Timeline - Anne of Windy Poplars, The Second Year - March (Anne's birthday).
Allow me the latitude to connect this narrative to the end of chapter 11, where Anne has a cold, but officially, that chapter is about April or so.

Chapter 18: Healing

John Blythe and Davy Keith's feet crunched through the thin layer of crusty snow as they walked Mr. Blythe's property line. Mr. Blythe appreciated the time Davy gave to him as they inspected the fields for another year of farming. John was looking for clues. Were there any problems with the land he hadn't noticed before? Should the crops be rotated this year? Should they spread manure over any areas? A successful farmer had to plan for the next season and he explained to Davy his thoughts as they wandered. "You can't ever do too much planning and preparing in my book, Davy." Mr. Blythe put his hands in his pockets and smelled the fresh air. "The more you plan, the more time you save. And time is money."

Davy nodded to indicate he had heard him but was unable to contribute a single thought for or against it. He sort of wished he'd gone with Milty Boulter that afternoon, his cousin Mildred was in town for the weekend and Milty had indicated Mildred rather liked him. But Davy remembered his promise to Gilbert. He did want to learn to farm and that meant periodically visiting with Gilbert's father.

"As you can imagine irrigation is a problem for me," Mr. Blythe said as he pointed to a field where he alternated crops of flax and hay. Davy hadn't bothered to imagine anything at all when they got to the field, but he continued to listen. "The closest stream is along this row of volunteer trees, dry most the time except during a 'cane or some other deluge."

Davy scanned the uneven landscape and saw the problem. "How do you get water to this field? Do you use a windmill?"

"Prayer mostly," John informed him. "Farmers are a praying lot. Some seasons I make a killing from this field and other years it's my ruin. That's why I plant a variety of crops and keep cattle. Diversification has saved this farm more than once. The apple orchard is in the hilliest part, protects the land from erosion. Those hills have some very good topsoil. And over here is my worst land," Mr. Blythe indicated the potato field next to the house and barns. "Potatoes don't need much to flourish. I understand you've managed your own potato field at Green Gables?"

Mr. Blythe and Davy walked to the potato field in question.

"Potato plot!" Davy corrected, "Marilla gave all of us our own plot to manage. Dora plants garden herbs, and Anne plants flowers. I do potatoes because I heard they were the easiest to grow. I didn't want to work all day and get nothing from it."

John Blythe laughed. "Believe it or not, you already think like a farmer. Always looking for a shortcut."

Davy grinned to hear himself praised for his efficiency rather than be scolded for being lazy.

"This sure is a lot bigger than my plot at home."

"I'm sure that's true, but don't worry, Davy. I've also hired a man to help, his name is Mr. Marin. He's also very good with livestock. That was Gilbert's forté and where I'll miss him the most. You'll see Mr. Marin and his daughter quite a bit this summer. Miss Marin helps Mother around the house. My wife hasn't been feeling well lately. But, there's something you should know about Miss Marin. She's black. Her mother was a Negress from the Caribbean. Mr. Marin himself is white, just so you know."

"I've never seen a colored," Davy said, a tad surprised, not that it mattered much to him.

"That's why I'm telling you, so you don't stare at her or make her feel uncomfortable," Mr. Blythe put a hand on his shoulder. "Everyone is welcomed in my home, including coloreds. Miss Marin's about your age and probably won't appreciate a smart looking boy such as yourself staring at her because she's dark complected."

"I promised, I won't stare." Davy rolled his eyes with much "Geez" animation. He had never seen any girl worth staring at, unless she was doing something strange, like the time Barbara Shaw rolled back her eyes until only the whites showed.

"Well, just want to be sure," John pointed Davy in the direction of the house. "Let's go inside for some tea. I believe those ladies attempted a pie today. We can finish by ordering supplies and seed."

Gilbert Blythe, a second-year medical student at Kingsport Medical College, returned to his dormitory room with a stack of periodicals. The second-year students were required to write papers for publication in the school's medical journal. It was a tradition. Everyone in Gilbert's class expected the assignment at the start of the spring term, so there was no surprise from the class when the requirement was made. Gilbert received a bit of a shock, after already starting his own topical research in anticipation. Most students were allowed to pick topics within their specialty fields; Gilbert was pulled aside by the Dean and assigned his topic—Diagnosing. The Dean had told Gilbert that he seemed to have a remarkable talent for making successful diagnoses and his method must be shared with the medical community at large.

Eugene laughed when Gilbert confided his predicament.

It became the assignment from hell. Gilbert had little experience in making diagnoses the normal way and now he'd have to learn how and offer insights that would revolutionize the world. Gilbert toyed with the idea of just writing his paper on his magic; but, obviously, he couldn't do that. He would have to take a scientific approach, build a thesis and shore it up with proofs. Outlines were now due. He had all evening to get his done and he hoped that the pressure of meeting the deadline would somehow infuse him with inspiration. Wasn't that the gift of procrastination? His jutted jaw hinted to his anxiety, as did the baritone sighs that would slip out from time to time.

Gilbert lit his desk lamp, perhaps prematurely, but in preparation for a long night. It was still relatively early in the evening, but the windows to their dormitory room were on the east side behind the windbreak of a few poplars. Gilbert had mentioned to Anne how dark their room got. Anne's Christmas present to Gilbert was a pair of fancy desk lamps, ones that sported an embellishment of ivy and garlands carefully etched into the metal oil reservoir. They were made to last a lifetime and the light it gave was soft and non-glaring. He always felt that Anne was studying with him when the oil burned, for he kept one on his desk and Anne kept the other on hers. A reminder that one day, they would sit together in their own parlor, never to be separated again.

Eugene came in with an apple in his mouth and a stack of mail. He dropped a letter from John Blythe on Gilbert's desk. Gilbert tore open the correspondence. Eugene could tell from Gilbert's expression the news was relatively good. Unlike the telegram a few weeks ago that had caused Gilbert to almost fall to his knees with shock.

"How's your Mom?" Eugene asked between bites of fruit. Eugene sat in his hardback chair and watched Gilbert absentmindedly twirl the end of his mustache as he read through his father's message.

"The colored servant girl they hired is helping quite a bit," Gilbert said as he folded the correspondence. "She makes 'a mean pie', Dad writes. But I'm relieved she's there. Dad also says Mom still gets dizzy from time to time."

Eugene heard the underpinnings of concern. "It's normal, Gilbert, you know that. Dizziness and vertigo are symptoms of the onset of barrenness."

"Yeah," Gilbert grimaced, not really wishing to discuss his mother's gynecological health. "Gene, you can understand why I might not want to discuss this much. She's my mother."

"Which is why I wish you had let me go there when the news came. I would have been happy to, you know Spence' is a quack."

"He's not that bad, it's just women's health that he's . . ."

"Horrible!" Gene interrupted. "Misdiagnosing such as he did. I have half a mind to plaster his office with some of my publications. But still..." Eugene bit into his apple again and chuckled through the mouthful. Gilbert rolled his eyes knowing what Gene was going to say, "There was a certain amount of comedy in watching your panic when you read that your Mom had lost a baby. I thought, 'Wow! You really do come from magical stock, don't you?' "

Gilbert hazel eyes looked rather defiant to his jests. "Gene, it's not funny. Mom lied about her age to Dr. Spencer. She was never pregnant." Gilbert folded the letter and put it in his desk drawer, adding, "By the time I saw her, she'd stopped hemorrhaging. I was able to help her a little bit, with the pain, but the healing had already begun. And I burned off the last of that ability Katherine gave me in the process."

"I'm sorry, Gil," Eugene replied. His pale blue eyes blinked more thoughtfully now. "You're right, I shouldn't laugh, but it really was quite the moment to witness when you briefly thought your mother had lost a baby. You were amazed, surprised, worried, and then angry all at once."

"Well, I'm glad to keep you entertained."

"How could you not? Your life is so much more eventful than mine, or haven't you noticed? But now that you're back to your basics of magic, I guess this means I'll be watching your dormant body again before supper so you can spook Anne?"

"You know," Gilbert set his fountain pen aside from his notebook, taking a necessary break from writing. "Now that you mention it, I haven't seen Anne for a little while. It's just as well though, Anne and I haven't exactly been on our best behaviors when together." The flash of his eyes and quick grin relayed to Eugene enough detail. Gilbert felt he was in a new stage of their relationship, one that may or may not end in premarital intimacy, but they were definitely skating on thin ice.

"Gilbert, you do like making things hard on yourself," Eugene toss the core into the trash bin and didn't miss. He allowed himself a self-congratulatory cheer. Gilbert meanwhile recovered from Eugene's unfortunate pun. "When you come back from your visits with Anne, you seem to have more energy than when you left."

"You think Anne gives me energy?"

"Let's just say she tends to wake you up a bit."

Gilbert thought back to the last time he was in her tower room with her, and how they had snuggled down in the 'wild-goose' quilt together, sharing not-so-gentle kisses and roaming hands. He always left before things got too serious, but the definition of 'serious' was ever-changing now. "No, no more spooking until later on. I told her it was too cold to meet in the cemetery and I'd come when I can at night. To be honest, I'm feeling a bit—I dunno. Stretched I guess. My powers don't feel right, but it could be the stress of this." Gilbert pointed to his desk and his tower of papers to read and digest.

"Well, you do have a lot of work to do there, but I wonder?" Eugene crossed his arms and leaned back into the lumbar of his chair. Shaking his head, he discounted himself. "No, I'm just too suspicious of a fellow."

"What?" Gilbert lifted his eyes up from the periodical he was reading.

"I just wondered if the Dean might be on to you," Eugene's eyes showed a margin of concern. "Like he's trying to corner you. He literally put your back up against the wall to find out how you do what you do, Dr. Diagnosis."

"I hardly think the Dean is on a witch hunt. His reasons seem noble enough. He doesn't know what I do is innate and can't be taught. Think of it, if all doctors could read a patient like I can, it would save time and lives." Gilbert wadded up his scratch notes and tossed it his way, hitting Eugene squarely on the head. "That's what comes from marrying a Pringle, you know. Not everyone has a hidden agenda."

"True, but anyone from Summerside tends to do that for me. Dean Tomgallon is no exception."

"Kershoo," Anne sneezed yet again, louder and harder than the two times before. Her sneeze was strong enough that the pretty china and crystal on the table quaked in the aftermath. "Oh Gosh, I'm sorry," Anne said as a shade of embarrassment overcame her complexion. Then, she once again opened her mouth to thunder out another explosive sneeze, "Kershoo!"

Anne regretted that she felt so rotten. The ladies before her, Aunt Kate (Mrs. Captain Amasa MacComber) and Aunt Chatty (Mrs. Lincoln MacLean) had brought out their best china and stemware to give her birthday meal a pretty service. Rebecca Dew had fixed Anne's favorite foods. Chicken with dumplings for supper and sponge cake with Marilla's plum preserves for dessert.

Anne pushed her food around with her fork. It did look good, but her stuffed up nose killed her appetite. Instead, Anne delivered news from Green Gables. Marilla had received quite a shock when Ralph Andrews showed up to asked Marilla's permission to marry Dora.

"Now, where was I?" She had stopped her speech to sneeze violently once more.

Aunt Chatty tapped her arm and said, "You were telling us about Dora, Anne. Is she still mad with Marilla?"

"Marilla thinks so," Anne sniffled into her hankie. "I really can't tell from Dora's letter if she's mad or not, but they've struck a deal and it's remarkably simple. . . Kershoo!"

Rebecca Dew finished serving and plopped down in her chair next to Anne. She gave Anne her much cleaner handkerchief to use; seeing as Anne needed to pick her hankie apart for a clean spot to blow in.

"Thank you, Rebecca Dew!" Anne blew so hard she made unladylike honking sounds.

"What was the agreement between Dora and Marilla then?" Aunt Chatty begged her to continue the romantic plight of young lovers.

Anne gave a slight laugh because it was a unique solution, frightfully wicked, but also drove in the point Marilla had made to Dora when she said 'no', that marriage was work and that sort of work could wait a few years. "Marilla asked me why I was never boy crazy, and I told Marilla I might have been if I hadn't changed thousands and thousands of diapers before becoming her ward. So Marilla told Dora that she would sign permission after Dora changed two thousand dirty diapers."

"What?" Rebecca Dew spluttered and put down her teacup, shaking her head as if there was cotton between her ears and she had misheard. "Two thousand dirty diapers? And you think that will work? What's to keep her from lying?"

Anne wriggled her nose; attempting to keep the sneeze inside of her. "Oh, Dora won't. She's determined to prove to Marilla she can really do it and is not afraid. Dora's always played by the rules. . . Kershoo! . . Oh, I wish I could get over this cold!"

"You have had that cold a might long time," Rebecca Dew said as she poured more hot tea into Anne's cup. The aunts moved into the parlor, but Rebecca Dew urged Anne to stay in her chair. "Drink your tea, Anne." She ran her hand over Anne's flushed face. "You're feverish too, perhaps it's time for the Doc. Shall I call for him?"

Anne smiled at Rebecca Dew's motherly concern. The only doctor Anne wanted to see was Gilbert for his cure was surefire. He couldn't travel to her magically anymore. If he bi-located, he could give her great sympathy, but he wouldn't be able to heal her, not with his dormant body so far away. Anne wouldn't contact him over a cold, as bad and persistent as it was. He had too much on his plate at school to make the ferry trip over to Summerside.

"No, I don't think so. I think I just need some rest. The meal looked wonderful, I'm sorry I'm not hungry for it."

"That's quite alright. You just finish your tea, and we'll see if That Cat will deign himself to eat your leftovers."

Rebecca Dew left Anne in the kitchen and ascended the stairs to Anne's tower room and came back down a few minutes later. "I stoked your stove and I put a couple of warming bricks under your covers. You go on upstairs and crawl underneath that heavy quilt and rest while those bricks are still hot."

Anne thanked Rebecca Dew for her concern and asked her to tell the others goodnight. Anne would indeed crawl under that cover, but she meant to mark papers the rest of the night and she hoped for Gilbert to come and spook her. Somewhere in the middle of grading geometry papers and wishing for her fiancé to show up, Anne fell asleep and was dead to the world.

Anne didn't feel any better the next morning. Her eyes were thick with sand and Rebecca Dew had to coax Anne out of bed and downstairs for breakfast. Anne found her typical meal of plain porridge and coffee unappetizing. Her cough was loud and harsh. Although Rebecca Dew, Aunt Kate and Aunt Chatty had advised Anne to stay home and let Miss Katherine Brooke be principal, Anne insisted on going.

"My literature class is in the middle of Great Expectations right now," Anne managed to say between dry hacks that sounded painful, "And I surely wouldn't want to disappoint them." Uncharacteristically, Anne was not able to rattle off her sentence in a single breath. She had a slight wheeze in her speech.

"You should not go to work today," Rebecca Dew wisely advised. "That cough sounds terrible! You need Dr. Hart and some Kentucky whiskey instead." Rebecca was normally a temperance woman; however, she strongly believed in the medicinal powers of wine and liquor. No strange herbs for her in her tea. The hard stuff did a better job of expelling phlegm.

"I'll be fine," Anne refused, and she picked up some toast and spread apple butter on top of the golden wedge. "See, I'm eating. Happy?"

The three other ladies looked at each other. Aunt Kate's thin, gray face frowned her disapproval and Aunt Chatty looked as if she were about to cry in protest. Rebecca Dew put her hands on her hips, her short arms making queer triangles along her round body. "You're crazy to go to school, but what do I know? I'm not a B.A."

"What happened, Gilbert?" Eugene asked as the two medical students returned to their shared room. "You asked about twenty questions to get a diagnosis. Are you taking this writing assignment too seriously now?"

Gilbert sat down on his bed in contemplation. When he shook his patient's hand, he couldn't see what ailed her. Clearly, she was sick. She couldn't stand without fainting. His questioning led him to perform a cardiac assessment. He quickly obtained her permission to place his stethoscope on her chest. The murmur he heard told him she needed an operation, and then his powers confirm it. It was the type of problem that would have cried out to him normally, just by him touching her hand, but now, his abilities felt spotty and unpredictable.

"I dunno what's going on," He looked at his hands in wonder. Other than the fact they were not wielding his normal, supernatural ability, they looked normal and capable. "It is upsetting. My magic works and then it doesn't."

"Think Gilbert!" Eugene said. "What does this mean? When your powers fade? Just off the top of your head." Frustrated with Gilbert's blank stare Eugene pounded his desk. "Guess then."

"Well, I would guess that something might be wrong with Anne," Gilbert felt alarmed as he thought through his statement. Something was wrong with Anne. Gilbert was certain now. "Helen said her powers were slipping before she lost hers, and she lost her powers because the person she loved most had died." Gilbert exhaled sharply and his eyes fell to the lamp Anne had given him, he briefly reflected on how lonely it looked without its pair. Gilbert's gaze then pivoted back to Eugene. "Gene, I want to try and bi-locate to Anne. Will you watch my dormant body?"

"Sure, go find out what's happening."

Gene always needed a moment to recover whenever Gilbert mentioned Helen. He was glad Gilbert hadn't witnessed his facial reaction. He had felt himself blush a thousand shades of pink. Eugene felt a fool for his behavior on the beach last summer. But then, admitting to Helen that he loved her felt right at the time. He supposed that the circumstances of that conversation aided his folly.

Eugene glanced over at Gilbert sitting quietly, his active conscious somewhere else in Summerside. Gilbert's unblinking eyes frosted over gray from lack of focus. It was generally a creepy look and made slightly more disturbing by the curly ends of his mustache. Eugene passed his hand over Gilbert's face and then poked his shoulder, "Gil, just so you know, I am resisting the temptation to chop off your mustache tails. The longer you're gone, the bigger the risk to your facial hair."

Suddenly, Gilbert stood and went for his satchel, perfectly back to himself, if you ignored the fact he moved with a fire under him. Eugene almost fell back from the surprise but found his balance in an unexpected gift of agility.

"Anne's very sick," Gilbert said, "I couldn't form a second body, but I saw enough as a projection to see that Anne needs me." Gilbert went to his desk and found his stash of cash and put it in his wallet. He then found his toiletries and packed them unceremoniously in his luggage case along with a nightshirt.

"You're not leaving, are you?" Eugene admonished. "You've got to turn in your outline with Dean Tomgallon and you have the cadaver today for your surgical practical." Eugene tried to unpack his satchel as Gilbert tried to add to it. "Gil, Summerside has doctors, decent ones! You've got work to do here. She'll be fine."

"It's Anne!" Gilbert moaned, "I think she has pneumonia, Gene! All I know for sure is, I don't have a future without her. I've got to go. I can heal her. It's a respiratory issue, it's my strength!"

"Fine! You'll need a place to board," Eugene dug out his letterhead and began scribbling, "Stop by my mother-in-law's, Mrs. Thomas Pringle. She has room to take you." Eugene passed Gilbert his brief letter which would give him an introduction and welcome at a stranger's home should he need it.

Gilbert put on his winter coat and felt for his wallet in the inside pocket, he doubted his cash would cover everything and there was no time to stop at a bank and make a withdrawal. "Can you loan me fare for the Kaleidoscope? I think she boards in an hour for Summerside if I remember her schedule correctly."

Eugene passed over his stash of bills, "It's not enough to get you back though."

"That's all right," Gilbert answered, "I'll worry about it later. I need to go to Anne, now."

Anne Shirley managed herself back to her room at Windy Poplars with Rebecca Dew's help. She had been sent home by cab. Miss Brooke had ordered it and dismissed her classes the rest of the day.

Rebecca Dew assisted Anne out of her constricting dress and undergarments. Without her corset, Anne's lungs expanded to their full capacity. But the additional air she drew only made her cough rougher. Rebecca put Anne to bed and went downstairs to inform the aunts that she would call on Dr. Hart.

Anne slipped in and out of consciousness as she heard a variety of voices pace around her bed. None of those voices were Gilbert's. One voice explained to her that she was slipping a warming brick under the cover. Later, a male voice asked her to inhale and exhale as he pressed a stethoscope to her back. She understood the man was Dr. Hart.

"Anne's case is quite advanced," Dr. Hart shook his head. It hurt to see such a young woman enter into her final hours. "But I've seen this before, and I'm afraid my prognosis isn't encouraging. You should call for family, there's still some time for them to get here."

Mrs. Dennis intercepted Katherine Brooke when she returned home from teaching later on that same day. The landlady was a bit annoyed, but then she was always cross when interrupted from her baking. Mrs. Dennis' apron had flour stains on it and there was a note of kitchen disaster permeating the air.

"Yous has company," Mrs. Dennis said quickly. "It's your lady friend from Carmody, the dressmaker. I went ahead and sent her up to your room. I figures that is what you'd want."

"Yes, of course," Katherine flushed. "Thank you, Mrs. Dennis."

Katherine knocked on her bedroom door before opening it. On her bed, Helen Blythe rested comfortably on her back over the yellow afghan. She turned her head and flashed a smile to Katherine before swinging her legs around to stand.

Katherine heard the door click shut.

"There you are!" Helen turned to the bed and gestured, "I hope you don't mind. I felt poorly and wanted to rest before it got worse."

Part of Katherine just wanted to snuggle up next to Helen and say, "Thank God you're here. It's been a terrible day at school. . . " A couple of weeks ago she might have, but Katherine knew it unwise for their relationship to continue. Katherine sat down on her bed and looked upon Helen, wishing she had come into her life just a tiny bit sooner. Maybe, just maybe then, Helen wouldn't be tied to Charles Sloane. She breathed deeply, plucking up her resolve to stay logical and unemotional about her decision to stay away from the engaged woman.

"Helen, we've talked about this. It doesn't matter what we feel for each other, you'll be married soon, to a man no less. Seeing you on my bed . . ." Katherine's voice trailed off and she failed at her mission to remain aloof.

"Honestly, Kate, I came here today to deliver your new dress. Nothing more," Helen sat down next to her and held Katherine's trembling hand. "I got tired of waiting for you and decided you wouldn't mind if I laid down. Especially if I felt a tad headachy, which I did." She rubbed Katherine's hand. "I miss you, you know. How could I not? My powers are coming back because of you. Because you love me so much."

Katherine quaked under this truth and it was a heartbeat before she could look up. Her amber eyes held kinder, blue ones. Katherine did love Helen but needed to think through what it meant. Was she less of a woman because of her attraction? She sat frozen next to her, gazing straight into Helen's soul, longing to be free of her fears. Helen was bold as brass as she touched the side of Katherine's face and gently kissed her soft lips.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I..I can't," Katherine almost wiped away the kiss. "It's not right, this will lead to no good."

"Then consider it my thank-you," Helen almost cried. "Even if I can only see the past now, it's so much better than nothing! Who knew a leech could fix my magic? I would have never thought it possible."

Katherine stood up from her bed and turned her eyes to her closet, "Is my dress in there?"

"Yes, I hung it up for you. Why don't you bring it out, I'll check the fit, one last time."

She opened her armoire revealing her new, velvet, red dress. Helen had accented the front panel with so much embroidery it looked to be cut from a tapestry. Katherine had never owned anything so fine and grand. The vividness of the gown paralyzed her. Everyone would see her in it. Everyone would know she was different!

"I don't know if I'm ready to take this out of the closet," Katherine said as she touched the lush edges. "It's so bright. So alive! I'd hardly know myself."

Helen wasn't as impressed with her handiwork as Katherine was. To her, it was just another dress. It represented a few paid bills. Helen went to the closet and took it out and thrust it into Katherine's hands, "Well, I think you're going to wear it well. And I can't wait to see it on you."

In the parlor, Rebecca Dew and Aunt Kate discussed the situation as Aunt Chatty remained upstairs, reading psalms to a sleeping Anne. They decided to telegram her betrothed, Mr. Blythe, and her guardian, Miss Cuthbert. Rebecca was putting her hat on to run over to the telegraph office when someone knocked on the side door for entry.

"Oh, not now!" Rebecca Dew looked down the hallway to where the knock came. The last thing they needed was a caller. "Suppose I leave through the front?"

"It could be Dr. Hart coming back," Aunt Kate suggested. "Let's see who it is."

The knocker grew impatient for an answer. Rebecca Dew opened the door to the presence of a handsome man with a dark, mustache above a prominent chin. In his one hand was his satchel and in his other hand was a medical bag.

"Excuse me," he said. He set down his bag and tipped his hat to Rebecca Dew. "I'm looking for Miss Anne Shirley. I am Mr. Gilbert Blythe. Anne's fiancé and a medical student at Kingsport Medical College. I know Anne's very sick. Don't ask me how, but I do. We are very in love with each other. May I please come in and see her? I know I can help."

"Anne?"

Rebecca Dew entered the tower room first where Dr. Hart had left Anne propped up with pillows. Behind Rebecca Dew, Gilbert Blythe stood silently, listening carefully at Anne's ragged breathing. Behind him was Aunt Kate. Aunt Chatty rose from her chair where she had been reading from the Bible in acknowledgment of the three.

Gilbert touched Rebecca Dew's shoulder as he stepped around the woman that bore a slight resemblance to a beefsteak tomato. He was no longer willing to wait to be by Anne's side.

"Anne?" Gilbert said softly as he hoisted himself up to sit next to her on the elevated bed.

Anne's eyes softly open and she smiled to see him. Her light breathing quickened from the excitement in knowing he was there at last.

He brushed her forehead confirming the state of her fever.

"Anne, let me listen to your lungs? I know Dr. Hart was here, but I want to check you myself."

Gilbert leaned Anne forward and put his ear directly over Anne's left lung, checking the inhale and exhale of her lower, middle and upper lobes. He heard no crackle, just the bronchial swish of air that had nowhere to go. Gilbert could feel his magic start to build up as he continued his respiratory assessment on her right lung. There he heard a little crackle in her exhale. Her right lung was doing all the work, but soon, it would be solid too. Gilbert held Anne's hand and his magic told him what he heard was correct. Anne's life was perilously close to ending. He felt as if he might explode with an outburst of his healing powers. He needed to heal her.

Gilbert turned and saw three sets of eyes, big and bright watching him. Gilbert cast his eyes on Anne's desk. Thinking. He saw her lamp burning low. She had a mountain of papers stacked up next to it, waiting for her to mark them.

"Ladies?" Gilbert addressed the three, "Would you be so kind as to call on Miss Katherine Brooke? She needs to get Anne's school things." He softly touched Anne's hairline, shifting some fine threads of red behind her ear. "And I need to talk with Anne, alone, please."

"Rebecca, you must leave at once before it gets any later," Aunt Kate declared. "Chatty, let's go. Anne is obviously in the care of someone that loves her. He knew she was sick all the way across the Northumberland Straight because of their attachment. . ."

"Oh, it's just so romantic, so sad, but so romantic too . . ." Gilbert heard Aunt Chatty say as he fished out his medical scissors. He set those very, sharp scissors aside and slipped off his dirty shoes. He crawled into bed next to Anne and moved her into his lap, so she could sit up vertically. He would be her support. Dr. Hart had tried to improve her breathing also by forcing her to rest with an elevation against her, but pillows were soft and giving, and Anne slipped down.

He turned Anne slightly to her left and cut an opening down the center back of her light-green nightdress. With his left hand, he reached inside and placed his palm under the fullness of her breast. Gilbert's right hand exerted mild pressure on the back of that same lung.

Gilbert didn't even have to try to conjure his powers. They were there, impatient to be used. He could feel Anne's muscles rejoice as the water magically disappeared from her lungs. "Gil, thank you!" Anne sighed. She put her own hand over his, feeling his fingers under the flannel of her gown. "I feel so dizzy now." She leaned back against him breathing deeply and he kissed the crown of her head.

"I told you I would know if your health was at risk," Gilbert moved his hands to capture her right lung. He felt a tear of relief fall from his eye as joy replaced worry. He knew how close she had come to dying. "I'm just sorry I didn't realize sooner."

"How close was I?" Anne asked. "I could hear Dr. Hart tell Rebecca Dew my prognosis did not look good."

"You were never going to die," Gilbert said in mock shock. "Don't you know yet, I'm not going to let that happen. I love you way too much."

Anne drew in another deep breath and placed her arms over his. She wanted to say something in return, but instead, Anne closed her eyes and felt at peace. Gilbert laid back and covered their bodies with the quilt. He refused to relinquish her from his embrace.

to be continued