Timeline - Anne's House of Dreams. Approximately two months into Anne and Gilbert's marriage.
For a shorter narrative, I am combining events that occur in this book and introducing ideas and characters in a different order. Some characters I am not using at all. It is very helpful to know the events of this book even if I elect to take liberties.
Chapter 35: Change and Hope (1)
Dr. Eugene Felder bid Miss Rebecca Dew and the Windy Poplar ladies a good-night and carried the provided bed warmer into his tower room. It was the same room that had once housed Anne Blythe when she was still Principal Anne Shirley. Eugene armed himself with her recommendation when he approached the Pringle-neutral widows for temporary lodgings. His late wife had been a daughter of the influential Pringle clan, a clan dead-set on denying him what should be his inheritance. He had entered into his marriage to Victoria Pringle as something of a curious prize, but now, his favor had worn. His inlaws wished to retain the royalty rights to his late wife's compositions, instead, offering the piano where she had learned to play.
Gene slid the warming implement between the covers and headed to his desk. He was behind on his correspondence which was unlike him. Pushing aside his solicitor's invoicing and a stern letter from Johns Hopkins regarding his extended absence, he finally decided that he would write Miss Keith.
The night before, Gilbert used his powers of bi-location to inform him Dora's crisis was over. Gene quizzed Gil about what else he noticed during her healing. Did Dora need a surgical therapy? Would Dora be able to conceive without the worry of another ectopic pregnancy? Gilbert said he wanted to discuss the matter with Marilla first, but the concern was real.
It took a while for Dr. Felder to unpack the comment. Gilbert's style of medicine would be to involve Miss Cuthbert in any decision that had to be made. A parent makes decisions for a child, but did such a label really fit Miss Keith?
The concern knifed a vertical line between Gene's eyes. Yes, Miss Keith was young, but she was also an adult woman in her childbearing years. No one should be making decisions for her unless she was incapacitated from the emotional strain. If anything he had learned about Dora's character, it was that she was level-headed. There was no need to defer to Marilla. Dora Keith was more level-headed than he was, and he was twenty years her senior.
It was a careful letter he penned to her and even in his third proof-reading, he was undecided if it should ever be delivered.
Mid-November
Dear Miss Keith,
Before I write anything else, I want you to know that I am overwhelmed in sorrow for your loss. It is a horrible and tragic event you have endured, magical healing or not, and I do not take it lightly. You have lost a baby and have suffered much pain. It is my fundamental wish to express some compassion. You know I am a widower, but I have lost a child too. There are few things that pain me more than mourning my lost girls. Losing a child... there are no words to express the depravity.
As far as the rest of this letter, I'm not even sure I should be writing this, but I can be a rogue at times, so I'll worry about consequences later. I've dropped plenty of clues to Gilbert that I should like your case deferred to me, but that requires your permission. He holds back in mentioning this to you because he believes it's Miss Cuthbert's decision. I would disagree with that. You are the proprietor of your body and should decide on your health care.
So, with that in mind, I'm going to ask you if I might be your doctor, because your journey is not over, and I desire to help you avoid this from happening again. Sure, Gilbert helped in the pinch, but I can get you out of tight quarters permanently. That is if you let me.
There is a reason why your baby implanted in the wrong part of your body. The reason is due to scar material in your Fallopian tubes. The scar material blocked the path of your fertilized egg. If this is true, and from what Gil shares, I suspect it is, you may wish to elect a surgical treatment so it doesn't re-occur in your future. The other option would be to avoid pregnancy by less reliable means.
The standard surgical treatment is to remove the entire reproductive system. You wouldn't have to worry about pregnancy ever again. But, rest assured, I have an alternative technique that is less invasive but brand new to the medical community. It is untested by time and might be dismissed as an option.
Miss Keith, I think you're suited for this alternative method. You are young and otherwise healthy. And I believe you should have an opportunity to have offspring. If you are willing to trust me, I can elaborate further on my idea.
Finally, I want you to know that I struggled to write this letter. It is very unprofessional of me to go around a colleague, much less a friend. Gilbert is an excellent family doctor, but he'll bring information to you with your guardian's parental skew.
I do feel better disclosing the information that there is an alternative to the standard treatment, should you find yourself under another doctor's care, they might not be current on the latest research or elect not to share it.
Knowledge is power, and I want all women to receive their mountain's share. So, with that thought guiding me, I implore you to let me help you ascend.
Cordially,
Dr. Eugene Felder
Gynecological Research and Associate Professor in Obstetrics, Johns Hopkins University
"Hmm," Anne murmured as she cuddled against Gilbert's bare side. She didn't recall hearing the telephone blare but she knew what had woken her and braced for that awful noise again.
"Gotta get that," Gilbert muttered against the ring.
Of course, you do.
She sank into Gilbert's abandoned covers, dousing herself in his scent as he stepped into the cold November air.
This was her nightlife and there was never a full night of uninterrupted sleep. Anne frequently went to bed alone, only to wake when Gilbert dedicated his body to the mattress. He always tried to slip in without disturbing her. She couldn't help but stir. On the off chance they did go to bed together, they were interrupted later, sometimes in intimate moments, for a medical call. Gilbert tried to make light of it and declared the ringer was the 'sound of money'. Anne despised the telephone nonetheless.
Anne laid still and listened as Gilbert dressed. The friction of tied fabric meant he had found his robe and wrapped it tightly. She squirmed as she felt the tickle of his nose against her ear. His token apology made her smile as she pushed his face away.
Such were the downfalls of being married to a country doctor. She had signed up for the interruptions but their company had not. Anne hated the fact the telephone also woke Dora. Her room was directly over Gilbert's office.
The telephone blared again and suddenly stopped in mid-ring. Anne knew that Gilbert would talk a few minutes before coming back to the room. He'd either go back to sleep or he'd dress by moonlight. Anne stirred a bit more awake as his footsteps passed their door and continued on to her sewing room where Dora slept. She heard a small rap.
His husky baritone announced, "Dora, you have a call. It's Davy."
A few minutes later, the three of them were gathered in Gilbert's office. Gilbert sat in a swivel chair and Anne chose to sit on his lap, seeing no other place where she might rest. Dora stood before the wall phone, showing a bit of trepidation as she reached for the receiver. Her fingers fanned the air before she took the earpiece.
"Hello, Davy," Dora's even voice did not match her posture. Her carriage alone reflected that she might be depressed. Anne watched her reaction. Dora's face flushed with forgotten color as Davy spoke.
"I see," Dora responded with an enthusiastic nod. "Davy, I'm recovering now, and. . . "
She had to wait for a turn.
"I miss you too. I really do! But, Davy… give me a moment. I just need a second."
Dora set the earpiece down and looked over at Anne and Gilbert for support. Anne smiled back as Gilbert set his chin on Anne's shoulder. They were both attentive to the imploring face she wore.
"Marilla wants to talk to me," Dora whispered.
Her gaze then dropped to her feet. Dora was nervous to see Marilla again.
"Davy snuck her into his work so they can make a private call. He could lose his job."
"It will be fine, Dora," Anne whispered back. "Davy's there. She's not going to say anything horrible."
"We're right here with you, so you're not alone," Gilbert added, but he glanced to the hallway with a questioning expression. "Unless you want privacy. Whatever you need, just tell us."
Dora shook her head to that. "Will you listen too?"
Anne and Gilbert both leaned in as close as they could. With them cocooning her, she reclaimed the earpiece and tried to talk. She felt a seal of saliva break, causing her to smack.
"Marilla?"
"Yes, Child. I'm. . . I'm here. I . . ." Marilla's voice trailed a bit. The connection wasn't perfect, yet somehow Marilla's sincerity conquered the static-y line. "Are you alright, Dora?"
Dora shook her head 'no' but mumbled a feeble 'yes'.
"Dora, I want you to know that I'm very sorry," Marilla spoke over a crackle that may or may not have been emotionally laced. "I'm sorry I got angry when you needed me, and I'm so sorry that you've had to go through this terrible event. I cry when I think about it. You could have died, and what would I do without you? Please forgive me."
"I do, Marilla. . . and, I'm alright," Dora answered, but Marilla couldn't see her and know that it was a comforting lie. Marilla would never believe her if she could. "I.. I lost my son, but I'm alright. And, Gilbert says I am as I was before this all happened."
"I want to see you. I'd like to come tomorrow, but there was a kerfuffle with my train ticket, and I'm coming Monday. Can I bring you anything from home?"
Dora took a deep breath as her hand traced the oak panel the telephone hung from.
"Yes, I want my black dress," Dora stated. "I want to mourn my son. You see, Anne and Gilbert offered to host a service for my baby."
"At church?"
"No, it's not a church service. They're going to have a deacon come here." Dora gripped the cord. "I want Ralph and his family to know they're invited too."
Anne had tried to talk her out of that idea, but Dora had insisted that her son's father was entitled. It was only fair.
"It will help me to know they were invited, although, I don't expect them to show."
Dora had to wait a long time for Marilla to respond.
"I admire you for wanting to include the Andrews, but Dora, don't set yourself up for more pain. You've had more than your share."
"Marilla, I'm just trying to do what's right." Dora's confidence awoke. "I must, even if it's hard. I think you agree with me."
"I'll see that Mrs. Harmon has your invitation." Marilla quaked. "Davy says it's time to go. He's breaking company policy so we can talk without the Harrisons listening in. Dora, I love you."
"Bye," Dora replied, but she didn't hang up. Instead, she berated herself for not saying "I love you" back. Now that Dora knew how deeply Marilla could love, her offering meant all the more.
"Dora?" It was Davy. "I want to say Happy Birthday, even though it's two weeks off. I'll see you at Christmas, alright?"
"Happy Sixteen." Dora mused, "It will be the first birthday we're apart."
"I know, but I'll be thinking of you. Can't help it."
"I know what you mean," Dora said in a way that suggested so much more. It hinted to the unavoidable future where they would have lives separate from each other. "Davy, I love you, even though you mostly drive me crazy."
It was a quiet chuckle Davy returned. "I love you too Sis. Good-night."
When Monday morning came it arrived with fog so ominous Gilbert entertained the thought of skipping the medical convention at Queens. The moment he stepped outside the air billowed around him and a foreboding dread crept up his spine. He ignored his trepidation and attended to his livestock thinking over his day's agenda and Marilla's coming to visit that night.
Dr. Eugene Felder was presenting his research as a special guest speaker from Johns Hopkins. And, as his sponsor, Gilbert was tasked to introduce him to his association's professional event the first day of it.
He realized he had to show up for his friend, no matter how intimidating the fog looked. Gene needed to network. His research budget was in danger of being cut. So he resolved to drum up international interest for his project by any means possible, even if it meant begging the conference chairman to let him speak.
He didn't say it outright, but it sounded as if his job was on the line. Although Gilbert was sure Gene would bounce back into a new career quickly, it would be a huge blow to Gene's ego to discontinue his life's work in medicine.
Gil promised he would help and he had meant it. So, while he mucked the stall Gilbert made a mental checklist of the people he wanted Gene to meet. Dr. Spencer was the most prominent. He was the senior physician in Charlottetown, having bought out Dr. Crabb's practice. It was Dr. Spencer's influence that had secured their venue. Gilbert knew that Gene wasn't a fan of the man, but Dr. Spencer knew how to circulate information. If Gene really wanted to make an impact for change in the field of obstetrics on Prince Edward Island and Canada beyond, Dr. Spencer was the man to chum up to first.
Gilbert worried about this as he fed his team and the cattle grew restless for their turn. He strode to where the cows waited. The roan heifer swatted her tail as Gilbert filled troughs. Her soft brown eyes watered and she looked interested in her food but wouldn't eat. The cow chewed her cud with one eye on her daughter and the other eye on her master.
Gilbert recognized a motherly worry.
"What's wrong, Alice?" Gilbert patted the roan's flank through a gap in the fencing. The animal mooed but more from the surprise of feeling his hand. He apologized as he used his powers.
"Yeah, I know, my hand is warm. Might feel nice on a cold morning like this."
"Mooo…." The animal said again as her tail flicked back and forth.
"I'm almost done," Gilbert hushed.
Healing animals always meant spending the rest of the day out of sorts. He could do it, but his powers moved and cooperated better with people. It was like an out-of-tune piano. The musician could still make music but their performance was better with a properly tuned instrument.
Gilbert drew back his hand when he felt Alice's problem give way. She looked at him in surprise and then took a step closer to her food. Soon, she was eating with the same ease as her mother.
Not for the first time, Gilbert wished he could talk to animals like Davy's Miss Marin could.
"Here's the deal. . ." Gilbert leaned on the rail a moment, imploring the heifer as her mouth gobbled hay. "You can't tell anyone I'm a witch. As I understand, barn gossip can get pretty bad. So, mum's the word."
From behind, his horse whinnied theatrically as if saying, "We all know, you big oaf."
Gilbert popped an eyebrow as he faced his syrupy brown stallion. Vermont was an energetic horse and fast. He was done with his food and now wanted a treat.
"Well—perhaps I should give up healing people and help animals instead. I understood you perfectly, Monty-boy."
Gilbert reached into a burlap sack hanging near the tact and retrieved a carrot.
"You don't have to gulp it down, Monty. You're not a pig." Gilbert mused, "I wish I had a pig though. A sow like Henrietta would set you guys straight."
But the animals were not listening anymore. Gilbert closed the barn doors and entered a patch of sunlight. The clinging clouds were fading away.
"Gil, did you get lost?" Anne inquired as Gilbert re-entered his home. He toed off his muddy shoes at the door and made his way to the kitchen sink. "I was worried, it's as thick as pea soup out there."
"Alice wasn't feeling good, so I healed her," Gilbert explained as he stood before the water pump. He doused his hands and scrubbed his skin with the last sliver of store soap.
"You can do that?" Anne quizzed. She was busy cooking as Dora set the breakfast table.
Gilbert only nodded that yes, he could, not taking care to explain that it jarred him a bit to do so.
"The fog is breaking up actually, but the air did have the texture of sheep's wool." As he shook his hands dry, he bleated. "Baaaah…." and hummed the old song, Bah, bah, black sheep. He had a renewed interest in nursery rhymes.
"Dora, take the eggs to the table for me, please." Anne's shaky voice stopped his music and he reached for the towel as he watched Anne turn pale.
"Anne, are you alright?" Dora asked. There was a harshness in her question. "You look like you're going to faint."
"Gil. . . " Anne called for her spouse.
Dora let the pan fall to the floor as she held Anne upright. Gilbert rushed over and took Anne's weight as Dora moved a chair out from the table. Gently, Gilbert helped Anne sit. She bent forward and positioned her head between her knees to stop the spin. Anne was experiencing mild vertigo, but he hadn't seen it happen until now.
"Anne?"
He took Anne's pulse. Her hand was clammy, but her heartbeat was steady, if quieter than his own.
"Gil, I turned my head too quickly, that's all," Anne answered as she recovered her posture. She lowered her voice and peeled his fingers from a firm spot below her navel. "We're alright now."
Gilbert's fingers lingered in her hand as he considered all that he had learned about pregnancy. Anne's bouts of nausea were more inconvenient than alarming. This dizzy spell, however, was troublesome. It happened so quickly.
He stared into gray eyes framed under ruddy arches and noticed a dullness zapping her energy. It then zapped his energy too. He couldn't stop wondering if this spell meant the child she carried was going to be a witch.
He didn't want to suggest it. It was still too soon to tell, but he knew his supposition would nag him all day. Of course, he wanted to have one child that understood what it meant to have supernatural powers, but raising an infant witch was no small task. They were so strong and so inexperienced in their powers. Only now could he really appreciate the struggle his non-magical parents had with him, especially his mother. It was a daunting prospect, if not unwelcome.
Gilbert genuflected before Anne as Dora picked the pan off the floor and salvaged what she could of their breakfast. She added some wood to the stove and cracked a few more eggs to replace what had been spoiled by dust.
"Gil, stop fussing over me, it's just a dizzy spell. I've got so much to do before Marilla arrives." Anne thought ahead to the chicken she wished to bake for supper. "Tell me, do you think one hen will be enough for supper and sandwiches the next day?"
Gilbert put the back of his hand on her forehead to assess her still flushed face.
"I think so. Your regular poultry pleasure?"
Anne squirmed against Gilbert's clunky alliteration and Gilbert grinned to see her back rise. She was feeling a bit better if her humor had returned.
Dora perked up from the cook-stove. "I can butcher another chicken if you like. You have so many. It will give me something to do after I wash the dishes."
Gilbert sometimes bartered for payment with the residents in the fishing villages. That's how he secured labor for their garden and the trimming of the Lombardy trees. Their coop was full and another bird would have to be slaughtered before going over harbor again.
"Oh," Anne smiled, she rather hated the mean task of killing and plucking fowl, especially since the sight of blood might do her in. "That would be nice Dora. Thank you!" Anne gave Gilbert a tidy nod of approval. "There's that solved."
"Anne—I don't have to go. Gene is more than capable of handling his affairs."
"Your ticket cost a lot, Gil. Go. Dora's here, I'll be fine. And, you can't stop your life because your wife is expecting. It's sweet that you want to, but we have to make a living."
Gilbert agreed to this new argument Anne supplied. As much as he enjoyed doting on her, he had responsibilities as a doctor. That meant occasional trips to grow his practice. Plus, Anne wouldn't tolerate being treated like an invalid, he had to pick his moments when it came to nurturing her and this wasn't the right time.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his admission ticket. "Old Man and I do have an appointment to keep. Sure you don't want to come too, hang out in MacNeil Hall like old times?"
"We never hung out together at Queens," Anne laughed at the suggestion. "We really should go back someday. Winner of the Gold. Winner of the Avery." She snatched the ticket and stared at the stamped letters that would admit him into the event.
"Breakfast is ready," Dora announced as she sat down before a plate.
Gilbert pushed Anne up to her spot at the table and then took his place. His attention never left Anne as they consumed sausages and eggs. Anne handed the ticket over to Dora as she indicated an interest in the thin admission slip.
"What's trepanning?" Dora asked after reading one of the event topics printed in the middle of the document.
"An ancient form of brain surgery, still used." Gilbert tapped his noggin. "The surgeon bores holes into the cranium to release trapped blood and other fluids. The pictures should be glorious!" Gilbert added when Anne made a face. He then lifted a forkful of scrambled eggs and popped it into his mouth. "I know it sounds barbaric but the surgery helps a lot of patients recover lost memories and abilities."
"Sounds like magic," Dora suggested.
It might have been a joke from someone else, but Dora was generally too serious for her own good.
Anne tilted her head in the direction of the Moore's. She knew why Gilbert wanted to attend that lecture.
"In the case of the brain, you can be sure it's not magic." Gilbert stood firm on that point. "I have a patient that might benefit from such a treatment."
"Gil, you have limits for a reason." Anne reminded him, "You must accept that you can't always fix something, even with that fabulous education you have. I wished you'd tell me what you and Gene are up to."
Gilbert huffed. He really didn't know what he was thinking with regards to Mr. Moore, but gathering information wouldn't hurt for now. Once they had a bigger picture, he'd share his ideas with Anne.
"How is Dr. Felder?" Dora reached across her plate for her water glass and knocked a fork to the floor.
"Ask him yourself," Gilbert suggested, not picking up on Dora's nervous edge. "He's coming this weekend once the conference adjourns. I wonder what he'll think of Queens?"
Dora placed her fork back on the table and stated, "Ralph is at Queens."
"Is he?" Gilbert returned. He knew perfectly well that Mr. Andrews was a student at the higher learning institute.
"His boarding house is across from campus," Dora informed him. "MacDougal's* is the place. It smells like gingerbread. If I write a note, will you give it to him? Or perhaps leave it there with his landlady?"
Gilbert knew what the note would say. Dora wanted to invite Ralph to their child's memorial service. It was a horrible errand, unnecessary in his opinion as well. Ralph had his chance to support her, instead, he chose to treat Dora like a piece of trash.
"Dora, Ralph's not worth it. He'll never be worth the consideration you give him." Gilbert inhaled so that his chest noticeably rose, but when he exhaled, he did so decisively. "But I'll do it if that's what you really want."
Dora looked as if she wanted to say something but then thought the better of it.
"Darling, use my nice stationery and fountain pen. It's upstairs in my vanity, bottom drawer on the left."
"Thank you, both." Dora left them alone for a moment.
"Gil, don't let that note stay with Ralph." Anne reached for her tea. "Think of the people he might show it to and the gossip it would fuel."
"Well, if his mother knows," Gilbert tried to reason to no avail. "The way he treated Dora is terrible, I'm worried I'll strike him."
"That would be a very bad idea, Gil. Why don't you take Gene with you? He's an outsider to all this and his presence might be a good influence. And you have to admit, he's got a way with people."
"You really think I would?" Gilbert leaned back into the lumbar of his chair, arms crossed. Ralph did make him angry, but he always managed to control his temper.
"I was his teacher once. Even as a little boy he had this strange ability to make you do things you'd think you never would." Anne hushed as she heard Dora's footsteps from the stairs. "He got Dora to sleep with him. He could get you to raise your fist."
"Alright..." Gilbert spoke into his chest. "I'll twist Gene's arm and make him come too."
to be continued
*Character is the creation of elizasky, used with permission, first appearing in Glen Notes. (More Agatha MacDougal in the next update).
To the anonymous reviewer that posted on Dec 2, 2018, please know how sorry I am that you have suffered an ectopic pregnancy! Although I make up everything medical, ectopic pregnancy is a real condition and it's still dangerous and 'scary'. There hasn't been enough progress from the late 19th century to our times and lives are still lost. I am thankful you received medical care and had the support of your husband, but the price of it all is heartbreaking.