I wake up alone, my pillows tucked up around me in a way that makes me think I fully imagined Anne in my bed last night. But when I open my eyes and see the light streaming through the windows, catching on something silver next to me, I know I imagined nothing.
A small silver band sits on the white linen, unassuming as it waits for me to wake. I take it carefully in my palm and turn it over, recognizing it somehow but unable to place it. With effort I force myself to my feet and drag on clothes for the day, glancing outside to see the sun halfway over the horizon. I'd slept in, late.
The sounds of the kitchen in use draws me out of my room in my bare feet, the sweet smell of baking bread pulling me down the hall. Like a sight from a dream, Anne is standing over the stove and stirring something in a large pot, her hair pulled back in a raven braid that snakes down her back.
"Look who finally lives," Susan says as she comes clamouring through the kitchen door, a chicken in one hand and a basket of apples in the other. She shoots me a sly smile before climbing down the stairs into the empty cellar. I don't think in all my time here in the Glen that I'd ever been down there and so when she disappears, I'm confused for a moment and caught staring.
"You're awake," Anne says gently, looking up from the stove with a smile. I hold up the ring and watch as the colour moves up her chest and into her cheeks. "You found it…"
"I did. Where did it come from?" I join her at the stove and watch as she methodically continues stirring.
"They were - Marilla gave them to me. They belonged to her parents and she put them in my trousseau because she figured if I was ever going to be married it would likely be because I proposed instead of the man," she replies with a hesitant laugh, her gaze jumping up to mine shyly.
"And you still have them?" I ask carefully, watching as the unasked question hovers between us.
"Yes - Roy didn't find them suitable enough for us so he refused and bought us new ones. I kept them anyways because Marilla wanted me to have them." She shrugs and removes the pot from the burner, setting it on the counter and wiping her hands on her apron. "You don't have to wear it. I know it's not really real but I figured - "
"Anne, that's not - "
"You don't have to pretend Gil, I understand!" She moves towards the table and occupies her hands with wiping up the remnants of flour. Abruptly she turns to me and holds out her hand expectantly, her face forcefully neutral. "I'll just put them back into safe keeping."
Grabbing her outstretched hand tightly in mine I pull her ring off and stalk down the hall, hurrying to my dresser and yanking the top drawer open. She follows me cautiously, pausing in the doorway and looking at me with guarded eyes.
"Come here," I urge, digging through the socks until I find what I'm looking for. Standing beside me she watches as though I'm a madman, my heart in my throat as I turn to look at her. Without hesitating I sink to my knee and open my hand to reveal a small handkerchief with a ring stitched into its center before looking up at her with as much steadiness as I can muster. "Anne, will you wear these rings in recognition of our love bond? Will you take me in times of trials, in times of great happiness, to travel alongside you for the rest of our lives?"
She steps back hastily and bumps into the bedpost, clasping it in her palm and trying to hide the shock in her expression. I take a breath, stuffing down the initial panic at her reaction and forcing myself to wait for her to come back to herself. I don't move, holding my position as I watch her settle more with each breath.
"Where did you get that ring? When did you get that ring?" She hisses, her hands coming to rest dominantly on her hips.
"It was always intended for you. Always." Her hand rises to cover her lips, her eyes closing as she exhales shakily.
"But we're already married," she whispers eventually, stepping back towards me. I grin back at her, shrugging.
"We've never been big on doing things properly, why start now?"
Taking her offered hand I slip the rings on her finger, one for her family, one for us, and then press my lips over both to seal them to her skin. She draws me up to her with grasping fingers and presses her mouth to mine, holding me to her as though she's afraid I'll float away. My hands hover at her sides, hesitant about scaring her off inadvertently. Sensing my reluctance she smiles into our kiss, sliding her hands down my arms and to my wrists before moving them to her hips.
"It's alright," she whispers, barely a centimetre between us as she crowds in. I exhale and let myself go, clinging to her like a man lost at sea.
When eventually we part, our lips swollen and our chests heaving, I take the time to smooth down her hair from where I've mussed up her braid. She returns the gesture, her thumbs grazing over the stubble on my chin as she slowly pulls away.
"I made a plate for you for breakfast but you didn't wake up in time. I figured you needed the rest. Did you want it now?" Nodding, I follow her back to the kitchen and avoid eye contact with a smiling Susan, her cheeks flushed as she looks us over. The ring on my finger is barely noticable, almost as if it's been there forever, and she remarks on them lightly before informing us that she plans to head into town.
Left on our own I seize on the moment and sit as close to Anne as I can manage, picking at my food and spending more time tasting her than anything on the table before us.
The afternoon slips away as we forget the world around us and get lost in the dreams of our youth. It's only later under the lone apple tree in my yard that she brings us back to the worries that we should be focusing on, the things that drew us together in the first place.
"What happens when he gets here, Gil?" Anne wonders aloud, shifting to sit up so that she can look at me head on. I turn my head towards her and grab her hands in mine, squeezing them tightly.
"I think our best plan is to deny all of it when we're in public. You're Cordelia Blythe now, on paper officially. Michael is adding you to my accounts, the community knows you as Miss Wright… This place wouldn't believe any stranger coming in and trying to argue otherwise."
She shifts uneasily and looks away, her eyes searching the horizon. "And in private?"
"You'll never be alone with him. I'll be with you through all of it," I reply adamantly, sitting up and scooting closer. Lifting my hand to her cheek I turn her back towards me, my gaze catching hers. "He won't be able to hurt you. Not ever again."
"You don't know him like I do," she replies with a shake of her head, rushing to her feet and leaving me to scramble after her. She beelines towards the house, my long strides easily catching up and surpassing her to block her escape.
"It doesn't matter if I do or not. If he raises a finger towards you Anne, I'll end him." The threat slips out of me more forcefully than I'd like, it's rasp bringing her eyes up to mine with a shadow crossing her expression.
I realize in that moment that the memory from last night, the helplessness I'd felt leaving the Murphy house, has seized me completely and caused my fists to clench and my chest to tighten. Forcing the breath from my lungs I look to the sky, counting and bringing myself back down to earth.
"I'm sorry - I don't mean to be like that. I've just seen too much lately to stand by and let anything happen - "
"Is this because of last night? That call you went out on?" She asks with a steeled voice that belies the turmoil happening inside of her.
"It's because I'm tired of watching people get hurt because they had no way to get out. I can't continue to stand by and try to pick up the pieces and paste them back together!"
The admission rings in the air around us, the peaceful afternoon dissipating in a fiery heap as I growl out my words. Anne looks at me with stunned silence, her hands across her chest and her shoulders rolled back. She looks ready for battle, like a woman prepared to scorch the earth with just a look. I'm ready to take it, ready to meet fire with fire.
But she doesn't fight back. With a noticeable change she shifts and releases her elbows, closing her eyes and breathing deeply before lifting her hands to my cheeks. "It is not up to you, Gilbert Blythe, to solve the world's problems," she says lowly, calmly. I feel her thumbs on my cheekbones and close my eyes, breathing in the scent of her as she gathers me close to her chest.
With my arms wrapping tightly around her waist I exhale the breath I'd been holding, shakily pressing a kiss to her temple and resting my forehead to hers. "What did I do to deserve you, Anne-girl?"
Her resulting chuckle has me drawing back and meeting her gaze, patiently waiting as she shakes her head. "I could ask the same to you."
As evening falls in the Glen we find ourselves tucking into bed together once more, books in hand as we read into the evening with the low lamp light. Anne is the first to drift off, curled up on the edge of the mattress with her copy of Frankenstein held tightly to her chest. I try to focus on my medical text but the heavy content lulls me and eventually I close my eyes, leaning against the headboard and listening to the gentle sounds of her breaths in the small room.
The sound that wakes me isn't particularly loud or jarring like my ringing phone would be. It's something so unobtrusive that for a moment I sit there confused, my eyes fluttering open as I try to orient myself in the dark room.
"Get off," Anne's voice whispers beside me, her small frame clutching her pillow. "Don't," she pleads softly, the pain evident and urging me back to the present. I remember then where we are, my mind slow to catch up but eventually bringing me back to the present. She's silent for a moment and I think perhaps her dream has passed until a sob slips from her lips.
"Anne," I urge, reaching for her shoulder. She twists away from my touch and the cry that sounds echoes off of the walls and slams back into me. "It's just a dream," I attempt once more, leaning over her and brushing her hair back away from her face. Her expression is tortured, her brow furrowed as tears fall from her eyes.
"Please, stop. It hurts," she groans and slaps out a hand, her book falling to the floor with a thump. The sound is enough to make her lash out, her arms connecting with mine and knocking me forward until my chin hits her collar. With a gasp and a forced inhale she stills beneath me, her chest heaving.
"Anne!" I rumble as her eyes snap open, terror lacing through her features. Her hands still from where they're pushing at my shoulders and I pull myself back, staring down at her as she fights to regain control of her breathing. "You're okay, Anne. It's just me - it's just Gil," I remind her, waiting, watching, for the fear to subside.
Time freezes as she covers her face with her hands, her body shaking with the silent sobs that start to rack her tiny frame. I debate whether to touch her, to potentially compound her confusion, but my instinct wins out and my hands slide over the back of hers and ease them away so that she can look at my face and know it's truly me. The movement seems to work and she jolts up against me, her arms wrapping around my neck and pulling me to her with a vibrant urgency.
I hold her until her tears dry and her mind settles, the dream's hold loosening and slowly allowing her to return to the world of the living. When eventually she attempts to pull back I let her go, but only far enough that I can see her face. I brush my thumb over her cheek and press my lips to hers, pleading with her to come back to me. I wasn't ready to part from her, not just yet. Not after what I'm sure she'd been dreaming of.
"I'm alright, Gil," she rasps finally, glancing up at me with a shuttered look. The ghosts of her past still hover over us and it takes a moment for her words to sink in, my own body still taunt with the tension of the dream. "It was just a nightmare. It happens sometimes."
Closing my eyes I breathe through the anger, the sadness, that runs in my veins with the understanding. If I could turn back the clock, if I could trade my life for hers, I would do it in an instant if only so that she would never have to fight her way out of something like that again.
"I'm so sorry," I whisper, leaning my forehead against hers. She sighs and rolls onto her side, drawing me down to lay before her. Her fingers scrape along my scalp and slide behind my ear, gentle, soothing, and the breath I didn't realize I'd been holding rattles out of me.
"Don't apologize for it," she replies lowly, our gazes meeting across the pillows. "It isn't your job to apologize."
"I know. I just wish - I wish I could carry it for you." My hand tightens on her hip for a moment and she exhales, lifting to brush her lips against mine so softly that I almost miss it.
"I love you," she murmurs as she draws back. We lay together without words for a long while after that, neither of us daring to say more or willing to slip back to sleep just yet. When finally the exhaustion catches up to us I ensure she's pulled tight against me, her hips pressed to mine and our legs tangled so that if she were to wake there was no confusion who was holding her close. There would be no more dreams tonight, not if I could help it.