January 12, 1895
The private office was approximately the size a broom closet. Anne was surprised to learn there was one at all: now she supposed the term 'office' was being used rather loosely. There was room for a couple chairs and filing cabinets, the top of which seemed to function as desks. 'Private' was't exactly accurate, either: everything was set up in twos - furniture, makeshift work spaces, even the names and titles labelled on the door.
Small as it may have been, there was largely enough room for two people. After leaving her to get settled, the young and vivacious Kate had returned to check on her. She'd thoughtfully brought in some tea, and stayed for a bit to share a cup, as well as some eyebrow-raising stories.
"...that wasn't nearly as bad as the wheelchair race they'd organized in the hallway."
"Now that's one I've heard!" Anne smiled. "The poor little girl who'd lost her leg?"
"And her brother," confirmed Kate, her cheeky smile back in place. "You should have seen how much fun they were having, the lot. And the best part of it was watching the father laying into Phillips for the scolding he'd just dished out. Honestly, who in their right mind would deny the children a bit of happiness, when it's so hard to come across here."
"To be fair, the argument that 'she couldn't possibly suffer worse injury' was certainly ill-timed and poorly phrased."
The brunette rolled her eyes. "Well, it didn't spare them much trouble, that's for sure. They were given bedpan duty for three days. You know, I would have felt sorry for them, except it was such a relief to the nurses who have to do it on a regular basis."
"I'm sure they deserved it," Anne commented with a smile. "They must have been making a racket."
"Naturally. They woke everyone in the emergency wing," confirmed Kate with a grin of her own.
At first glance, there was nothing remarkable about the young receptionist. As she got to know her a bit, though, Anne discovered that Kate O'Donnovon possessed an endless supply of good humor: this, combined with a sharp mind and a sweet disposition, made it impossible not to befriend her straight away. What more, the dimpled brunette knew how to tell a story - a surer way to Anne's heart, there was not.
"I have no idea how either Doug or Gil got any work done. They might have been dispensed several times over, had they not both turned out to be so good at their job, from the very start. It's extremely rare for newcomers to be put on the fast track for resident status, you know."
Anne smiled at the girl's knowing tone: she very much doubted Kate had been around for more than two or three years herself. "They've made an impression, then."
"You could say that. I'm afraid they rather enjoyed terrorizing interns after graduating from their own short coats. 'Fresh meat', they would call them-"
The door swung open then, and Anne barely contained a yelp of surprise. Doug stood in the doorway, his eyes moving from one occupant of the improvised tea table to the other.
"I hope I'm not interrupting," he mocked coolly.
"There you are, finally," Kate said with mild reproach as they stood from their chairs. "I left you two messages in the past hour."
Doug ignored her in favor of the other woman. "What are you doing here?" he asked in a carefully neutral manner, though Anne could feel surprise and something else - annoyance? - radiating from him.
"Is that any way to greet your sister? She journeyed a long way to surprise you, you dolt!" scolded Kate.
His shock showed only in the brief pause. "Yes. Sister. Good of you to come," he recited woodenly, still making no move towards her.
"Men," the brunette rolled her eyes as she addressed Anne. "Don't mind him, he's just surprised."
"Darling Kate, do make yourself at home in my office," Doug said pointedly. "It's not like you have a desk of your own downstairs."
"Someone had to see to Nan, since you weren't around to welcome her," she answered breezily. "Anyway, Lottie's sitting in for me. I'll go relieve her now. If you're done with your shift, you can go get her settled in. Here are my keys."
"Your keys?"
"She can't very well stay with you, can she? You snore like a bear - no one sound of hearing could possibly get any sleep with you in the building." She tossed him the set of keys, and Doug's enormous paw caught them mid-air. "Her bag's downstairs, in the coat closet."
"Thank you," he replied. "Now, if everyone whose name isn't inscribed on the door would kindly leave the room," he gestured towards the exit.
Kate rolled her eyes again and clasped Anne's hands. "I get off at nine: we'll talk more tonight, if you're still up. Don't let him bully you, or he'll have to answer to me."
Anne's answering smile was genuine, and the cheeky girl made a lofty exit before Doug shut the door purposefully.
"So." He crossed his white-clad arms. "Not every day I get a visit from my sister. Tell me, how is our mother?"
Though he wore no emotion on his face, nothing about his stance was inviting. Anne arched her spine to stand as tall as she could before him. "I take it your source didn't inform you of my coming here."
He stared at her for two beats before answering. "No. Communication has been...sparse."
"Ah." Interesting, Anne thought.
"Are you going to tell me what you're doing here, or do I have to guess?" His voice showed that they were reaching the limit of his patience.
"I came to say that I'm sorry. It was unkind of me to cut you off like that."
His orange eyebrows quirked asymmetrically. "And you couldn't say that by post?"
"I wanted to apologize in person, and see if there was anyway to salvage our friendship - or start over, maybe. You said it yourself: Gilbert wanted us to be friends. If you're willing to try again, so am I. "
"Well, I could have saved you the trip. Of course we're friends."
Anne held in a sigh of relief: she hadn't realized until now how worried she'd been that he might not have forgiven her. Doug glanced at her sideways. "He warned me this would happen, you know."
Her heart stopped, and her mind blanked. Was he admitting what she thought he was?
"Oh, don't look so surprised: he knew you could be a pill at times. You'd give him the cold shoulder, he'd spend weeks waiting for your reply. I kept telling him to call and yell some sense into you already - the postman was beginning to feel harassed - but he'd just tell me you'd reply when you were good and ready. I may not have held out as long as he did: five years is an awful wait. I figured you'd come around sooner than later, though."
Another false alarm. She hoped the cold sweat on her forehead wasn't showing. "He said that?"
"I'm paraphrasing, but that's pretty much the gist of it. Anne, I'm happy to resume our friendship (not that it ever ceased to be), but you've got to work on your communication skills. You've mastered the art of using a multitude of words to say nothing beautifully - which, I'm sure, will serve you well as an author - please don't do that with me. Write me truthfully, of how you are; how you feel, what you think. Then, we can truly be friends."
Anne bit the inside of her cheek. It was a scary proposal, but a fair one. "Alright." She held her hand out sideways. "True friends."
Doug's malicious grin finally made its reappearance as he shook on it. "True friends."
January 13, 1895
"Oh my goodness, what is that heavenly smell?"
Anne's eyes crinkled good-humoredly at Kate's mad dash towards the basket of freshly baked goods. The brunette wasted no time in lifting a corner of the covering cloth, and took a deep whiff. "Biscuits!" She seized one and took a rather unladylike bite. "Mmhf," she moaned in ecstasy, plopping down in a chair.
Chuckling, Anne pushed over a small plate of butter (bought at the market the day before) and currant jam (from Green Gables). Kate grabbed the knife with the vigor of a warrior, and slathered the half-eaten treat with some of each. Cramming it all in her mouth at once, she threw her head back and sighed.
"If this is how your mother bakes, I can see how Doug got to be his size!" she managed after swallowing the impossibly large mouthful, already splitting a second biscuit in half.
"My cooking isn't all that good, but I'm proficient enough at biscuits," Anne smiled. "And muffins."
Kate's eyes widened comically. "Make me muffins. Please. Stay, and live with me, and bake. You can pay your share of the room in muffins, and these," she brandished the warm buttered pastry.
Her exuberance made Anne laugh. It was refreshing to get out of Avonlea, and meet new people. Yesterday, she'd spent the evening with Kate and her housemates, Beth and Marge, and and the four of them had had a pleasant time socializing, sipping hot cocoa by the fireplace. Marge studied science at the Royal University, and had a sharp sense of humor; Beth worked as a teacher at a private school, she and Anne had exchanged war stories.
It had been so long since she'd had such stimulating discussions: her chats with the ladies at Patty's place dated from two lifetimes ago, and they'd never held such mature content. How grand it was to debate the advantages of social order controlled by the church versus freedom of faith, and comment on the ongoing evolution of women's rights without risking a slap on the wrist (oh, the benefits of life without a chaperone)!
At one point, though, the topics did get too mature, but Beth had noticed her discomfort and swiftly redirected the conversation. Anne was reminded through her interaction with the kind, witty girls that things really were different in the city. People here lived by a foreign set of values - their houses did not have whimsical names, and young unmarried girls were allowed to live without adult surveillance. Everything felt accelerated here, convention and sentimentality sacrificed for the sake of practicality.
"So, what are you doing today? Is Doug taking you anywhere nice?"
"He'll probably be busy. I was thinking of visiting the university gardens, maybe."
"Busy, my eye! He's taking the afternoon off for you."
"He is?" This was news to Anne.
"Of course! Least he could do, after you traveled so far. Make him take you to the greenhouse, you'll love it." Kate bit her lip then, drumming her fingers restlessly on the tabletop. "Look, Nan, I'm sorry about how we carried on last night, me and Marge."
Anne blinked in confusion. Kate continued: "We kind of forgot ourselves for a while. It's just, the university crowd is fairly rowdy, they rub off on us, you know? And, well... you being Doug's sister and all, I hope you don't think that we were being disrespectful - I can't imagine how that must have sounded to you, but please believe me, it was just one time, and we're still on friendly terms, honest we are!"
She frowned in confusion, then oh'ed upon realizing that Kate was referring to the part of last night's conversation that had gotten racy; she gasped, and let out a more emphatic oh when she belatedly put two and two together - or, more a propos, one and one.
"It's - fine. Quite alright." It was unexpected and took her completely by surprise... but why should it? Kate had acted rather smitten when she'd first met her last summer - and, well, Doug wasn't a looker, but he certainly knew his way around people. Anne's smile grew devilish. She now had access to some dirt on him: the tables had turned.
"Tell me, dear Kate: what embarrassing dirt do you have on my brother?"
January 14, 1895
"I don't know, it's as if...she goes into some kind of trance. Not a trance exactly - I can't describe it. She looks normal while it's happening, except for her eyes: they go off, almost manic. Oh, I'm not doing it justice at all." Anne kicked a smattering of gravel off the path.
"You're doing fine. Keep going," urged Doug.
She sighed. "There's no warning for it: one minute, we're chatting about the weather, the next, she's... far away, somewhere no one can reach her. She used to just stare, but now she talks within the dream, too. It's impossible to tell whether she is in the past, or an entirely made up place." Anne turned to Doug for reassurance.
"It doesn't sound good," he conceded, admiring the bare trees on either side of the promenade. "Still, without proper diagnosis, I'm reluctant to prescribe anything at all. Mind altering drugs come with the nastiest side effects."
"I can't imagine anyone on the Island would label her suffering anything other than natural grief. Dr. Porter offered an increased dosage of barbiturates."
"Keep her away from those." The vehemence in his biting tone made Anne start. "They're dangerous. Increased dosage...people die from those."
Anne repressed a shudder. She'd rather not think of that. They walked in silence for a while, each retreated to their own world. "Winter in the city is so glum," she bemoaned out loud. "It may as well be any other season, but for the cold."
"You miss the snow that badly?"
"I do. It's divine. Brilliant, white, engraved with the delicate footprints of a sparrow..."
"Cold. You forgot cold."
She challenged him with an arched eyebrow:
"...The whited air hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven,
And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end..."*
His blank stare made her gape. "The Snow Storm." she hinted. "Emerson!"
"Ah. Yes. Of course."
Her eyes threatened to bulge right out of their sockets. "How could you live with Gilbert, and not know Emerson?"
"I'm not much for poetry," replied Doug breezily.
"At all?" moaned Anne theatrically. "And to think, we could have been such great friends."
"Don't despair: I'm sure I can recall a verse, if you'll just give me a second." He stopped abruptly, and she eyed him curiously as he frowned in concentration. After a few seconds, words poured from his mouth:
"There once was a dame from Delaware,**
Whose husband learned of her affair:
He undid his belt,
And cruelly he dealt
Himself into her-"
Her violent shove did nothing to his great mass, though he was laughing so hard, his fit nearly sent him toppling over.
"That's not poetry!" she screeched, her face scarlet with embarrassment.
"Wait-" he wheezed through his tears of laughter, raising his arm to block the hand which threatened to slap him. "Wait, I think I have another one. There once lived a-"
The kick to his shin was well-aimed, and this time he did falter. It was all he could do to sit up, trying to abate his chuckles as Anne stormed off indignantly.
January 16, 1895
The party was in full swing: one could barely hear the piano being played over the sound of thirty-or-so young men and women talking, laughing and hollering. The agitated shouts hadn't escalated into a fight yet, but Anne expected a brawl to break out at any moment.
She was having a hard time finding a place to set down her drink. Most of the furniture in the large parlor had white sheets draped over it, and used cups littered every inch of the cloth-covered surfaces; more could be found leaving rings on the fireplace mantle, some even tucked between the volumes on the bookshelves.
Her own glass was problematically full. She hadn't realized, when Kate had thrust it in her hands, that the punch had been laced with... well, she didn't know what exactly, but it was certainly very strong. In fact, she'd nearly gagged on the first sip, its telltale medicinal burn attacking her palate in a most unpleasant way.
In the time it had taken her to swallow the bitter mouthful, Kate and Marge had disappeared in the crowd, leaving Anne to fend for herself. Unwilling to cross the sea of guests in attendance, she'd found it more prudent to stay in the corner and wait for her friends to return (hopefully sooner than later). Keeping out of the way proved to be tricky as people kept pushing from the punch bowl to the piano. Some were even attempting to dance, though there was not much room to do so, and those who bravely paired up had to stand close enough to make Anne blush just from watching.
A vivid memory of Mrs. Lynde chaperoning the AVIS benefit dance came to mind: the woman had surveyed the town hall with utmost dedication, pacing furiously about the room to poke couples standing less than an arm's length apart, ranting the whole time about the devil's temptation and spring madness. Gilbert had gotten Anne in trouble several times by purposefully tripping her, then forcing her to grab his shoulders to stay upright. Josie Pye had to be scolded repeatedly as well, for leaning into her dance partners too boldly: Mrs. Pye had made a scandal out of the whole affair, and Mrs. Lynde was thereafter relieved of future chaperoning duties. What would dear Rachel think of this cluster of inebriated hooligans, Anne wondered?
Something collided with her back, snapping her out of her reminiscence and making her lurch forward. Liquid sloshed over the rim of her cup, drenching her sleeve.
"Oops- sorry 'bout that!" giggled the offender, a girl a bit shorter (and likely much younger) than Anne. She stumbled away with a swaying step, bumping into at least four more people on her tipsy, merry way.
Anne groaned as she surveyed the damage: the stain only extended a couple inches past the hem of her mercifully dark blue sleeve. She reunited her glass with its brothers on the nearest bookshelf without much guilt, and decided to brave the obstacles standing between her and the door.
Navigating the forest of humans was nerve racking: Anne found that if she kept her eyes focused on the door, she could ignore the accidental touches (at least, she hoped they were accidental). Almost there - dodge a gesticulating hand - just a few more steps... her fingers reached for the doorknob-
The door swung open without any warning, and Anne tumbled forward with it into the largest obstacle yet. Coincidentally, he was also the least threatening, due to his familiarity, and the generous amount of padding around his bones.
"Leaving already?"
"I was looking for the kitchen." And apparently, had gotten the wrong door.
"Where are the others?" Doug surveyed the room.
"I don't know, we got separated." His pause indicated that maybe her anxiety was a bit more pronounced than she'd hoped.
"Alright, let's go find them. Follow me." He grabbed her hand and lead her back across the room. This time, though, its occupants parted like the red sea for Moses, and Anne recognized that his largeness did come with one advantage, at least. He steered her towards another exit and down a much less populated hallway.
"What the-?" He released her hand, frowning at its stickiness.
"Someone made me spill my drink," she explained.
"Well, that explains why you feel like an ant trap." He missed her glare, too busy opening a series of doors before exclaiming "Aha! This way." He'd found the kitchen - and in it, the girls who'd abandoned her.
"Nan!" called Kate, rising from the table she, Marge and a couple more people occupied. "Where did you go? I turned around, and you were gone!"
It was impossible to stay cross in the face of her joyful (and somewhat intoxicated) perkiness. Anne smiled. "Seems like you didn't miss me too much."
"Oh! Nan, this is Laurie Sanderson, and Cole Lewis," she made quick introductions. "Boys, this is my dear friend, Nan Sheehan."
"Pleased to make your acquaintance," the ebony-haired man in the neatly pressed suit next to Marge recited dispassionately, nodding from his seat. The fairer one, outfitted with far less care, stood to make up for his companion's lack of enthusiasm.
"Friends of Kate's are always welcome!" he grinned, holding his hand out. Anne gave him an awkward sticky-fingered wave, secretly glad not to have to touch him. Her rudeness didn't seem to register, as he went on, twirling his thin golden moustache: "This must be your first time at one of my parties. I'd never forget a face as lovely as yours."
"Excuse me?" She turned to ask Doug to escort her back out, only to find that he wasn't behind her, as she'd thought him to be.
"They're hardly your parties, Cole, if they take place in my drawing room!" the darker man glared from behind his silver-rimmed spectacles.
"Your parents' estate, technically, seeing as they pay for it," Cole pointed out breezily. "And if I didn't organize these social gatherings, who would?"
"Someone with their OWN HOUSE TO TRASH!" Laurie thumped the table with his fist.
"Don't mind them, they're always like this," Kate assured Anne, whose face was still beet-red.
"Do you have ANY idea how much these gatherings of yours COST us in broken dishes ALONE?"
"Say, wasn't Doug here just a second ago?" the pretty brunette frowned, craning her neck.
"Your parents really ought to be thanking me. Your mother's always saying you need to make more connections, if you're ever going to start a business."
"He was - I don't know where he disappeared," Anne had to raise her voice over the ongoing argument.
"The business of what, exactly? Barkeeping?"
"Are you two quite done?" asked Marge in a bored tone.
"Don't be vulgar, Laurie, you'll scare the ladies away," reprimanded Cole.
"We're more liable to leave because you're boring us half to death," chimed in Kate.
"So, this is where all the fun is," Doug's voice resonated from the doorway.
"The fat man cometh!" Cole jumped up on a chair, ignoring Laurie's vocal concern for the upholstery. "Mind you turn sideways to fit through the door."
"Lewis, good to see you taking your career path so seriously." Doug matched his teasing tone, offering a dampened handkerchief to Anne. She accepted it gratefully and rubbed her fingers on it. "I can see how sobering your getting kicked out of University has been."
"Poor wording, big man. C'mon, a toast!"
"Nan, where's your glass?" asked Kate as everyone found theirs. "Here, take mine." Anne tried to refuse, but Cole was already handing out another one. Doug noticed her discomfort, and plucked the cup from her hand.
"To the Sandersons, may they unwittingly host our parties for many years to come!" A symphony of clinking glass accompanied the chorus of consent, and even Laurie joined in, a twinkle of good humor on his face. Anne watched, stunned, as the circle of friends resumed chatting with no animosity, as if the shouting match hadn't just taken place.
Laurie relaxed, even laughed when Kate undid his tie and claimed it as her own, and Cole proved to be a kind man whose genuine lust for life (and more) made up for his lack of propriety in the end. Anne glanced at Laurie's pocket watch and stood.
"I really must be going," Anne apologized over her new chums' protests. "Early train tomorrow."
"I'll walk you home," offered Doug, and after a round of thanks and farewells (followed by a near-impossible hunt for their coats and hats in the packed foyer), the two walked out into the cold night.
"So. That's a university party." Anne pulled her scarf tighter around herself.
"Fraternity party," corrected Doug. "The Royal U crowd is varied. Some of the social events are more quaint, and some are rowdier."
It was impossible for Anne to imagine a rowdier party than the one she'd just left. They turned onto a street with no lamp lights. The new level of darkness fed her bravado to ask: "Did he attend events like these?"
Doug didn't ask for clarification, as none was needed. "On occasion."
Why was it unsettling for her to imagine Gilbert at such a rambunctious gathering? He'd been president of the Lambs, after all. Anne tried to picture him laughing loudly with his peers, cheeks flushed and eyes glazed from drink. The portrayal made her uncomfortably disappointed.
"He wasn't wild, Anne," defended Doug. "When you spend all your waking time at a hospital... sometimes, you just need a reminder that there's a world outside of pain and sickness."
"But he never told me," she mused out loud. Her mind was at war with itself: it was impossible to reconcile this new image of Gilbert with memories of the sweet, straight-laced Islander whose penchant for trouble making was innocently juvenile in comparison.
"Don't dwell on it. This crowd is much younger than us, he was losing interest in the parties anyway. We hardly ever went out... he just liked to see people living their lives, having fun, setting worries aside for an evening."
It should have mollified her, but her mind was still reeling. "And you didn't enjoy it?" she deflected.
They stopped in front of the house where Anne would be spending one more night. Snow formed in the air around them in minuscule shimmery flakes. "I went because he asked me to. He knew I wouldn't let things get out of hand."
He turned towards her then, his pale face tinted slightly blue by the moonlight. "You knew him, Anne. We both did. He was up for a promotion, which would have upgraded his status and enhanced his eligibility: he would have settled down in a nice house on the posh side of town. Married with children, reading by the fire, a cat and dog at either side... he was still that Gil."
Anne shuddered, and attempted a smile for his sake. "I would invite you in, but I think Beth might be sleeping..."
"I have to be at work in an hour, anyway," Doug declined. "You have a ride for tomorrow?"
"Yes, Kate called for one already."
"Alright." He tipped his hat at her. "Have a safe trip back."
"Thank you. Take care, Doug."
He grinned. "Don't forget your promise to write."
"You know, if you tell me who your informant is, I could just go straight to them, and spare myself the cost of a stamp."
His amusement echoed through the deserted alley. "Not a chance, A. B. Shirley! You keep me up to date with your writing, and I'll send you love poems in return. There once was a girl from Regina..."
Doug's loud laughter followed her up to the door until she slammed it shut.
*Ralph Waldo Emerson, The Snow Storm
**obviously not Emerson - I take full credit for that one!
elizasky: As always, nothing gets past you! I think you're right about b) the letters might have gotten a bit too personal. I would add c) his insistence in knowing how she was doing/feeling and not taking just "I'm fine" for an acceptable answer.
All we know of Dora so far is the brief line in the letter to Davy from January 1894: I thought I'd included her situation, and realized upon re-reading that I'd cut it! More on her soon.
Very astute suppositions as far the hauntings! I will point out that Mrs. Blythe's hauntings seem indeed to be only visual so far, and they (by her own description to Anne) lack the interactive quality of Anne's hauntings. Mrs. Blythe herself doesn't seem convinced that what she is seeing is more than shadows of what she was used to seeing.
OriginalMcFishie: Excellent observations! Unfortunately, I can't answer your questions without spoilers. But thank you so much for commenting! :D
Excel Aunt: Dingdingding, we have a winner! You're the first to have pointed out the B in A. B. Shirley.
I think that Anne sees Doug as you do - she appreciates him despite his quirks. He definitely is kind of a control freak. I hadn't thought of Davy-Dora-Doug match, but thanks for pointing it out! I did think of bringing Matthew in, but then I realized it would just be too awful, even for me (and that's saying something). Speaking of devastating stories, I really wish I had affectionate cats to watch me while I was reading elizasky's Within a Forest Dark, a must read if you haven't done so already! (Keep the kitties close though, it's a tearjerker.)
The "freckled like a seeded roll" line comes from my aunt, she calls people with acne "sesame bun" (including herself).