May 25, 1896
Avonlea, PEI

Dear Doug,

Thank you for your letter, but please do not worry about writing back if you're too busy. A short note would suffice, or even a quick ring to the Wrights (they'd happily relay a message). It is more important that you get an adequate amount of rest, and that you are properly fed. This parcel includes three more jars from Green Gable's cellar: plum preserves, currant jam and apple jelly. One is for Kate, the others you may keep for yourself.

Doug, you were with me during some of the most difficult times in my life. And when you could not be physically present, you stayed with me by correspondence. I see what my silence might have put you through back then, and for that I do apologize. If you think I will let you wallow in self defeat, you are so very mistaken. I will bombard you with letters, and you may respond as you please - but never doubt that you are an important figure in my life. Gilbert knew I'd need a friend like you to pull me out of a slump, and so I shall do the same for you.

I'm not surprised that you enjoyed this stay in Avonlea. You'd only ever seen PEI in winter before, for a few miserable days. If you found it pleasant in early spring, you ought to come back for summer on the Island. Of course, you'll be busy then - but do know that there is always a place for you in our corner of the world.

Your friend,

Anne

June 17, 1896

Anne stood squinting against the sunlight, looking for Fred. She spotted him down the road, slouching against the buggy, and set her face into a scowl as she stomped off in his direction.

There were times when she really loved Fred, the man who'd helped her keep Green Gables afloat when he had his own farm to manage, the doting father to her nephew, niece and godchild, the friend who made sure she always felt welcome and included in his family.

Now was not one of those times. She loathed - no, despised - everything about Fred, from his disgusting habit of using a stick to pick muck from the bottom of his shoe, to the repulsive act of wiping the sweat off his red, shiny face with his sleeve. Honestly, would it not occur to him how much labor this would cost Diana, come laundry time?

"You're done?" he asked redundantly, tossing the stick carelessly aside and dragging his grubby hand along the side of his trousers before extending it to Anne.

She ignored the gesture and lifted herself up into the buggy unassisted. "I'm ready to go home," she announced imperiously.

"Much obliged, your Majesty," offered Fred in his best country drawl, heaving himself up into the driver's seat.

Anne crossed her arms, struggling to control the wobble of her lips. A thick swallow, a deep breath - but nothing would do. One sideways glance at him, and she lost it.

"Don't make me laugh!" she complained between unladylike guffaws. "I'm still cross with you, Fred Wright!"

"Anne-" he began, a bit contrite. She silenced him with a raised palm.

"I know it needed to be done," she conceded. "But I don't appreciate being ambushed, especially not by someone I'm supposed to trust."

Fred ruminated on her statement for a bit before replying. "Would you have come along peacefully, if we hadn't ambushed you?" he eventually asked.

"Probably not," she admitted. "But I would have liked the chance to make up my own mind about it."

"I'm sorry about that part, then," shrugged Fred.

"And I'm sorry for being difficult," Anne apologized in turn.

Fred nodded and set the horse in motion with a clack of the reins. "Is it too soon to ask how it went?"

"Oh, very well," she grumbled. "I'll have to return for a fitting in a month's time."

"So you do need spectacles, then?"

Anne glared. "No, but I begged for him to prescribe them, because my face felt so dreadfully unencumbered by steel."

"Your nose could do with a bit of decoration," commented Fred, earning himself a sharp shove to the ribs, which he laughed off.

They rode on in silence for a while. Anne observed her travel mate as he tilted the brim of his hat against the beating midday sun. Though she deeply resented having been lured out of town under the false pretense of gift shopping for Diana, she had to admit that Fred had been in the right.

"Why do I have to be so difficult?" she moaned reflectively.

"I really don't know," he replied without taking his eyes off the path ahead. "But you can make it up to me when we reach White Sands - a bag of licorice ought to the trick."

"I rather think you owe me the apology!" came her impertinent retort.

"But you don't like candy."

She barely held herself back from shoving him clear out of the buggy. "Just- drive," she bit out through gritted teeth, seething at her friend's good natured laughter.

July 2, 1896

Anne wondered how many funerals the average person was supposed to attend in a lifetime.

Certainly, a reverend would be expected to preside over his fair share: as many as weddings, at least. Or was that meant to be the double, since a wedding was a celebration for two, and rites for the deceased (usually) for individuals?

Besides religious authorities, there was another category of people who never missed a burial: these self-appointed ministers of information made appearances at all the church functions, receptions, celebrations of any sort - especially funerals. Vultures, Rachel Lynde used to call them, for the shameless way they fed off of other people's mourning. "Any one with a shred of decency," she'd declare haughtily, "wouldn't dare impose themselves on a family during such times. Now do hurry up, Marilla! The Bell's baptism starts in less than an hour, and I will not be sitting all the way at the back!"

The corners of Anne's lips raised the slightest bit at the memory, then sagged back down upon hearing Dora muffle a sob in her handkerchief. She looped an arm around the sniffling girl, remembering that she had come for emotional support as much as etiquette. Had there been any choice at all, she would have gladly skipped it altogether.

It wasn't that Anne bore any ill feelings towards the deceased, or lacked of sentiments: on the contrary, she'd adored Aunt Josephine. Their correspondence might have slowed down to the point of a yearly Christmas card, but the memories of their little meetings over tea were fond ones. But Anne felt that this was one farewell too many for her. Losing friends nearly as fast as she could make them... it felt like a curse, some sort of punishment.

Oh, it was fanciful reasoning, she knew. Arrogant, really, to take the natural course of life and death as divine retribution aimed specifically towards her, for who-knew-what.

Anne clenched her jaw, and turned her focus back to the heartbroken young woman beside her.

July 10, 1896
Avonlea, PEI

...It was a somber affair, until the arguments broke out. An army of Barrys and Marignacs all in black, disputing who was entitled to a larger share of the family fortune, demanding to see birth certificates and threatening each other with lawyers and accountants. Poor Miss Barry - she was really a very generous person, who simply hated being solicited. She had the last laugh in the end: having donated every last penny to the Charlottetown hospital, there was nothing but the fine silverware and imported china to be divvied up!

My description doesn't do her justice - she really was a lovely woman, Doug. We got along splendidly, and she'd been so wonderful to Dora. No doubt she would have adored you as well: Miss Barry did have a delightful sense of humor, once you got to know her.

And so, Dora is temporarily staying with us in Avonlea. It's lovely to have her back, though she is having a rather hard time adjusting to her surroundings. Green Gables is no longer the home of her childhood: and while Davy and Millie both insist that there shall always be room for family and friends to stay as long as they wish (that includes you!), I daresay the recent change of environments has Dora a bit upset...

July 28, 1896

"OUT you go! On with you, SHOO! And don't you even think of coming back inside!"

The bellowing was followed by a slam of the door so thunderous, it made the walls rattle. Anne, who had heard the whole through the cotton in her ears - and more impressively, over the resonant clanking of her typewriter - sighed, and marked her spot on the handwritten page before exiting the office.

"I'll take care of it," she raised a hand to a harassed Millie on her way to the kitchen, where she found Dora furiously scrubbing furiously at the floor.

"Fifth...time...this...week!" grunted the girl as she drove the rag so vigorously, it might have shredded to pieces.

"Why don't Millie and I take care of this, dear?" offered Anne. "You go on and rest."

"He oughtn't be in the house in the first place!" Dora was yelling again. "He's filthy and he reeks! Tracks in mud, paw prints everywhere..." the abused rag found itself suddenly sloshed into the bucket, and viciously wrung out.

"He's being trained," defended Anne meekly. While secretly agreeing with her - how trying it was, at times, to find Green Gables in any state other than pristine - she did feel that the young, blonde beauty was being a bit of a pill to the other residents of the newly-mussed house.

"Animals belong outside!" Dora pronounced, her red face and flared nostrils likening her more to a Dragon, than the young Charlottetown sophisticate she'd become.

"Didn't Aunt Josephine have Phineas indoors with her at all times?"

It had been the wrong thing to say, Anne realized as Dora's face crumpled, and hot tears seeped down her inflamed cheeks.

"Phineas was adorable," she wailed, tossing the rag aside. "He was small and well behaved - all he ever did was sit on her lap. He never barked, never made a mess - not even in the end! Besides, I meant here. Marilla n-n-never would have allowed that- that monster inside the house! She wouldn't even allow cats, Anne! And they're ever so much cleaner than dogs could ever dream to be!"

"Oh, Dora," Anne knelt beside the sobbing girl to run a soothing hand across her back. She recalled now how vehemently the little girl of eight had begged to bring one of the barn kittens in - to keep her "warm in bed," she'd claimed at the time, though Anne suspected she'd wanted to play mother to a fuzzy baby: a game invented by Diana, and perpetuated by Minnie Mae. Marilla would have none of it: wasn't it hard enough to keep the place spick and span with children about? Seeing the mess Davy alone was capable of creating... No, there would be no pets inside Green Gables, and if Dora felt cold at night, she would receive an extra hot water bottle.

"I know how you feel," Anne said softly. "I really do, darling. But Marilla is gone, and the house belongs to Davy and Millie, now. They've promised to take care of the messes themselves, remember?"

The girl's eyes shone almost yellow, reminding Anne of the very cat she'd wanted to adopt. "Then they should do it," she declared sourly.

"And they shall," promised Anne, reaching for the rag and reapplying it to the puddle on the floor. "Now, why don't you step out for a bit, breathe some fresh air? You could stop by the general store - we're nearly out of cinnamon."

Dora sniffed, but nodded: the screen door shut behind her, sending a draft through the room, the house breathing its own sigh of relief.

"I am sorry, Anne," apologized Millie as she tiptoed into the kitchen. "I would have no problem keeping Chester outside, really. But Davy..."

Anne swallowed back a grimace. Chester, as he'd been christened, was a nuisance of a dog. She'd never quite appreciated the accuracy of the proverb "like owner, like pet" until Davy had brought home the beast. At forty-seven pounds, one could barely call it a pup: yet, the odd-looking, slobbering mutt could not have reached its first year. For all his youth and exuberant playfulness, he was already large enough to stretch across the upholstered divan in the parlor, and a single whack of his thick, shaggy tail could upset a small table, and shatter whatever might have been sitting atop.

As clumsy as he was affectionate, Chester was eager to make friends with any being he met, and eat anything which might fit between his great jowls. The young explorer stuffed his brownish-grayish muzzle wherever it might fit, inspecting every nook and cranny by means of his keenly developed olfactory sense, and made a rather nasty habit of marking whatever spot dit not reflect his own scent adequately.

"It's all right," Anne smiled stiffly, nearly choking on the falsehood. "This is your house, after all. Davy is entitled to do as he wishes." Though she suspected that the lad wouldn't insist on allowing the animal to romp freely in and out, were he to clean up after even half of the disasters.

Millie took the rag from Anne with another apology, and promised to have a talk with her husband that night after supper (as Davy, ever the boy, was still prone to be much more reasonable on a full stomach). Anne stood with a sigh and headed outside to wash her hands at the pump. Spying Chester rolling around in the flower bed, happily crushing the fragile blossoms with his furry bulk, she sighed and wondered if it wasn't time she find a place of her own.

June 12, 1896
Prince Albert, SK

Dear Nan,

I do hope that this note reaches you well. Your brother is being oddly secretive of your whereabouts, and will not properly tell me how to address the envelope. I can only trust that he'll deliver this for me: so, if I don't hear from you soon, he'd better watch himself!

Thank you for the preserves! They are divine. You know, I was dead serious when I said you could stay with us anytime, as long as you baked. Won't you please come visit again? Beth will be moving out soon: she's gone and gotten herself engaged, sentimental fool that she is. Anyhow, she's pleased as punch, and her husband-to-be is a delightful chap, if not a bit stuffy.

Do think about it. I can easily convince Marge not to rent out the room straight away. Please consider it, Nan - if not for yourself, then for your brother, who has become even more private and ill-humored than usual. I'd blame the overwork, except he's often maintained his cheer through unreasonable hours... there's something else, I think. You've got to come and snap him out of it, because nothing any of us say here appears to reach him.

Sincerely

Kate

July 29, 1896
Prince Albert, SK

Dear Anne,

Don't listen to that blabbermouth Kate: she doesn't know what she's talking about. I'm doing fine, thank you very much, and if she won't take my word for it, hopefully you will.

The hospital is busy as ever. I would write if I had anything interesting to report, I truly would! But I very much doubt that you'd want to hear of my daily patient roster, and I haven't the time for much else. The most fun I have these days is while reading your letters. Keep them coming, then, and I'll stay forever amused!

I'm sorry to hear that things are tense at Green Gables. It sounds as though your house is growing crowded quickly - what will you do? Do you mean to stay, or do you plan on finding somewhere else to board?

I see you've reverted to the pen. Are your arms bothering you again? Be honest, now: tell the doctor where it hurts.

Your friend,

Doug

August 15, 1896

Children and adults alike had turned up to celebrate the resuming of class at the schoolhouse. Indoors, two tables held a staggering amount of pies, all filled with the summer's freshest berries: two of the younger members of the Ladies' Aid were serving up slices topped with whipped cream beaten earlier that afternoon in the agonizing heat. Mrs. MacPherson hovered scowlingly over the drinks stand, ready to intercept whatever troublemakers would dare dream of dropping into the punch bowl.

Outside, the lack of a wooden floor did not discourage many from dancing: the old fiddle and pipe had been dusted off for the occasion, and every square foot that had been swept clear of pine needles and errant twigs was occupied by merry jiggers. Even Charlie Sloane was feeling unusually festive: the man had shed his contemptuous sobriety and stomped about sprite as a deer, dragging along the poor Mrs. Charlie as he went.

It was in the midst of the festivities that Anne realized she was no longer in mourning. Didn't Diana used to have to coax, beg and threaten her to attend social events? And yet, here she was, present of her own volition: not exactly at the heart of it all, but not hiding in the sidelines either. She stood somewhat close to the action, chatting with Trudy Doherty, the sweet schoolmistress who'd taken over the Avonlea School - Anne was mid-sentence, actually, when her eye spotted Dora, and she knew immediately that she was through.

Anne hadn't felt the cloak of grief slip from her shoulders. She certainly hadn't shed it voluntarily: had wrapped herself in it, worn the heavy garment to shield herself from the world, nearly suffocated in it, but not entertained the idea of setting it aside.

It must have slid off little by little, because it was now enveloped around Dora's dainty frame. The girl wore it elegantly: her black collar contrasted nicely with her blonde curls, and the tired pallor of her complexion brought out the luminescence in her eyes. Even the downwards slant of her pink lips shaped her mouth into a perfect pout, and no less than four young men were currently attempting to turn it into a smile - or at least gain her undivided attention.

Not that the girl would humor either of them. Henry Bell had never stood a chance, and neither had his cousin Tommy; Ralph seemed to be the most successful so far (more so than Gordon Shaw), but still the cloud of misery hovered above her.

Anne didn't have to wait long before Trudy was asked to dance, and hurried straight away to Dora's side. "Are you ready to go, dear?" she asked softly after greeting her all-male entourage.

"Actually," Dora began uncertainly, "Ralph just offered to walk me home..."

"You could come with us," invited the man-boy gallantly as the others took their leave, a tad disgusted to have missed their chance.

"Oh, no! No - no, thank you," Anne smiled. "You two go ahead. I've just remembered - I need to fetch my pie tin from the concession stand."

Dora frowned. "Surely that can wait? Mrs. Bell said she would bring it back tomorrow morning."

"Well, I also need to ask Diana a few questions. Go along, then - and Dora, dear? I might be here a while, so don't wait up for me."

The girl flushed at Anne's lack of subtlety, and ducked her head bashfully as Ralph held out his arm to her. Anne smiled and headed back inside: now that she'd committed to give them some time alone, she might as well have another slice of rhubarb.