June 19, 1894

"How was Prince Albert, Anne dear?" asked Aunt Katherine.

"Diana mentioned you enjoyed it when she last visited," added Mrs. Blythe.

"It was nice," said Anne evenly, cutting off a bite of the rhubarb tart that was being served with tea.

"Such a journey. I didn't like it when Gilbert did it, but it was either that or never see him at all. Neither John nor I could have weathered a journey that long, at our age. And to go by yourself, Anne, without even an escort!"

"It wasn't bad at all," she reassured Mrs. Blythe. "The trains are really safe."

"That's true," nodded Aunt Katherine. "The stations are just packed with employees, nowadays."

"Still," said Mrs. Blythe apprehensively, "to travel unaccompanied to a big, foreign city..."

"Prince Albert is as canadian as can be. It really isn't that big," Anne pointed out. "And I wasn't exactly unaccompanied. Doug Sheehan put me up while I was there."

Mrs. Blythe's teacup dropped back onto its saucer with an accentuated clink of porcelain. Aunt Katherine was either giving her a rapid succession of winks, or developing a twitch in her right eye.

"I mean - he set me up! In a...er, boarding house." Of sorts. "He knew the owner. It was a nice place." Not really, but they didn't need to know that.

"Well, it was...good of him to help you get settled, I suppose," said Aunt Katherine carefully.

Mrs. Blythe nodded eagerly. "He was such a good friend to Gilbert. I'm glad my boy had someone with him, in the end."

Three handkerchiefs were pulled out, many tears were dabbed, and one nose blown. The latter made the three ladies glance at each other and share an embarrassed giggle.

"He writes me every month, you know," continued Mrs. Blythe. "Checks in on me. We barely spoke when he came out here, but he seems like such a sweet person."

"That's debatable," murmured Anne to herself.

"He was charming and polite," agreed Aunt Katherine. "If you had to be looked after, I'm glad it was him. They have a different set of values in the city, you know: boys luring girls up to their rooms, disrobing and Lord knows what else..."

Anne choked on her tea so violently, Mrs. Blythe might have called for Dr. Porter if Aunt Katherine hadn't thought to raise Anne's arms above her head and tap her back. Mortifying as it had been, Anne was grateful she wouldn't have to respond to that last statement.

June 26, 1894
Prince Albert, SK

Dear Annie,

How good to see you're honouring your promise to write. I knew you would. I was expecting a bit more than a single sheet (I know for a fact that Gilbert used to receive no fewer than three double-sided pages per envelope), but I'll take what I can get.

I'm not certain your outrage is justified. When you left your bag in my room, the implication was clear that it was placed in my care. So what if I did rummage through it? (Nice knickers, by the way.) Your argument also smacks of hypocrisy: there was no way of you finding Tom Sawyer unless you'd opened my desk drawer, the one where I keep my personal belongings. Just be glad a novel was the worst you found.

Very good of Diana to greet you at the ferry. You needn't have badgered her, though: I've already told you, she's not my informant. Do send the Wrights my regards. How is life with young Davy in the house? Was he able to keep Green Gables running smoothly in your absence?

And while we're on questions: just what is it with you and private documents? I only have one copy of Gilbert's will, and seeing as it is a legal paper entrusted into my care alone, I cannot in good conscience send it to you, or anyone else. I will, however answer any questions you may have (within reason).

And no, the items in the box weren't listed in Gilbert's will. Since you didn't let me know at the time what you might have wanted to keep, I saved whatever I thought might hold sentimental value, and gave away the rest. I'm glad you like the ones I included, and hope you won't mind that I've kept his best pen (I'm actually using it right now). I'm sure you already have a good pen of your own, an author such as the illustrious A. B. Shirley must own a pen so frequently used, it yields only to the shape of your hand. The excalibur of pens!

I've got to get some rest. My last patient of the day was a lady who needed her ingrown toenail removed: a tiresome task on its own, made five times worse by her abnormally rank foot odor.

Your friend,

Doug

July 2, 1894

"...and the chair never left the table again. Together, they lived happily ever after, till the end of time." Anne felt the boy on her lap go limp, and craned her neck to see if he was asleep. It was a beautiful sight: brown lashes upon red cheeks, mouth slack in peaceful slumber.

And a merciful one, too, because Anne was plumb out of ideas. When princes and dragons hadn't sufficed to send her godson to sleep, she'd conjured up a land with maharajahs and elephants, then a happy family of yellow ducks, even a dainty row of garden flowers arguing with the vegetable patch. Her use of household furniture as romantic protagonists was a sure indication that she had exhausted her imagination.*

He really was too big to be carried, but the boy was so calm and warm in her arms, she didn't want to let go: she tried to stand without shaking him about, but found that she couldn't get to her feet without shifting his balance.

"I'll take him," said Fred quietly, emitting a soft umfh at the transfer of weight. "Diana's in the kitchen, she said to join her."

Anne nodded and went to find her friend, who was sitting at the table austerely, a pile of frames in front of her.

"Are you sure you want to see this?" she asked sombrely.

Anne nodded vehemently. "Please, show me."

Diana scrutinized her carefully, then sighed. "Fine, have a seat. Let's get this over with."

"Come on, Di, this isn't a chore, something to rush through. We're revisiting childhood memories."

"It's morbid," Diana pouted.

"It isn't, I promise. Please, Di, please! I'll put Freddie to sleep every Sunday for his afternoon nap - for a whole month. I'll read the Lady's Weekly with you for the rest of the year. I'll attend Fred's parents' Harvest Fest."

This earned Anne an eyebrow rise from her dark haired counterpart. The Harvest Fest was a huge deal: all the inhabitants of the area were invited to the Wrights' farm, and nearly everyone attended it. There would be actual harvesting for the farmers and whoever wished to participate: but also hayrides, potato sack racing, a baking contest, sometimes ponies for the children to fawn over.

"You would come to the Harvest Fest," said Diana slowly, in a way that made Anne already regret saying so.

"I would," she promised all the same.

"You, who haven't attended a social event since...in almost two years."

"One year and a half. And yes, I will spend the entire day at the Wrights, I will come early and help you set up the tables, now can we please get started?"

Diana bit her lip hesitantly. "I'm worried about how badly you want this, but...alright." She handed her friend the first frame, and watched worriedly as wide green eyes devoured the photograph.

"Here! This one," Anne pointed triumphantly after a while. Diana peered at the rows of children arranged in front of the Avonlea school, and nodded. Anne sat back and smiled, admiring the little boy she'd selected in the second row. He stood with his hands behind his back, sticking his little tummy out, a close-mouthed grin wrinkling his nose and creasing his eyes. A short mass of dark curly locks peaked from under the cap that was too big for his head.

"Adorable," she said out loud, then set the frame aside and held her hand out. "Next, please."

Diana complied again, and Anne pored over the photograph with the same hunger. Now that she knew what she was looking for, she was able to spot him almost straight away. An inch or two taller, perhaps, but otherwise not much changed. He would be ten years old by this time, which meant the next photograph would be...

"Our first year at school together." Diana handed her the third frame. Anne's heart beat faster as her eyes located the handsome boy, barely a teen, with his usual confident smile. Over the three year gap, his body had shed its puppy fat, and his features were elongated. He was one of the taller pupils now, and stood in the back, next to an older boy whose name Anne couldn't remember.

She was surprised to find herself sitting next to her bosom friend, and her finger traced their faces.

Diana leaned over to see, and a fond smile appeared on her full lips. "What I wouldn't do to have that figure again."

"Goodness, I wouldn't," shuddered Anne. "I was all elbows and freckles." Still, she couldn't stop staring at herself.

"You were lovely," said Diana sweetly.

Anne shook her head slowly, still captivated. "This was the first photograph ever taken of me."

Anne could feel her friend's sympathy, and kept her eyes carefully averted as she reached for the two frames she'd previously inspected. "Where are you in these?"

Diana pointed, and Anne grinned and awwwed in a manner she hoped would convince Diana that she was alright. "Let's see the next one."

Her second class picture ever featured an even handsomer Gilbert, and in the third he was almost sinfully good looking.

"He must have been the only boy in our class not to go through an awkward phase," declared Diana. "Poor Fred was just riddled with acne. Moody, bless his soul...and will you look at Charlie's ears!"

The last photograph startled Anne: there he was, standing right behind her. She remembered the moment clearly: the last day of school, waiting under the scorching sun. Everybody was sweating, wasps flying into people's faces. Anne had stricken a conversation with Jane out of the blue: an excuse to cross the crowd, and make certain that she stood as far away from her mortal enemy as humanly possible. She wasn't sure now why she'd gone to such lengths, especially since the foe in question was too busy laughing at something Josie had said to pay Anne any attention.

Yet, there he was, standing as close to her as possible. It was too small and blurry to tell, but it almost seemed as though he was glancing in her direction. "Even then," sighed Diana.

"Even then what?" asked Anne.

"Even then, he couldn't keep his eyes off you."

July 15, 1894
Prince Albert, SK

Dear Ann Withane,

Thank you for your letter. A whole page and a half: I'm flattered! Though you certainly don't waste much ink on formalities or small talk. I'm very well, thank you, both in excellent health and spirits. The weather in Prince Albert is fair, abnormally cool for July, but pleasant all the same. Things are going well at work, and both Patty and Lill send their regards. Not that you asked, but you ought to: one does usually exchange such banter in polite correspondence.

Now that we've gotten that out of the way: Are you mad, woman? You would have me copy his entire will? Firstly, for the work it represents: you of all people ought to know how little free time doctors are entitled. Secondly, as it so happens, there is quite a bit of private information in there. And thirdly, my most relevant point: Gilbert appointed me as the executor of his will. If he'd wanted you to know the details, he would have sent you a copy. Trust me, there was probably a good reason for this. He didn't take these matters lightly.

On a lighter note: there is a matter of the light blue tie you sent him for Christmas. He never got around to wearing it, though I believe he was planning to swap out his old one, as it was getting discolored and ragged. Pending on your instructions, I'd be happy to donate or sell the new one, or I can send it back.

That'll have to be it for today, I'm afraid. A round of food poisoning has decorated the hospital floors with the regurgitated contents of upset stomachs. I don't understand why the dining facilities haven't been shut down yet, when they insist on serving rancid beef.

Your friend,

Doug

PS: Am I making you squeamish yet?

August 2, 1894

Anne blinked, confused. She was waking up... it had been a dream.

But it seemed so real.

She was in the vegetable patch, when Gilbert joined her. Despite having just recovered from typhoid, he'd looked wonderfully fit, healthy as ever. He was wearing his best suit, with the cream jacket and light brown pants. They were standing on a bridge, and he'd taken her hands. Together they stood, discussing their engagement. It would be long, because he would still attend medical school, but she was fine with waiting. For some reason, he brought up Roy, comparing their lifestyle to what Gardiner could have afforded, but Anne assured Gilbert she didn't need any of that. They'd kissed, and she'd rested her head against his shoulder, listening to the stream trickle underneath them...

Rain pelted her bedroom window. Anne rolled over and pulled the sheets tightly around herself, trying desperately to return to the world of her dream.

August 4, 1894
Prince Albert, SK

Dear Enne,

You misunderstand me. By private, I mean that there are some matters that concern other people, and certain numbers that are to remain unspoken. Most of it is sordid and unpleasant. I didn't mean to imply you weren't capable of handling his will, I'm saying that Gilbert didn't want you to have to do it.

Ask yourself this: how would you have felt, dumping his finest suits in the donations bin? Or sending formal announcements to all his friends, colleagues, former classmates? Could you have honored the document that entitled his own parents to such a small share of his fortune? Would you have remained impartial, when the rest had to be divvied up amongst the same relatives who looked down on him for abandoning PEI, and the family farm?

You haven't answered yet about the tie. Shall I give it away? Not many here would have cause to wear one, but it is a fine garment. I'm sure it won't be any trouble to find a colleague who'd be pleased to inherit it.

Must sign off - today, I'm scheduled to remove warts. Big, nasty, hairy ones, oozing with pus.

Your friend,

Doug

PS: Still not squeamish?

August 16

"Hugh Gordle is making eyes at you," commented Diana.

Anne stared disinterestedly into her punch. "Two questions: one; who is Hugh Gordle, and two; is he making ears and a nose, too?"

"Come on, Anne! He's cute!"

"Kittens are cute. Babies are cute. Grown men are not cute."

"Fine, dashing, then."

Anne looked up to follow her friend's gaze. "Which one?"

"The one on the left, see, with the punch glass?"

She wrinkled her nose in disgust and turned away. "If a man can't drink without dipping his moustache, he ought to shave it off entirely."

Diana sighed. "How about the Andrews' cousin, Mr. Elbat?"

"The one who's bald?"

"No, you twit, he has a full head of hair. Twelve o'clock."

Anne spun around slowly and rolled her eyes. "That would be a toupee, dear."

"Oh, so what if he's thinning a bit at the top. I'm sure he's a very nice man."

Here it came again. "Spare me the lecture, Di, please. I showed up, didn't I?"

"What good is showing up if you won't dance with anyone? The whole town is talking about how you're on the fast track to becoming an old maid."

"The whole town needs to find something more interesting to talk about."

"They might let off if you danced with someone. Who isn't Fred," Diana quickly added.

"Would you let off if I did?" asked Anne, quirking an eyebrow.

This perked her friend up. "I would."

"Alright. One dance." Anne knew just the person to ask: she scoured the lawn for him with the zeal of a pig sniffing for truffles. She barely noticed people stepping out of her way, absently responded to those who acknowledged her by name, searching until she'd found him talking to the groom.

"There you are, I've been looking for you all over. Oh, Patrick, congratulations - much happiness to you and Tillie," she added as a hurried afterthought to the man of the hour. "You won't mind if I borrow Davy for a bit, will you?"

"Oh...uh, no. Of course not."

"Thank you." She yanked Davy aside.

"What gives?" he complained loudly as she lead him to the area where people were stomping to the bagpipe's reel.

"I need you to dance with me. Now."

"Why?"

He was not a little boy anymore, but he hadn't lost his love for that word. "Because you love me, and I need the favor."

He planted his feet in the ground and halted her progress, just a yard from the wooden planks that had been installed in guise of a dance floor. "What's in it for me?"

"Eternal gratitude? Please, Davy, just one dance."

She stared at him with pleading eyes, and he groaned. "Fine, just one." He begrudgingly let himself be dragged on, and Anne had to do most of the work in the beginning. It was worth it, though, to see Diana standing in the crowd, fuming. Anne blew her a kiss and enjoyed the reel.

The number ended quickly, and the drum started a jig pattern, which was picked up by the piper. Davy didn't release her: his smile relaxed, and he pulled her into the dance. Anne let him guide her. He was tall, now, and farming muscles bulged under his shirt. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend that the strong arm around her was Gilbert's, and that it was his shoulder to which she was clinging.

Look where you're going, Carrots.

Her eyes snapped open, just in time to move aside and avoid colliding with the bride and her father. Anne shook herself and came back to Earth.

August 28, 1894
Prince Albert, SK

Dear Ane,

What is the point of an "e", then, if it isn't sounded?

An abbreviated and censored version, now that I can do: He wanted his body to be buried in Avonlea, so that his parents could keep him home. His fortune was to be divided evenly among his living relatives, so as not to create a fuss. I know they didn't all despise him, and that most of his extended family loved him dearly. But after what he told me several characters, especially his aunt Mary Maria, it was difficult to see her receive her "fair" share.

The legal matters, I won't go into, nor the financial details, but here's one you might enjoy: he wanted his funeral service to feature Job 13:5. What I wouldn't give to see your minister stumble through that one!

I am very touched by your offer. While my own neck may be a bit thick for it, I was just able to tuck the end in under my jacket. The color is quite nice - we gingers do have to be selective of hues, don't we? It really is a fine tie. Thank you.

Your letter that accompanied it must have arrived when he was already unwell, because I found it still sealed in its envelope. I opened it and read it to him when he took a turn for the worse, in hopes that it would get through to him. I wish I could say it reached him, but truthfully, I doubt he heard any of it. This being said, I'm certain he wasn't cross at you, and very much doubt that forgiveness was necessary in the first place.

You say very little about yourself in your letters. Are you well? Is everything alright at Green Gables? Do you need to hire more help, now that things are getting busy at the farm? Do tell, what have you planned for the beginning of the academic year?

Please send my fondest regards to Mrs. Blythe, the Wrights, and Mrs. Dr. Blythe if you happen to see her.

Off to wash my hands, now - had to treat a man with an overactive sweat gland. You may want to burn this letter now, or at least wash your own hands.

Your friend,

Doug

PS: I'm starting to believe you're enjoying this. Are you certain you're not a closet nurse?

September 6, 1894

Anne ran downstairs, nearly colliding with Davy in the hallway.

"Where are you off to in such a rush?" he asked, bracing his hand on the wall for support.

"Church!" she quipped, doning her shoes in a hurry.

Davy frowned suspiciously. "Since when do you go to church during the week?"

"I don't," Anne answered lightly. "Supper might be a bit late tonight. There's some apple bread on the table if you need a snack."

Without the patience to prepare the buggy, she set off on foot, beating the dirt path with hassled steps. Today was Monday: at this time of the afternoon, the place ought to be empty.

She really ought to know it off the top of her head. Bored to tears as she'd been, Anne had started memorizing the only book allowed in the house of the Lord, during Sunday service. As far as sins went, she figured it was at least a holy scripture she was reading, and not secular poetry, which she would much prefer. She hadn't exactly assimilated the entire Old Testament - Leviticus was a blur of shalls and shan'ts that was impossible to commit to memory, although it was probably her aversion to rules which turned her off. And honestly, what was there to like about a book called Numbers?

However, she did enjoy Job. Well, not the moral - actually, it mostly seemed to her that there was no moral. But there was a plot line, and it read like a rather gruesome, tragic novel. There was one passage she particularly enjoyed, she'd committed it to memory:

Job 19:23
Oh, that my words were now written! Oh, that they were written even in a book,
And graven with an iron pen in lead, or in stone, forever!**

It was one of the more beautiful passages of the Good Book, one of the few that truly meant something to her. The fact that it made no mention of Jesus, wrath or blood was an added bonus.

She couldn't recall Job 13 all at once. Was it one of the awful punishments? Hardly appropriate for the situation. Surely it wasn't one of Satan's taunts: it must be one of Job's interjections, then. That might have made sense for a funeral, and would have easily satisfied the congregation's taste for piety.

The church wasn't locked (it never was), and so Anne let herself in through the front. The place was predictably deserted: she marched up to the pulpit and seized the large book. Making herself comfortable on the utmost front pew, she propped the volume open in her lap and leafed through it until she found what she'd been looking for:

Job 13:5
Oh, that you would hold your tongue, that it might be imputed to you for wisdom!**

An incredulous laugh escaped her lips. Oh, Gil. That cheeky boy - even facing death, he remained ever the joker. She'd expected something much more sentimental from her friend, who'd taken his faith seriously (more so than she did, at any rate).

And yet, it was so like him to have chosen this. Doug wasn't wrong about dear Rev. Allen trying to fumble his way around that one: it would have been terribly awkward, and a terrific comic relief. Mr. Blythe would have hidden his grin behind his moustache, a bristly twitch the only visible sign; Mrs. Blythe would have had more trouble hiding her own amusement, she might have used a handkerchief to conceal her smile.

Anne might not have been able to suppress a startled chuckle. Would it have been possible to laugh, on that awful day? she wondered.

Come on, Carrots, loosen up a little. You take everything so seriously. You've got to learn to laugh at life from time to time.

She looked around, making sure no one had seen her, and quickly slipped the bible back in its place before hurrying back out.

*Borrowed from the 1952 movie Hans Christian Andersen. In the title song, Andersen (portrayed by Danny Kaye) sings about telling tales:

I bring you a fable rare
There once was a table who said "Oh how I'd love a chair"
And then and there came a sweet young chair
All dressed in a bridal gown
He said her to her in a voice so true
"Now I did not say I would marry you
But I would like to sit down"

I always imagined Anne would be able to spin a tale like Andersen - hopefully hers had less morbid endings!

**1599 Geneva Bible (GNV). Please forgive the punctuation alterations: I figured Anne would find it more poetic this way.

AnneFans: Yes, he sure did! Also in his first note to her, January 1893.

OriginalMcFishie: Earthy is a good adjective to describe Doug - I might use it, if you don't mind!

NotMrsRachelLynde: Exciting! I might reveal the source sooner than later, still debating on that one. And yes, Anne's reaction (if/when she finds out) would be promising!

oz diva: Excellent question! This fiction is going to stay mostly through Anne's POV, and so it would be very hard to tell if other characters are having similar experiences. Sorry, can't be more precise without spoiling!

elizasky: Ah, darn, I wish I'd thought of that! Doug murdering Gilbert is GENIUS. This is one I can afford to spoil: no dramatic genre pivot planned ahead. But I really wish I'd thought that one up...would make for a fantastic thriller, especially if Anne got closer to Doug, which she kind of did in the last chapter.

And yes, he would have horrified the Avonlea crowd. Forget sleeping, he removed his shirt while he had a girl in his room, unsupervized! Scandalous. Your musings on what he might have said before he changed his mind are interesting. He definitely was about to say something...to be revealed! Also, his spelling of Ann: most deliberate!