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Anne wasn't sure if it was her wretched parting from Green Gables or the rumbling train that made her feel sick on the way to the Glen. She leaned her head against the window and let the cold pane cool her forehead. Eventually, the rhythm of the train was enough to lull her to sleep - eyes squeezed shut, hands clutching her bag.
She woke the next morning right at the early dawn, bleary and exhausted as if she hadn't slept at all. Taking nervous steps onto the railway platform, Anne looked out over the Glen. The last time she'd been in a place so foreign, she'd come to Avonlea for the first time, a sparkling-eyed, hopeful child. Now, there was no promise of Matthew Cuthbert and home. She only had herself on this unfamiliar corner of her island.
The landscape was a picture of green delight. Thin fog rose from the warm ground, lilting like songs around the trees bathing in yellow morning sun. The hills bore billowing patches of crops and wildflowers. A faint breeze carried with it the salty spray, rolling the sunrise laden clouds above her head. Clutching her carpet bag just the right way, Anne set off.
It wasn't as hard to find the Blythe estate as she thought. It took only asking one polite passerby with just enough panicked desperation and she was pointed in the right direction.
Relief ran through her when she finally arrived. By then, her legs were tired, her eyes were red from exhaustion, and her hand was cramping from holding onto her bag so tightly. The soles of her feet made her want to saw off her entire foot and she was in desperate need of something to drink. She nearly cried in relief when she saw a large brick fence with a plaque across the front that read: J. Blythe Estate.
The main entrance waited for her at the end of a driveway high on a hill covered with trees. A grand front door that was right out of Anne's best imaginations waited for her, though the entirety of the house was just as lovely - cream colored bricks, dozens of windows and towers, ivy growing up the sides. The rest of the property was blocked off by the fence, tall enough that she couldn't quite see what was hiding behind it.
Taking a deep breath, Anne moved up the steps, heels echoing off of the high ceiling of the porch. She rose her hand to the door knocker and banged it thrice. The door swung open almost immediately and an aged man in a black suit stood, eyeing Anne warily.
"May I help you?" his baritone voice boomed.
"Good day sir," Anne greeted as evenly as she could. "I was wondering if I might speak with Dr. Blythe."
"The doctor is out on his calls. Are you in a medical emergency?"
Anne blinked. Did she appear as though she was in a medical emergency?
"Well no, but it's quite urgent-"
"Miss," the man interrupted. "Dr. Blythe is an incredibly busy man. If his medical services are required, then you may place an appointment like everyone else. Otherwise, I'm afraid I cannot help you."
He moved to shut the door, but Anne caught a flash of someone passing by in the background.
"Bash!" she cried out. Bash poked leaned back at the sound coming from his front door, only to be lit up at the sight of her. He looked much the same as he did the day he visited Green Gables, but something about his demeanor was much more businesslike.
"Queen Anne!" he delighted. He walked up and placed a hand on the butler's shoulder, who eyed Anne with hearty suspicion. His eyes seemed to say - Queen? "Mr. Laurent, this woman is an honored guest of Dr. Blythe's. Please, if you would accept her as such."
"Of course, sir. Right away, sir."
Anne was ushered in, bag taken out of her hands before she could say Careful, the seam in the corner is loose and if you don't hold it just the right way -
"Miss Shirley Cuthbert, to what do we owe this pleasant surprise?" Bash asked. She must've appeared as though she were on the verge of collapse, because his face suddenly turned downward. He gently took Anne by the elbow and ushered her into the sitting room just off of the main hall. "Come, let's sit you down."
Anne peered around, admiring the lush room with the eyes of a dreamer. The Blythes had lined many of the walls with bookcases and filled them so tightly with texts that Anne wondered how they didn't collapse. It was everything the storybooks had described about wealth, everything she'd dreamed in the dimmest days of her childhood.
"I know, I thought the same thing when I first came to live here," Bash said. "It takes some getting used to, but when you come from where I did, it's a nice change."
Anne smiled sheepishly into her lap, wringing her hands nervously.
"I'm sorry to drop in unexpected. I promise had it not been urgent, I would've written."
"You know you're welcome here any time. Are you in trouble?" Bash asked, leaning forward.
"No!" Anne said quickly. It must've been how it looked, receiving her unexpectedly in a disheveled state of distress. "No, I'm not in any trouble. But I do need to speak with Gilbert. When does he return from his calls?"
"It's hard to say. Sometimes he arrives home in the early afternoon, sometimes not until the middle of the night. What's the matter, Anne?"
Anne wondered if she ought to get it out of the way and just tell Bash what she'd heard, but before she could, a woman burst into the room with a sheepish young boy at her side.
"Bash baby, I'm leaving this boy in your hands so you can deal with him. Keep him out of the kitchen," she said in a warning tone. "Paul, you'll listen to Mr. LaCroix or you won't be allowed in the main house. That clear?"
Anne stared in awe at the woman and the strength of her fiery eyes. She clearly meant business, hip popped and brow cocked as if she was daring someone to go against her. It reminded her of her Avonlea schoolmarm days, but she hadn't been nearly so compelling as this woman.
"Yes, Mrs. Lacroix," Paul murmured ashamed. Anne recognized the woman as Mary, Bash's wife, from Gilbert's stories. She certainly lived up to his high praise of her.
When Mary was out of earthshot, Paul turned to Bash and all but fell to his knees to prostrate.
"Bash, I promise I just wanted someone quiet to write and the other boys are everywhere! And I can't get poetry written if they're looking over my shoulder, but they always do and I just thought that the kitchen has a few little nooks where I could write."
This boy, Anne appraised, seemed to be kindred as well.
"Paul, we've been over this," Bash said patiently. "If you go in there when the ladies are cooking, you could get burned or stepped on or worse. Dr. Blythe doesn't want you hiding where you can get hurt."
"Dr. Blythe doesn't understand!" Paul argued.
"Mr. Irving." Bash's tone had changed at the drop of a hat. "My word is final. You mean to tell me that in this entire property, you cannot find one spot to write in?"
Paul shifted his weight, red faced and frustrated. His eyes glanced over at the lady sitting the chair watching him with amusement, and some of the annoyance dissipated.
"I'll look again."
He stomped off, tossing Anne a little glance of sparked interest as he passed her.
"Sometimes I wonder what Gil was about when he wanted to take on the harbor, his medical practice, and these boys," Bash sighed.
"If I may ask, how does that work?" Anne asked. Bash rose a brow, so she stumbled to clarify. "Well, I just mean, if you're the business director of the harbor, and Gilbert is the Glen doctor, then who educates the boys?"
"We haven't found someone to educate them quite yet. Gilbert was waiting to find someone trustworthy out of Queens, but each candidate refuses to either associate with the boys or associate with me." He paused. "Or both."
"But if you could find someone, you'd hire them?" Anne said carefully.
"Of course. We've been anxious to educate these boys so they're not completely hopeless when they go off into the real world."
"I know the feeling," she murmured, remembering how far behind she'd been when she first began school. "You know, Bash, I'm a schoolteacher. I used to have the Avonlea school. I taught there for quite some time before the board decided to give it to someone who wanted to save money to attend Redmond."
"Is that why you came? For a job?" Bash asked, but he didn't seem irritated or offended at the prospect. In fact, he seemed interested.
"No, I really do need to speak with Gilbert," Anne answered. "But I packed everything I owned in that carpet bag of mine and decided to take some time away from home for a while. If you need someone to educate the boys, I'd be more than happy to. I love teaching."
"That...that actually sounds like it would work quite nicely. You're sure you won't mind working with orphan children? They can be quite a handful."
"Oh, trust me, I've all the experience I need and then some."
"I'll have to discuss it with Gilbert, but I don't think he'll have any arguments."
She might've said something, but Anne's heart tugged the way it did when she felt him before she saw him. Gilbert was home.
"I'm always in the mood for a good debate, Bash. What are we arguing?" he said, sweeping into the room and rolling down the sleeves at his elbows. When he met eyes with Anne, his face turned into liquid sunlight, appearing so happy he might burst.
"Anne," he murmured, dazed with happiness.
"I doubt you'll want to argue with me on this one, chief. Queen Anne is a very qualified, very accepting, very lovely schoolteacher. Perfect for one house of boys, no?"
Gilbert laughed, shaking his head to make sense of Bash's implication.
"So many surprises at once! Hello, Anne. You are a sight for very sore eyes." He reached for her hand, kissing it gently when she offered it. "I didn't know you were a schoolteacher. I thought you went to Redmond for English."
"Yes, after attending Queen's Academy for teaching," she explained. "Oh, Gil, all that can wait. There is something I simply must discuss with you."
Sensing the impending importance of her news, Gilbert glanced around at the busy house and nodded. He squeezed her hand, which he hadn't let go, and said, "Right then, let's go talk somewhere private."
With a thankful acknowledgement to Bash as she was tugged away, Anne followed behind Gilbert. Watchful eyes fell on them as they journeyed through the house of long, resplendently adorned hallways, so Gilbert released her hand and gave her a shy smile. As they walked, Anne couldn't help but notice how handsome he was from this angle, with his soft, brown hair and splendid chin. Gilbert opened the door to a room that could only be the house library. He stood in the entrance that she might walk in before him and take in the sights.
"I do believe we should be able to talk in here undisturbed," he said sheepishly. Anne's eyes were fixed on a scenic painting on the wall that looked astonishingly like an orchard in Avonlea.
"It's my fault for dropping in without warning," she replied, just as meek. She turned to look at him and found him gazing upon her with unmistakably smitten eyes. Experiencing a lapse in self control, Anne returned the expression with a shy smile. Gilbert let out a joyous laugh, soared forward, and collected her into a warm embrace. She received him in tender happiness, and for the first time since she'd left home, she felt she might truly relax.
"I'm so happy to see you!" he said earnestly.
"And I you!" She pulled herself out of the embrace so she could fix her eyes on him. "But I must tell you something. May we sit?"
At the change in her tone, Gilbert's smile lost its mirth. He nodded and gestured down to the velvety chaise. When they were seated, Anne collected herself, clutching her fists together so tightly that her knuckles had turned pale.
"Do you know Billy Andrews?" she asked slowly. Gilbert grew his clasped fingers under his nose as he thought.
"Billy...You mean William Andrews? Harmon's son?"
"Yes, the very same! He's an Avonlea boy. I grew up with him and he's as horrible as they come."
"Why come all this way to tell me this, Anne?" Anne blinked long, trying to keep her thoughts steady.
"Did you know your father was good friends with Harmon Andrews?"
"I had a faint idea. He often told stories of the mischief they got into together."
"His son, Billy, is second in line for the harbor and the estate. Your father wrote him into his will, likely as tribute to his friendship with Harmon." Gilbert's brows cinched together at this. It was clearly news to him. The lawyers had explained the will to him in common language, but they'd left out all mention of Billy Andrews' role in the proceedings.
"How could you possibly know that? Why, you didn't even know who I was until after you and I met."
"I heard Billy talking in town about how he's interested in taking the estate from you," Anne explained.
Gilbert scoffed.
"I hardly think a lifestyle as a farm hand gives a man the funds required to buy the harbor and estate. Besides, I'd never leave, especially since the boys are here."
"That's just it, Gilbert! Billy doesn't intend to take it with funds . He says he's got a rifle, and he spoke as if he was truly intending to use to it."
Anne's eyes were wild with fear now, staring back at a jolted Gilbert.
"You say he wants to...to kill me?" he murmured. "He doesn't even know me."
A tear trickled down her cheek as she took a steadying breath.
"He didn't know me when he tried to tell the whole town that I was a harlot. He didn't know my close friend when he pushed him off a ladder, injuring him permanently." Anger was flaring in Gilbert's eyes, but not at her. Sensing his rising fury, she took his hand. "Gilbert, I didn't come all the way across the island to make unfounded claims. I came to tell you what I heard him say, because I couldn't rest until you knew. Billy Andrews has always been unpredictable and violent. I don't know if this is something he's capable of, but if he did something to you and I never told you..."
"I believe you, Anne. You did the right thing by coming here," he said seriously. "It seems Providence really did make you my guardian angel. You must let me repay you somehow."
Anne thought this over for a moment, then smiled.
"Well...there is that teaching position that Bash mentioned. You needed someone to educate the boys?" Gilbert smiled and nodded.
"Done."
* # * # *
Anne could nearly see the sea breeze sweeping into the room on a waltz, gliding around the curtains through the empty space in rhythmic time. Her heeled shoes certainly weren't clacking into completely silence when she took a few awed steps forward, the sound of them echoing against the walls.
"How do you like it?" Gilbert asked behind her. Not yet turning to face him, Anne allowed herself to smile at the intricacies of the baby blue wallpaper, the grand size of the bay window that looked out over the sea, and the cloud-like softness of the bed. The good doctor had added his own personal touches to the room in a small vase of wildflowers that sat on the bedside table. "Anne?"
She spun around and gaped.
"I'm sure I don't know what to say," she stuttered out finally. "It's all out of a dream. Are you sure you want to give up this blessed space to a lowly school teacher?"
"Anne, you of all people should know how much I esteem school teachers. And you. If you like the room, then it's yours." Gilbert sighed, running his fingers along one of the smooth wooden tables along the wall. "This room was my mother's personal study. I wasn't alive when she used it, but from what I understand, it was sacred to her. Something about being so close to the beach. There are stairs to the water, you know. I had my staff bring in a bed for you, but if it isn't comfortable, please tell me. My mother always just slept on the chaise."
Anne gave a small smile, white sunlight reflecting into the room onto her rosy face. Gilbert couldn't help but feel himself thawing into raw tenderness at the sight of her.
"I'm honored, Gil, truly. I shall read and dream and imagine in this room with as much reverence and sanctity as it deserves. Thank you for preparing it for me, and for the adding the bed. I've never been much of a couch sleeper," she chuckled. Gilbert's cheeks dimpled, a sight that sent an odd delight through Anne.
"Of course, Anne. If you find you need anything, simply ask."
"May I trouble you for some ink and a quill, then? I ought to write to Marilla and tell her I've made it safely."
"Already thought of that," Gilbert boasted, pointing to the desk near the window. "A typewriter for all those lovely musings and thoughts you'd like to write down, and an ink and quill in the drawer for your pen tip to dictate your words."
"Thank you, Dr. Blythe," Anne laughed. "I fear you've anticipated all my needs and I've not realized it!"
"Maybe some," he admitted with a shy shrug. "Like your need to eat. Dinner is at six, so take your time to get comfortable. I'm just down the hall if you need anything."
After another humble thank you from Anne, Gilbert left the euphoric redhead to the splendor of the room. Stunned, she tiptoed across the wooden floors as if she were in church and settled on the couch by the window. To think, this breathtaking space was all her own!
When her excitement had been contained, Anne remembered her responsibility. She settled at her new desk with a weighted heart, pulled the materials from the drawer, and began to write.
* # * # *
Blythe Estate
North Blythe Harbor Rd.
Glen St. Mary, PEI
Tuesday, September 26th.
Dearest Marilla,
No doubt you have taken one long look at the return address atop this letter and realized that I have successfully arrived at my destination. I made it here with little difficulty, if not a touch battered and hungry.
I will not trouble you with the grueling details of train-sickness or my unfamiliarity with the Glen. (In truth, the ride was lovely and the Glen is even moreso.) I shall keep my words brief and inform you that Dr. Blythe has been made aware of the situation and intends to begin necessary precautions this evening. There is, however, some news that I fear will send Mrs. Lynde into what Gilbert calls "conniptions."
I intend to stay here at the estate until further notice. You see, Gilbert has taken on forty-three orphan asylum boys with intentions to care for them, but had no suitable means to educate them. I happened to know a very unemployed, yet very qualified young schoolmarm who has plenty of experience with orphan children. To answer Mrs. Lynde's inevitable questions - as well to alleviate your assured worries- no, the doctor and I are not involved. Propriety is upheld to the utmost here, as you will recall the Blythes are good Presbyterians, just like you and I.
I am safe here, Marilla. I am happy, well-fed, and employed. I am with people who cherish me as I deserve and excited to spread some of that love to young souls who have had beginnings much like my own. When you have forgiven me for my unpleasant leaving of Green Gables, remind me to tell you of darling Paul Irving, of my seaside bedroom, of the extravagant chandeliers, and of Dr. Blythe - of whom I am increasingly fond and impressed. I would be pleased to receive any response you're willing to send. I remain
Ever yours,
Anne
(PS - It's fortunate Gilbert and I did not grow up in the same classroom, for I fear I would have developed a stormy envy towards him. Or maybe it would have been better that way. I wouldn't feel like such a imposter of elegance and beauty in this home. Oh, Marilla, please do forgive me. I need you desperately. - AS)
* # * # *
Just outside the door of the schoolroom, Anne stood with her eyes closed and her heart only seconds away from bursting out of her chest. She'd never been this nervous with students before, but the circumstances of her students had never felt so dire before. All these young boys, unfamiliar and rough around the edges, weren't just to be taught their curriculum. They needed to be taught to love and to trust, that their lives were worthwhile and had meaning. Could she do it? Was she strong enough?
Gilbert had all but promised to be by her side on this first day - promises cannot be made when you hold the medical safety of a town in your hands - but had been pulled away with a patient, leaving Anne to weather this storm by herself. She'd be fine, she told herself, she'd weathered worse before.
Pushing open the door, Anne quickly noticed the silence that befell the forty-three boys, their messy heads of hair spinning to the front chalkboard all at once. She caught sneaky sideways glances at her as she walked up the middle aisle. The muscles in her shoulders felt tense, so she took another deep breath, held the edge of her desk with tight fingers, and faced the boys.
They were practically purple, holding their breath as not to be reprimanded.
"Alright lads, let's all take a keep breath together. I feel we all could use one," she said finally. Inhaling a stream of air into her lungs, she gestured for the boys to follow. "Deep breath in, fill up those lungs."
One by one the boys followed.
"Hold it," she said tersely. "Now let it out, nice and strong."
All at once, exhales flung out of the boys like slingshots, carrying with them the heaviness of their worries and fears.
"There, doesn't that feel better?" A few shy smiles greeted her, and Anne felt her heart warming. "I am Miss Shirley. The forty-four of us will be embarking on an academic adventure over the next few months, but trust me when I say that we will be journeying side by side. I won't leave any of you behind." Anne brushed a strand of hair away from her face and side. "Easy for me to just throw the word trust around, isn't it? Let me prove myself to you all."
Then, surprising all the boys - and perhaps even herself - Anne walked to the front of her desk and sat right upon the top of it, crossing her ankles and folding her hands. The boys gawked; half filled with shock and a delighted thrill.
"Dr. Blythe did not want to trust just anyone with the safety of your futures. I know you boys have seen a dozen faces standing here with the same promises I offer now. You've seen stiff-necked, older gentlemen who thrive off of dull memorization. Mustachey, bird-nosed fellows who would rather ridicule than teach. Voluptuous schoolmarms with a proclivity for whooping. Believe me, I have met them all. I met them all when I sat where you sit now, a nervous orphan child with a hunger for knowledge and a desire to gain worth."
A wave of understanding swelled over the class.
"So every little feeling of inadequacy you've got, I've felt and overcome it. Every frustration with geometry and latin spelling, I've fumed it. I am here to help you with all the challenges you meet this year, because I know you boys are more than capable of achieving great things," Anne continued. Then, she cocked a brow and threw a warning glance over the crowd. "But I'll have you know, that means I've also heard every shocking word you could utter and thought of every cruel little prank your minds could think of. I will not tolerate such impediments to our goal in this classroom, and if see such happenings, I'll report it to Dr. Blythe who I'm told was once a schoolteacher himself."
Anne wasn't sure if the atmosphere was filled with fear or respect. She was quite ready to show her new students that fear was no place for a classroom. Instead, they could all be comrades in the quest for knowledge and achievement.
"But enough of such introductory nonsense. Grab your slates and a piece of chalk. We're going outside! Have you fellows ever learned anything about plant cells?"
* # * # *
The next month passed in a flurry of autumn leaves, beautiful while it was there but flown away before Anne could stop to enjoy it. Through means of fate, she'd ended up a member of this beautiful, sundry family with all forty-seven of its members. Sometimes she wondered if it was all real, the kindred connection with her students or the early mornings spent in the kitchen with Mary helping her prepare breakfast for the boys.
Then there was Gilbert - sweet, compassionate, intelligent Gilbert who had a sense of a humor that sent each of the boys howling. Dr. Blythe was most beloved to the boys, a true gentleman that they strived to impress. He still had moved around on his crutch, but was in the latter stages of his healing. Anne found herself in Gilbert's library at strange hours of the day, mostly during the late nightfall after he returned from doctoring duties. Together they sat in moonshine and candlelight, telling stories and unfolding each other like a damp letter, carefully and reverently.
One night, Anne had been wrapped in the marshy softness of her blankets and bedding when she heard the door down the hall clip shut. Oftentimes, this sound came welcomed to her, for it meant that Gilbert had returned home safely, but on this particular evening, Anne felt a strange sense that she ought so seek him out. Slipping on her robe, she ignored her bare feet and loose cascades of red hair, and made her way to his bedroom door.
He answered immediately when she knocked. He took one long look down at her with a surprisingly hard and unreadable expression and moved that she might sneak in.
"If Mrs. Lynde knew you were here at this hour, she'd certainly drag you home herself," he muttered quietly, unable to look her in the eye. Anne tucked her arms protectively across her chest and shrugged.
"That would involve her coming into this room at this hour, and I think we're quite safe from that." He couldn't help but smile at that. Anne tilted her head as she peered curiously at him, candlelight turning her face into a half-lit moon. "What's the matter, Gil?"
Gilbert released a dejected sigh that he'd been holding onto and plopped back onto one of his heavily upholstered sofas. Anne sat beside him, patiently waiting for the man to open himself for her tender analysis.
"Nothing is wrong," he said finally.
" Gilbert, you are positively-"
"Alright, alright!" he admonished, running his hand through the messy curls atop his head. "Aside from the terrible ache in my leg and the fact that my father passed away five years ago today" - Anne sucked in a sharp breath - "I lost a patient today. A patient I was positive I could save. I even made the mistake of telling her husband so, and getting his hopes up. But to tell him I'd been wrong and that she wouldn't…" Gilbert's lips clamped shut and he swallowed. "I think I took on too much. I can't be a doctor and run this harbor. I can't."
Anne didn't hold any answers to his problems. His grief was all his own, insecurities too strong a storm for even her to pull him out of. But while Gilbert knew how to treat matters of physical pain, Anne knew a thing or two about aches of the heart.
At first, she simply stayed with him and allowed him to dwell on his thoughts without judgment. In those moments, she was attuned to his shallow breaths and furrowed brow, as well as the wax dripping from the candle on the table beside them.
"Wait here," she said after a silence. He nodded, barely aware of the ten minutes she was gone as if they passed by in years of haze and cloudiness. When she slipped back into the room, she was a sight that brought relief to him, rosy skin dewy in the evenlight. In her hands she carried a small tray with a sandwich, a steaming hot chocolate, and some of the buttered vegetables they'd had at dinner without him. On the side of the tray, Anne had dropped some of the small chocolate sweeties that she'd used to make the rich beverage in a neat little smiling face. She set the tray down on the table in front of him.
"It's much harder to think sad thoughts when your stomach is full," she said simply. "I know you didn't eat dinner."
Gilbert's small smile was her undoing, soft around the edges and genuine in its appreciation. He began to eat, moaning at the first sip of hot chocolate in a way that made Anne look away lest she burn alive.
"Do you think you could talk about it?" Anne asked when most of the meal was eaten. Gilbert set down his ceramic tankard and let out another sigh.
"Mrs. Graham died today of the same thing that killed my father. The same respiratory disease that made me decide to become a doctor. In many cases, it can be cured if caught early enough, but let unattended, it's nearly impossible to manage. I was so sure that I caught it early enough and that I had finally conquered it. But I miscalculated, observed the symptoms incorrectly." His voice broke, so he took another sip of hot chocolate. "It all hit too closely to home, I suppose."
"I understand the feeling," Anne empathized. "Being around the boys and teaching them is like looking in the mirror and seeing my eleven-year-old self. You and I are putting ourselves close to the things that hurt us in hopes that it helps other people. That has to count for something, doesn't it?"
"It's not worth anything if I'm not successful," Gilbert lamented. "People die when I fail, Anne."
"No, I think it's worth everything no matter the outcome. Tell me, did you ease Mrs. Graham's pain?"
"Well, yes, as much as I could-"
"And you ensured she was in conditions that made her feel safe and comfortable?"
"Yes. Anne, I know where you're going with this and-"
"Her husband was there? Maybe her children?" Gilbert held his tongue, giving in after a moment.
"All of them," he answered finally. "They were all there."
" You gave them that. That woman's soul was content and safe when the night swept her away. You can't control death, Gilbert, but you can do everything you can to make a person feel like they're worth something. That's what your speciality is, I think. And for what it's worth, I truly cannot believe that her death was by a folly of yours. Sometimes the Almighty just makes up his mind about a thing and we can't do anything but accept it."
Gilbert's jaw tightened as Anne watched one tear trickle down his face. Feeling it hit his nose, he gave a sharp inhale, then brushed it aside with a hand and chuckled.
"I'm in awe of you, Anne Shirley, truly," he murmured gently. Anne felt like steam rising up and away, smooth in its curve toward dissipation. Gilbert brought the tray of food back to the table, then collapsed back against the couch, leaning his head to the side to stretch the muscles of his neck. A hiss escaped his lips when he shifted his injured leg beneath him.
"Where does it hurt? Just your leg?" Anne asked.
"Everywhere," he admitted, and Anne wondered if he was talking about more than just his body. Though she was ready to go to sleep, she couldn't leave him when he was like this, not when his eyes were silently asking for her to stay.
"Turn this way," she instructed, trying her best not to sound too much like a schoolmarm.
"What are you-"
"Gil, for once will you just listen without question?"
The man gave her an exhausted look, finally giving into her request and turning so that his back was facing her. He sucked in a sharp breath when her hands trailed up his back and neck.
"Do you trust me?" she whispered near his ear. His answer came almost immediately, breathy and broken.
"Yes."
"Then close your eyes and relax. I won't hurt you."
Like the tide rising up at the first hints of the moon, Anne's hands made a slow ascent through his brown curls, nails dragging along his scalp, until her fingers were pressed up against his temples. His head fell back, a small sigh escaped in resignation to the bliss of her touch. Slowly, her fingers moved in small circles against his head, releasing the tension of five years of mourning and of this new grief. The swirls and tugs of her touch eased the soreness like a hot compress. When the pressure had released, she moved her fingers down the side of his face in a featherlight touch that turned him to fire.
"Where did you learn to do this?" he slurred, drunk on the pleasure of it.
"When I was younger, I often got headaches because I cried so frequently. Matthew did this to ease the pain, to make me feel loved."
Gilbert shivered. He felt loved, more than loved - encaptured in her tender touch, safe in her ministrations. As her hands carefully massaged the muscles in his neck, Gilbert paid close attention to the electric delight of his nerves wherever her fingers made contact with his skin. He let out another breathy sound when she pressed her thumbs into a tightness in his back, smoothing out the skin until the tension had drained from him like a stormcloud abandoning all its rain unto the ground.
"You're a good man," Anne said slow and soft to him as she pressed her palms into his back, her nails trailing behind. "A capable doctor, a kind soul. You are exactly where you need to be. You'll be okay."
She could see a salty tear catch the underside of his jaw, then brushed it away. Nudging him so he might turn back to her, she found him looking at her as if his soul had been newly born - vulnerable and tender.
"Close your eyes," she murmured kindly. He complied immediately this time.
An unexpected thought crossed Anne's mind. What would happen if she kissed him? Would he recoil away? Take her into his arms and return it sevenfold? The uncertainty frightened her.
Instead, she pressed her thumbs onto his eyelids as gently as she could and rubbed in small circles.
"Do you think you can rest now?" her gentle voice asked when she pulled her hands away.
"I think so," he replied. Blue eyes slowly slid open to meet hers, more content than they were when she first began. The trouble had left him, leaving behind an exhausted Gilbert Blythe in need of a good night's rest. Anne reached out and grabbed his hand, giving it a little.
"I'll tell the housemaids not to wake you unless there's a medical call. Goodnight, Gilbert."
She had released his hand and closed the door behind her when finally Gilbert had found the strength in his to whisper, "Goodnight Anne."