December 25, 1896
For the first time since arriving in Prince Albert, Anne felt her courage dwindle. Whatever had possessed her to show up unannounced, on Christmas, of all days?
Carrying a basket of treats should have boosted her confidence. Marilla had taught her the art of arming oneself with baked goods from an early age: tea cakes were appropriate for most social calls, whilst pies were best for expressing thanks, apologies and condolences - and of course, the famous plum puffs could tempt even the sternest and sullenest mouths.
For this particular visit, Anne had prepared enough cookies to feed a small army - or, hopefully, the entire East Ward of the hospital, after Kate had gobbled her fair share of the 'broken' ones.
"Are you quite sure you don't want come with me?" her host had asked that morning around a mouthful of gingersnaps, still hot from the tray. "Me ol' folks won't mind - not that they'd be able to tell if there was one person more at their yearly Christmas Day social, that's how packed it'll be. It'll be great fun, though: my siblings and cousins'll all be there, and there's always a bangin' riot when they raid Da's scotch cabinet."
Had Anne's mind not already been made, the last bit would have cemented her decision: the answer was no, thank you very much, followed by an empty promise of next time, and a mild scolding when the cheeky brunette swiped a finger through the oatmeal raisin batter.
She now regretted having declined Kate's invitation, informal as it had been. Standing in front of the same room she'd found occupied the night before, Anne wondered if it had been terribly presumptuous of her to show up decked in her pine green dress with the goldenrod trim (the finest outfit she'd packed), baring treats the children might not even be allowed to eat (they were sick, after all).
"Anne?"
Startled, she spun around to find the very person she'd been seeking. From his blank expression, it was impossible to tell whether or not he was glad to see her.
"Doug- merry Christmas." It was all she could think of saying, and she felt especially foolish for blurting it out, when everything about his appearance, from the unbuttoned white jacket to the clipboard in his hand, indicated that he was on duty, and not to be bothered.
"Merry Christmas," he returned politely, though not overly welcoming. "I wasn't expecting you so soon. Are you not exhausted from the trip?"
"I got plenty of rest yesterday." That much was the truth: barely had she had the time to explain her immediate situation to him the previous night (travelled mostly by train, shared a ride the rest of the way, staying with Kate and Marge) that he'd been summoned urgently, by a nurse whose face held no holiday cheer. With a toss of his big paw, the key to his office landed into her hands, and Anne had been left to her own devices since then.
Fairly certain that he wouldn't mind, she'd made herself quite at home in the space he no longer shared. Excitement of the unknown had her pacing the confines of the large room at first; and then, a certain type of restless boredom made her sit down with the battered copy of Gulliver's Travels which had followed her on many a voyage. Somewhere between Brobdingnag and Laputa, the letters began to blur, and her head grew heavy. At that point, the book had gone from being a means of entertainment to a pillow, a fact her stiff neck still resented.
It was Kate who'd come to fetch her a couple of hours later, explaining that Doug was still tied up, and that it was best for them to go retire in proper beds for the rest of the night. Too tired to remember the holiday, they'd rejoined their respective rooms without ceremony.
"Are you here to see me?"
Anne blinked back to the present. "And the children," she said, feeling increasingly inadequate by the second. "These are for them," she held up her basket laden with goodies. "And for you, too, of course. Though you might choose to keep them... I didn't know whether they could have any..."
Doug took the basket and peaked inside. "They'll love these," he declared.
"Oh, well- that's good, then. You'll be able to distribute them as you see fit. Unless you'd rather-"
"Come give them yourself," he interrupted her nervous rambling. "They'll be very pleased."
Unlike you? Anne wanted to ask, but there would be time for that later, or so she hoped. Following him into the room, she smiled at their enthusiastic greetings.
"Dr. Sheehan!"
"Would you read us some more?"
"Is my mummy here to see me yet?"
"A whole 'nother chapter, Doctor, you promised!"
"Floppy Dog got hurt again. He needs stitches."
"I feel much better, see?"
"Please?"
"Whoa, quiet down, you scoundrels!" called the Doctor with a merry twinkle in his eyes. "You know the drill: business first, and then pleasure."
"I hate business," the sulky boy with the eyepatch harrumphed.
"Can't we read now?" pleaded the girl in the nearest bed.
"Oh, please!"
"We promise to be real good!"
"We'll see how much reading we can fit in after we're done," promised Dr. Sheehan. "Let's start with you, Anthony. How are you feeling on this fine Christmas morning?"
Anne followed the doctor as he moved from one bed to the next, taking as much interest in his young patients' emotional needs as their vitals. Poor Floppy Dog did need stitches, but that would have to wait for another day, as the waiting list for stuffed toy surgery was quite long; Gordie's mother was not in yet, but surely she'd turn up in the afternoon. All were delighted to receive a treat from Anne's basket, except for Anthony, whose muttered 'thanks' had come with a one-eyed glare.
Once everyone had been examined, the stethoscope and charts were set aside: one nod from Dr. Sheehan, and the children jumped from their beds. Pillows were arranged into a circle of sorts on the floor, and Doug had just pulled up a chair when his name was called by a frantic nurse.
"I've got to go," he said over a chorus of moans and pleas.
"I could read to them while you're busy," volunteered Anne, eager to help.
Doug seemed to hesitate for a while. "How very nice of you. Walk me out?"
He waited until they were safely out of earshot of their young audience to speak again. "About them- thanks for offering to cover for me..."
"It's my pleasure," assured Anne, astounded that he would doubt her sincerity.
"...but I must urge you to be careful, especially about what you say around them."
"Are you worried I might be insensitive to their situation?" she frowned. "Because I can assure you-"
"No! Not at all," he quickly amended. "Quite the contrary. I know you'd be kind with them - but it wouldn't do to give them too much hope. Gaining their trust is easy enough, but it has to be built upon something real. They're children: they hate being stuck here, and wish for nothing more than to get better and go home..."
"Doug." It was Anne's turn to shush him. "I understand. I shan't make any empty promises, regarding their health or otherwise."
His expression softened. "Yes. I know. I'm sorry, Anne, I-"
"Doctor, whenever you're ready?"
Doug heaved a distraught sigh, running a hand through his orange curls.
"Go," Anne gave his arm a reassuring pat. "We'll read for a while, and I'll see what I can do about getting them back to bed."
December 26, 1896
"It was nearly impossible," concluded Anne over breakfast. "I had to bribe them back to bed with a promise to come back, and a cookie apiece! And I promised to stitch little Babette's stuffed dog, which reminds me: may I borrow a bit of light gray thread?"
"Beth was the seamstress of the house, she might have left a spool or two behind," replied Kate. "Well, it sounds as though you had a pleasant enough Christmas. When will you be heading back there?"
"Later today. Before I go, though, there's something important I need to tell you."
Kate swallowed and set her cup down, a suddenly grave expression casting its shadow over her usual perkiness. "I think I know where this is going."
"You do? Oh, Kate, I'm so sorry I didn't tell you sooner! I nearly did, so many times..."
"It's fine-"
"It really isn't, though! I've taken horrible advantage of your hospitality, while you've been perfectly wonderful, agreeing to take me in-"
"-it's all right, really!" Kate grasped her by the shoulders. "I do work at the hospital, you know. We see this sort of thing happen every now and then. It's good that you came over when you did: we can take care of this together. Does Doug know yet?"
Anne blinked. "What do you mean?"
"You really ought to tell him - honestly, he's dealt with this type of situation more times than you'd dare to imagine. He won't be mad, I promise. I won't let him-"
"Er... Kate? I don't believe we're talking about the same thing."
Kate let go of her shoulders and tilted her head. "What are we talking about, then?"
"About the fact that I've lied to you all this time, about who I am - that I've used Doug's name as a way to get into the hospital without being thrown out. I swear, that was the only reason we started to lie! I never meant for it to get so out of hand-"
"Whoa, just - slow down. What do you mean, using Doug's name?"
The same bewildered air was now mirrored on both their faces. "Why- Sheehan, of course. My real name is Shirley - Anne Shirley. Why, what did you think I was talking about?"
December 27, 1896
"It's really not funny," muttered Anne as Doug through his head back, the better to project his booming laughter across the hospital grounds.
"I beg to differ," he wheezed. "It's extremely funny. Whatever possessed you to polish off an entire jar of pickled onions?"
"She said I could help myself to anything in the pantry!" Anne argued. "All I found were jars, and that was the only one I could open. Of course, my stomach was upset afterwards. I truly had no idea she would jump to the - the ridiculous conclusions that I was experiencing nausea, or- or cravings!"
"Dear Kate," sighed Doug, wiping tears of hilarity from his eyes. "I take it she wasn't upset, then?"
"No. Surprised, to say the least, but not upset. And perhaps embarrassed, though no more than I felt - promise you won't give her a hard time about this when you see her next."
A large gloved hand enveloped her own, and it was worth the mortification to see the warmth once again in his sincere brown eyes. "You know I can't promise that."
They walked on, the crunch of cold gravel under their boots audible in the lull of conversation. Anne would have liked the Royal Hospital 'recovery gardens' - she wanted to like it - if only it wasn't so cold and clinical. Lawns kept in perfect geometrical shapes, contoured by fences so laughably close to the ground, they served no purpose but aesthetic embellishment (or so she supposed). They'd looked silly enough in the summer, submitted to an unnaturally flat trim: in the winter, they were glum, geometrical pools of dirt. The lack of trees wasn't even worth mentioning - what exactly was the point of a tree, if one wasn't able to sit at its foot, find oneself cradled within its branches, or harvest its fruit?
"Doug?" she began in a small voice. "I'm glad to be here, I truly am..."
"But?" he continued when she trailed off.
Anne sighed. She hated to disappoint, but more harm would come of leaving things unsaid. "I don't know for certain how long I'll be staying."
When he said nothing, she pulled him to a halt. "Please understand..."
Finally, Doug nodded. "I do. Not to worry, Anne, you don't have to explain yourself to me."
"I just-"
The leather of his gloved index rested on her lips. "You travelled across the country to spend Christmas with me, of all people. I'm glad that you came, and will treasure any time we have together."
December 28, 1896
"Oh, Miss Shirley, why does it have to be over? Can't we start over again, from the beginning?"
Anne shut the book and smiled down at the children, emerging from the land of stories and rejoining the grim reality of their shared dormitory.
"Perhaps you'd like to start another book? In the meanwhile, we best get you back to bed." Her reminder was met with a chorus of groans. Surprising, how similar the dynamics were to a classroom - and how she yearned for her old teacher's desk, in lieu of the stiff hospital chairs. "Anyhow, Dr. Sheehan has a decent library, I'm sure he won't mind loaning us one of his own books. Treasure Island, perhaps?"
"We've read that already," grumbled Anthony, kicking his pillow across the floor.
"It can't be pirates, or anything too scary," explained Mary mindfully, picking up her own white square and fluffing it neatly.
"Yeah, or Gus'll get scared and wet the bed at night," smirked Dorian, flopping onto his bed with an apathy only a thirteen-year-old boy could emulate.
"I do not!" cried little Gus, limping over to Dorian's bed with the clear intent of using his cushion as a club.
Anne, who had already learned from experience the world of trouble which would ensue if a pillow war broke out, was quick to pluck the deadly weapon from the little soldier's hands and scooped the aggravated five-year-old in her arms. "There, now," she whispered soothingly as she set him down in his bed. "It doesn't have to be pirates. There are plenty of other things to read. How about the tales of a little boy in a faraway land?"
"Does he go on adventures?" asked Luella, peering innocently from under the bandage covering her brow.
"He certainly does," confirmed Anne with a smile, sparing a hand to soothe the girl's golden girls.
Harvey sat up from his own bed, some of his skepticism melting away. "Are there villains?"
"Of course," Anne was quick to assure the frowning boy whose ailment she had yet to see.
"And dragons?" breathed Greta excitedly.
"Well..." Not in Oliver Twist, there wasn't... but to see their little faces beaming up at her so expectantly, she hadn't the heart to disappoint them. "...yes, as a matter of fact, there is an entire chapter devoted to dragons. Which we will start tomorrow, provided you all behave for the rest of the day."
"We will, Miss Shirley!" they vowed.
"We'll be very have!" added Gus, with wide, earnest eyes magnified through his spectacles.
"Miss Shirley, what's the name of the story?" Frances wanted to know.
"It's called The Prince of Avonlea."
Prince Albert, SK
December 29, 1896
Merry Christmas, Di, dearest!
I trust that you had a pleasant celebration with your family and the Harrisons. The mystery of the fifteenth guest unveiled itself to me whilst on the train - Minnie Mae, of course! I hope you'd worked it out in time. (How is she, by the way? Do send her my best.)
The trip here ended up being much easier than I'd anticipated, especially since it was grossly unplanned, improvised entirely on the spot: try getting a last minute train fare on Christmas Eve! Had I not thought to wire Jane New Brunswick, I might have spent the holidays stuck in a station.
As it was, the elegant Mrs. Inglis welcomed me into her palace for the evening of the 23rd. I'm not exaggerating, darling - vast enough to hold an entire court, and its furnishings would be fit for the royal family. I hate to admit it, but Mrs. Harmon wasn't just bragging: Mr. Inglis really does very well for himself, and it shows. More importantly, he's transformed our Plain Jane into a radiant mother, as well as an elegant wife, who rather enjoys her place among the high society. Even though she will never be the homemaker she'd once aspired to be (they have servants for those mundane, menial tasks, of course), she truly is happy and in love.
In the end, one of her butlers (you read that right - one of the butlers!) gave me a ride the rest of the way. He claimed he didn't mind, as Mr. Inglis had given him the rest of the week off to spend with his own family in Saskatoon, and so we drove from Inglis Manor, and reached Prince Albert just in time for Christmas Eve.
Don't take this the wrong way, but as much as I miss Avonlea (and you most of all), I'm glad I came out here. I don't know how to explain my folly, but to say that it was justified. Doug once left his life behind and rushed to my side when I was in need, and now it is my turn to reciprocate (not that I had much of a life to leave behind, you've hinted as much yourself). He isn't well, Di: he won't tell me about it, but it is obvious that something is weighing heavily on him, beyond the expected fatigue. I believe that I am needed here, to help in whatever way I can. Kate says that he's already improved in the short time since my arrival. She's lovely, by the way, and sends your her best. The house is just as cosy as I'd remembered, and while I'm not sure yet what tomorrow might bring, I'm content with staying here today. Please understand, or if you cannot, I pray you might at least be happy for me, the way I have been for you.
Yours always,
Anne
December 30, 1896
"Are you certain Marge won't mind me borrowing her robe?" Anne worried, taking extra care not to spill any hot cocoa onto the lush forest green fabric currently covering her nightgown.
Kate dismissed her concerns with a wave of her free hand. "She won't be back until the second week of January, we'll have plenty of time to wash it before she returns. Speaking of which, have you made up your mind to stay?"
"I want to," Anne replied honestly. "But I'll need to get a job. I was hoping for something clerical - I've come to be quite proficient on the typewriter."
"Secretarial positions do pay rather well," conceded Kate. "But it's awfully hard to get hired when you're young and inexperienced, and twice as hard for us ladies."
"You were given a position, weren't you?"
" 'Given' being the keyword here: me Da's head of the neurology department, and on the board," Kate declared with the Irish lilt which seemed to surface only when she spoke of her family.
Anne grinned at her friend's honesty. "I don't suppose your father's nepotism might extend to me?"
"I wish it would," Kate replied with a sheepish expression which indicated that she truly regretted the fact. "The reason I was considered in the first place - well, besides Da being highly placed, and all - was that I already knew this hospital like the back of my hand. I grew up surrounded by doctors; I can anticipate their needs, interpret most of their medical jargon, handle a mess when it's all hands on deck. And trust me, you don't know what a real mess is until you've mopped intestines from the floor."
The thought made Anne's nose wrinkle in sympathetic disgust. "I've had to clean up some accidents in my teaching days, but thankfully never intestines - only their contents."
Kate's spritely laugh tinkled over her mug. "You know, Beth will be leaving her post at the school," she mused out loud. "They've probably found a replacement already, but should there be another opening, she could get you to be considered."
And contemplated her offer. "I suppose I could teach again," she eventually conceded. "It's been a while, though..."
"You'll be brilliant!" exclaimed her new roommate excitedly. "I'll write her straight away. See, you're stuck with us, now - and you're going to love it here!"
December 31, 1896
From the moment she'd found herself alone in the house, Anne had been a ball of nerves. She'd tried on no less than four different dresses, before giving up and donning her nightgown. Once her hair had been brushed out and plaited, there had been nothing left to do but wait. Anne paced the confines of the small bedroom, which had been left mostly bare - she wouldn't unpack more than was absolutely necessary, not until she'd found a way to earn her stay. Kate had assured her numerous times that homemade pastry was a valid form of currency in the interim, and promised that Marge wouldn't mind, but it wasn't in Anne's nature to live off someone's generosity without contributing. The house was no farm, though, and as there were far fewer chores to make herself indispensable, she would need to find work soon, or go home.
Sounds coming from downstairs halted her. Goosebumps ran along her arms, and her hair stood on end. Kate wasn't due back until much later: she was working tonight, and then going to a late party. A spark of hope ignited in her breast, while the more rational side of her couldn't exclude the more plausible possibility of being intruded upon; she crept down the hallway silently, equipped with a brass candleholder, ready to swing if need be.
The foyer was empty, the parlor as well: glancing into the kitchen, she noticed that the pantry was open. Tamping down her fear, she quietly blew out her candle and cocked the heavy brass behind her shoulder, poised to strike. "Kate?" she called tentatively as she inched closer.
"You can drop your weapon, I'm unarmed - I was just looking for something to nibble."
A wave of relief washed over her at the sound of his familiar voice.
"Gil!" She placed a shaky hand over her thumping heart. "You startled me!"
His head popped out from behind the pantry door. "Weren't you expecting me?"
"I suppose... I wasn't sure whether you'd make it," she admitted, still a bit bewildered.
"What, and miss out on all this fun?" he gestured around the empty place, then went back to rummaging through the larder. "You ought to have gone out with Kate. Those parties were great."
"They're not my idea of- Gilbert Blythe, you put those down this instant! Those are for tomorrow, for the children!" Shakiness and fright gave way to profound annoyance as she attempted to pry the tin of shortbread from his hands.
"Surely they could spare some, the way you've been sneaking them treats," Gilbert managed around a mouthful of buttery crumbs, holding the tin high above her reach. Anne was forced to look up then, and took in his appearance: he was wrapped in a plush crimson night robe, cinched at the waist in an astonishingly flattering fashion, and large slippers.
"You've made yourself comfortable," she noted, tightening the belt to her own robe over her gown, which suddenly felt inappropriatelt flimsy.
Gilbert shrugged. "Why not? It's not as if we have any engagements tonight." He sat at the kitchen table and popped a second cookie in his mouth. "So, you've made it to Prince Albert. Congratulations."
"And so did you." Anne made another grab for the tin, which he slid effortlessly beyond her grasp. "I think I understand why you wanted me to come here, now. I'm glad you pushed me to do it."
"You are?" His eyes sparkled at her from beneath a rogue curled lock of dark hair.
"Prince Albert is such a thriving place. Doug seems glad enough to see me, and Kate is precious. I love it here."
"You do?" Gilbert tilted his head to the side. "Then why does it seem as though you're about to cry?"
And she proceeded to do just that. Any ounce of self control was lost in the flood of tears streaming down her cheeks, and she was stunned to find herself sobbing loudly, quite powerless to stop, still clutching the smoking candlestick. Had there not been a plethora of emotions rushing through her, she might have howled in embarrassment when Gilbert stood to take her in his arms - in her state, she could only grasp at his sleeves, and bury her face into the plush fabric of his robe.
"Shhh, it's all right," he whispered, his warm breath tickling her ear as they slowly rocked from side to side, performing an odd sort of soothing dance. "Everything's fine. You're just homesick."
Anne supposed she was. "But I don't belong there," she wailed into his shoulder. "And I don't fit in here - I don't know where my place is any longer!"
She felt his chuckle vibrate through his chest. "Oh, don't be so dramatic - you've only been here a week! Anne, look at me." His index rested under her chin, and he gently tipped her head back so that her eyes met his. "It was a big move, and you're tired. Give yourself some time to get settled. Lean on the friends you've got here, and make some more. When you feel confident and well surrounded, you'll go out there and find a purpose: until then, there's no rush."
Great honking sobs had faded to subdued hiccoughs, and mortification flooded her soul. "You're right," she sniffed, releasing her hold on him to reach for a handkerchief. "I'll be fine."
"Of course you will." He steered her to a chair and sat down beside her. "Kate'll make sure of that - provided you keep baking the way you do. Cookie?"
Anne declined, and watched as he popped another piece of shortbread in his mouth. "I'll have to bake some more, if you keep making those disappear," she noted wryly, regaining some composure.
"Why didn't you deliver them tonight?" He raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at her. "Might have been nice of you to stop by, see how Doug's faring."
" I wouldn't want to disturb him anymore than I have," justified Anne. "Besides, he's stopping by after his shift, early in the morning. Who knows how long it's been since someone fixed him a decent breakfast... I do hope he won't be too tired to eat."
"Careful, there - one would think you actually care about him," cautioned Gilbert with a spark of hazel mischief.
"Well, of course I do!" she huffed. "Doug is a dear friend, and I care for him no less than he cares for me."
He smiled enigmatically. "Somehow, I doubt that."
"And what is that supposed to mean?" demanded Anne, striving for a disinterested tone.
"Oh, nothing," he sighed theatrically. "I was just thinking of the bloke who put his commitments on hold to save you from facing a family function alone. The same one who's now twiddling his thumbs between bleeders, all alone in his office..."
"You think I ought to have gone over tonight? Without an invitation?"
"He's asked you to visit over the holidays for years, Anne! What more can a fellow do? Do you wish for him to beg, the way I had?"
Were Gilbert a mere mortal, her wrathful glare ought to have petrified him. Instead, he had the nerve to taunt her with a semi-pensive, semi-amused and entirely infuriating expression. "I don't wish for him or anyone to beg," she seethed through gritted teeth. "I never have, regardless of what you might believe."
"Oh, really?" A dark air took over his features. "Tell me, Anne, how long I'd had to apologize, grovel, make an ass of myself, just so you'd give me the time of day? I've spent more time on my knees than on my feet around you! I persisted for five years: how long do you suppose he'll last?"
Even while reeling from his tirade, she found herself ogling at his form: the tight set of his lips matched the dangerous downward slant of his eyebrows, while the slight hunch of his shoulders and the faint hue of red tinging his cheeks betrayed a certain boyishness. Perhaps it was due to the fact that she'd so seldom seen him loose his temper, but Anne was forced to admit that anger was a rather attractive emotion on Gilbert Blythe. There was something incredibly virile in his outrage, and yet, at the same time, she'd caught a glimpse of vulnerability through the cracks in his strained voice. It was all very alluring.
The thought startled her as it crossed her mind, and his scowl morphed into an expression of bewildered censure. "You're enjoying this?"
"I'm not- how dare you..." she groped for an indignant denial, though was thoroughly unable to focus, as fear and lust raced from the depths of her soul to her mind.
"You are!" he accused, jaw slack in disbelief. "Here I am, back from the dead to offer you guidance and teach you life lessons - and you're staring at me as if-" He was silenced abruptly when a pale finger touched his rosy lips.
"I probably shouldn't be having these feelings - no now not here," Anne began in a low voice. "It makes no sense. I shouldn't be able to see you, hear you, feel you... but I do." She took a slow step forward, then another. "Tomorrow, this will all appear to have been a dream: Doug will come over, and I'll go visit him more frequently. In due time, I'll find a way to earn my keep."
Bolstered by a courage she didn't know she possessed, she extended her hand to him. "Tonight, let it just be us. I want to share this moment with you, and no one else; I wish to lie in your arms. Could we do that, Gil? Would you hold me?"
Her heart paused for a beat, then resumed when his features relaxed into a genuine smile. Gilbert opened his arms to her. "I'm right here, Carrots."