Chapter 15

It was a bright winter's afternoon when Gilbert drove out on the shore road towards the harbour, and Owen Ford's house. To his surprise it had been an uneventful day- and here he gave a slight chuckle. As Andrew could well attest, often Gilbert's plans to socialise would be interrupted when Mrs Leary would call, telling him over the phone in her monotone voice that so-and-so needed their boil lanced, and that she'd told them he'd be right on his way.

However, no one had called today. He'd spent the morning at home, in fact, chopping wood for the week and attempting one of his mother's easier recipes. The coffee cake was a little uneven, but he still sat it on the plate with a proud look. He supposed as Mrs Leary never baked, that it was still the best cake that had been cooked in the house- while he had been living there, at least. A big box of preserves had arrived from his mother only the week before, and in that she had added some of her handwritten notes and recipes. Gilbert went to get cleaned up with a slight smile. He'd approached her trepidatiously the day before he went back, expecting her to overreact, however, Sonia Blythe had appeared very calm at first- as if her thirty-one-year-old mostly absent son came to her asking for recipes every day. The hysterical, smothering hug she gave him at the end somewhat gave her away, and he couldn't help but laugh- especially later when he found jars of apple jelly in his suitcase that he hadn't remembered packing from Avonlea.

Coming down the hill, Gilbert looked appreciatively at the view of the gulf, now frozen over with white as far as the eye could see. The roads remained clear, for which Gilbert was eternally grateful- last winter's adventures with the sleigh had made him miss the hospital at times, and at the same time grateful that Jeremy wasn't here to see him battling the elements.

He found the little white house that had often intrigued him nestled by a small wood, and as he came to the end of the row of Lombardy polars he was met by a young fellow who doffed his cap at the doctor and promised to care for the horse in the barn. He was further surprised at being met at the door by a trim maid who took his coat and hat, ushering him into the warm living room where Owen's guests had gathered.

Owen strode up to shake his hand immediately. "Glad you could join us, Blythe. There are a few people you haven't met, so come and I'll introduce you."

All around the room was the sound of pleasant conversation and the crackle of the wide fireplace. He could see Andrew talking with several gentlemen in one corner, and an older woman sitting in the comfortable sofas surrounded by ladies, including Penny- and Anne. Penny greeted him calmly, however it was Anne who drew his attention. She was wearing a pale grey gown, the lightest he had seen her in, of late, and talking with the older lady. Owen saw the direction of his gaze, and moved towards the pair, motioning for Gilbert to follow him.

"Miss Shirley, if you will excuse the interruption; Gilbert, may I introduce my Aunt Selena to you, my father's younger sister." His aunt was very like Owen, tall, dark haired and dark-eyed. In her face was keen intelligence, and Gilbert bowed to her courteously. "Aunt Selena, this is Doctor Gilbert Blythe."

She gave him a piercing look and must have liked what she had seen, since she smiled and gestured to the lounge next to Anne, and Gilbert sat down as they continued to talk. Gilbert shot Anne a quick look and was pleased to see her smile back at him. She'd done her hair differently- a cascade of sleek red curls fell over one shoulder, artfully braided on her crown. The effect was beautiful, he found himself thinking absently. He suddenly became aware that Anne was giving him an amused glance, her grey eyes twinkling, and realised he had not been paying attention to the discussion.

"Thankfully Owen listened to reason, would you believe, Doctor Blythe, that the dear boy didn't have a sideboard in here, nor any mirrors?"

Owen stood by his aunt with a smile on his face. "The interior was very worn by the time I acquired the house, Gilbert, it was necessary to start again, in many ways." He gestured to the floor beneath them, at the brightly coloured oriental carpet. "This I managed to find in London last year- My publisher insisted that I visit the warehouses with him one day, and I was fortunate enough to find this." His look was warm, and he gave his Aunt a smile. "The chandeliers were sourced by my aunt's decorator in Ottowa."

Gilbert looked around at the room, the afternoon winter sunshine coming through the forest green drapes, the red satin-brocade furniture tastefully arranged in the room. The overall effect was modern and elegant, and yet he looked around, wondering what it must have been like before. He turned to hear him speak again.

"I plan to have someone come to do the upper story in the springtime, to bring it up to date with the rest of the house. The gardens require some work as well- I wish to have a bower fit for a queen," he said lightly. An odd shadowed look came across his face at that moment, and Gilbert saw Anne gave him a curious glance. In the silence that followed, when Owen's aunt excused herself to check on the menu, Gilbert bent closer to her.

"You've been well?"

Anne rolled her eyes. "Well, I didn't call you, so I must have been, mustn't I? On that note, how were you?"

He chuckled. "Fine- although Mrs Leary refused to come to the house the next day, as I was sick."

Anne sat back in bewilderment. "Your housekeeper stayed away while you were ill?" At his grin, Anne studied him thoughtfully. "Gilbert, if she is so hard to deal with, why on earth do you keep her on?"

He shrugged. "I'm hardly the ideal person to work for. You never know when I'll be at home, or when I'm going to be called out- and I often need to eat on the run. The tea room and the bakery often see me tearing in, and they wrap the food for me to take before I even ask for it."

Anne smiled. "And I suppose a doctor's laundry would be a challenge as well."

Gilbert laughed. "Yes. So if she is willing to do that, the cleaning and the occasional meal, I can handle the rest." He was silent for a moment and then continued offhand. "Actually, it was seeing you in your cottage- what did you call it?"

"Rosewood cottage," Anne said cheerfully. "It's named after the tangle of roses in the garden- all stems and thorns. In the spring I hope to make them bloom again."

Gilbert made himself more comfortable. "You were more at home in the cottage after a month than I was in my house after over a year- and it made me realise I needed to do a bit more at my house." Anne's auburn eyebrows rose, and he grinned sheepishly. "I'd really not unpacked. It needed to be made a home- and Mrs Leary wouldn't do that. So I'm trying to. I even made a cake today."

Her look was surprised, and she laughed. "Oh, well done, Gil! I did attempt to teach you to make bread years ago, you know."

"And I still can't do it. That's why the bakery knows my order." He watched Owen now in discussion with Penny and one of the gentlemen from the bank, and smiled. "Mother is coming with Dad in a few weeks time- I expect that she will take over the house for a week or so." Some laughter went out of Anne's face then, and she stilled shaking hands in her lap. Gilbert did not notice this and continued. "You might see them when they come. This was where my mother grew up."

Anne nodded, quietly drawing in a long breath. "I did see them in passing at the Christmas service back in Avonlea."

Gilbert now seemed to grow uncomfortable then. "Over the last few years I didn't get back home much. In Kingsport I couldn't afford to come back often- and in Montreal I was too busy."

Anne turned to look at him. "You did say that."

"You probably saw my parents more than I did, in fact."

Anne swallowed. "Well- actually, it's been awhile." She faltered then. "They- they came to Marilla's funeral. I was very grateful that they came."

"I wish I had known about it," he said slowly. "It's my own fault that I didn't, though."

Anne looked at him in bewilderment. "Gilbert, I-" Her brow lowered in confusion. "Do you ever feel like something changed in Avonlea?"

"What do you mean?"

She sighed. "How didn't you know what happened to me?" He looked down to see the look in her grey eyes and flinched. "Everyone knew. We lived in a gossiping town- a town where everyone knew each others business. But no one knew where you were- and you didn't know about the accident. Do you ever wonder what changed?"

Gilbert's look was hunted then. "Anne, I don't think anything did." He paused with difficulty. "I think it's about you and me."

Anne shrank back. "What do you mean?"

Gilbert cleared his throat and spoke quietly. "I think no one knew what to do with two best friends who suddenly didn't speak to each other."

Anne drew in a shaking breath. "But- but over time-"

"Over time we didn't go home," he said in a brittle tone. "We proved to those who cared about us that we couldn't go back to normal. And no one knew what to say about it."

Anne's brow creased, and he saw with horror that tears were gathering. "And this is exactly why you and I shouldn't talk like this," he said, giving a sigh of exasperation at himself, and spoke in a more audible voice. "Miss Shirley, would you care to see the view of the shore from the window?"

He helped her to her feet, and the two of them crossed slowly to the window that overlooked the harbour. To the rest of the room they appeared engrossed in the view, however, Gilbert folded his arms, staring outward, looking over the gardens heaped with snow.

"Tangled rose bushes here too," he muttered. "What is it with the gardens here?"

Anne sighed. "Look, I'm sorry. It's not necessary to keep bringing things up. But it's so strange- and there are times when Avonlea doesn't seem like home anymore."

Gilbert nodded. "It's like that for me too." He gave her a curious look. "I suppose when you decide what to do with the house, you could go anywhere- make a new home," he said.

Her lips curved into a sad smile. "I could. I've thought about it." She looked out on the harbour, the late afternoon light glistening on the ice of the harbour. "Phil wants me to come to Kingsport."

Gilbert's jaw dropped. "Kingsport?"

"We were there together for four years. She thinks I might need somewhere familiar- with better hospitals." She chuckled, not seeing the look of shock that crossed his face. "And Stella wants me in Boston, she believes I am wasted as a struggling country schoolmarm. She says that wants me to struggle with her in the city. Di wants me back home, and Susan wants me to go to bed earlier."

At this, he smiled. "And what do you want?"

Anne's gaze turned to the window. "I want to be happy," she said simply. "For now that is here. However, I do think I need to talk to Mr Winston about the sale of Green Gables in a few months time."

Gilbert's arms were folded, studiously watching the fir trees move in the light wind. "Not right now?"

"I need to- to clear out all of the rooms," she said, her voice carefully without emotion. "The furniture will be sold, and I need to deal with- with the family's belongings. I was thinking it would be best to do that over the summer."

Gilbert cleared his throat. "Andrew can do a lot of things by mail. He'll be happy to help."

Anne smiled, regaining some of her poise. "I think I will need a lawyer, especially if I am dealing with Mr Sloane. Should we warn Mr Winston whom he could be dealing with?"

He laughed, seeing his friend approach now. "No, I think we can let that be a surprise for him. You can ask him about it now."

Owen's cook had prepared a sumptuous feast for the ten or so guests he had invited, and they were charmed with the elegant dining room laid with silver and crystal. Anne found herself sitting between Owen and Penny, and across from a gentleman who introduced himself as Mr Ford's elusive editor, who had come to the Glen for a week to work with Owen on a manuscript. Owen leant over to speak to Anne, with one eye on the solemn gentleman.

"Mr Winters is a gem, Miss Shirley. He can take a hundred of my best words and cut them down to twenty, and then he has the temerity to ask me to expand on my work."

Mr Winters cleared his throat sheepishly. "Come now, that's surely an exaggeration, old fellow."

"I think you would have edited Shakespeare, Samuel."

To Anne's surprise, the gentleman laughed. "You don't think Antony and Cleopatra could have used some trimming?"

Owen smiled. "Perhaps so. Don't ask me to be responsible for something like that, though." He turned to Anne then, amused. "I dreamt of writing novels, Miss Shirley- I did not understand that it would entail me arguing phraseology in dim rooms filled with smoke."

Mr Winters coughed slightly. "Owen, you'll have Miss Shirley believe that I am a murderer of words."

Anne smiled. "I do understand, Mr Winters. Every artist needs someone to critique and enhance their work."

Gilbert had been watching Anne carefully through this. She'd never mentioned her own work, he noticed, and he found himself wondering what had stopped her from writing. She'd been writing through college- and she'd been published only months before they'd graduated. He found himself absently eating the carefully prepared meal, prepared by a French cook, so Owen had said. He wasn't foolish enough to think it had anything to do with him; of course she had written after the disastrous evening in the orchard. Not after Redmond though, she'd said. Gilbert placed his fork down with a sigh. He remembered them teaching, when he would find her with odd scraps of paper on her person, ink stains on her slim fingers. And even further back, when he once came upon her in a sunlit glade- sitting against a tree, a notebook in one hand, and her shoulder-length red hair blowing in the breeze. He'd been far enough away for her not to see him immediately, and his breath caught, remembering the pull he had felt toward her then- the way his stomach had felt yanked to the top of the tallest tree, and thrown to earth in the same moment. He'd not felt that in- how long?

Suddenly, his middle seemed to drop again as he realised that she was looking at him curiously, and that Penny was trying to get his attention.

"I'm sorry, Penny. What were you saying?" Inside he was kicking himself- it was this that had caused Andrew to call him absent-minded recently. He'd never been this scattered before.

Penny smiled at him. "You are distant lately, Gilbert. Is anything bothering you?"

He took up the water glass beside him. "Not at all."

Penny folded her napkin, and placed it down beside her, her voice soft. "You know, I did find myself wondering if perhaps your heart wasn't in Four Winds anymore."

Gilbert turned to her in shock. "Why- why would you think that?"

She smiled apologetically. "Forgive me if that was offensive. For the last few months, you have seemed- distracted. I suppose I wondered if you missed working in a hospital."

Gilbert's look was frank. "No- I- I don't think I've been happier here. The practice is going well, I think. I've had some interesting cases, some significant successes, and I know that I love the country practice. I don't miss the hospital at all."

Penny tried to smile. "Nor the city?"

Gilbert chuckled. "I grew up in a town smaller than this one- I was a farm boy. To me, this is more natural than Montreal ever was."

Penny looked across at her brother who was talking to Owen's Aunt, her eyes regretful. She drew in a breath and turned back to him with a gentle look. "That's wonderful, Gilbert. Then this is where you belong."

Later that evening, while the ladies sat in front of the fire talking and being served tea, Owen and the gentlemen went outside with cigars for a time, while he showed them the ideas he had for the landscaping in the spring. Gilbert breathed in the fresh air with relief, and wandered down to the little brook, the edges now frozen under birches bare. To his surprise, Owen had wandered from the group as well and now stood looking up the brook, towards the old grey house surrounded by willows.

"I was coming to see you earlier, Gilbert, however, I needed to postpone my visit, with my editor here." Owen said lightly.

Gilbert turned to him, his manner calm. "Oh?"

In the cool night air, the smoke from the cigar curled upwards, and Owen's face was rigid. "Is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"Is she not married?"

Gilbert exhaled. "She is not married any longer. Her husband is dead."

Owen stilled. "Dick Moore is dead."

Gilbert gritted his teeth. "Yes."

Owen swore, walking away, only to come back a minute later, his look shuttered. "And the man I met wasn't her husband."

"No. It was his cousin."

The anger in him seemed to explode, and Gilbert stood, his arms folded across his chest, while Owen paced.

"So she gave the best years of her life to someone who had no claim on her?"

Gilbert gave a weary sigh. "She didn't know, Owen."

Owen was scornful. "And the reason why no one figured it out until a doctor just out of medical school came here? Was there no one competent enough to figure it out before then?"

Gilbert's eyes flashed. "Look, a decade ago, there was no one outside a city hospital who would know what to do in that situation. The doctors here did the best they could- and she had no money to take him to anyone else."

Owen's handsome face set like flint, and he breathed deeply. "Still, she's free now." He turned to Gilbert, his eyes sharp. "Where did she go? No one seems to know- or no one is willing to say."

Gilbert met his glance evenly. "I don't know."

"You don't know, or you won't tell me?"

"I don't know." Gilbert turned to glance at the shadowy house in the distance. "Surely you've looked yourself?"

Owen gave a bark of laughter. "Of course I have. In between book tours and engagements, I've been looking everywhere for her. Her family over the harbour appear to have vanished, and no one from here knows- although there are plenty of rumours going around. Some of which concern you."

At this Gilbert turned to him, fury radiating from him. "I hope you aren't insinuating what I think you are, Ford."

Owen glanced up and surrendered. "Of course not. I know she wouldn't do that." He kicked a rock at his feet and scowled. "She loves me. And now she's God-knows-where, all alone, and I need to find her." He turned to look up at his house, defeated. "I bought this for her. I came here to find her. I told her to come with me, but she wouldn't leave him. She refused to abandon a man who should have been left in an asylum."

Gilbert looked at him in disgust. "Leslie did what she had to do- she stuck by what she thought was right, regardless of the cost, and she found out the truth because she had the courage to do what was necessary. And I don't know where she is, but I would guess that she is thriving. If she didn't give up through the hell she'd been through, then she wouldn't give up just because she was alone."

Owen ground the end of his cigar into the damp ground and raised a hand to roughly wipe his eyes. "No. She wouldn't." He turned back to Gilbert. "You say you don't know. Fine. I accept that. But if you ever find out anything, if you ever hear from your contacts in the hospital-"

"That's betraying patient confidentiality!" Gilbert shot back at him.

"Dick was your patient, not her." Owen then sighed, raking his dark hair from his forehead. "Look, Gilbert, I'm begging you. I know that you don't like me. But pretend that there's some shred of romance in that cold-blooded, clinical heart you have- imagine there was someone that you loved more than life itself- and tell me you wouldn't do whatever it takes to be with her."

At this Gilbert's face flushed, and he had to force himself not to look back at the house. "You've got an odd way of trying to win people over, Ford."

Owen turned to him, a brittle smile on his face. "Maybe. I promise that I'm going to keep looking for her."

The doctor nodded his hands in his pockets. "You do that."

"Listen, could you give me a few minutes?" Owen rubbed his face tiredly. "I just need to-"

Gilbert put his hand up. "I'll tell them you'll in soon."

"You're a good fellow, Blythe."

Gilbert turned to walk up the sandstone step, his teeth clenched, remembering how Owen had fawned over Anne. He supposed that he'd better be a good fellow- since a good fellow would hardly strangle the host.

By the time the gentlemen joined the women for a pleasant evening's discussion and merriment, Owen was back to his usual hospitable self. Gilbert had seen that Anne was looking rather tired, and had a quick word with Andrew- who was watching Penny laugh and talk happily with the other ladies of the party. Andrew was happy to stay while his sister was having a good time, and Gilbert turned to offer to drive Anne home early. She accepted with evident relief, and the two of them were farewelled pleasantly by Owen. Gilbert's smile was rather fixed when Owen insisted on handing Anne into the buggy himself, pausing to kiss her gloved hand as he invited her to come again. He was wanted inside then, and Gilbert turned courteously to make sure Anne was comfortable.

Anne sighed, content to be leaving early. "Thank you, Gilbert. I was trying to get schoolwork done for the week today, and neglected the rest that Susan was trying to make me have."

"Well, I had a nap- it's the only reason I'm awake now."

Anne paled. "Wait, Gil, I thought you wanted to leave early- you didn't need to for my sake."

"I did need to leave. The incense burning in that room was making my eyes water."

She smiled then, as the buggy turned from the gate. "Mr Ford's aunt insisted that it would promote a congenial atmosphere. I'm not sure that it did, really."

Gilbert's laugh was sardonic. "No. It just used up the oxygen in the room faster."

Anne gave him a curious look. "You do seem a little on edge tonight, Gilbert. Are you so dependent on free flowing oxygen then?"

He chuckled. "No more so than anyone else." He pushed his hat further down on his brown head then. "It's nothing, really. Well, nothing I can fix," he said slowly. "And I can't talk about it either- because it involves a patient of mine."

Anne nodded, watching the starlight move in a wide arc above the harbour. "Patient confidentiality. I understand." He was surprised when she laughed, and turned to see her untroubled face in the dimness. "You know, I had a terrible time getting my notes from the specialists I saw about my injury. They didn't like to release them- and I was told that they were private."

Gilbert grinned. "I see. Confidential to your doctors only?"

"Exactly. I did manage to convince them in the end- I'm not sure just what they thought I would do with them."

She turned in her seat at the top of the hill, and Gilbert did likewise, with a smirk. "Steady on, you lost a hat doing that once, remember." He pulled the horse up, and the two of them looked out on the harbour, as a crescent moon was beginning to rise.

"I wanted to see the lights of the house- look how brilliantly it is lit up, even at this distance!"

"That'll be all the chandeliers."

Anne turned back as Gilbert got the horse moving again, and sighed. "I wonder what it looked like before."

Gilbert looked at her sharply. "Yes, I thought that too."

"It must have been a lovely home-" here she stopped apologetically. "Not that it isn't lovely now, only it is so new and elegant. It doesn't seem to match the soul of the house, does it?"

Gilbert turned to her with a surprised smile. "Now that sounds like you again." She seemed to start at that, and he turned back to the front. "I'm sorry, I interrupted you."

Anne smiled. "He told me that his grandfather built it for his grandmother. I suppose I wonder what is left of what he built." She said slowly.

Gilbert turned the buggy toward Anne's home. "There must be something. Ford's a fairly sentimental fellow, after all."

When they arrived at the cottage, Gilbert walked her up to the front door.

"Well, thank you for getting me out of there early," he said bluntly, making her laugh.

"And thank you for the same." Anne put her hand on the door, and paused then, her words deliberate. "It's strange- there is something about that house, isn't there?"

Gilbert stopped. "What do you mean?"

Anne was thoughtful. "Like something out of a dream- something I should recognise." He found himself studying the way her dove grey scarf was wound around her throat, and then into her intelligent eyes. "It's rather like the reverse of a haunting."

He grinned at her then, finding himself in the middle of a conversation that could have happened with her ten years ago. "Can you explain that to me?"

Anne chuckled. "A ghost is meant to haunt a place- here, it's rather like the place is the thing doing the haunting."

Gilbert's look was odd. "I know what you mean. I felt that way when I moved here. Curious, isn't it?"

Anne smiled, making no move to open the door yet. "It is." She laughed then. "Goodness, what kind of enchanted shore have we washed up on, Doctor Blythe? Is it populated by fairies, or do you think is there magic here that will prevent us from leaving?"

Gilbert pulled the scarf tighter around his own neck, and shrugged. "Well, it was very prosaic work that brought both of us here. I suppose it remains to be seen what kind of magic lies beneath the surface."

He stepped back as Susan opened the door, and tipped his hat to her. "I'll see you later, Anne."

As Susan took her coat and ushered her inside, Anne let out a long breath, hearing the sound of the buggy moving down the road.

"Did you have a nice time tonight, Anne dear? I thought Mr Winston was bringing you home."

Anne drew in a deep breath, her cheeks slightly flushed. "He was- although he and Penny wish to stay later, I believe. Doctor Blythe wished to leave early. And it was a very pleasant evening."

Susan cleared her throat. "Some flowers came for you this evening, from Mr Ford himself."

Anne looked at her in bewilderment. "But Susan, why on earth would he do that tonight?"

Susan shrugged. "I'm sure I don't know, Anne. But I rather doubt we've seen the last of Mr Ford."