June 4, 1894 (cted)
"Sister...?" It dawned on Anne what Doug was doing, and she backtracked, horrified. "What?! No, I-"
"You should have waited at the train station, like I asked you," said Doug lightly as though she hadn't spoken. "I see you've met our Kate, who keeps this place from falling apart. And this," he tugged at Anne's arm as a brother would, making her stumble, "is my baby sister, Nan. I'm going to get this troublemaker out of the way - cover for me, gorgeous?"
The young receptionist's mouth twisted skeptically, but her eyes shone with amusement. "Oh, alright. Be quick about."
"You're a doll," he said, already dragging Anne toward the exit. "By the way, Travers just clocked in - see if he can take care of that splinter, won't you?"
"You're incorrigible, Dr. Sheehan!" Kate called after him, and he blew the girl a kiss (the nerve!) before turning the corner.
Anne tried unsuccessfully to wrench her arm from his beefy hand. "What the-"
"Shut it," he grit out discreetly from the corner of his mouth. Only once they'd left the premises and walked twenty paces did he relinquish his tight grip on her upper arm. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Me?! You just lied to that girl-"
"It didn't occur to you to let me know you were in the area?"
Her outraged faded a bit, but not completely. Diana had suggested she do so when she'd learned of her plans, but Anne hadn't found it necessary. She hurried to keep up with Doug's giant steps, lest she lose him around the street corner. "I won't be staying long," she explained, catching up. "I'm not here on a social visit. I came to-"
"I know what you came for," he interrupted again. "As do my boss, some colleagues, and basically the entire administration. If they so much as hear your name, you'd be escorted out in a much less gentle way." He threw a humorless laugh over his shoulder. "What, did you think you could just waltz and demand his files? I know this is a difficult concept for you to grasp, but confidentiality is a big deal over here. Our patients' privacy is respected and protected, and that goes tenfold for doctors. Here we are."
He moved the side of his white uniform coat to retrieve a set of keys from his pocket, and unlocked the door in front of which they'd stopped, in a smaller alleyway. Anne quickly stepped inside before he could lay his large paws on her again, and followed him up the stairs, into a large room.
As a living space, it was rather simple: a bed in the corner, a desk in the other. Shelf, wardrobe - no frills, no trinkets. "I haven't gotten around to decorating," he explained, and she was fairly certain that he was joking. "It's basic, all the essentials. Make yourself at home, just...don't touch anything." He glanced at the clock and sighed. "I better go before they notice I'm missing. My shift is over in a few hours: you better be here when I get back."
x-x
It was a tired Doug who'd returned later, to find Anne quite at home in his seat, one of his books in her lap. He walked up to her and plucked the novel from her hands, reading its spine: The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.
"That was Gil's," he said tiredly, tossing it back on the desk and shrugging out of his doctor's coat.
"I know," she answered. "I gave it to him last year."
"For his birthday: I know."
She stared at him. "How do you know everything?"
His smile oozed of exhaustion. "I saw the inscription."
"Oh." She'd forgotten the note she'd scribbled to Gilbert inside the cover.
Doug passed an enormous hand over his tired eyes, and ruffled his red curls. "I know we should talk, but I'm running on the two hours of sleep I got yesterday. Do you have a place to stay?"
"I was going to get a room at the inn by the station..."
"That place isn't fit for rats." He stifled a yawn, and sat heavily on the bed, the mattress audibly groaning under his weight. "Stay here. I'll find you a decent place tonight. Just let me get some shut eye, alright?"
"You want me in here...while you sleep?" she asked incredulously.
He crawled under the covers and wriggled about, as if trying to scratch an itch that was hard to reach. "Unless you have somewhere better to be." He stopped moving and tossed something out from under the blanket to the floor. She thought she might scream when she realized it was his flag-sized shirt. "If the snoring gets bad, I have some cotton balls in the top drawer."
Beet red, Anne stayed frozen in spot, unable to move.
x-x
She breathed in and lifted her head from the crook of her arm, disoriented. She didn't recall falling asleep sitting down...
"Good evening to you." The voice made her start, and she fell from the chair with a squeak. Doug rolled his eyes and finished buttoning his collar. "And I was worried about my snoring bothering you."
"I wasn't snoring," said Anne quickly, standing up and brushing down her skirts. "I don't snore."
"You got anyone to verify that for you?" he challenged, making her cheeks turn from rosy to crimson. "Get yourself straightened out. We're going to dinner."
It might have been the fact that she'd fallen asleep at the desk, too petrified to disturb the snoring fat man; or that he'd ordered a plate of corned beef and cabbage, and 'the same for her'. His choice of venue - a dank and creepy tavern that smelled of beer and smoke - certainly did not help. Either way, Anne was feeling particularly crabby by the time their food was placed in front of them.
"So. Suppose you tell me what exactly you hope to accomplish," invited Doug as he heaped a generous dollop of mustard over a forkful of meat.
Repulsed, Anne straightened in her seat and cleared her throat. "I need to get Gilbert's files."
"I gathered as much," he said, tucking into the boiled cabbage with obvious pleasure. "What I'd like to know is what you hope to accomplish with said files."
No one in Avonlea had questioned her interest in Gilbert's medical history. After all, they'd seen her do something very similar the first time his life had nearly been claimed. That Anne had become as knowledgeable about typhoid as their dear Dr. Porter hadn't struck anyone as odd. How could she explain her inability to rest until she understood what had happened?
"I have to know," she said simply.
Doug set his silverware down and wiped his mouth, and something dark suddenly permeated the air. "And if I told you he didn't want you to see his records?"
Anne's jaw dropped. "He said that?"
He leaned back, sustaining her gaze. "He didn't want to upset you. Said you had a tendency to get fixated on his health. That's why he never told you about any of the times he got sick."
His words were a punch to her gut. "What other times? How many?"
"It's a hospital," his fist punctuated the statement on the table. "Do you have any idea how many forms of contagious disease we see on a regular basis?"
Reeling from the shock, Anne grasped for a thread of sanity. "He would understand that I need to know." This, she believed to be somewhat true, at least. Gilbert had never discouraged from her academic interest in medicine.
Doug picked up his fork and twisted it in his hand, inspecting its tines with remote fascination. "I would give anything to unknow what I do know."
He was about to give in, she could tell. She stayed still and remained quiet.
"Alright. I'll see what I can do. Are you going to eat that?"
June 6, 1894
Anne was sitting in the same exact spot she'd occupied two days ago. Much like the first time, the dimly lit tavern was mostly empty, with the exception of a few scattered patrons. The barmaid was laughing with a customer at the counter, and the occasional yell resonated over the sounds of chopping and pots clanging drifting in from the kitchen. Not lively, but alive.
The rented rooms upstairs offered a similar atmosphere. Doug's own description had sounded less than promising to her: not the cleanest, but certainly the safest, and definitely affordable. That last part turned out to be a farce: after their dinner that first night, he'd arranged for her to be given a room free of charge. From the little conversation that had taken place with the owner, she'd inferred that he and Doug were acquainted.
Anne wished she could have waited at the hospital. Doug had forbidden her to even come close to the premises, and she'd only complied because of the harried look on his sleep deprived features. Still, to be standing where Gilbert had stood... to see where he had worked, saved lives, laughed with colleagues, was like feeling his presence again. Had he given the pretty Kate at reception his lopsided grin, made her blush with a compliment to get away with something? Had he shaken Dr. Ullmann's hand in congratulations over the good news of a baby, once and for all? Her thirst to know him grew with every minute of being here.
Well, not exactly this spot. Anne couldn't imagine Gilbert setting foot in such a place. Or had he? Would Doug have dragged him here after work, for a plate heaped with meat and cabbage? Had he been the kind of man to need a pint of ale after a gruelling day's work?
Doug interrupted her musings by walking into the establishment, and Anne briefly wondered if it was possible for him to go anywhere without making an entrance: what with chairs scraping the floor noisily to allow his large bulk free passage, and the flamboyant red which glowed like a torch when his hat was removed.
"Afternoon," he greeted, sitting down heavily across from her.
"Evening," corrected Anne primly.
"Yeah, sorry about that. My last patient had a severed thumb. I got sprayed with blood and thrown up on: had to bathe and change before I could go anywhere. Oy, Lill, how 'bout a coffee over here?" he called to the barmaid, then turned back to Anne. "You want one, too?"
Disgusted by the unnecessary details, Anne shook her head.
"Suit yourself." Doug leaned back in his seat, making the smallish chair groan under his weight. "Sorry I couldn't linger yesterday. Are you well settled in?"
"Yes, thank you." Though the idea of not paying for her stay still felt wrong, her concerns had been somewhat abated by the size and cleanliness of the room. "It was very generous of your...uh, friend, to accommodate me."
"He owes me a favor," Doug explained.
"I see." Anne would have protested, but she knew that a decent room somewhere close by would cost more than she could easily afford. "Well, I am grateful. So, have you got-"
"No. And I won't."
"You said you would try!"
"I did try. Thanks, Lill, you're a gem!" he smiled saucily at the barmaid, who rolled her eyes as she set a crude mug in front of him. "The files are sealed, Anne. They'll stay sealed for another year, then they'll be either classified or destroyed."
"Destroyed?" Her face fell, as well as her heart. "But - I've come all this way..."
"I know, what a waste of time." Doug took a long drag of coffee. "Nothing here for you except for the files, right?"
"But without them-"
"Without them, how would you know anything that happened to Gilbert?" Doug finished for her. "After all, it's not as though you know anyone who would have firsthand accounts on what happened to him, or who stood by him while he drew his last breath." There was no bitterness in his voice, nor any sign of rancour on his face, but still, Anne felt a chill of disappointment emanate from him somehow.
"Doug..." She didn't know how to continue, and he wouldn't look up from his steaming beverage.
"It was bad," he spoke after a brief silence. "I can speak of it some, but I won't go into detail."
"Was he in much pain?" Anne ventured quietly. His grimace said it all. "How long was he sick?"
"Few days. Hospitalized for three."
"What was it?"
"High fever. Probably something else piled on top, but no one could figure it out in time. It was the fever that did it in the end."
"Was he..." she gulped, and tried again. "Was he aware of what was happening?"
"He was mostly lucid, the little time he was awake."
"Did he say anything?"
This time, his eyes met hers. "He asked me to look out for you. And his parents. Good thing he won't know what a poor job of it I've done."
"Mr. Blythe's health was already poor." Touched by his torment, Anne reached for his hand. "It was only a matter of time."
"I was supposed to make sure you were cared for. As it stands, I've let you cave in on yourself for an entire year, ill with grief. And another half year running around like a madwoman, obsessed with the darn files."
Anne pulled her hand back, surprised. "How did you know that? Who's been telling you?"
"I have my sources." His smirk held no humor.
Anne frowned. "It's Diana, isn't it? She's been writing you?"
"Mrs. Wright, you mean? I haven't had any contact with her, not since I ran into her at your place the day after the New Year."
"Who, then? Surely not Mrs. Blythe?"
"We keep in touch. I send her a monthly allowance, but she doesn't say much in her letters."
Anne frowned: who else could it possibly be? Shaking her head, she set aside the matter for later. "Why would he ask you to keep tabs on me? Why not someone from the Island?"
"Because, as much as I wish he hadn't, he trusted me. He knew you would be lonely, even with people around you. And... he wanted us to be friends, you know. I mean, he laughed at our barbs in the letters you two sent each other, but he kept saying we would get along, if only we were given the chance." His lips twisted grimly over his mug, and he drank another sip. "I thought he might have been right when we first met in person, but after the funeral, you'd dismissed me completely, so, maybe not."
It was true: after his note, the one Anne had burned, she hadn't given him a second thought. The couple of times Diana had brought him up, Anne had easily brushed aside the idea of contacting him, and that had been as far as her mind had gone.
"I'm sorry I didn't write," she said. "Don't take it personally, you're not the only one I shut out. I wasn't talking to anyone at all, at the time."
"And when you started snooping around the hospital? Was I so unworthy that you needed to harass the entire administration staff, but you couldn't let me know you were traveling all the way here?" Again, there was no outward display of negativity, but she could sense his displeasure.
Anne blinked. "Not at all! I- it has nothing to do with- you're wonderful. As a friend, of Gilbert's, I mean, a wonderful friend to him," she stuttered. "I just...honestly, it simply didn't occur to me."
His eyebrows raised. "Well, that's a first. I'm not usually a forgettable person. I mean, my size usually leaves a solid impression, both literally and figuratively. I'm used to people running away in fear or disgust. Being forgotten is a novelty, I'll need some time to get used to that."
On this pronouncement, Doug stood with a great screech of his chair and tossed some coins on the table. "Well, this has been delightful, but it's time for me to go get my beauty sleep. Ask Lill or Patty if you need anything. I'll check in on you before you leave."
Anne watched in a stupor as he saluted the maid at the counter and exited. The second her mind caught up with what he'd said, she scrambled out of her seat with a screech of her own chair, and ran out after him.
"Doug! Wait!"
She didn't think he would, but the man paused and turned around. She raced towards him and tugged at his forearm.
"Please, I didn't mean it like that," she panted, out of breath from the sprint.
"I think you did," he cocked a single eyebrow at her, giving him an amused air.
"You're not forgettable. You were close to Gilbert: few people were. You probably knew him better than I, in the end."
"No one knew him like you did." His statement felt too bold for their setting, and so was her grip on his sleeve, but she knew this was more important than propriety at the moment.
"You said he wanted us to be friends?" she pressed on. "Then let us be friends, for his sake."
His stare seemed to penetrate her soul. Anne let go of him, embarrassed, and glanced away.
"Deal." He extended the arm she'd just released, his hand engulfing hers as they shook on it.
"You aren't cross, then?" she asked, glad to have her hand back as they walked down the street.
"Cross? Nah. The way I see it, you just saved me another three years and a half of begging and grovelling. Isn't five what it takes to be friends with you?"
Several heads turned when he laughed loudly, easily dodging her swings aimed at him.
June 9, 1894
"The spot's right here," Doug pointed to the flat landing on top of the hill they were climbing. Anne was embarrassed to be as winded he was: after all, she didn't carry nearly as much bulk around her chest and waist as he did. Then again, hers were constricted by a corset. Still, the short hike shouldn't have been difficult, especially since it was before dawn, and the early summer air was still pleasantly cool.
"Alright," Anne climbed up onto the platform and turned to him. "Now what?"
"Wait for it." His chest heaved as he stood next to her.
"Wait for what?"
"Patience, woman!" he wheezed, still trying to catch his breath. "There: it's starting."
Her gaze followed the direction in which his fat finger was pointing, off into the distance. She looked around, wondering what she was supposed to see. A faint, yellowish glow lined the top of the pine trees.
"A sunrise?" she asked, puzzled. When had Gilbert become so sentimental? He'd grown up a farmer's son: for him, sunrise had been synonymous with the beginning of chores, and was more dreaded than revered.
"Give it a minute." Doug's panting was a bit more controlled now, though perspiration from their previous exertion beaded his brow.
Anne brushed some loose twigs and dirt out of the way, and cleared a spot on the rocky terrain to sit down. If she was going to be stuck up here for a while, she might as well get comfortable.
Alright, so it wasn't a complete waste of time: the scenery below was pretty: a green valley, speckled sparsely with white flowers. Behind that, it was all pines, tall and dark, as far as the eye could see. She could appreciate the beauty... though perhaps at a more humane hour.
And if this was truly all about a sunrise, she could simply tell Doug that after a year of very little sleep, she'd seen more than her fair share. But he didn't need to know more than he already did - she could tell the he still felt some guilt at not fulfilling his promise to Gilbert, even though it was more her fault than his own.
It happened suddenly: the glow turned intense, and rays of orange and red streaked the cloudless morning sky, gloriously announcing the break of day.
"Goodness," she gaped, barely aware she'd spoken out loud.
"That's pretty much how I felt the first time. I'd just finished a shift, and instead of letting me sleep, he dragged me up here. And then, we made a habit of it. This is where we came to talk. About life, traveling, the future. Quite a bit about you, as it turns out."
She shifted her attention from the slow-rising orb up to Doug, who'd remained standing. "About me?"
He didn't look back at her. "You were on his mind all the time. It always came back to you."
She heard the accusation loud and clear. "He meant the world to me," she said. "Gil was - is the best friend I've ever had."
"He thought of you as more than a friend."
Anne had the uncomfortable suspicion that she was being grilled. "How much has he told you?"
"Probably most everything."
Anne felt an unpleasant, tense knot in her stomach. It was bad enough that the inhabitants of Avonlea had inferred what they could on their own, gossiping about what might have happened: it was another thing to know that someone other than she and Gil had been told.
"I can't believe he talked about us." She wondered if maybe Doug was bluffing. The slate story was one thing, he'd loved recounting that one (once they'd gotten around to being friends, at least), but she simply couldn't imagine him retelling the more private moments. Giving up the Avonlea school for her, their talk after the typhoid... Diana and Fred's wedding...
"I have this effect on people," explained Doug confidently. "It's the honest face. Inspires them to tell me all their deepest, darkest secrets." She was fairly certain he was joking, though there was nothing on his face to indicate as much.
"I'll have to leave early tomorrow," Anne sighed. The sun was halfway up.
"Not looking forward to it?" asked Doug as she pushed back up to her feet.
"Not the journey, no." She brushed some twigs and dirt from her skirts. "Two days by train, and then the ferry - well, you've done it. But I'll look forward to having my own bed again: I've had enough of sleeping in strange places for a while. Whatever it was Patty owed you, please thank him for me."
The sky was blue, now, and nearly all the red was gone. A light orange mist was fading out. "I'm sorry I couldn't get you the files."
Anne shook her head. "It wouldn't have changed anything. And..." She breathed in deeply, trying to master the wobble in her voice. "... it was nice to see this place. To feel close to this part of him. He grew up in PEI, but this is where he was as a grown up. Where he made his career - where he might have settled, in the end."
Doug looked as though he wanted to say something, then changed his mind at the last minute, and gestured toward the path they'd taken on their way up.
"Thank you for showing me this place," she said as they began their careful descent, using protruding roots and boulders to keep their footing. "It was really nice of you to show me around these past few days, especially whe-EEP!" Her foot had found a loose pile of gravel, and she felt herself slip down. She collided into Doug's side, grabbing onto his thick stomach to keep from tumbling down the rest of the hill. The man stood sturdy as an oak tree.
"Cripes, Miss Shirley - I'm flattered, but shouldn't we get to know each other better, first?"
She would have wrenched her arms free and smacked him like a windmill, but his grip on her was the only reason she was still upright. Her face radiating with heat from outrage and embarrassment, Anne settled for a kick to his fat leg, which only made him laugh.
"Try not to miss me too much," he said, releasing her once she'd regained her balance.
"Oh, yes," Anne mocked, still discomfited by the incident. "I'll be inconsolable on the boat, weeping over the desolate prospect of my life without you in it."
"Will you come back?" he asked, and suddenly they became serious again.
Anne shrugged. "Probably not. I mean... it won't bring him back, so what's the point?"
Doug's silence neither agreed nor disagreed.
"You don't have to worry about coming to Avonlea," she said. "Mrs. Blythe is doing better - I mean, it's been hard, and sometimes I think she's not quite right - but at least there seasons again."
"Seasons?" he frowned, slowing down his pace.
"A season for sadness, a season for joy. A season for regret, a season for happy remembrance. Not just emptiness the whole year round."
He nodded as though he understood. "I really do have to visit. I promised." He looked up. "Maybe when things here slow down a bit. In the meanwhile, could you write me? Let me know if she's alright?"
"What, you're secret source of information doesn't suffice?" Doug's lips twisted up at the corner, and Anne stomped the ground. "Tell me who it is, already!"
"Not a chance. And yes, they are keeping me well informed - thankfully, because someone was quite rude, and never responded to my message."
"Oh, get off it," she scoffed without any heat.
"Still, I'd like to hear it from you as well. You visit her: let me know how she is doing."
Anne nodded. "I can do that."
June 10, 1894
"Checking your bag, Miss?" asked the uniformed man at the station.
"In a minute," said Anne, fiddling with the clasp of her travel bag.
"Better be quick about it, we'll be closing the luggage car shortly," he informed her, and strode off to badger someone else.
Anne finally pried it open and rummaged through her things, looking for something she wouldn't have packed. Her hands found the offending item - items, she realized as she pulled them out. A book, strapped with a belt to a heavy wooden box of similar size. The box wasn't familiar, but she recognized the book immediately as Gilbert's copy of R. L. Stevenson's Treasure Island.
"Last call for luggage check, Miss," the porter tapped his foot. Anne hesitated for a second before hastily undoing the belt, and stuffing both the belt and the book back in her bag before fastening it shut again.
"There," she said, clutching the box in her hands, barely remembering to accept the receipt he handed her.
"Miss, you dropped something!" he called after her before she'd gotten far. Anne halted her quick steps and turned around, to see the man hold out a folded piece of paper. "It slipped from under that box you're holding."
"Oh." She hadn't noticed. "Thank you."
"No need to rush now, Miss - that was just for the bags. There's still time before passengers' final boarding call."
Yes, but the sooner she could find her seat, the sooner she could open the box that made her heart beat so fast. Couldn't he see that? "Thank you," she offered a small, terse smile before scampering up the stairs into the closest wagon.
The second she'd found an appropriate seat by a window, she opened the note.
Ann,
Thought you might like to have these. There is more, but this is all I could fit in your travel case. Next time, bring a bigger bag.
Your friend,
Doug
OriginalMcFishie: Thanks! I think the disjointed nature of last chapter reflects how the half-year might have gone for Anne, perhaps. Also, very amused that people wanted Anne to find the files! I almost allowed it to happen, too...
AnneFans: Yes, sorry - the word count made me want to split up the chapters. This one is gargantuan already, and only over a week covered! Next chapter will be different, I think.
elizasky: Thank you! I'm glad you found this format readable. As it is, I regret not including Anne's replies to Davy's letters - I hope it was clear that he wasn't just changing his mind on his own. Also, more hard subjects to come!
oz diva: Thank you! Here is another change of pace - the next chapter might hold yet another format. And, more of Davy to come!