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

Chapter 22: Unattractive to Fate

John Blythe and Hank Marin stood at the other end of the field waiting for Davy Keith to come with the wagon. They had spent the entire morning and afternoon clearing out the remains of last year's crops. Most of the material could be used for kindling. The few pieces of branch found might be another carving project of John's. In the winter he often found himself whittling small figurines, usually making animals but sometimes people. It was something he learned as a young man and he honed his craft when Gilbert was small. Somewhere in the house was a memory chest of Gilbert's baby things. John hoped that one day he could go up to the attic and get all those carvings. The grandchildren would need something to play with and, possibly, levitate.

The two men were impatient to be done for the day. They paced the furrows as they waited. Davy forgot his errand and they started walking towards the stable. They were still a ways off when the figure of a young lady with a slat bonnet exited the building. She was too far away to call out to, but it was unmistakable Miss Marin and Davy had encountered each other in the barn and that was probably what caused Davy to lag.

Hank turned to his employer and huffed, "You want me to say something to her?"

"Nope," Mr. Blythe answered with purpose. "Young Mr. Keith needs to get his head in the game. I'll talk to him. It's not easy being fourteen, is it?"

"Go easy on him," Hank remembered his adolescent days well enough on Cuba. He had met Miss Marin's mother by that time. She was a servant in his father's household. "It can be a confusing time, not a boy, not quite a man. Figuring things out."

Davy Keith came out of the barn leading Rival to the wagon. He saw the lean figures of two men approaching and hastened his movements to hitch the horse.

"I'm sorry," Davy excused himself as he held the strap connected to Rival's bridle. "I know you've been waiting, but, Miss Marin was showing me Henrietta's piglets and the pigs got out. Did you know that each one has a name? All five of them. I don't know if I can look at bacon again. I forgot my reason for being in the stable until just now."

Mr. Blythe eyed Mr. Marin. So, that explains it. He chuckled, "It's best not to name your food. You know better than that."

Hank jumped in, "Remember, God gave us dominion over the creatures of the Earth. When Adam named all the animals, he was exercising his superior rights. Animals know what's what. It's only cruel if we make it so. Enjoy your bacon, Davy. It's fine. It's part of the circle of life."

"Yes, sir!" Davy answered trying not to think of how Miss Marin doted over the runt, Rosy. Henrietta got a scolding from Miss Marin about not letting her littlest nurse. The sow gave up and let the tiny one approach. Henrietta's brown eyes closed as all the piglets came to her belly for nourishment. The sucking and grunting noises were adorably gross. Davy had never thought something like that beautiful, but the way Miss Marin seemed to monitor the litter was touching.

Mr. Marin wandered off towards the house to find his daughter, leaving Mr. Blythe and Davy in conversation. The next thing Davy registered was the weight of John's hand on his shoulder, directing him to walk away from the horse. Davy grew suspicious for Mr. Blythe was slow to speak.

"I am sorry I got behind," Davy assumed he was in trouble and began apologies.

"Don't worry about being late today, young man." Mr. Blythe stooped a little, in a way that reminded Davy strongly of Gilbert. "I want you to know you can ask me questions if you have them."

Davy tried not to groan. It was one of those talks the men of Avonlea were keen on having with him. Davy felt he was getting very good at not being embarrassed with these topics about changing voices and hair growth. Although, he had a hunch that Mr. Blythe was more direct than the average man.

"I don't have any questions, Mr. Blythe."

"I know, you know it all, don't you."

"I think so. It's not that big of a deal."

Mr. Blythe rubbed his chin. "Well, I just want you to know you can talk to me. Even if you decide you rather not work for me, you can always come to me if you need to. I know you're helping me because Gil asked you to."

"No, I'm learning a lot about farming."

John Blythe laughed heartily. "We haven't even planted the seed yet. And speaking of seed, Davy, there's a timing in all things, especially, when it comes to. . . " Even Mr. Blythe hedged his thoughts and blushed. "Do you understand me? Don't be in a hurry to get to planting time. Slow down."

Davy felt his eyebrows connect as he tried to think through Mr. Blythe's hint. He eventually gave up and shook his head, saying 'no'.

"You're fourteen, right?"

Davy nodded, feeling as if Gilbert's dad was addressing a fault he had. He held his breath as he waited for his sentence.

"Stop touching yourself, Davy. It's not planting time yet, is it?"

Davy panicked and was afflicted with sudden immobilization. Surely, Mr. Blythe didn't mean…! But, how could he know? He wanted to say, "I don't know what you're talking about." Davy knew the older man would see right through him.

"Davy, breathe. I know what young men do, having been one and raised one. It's not evil, unlike what the minister might suggest, but just, give yourself a break once and a while. And remember, there's a timing in everything. I need you to pay attention. Stop being so distracted by the pretty girl."

Davy again nodded, his eyes wide as saucers. Davy's rapid heartbeat slowed. He looked away not sure if he had really lived through the scene.

"Why don't you head home for the day. I'll take the Marins back to New Halifax after we're done."

John slapped Davy's back as he strode off towards the wagon. Rival was waiting patiently there. Mr. Blythe stepped up to the driver's seat and urged the horse, leaving Davy standing nonplussed.

Dear Gilbert,

I've got a question I don't want to ask your father, not that he doesn't like to talk. Trust me! I understand you a lot better now that I know your Dad. He's a jolly guy, but boy, he does like to chat and he doesn't seem to care about what either. Anyway, I thought I would write to you because I know you can answer a question without asking why it's being asked. Here it is. Milty told me the other day that the white race is smarter, faster and better than any colored race and I can't see how this is the case. While it's true Miss Marin can barely read (I've been trying to help her) I reminded Milty of the time he got his head caught in the banister and they had to saw him out. Anyway, I just wanted to know if there's anything I should be aware of, and as you're gonna be a doctor, I'd figure you would.

Sincerely,

Davy Keith

P.S. Avonlea is getting the telephone.

P.P.S. You should come and do that thing only you can do for Mr. Marin. He's sick a lot.

Dear Gilbert,

Son, I just got done visiting with Helen. I don't care what you've read in the papers, Charlie Sloane is alive but no one believes her, certainly not their bankers. They are knocking at her door to liquidate her business to repay the loans Charlie secured, and, of course, her sewing shoppe isn't in the position to pay it all back. Helen is going to lose everything. Mother and I plan to invite her back here to stay if that happens. I don't know if you have any rich friends that may want to invest in Helen's business to reassure her creditors, but Helen needs cash fast.

But in other news, your mother and I have a wonderful distraction going on here on the farm. Davy's very taken with Miss Marin. And she, in turn, seems to like him. I don't know if anything serious will come from this but they do have something of a start. It gives me the biggest grin watching those two.

I'm glad they feel safe here to be themselves as they figure it out. From what I can tell Davy's getting grief at school for noticing a colored girl, but he's not talking with me for some reason.

We need you to heal Mr. Marin though, he's suffering badly with epilepsy.

Love,

Dad

Gilbert read and re-read the two letters Tuesday morning in the privacy of his room. Eugene left before the sunrise as he had an early appointment with the Dean's office. His application for early graduation was moving forward. Gilbert was not a morning person but managed to get up without the routine of his roommate prodding him. Gilbert groomed and laid out his blue jacket and tan spats. He had a few minutes to kill before he needed to leave. He would catch-up with Eugene in their class, where he'd then ask him if he were interested in investing in Helen's business.

Gilbert lazed about the peaceful room and the sun rays lit the floating flakes of dust. He stretched out his long limbs on his bed holding the recent correspondence and grinned. His smiled shoved off the very recent worries Tomgallon had plastered over his face. Davy Keith was in love. Or as close to it as a fourteen-year-old could get. Gilbert had been there himself a long, long time ago. He was going to have a hard time pretending he didn't know a thing about Davy's distraction his next trip back home.

The door swung open with great velocity. Gilbert jolted in response to the momentum entering the room with Eugene. His quiet morning was ruined. There Eugene was in the entryway, his hands on his hips and his jaw clenched. He caught Gilbert's "Where's the fire?" expression and Eugene scratched the bald patch on his head before telling Gilbert, "You won't believe it."

"They're not going to let you graduate early?" Gilbert folded his letters away and reached for his spats. They were coming back in fashion and Gilbert was fond of the way they made his legs longer and more streamlined. It had the added benefit of protecting his shoes from spring mud.

Eugene made a startling, choking sound. "They better but that's not it."

"What is it then?"

"Gil, hold on to your handlebar mustache," Eugene then looked away and back to him, which only served to add a bit of drama to the news. He archly informed, "Dean Tomgallon died last night."

"What?"

"He died! Heart attack. Died in his wife's arms."

Gilbert could scarcely breathe.

Conditioned since a young boy, Gilbert automatically felt sorrow over the news. And for a few seconds, his sympathies for Tomgallon's widow and children dominated his reaction, but then he felt something of a smile creep across his face. Not a big one, but he was experiencing a type of thanksgiving. And Gilbert couldn't help it as the impact of the news transformed his worry into relief. He had escaped from a tremendous pickle of a situation and he was not going to miss the sourness of it. He had been wishing for it to all go away.

Eugene's eyebrows were still high on his crown. He continued to give Gilbert the eye.

Gilbert tried to compose himself, but in doing so, he slipped and smiled more broadly. "I know, I know. I'm a terrible person to smile, but this is such a relief."

Eugene was turning quite pale. "Gil, you wished it would all go away. You, a witch, wished for it to go away."

Gilbert paled quickly. "I did, didn't I?" He definitely had entertained some uncharitable thoughts toward the man lately. "But you don't think that I," Gilbert saw his roommate nod slowly. "Oh, Gene, aren't you always saying I don't have control. I think something like that would take a focus completely foreign to me."

"Yes, I am considering that, but Gil, you discover your abilities on accident, because your thoughts get out of control. When you said that you wished Tomgallon would go away the other night, I know that you didn't truly mean it. I know it was something you just said in frustration, but I still wonder. How can you be sure that you didn't."

"Gene, I have to focus. Even if I do it poorly, there has to be an intention there, and I," Gilbert hedged now, doubting himself, but rebounding with, "My gut reaction says I didn't. I know when my power has gone out of me, and I don't have that sensation."

"I suppose if you had done it, you would have known of Tomgallon's passing before I did. You would have known last night."

"Right," Gilbert said with great vocal conviction. Internally though his doubt grew. He was the most powerful witch in his family and the most powerful witch Tomgallon had ever claimed to study.

Eugene's concerns were now abated. He sighed deeply and handed Gilbert his coat. They had to walk across the courtyard to their class.

"Maybe it was the curse of the Tomgallons that did it. Maybe it wasn't me at all?" Gilbert suggested along the way.

"Professor Dr. Strickland would say that Dean Tomgallon had it comin', he was almost morbidly obese and smoked."

Eugene and Gilbert went through other scenarios for Dean Tomgallon's sudden death. Both of them ignored the nagging sensation that things happened just too conveniently.

Anne Shirley struggled to sleep. Slumber was a treasure for her to discover. There were a number of concerns blocking her path to rest. Gilbert was acting oddly around her. He was using his powers of bi-location a lot more to check in with her. His protective nature seemed to be in overdrive as was his evasiveness to her questions. As wonderful as it was to see him every night and give him a proper kiss, Anne knew Gilbert had some interior worry that he wasn't sharing. Quite frankly, it was vexing her.

And then there was the situation with Helen. Katherine and Anne had come back to Avonlea the last few weekends since the news of the Princess Edwina's sinking. Helen kept insisting that Charlie Sloane was alive and privately, to those she trusted most, she told them that she thought it was possible that Robert Wright had died. Anne believed Helen's insight as it fit the newspaper stories. The rescued woman reported her rescuer had drowned. According to Helen, that rescuer was Robert Wright.

Anne weaved the end of her yellow bed sheet through her fingers as her forehead creased into rows. She liked the slick feel of the fabric gliding between the spaces of her hand. She found it comforting as her mind pondered over things. Just thinking about Helen's vision made her heart heavy. She wanted to tell Diana but Helen had asked her not to tell the Wright's. It was one thing insisting to everyone that Charlie Sloane was alive, but to say that someone had died was cruel and unfeeling. Helen knew better and chose to stay out of that fray. If Helen said "No, don't tell them" Anne felt she would have to honor that. It was her powers after all.

There were a lot of pieces to Helen's vision and no one knew how it would all settle. Would Charlie ever come home or make contact? Would Robert? And was Charlie really the father of Robert's child?

Anne slipped back into the last conversation she had with Gilbert. The night before when they cuddled Anne asked his thoughts on Helen's vision. If Robert was gone, what of Gertie and their boy? Was it true about Charlie being the father? Gilbert then admitted he had heard the conjecture a long time ago and agreed Eugene was right about the boy being premature. That certainly meant the boy was not Robert's. "In fact," Gilbert informed her. "I didn't realize it then, but Dr. Spencer suspected Robbie was early as well. He had some questions about the delivery that really only fit that supposition."

"And you said nothing about it?"

"I didn't know for certain. I wondered if Charlie might have been the father, for he and Gertie have been friendly with each other before. It wasn't that far of a stretch. It was one of the reasons why I didn't want Charlie to court Helen." Gilbert's hazel eyes were fixed on Anne's. "I said nothing. I'm sorry I didn't share that with you. It's quite a big accusation and to be wrong..."

"That would have been detrimental," Anne repeated aloud, snapping out of the memory. She didn't know why she spoke it. There was no one else to hear her. Yet her thoughts were giving her necessary clues to Gilbert's current evasiveness.

Gilbert wanted to be sure and avoided speculations. Whatever was making him anxious, Anne was sure that if she confronted him about it, it would cause them to quarrel. Gilbert needed a chance to figure things out on his own, and Anne told herself that he would come to her when he was ready.

"Anne?" Davy Keith sounded quite surprised when she entered the barn. "What are you doing up?"

Anne pushed back a lock of vivid red hair and tucked it behind her ear. She had put on an old dress and shoes, deciding that sleep would never come. Rather than mill inside the house making noise she ventured off to the barn. When she was younger she liked to climb up into the hayloft and watch the sunrise from the east-facing window. You could see the ocean from that vantage point. The fiery orb often glowed colors of purple and magenta over the blue waters at daybreak.

"I might ask the same thing of you, Davy," Anne matched his surprised inflection perfectly. "Are you having a hard time sleeping?"

"I wouldn't say that, 'xactly," Davy crossed the barn floor and grabbed a rake. "Sometimes I do my best thinking in the middle of a mindless chore. And I need an early start, I'll be over at the Blythes the rest of the day."

Anne leaned against the wall and watched a flurry of hay come out of the stall as Bossy chewed her cud. Davy was hurrying through his task. She wished he'd slow down.

"Are those books I brought you working out?" Anne asked. "I'm still looking for a good beginning reader for your Miss Marin."

It took a moment for Davy to respond. "I can't figure out why Miss Marin has such a hard time with her letters. She writes things upside down and backward."

"You're doing a good thing, Davy, helping her read. Maybe you should go to Queens when the time comes and become a teacher. Men teachers are in high demand."

Anne saw Davy's face twitch in disagreement before he said, "I'm not a good teacher, though. Won't ever be."

"Davy-boy," Anne said softly. "I'm sure you're doing fine. Just be nice and answer what questions you can."

"I am nice to Miss Marin."

Anne gave Davy a judging look and even in the dim light of the rising sun, she could see Davy glow rosy red. Davy caught Anne's curiosity and felt self-conscious. He put his tool away before returning to the stall with a stool and milk pail.

"All I'm doing is showing her how to read, Anne," Davy defended himself. His voice was overly dramatic. "She's gotta learn how."

"I know," Anne found herself next to the stall, her arms and upper body leaned on the top slat of the divide. "It's such a kind thing you're doing and I'm impressed. Some people struggle to learn to read. I don't want you to get frustrated. I'll be here all summer and so will Katherine. We'll help you if you want us to."

"No," Davy said, "I mean, thank you, but, I want to figure this out on my own."

"She must be really pretty if you're making so much effort."

"Anne, why did you have to say that?" Davy stammered, "Her looks are fine for a..a."

"Colored girl?"

Davy sighed, "I barely think of her that way anymore. I was going to say for a poor person."

"Dora told me about the shoes."

Groaning, "Dora's such a blabbermouth anymore." Davy seemed torn now as he sat on the stool before Bossy. He intended to milk the cow but it was Anne milking him. Davy trusted Anne. It had always been so. "It's not a bad thing, is it, for me to like a colored girl? What do you think Marilla would say? She's so prim and set in her ways. She's not going to like it, is she?"

"Oh, I don't know," Anne gave a calculated response. Davy's concern was real. Marilla did not agree with integrating the Avonlea church when Elder Wright proposed it a few months ago. Marilla's generation had been socialized quite differently than the generation coming of age. "I think if you make it clear to her how you feel, she'll listen to you, and do her best to respect your feelings. She loves you, Davy. You've always been able to get your way with her."

Davy laughed there, "Yeah, I know, it drives Dora nuts."

"That goes double for me," Anne now laughed in return. "I broke her in for the two of you. You forget that."

Davy shook his head as he grabbed his bucket of milk and let himself out of the stall. Anne followed him back to the house.

The red, sandy road approached the incline of the hill by winding its way along its base and spiraling upwards. At the top of the hill, the road leveled out on the plain. Both driver and passenger made comments about the pretty view. They could see the frothy tide glazing the shore by glancing outward and down. A slight adjustment in head position brought the never-ending horizon of ocean and sky to view. And up close in the other direction were bright green pops of budding vegetation pimpling the naked tree limbs. Snow had retreated to the shadowy parts of the landscape and the buggy wheels sloshed through the ruddy slicks. It was Easter time. The end of winter and the beginning of spring and the passenger, Charlie Sloane, was coming home.

His arrival would be unexpected. He did not want a crowd and did not trust his mother to keep quiet about his recovery and movements back home. He was the last of the Princess Edwina survivors to return to Prince Edward Island. He was a reluctant hero, although, there was a time he would have courted the pomp and the attention associated with his actions. He couldn't, and wouldn't, make a show of his survival. Not when he watched other men and women drown. Not when his own friend died in the Atlantic Ocean. Charlie Sloane knew his return home was also an acknowledgment that Robert Wright never would. He didn't want to be the person to bury that last remaining hope.

What would he say to the Wrights when they approached him? Yes, Robert died bravely. And, Oh yes, I just also happen to be Robbie Wright's real father. Charlie snorted and he felt his protruded eyes roll. Robert was Robbie's parent. He might have fathered the child in one night of stupidity with Gertie but he had no legal claim to the boy. How would he explain to Robert's parents? Robert was gone and now he takes away what they believe to be Robert's child? The potential conversation nauseated him whenever he thought of it.

In Charlie Sloane's book, death just didn't want him that hour. There was hardly any valor in being unattractive to fate. He was lucky, not brave. If nothing else, at least he could admit he wasn't a coward. He felt prepared for his mother's goading clutching that fact.

Charlie retreated back into the buggy's canopy as the road merged into the city's thoroughfare. The vehicular traffic increased and the street congested with pedestrians too. Charlie paid them little notice until he saw a familiar-looking form ahead. A woman in a blue dress and black coat walked, carrying a basket.

Charlie called up to the driver, asking him to slow down a tad so he could call out as they approached.

"Helen," Charlie cried, "Helen Blythe, it's so good to see you."

Helen dropped her basket and almost released a jubilant shout. Charlie Sloane shushed her and offered his hand to pull her into the carriage. "Your basket, Love!" Charlie said and Helen rushed to grab it from the street. She did not care it was covered in red mud as she dropped it on the floor of the chariot.

She happily sat next to him, letting her hand fall on his. His hand flipped over to accept her touch. Helen's cheeks were pink from the rush of excitement and her bright, magnificent blue eyes shined for him. "It's so good to see you, Charles" Helen repeated again. Their fingers intertwined. "I had no idea you were coming home. Charles," she lowered her voice a bit, "My powers are coming back. It started first with things that happened in the past, and now, I can see the world as I once did. Soon, I'll have the future."

Charlie Sloane didn't know how to reply to Helen. Her powers were important to her, this he remembered well, but she had adjusted to life without them with his encouragement.

"Is it true about the shoppe?" Charlie asked. "Is it really gone?"

Helen nodded and brought her ringless left hand up to her cheek as she teared. "I'm afraid so. While everything was still all confused, the bank foreclosed. They impounded our inventory and my machines and sold them to the highest bidder."

"I can't figure out why."

"Because they didn't want to do business with a woman, that's why." Helen explained, "It wasn't a smart decision on their part, to just come in and demand their money. I never missed a mortgage payment on your schedule. We were making a profit each quarter. I showed them all the receipts and they did not care. When I refused to file a claim on your life insurance, they threw me to the wolves."

Charlie was listening to Helen but at the same time, he rubbed his own hand over the top of her left. All he noticed was the missing ring.

"Helen, where's my ring? The diamond?"

"Charles, I sold it to meet payroll and I had a little left. I was able to buy back one of my machines at auction." Helen frowned remembering the hasty trip she made to Charlottetown with Uncle John where she sold the ring back to the jeweler. "I didn't know what else to do, but, our employees couldn't be left out in the cold. And I need at least one commercial machine if I'm going to make any sort of living sewing, although, it will be a lot harder now."

Charlie was disappointed but not because she had sold the ring. She made a good decision there and he meant to tell her later. "You don't trust me to support you?" He sounded defeated. "The idea is to get you away from constantly sewing. That can happen a number of ways."

"Charles, of course, I believe you would support me, but, I wonder if you should. There's a conversation you must have with Gertie Wright about the child you have with her," Helen smiled warmly following his jolt of surprise and she again touched his hand. He hoped his clasp didn't feel as uncertain as his insides.

"It's all right, Charlie," Helen repeated to him. "Charlie, it's all right."

Charlie lifted his head to hear his nickname. She had never called him "Charlie" before.

"I know you were unaware about Robbie. But you know now. You're a father. Everything has changed for you."

"Did you figure that out with or without your powers?" Charlie could feel his hand tremble with unease in hers. He withdrew his hold and her palm fell to his knee. Helen pressed down on the bend of his joint and pivoted as much as she could to face him, even though they sat side by side.

"Well, I saw everything that happened in the final moments on the ship. I saw you and Robert rescuing passengers. And I was so proud of you, to think that my Charles was so brave and so selfless. I saw other men pushing women and children out of their way to save themselves, but you were fearless."

"Stop Helen," Charlie's head hurt as he heard her praise. "I hope you didn't tell Mother this! I can't bear the thought of her parading me around Avonlea as some unsung hero."

"You are a hero!" Helen declared. "I think you and Robert saved five people from certain death. And then you handed over your life jacket too! That's when I saw Robert tell you Robbie was your child, Charlie," Helen rubbed his arm for he had hunched over with survivor's guilt. "You deserve some praise!"

"Helen, I have no idea what to do about Gertie and our son," Charlie Sloane could barely utter the word 'son'.

"You owe yourself a chance to discover him and I want you to try. I really do!" Helen calmly said to her best friend. "And, you may discover your feelings for Gertie aren't as fleeting as you claim." Charlie looked up at Helen's understanding face and it was all he could do to keep the tears inside of him in check. She spoke on, "And we'll always be friends, married or not. Give yourself some time. And then, we can see, but I think you'll discover that Gertie can make you happier than I ever could. Assuming the two of you are on the same page. With her, you'll have a family, and possibly, all the love money can't buy. All the love you deserve."

Charlie swallowed to loosen his throat. His hand reached to Helen's cheek and she allowed him to come close and leave a soft kiss on her lips. He then looked away and Helen changed her posture as well. They were passing the drab houses of New Halifax, closer to home. Closer to Avonlea. Charlie used his handkerchief to dry his cheeks. He had been through so much and more changes were to come.

Charlie spoke in his Sloanish voice. "We're still business partners though. We have contracts in Europe to fill." Charlie gloated and heard his own egotism, "I did an amazing job if I'm honest."

"Yes, I know," Helen said. She was happy to hear Charlie's overconfidence shine through. "I've been working around the clock to draft those patterns. And I secured another job as well."

"What's that?"

"Well, it's all commissions. I talk people into signing up for the telephone service coming to town."

"Oh, that will be hard work."

"I am particularly gifted to overcome folks objections," Helen winked. "You forget, I did tell you my powers are coming back. I already made one commission."

"Really, who?"

"Your mother," Helen laughed. "I just asked what it would mean to her if she could just hear your voice and know you were safe, even if you were far away. We could team up on this, actually."

"We make a good team, don't we."

"Oh gosh, here we go, another venture!" Helen laughed. "Well, why fix what's not broken, huh?"

Charlie Sloane laughed for the first time since the Edwina sunk and Helen joined in with her own soprano peals.

Dear Davy,

Thank you for your letter and I hope you can forgive my brief reply. I think you've already decided your own answer about the question of race and intelligence. I can assure you, our brains are all the same color. You cannot tell a white brain from a colored brain once it's out of the skull. You can trust me on this point.

You're right. Dad tends to forget himself at times. I have learned that the more apprehension you show to certain delicate subjects, the more likely he is to approach you over them. You can trust him completely though, so try not to let his frankness get to you.

Your brother,

Gilbert Blythe

P.S. I have an unorthodox idea of how I might heal Mr. Marin.

P.P.S. Thank you for helping Miss Marin learn to read. I'm proud of you!

to be continued