AN: Dear readers,

This is the last chapter in which the plot doesn't advance (much), pinkie swear! I apologize for its length, but there were some subjects to touch before we can get to the action! Anne will get her butt into gear after this, I promise! Please don't give up on me now.

Also, I would like to issue an apology for historical inaccuracy in the previous chapter: Diana measures Davy's height in centimeters instead of inches. Some further research indicated that Canada did implement the metric system around that time - but only by 1907! From now on, I'll keep the imperial system in place. Thank you, oz diva, for holding me accountable! :)

And as always, thank you all for reading and reviewing. Feeling the love!

July 28, 1895

Millie was a vision in white, all puffed sleeves and fine lace. Davy smiled at her adoringly, handsome as ever in his smart suit. All of Avonlea had gathered on the lawn to witness the happy occasion.

"David and Millicent have confirmed their promises by the joining of hands, and by their vows before God. Therefore, I proclaim that they are now husband and-"

"Wait!"

The unexpected interjection elicited a wave of gasps. Everyone stared as Marilla stood up from the front row and pointed at the minister. "You can't perform the ceremony here."

"Whatever do you mean?" asked the poor confused man, gesturing to the couple before him. "I just did!"

"There's never been a wedding here before. If anyone gets married, it has to be Anne."

Murmurs spread across the crowd: Anne could feel her cheeks heating as the attention was shifted onto her. "But I'm not getting married, I can't!" she tried to speak out, but her voice resisted stubbornly.

"Well, Anne?" the minister asked impatiently. "Are you ready? I've got other things to do, you know."

"I can't get married!" she tried again, to no avail: no sound came from her mouth. The guests' speculations grew louder. The minister stared expectantly. Davy picked at his fingernails. Could no one see how she struggled?

"I might ask her, if I thought she'd say 'yes'," challenged Gilbert, looking straight at Anne, his arms crossed.

Her heart swelled. Excitement bubbled up in her chest - it was what she'd always wanted, deep down. Even though the prospect was frightening, she knew that it would be the most wonderful thing, to marry Gilbert Blythe.

"Yes!" she tried to shout, but again, nothing came. "Yes, yes! YES!"

"Didn't think so," shrugged Gilbert. "If you truly wanted to marry me, you would have said something by now."

"But I said 'yes'!" she called helplessly after his retreating form.

"You've ruined everything, you selfish woman!" cried Millie as she threw her bouquet to the ground and stormed off.

"I've got work to do in the fields." Davy shrugged off his jacket and went the other way. Marilla and Gilbert turned to walk away, and Anne tried with all her might to get her voice to work-

-only to wake up to the sound of her own scream.

Her fingers were shaking too hard to light the candle, so Anne got dressed in the dark. She knew that it had just been a dream, a horrible nightmare brought on by the interactions ever since the news of the wedding date had spread, via Ralph Andrews. Mrs Harmon hadn't wasted too much time on congratulations, and got straight to inquiring about the guest list, her beady eyes brimming with curiosity. Mrs Spurgeon had stated that it was about time Green Gables saw such a happy occasion, and Mrs Sloane had sympathized - wasn't it a shock that Anne's own wedding hadn't come first? Mrs Pye had been properly scandalized - two orphans residing on Matthew Cuthbert's land, and opening its gates to the whole town? Anne didn't have the nerve to tell the most unpleasant woman that no one with the surname 'Pye' would be invited.

She considered sneaking out to the forest, but it didn't feel as safe as it once had been. The aftertaste of her night visions lingered unpleasantly... she decided to get some work done instead.

August 14, 1895
Montréal, QC

Greetings from Québec!

You might wonder what I'm doing here. Would you believe me if I told you I was on a self-imposed holiday?

Well, you should. After my last letter, the atmosphere at the hospital got to be so toxic that even our patients were suffering from it. And finally, one of our nurses passed out during an extended shift, right in the hall. We'd hoped the issues would be resolved before something like this could happen, but realistically, we all knew someone would collapse eventually.

Direction swooped in and did what it always does: quickly removed her from sight, pacified her with a hefty cash compensation for her troubles (as if fainting were an extra service performed), and asked us all to stay silent out of consideration - it wouldn't do to embarrass the poor girl any further, would it?

Well, that did it for me. The day following the incident, I let the director know that I was going to take my mandatory week of training right then. I reminded him that the hospital would cover the expenses of my trip, as delineated in my contract, and casually dropped in the fact that I might take a few interviews while I was at it.

I may be jobless by the time I return. For all I know, I've been sacked already, but no matter: I'm in Montréal now, at an anesthesiology conference. There aren't many doctors in attendance, mostly nurses and chemists, but I am learning new things. If the lectures here border on boring, I am at least able to appreciate the crowd. These lecturers are very eager to impart their knowledge: inhaling devices, ingestible drugs... I'll reluctantly admit that their enthusiasm has started to rub off on me.

It appears I am not the only one making big life changes! Davy must be very pleased. I imagine he and his intended will be married as soon as they find some place to live. Will they stay near you to help with the farm? If not, I suppose you could hire some help, as you have in the past. Your expanding business will certainly allow for it - though you best take heed of this physician's advice, if you want to keep your hands in working condition: arms in iced water, once a day, at the end of the day (or whenever you're done typing). If this leaves you feeling unpleasantly chilled, a hot bath afterwards is alright. You might throw in some Epsom salts for good measure - but cold water first.

Two more days of lectures before I have to go back and face the music. I'll let you know whether I'm still employed when I get home. If not, I will forward you my new address - perhaps I'll see if Kate won't let me be her 'muffin slave' (I still haven't quite figured that one out).

Your soon-to-be-jobless friend,

Doug

September 7, 1895

"I think they turned out better this time!" Anne chattered fluently, carrying the tray out onto the porch. "You were right about the crust - I used cold water instead of hot, and it's holding up beautifully against the custard. See how the bottom is perfectly golden brown! Why, Diana, you're not having any?"

A more observant host would have noticed the air of trepidation on their guest's face, but so caught up was Anne in her success (a rare occurrence in the kitchen) that she remained candidly oblivious. Unwilling to offend her dear friend, Diana forced a smile and reached for one of the tartelettes* with an unsteady hand. Just one bite would buy her enough time to think of an excuse to go home.

"The pastry has definitely improved, but it's the custard I'm worried about. It's not too eggy, is it? It seemed liquid when I was whisking it, so I added an extra yolk, and - oh!" Her rantings finally ceased as Diana bolted off her seat and scampered around the side of the house.

"Di!" Anne ran after her, unmindful of the chair she'd knocked over, alarmed by the most ungraceful sounds emanating from that dainty mouth.

"I'm so sorry!" she wailed penitently, rubbing Diana's back. "I honestly didn't think they were that bad! I never would have served them to you, had I known-"

Interrupted by another wave of retching, Anne could do nothing but sooth her friend with reassuring pets, and keep her from tumbling forward into the rosebushes. "I'll drive you home," she announced as Diana had spat out what was hopefully the last of it.

"I don't think I could make it right now," Diana groaned as she caught her breath. "I just need to rest for a bit."

"Of course. Let's get you indoors."

The porch steps were taken slowly, so as not to jostle the upset stomach: once inside, the sitting room couch seemed a much more realistic goal than ascending an entire flight of stairs to the bedroom. Anne laid down her patient and quickly fetched a glass of cool water.

"Slow sips," she instructed as she held out the drink. Once the trembling fingers had a good grasp on it, Anne disappeared again, to return seconds later with a small basin of water and a cloth.

"I'm ever so sorry, darling," she reiterated, wringing out the cloth. "I should have tried one of the tartelettes before serving them. I just couldn't help but hope that since they looked so delectable, they couldn't possibly taste-"

"Let us not talk about food for a bit," croaked Diana, "unless you care for a repeat performance."

"That was the repeat performance," Anne somehow found it in her to tease. "Remember how I poisoned you, my very first time hosting tea in this very parlor?"

"How could I forget?" Diana grimaced valiantly. "I might have even hit that very same spot in the bushes."

"No, dear, those were your mother's bushes," the corner of Anne's mouth tilted as she moved the damp cloth to her friend's temple.

"Oh, that's right," sighed Diana. "Lord, but I was so sick."

"I'll say! I still can't believe how readily you forgave me." Anne freshened the cloth once and squeezed it out over the basin before bathing her friend's cheeks. "I've never seen you so violently ill, not even when you were-"

Anne's eyes widened with realization, and her jaw dropped. "Diana Wright! You're with child!"

Her friend gave no response but a pained grin.

"But you said nothing!"

"It's too soon," she explained, shutting her eyes.

"Whatever do you mean?" Anne frowned: she'd been the very first soul to find out about Freddie's conception (in an incident much like this one), and the second informed of Small Anne's (well, third, if the doctor was to be considered).

"It's too early to feel like this. Hardly two months in - it isn't normal."

"But dear, you can't be exactly certain about the timing: it could be more than two months. What did Dr. Porter have to say?"

"He's not overly concerned - said it's all in my head. And it is most certainly less than two months - actually, it will be exactly two months, come Saturday."

"How do y- oh, for crying out loud!" Anne screwed her eyes shut, ignoring Diana's weak chuckles. "I'm getting you home, before Fred kills me for getting you into this state."

"I daresay he was the one to get me in this state."

"Di!" cried Anne, exasperated. "Can't you at least pretend to be a modest, married woman, for once?"

"Oh - don't make me laugh," moaned Diana.

"Or what?"

Anne moved the water basin just in time to find out.

September 22, 1895
Prince Albert, SK

Dear Anne,

Please forgive the tone of my last letter. Those were the rantings of an overworked and poorly rested man, I never meant to worry you. The sleep I was able to get at the hotel and on the train has gone a long way to restore my good humor, and I feel more level headed than I have in a long time.

I also apologize for failing to inform you of my itinerary earlier, but it was decided in the heat of a moment: there was just time enough to toss my things into a valise before rushing to the station. I was only in Montréal for five days, and had to sign the attendance sheets of at least two lectures a day for my trip to be reimbursed. Whatever time I had outside of learning how to render patients unconscious, was spent putting my own self to sleep (without artifice). Amazing, what good fifteen hours of sleep in a row can do a fellow.

No time for such indulgences these days: as it turns out, I am not unemployed. Quite the contrary! I've been offered a promotion. Apparently, my walk out was not the only one - in my absence, one fifth of the medical staff turned in their resignation. Our poor director is desperate - the two hospitals in Montréal where I was interviewed have already called him (as his name is featured right at the top of my reference list). In the end, I've agreed to stay here for a trial period: by the end of which, if the hospital is not fully restaffed, I will have to walk away.

I did not realize that Davy and his wife would take over Green Gables. Will you be moving out, then? Without many ties to Avonlea, I suppose you're free to live out your life as you please. Where will you go?

Your friend,

Doug

PS: Please extend my congratulations to the Wrights. Violent illness isn't all that unusual in the early stages of pregnancy: if you are concerned, though, trust your gut (or Mrs. Wright's). Describe the symptoms to me (call if it is an emergency) and I will help if I am able.

October 1, 1895

"How are the wedding plans coming along, dear? I would love to lend a hand."

It was an innocent question, and poor Mrs. Blythe was stunned when the girl inexplicably burst into tears.

Anne felt herself being pressed against the tender woman's bosom: the gesture made her cry even harder. Even if she weren't sobbing hysterically, there was no way of explaining the emotions that were being stirred up in her. How could she phrase a sentiment so hurtful, she could hardly admit it to herself? There was an ugly truth, one of many, deep down within her... one that would dredge up too much pain.

"I'm...fine," Anne hiccuped. She held on tighter, guiltily absorbing the comfort offered by the person who should have been her mother-in-law. Everything would be fine after a good cry.

October 19, 1895
Prince Albert, SK

Dear Anne,

I know what you're trying to do, and I can tell you right now that it won't work. I fell for that one before, I'm not likely to fall for it again. Yes, I am following Gilbert's instructions to keep an eye on you. But I also have my own interest in the matter - you are a friend, and I would like to know what's happening in your life.

If you weren't hell-bent on finding fault with my wording every time I express concern for you, I would apologize. You are already aware of my motives, Anne: I want to stay informed of your whereabouts because I want to know that you're alright. Would it be so awful, for me to know where you live? What do you think I'm going to do, track you down and barge into your home?

Nothing I said was in any way insulting or demeaning, and you know it. So please, stop trying to pick a fight. Gilbert never doubted your ability to take care of yourself - he just wanted you to be well surrounded. I know you have your entourage in Avonlea, but when the Wrights' new baby comes, and Davy gets married, who will you have? Mrs. Blythe isn't going to be with us forever... and then, what?

Come to Prince Albert. You liked it well enough, didn't you? Someone with your credentials could make a decent living here. You don't have to commit to it straight away, of course - just give it a try. If you have no set plans for the holidays, spend them here. I'll be at the hospital, as always, keeping the patients merry at Christmastime. You could help me drum up some mischief for the New Year.

Still your friend,

Doug

November 18, 1895

The White Parlor was a prominent tearoom in White Sands. Whenever Anne came to visit Mrs Lynde or run some errands, she always made sure to allot some time for a pastry and a cup of tea before returning to Avonlea.

Today, though, it was with apprehension that she stepped into the establishment. The delicious aroma of cinnamon permeating the air did little to soothe her nerves as she made her way to the table with one empty seat.

"Sorry I'm late," she apologized as she took her place in front of Millie.

"No worries! It gave me some time to look at their sweets display. I can never make up my mind in here, they're all so tempting! Have you ever had their petit fours? They're simply divine."

Anne couldn't help but smile at the young girl's enthusiasm. She was partial to the scones herself, but chose to go along with the suggestion of sharing a few of the miniature iced cakes. No sense in creating unnecessary conflict.

"I look forward to helping out with the shopping," she prevaricated stiffly when their selection had been made and tea had been poured.

Millie set down her cup with a guilty air. "I'm so sorry to have brought you up here on false pretence, Miss Shirley. I did want to see you about the wedding - to talk about an important matter. Well, two, actually."

Anne swallowed convulsively, her nerves in tatters. "Alright." She sat up straight with her shoulders back, subconsciously bracing herself.

"First off, I hope you aren't offended that I haven't asked you to be a bridesmaid. You see, I would have," Millie quickly explained, "but you're Davy's only living relative aside from Dora. I didn't want him to have to stand alone. I know Ralph Andrews has agreed to be his best man, but it's not the same - he's not family, not really."

At this, Anne felt her insides thaw a bit, and her mouth curled into a small but genuine smile. "If we're being technical, I'm not exactly a blood relation, either."

"But you are his family, Miss Shirley!" insisted Millie with wide-eyed conviction. "And mine as well, soon."

The conversation paused for delivery of the petit fours to their table, allowing for Anne to digest the implications. This wasn't bad at all - it was warm, and sweet. She'd been hung up ever since that nightmare: she should have known better. Millie was as kind as they came, why should Anne have expected her to be any different now?

Encouraged by the twinkle in the older woman's eyes, Millie continued: "And since we're to be related, I wanted to bring up future living arrangements. Davy mentioned that you're thinking of leaving some time after we get married. I just wanted to say... please, don't rush out on our account. You might have given us Green Gables, and we'll always be grateful for your help, but it's still rightfully yours as well. You won't need to take care of us: my mother's tried to scare me away from the farm life, but I'm confident enough in my housekeeping skills, and while I'm sure Davy would be fine with me, I know he would miss you terribly... goodness, I'm babbling!"

Anne's affectionate smile broadened, and she rested her hand on top of Millie's. "I'm not quite sure what what will happen after the wedding, but I've promised Davy to hold off my departure until the both of you are well settled in, and a sure alternative presents itself to me." Anne looked straight into the girl's aqueous turquoise eyes. "And thank you for agreeing to get married at Green Gables'. Marilla would have been so pleased, and Matthew as well - he would have loved you so, both of you."

It took some control, but both ladies managed to hold in their tears. "I promise to take excellent care of the house. Miss Shirley, I know how much it means to you - and you know how much it means to us."

"Now, Millie," intoned Anne briskly. "If we're to be family, won't you call me 'Anne'?"

The girl beamed at her. "Anne, shall we tuck into these cakes? I simply cannot hold off any longer, the mere sight of them is making me salivate! This one has lemon icing - doesn't it look marvellous?"

Anne's smile lasted through the degustation. Her mouth was overwhelmed by frosting, saccharine fondant, and jam that seemed to contain more sugar than fruit - but nothing could spoil the sweetness of Millie Hodgson, soon-to-be Keith.

December 11, 1895
Prince Albert, SK

Dear Anne,

Thank you for your letter, as well as the early Christmas present. Mine will arrive late - the way our correspondence has been going, I wasn't sure sending you a gift would be appropriate. Look out for a parcel addressed to Green Gables - I'm also including something for Mrs. Blythe.

The holidays here will be grim: how could they not be, at a hospital? But we do our best to spread some cheer. We spruce up our regular rounds with readings of tales and poetry, and we sneak in treats for the children. We also like to traumatize the patients with our terrible carolling ensemble - Gilbert's off-key baritone is sorely missed, even though without him, we are a bit less dodgy.

Spending a quiet New Year alone sounds a bit sad and unnecessary, if you ask me. There is still time to change your mind - hop on a train, it really is that easy.

Your friend,

Doug

December 31, 1895

Anne waited in front of the fireplace, the crackling log the only noise in the otherwise silent house. Davy, along with all of the 'young' crowd, was at the Andrews' bonfire, and the Wrights were ringing in the New Year quietly. They'd still invited her over, but Anne had an inkling that Diana was in no shape to host. She'd pay them a visit tomorrow, and offer to take the children sledding.

Tonight, though, Anne had wanted to be at home. He would be here any moment, and she needed for them to be alone, without any interruptions.

"Thatsounds promising!" Gilbert wagged his eyebrows.

At the sight of his elegantly clad apparition, the list of forty-two questions Anne had prepared fled from her mind, and she ran into his arms. He caught her against his chest with an oomf.

"Goodness!" he exclaimed. "I take it you've missed me."

Her arms tightened around him, and she felt the low rumble of his chuckles reverberate through his thorax. "You can strangle me all you want - it's not as if you can kill me, after all - but it will make talking a tad complicated, don't you think?"

"Don't tease, Gil," she implored, loosening her grip on his neck.

"Where's the fun in that?" he pulled back, and she caught the twinkle in his hazel eyes. "Come, let's sit."

As they settled down on the rug before the fireplace, Anne took a moment to appreciate his form. This Gilbert looked sharp in his smart navy blue suit, his white shirt impeccably starched, his hair carefully slicked into dark brown waves.

"I've seen you like this before," she frowned thoughtfully. "But when...?"

"Convocation," he supplied with a grin.

"That's it!" The memory came back to her suddenly. "Christine kept going on about how you'd chosen the color to complement her eyes."

"Right. Because that was my main concern when getting dressed."

Anne reached to straighten his silver tie. "You look very handsome."

"I see you dressed up for me as well," he nodded at her green gown.

"You liked this one," she stated, smoothing out her embroidered skirt.

"I did," he agreed, and shifted his arm so that she could lean against his side.

Comforted by his touch, Anne sighed. "We could have had this."

"We have this now."

"I mean, in real life."

He turned his head to face her: she could feel the heat of his gaze over the flames. "Then why did you say 'no' when I asked?"

"I was scared."

"Is that all?"

"I wasn't ready, Gil. I needed more time. If I'd known..." she trailed off.

"Then what? You would have said accepted?" He pulled back and held her at arm's length. "Tell me, Anne. If I'd asked you a third time, that day in Hester Gray's garden, would you have said yes?"

She squirmed at the hardened traits of his face. "Probably."

He shook his head. "That's not good enough. I put my pride on the line for you, Anne. Twice! And for a while, I lost your friendship, the beautiful understanding we already had. So I vowed never to let anything come between us again - even my unwelcome romantic feelings."

"They weren't unwelcome!" she protested.

"Oh, but they were. Every time I tried to get closer, you pulled back - just like you're doing now, see?"

"I'm not pulling back!" she insisted. "I'm not going anywhere."

Possessed by a flash of bravery, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his, then quickly drew back. They blinked at each other, both stunned into silence. Gilbert was the first to regain his senses.

"Well," he exhaled forcefully.

"I'm sorry," said Anne sadly. "The truth is...I don't know whether I would have said yes, had you asked a third time. I thought we were too different, back then... now, I'm starting to see that it wouldn't have mattered."

"I didn't think we were all that different," defended Gilbert, seemingly offended. "We shared the same dreams, didn't we?"

Anne pondered his statement. "I suppose," she said slowly. "Oh, if only I hadn't been so afraid of finding out what the truth might hold!"

"Just like you were too afraid to ask Doug about his family history?" he raised an eyebrow at her.

"You just had to bring him up," she muttered. "Fine, then, you tell me: ishe an orphan?"

"You'll have to ask him that."

She stared at the fire, and her scowl melted. The energy radiating from beside her was too comforting. "We could have been happy."

"We can't change that," he reminded her. Anne let the sadness of truth weigh down on her for a moment, then returned to the warmth of his arms.

"No, but we have this, now."

*tartelette: a small custard tart (about the size of a cookie), usually topped with fresh fruit