Timeline - Anne's House of Dreams. Approximately two to three 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 36: Change and Hope (2)

Dr. Blythe waited patiently in the vestibule of MacNeil Auditorium as Dr. Felder stored his oversized diagrams for tomorrow's round of lectures. Gene was very excited, having impressed his audience. A ruckus of questions and conversations developed during the final moments of his hour, such that the conference committee scheduled Dr. Felder additional time to address some of the particulars, and his lecture adjourned to the morn.

Gene sauntered toward the exit with a smug look on his face and Gilbert was pleased for his buddy.

"Glad it went well," Gilbert dropped a hand on Gene's shoulder as they stepped into the winter chill. The pair hunched forward as they left Queens campus. "I knew you'd be a hit."

Dr. Felder shrugged against the compliment. He was a long way from achieving his goals. There was the matter of utility. His innovations might be without purpose. What he really needed to do was speak to women and sell the advantages of the annual exam.

"You know, Drs. Fahey and Fahey had a point," Dr. Felder repeated the hypothetical they presented. He was testing it aloud to be sure he understood. "All the research in the world won't help if patients refuse to be examined."

Gilbert felt his eyes reach up, but he stopped his eye roll. Pelvic exams were invasive. It was difficult to convince many women to allow them for preventive reasons. Most refused them on grounds of immodesty.

Gilbert chuckled to himself, seeing error in his generalization. There were some women that didn't mind as much. They were older women, mostly widows. They claimed to suffer hysteria caused by wandering womb disease. He approached their requests carefully, taking his time to diagnose them with his powers, and he never found evidence to any truth to their claims. He would rediagnose them as necessary, and if they insisted on treatment, he would then advised them to perform the massage to themselves. There was even debate among certified gynecologists about the effectiveness of paroxysm*.

"What's so funny?" Gene asked as Gilbert led the way across the street.

"Oh nothing," but Gilbert's chuckle returned, more prominent than before. "I do hate having to ask to have a look. It's my job."

"Tell me about it," Gene agreed. "We're professionals and those exams provide critical information."

Gilbert stopped a moment to get his bearings. After a bit of head scratching, Gilbert decided he had made a left turn when he should have gone right. He backtracked and Gene circled too.

"Where are we going again?"

"Errand for Dora," Gilbert answered, as he approached a clapboard house. "I have a note for Mr. Ralph Andrews."

"You mean," Gene looked around to make sure no one was listening. "The father. . . "

"Yes," Gilbert said, mimicking Gene's emphasis. "And here we are."

Gilbert pointed to a large, three story residence with porch and porch swing. There were forgotten about potted plants at the ends of the steps. The blooms and foliage were gone and nothing but bare stems reached over the terra-cotta.

"After you," Dr. Felder said as he opened the gate.

"Mr. Andrews!" Mrs. Agatha MacDougal** announced as she caught sight of the aforementioned on the stairwell.

She didn't have time to waste and the fist on her hip displayed her impatience. Once again she had been interrupted from her daily routine for yet another surprise visitor. She was never going to get the new rose patterned wallpaper hung at this rate.

"Mr. Ralph Andrews!" Her Scottish accent was more pronounced this time as she tapped her 'r'. The student leaned over the railing.

"Yes Ma'am."

Mrs. MacDougal used her index finger to gesture, "Come here."

He hurried downstairs and jumped to a stop before Mrs. MacDougal.

Agatha told herself next time she interviewed a potential boarder, she would listen to the little voice in her head that had tried to warn her about this one. Her instincts were better than she thought. She wasn't impressed with Ralph even if he gave himself airs saying she should be.

"You have company again, Mr. Andrews. I've put them in my parlor with tea. They're waiting for you." When she heard her voice, sharp and certain, she couldn't keep her grievance reined in a second longer. "I'm tired of all these folk comin' 'round asking for you. I'm not running a social club."

"No Ma'am," Ralph agreed. "You just have the best home away from home."

Mrs. MacDougal snorted. Her deceased husband would roll in his grave to know what her life was like now.

"Don't keep them waiting," Mrs. MacDougal insisted as she tucked a wing of strawberry blonde hair back. "I'll introduce you, but I don't have time to stay."

They took a few steps toward the parlor. Ralph could see a bald-headed man sitting in an easy chair adjusting his hat, which then slipped his grasp. He heard a soft chuckle as his head popped down out of sight and then reappeared.

"This sure is an interesting lot you attract." She stopped him for a moment. With a more motherly tone, she asked. "I still can't get ov'r the girl that wanted to see you. What'd you tell her anyway? She cried and cried on my porch after you left for class. Then your mother showed up a few days later. Now there are two doctors sitting in my parlor wanting to see you. What's going on? Are you in trouble?"

"Ma'am, I really don't know," Ralph managed to keep his face neutral as he truthfully informed, "I'm not expecting anyone. Honest."

Mrs. MacDougal bit her lip, considering, "Are you sick? This is not a hospital if you are. I don't want a reputation of running a sick-house either."

He shook his head 'no' and raised his shoulders to emphasize his uncertainty, but it took a half second's glance at Dr. Gilbert Blythe to realize it this was about his old girlfriend. Ralph saw anger cloud Gilbert's face as their eyes met. The bald doctor stood as Mrs. MacDougal followed in behind Ralph. Gilbert stood too but didn't lift his scowl.

"Gentlemen, here is Mr. Andrews." Mrs. MacDougal informed.

Gilbert furrowed his brow and deepened his stare. Ralph bowed his head, indicating he understood that Gilbert wanted him to excuse Mrs. MacDougal.

Ralph feigned a cheerful smile. "Thank you, Mrs. MacDougal. Dr. Gilbert Blythe is a friend of my sister. And. . . " He squinted at the other physician, not recalling his face.

Gene stepped forward with an open hand. "Dr. Eugene Felder, Dr. Blythe's colleague."

Ralph shook Dr. Felder's hand and about buckled from the pressure. Not giving away his discomfort, he nodded at his landlady. "I'll just be a minute."

Once alone Gilbert retrieved a note from his breast pocket. Ralph recognized Dora's scrawl on the envelope. Her script slanted backward.

"Mr. Andrews, Miss Keith asked me to give this card to you. You are to read it in my presence and hand it back with your answer."

Dr. Felder held the envelope as Ralph read Dora's message. The correspondence made Ralph angry, but he tried not to show it too much. He knew about the service. His mother had mentioned it when she visited him. He had to lie to her. He had never told falsehoods before, but since Dora was trying to pin another man's child on him, he did so under duress.

"Well?" Dr. Blythe asked as he watched the young man shuffle about uncomfortably.

He had known Dora a long time. They had always been friends and he didn't like the fact she had suffered a miscarriage, but his sympathy for her had dried up. He couldn't believe the audacity she displayed in her insistence that he was the father. It was very plain in the note. She even asked him if he had ideas for a name, something for a boy or a girl.

"I am not..."

Concern appeared on his face and he looked around the threadbare room, wondering how much Dr. Felder knew about this situation. Of course, Gilbert would know all about it. His mother had told her she was staying with Anne for a while.

"There must be another."

"I believe Dora," Dr. Blythe stretched out his hand indicating that Ralph was to return the note. Ralph fumbled to reinsert the card into the envelope. Under his breath, Gilbert added, "You can't time your way out of fatherhood."

"Now look Gilbert," Ralph pushed the correspondence back into his waiting hand. "You're married now. . . Surely you must know it is possible to avoid that."

"It's Dr. Blythe to you and we're not talking about my marriage."

"More reason for you to understand my point," Ralph argued. In the pause that followed, Ralph tacked on a polite "Dr. Blythe" and then "Sir".

Gilbert returned the note back into his breast pocket. "Well, I'll tell Miss Keith it's a 'no' then from you."

Ralph nodded. "Is Dora alright, then?"

His mother had said something about Dora not being fit to provide children. In someways, the incident had saved him from a fruitless marriage. It was the silver lining of this dark cloud.

"She is recovering from serious trauma. I am a little surprised that you ask, frankly. You said my sister was of the lowest reputation."

"I heard you called her a whore." Dr. Felder spoke blandly. "That's not a very nice word, Mr. Andrews. You caused Miss Keith more pain with your language than with your. . ."

"I can't believe this." Ralph admonished, irritated with the direction Dr. Felder was going. How dare this stranger allude to his privates. "Well, at least mine still works. How old are you anyway, Baldy?"

Ralph's unkind insinuation caused Dr. Felder to launch at him. Dr. Blythe held Dr. Felder back with a hand.

"I was going to say 'affections' you twit." Now Gilbert's other hand braced his shoulder as he lunge forward. "My body works just fine, let me show you its fist!"

"Gene! No!" Gilbert was surprised at how strong Eugene was when he wanted to be. "He's not worth it."

In this chaos Ralph slipped out of the parlor. Eugene's nostrils continued to flare as Gilbert pushed him back.

Mrs. MacDougal returned with their overcoats.

"I saw Mr. Andrews make a beeline to his room," Mrs. MacDougal chose not to comment on the reddened faces the pair of them wore. "That one. . . he's been nothing but trouble for me. Eats in his room and sneaks out at night. His laundry smells of cigar smoke. I don't permit smoking. What did he do?"

"Mrs. MacDougal," Gilbert delivered his best grin as he stuffed his arms into his garment. "I'm really not at liberty to explain, but, let's jut say that he's not being very responsible for his actions right now."

"You can say that again." Dr. Felder's dismay had leveled off. He was putting on his gloves.

Gilbert in the meantime, kept his smile going for Mrs. MacDougal, but she wouldn't be charmed. Her furious blinking suggested deep thinking. Gilbert saw the moment the gears stopped turning, her jaw clenched just before testing her assumption.

"Exactly, what sort of doctors are you?"

Mrs. MacDougal put a fist on her hip, certain that her conclusion had to be the correct one now. She had never taken algebra like her lodgers had, but the equation of an upset girl plus two doctors modified by a mother's visit could have only one answer.

"I'm a country doctor." Gilbert answered, "My practice is in the village of Glen St. Mary."

"A generalist?"

"Yes."

She regarded Dr. Felder, "I suppose that makes you the specialist, then? You said you were colleagues."

Dr. Felder tipped his hat to her. Mrs. MacDougal was smart as a whip. "I specialize in obstetrics and gynecology."

"This is about a baby." Mrs. MacDougal shook her head. "I should have known what a scamp Mr. Andrews was."

"Mrs. MacDougal, we didn't say that, did we?"

"Of course you didn't." Mrs. MacDougal hunched a bit as she opened the door. She was already trying to think of a way to bait Mr. Andrews' admission, but perhaps eviction wasn't worth the effort here. The boy would be gone in less than a month.

Gilbert put on his hat and reached into his pocket. "Take my card, please." He stepped aside so Gene could pass. "I'm an islander at heart, and, if you have yourself an unruly fellow and need discreet help, call. You have a telephone?"

Mrs. MacDougal stared at the heavy paper with his name Dr. G. Blythe and how to reach him.

"No, I can manage," Mrs. MacDougal gave a short laugh, "But, I'll keep the card just the same, Dr. Blythe."

Dora Keith settled on the arm rest of a chair as she nervously waited for her guardian. From the entrance, she could hear the sound of wraps being removed and hung on pegs and then Gilbert's fake complaint of the luggage being too heavy.

"What on Earth?" Anne's surprised lingered.

Dora could visualize Anne's face, brightly lit and her mouth open, ready to speak again. And sure enough. . .

"You didn't have to bring everything you owned."

"Anne Blythe, this way I can travel light when I return for Christmas." Marilla's raspy voice declared. The close walls in the entry way amplified her voice. "Save on Davy's back some. He's been out of sorts lately."

"Oh, is Davy sick? I'm sorry to hear that." Anne's voice trailed off just as Dora's ears perked to hear more.

Marilla responded, "Not sick so much, I can't put a finger on it, he's living in his own world. A sad one I think. . . "

Dora rolled her eyes while she could get away with it. Those two had always favored Davy over her. Why had she hoped for something different? Her geography had changed, but nothing else. She was still alone in choking isolation. Even Anne and Gilbert's calico cat hid from her.

The front door shut again and Dora knew that Gilbert was headed back out, either to some patient or perhaps just to the barn to unhitch Monty from the rig. Perspiration built along her brow and in her armpits as Marilla came closer. Anne's quick this 'n that chatter did nothing to distract her from her feelings. She held her anxious stomach as they rounded the corner.

Marilla Cuthbert stood stalk still as she caught sight of Dora. She had trained herself to adopt a stoic countenance when facing contention and Dora couldn't read her at first. Marilla's softened as she saw fear in her daughter's eyes. Before she knew it her elderly arms circled her child and her hands pressed Dora's head to her bony shoulder.

For Dora, she received relief from her nausea when she saw a twinkle in her guardian's eye. And the arms that held her. . . Oh, these arms that almost never provided a caress. . . Dora was lost in emotional paradox, knowing how ridiculously out of character it was for Marilla to hug, but at the same time, feeling perfection.

"I'm so glad you're alright now," Marilla added a kiss to her cheek which Dora politely returned.

"Anne, do you think there's time I can talk to this beautiful woman before supper?"

Saying nothing, but displaying plumped cheeks that hid a smile, Anne drifted off to the kitchen.

Dora pulled away and sniffed. "My baby . . ." Dora didn't need to complete her thought, not that she could.

"I'm sorry Dora," Marilla soothed as her hands cupped the curve of Dora's skull. "I didn't prepare you as well as I should have for growing up. In fact, I avoided it. I let Rachel and Anne do it, answering your questions. And I justified it because, after all, what do I know? This is my fault if we had only spoken more, maybe, you would have been the wiser."

"Marilla, I knew what I was doing," Dora confessed without much sorrow edging her words. "I. . . I'm not sure it would have helped. I was willfully disobedient."

"May I ask why you were?" Marilla asked.

It was a difficult question to answer.

"I felt so alone and Ralph, he was there. Ready to hold me through whatever troubled me. I never felt like I could talk to you. Really talk. . . " Dora explained. "Be honest, the fact that I'm quiet is something you admire in me. It didn't seem worth it to prattle like Davy and Anne."

Marilla nodded as Dora said this. "Well, we'll make a point to talk from now on, everyday. Even if it's about little things, so that when something big comes along, the dialogue is there. Ready." Marilla stopped explaining as Gilbert crossed the room on his way to the kitchen. Once alone again, she continued, "Dora, I admit, I like holding my cards close. I think it's the same for you?"

"Maybe a little," Dora suppressed a small laugh. "Perhaps a lot. I think now we're more alike than different. Ever since. . ."

Marilla seemed to know what Dora was trying to say. Helping her along, "Have you've done some reading, lately?"

Dora went pink and peeped, "You and Gilbert's father?"

Marilla widened her eyes. "Well, that was a very long time ago. . ."

"I'm sorry," Dora interrupted now. "I am sorry I said you didn't know what it meant to be in love. That was foolish of me."

"I forgive you, Dora. That story is complicated with the Blythe family secret. I want people to think that I'm stingy that way, saves me a lot of questions and protects John's family from discovery." Marilla hushed, "But, I'll explain what happened later."

When Anne called the two of them to her table for supper, Marilla put her hand on the small of Dora's back to guide her along.

"I missed you," Dora told Marilla when they joined hands for the blessing. For the first time in months, Dora felt hungry. She satisfied her appetite without guilt.

The next day a red-eyed Leslie Moore knocked and asked if Anne might have time for a walk? Leslie was out of sorts and shook like a leaf at Anne's door. Anne might have offered Leslie a cup of tea first if Marilla hadn't handed Anne her overcoat and urged her to go.

"I think you're cooped up, Anne. That's why you're having these episodes. You're used to being outside more. Even at Summerside you spent a good chunk of your time outdoors, walking to work and your visits to the cemetery." Marilla musings continued over Anne's attempt to speak. "Mrs. Moore will be there if you get faint, but I don't think you will."

"Oh, Anne!" Leslie apologized, she never thought of Anne having troubles too. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know you weren't feeling well."

Anne was determined to escape a conversation about her dizzy spells. Leslie wasn't to know about her springtime arrival until after Christmas.

"Sometimes I get a bit woozy," Anne casually informed. "It just comes and goes, as long as I can sit down quietly, I do recover." She put on her coat and then wrapped a scarf around her neck and head. "Marilla's probably right anyway, I do need some time outside. As long as I'm escorted, it should be fine. Gilbert is always telling me to walk more."

"Is he in Charlottetown again?" Leslie held the door open as Anne crossed the threshold.

"He's in Maywater today," Anne shook her head, not quite understanding what Gilbert had tried to explain at the crack of dawn. "Their local doctor called for reinforcements and Gilbert felt he ought to help."

Leslie let Anne hook her arm into hers and they ventured toward the cobbled path that led to the ocean. From the kitchen window, Marilla monitored their slow ramble, wondering what on Earth had shaken up Mrs. Moore. The woman clung to a handkerchief that stood out against her black wraps. When they disappeared from view, Marilla tucked her chin to her chest and went to talk with Dora.

Dora Keith sewed in the parlor. She sat in a beam of sunlight streaming in from the south window. On the side tables, she had lit the matched reading lamps to bathe the room in additional brightness. For a brief moment, Marilla thought Dora angelic because the sunshine haloed her blonde head. But her focus was on her industry, which marred the saintly impression. Dora was no heavenly being, but she wasn't the devil either.

Her black dress was too short and she hurried to remove the hem and reinforce the selvage edge. She squinted to see her original stitches and cut them loose. In truth, the dress should be replaced but there wasn't time to make another. She still fit in the bodice as long as her corset strings were taunt, but the skirt was noticeably short. She hoped when done her skirt would drape to her shoes.

Marilla made herself comfortable in the adjacent chair, crossing her feet at the ankles.

"Dora?"

Dora's concentration stayed on her dress until Marilla reached over to Dora's lap and removed the garment.

"I've been thinking about my will and what I want to pass down." Marilla smiled as she saw Dora lean back to listen. Her hands twitched for something to do in the absence of work. "I don't have a lot, but what I do have I treasure. Anne will get my amethyst broach. Davy will get Green Gables and the farm. For you. . ." Marilla considered her next words. "I hope you don't think I'm short changing you, but I want you to have the Cuthbert Bible, along with all the other books and heirlooms in the house."

"You want me to have a Bible?" Dora frowned, thinking Marilla wanted her to own a document that preached the evils of fornication.

Marilla sighed to hear Dora's disappointment. She wasn't sure how to help her see her rationale.

"I know it doesn't sound fancy or elegant, as Anne would say, but I want you to become the next steward of our family's history. That bible has been in our family for over a century and the history recorded in its pages is more important to me than the scriptures. It has information that cannot be replicated and I trust you with it."

"Me?" Dora's surprise couldn't be more complete. Her breath bated. Didn't she explain the day before how she had been disobediant and untrustworthy?

"Yes, you!" Marilla nodded, certain that she had made the right decision. "I no longer want to tell you we belong together, I want you to have the evidence of it. My great-grandfather was your great-great grandfather. The lineage is in there, going back to the print date of 1723. It's one of the few things brought over from Scotland that has survived."

Dora thought about it for a moment. "You know, I always wondered how we were related."

"When we go home, I'll show you exactly how we are!" Marilla promised. "I have a couple of updates to make still and I'll show you how it's done then too. Would you like that?"

"Yes."

"Which brings me to my next question." Marilla heard her voice hardened out of habit. "Do you have a name for your son?"

Dora shook her head. "Not yet. I've been thinking about it a lot. I even tried to send word to Ralph and he. . . "

"Darling," Marilla was surprised to hear herself say that word. Dora seemed surprised too. "The Andrews have washed their hands of this whole affair. But, if there's a bright side, I think you might have some help from Mrs. Harmon in keeping the Avonlea gossips quiet. I might have mentioned something about her oldest, Prissy, and she agreed with me that no good would come from such small talk. She'll want to keep Ralph's name clean. You can go back to your life as if it never happened."

"Marilla, I don't care what other people think," Dora said firmly. "And I want people to know what happened. I'm not going to deny my son's life, as pathetic as it was."

"Dora, I'm sorry." Marilla searched for a reasoned response, "Surely you can see how it might be wiser to pretend this never happened. You can't even explain how you know it was a boy. Not everyone knows about Gilbert's powers, especially the Andrews."

"But what if someone asks?" Dora tossed back. "I can't lie about this. I won't lie about this. He's a part of me, and Davy, and you. Did you care what others thought when you promised to marry Mr. Blythe? The second time?"

"I think that's different," Marilla stayed approachable as she spoke. "No one knew. No one thought John was going to live, much less come back to Avonlea. I only made the promise to give him hope. A dying man's wish."

"But. . ." Dora's face fell. Was it a kindness Marilla had done or cruelty?

"Don't get me wrong. I love John. I will always love him and I gave him something to cling to when he couldn't stop coughing. But I also thought he was going to die, and, my promise wouldn't matter."

"So, you lied to him," Dora felt her eyebrows connect.

"I gave hope to the hopeless," Marilla corrected, placing Dora in a world nuanced with grays rather than blacks and whites. "I never intended to be deceitful. When it became clear John had recovered and was coming home, I had to fish or cut bait. Oh Lord, what a horrible pickle I was in! It wasn't that I wanted to marry, I just didn't want to hurt him. But, I knew what was right. I asked Geri, Mrs. Blythe that is, to give him another chance, and I wrote to John to tell him to try again with Geri. I decided that if John and Geri's marriage fell apart, I didn't want the blame."

Dora remembered that final letter from John. She had dropped her jaw at the stark response Mr. Blythe had written. No purple prose in that one, just bewilderment.

"The next thing I knew, I told Matthew we could get a boy to help. I needed a distraction." Marilla then stopped to rest on a happier memory. "Anne showed up instead. I've been distracted ever since."

"Marilla?" Dora whispered as her elder regained her lost composure. "That had to be hard. Doing what was right instead of what might have made you happy. I'm proud of you."

Marilla lifted her wrinkled face and produced a smile to contrast her reflective eyes. She reached across their divide and grabbed her hand.

"Thank you, Dora." Marilla's eyes smarted. She wanted to say so much more, but she found it too difficult to address the broad ideas swamping her head. "I just wish I would have done right by you, instead of my pride ruling the day."

"Marilla, you have done right by me in so many ways, but, I think," Dora mentioned carefully, "If you came to grief from making a promise you couldn't keep, it's unfair to expect the same of me. Even if everyone thinks it's for the best, I cannot deny my son's life." Dora's hazel eyes set as she offered a compromise. "But, perhaps I can avoid advertising it."

Dora waited for Marilla to respond.

"What is it, those Yankees say, 'Honesty is the best policy?***' Well, I suppose I can accept that. You're old enough to make your own decisions, as long as, it doesn't harm the rest of us."

An idea formed from no where as Dora searched for a way to honor Green Gables. She sorrowly felt that Marilla would have been proud to hold her infant son, and that some of Marilla's resistance, was an unwillingness to connect to the life that only Dora knew. Her boy would have been every bit Marilla's grandchild, her very first.

"Marilla, would you mind if I name my son, Cuthbert?" Once she heard her inspiration aloud, she didn't like as much. Cuthbert didn't sound like a great first name.

"Oh, I don't mine, but it's not a nice name and I know something about having an unusual one." Marilla was glad Dora was considering her surname, but she spoke truthfully. "Cuthbert would make a better middle name."

"But I have your permission if I really want to?"

"Of course," Marilla grinned back, "It flatters me to think you might."

to be continued

*credit to Oz-Diva
**Character is the creation of elizasky, first appearing in Glen Notes.
***Benjamin Franklin