Mrs Von Trapp
Gilbert thumped downstairs that morning, eager to extract the promise of the weekend despite the briskness in the air. He'd been burning the lamp till late and now his lithe young body, too long bent over books, craved the relief of the outdoors. His father would be in the fields already, but his mother would be humming as she heaped a cooked breakfast before him, and yet the kitchen, table laid expectantly, was unaccountably empty.
"Ma?" Gilbert called tentatively.
There was no answer but the echo of his own voice.
"Mother?" Gilbert called louder, searching parlour and guest room, and even sprinting briefly back upstairs.
His confusion grew as he searched vainly outside; at the clothesline heavy with fresh-scented washing attempting to attract the pale winter sun; around to the sty, the pigs rushing at him with noisy impatience; into the barn, to see all was calm and undisturbed.
Dark brows furrowed in something not quite yet panic. He urged logic. Ma could have been called away on an unexpected errand; had searched out Dad in the lower field; had popped over to the Fletchers.
All possible, and yet…
Then, simultaneously, a low, melodious mooing alerted him to their cow, broken loose from her stall, loitering shyly by the gate to the orchard; and two figures waving at him, one rather manically, as they approached through the fields. He stared, stupidly gobsmacked, at the unlikely yet unmistakable apparitions; the tall, slightly stooped, bearded man, and the sprightly, quick-stepping, flame-haired girl.
"Gilbert Blythe," Anne Shirley, pale face infused with high color, began breathlessly, as if she had done so every day of their acquaintance instead of stonewalling him for years with imperious silence.
"Anne… Mr Cuthbert."
"We need your help," she demanded unceremoniously, brandishing an almanac in his face, gabbling about dates, strange happenings and something about cows. He understood the words but their meaning defied all sense, even for Anne Shirley.
He gulped. "I'll try to help… but first I have to tie up our cow. And then find my mother."
Large, luminous grey eyes widened in Anne's annoyingly lovely face, and she exchanged a silent look of wonder with Matthew.
"This is… this is…" Gilbert spluttered, catching Matthew's look of puzzled sympathy and the resolute nod of the redhead.
"We know," she huffed impatiently.
"You believe… allthe neighbouring women of, ah, a certain age, have been… magically… turned into cows?" he looked with trepidation at his own bovine, whose halter he now held, his own hazel eyes staring back up at him forlornly. "You know that's… biologically impossible. Though, perhaps, not such a stretch for Mrs Harmon."
Anne smirked; Matthew barked an amused cough; cow's flank nudged calf's thigh most resolutely.
"Sorry, Ma," he muttered.
"The thing is, what to do until things change back? And whenmight that be?" Anne shrilled.
Gilbert held out long fingers for the almanac, leafing through it in desperation.
"You think it predicts the future?" he asked throatily, locking eyes meaningfully, audaciously, with Anne's.