It had happened sometime during her stay at the estate that Anne came to love the absence of silence. The heavy soundlessness only descended upon the house in the evening hours after all the servants and schoolboys were asleep. As soon as the sun shone its first hints of light on the east facing harbor, there came to be voices and laughter and singing and gossiping.
How she adored these Sunday afternoons, where she could delve into her favorite novel on the settee beside her window and let the gentle crashing of waves near the house hone her focus. In the foyer beneath her, one of the boys practiced a bumpy rendition of a Mozart work, but the melody drifted up to her like a song on the wind.
Above all the soft noise, Anne was broken out of her reading by a knock at the door.
"Come in, please!" she said, straightening up from her reclined position to one suitable for guests. She hoped it might be Gilbert, but couldn't be disappointed when Mary poked in her friendly face.
"Hey there, Anne. Got free moment?" she said. Anne crossed the room to her radiant new friend, noticing the letter she was carrying.
"I was just doing a little light reading," Anne assured. "Besides, I've always got time for you. Is something the matter?"
Mary's smile faltered then, and Anne could see in her eyes about a thousand things the woman wished to say. Some were good, she supposed, but there was a caution in Mary's expression, as well. Certainly she wasn't afraid to speak to Anne. Why, Anne had been under the impression that the two of them were kindred from the first!
"What do you know about the Stuart family?" Mary said carefully. The name wasn't familiar at all to Anne. There wasn't anyone in Avonlea with the name, and as far as she knew, none of the boys belong to the Stuarts.
"Nothing, I suppose. Why?" Mary hummed, seemingly displeased with this answer.
"No reason. Just curious," she lied, but Anne wasn't brave enough to question further. "This came for you in the mail today."
Mary thrusted Anne the ivory colored envelope as if the diversion of it would be enough to distract her from the few seconds of conversation. Anne took the letter, nonetheless, noticing how light in her hands it was compared to the other correspondences she'd received before. She flipped it over so that she might see the return address, and gasped.
"M. Cuthbert," she muttered. "It's from my mother."
"That's good, isn't it?" Anne wasn't quick to respond, but if Mary noticed the change in her tone, she didn't say it. Running a finger over the smooth parchment, Anne swallowed back a rock forming in her throat.
"I hope so. Thank you, Mary. I think I'll go out by the trees and read for a while."
She could feel Mary's eyes on her as she left, a heavy apprehensive look that mothers give their daughters the first time she walks herself to school. Still, she said nothing as she slipped out of the house, the laughter and noise she'd reveled in just moments ago suddenly an unbearable cacophony.
Gilbert came to her sometime later, after she'd read the letter over and over and over until she had each heartbreaking word memorized and dry fingertips from grasping the paper. When he found her though, she was leaning completely still against the sturdy trunk of a tree, looking out as the late afternoon sun prepared to take its first descending steps. He wasn't sure if she had heard him approach, and decided to simply settle down beside her to gaze off at the same lovely horizon. Anne didn't turn to him. Instead, she handed him an open envelope and crossed her arms on her knees.
Gilbert saw the return address, understanding almost immediately the cause of her sudden quiet.
"May I read it?" he asked quietly. Anne nodded, leaning her chin on her arms. Clearing his throat, he began to read in a low tone.
"Dear Anne, I would like to ask you to restrict your correspondence with Green Gables to matters of urgency or absolute importance. Rachel and I are very busy with the Ladies Aid and with church volunteer work, and thus are short on time to write letters. I know you will understand. Sincerely, Marilla?" Gilbert finished incredulously. "Anne, I...I cannot fathom she was in her right mind when she wrote that."
"Marilla is always in her right mind, Gil. It was me. I hurt her more than I've ever hurt her before and now she certainly despises me." He turned to face her, expression kind.
"I don't think she could. You're her daughter."
"Only by choice. Certainly now I am merely an obligation because of prior commitment."
"Anne, that's not true and you know it."
She wished she could believe it, but the scarred insecurities that she'd known as a child were beginning to show their nasty heads again and she feared if she opened her mouth, he'd hate what she'd say. Still, if the ease in their friendship had taught her anything in the past weeks, it was that being honest with Gilbert felt easy and beautiful. To feel his presence beside her was like reading a sonnet over and over and over, dwelling in the same warm sensations of the language every time. Maybe that was why she confessed,
"If Matthew were still alive, he would've known this was what I had to do. He would've seen how important this is to me. How important you are to me."
Gilbert's cheeks lifted into a red-hued smile, and he reached out and grabbed her hand.
"I know the feeling," he replied quietly. "Anne, I'm sorry Marilla's letter wasn't what you hoped it would be, but she'll come around. I know she will."
Anne ran her hand through the strands of grass at her side, pausing as longer strands got tangled against her fingers.
"You're right," she said, looking up at the horizon with its first hints of pink and orange. Far below them, the ocean churned, content to be made beautiful by the dusk and the gentle breeze. "Thank you, Gilbert. For what it's worth, I don't regret the decision I made the night I left Green Gables. I'd choose it all over again if I had to."
Gilbert sucked his lip under his teeth to bite back his grin, but it blossomed in his eyes before he could hide the full extent of its splendor from Anne.
"I have some things I'd like to discuss with you tonight after supper. Suppose you come by my study whenever is convenient for you?" he suggested carefully.
"Wouldn't you rather discuss them now?" she laughed. It wasn't often they got a moment like this alone together without any servants listening, schoolboys interrupting, or Bash teasing. In fact, the last time they'd been this close and breathing the same air was that night in Gilbert's room when they'd bled out their truths together.
The memory of it brought Anne back to the present, but to a different reality than she'd been in moments ago. This was a reality where she ached to lean forward and press herself to him. She'd taste the hardened lines of his jaw, run her fingertips along the firmness of his chest, allow him to kiss all the sensitive parts of her throat.
Unaware of the onslaught of longing that had begun to drive Anne mad with yearning and fear, Gilbert wrapped an arm about her waist and pulled her so that she might lean her head upon his shoulder.
"It can wait. I think I am quite content to stay here for a while longer, here with you."
* # * # *
Anne had never been to Gilbert's study before. It was a space that was protected by the unspoken rule that no one should bother the doctor when he was in his office, and no one should enter when he wasn't.
"I keep confidential documents on file in my study," he had explained to her one day. "In a town this small, disclosed medical records have the power to devastate a person's reputation or pride."
But rarely did someone have an invitation from the doctor himself like she did.
"It's because I trust you, Anne."
A few servants sent her wary glances as they passed her in the hallway, peering over their shoulders as she shifted from foot to foot before his door. Her palms had developed a thin layer of sweat, and she wiped them across her dress. It was just Gilbert, she told herself. She spoken with him dozens of times before. Why should her heart beat nearly out of her chest at the prospect of seeing him now? Fortifying herself, Anne squared her shoulders and knocked on the door.
"Just a moment," came Gilbert's muffled voice from inside the office. Anne folded her hands behind her back and balanced her features. When the door drifted open, she was smiling up at him the same way she always did, but the sight of candlelit contours made her fight the instinct to melt to the floor. He had put back on his brown doctor's jacket after dinner, but the solitude of his own thoughts had sent him rustling his hand through his hair, tossing his brown curls every which way.
"Hello, Anne," he greeted warmly. "Come in, won't you?"
Gilbert's study look just like every other room in the house, with its walls lined with bookshelves and ornate, coffered ceiling. He kept his large desk off to the left of the room near the marble fireplace, with a leather padded examination chair near the window looking over the sea. The only shelf in the room that was free of some sort of bound text was one which held several locked boxes and wooden cases which Anne could only assume contained medical utensils. Perhaps the highlight of the room was the view from the window of glistening moon hovering just over the horizon. The light shone onto the calm waves, oscillating with the sea like a heartbeat.
"You're quiet," he said.
"You told me not many people are permitted in here. I was just looking around to see how accurate the image I conjured up was."
"Is it everything you imagined?" Gilbert asked, amused.
"No, it seems I am constantly and pleasantly surprised by the splendor of your home."
"It's your home too, Anne. You know you're welcome here as long as you like. Forever if you wish it."
There was something heavier in the question that Anne couldn't quite name. Forever was certainly a long time. Would she be overstaying her welcome if she continued to live here after Gilbert found a wife and had children of his own? Unless, of course, by forever he meant…
Anne cleared her throat, stopping her derailing thoughts in their tracks.
"You said there something you wanted to discuss?" she asked politely. Gilbert led her to sit in the chair in front of his desk, pulling the upholstered seat for her before going round the other side of the table and taking his own place.
"It's more something I wanted to ask your opinion on," he stated, leaning back in his chair a little. Anne quirked a brow, urging him to continue. "It recently occurred to me that I am the only individual in my...circle that has taken an interest in investing in social matters."
"The orphan asylum?"
"Yes. I've found it incredibly rewarding to watch these boys grow up and know that they've been re-enfranchised their right to a quality life and education. But I'm the only one making an effort and I know for certain that the rest of the harbor investors have the funds to make such impacts themselves. And -" He paused. "You don't look nearly as surprised as I thought you might."
"Gilbert, I lived in those asylums. I know how I was treated. We were certainly never the object of monetary pity, just unmitigated disgust."
The doctor looked down at his desk and tightened his jaw.
"I hope you know I'm not helping those boys out of pity," he swore solemnly.
Anne did know. She'd seen the way he was with the boys, the way he loved them as truly and mentored them as dedicated as he might if all forty-three of them were his own. What she doubted, in the truest depths of her heart, was whether or not Gilbert was helping her out of pity, out of obligation. She would've saved his life that day in the storm, whether he was the poorest man in Canada or the richest. But she'd leave right that instant if she was given any evidence that her position was given to her out of pity for her unmarried and unemployed poor situation.
"Anne?" Gilbert asked, a little uneasy. "You know I mean what I say."
"Yes! Yes, sorry," Anne sputtered out. "Thinking about such things has always been somewhat unpleasant for me and I get pulled into my own mind. But I think I may have an idea of how you may encourage your peers to find empathy in their hearts without making open judgments on how they spend their money."
"I'm all ears," Gilbert replied, leaning forward.
"Host a charity ball. They're likely antiquated these days, but I'm willing to bet that crowd would do anything to dress to the nines and flaunt their own accomplishments. Request a small donation upon entry and forward the proceeds to the asylum directly."
Folding his fingers underneath his chin, a mischievous glint flickered in his eye.
"That's positively genius!" he agreed. "I've been to similar events in the past. People boast about their donations to such an extent that others have raised their own out of spite! It's a dirty tactic, but I think it just might work."
"It doesn't have to be all dirty," Anne supplied. "Gilbert, your appeal as a doctor and a businessman is how personable and genuine you are. If you confide in your wealthier friends about the fulfilling feeling of improving another human's life, perhaps they will find themselves urged to become more involved themselves. You can appeal to their empathy and sensibility. Use me as an example. I'd gladly talk about my upbringing if it meant I could help the boys at the asylum."
Gilbert's eyes became soft as starlight.
"You'd do that?"
"For you, and for them, I would."
"I'll discuss the idea with Bash, but if he agrees, I imagine we could host the event before the end of autumn." The excited sparkle in his eye dimmed as another thought crossed through his mind, his mouth parted as he searched for the right way to begin. "There is something else," he said, breaking the pause.
Anne worried for a moment that she might have done something to displease him, but a new fear came over her entirely when he said,
"I've been in correspondence with William Andrews."
Anne's stomach fell the floor and she sucked in a sharp breath to keep from gasping.
"Are you angry?" he asked, fists clenched with his own nervousness.
"No! Gilbert, no, not even a little. I'm…" Her fingers found the folds of her skirts, tugging to release her building dread. At last she settled on, "Frightened. Your tone suggests it hasn't been going well."
"He wrote to ask about a potential arrangement to be made in the fulfillment of my father's will."
"Certainly your father's will has already been fulfilled," Anne replied.
"That was my initial response to him. Aside from the inheritance set aside for my children, or Bash's children should I not have any myself, all the money has been distributed. I believe Billy meant to renegotiate the terms of the will."
"You can't renegotiate a will!" Anne cried, suddenly disgusted at the prospect. Of course Billy didn't care a single thing about John Blythe or his dying wishes! All he cared about was his own gain.
"Not to mention my father already honored his friendship with Harmon. Billy received some inheritance five years ago, as per the will's instructions, but Billy believes it wasn't adequate."
"That's ridiculous! Who is he to say that an inheritance isn't adequate?"
"I refused all of his requests to meet in person. My hands are full enough managing the Harbor with Bash and running out on medical calls to deal with a petulant man's greedy intentions. Especially with my latefather's money."
Anne crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair with an impressed chuckle.
"Why, Dr. Blythe, you have some gumption to speak of, after all."
"You knew it was there," he retorted, face flushing.
"I knew it was there when you called me a siren," Anne agreed. "But why are you telling me this now? Did you want me to...talk to Billy?"
"No!" Gilbert rushed. "I want you to stay as far from him as you can. I don't say that to try and control you, Anne, I'm just convinced now more than ever that Billy has ill intentions with my life in order to get what he wants. I'm telling you because even though I believed you before, I had my doubts, and for that I am sorry. I believe you completely, wholeheartedly now. I want you to know what I intend to do about it - starting with something I believe you may be able to help you with."
"You want my help?"
"Of course! You know what Billy looks like. I've never met the man. I'd like you to describe him as best you can, like one of your book characters if you have to, so that I can inform the staff to be on the look. I fear it's not just my own safety at stake, but Bash's, yours, and the boys. I need to keep my family safe."
So she did. Anne waited for Gilbert to open one of his leather notebooks, then began to describe the yellow undertone of his pale face, the almost triangular roundness of his head, and the straight gold hair he always kept slicked to the right. She told Gilbert things she had never noticed about Billy until she was forced to think about him, but just the image in her mind was enough to set her stomach churning.
"His eyes are slanted down just a little," she explained. "And he walks with such an entitled air that you'd like to just kick his legs out from underneath him!"
"Is that all?" Gilbert said with a hint of playfulness.
"That's all I ever cared to notice," she said stately.
"If that's all you ever cared to notice about someone you don't like, I'd love to hear how you describe someone you do like."
Then, perhaps because she was a bit impulsive and eager as Marilla always said she was, she responded in an even tone, "Then ask me about you sometime."
Gilbert's lips lifted in a crooked smile and his eyes lifted from his journal to stare at her straight on.
"I like you too," he said quietly with that smile that Anne could have lived a happy, torment-free life without seeing. Feeling a swell in her chest that, if bubbled out, would have resulted in her flinging herself across the desk and kissing him square on his soft mouth, Anne stood up. Gilbert jumped at her abruptness, but rose to his feet.
"Yes, well, I'd best be off to prepare for bed. Class meets in the morning and it wouldn't be fair to the boys if their schoolteacher is dead on her feet! I'll see you tomorrow, I'm sure!"
Gilbert was not to be thus sidetracked.
"Anne," he called out - not desperately, not quickly, but calmly as if he knew what he was doing.
"Yes?" She felt exposed in front of him, like his gaze was seeing through her skin and into most honest corners of herself that she never dared touch.
"Would you like to spend some time with me tomorrow? Just the two of us?"
A thousand questions were reeling in her head all at once, some curious (Where will you take me?), some wary (Won't we be interrupted by your patients? Surely they are more important?), some positively alarmed (Do you mean on a romantic tryst?) All she needed to do was look up at the hopeful smile and the matching adorative smile to for all her questions to be answered.
Gilbert Blythe cared about her, and it terrified her.
Suddenly, Anne realized that if she had given into the irrational urge to kiss him like she'd longed to only moments ago, he probably would have let her. Maybe he would have taken her up in his arms and pressed as close as could be allowed with the separation of the desk. She finally get to touch his soft hair the way she yearned to, and be treated with reverence in return.
She cared about him, too, and more than that, she trusted him. She'd never trusted anyone before, not like this.
But she had to give him an answer because she if she waited any longer, he might just turn completely white and take it all back.
"Of course," she said in a sure tone. "I think I'd like that."
A grin erupted on Gilbert's face, the kind Anne knew he wouldn't be able to bite back with all his strength. He reached out like he might take her hands in his and press each of her smooth fingertips to his lips one by one. Just the thought of it made heat erupt beneath her neck and blaze up to the apples of her cheeks, but he caught himself and stuffed his hands in his pockets.
"Excellent, I'll come collect you after your class dismisses tomorrow."
Anne doubted her feet touched the floor as she walked back to her room, feeling that there were clouds beneath her toes that carried her on the early autumn breeze.
* # * # *
Looking back, Anne wished she could report not falling prey to the temptation of vanity for the sake a man's presence. To report so would be a lie, one that she didn't feel too ashamed about. It had been one of the only times that she allowed herself to dedicate a few extra minutes in front of her ornate vanity to style her hair into a pretty style she'd seen Diana wear once. In fact, it had been Diana's idea in the first place.
"Oh, I know what Marilla says about vanity, but there's no harm in wanting to feel pretty in your own skin," she'd written in one of her letters. "Darling, it sounds like you really care for this man. I know that probably frightens you, so spend a few extra and dote on yourself like you dote on me! Tuck your hair in that elegant style you admire, whisper some encouraging words to yourself, and show that man the absolute treasure that you are! You're a rare gift, Anne Shirley, and if Dr. Blythe can't see it for himself, I will march up to the Glen and tell him myself!"
Now she was alone in the empty classroom, the chattering of the boys echoing in the hallway outside the door. Standing at the window outlooking the estate garden where the boys tended to play amongst the shaped bushes and patches of lilies and daisies, Anne stared at her own reflection. In books, it seemed so easy for the heroine to gain the attention of the her affection's object. But the heroines in her stories tended to be wealthy, beautiful, and demure. She was none of those things, but wouldn't Gilbert like a girl who was imaginative and kind better? Brave in her own vulnerable strength? She chanced another glance at her reflection, and when her gaze focused, she thought she looked a tiny bit lovelier than she had a moment ago.
Ever more lovely, she could make out the silhouette of a beloved man leaning against the doorframe, waiting and watching with easy patience. Anne spun around, flush warming her cheeks.
"Just how long have you been standing there, Gil?"
He gave a playful shrug, nodding toward the door.
"Not long. Do you have time for a small rendezvous with adventure?" he asked in a sort of purr-like sound that made Anne bite her lip.
"Whenever I'm with you, it seems like I'm going on some life-altering adventure." Nevertheless, she took some small steps forward, allowing the friendly doctor to take her hand in his calloused one.
"That," Gilbert emphasized, "hardly sounds like a complaint, Miss Shirley."
"I suppose that depends on what you have planned today," she teased back.
"Oh, but what is life without a little bit of surprise?" He sent an impish glance her way, then took down the hallway, running with boyish delight toward the woods. Anne let out a surprised gasp, pausing just long enough to let Gilbert put some distance between them, before picking up her skirts and setting off after him.
"I think I've had quite enough surprise in my life! I seem to recall being quite surprised when I found a young sailor bobbing like an apple in a seastorm! And then I was even more surprised to find he was not a sailor at all!" she called after him, gaining on him as his stamina waned. "Gilbert, I don't think it's very dignified for a schoolteacher to chase after a doctor in -" she tripped over the last step of the boys' living building "-in such a chaotic fashion!"
"Who's going to scold us?" Gilbert laughed, spinning around to meet her eyes. "This is my home!"
Just as Anne's lungs felt that they might give out, Gilbert himself skidded to a halt and bent over. The afternoon heat from the yellowish sun produced a thick drop of sweat on his brow, which he wiped away unceremoniously and flicked into the grass. Anne's chest heaved as she watched Gilbert throw his head back and let out a carefree guffaw.
"You're looking at me as if you've seen a ghost, Anne!" he said, laughing so hard his eyes had sprung tears in the corners. She couldn't help but reciprocate the mirth.
"You try running in a corset, Dr. Blythe. I'm merely - stop laughing at me! - I'm merely wondering what has suddenly possessed you!"
Gilbert released a long Ahhh sound with a happy sigh.
"I think I've been spending too much time around those boys! Oh, what I'd give to take back my stolen youth!" he said dramatically. Anne's smile faltered - stolen youth? - but Gilbert wasn't about to let it fall completely off her face. "Come Queen Anne, I think I'm finally ready to show you your surprise."
He extended a strong hand to her, which she accepted without question. As they moved beyond the border of the tended garden and into the thicket of the forest, Gilbert caressed her knuckles with his thumb.
"If there's anything that these past weeks has taught me, it's that you are indeed not a siren," he murmured. The sunlight peeking through the trees turned the ground into a kaleidoscope of light and shadows.
"Oh, then what am I?" Anne said, half distracted by the first hints of burnt umber leaves trickling down onto the crisp soil and the age-old trees that stretched wise, old limbs up to the midday sky. Her gait had slowed as she took in the sights around her, and Gilbert leaned down beside her ear and whispered,
"A dryad." Anne had enough bravery to turn part of the way toward Gilbert, finding their faces so close together she could smell the sweet smell of sea salt coming off of him. He chanced a single glance down at her lips, then continued walking, pulling Anne along with him.
"I suppose you're right. I couldn't live where there were no trees; something vital in me would starve," she said leisurely, though her heart hadn't stopped racing its marathon.
"I'm much the same way," Gilbert agreed. "My family in Avonlea had this marvelous orchard that seemed to stretch on for miles and miles. Whenever I visited, I could occupy myself hours and hours, filling my lungs with air and my stomach with apples."
"Oh, I know that orchard," Anne said with a fond amount of wistfulness. The orchard in question always appeared to Anne like the Garden of Eden, though she was free to pluck as many apples as she was hungry for without fear of sin. She tightened her grip on his hand, feeling that being by his side was right, especially now that she'd known the little spot of paradise had been sacred for him too. But there was something else she wanted to know.
She didn't have a chance to ask it, for they stumbled onto the first of Gilbert's surprises.
"Are you taking me for boat ride?" she asked, cheeks lifting into a smile.
"Just down the stream and through the woods. There's a spot that I'd like to show you. It's easiest to get to by boat, but the view of the overhead trees on the way isn't bad, either. Would you like to go?"
Anne's eyes fell on the dory propped up against the tree, then shifted to the creek. It reminded her of the mythical river Acheron, the river that flowed to the gates of hades, but instead of death, Anne felt this river must flow into a mystical faery kingdom. Low hanging branches grazes their vines upon the surface of the water. The ambling stream flowed crisp and cool into an unknown she longed to see.
"Take me."
"How did you find such a place?" Anne asked some minutes later to Gilbert, who rowed in slow, steady strokes. Her eyes hadn't known which beauty to settle on - that of the magical garden all around them in its balsamy fragrance, or that of the man before her, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Gilbert's eyes, however, hadn't moved from the ethereal being before him, drinking in her radiant enjoyment and making it his own.
"When my father was ill, I needed somewhere to get away. Somewhere that didn't smell like disease and medicine. Really, all I needed was some fresh air. Pretty quickly I found this place."
"I did the same thing as a child," Anne said in a light voice, as if the shared experience wasn't sad, but instead made them even more kindred. "Many of the homes I stayed in weren't welcoming to a strange girl with an imagination bigger than she was. But the trees!" She sighed and leaned her head back, pretending the ends of her hair were touching the water. "The trees loved me better than anyone ever did, that is, until I Matthew and Marilla took me in."
"Was it hard to be an orphan?" he asked seriously. The question was one she had received dozens of times in her life, but for once she felt she didn't need to answer. She peered up at him through golden lashes, grayish blue eyes bright against the green scenery, and said in a kind tone,
"You tell me, Gil."
He stopped rowing for a moment and let the words sink in. Then, realizing they'd practically come to a halt, he gripped the oars again and carried on.
"You see, Gilbert, I think that no matter how many people you have around you, or how many things you have, loneliness is still loneliness." She laughed. "But with trees like these ones, it's a wonder anyone is lonely!"
"They're lovely, but they're a poor substitute for company like yours," Gilbert replied. Anne's cheeks turned a lovely sunset magenta, and he knew he was doing something right.
Dipping her hand in the water, Anne remembered what she'd wanted to ask him about, but waited until the chill had woven a tingling sensation into her fingertips.
"Your father being ill and you spending a lot of time alone out here...Is that what you meant earlier when you said your childhood had been stolen from you?"
"Yes, but it wasn't just that. My father didn't fall seriously ill until the end of my college years," Gilbert replied simply, if not a bit melancholy. "He happened upon his wealth the same way I happened upon mine. A generous man honored him in his will for the kindness he'd done, and in many ways, it's been the biggest blessing my family has ever had. To have every single one of our needs met, to be warm and happy, content that tomorrow there will be food on the table and friends at the door - it's more than my father had when he was a boy. Not to mention, Bash and Mary have a beautiful home to raise their family in, and I can care for the boys."
"But…?"
Gilbert sighed and shook his head, a vulnerable smile on his lips.
"But the Harbor was so much responsibility for my father to take on and the stress of it certainly didn't aid his declining health. Sometimes I wonder if he'd still be alive if we'd just lived with his family in Alberta or my mother's family in Avonlea. I could've met you sooner!"
"Which probably would have been a catastrophe."
"Or, it would've been a beautiful, fulfilling friendship."
Anne had waltzed with what-ifs enough to know that if Gilbert continued like this, he'd run around himself in circles until he was too dizzy to be sure what was real and what was make-believe. She placed a comforting hand over his hand and gave it a tender squeeze.
"Isn't that what we have now?" she said.
"Yes, and I am grateful for it. So, so grateful. But Anne, I won't ever get back the things I've lost. I lost growing up with a mother, living in a humble home where everyone knows each other's thoughts, and learning in a schoolroom with other children."
Alongside them, the flowing stream trickled on.
"In a way, it's another thing you have to mourn, Gil. Will you let yourself? Can you let the past go so that you can enjoy the blessings of the present?"
The doctor continued the steady rhythm of his rowing, turning his cheeks up to the patch of sunlight that had fallen over them. He thought back on the life he lived - the things he would do all over again and the things he'd write in granite to keep them the same. This woman, with her apricot hair and cheeks of constellations, was one thing that he'd write into the story of his life and hold there. Forever, he hoped to tell the story of the siren queen who dove into the tempest to save his life. He'd speak of her strength, her resolution, the compassion in her smile, and the stretch of eternity in her eyes.
"What's done is done," quoted Gilbert with a new sense of ease. "You're here right now, and that's all that matters to me."
Anne knew exactly how he felt.
Eventually the dory had journeyed as far as it could in the humble stream, and Gilbert rowed it to the landing laced with grass and wild lilies. They helped each other step out, chuckling at the boats unsteadiness as it swayed them side to side, before their feet touched the mossy ground. Gilbert moved so that Anne could gaze upon the small haven that he had brought them to.
Gaze she did. All the beauties of the Glen she'd seen before did not compare to this hallowed spot, which was so much like Avonlea forests that her heart gave a tender squeeze. The reason the rowboat had stopped where it did was because the stream had opened into a crescent shaped pond with a crown of water lilies and fallen leaves. Gilbert, having known the spot, had left a cream colored basket in the clearing beside the pond, a blanket a cozy resting place amongst the tall grass. Flowers lined the clearing beside the pond, a wall of fragrant blossoms made of a dozen pinks and light blues.
Gilbert noticed the object of her adoring eyes and plucked a few blossoms, handing them to her without a single word. He moved to the blanket he'd laid out and stretched out it like a cat preparing for an afternoon rest. When he peered up at her, squinting through the sunlight, he saw her standing there - one hand on a paperwhite birch tree, the other holding her bouquet of rose-thrifts at her side. The ease of her grace took the breath from him, but he was content to breathe her in instead.
Anne was looking back at him with just as much barely contained rapture. There he was, her golden-hearted doctor, smiling upon her the way she never thought anyone would be able to.
"Come sit a while, Anne," he offered, the sun turning his face into gold with its soft skin and thin layer of sweat. "I've got something for you."
The skirts of her summer sky dress moved through the grass as she made her way to him, spreading like spilled ink when she sat beside him. Had she been alone, she'd have kicked off her shoes and spread out her legs to feel the tall grass between her toes.
But she was here with Gilbert. She could no less tear her gaze away from his than increase the short distance between them.
"Gilbert, you didn't have to bring me anything. This sight is pleasure enough."
"I believe you'll like this small offering. You see, I wrote a letter and its recipient had it in her heart to send a response." He pulled an envelope from his picnic basket, placing it in her outstretched hand as gentle as a feather hitting the ground. Anne bit her lip when she read the return address.
"It's from Marilla," she murmured. Closing her eyes, she placed the envelope back in his grasp, covering it with her other hand. "I can't...I don't want to ruin this moment with something that breaks my heart so."
"Look at who it's addressed to, you goose. I've already read it."
Sure enough, the letter was addressed to a "Dr. Gilbert J. Blythe" and not "Prodigal, Redheaded harem scarem."
"Oh," Anne muttered, frightened at something she couldn't name.
"Read it outloud, Anne, for the trees and the wind," he said dramatically, laying back on the blanket and closing his eyes.
"Gilbert, are you su-"
"Anne," he drawled. "I've got the first few lines memorized if you won't read it yourself. See? 'Dear Dr. Blythe, I must say I was astonished to find your letter-"
"Okay, okay! I'll read it, just leave the dramatic readings to me and Paul Irving." Anne cried out, nudging him with her knee. Gilbert chuckled, sticking his elbow out and propping his head up so that he might watch her. Licking her lips, Anne began to read.
"Dear Dr. Blythe, I must say I was astonished to find your letter waiting for me when I returned home from Charlottetown just this afternoon. I cannot tell you how pleased I was to read your accounts of Anne, her successes as a teacher and how well she is fairing. As for your news on Billy Andrews, I fear I have made a dreadful mistake in not believing Anne when she needed my support most. I only wish that I could have seen that she was doing the right thing all along, even if cost her greatly. If you could, please tell Anne that I don't intend to make her pay that cost anymore. If she can forgive me, I'd welcome a letter from her. As for your invitation to the charity ball you're hosting in a fortnight, Rachel and I were humbled, but regret we must remain here to care for the farm. Please do write and tell us about its success. Thank you again. Send Anne our enduring love. Sincerely, Marilla Cuthbert."
A tear had dropped on the page, and Anne brushed it aside before it run any of the ink. She sat quiet for a moment, rubbing the textured parchment in her fingers, almost as if she could feel the essence of Green Gables.
"You wrote her for me?" she whispered in a raspy voice. Gilbert's eyes on her were tender, but he stayed where he was, allowing her the space to breathe and process.
"I know how much her last letter hurt you," he said. "I saw the way you were together. You're not meant to be apart like that. She's your mother."
Anne swallowed, biting back an onslaught of love. For Marilla, the rare mother she never expected but cared for with her whole soul. And for Gilbert, this gentle, compassionate man who seemed to speak the language of her soul.
"You did this for me?" she repeated - slower, quieter. Gilbert's gaze was reverent and steady as he replied.
"Yes, my love. I did it for you."
They had both ventured a step into each other's world's, vulnerable and bare. There was no going back now, but Anne was ready to leap forward. She placed her hand on his, willing him toward her. Gilbert gave into the gravitation, sighing in blissful surrender as she slid her arms around his waist and pressed her lips to his. His arms were about her, tugging her flush against his chest where their beating hearts were side by side. He kissed the breath from her, admiring how she tasted the way roses smelled and was the softest thing he'd ever held.
Anne all but evaporated into a euphoric autumn breeze, faintly wondering if she had ever felt this safe and loved. There was only the musky scent of this man - her lover, she realized- and his tender caress. She was ready to be consumed by its delight, and love him even more in return.
He pulled away, only to lean back in for a few more short kisses, but found it difficult to grin with the full extent of his happiness and kiss her at the same time. Anne pressed her forehead to his, running her thumb over his cheek.
"My love," she tasted on her tongue. Her lips found his cheek, rough with the first hints of a beard. "Gilbert."
A joyous laugh left his lips, and he looked into her eyes, dark and glittering as the night. All noise faded away, leaving Gilbert with his heart thumping in his ear, yearning to just stay in his embrace for the rest of his existence.
"I didn't know! I certainly hoped, but I didn't know," he admitted with a choked up, little laugh. She heard the full admission - I didn't know you cared. I didn't know you loved me.
"I'll tell you all you'd like now," she replied, an ardent quality taking over her entire being.
"Right now?" he wished. A breeze swept past them, and Anne allowed it to sway it back to his face. She wasn't afraid or overwhelmed. She was too full of bliss to feel anything but.
"I'm in love with you," she confessed. "I love you, Gil."
This time he kissed her, swept her back up into his arms so quickly that a gasp escaped her, and showed her what the words did to him. Somehow she'd wound up partly in his lap, arms wrapped around his shoulders, and hands anchored in his hair. He only pulled back enough to whisper his own reverent confession to her. The words danced across her mouth, sweet and soft.
"I love you too," he replied. "I've loved you since you pulled me out of that ocean, and I've loved you every second since. Maddeningly, Anne, you drive me crazy."
Anne pulled herself to him that she might hide her face-splitting smile in the crook of his neck. Is this ecstasy what it it was like to be Gilbert Blythe's, for him to be hers?
"Well, doctor, have you any remedy for that sort of madness?"
"Oh certainly," he breathed huskily. "More kisses."
The rest of their rendezvous had a light, relieved air to it - secrets lifted from both of their shoulders, their pasts confronted and conquered. They ate without rush, content to sit side by side facing each other. How wonderful it was, they delighted together, that they could kiss and speak the way lovers do instead of simply daydreaming about it.
When the day had stretched to its limits, Gilbert offered Anne a hand back into the rowboat and brought them back to their palace of a home. He followed each of his father's rules of courting - walk the girl to her door, offer a compliment so she remembers you, kiss her, and say goodnight. Mostly, he thought he did his father proud, even if he did press his sunset haired Persephone to her door to kiss her enough that she was liquid gold from head to toe.
In a carefree world, he'd have gone to his bedroom, sat near the bay window, and thought about the magic of the day until dawnbreak, but instead, he went to Bash's office.
His brother knew something had happened the second he'd walked in the door.
"Oh, I'd know the expression of a lovesick moke anyday," Bash teased, glancing up from his paperwork to the blushing man grinning in the doorway. "Did Anne smile at you pretty?"
"She did more than that," Gilbert murmured, coming to sit on the arm of one of the office couches. "She kissed me and told me she loves me."
He spoke almost soundlessly, but Bash had heard everything he needed to. The older man's smile was tortured, realistic.
"You've been crazy about her since you met her, so I'm thrilled for you brother, I am."
Gilbert fell back onto the couch in a dramatic heap, covering his face and sighing.
"You should've seen her, Bash, standing in the trees like she was mother nature herself. I thought I was going to perish. And the way she speaks! Have you ever heard anyone speak pure gold?"
"Blythe-"
"And you've seen her with the boys. They adore her! Crave her approval like they'll starve without it." Gilbert's arms fell down beside him in surrender. "She's it, Bash. You were right, I'm crazy about her. I'm sorry I ever said you were wrong."
"Gilbert," Bash said seriously. "Tell me you haven't forgotten-"
"I haven't!" Gilbert shot up on the couch, not wanting to hear the end of the sentence. "That's what I came to talk to you about tonight. There's got to be something you can do. You've always found a loophole before. What's one more for your lovesick brother?"
Bash was a long time in answering.
"I can try, but your engagement to Christine was one of your father's dying wishes. She's wearing your ring. Mary told me Anne knows nothing about the Stuarts."
"If Dad met Anne, he'd know why I can't marry Christine. He made me promise to go through with the arranged engagement for business reasons, not because he wanted me to fall in love with her. And I won't, I know I won't."
"The terms of your engagement are clear. If you break off with your engagement to Christine, the harbor will take a hit you know it won't sustain."
"That's why I came to you," Gilbert pleaded, coming up to the desk, pulling his chair up as far as it would go. "I'm asking you, as your brother and best friend, for your legal expertise to marry the woman I love, not the woman my father thought I should spend my life with. If anyone can help me, it's you."
What else could Bash say to the boy who befriended him, took him in, shared half his estate with, and loved him as if he were flesh and blood?
"I'll do my best, but I'm telling you, Gil, you need to tell her."
"I will, I will!" Gilbert swore. "Now, don't you want to hear about it?"
Bash took off his readers, folded them onto the desk, and grinned.
"Tell me everything."