Did you ever go to a party?"

The question surprised her. "Parties in my day aren't like the ones today, but yes. I once attended a party. I had a really nice time in fact. That's because I behaved myself." Marilla emphasized. "I hope you have a nice time too."

Dora smiled. Ralph was going to be there and she had a new dress to wear. "I'll be good, Marilla," Dora promised. "Thank you for letting me go."

Marilla watched Dora leave and she wiped her hands in the folds of her apron, not that they were dirty. It was in these moments she really missed Mathew. He was much better at delicate, emotional stuff. Probably because he didn't realize that young ladies could have such passionate cores. He hadn't been one of them, but Marilla had.

Gilbert Blythe watched his own breath crystallize in the cold air as he knocked on the familiar oak door. It wasn't unbearably frigid and Rival could stand a few minutes. A very grown-up looking Dora Keith allowed him entry. She was wearing a blue dress and had her hair half up and the rest pulled back in a single braid with silver ribbons adorned throughout. Her skirt went to the floor, truly a sign of a young lady.

Gilbert wiped his feet on the mat and removed his hat. "Dora, you look very nice tonight. Are you going to the party too?"

Dora nodded. "Yes, as the Barrys guest. They'll be here any moment actually."

"You didn't talk with Marilla, did you? About Ralph?" Gilbert thought she probably hadn't. He resolved to keep reminding her to do it. He could see she was stubborn as an ox.

"No," Dora answered. "Marilla's an old spinster. I thought I might try Mrs. Lynde when she gets back from her holiday," She ignored his disapproving frown, "I'll go tell Anne and Miss Brooke you're here."

Gilbert placed his hand on Dora's shoulder and leveled his eyes to hers, stooping just a tiny bit. "Tell Marilla, Dora. Give her a chance. You're not being fair to her and you won't be any worse off than you are now."

Dora couldn't hold his gaze and she blinked down. She changed the subject. "Ralph doesn't know how to dance. He'll be there tonight." Gilbert let go of her shoulder.

"I'll try to give him a pointer," Gilbert offered. "But I'll be all over the place tonight, helping Anne and Katherine. I'll be helping Helen make rounds to their guests. You know, Mr. Sloane isn't throwing this party as a holiday fête. It's really to celebrate Charlie Sloane's engagement to my cousin; and by extension, I have responsibilities."

Dora gave a slight smile. "I'm happy for her, Gilbert. Miss Blythe reminds me of wintergreen, you know, the scent. Pungent, but lovely too. You don't realize how much you like the fragrance until it's almost gone. I miss seeing her around town."

"You should tell Helen that," Gilbert encouraged. "I think she'd loved to know she's made that sort of impact on you."

Dora nodded feeling a bit shy. "I'll go up and get them now. Thank you, Gil."

"You're very welcomed!" Gilbert said as Dora ascended the stairs up and out of sight.

Katherine stood back a few feet and watched as the photographer posed Anne and Gilbert for their portrait. Abner Sloane's nephew ran a small photography studio in Newbridge and in true Sloane fashion (even though his name was Murray) he seized the opportunity to profit by bringing his gear with him to his uncle's party.

After Helen and Charlie's photograph, commemorating their engagement, Anne and Gilbert stepped forward for their first portrait together. They didn't want a traditional pose, where he sat in a plush chair and she stood next to him with her hand on his shoulder. No, they asked if they could have something that reflected how they were when together, as they weren't the type to sit or stand like stiff pokers.

That made the photographer pause. "I have to pose you still. The trick with photography is you stay perfectly still as the image imprints itself on the glass. Maybe if I observe you for a while I can get an idea of how you two click."

The photographer then asked them to whisper endearments to each other. Gilbert went first and leaned into Anne's ear and spoke quietly. Sure enough, Anne's face glowed and a smile spread across her chin. Anne then told him her thoughts as she leaned into his space. Gilbert's cheeks blossomed pink and his mustache quivered. Whatever Anne had told him, he felt the need to kiss Anne on the apple of her smile.

"There!" The photographer said with excitement. "That's the pose I want to take of you. Right before you kiss your young lady, sir. Her eyes said so much when she realized your peck was coming. Try to remember your position and take it again."

It was hard to recreate the impromptu moment with a straight face. A slightly voyeuristic crowd started to gather around them. Gilbert held Anne's hand as he leaned in once again to offer a kiss on her cheek. Anne tilted her head in anticipation. Her gray eyes saw the rosy flesh of his upper lip below his dashing mustache.

"I see. You found your pose. You can take a break as I get the camera set up correctly."

The man reached into his truck of camera equipment and retrieved a metal cylinder. "I'm going to try this new lens. It's supposed to give some incredible depth of field. This accessory really enhances what the camera does." He locked the lens over the camera's pupil. He got behind the curtain again and adjusted the focus before holding up the explosive flash.

"Alright, places."

Anne and Gilbert resumed their positions. Gil was in the mind to just plant his lips over Anne's and bear the "oohs" and "aahs". He didn't of course. Anne, on the other hand, was more impulsive. He wondered if she would maintain her composure as they held a position that begged for some sort of physical resolution.

"Don't move."

They heard and saw the flash and then the shutter click. The offensive smell of burnt chemicals floated around them as the experience ended with the soft pressure of their warm lips pressing together. "Ooooh!" Was heard from a distance.

Anne Shirley watched over Katherine Brooke's energy as the evening progressed. Katherine wasn't accustomed to so much attention. Anne assumed correctly she was the type to find social events a tad exhausting, even in the best circumstances. When Anne saw Katherine's mood start to slip, she quietly suggested to her that perhaps a sleigh-ride would be a perfect end to an otherwise perfect evening. They could count the stars as Gilbert drove. All the constellations of the sky were easy to see on such a clear night.

The idea agreed with the dark-haired, amber-eyed schoolmarm. Anne proceeded to find Gilbert to let them know they were ready to leave and Katherine went to the dressing room to review her appearance which had withered.

She wasn't sure how to correct her disheveled reflection. Her hair which Anne had coiled so smartly at the crown of her head had toppled. Katherine was tempted to pull out the entire bun and redo it in her normal, tight fashion, but she didn't. She would simply have to ask for help, lest she seemed ungrateful.

The red, chiffon collar Anne had made for her wasn't staying in place either. She toyed with it, trying to see if she could make it lie still. It was a fruitless endeavor.

"Here, let me help you," a kind voice came out from behind. "I have a knack with collars."

Katherine slowly pivoted to see who was speaking. She recognized Miss Blythe from the receiving line of hosts. Katherine blushed a bit because she thought Helen beautiful. Helen had a fashionable roundness and bright blue eyes.

"I'm fine, Miss Blythe. It's your party. Don't worry about me. You have guests."

"Nonsense"

Helen flanked Katherine's side and gave her a smile. "The party is not for me anyway. It's for Charles. He's finally engaged. The fact that he's engaged to me is only circumstantial." Helen lifted her hands up to indicate she needed to touch Katherine's gown. Her diamond reflected the light. The glints trailed in the air and captured Katherine's fancy for a second. "Forgive me? May I?"

"Of course," Katherine answered. She returned to her reflection and used it to watch Helen's fingers press the red collar against the green dress. Helen continued to finger-press around Katherine's entire neckline and décolleté, causing Katherine's heart to skip. Helen's nails dragged over her skin as she pinched the fabrics together in a reluctant union. Katherine's breathing normalized once the collar was secure and Helen removed her hand from the edge of her gown.

"Let me fix your hair too," Helen offered as she started to tackle the unkempt bun. "I taught Anne this style. I used to wear it myself when my hair was long."

"I often wonder if I should cut my hair," Katherine stated, not even trying to hide an envious tone to Helen's handsome locks. "I think I'd like my hair cut short, like yours. If I knew I'd look as well as you do with short hair, I'd do it tomorrow."

"I'm actually trying to grow it out, Miss Brooke."

Even after a year of growth, Helen's hair length could only be described as short. Helen started to replace hairpins. "I'm more practical than people think. I kept my hair short to prevent headaches, but in my experience, short hair isn't for everyone."

Anne entered the room holding Katherine's coat and hat. She was ready to leave. "Gilbert started walking over to the Wright's to get the horse and sleigh. I think it's a lovely night for a stroll along the path, so we'll follow along slowly, arm in arm until we catch up."

Katherine started to put on her wraps. Helen bore a disagreeable countenance. "You can't be leaving already?"

"Yes," Katherine said, "I tire easily and a brisk walk will do me wonders. Anne is right. The night is clear as clear can be. I doubt there will be another as fine for quite a while."

"Well, I suppose this is goodnight then. Anne, thank you for coming, and .." she turned towards Katherine, "Thank you for the brilliant recitation earlier tonight at the concert. I told myself, I must get to know you."

Anne drew close to Helen and kissed her on the cheek. "Congratulations on finding some happiness. Tell Charlie good night for us."

Helen responded in kind as the women left. Her friendship with Charlie Sloane was one of the happiest things in her life at the moment. She felt at peace with her decision to accept him in marriage. She wasn't going to risk her future outright, but, she figured, it was fine to flirt still. Charles still flirted with his female classmates; Anne, Josie and her sister, Gertie. To Helen, Katherine looked to be remarkable fun after the way she jumped when she touched her. She hadn't had a thrill like that since Lynn.

Fred Wright made a habit in his evenings to chop wood for tomorrow's fires. The exercise dampened his own frustrations. That was especially true the night before. The minister asked him to rescind his recommendation on Mr. Marin's application to join the church. Fred said he would not. He couldn't see any grounds for refusing, and that, since they were a church, they had to approach this particular situation with the utmost charity.

"I am sure that there are other things we could do as a church to help his household," the Reverend advised, "we can put together a Christmas barrel, stock it with food and clothing."

Fred, whose emotions were generally steady, started to choke in disgust. "Never once did Mr. Marin ask for food or clothing. Yes, he and his colored child would benefit, I'm sure, but that's not what he requested. He wants fellowship. We're not helping him by dropping off a care package and saying 'no'—we're only easing our conscience."

"I am still hoping that you'd like to be in charge of that barrel," Mr. Reverend pushed back. "I am not here to argue with you, Mr. Wright. I am here to tell you what the other presbyters have decided."

"You met without me?"

"Informally, yes."

"Church business needs to be done with transparency, or else, how do we know someone isn't playing pope?"

"That's enough Elder Wright!" The Reverend mimicked a mother's scold. "Our church is hardly the Vatican. Perhaps you should spend a little time with our Lord in prayer. I am sure that the happy birth of your daughter has clouded your mind. Maybe, in the interest of everyone, you could step down from the session. All us fathers will understand and agree with your new priority."

Fred had considered ducking out of the controversy by stepping down, but then, what would happen with Mr. Marin? He would have no one to defend his application.

"Sir," Fred respectively said. "I mean to see Mr. Marin through the entire process. If you wish me to remove myself from the session, I will resign, but only after. I will not invalidate my recommendation in the process of forgoing my seat among the elders."

"Hmm," Reverend answered, putting on his black, wide-brimmed hat. "I see I won't convince you."

"No, sir. I'm sorry, I cannot be persuaded." Fred went through the routine of thanking the minister for coming out and wished him a safe return. The middle-aged man only shrugged as he grabbed the leather reins. His horse was keen to trot and leaped forward.

Fred had chopped wood until Diana called for him.

Tonight he split logs because he and Diana were not able to attend the party up the lane. Diana wasn't quite up to it yet. Instead, he swung his heaviest ax, busting up timber. The party would be talked about for a long time. The Sloane's spared no expense. He would learn about it from his in-laws, but not see it for himself.

Everyone was there, except him.

The white covered landscape glowed with reflected light; the by-product of a full moon and a light, airy snow. He could count the sleighs lined up outside of Abner's ample stables. He felt abandoned by the old gang. His proximity to the party was his best contribution to the event.

Gilbert at least remembered he was there. He was stabling his horse and sleigh, choosing his stable over Abner Sloane's and his grooms.

Fred swung the ax down and spliced the timber. One log flew from the block with displaced force. "An object in motion stays in motion." Isn't that what Miss Stacy had taught about natural science? Fred began to pile the cut logs into easy-to-carry piles, thinking about the rest of his gang. Gilbert and Moody were still in school seeking advanced credentials. Charlie had found his niche in business. Fred did have an edge on the others when it came to women, having been the first of them to marry, but soon his contributions to their collective would be unnecessary, once the others started their own families.

He could feel his irrelevancy creep up on him. Just like the foam-mouthed raccoon creeping along the side of the barn.

Katherine and Anne were not horribly behind Gilbert once they got started. A remarkable peace entered Anne's being as she inhaled the crisp, cool air circling her from behind. She was always much happier outside among the trees. Anne placed her hand into the crook of Katherine's arm. Every step they took brought them deeper into the moonshine glowing off the snow-laden landscape. Gilbert's tall figure was straight ahead. He slowed down his walk to let them catch-up. He had no interest in retracing his steps and walking into the gust blowing down the slope.

"You dance so well, Katherine!" Anne informed her with a merry laugh. "You were right to say so, but I wondered. I admit that I doubted you, so you'll have to forgive me."

"I should think my excellent dance partners deserve the credit," Katherine replied, not quite believing the flattery. "Your handsome Gilbert is rather good at dancing and Mr. Sloane too."

"Trust me, neither of them started that way. Ruby had to train them up a bit first."

"Ruby?"

"Oh, she was a classmate of ours. It's a rather sad story, but Ruby was absorbed with matters of the heart, there was truly no one more fitting to teach the boys how to dance. She was a patient teacher."

"Was she here tonight? I don't recall meeting her."

Anne said in a wondrous voice, "Ruby wouldn't miss a party as grand as this one. I'd like to think her spirit was here. You see Katherine, Ruby passed away a few years ago. She died from consumption."

Katherine frowned. "I'm surprised at that."

"Consumption is normally fatal."

"Well, this is not a normal place, is it, Anne?" She could see Gilbert ahead of them by two-hundred feet. "There's a lot of magic around, I keep mentioning it and I'm not speaking in metaphor. I'm being literal, Anne."

Anne got really quiet and pulled her hand out of Katherine's arm. "You do keep saying such things. Why?"

"Oh—now I have a bit of a confession to make," Katherine stood still. "Umm...I'm not quite what I appear to be."

"You're not a witch, are you?"

"Oh goodness, no," Katherine responded. She took a few steps forward and she crossed her arms before her body in a defensive pose. "The witch family that lived down the street called my mother and me. .. .leeches. It's an incomplete term for what I am if I'm honest."

Anne stared at Katherine, her mouth wide open in a state of dismay. "What are you then?"

"There's no word for it, that I know of," Katherine answered. "I just know that those witches were always knocking at our door, trying to gain our help, and then accusing us of draining their powers. To use an analogy, I guess you can say we are like gemstones. Light passes through the prism and sparkles a new way. So it is with us and magic. When I was studying Latin for the first time, I thought the word para fit. I can..."

Anne never actually heard what it was Katherine could do. The quiet of the evening screeched to a halt as the sound of a rifle blared out from their destination. It was a very loud BANG! Anne put her hands over her head and instinctively fell to the ground. It was not the first time she had heard the violent discharged of a gun. Mrs. Hammond had taught her what to do in case the men from the lumber mill got rowdy with their six-shooters. Anne looked up and saw Katherine still standing, white as a ghost. Her hands were on her leg. She mouthed, "help me" before collapsing into a puddle of her own blood.

Anne screamed.

Gilbert had covered his own ears when the blast echoed and tucked his head into his chest for the moment. He then could see Fred with the rifle in his peripheral. Gilbert couldn't stop himself, he instantly bi-located to Fred's side and tackled him to the ground and apprehended his firearm.

"Fred—don't shoot," Gilbert cried. "Stay down. Don't shoot. Someone's hurt."

It was never known if Fred had understood Gilbert. Fred was too far in shock once he realized he missed his target and hit a bystander. He didn't care about anything else but his own regret. He kept his head down in shame as he was made incapable of the crisis. He prayed for strength and intervention. He prayed for a miracle!

Gilbert heard Anne calling for him again. He desperately wanted to just appear next to her but instead forced himself not to react on his first thought. Eugene had been working with him on how to handle himself better in moments of duress. Gilbert closed down his second body knowing that the rifle would travel the distance with him to his dormant body. Gilbert dropped the weapon once his bodies reunited.

He then ran for all his worth up the little hill to Anne and Katherine's side.

Gilbert managed to stay calm in the building chaos. With Anne's help, he pulled up Katherine's skirt to see the remainder of her right thigh. Anne and he ripped the stocking and he put his hand over the dripping wound. Anne helped Katherine recline by supporting Katherine's head and neck as Gilbert conjured his healing powers. His hands were pressing down on the bullet hole and her pressure points. She had lost a lot of blood.

"Going," Katherine said quietly. "Let's get going," She muttered feebly. "I'm cold."

"Katherine, you're not going to die," Gilbert informed her with a supernatural certainty. "You're not going anywhere. Anne, give me some help here. Take off your mittens."

Once Mrs. Lynde's Christmas present was discarded for the wind to blow away, Anne put her hands over Gilbert's. She could feel the magical energies Gilbert wielded strengthen. She could feel the soft, warm feeling of his magic comforting and repairing Katherine's otherwise mortal wound.

Quick footsteps were ascending the same hill that Gilbert had scaled. Anne turned her head and saw Fred approaching fast, but Gilbert continued to heal, even after no more magic was needed. The overuse of his powers caused a magical mist that Katherine could smell and connect to. All she had to do was tell Gilbert what to think.

"Gilbert, I'm cold. Just try to… Think of the hearth at Green Gables. Warming up by the fire." Katherine implored.

Gilbert couldn't help but envision himself warm and safe in front of Marilla's fireplace. Katherine latched onto him like some strange magical accessory. His powers were stuck in the 'on' position and she tugged his mind, inserting a goal for his magic to follow. All at once he relented to her idea and wished them in front of that warm fire at Green Gables leaving Anne alone with a very confused Fred.

to be continued

*Genesis 10 and the descendants of Noah which is often cited to support separate but equal attitudes. Also called The Table of Nations.