September 9, 1896
Prince Albert, SK

Dear Nan,

Thank you for the second round of preserves. Doug says you're probably busy, and that you shouldn't bother sending packages, but I say keep them coming! You don't have to, of course - but if you were, might I request cherry next time?

Won't you at least come for a visit? That brother of yours is acting odder every day, even the patients are starting to take notice.

It's really a pity about the house. With Beth gone, Marge is now threatening to have her cousin move in with us. That girl is a bore, Anne: please, don't make us take her in! The house is too big for only the two of us, and we won't even charge you for rent - just a bit of baking, and helping out with the chores would suffice. Don't make me beg. What's so great about wherever it is you are, anyway? Unless you live in New York, it can't possibly be better than here!

Sincerely yours,

Kate

October 14, 1896

The Barry's Harvest Fest took place on an unseasonably warm day. The lawn was spattered with coats and shawls, discarded by participants in the more vigorous activities, such as tug of war, and egg-and-spoon racing; at the drinks booth, the punch and cider bowls had nearly run out, while the hot coffee and tea pots remained practically full.

This year, Diana hadn't needed to plead or bargain: Anne had come of her own free will, and even volunteered her services as a keeper to baby Jack. The position having been already overfilled by Eloise Wright, Minnie May and Mrs. Barry, she'd found herself relegated to apple bobbing duties.

Standing at her assigned post, Anne felt aged. Here she was, towelling wet heads and fussing over drenched collars like one of the mother hens. Preventing playful little tots whose names she didn't know from tipping over the basin, discouraging some of the older boys from starting what could have been a bully water fight, struggling to remember to which clan each drippy face belonged. Was it really so long ago that there hadn't been a single stranger to her in Avonlea?

Certainly in her time as a schoolmarm, she'd gotten to know most everyone through her students: parents, siblings and extended family. Before that, AVIS had kept her in the loop... it didn't help that today, she kept no company outside of the Wrights, and an occasional visit to the Harrisons. Checking on Mrs. Blythe was less of a social call, and more of a part of her daily routine: she would make sure the pantry was kept full, help with chores, and make small chitchat over a cup of tea.

Anne supposed she'd at least know the members of her congregation, even if she hadn't been formally invited to join the Ladies' Aid meetings which followed. Oh, Diana would have loved for her to tag along, but to tell the truth, Anne found no more pleasure in belonging to such groups or clubs. If she thought it wouldn't worry her loved ones, she wouldn't even bother going to church.

"Alright, dear," she tugged at an enthusiastic bobber's shoulders. "You've had your turn: time to let someone else have a go, now."

"But I didn't get one!" spluttered the girl, no older than six, who was sure to get scolded for the sodden mess which had once been carefully coiffed golden curls.

"Here." Anne quickly patted the child dry as best she could, then reached with a long arm into her stash of fresh, unbitten fruit.

"Hey, how come Fritzi gets an apple?" whined a boy waiting his turn. "She didn't even win it!"

"Because she tried very hard and didn't give up," reasoned Anne, running out of teacherly patience. "And Fritzi, mind you stay in the sun for a bit!" she called after the plump little legs merrily trotting away with their controversial prize.

More complaints rose from the queue, but Anne was too preoccupied to pay them real mind: her eyes kept moving from the child with his face in the water, rear up and wiggling like a duck's, to the hayride station where she was certain she'd seen Dora two bobbers ago. Had she missed seeing her get on one of the carts with Ralph? There was Fritzi barrelling up the hill, doing a damp victory lap with the prize awarded for effort rather then skill...

A great shriek resounded from the ponies' enclosure, too alarmed to be a cry of joy: all living creatures stopped and turned to see what the emergency was (short of the miniature equines, who went on munching on their oats and defecating on Mr. Barry's prized greenery).

Anne was not alone in being surprised to identify the source of the commotion as Millie, who was being held by her young husband over one of the shetlands: it was quickly deduced that he'd teasingly wanted to plop her down on the infamously proud creature, who'd already bucked more than one daring child off its backs. The fall to the ground would wound the ego more than anything else, as the fall was no higher from the ground than from a milking stool.

"David Keith, set me down THIS INSTANT!" bellowed the angry wife, grasping onto his shoulders, her voice pitched louder than it had ever been. Anne stood too far from the action to hear Davy's cajoling murmurs, but it apparently did nothing to mollify Millie, whose screamed reply echoed in all of Avonlea's ears: "Because I'm with CHILD, you great dope!"

October 20, 1896

...And that's how we found out that she's pregnant, due in April. Poor Millie was frightfully embarrassed: had Chester a doghouse, Davy would have spent the night in it. She made him sleep in the barn, and I can't say I blame her! He really is too grown to play this sort of pranks anymore. He's chuffed to bits, by the way - we all are, of course. If Green Gables hasn't seen a proper wedding yet, at least it will witness baby Keith's birth.

I'm troubled to be one of the reasons Millie waited an entire month to tell anyone. It is natural that she would want her mother with her - did she truly think I would mind? It would make things rather cramped, though we might not be able to tell the difference at this point, as Dora likes to point out at least once a day. The girl constantly seems to forget that we are now guests, and will always be welcome to stay as family, but not masters of the house. Yesterday, she pitched a fit because she couldn't find the breakfast trays, and accused Millie of storing them in the wrong place. I had to send Millie out with Davy for a walk, and make Dora promise never to yell at anyone in this house in such manners, especially not her pregnant sister-in-law. Her adolescent behavior baffles me - she was such a good child, though you'd never know it from the way she carries on.

Davy's acting odd as well. He is naturally very pleased, and comes downstairs every morning whistling; dotes on Millie to the point of exasperation, which is sweet (verging on nauseating, really). One would expect a bit of nesting from Millie, but strangely enough, it is he who goes around moving furniture, and figuring out the best way to block the staircase. I'd also imagined he'd encourage Dora and myself to vacate the premises as soon as possible, but he seems even more opposed to the idea than before. And he's actually looking forward to Mrs. Hodgson's visit. The young couple will get no privacy, I'm afraid: between her and Dora, Ralph and Henry (who stay over for supper after helping out with the crops once a week), myself, and Chester, we'll be having a full house.

Wouldn't you know, that dog had Millie figured out long before us! He'd taken to circling around her (we were worried at first he might 'mark' her as he did the coffee table), and barking aggressively whenever anyone moved in too close. The clever beast has a protective streak, it seems, and won't allow anyone he deems dangerous close to his new self-appointed ward. He'll even growl when Davy goes to touch Millie's belly. Chester really is quite endearing, and though the discipline is not yet where it should be, he's slowly learning that throw pillows are not to be shredded to pieces (now, if only he would stop drooling on them!) and that relieving himself is best done outside (or he looses his indoor privileges instantly).

I've bored you sufficiently with dog talk - when you get a chance, let me know how you're faring. Do remember: healthy doses of eating and sleeping between shifts. I know I don't need to tell a doctor how to take care of himself, but...well, Kate says that you don't seem your best, and that worries me. Please tell her that I've received her note, by he way, and that I'll write her soon. Do take care, won't you?

Your friend,

Anne

November 3, 1896

Anne tapped her foot impatiently. Almost an hour had passed since she'd sat down at the table with a fresh pile of paper and the resolution to hammer out a fresh tale, and what did she have to show for it? A sheet full of useless scribbles, crumpled into a ball under her chair. Its predecessor had been fed to the stove, and its successor seemed to be destined for a similar fate: six false starts taking up half a page, all crossed out, and several splotches where her pen had hesitated too long.

Normally, she would have set her writing aside and gone out for some inspiration. A chat with Diana was sure to bring her back to a cheerful place... even just frolicking outside on her own would suffice to improve her mood.

Today, though, she was housebound. Davy, terrified to leave his wife and baby-to-be unattended, had decreed that Millie was never to remain alone in the house. Surprisingly, Millie had agreed, and Anne began to suspect that the young woman was starting to feel a bit nervous herself.

And so she was stuck at home, unwilling to wake a napping Millie with the infernal clang of her typewriter, until Dora returned from the Barry's. She felt herself growing more agitated with every second that dragged by, when a knock on the door startled her from her state of restlessness.

Eager for a distraction, Anne bounded from her chair and flung the door open with enough vigor to frighten the unsuspecting visitor on their doormat.

"Ralph! I'm sorry, I was just about to... well, it doesn't matter: what can I do for you? Davy's not in - wait, I thought he and Henry were coming to your fields today?"

"He is- I mean, they were," stammered the man-boy, remembering belatedly to tip his hat. "Good afternoon, Miss Shirley."

"Won't you come in?" Anne exclaimed enthusiastically, causing Ralph to take a step back. "I'll put on some tea. Tell me, how is your sister? Have you any news from her?"

"Thank you, I, uh... thank you." The handsome fellow dutifully stepped in after her.

"I haven't heard from Jane in ages. I keep meaning to write her: I actually stopped by Winnipeg last year, but it didn't occur to me to - Oh, Ralph, I'm sorry! Here I am, prattling about, when you were probably looking to see Dora."

"I'll admit that was my original intention," a handsome boyish grin played on his face as Chester nearly bowled him over in affection, swinging his tail like a baseball bat.

"She's out at the moment - at the Barry's, sewing with Minnie May. You might be able to catch her on her way home, she's due back any time soon."

"Thanks, Miss Shirley. I'm sorry to run off-"

"Go on!" she shooed him away, smiling as he threw a hasty "goodbye" over his shoulder. Would today finally be the day? Godspeed, Ralph! she called silently at his retreating form, crossing her fingers hopefully.

Novembre 6, 1896

"I don't understand what's taking them so long!" Anne frowned up at the curtain rod she was dusting.

"Perhaps he needs to make his intentions clear?" suggested Mrs. Blythe from the wardrobe.

"He's made his intentions clear a ages ago," scoffed Anne. "Mind you, he make a terrible mess of things at first, I don't blame her for calling things off at first. But he's made up for it since then, and she's warmed up to him - actually, she's downright pleasant with him, which makes one person she's nice to these days. So why won't they get on with it, and have their happily ever after?"

"Oh, Anne," chuckled Mrs. Blythe. "I'm sure there's more to Ralph and Dora's story than what little we know: matters of the heart always seem stupidly simple to outsiders. My John had a devil of a time courting me! And my poor Gilbert: so handsome, he was... I never understood why he couldn't get himself a nice girl. No one of interest in this small town, I suppose."

Anne steadied herself against the wall, having nearly fallen off the chair on which she stood. This was decidedly neither the time, nor the place to have a heart-to-heart with the woman who might have been her mother-in-law, had Anne only said yes.

November 8, 1896
Prince Albert, SK

Dear Anne,

Thank you for your letter. I'm perfectly fine, just operating on a doctor's schedule. It's quite busy, as you can imagine. I've delivered your latest letter to Kate. Would you kindly tell her to mind her own business? That girl is too nosy for her own good.

I hope all is well in Avonlea. Take care.

Your friend,

Doug

November 17, 1896

Anne banged into the hallway, shoving the door shut against the punishing cold. It had been a rough day for delivering typed documents across town - a distance even less pleasant went journeyed by foot. A new addition to Davy's ever growing list of rules: the buggy was never to be out of Millie's reach, in case of emergency.

Inconvenienced by this problematic addendum, Anne was certain she'd found a valid compromise in the possibility of having a telephone installed, but the insufferable lad obstinately refused. "How would Millie or the baby get any rest with a telephone ringing loudly at all hours of the day? No, no way." When she'd pointed out that the line could be hooked up in the barn, his outrage had doubled. "And spook the living daylights out of Orlando? Not an option: now, would you drop it already? I've got work to do."

At times like these, Anne felt a surge of sympathy towards Dora. She had to remind herself that these were the concerns of a young father-to-be, and while some of his requests felt unnecessary, most of them were fine and fair. Besides, he was master of the house now, and Anne wanted to be helpful.

Bracing herself against the wall, she yanked the boots from her frozen feet and undid her coat with numb fingers. She'd removed her hat, and was about to call out to Dora, when a familiar voice drifted in from the parlor. Fighting the urge to walk in a straight line to the kitchen stove, she made her stiff limbs carry her to the room they kept for receiving company.

"In a tea, it's most helpful," Diana was saying over Jack's head. "You're not supposed to let it boil, mind you: ginger root is more efficient when steeped in warm water."

"How warm?" asked Millie, her left hand resting protectively on the slight protrusion below her waistline, taking notes on a card with her right.

"Small bubbles - slow, not rushing. Anne, there you are!" Diana smiled. "Jack, look who's here! It's your Auntie Anne!"

"I'm sorry, Di - did I forget we were meeting today?" Anne racked her brain, but didn't recall making any plans.

Diana shook her head. "I just stopped by to see how Millie was fairing, and to ask if she needed any help. But it's nice to see you too, dear!"

Anne swallowed back a small pang of surprise. "Oh hush, and hand him over already," she demanded, holding her hands out. Diana complied and transferred the pudgy little fellow into her arms. "You beautiful boy," she crooned, conjuring the sweetest smile she could for the adorable little being.

"Diana has the best advice," gushed Millie. "All I've been hearing so far are dark warnings about what not to do, followed by 'oh, but you'll surely be fine, dear.' Just yesterday, Mrs. Billy Andrews was telling me of the time she strained to reach a pot-"

"-from the top shelf, nearly strangling her baby with its own umbilical cord, yes. We've all heard that one," Diana rolled her merrily twinkling eyes in such a way that Anne's hurt melted away. "Codswallop, all of it. Reaching on the highest shelf won't hurt your child, Millie. But you will want to drink plenty of fluids, and get rest whenever you can - trust me, you'll miss that the most!"

Anne tuned out their chatter for a moment, and nuzzled into the soft, yeasty babiness. Jack Wright cooed at the cold tip of her nose nudging his own. The precious bundle in her arms acted as a shield against those hard feelings of inadequacy and rejection. While it was certainly nice of Diana to pay Millie a visit, why hadn't it occurred to her to ask Anne along? Not that she had to, of course - as her dearest, bosom friend, Diana and her kin had a standing invitation to come in and out of Green Gables as she pleased. A warning would have been nice, though.

It was an ugly and petty thought, and she knew it, but she couldn't help it - the resentment of being left out sat heavily in her, right below the spot where tiny bootie-covered feet kicked contentedly. So she wasn't a mother: she was still knowledgeable in the field of childrearing. She'd cared for more babies than Mrs. Billy had seen in her life, had minded toddlers for days at a time when she was but a child herself... did Millie not think her qualified to give sound advice?

Jack's little fist punched the air just beneath her nose, snapping her out of her self-indulgent pity. "Yes, you are the sweetest thing, aren't you?" Anne asked conversationally, wiping a dribble of spit from his spongy cheek. It was ridiculous to get her feathers ruffled over such matters: she had never been pregnant or given birth, and it was normal for Millie to seek and receive counselling from more experienced women, no matter how ill-meaning some might be. At least Diana would have been genuinely helpful and reassuring.

There was a stir, some struggling, and then a great wail which interrupted the sharing of Great Wisdom taking place on the couch.

"And that's when you know it's time for a nap," commented Diana drolly as she went to claim her shrieking son. Anne let the mother take over, feeling cold all over where the warmth had been just a second ago.

"Thank you again for stopping by!" beamed Millie, standing up to see her guest out.

"Please, feel free to call on me anytime you'd like!" replied Diana graciously, bouncing the gradually-calming babe in her arms. "Anne, you're still coming over on Tuesday, aren't you? The whole sewing circle'll be there - we've added Millie's crib refinery to the list of projects, so we'll need all the help we can get.

Even this unmarried childless spinster, Anne thought uncharitably. Still, she managed to twist her lips into a genuine enough smile, though it was hardly mirrored on the inside. "Naturally! I wouldn't miss it." But she wouldn't promise not to threaten anyone at needlepoint, especially not if provoked by an Andrews.

November 24, 1896

"Of course you did the right thing, Anne. Fred, you tell her."

"It was only a matter of time. We all knew she'd have to go sooner or later."

Their words were of little comfort, but Anne took solace in their grim expression. It was good to know that they were as affected as she was- no one else in Avonlea seemed to care.

"It was her home," croaked Anne, her throat still soar from two rounds of crying.

"John and Gilbert were her home," reasoned Diana as Fred handed Anne a handkerchief. "Without them, it's just a house for her."

Fred nodded. "She'll be fine with the doctor and his wife. More people there to look after her, make sure she eats and sleep, doesn't wander off..."

"Besides, she likes the Glen: she said so herself. This is a good change, darling."

Anne shook her head. "I feel like I've committed murder."

"Nonsense. And I'm sure Dr. Sheehan will understand - did you want to try and call him again?"

"He's probably still in surgery. I've already written him with her new address anyway, so he's bound to find out sooner or later."

"He will understand," insisted Diana. "And if he doesn't, he'll get a piece of my mind."

Anne squeezed fondly at her bosom friend's hand, feeling all the more foolish for begrudging the attention given to Millie. How could she ever her bosom friend? No matter how fully Diana was living her life, Anne felt reassured to know she could always count on her kindred spirit.