Chapter 18

On Tuesday afternoon, Susan poured Anne a second cup of tea as they sat talking after school, and the two of them sat in comfort while they chatted. After a time, Anne broached something that had been on her mind of late.

"Susan, I was wondering if you could help me to make some extra baked goods this week."

At this, the housekeeper bridled. "Anne, surely if you need more you can let me take care of that."

Anne gave her an apologetic look. "It isn't for me, Susan- it's something I have been thinking about for school. And since that is my responsibility, it doesn't seem fair for the burden to fall on you."

Susan placed the biscuit tin on the table with a slight thump, her stern look in evidence. "I'm thinking that it would be simpler if you just filled me in."

Anne smiled and gave a little sigh. "Susan, I have some students going without food at school."

The older woman looked up to see some tears standing in Anne's grey eyes, and was instantly grim. "Of course we can, Anne, I'll start on them now."

Anne laughed, her handkerchief in her hand by then. "Thank you- although it's a little more complicated than just making it, Susan. I need to find a way of helping them without it being obvious to the rest of the class. Some of the families are quite poor, and I would surmise that there is not much food to go around at home. They bring very little with them for the dinner break." A look of pain crossed Anne's face then. "I am fairly sure that some of them are not eating anything before they come, either." She could see the indignation building in Susan and folded her arms on the table practically. "I think we can do something for them- it will fill their bellies, and help their concentration as well."

Susan watched Anne carefully. "And you would like to do this in an ongoing manner?"

Anne looked relieved. "Yes, thank you. If the household budget can stretch to it, I would like to have food available for them each day- most families sit down to a meal at night, however- through the day-" here Anne faltered, and Susan, whose eyes had not missed anything took Anne's hand.

"Then we will do something for the dears. Let Susan take the helm."

Anne impulsively leaned over to hug Susan. "Thank you. You can't know how they will appreciate it."

Susan got up to clear dishes away rather noisily. "I don't know what this town means by allowing children to starve, I really don't," she muttered. She would go to see Cornelia Elliot in the morning. As the head of the Ladies' Aid, surely there was a way for the town to support Anne's work.

Anne stood with a sigh. "They simply don't know, Susan. It's not something that is talked about." She gathered her satchel of books and walked to her room, deep in thought. She had shared so little of her past with those whom she knew- and although it was a long time since Anne had experienced such hardship, to see her students now struggling broke her heart. She knew all of the ways the children would use to cover their lack- continuing to read at their desks when they had nothing to eat, finding hidden corners to sit while the others were finishing.

Slowly she began to change out of the suit she was in, pulling a simple grey dress from the hanger. At Green Gables, she had learned what it was to be cared for- and Marilla had often bewildered Anne by the amount of food that she would serve to the girl. To her, a full basket for school had been a wealth of riches- one that she had only ever imagined when she was younger. Only once had she thoughtlessly said this to Marilla- and Marilla had been brusque and dismissed Anne from her presence immediately. She had been terrified that she had mortally offended her guardian at first. It was not until later that she had heard her talking to Matthew of the situation in the barn- and in tears. Marilla's shock could not be underestimated- wealth they had never had, however at Green Gables food had never been scarce. A shaken Anne had gone to Dryad's bubble then, her arms wrapped around her thin little body as she sat thinking. Even at eleven, she had understood that people could not hear her story unmoved- the best thing she could do was to bury it far from herself now. Not for worlds would she allude to that time unless necessary.

When Anne came out of her room a short time later, Susan was thumping and kneading the fresh dough, her face set. Anne leant over to kiss her on the cheek, before pulling on an old sweater and apron, grabbing the scarf that lay on the table.

"Anne, what in the world would make you go outside right now?" a bewildered Susan asked.

She smiled. "I think I could use some fresh air- and I think that the sunshine may not hold for much longer. I should like to have a look at those roses now. I know it's far too early to prune them, however they are so overgrown that it will take multiple cuttings to manage them."

An indulgent look covered Susan's face then. "Well, wear your warm coat then." By now she had realised that if Anne wished to venture into the great outdoors, then the great outdoors was where she would end up, no matter how hard she pleaded. And the garden was close by, at least.

With a breath of relief, Anne stepped outside into the cool winter afternoon. She carefully sat down on the wooden bench some thoughtful soul had placed beside the roses and looked into the thicket before her. With a furtive look toward the window, Anne slipped down, sitting on the stone sides of the garden. She sighed at the sight of the tangled stems, one hand tracing the thorny stems of the nearest rose, trying to discover what lay at the bottom of the mess. As she worked dead grass away from the roots, she looked at them thoughtfully. Were they pink, or red, or white? Mrs Lynde had been especially fond of the yellow rose her Thomas had planted, one that had been safely potted and protected for the trip to Charlottetown in August.

Anne carefully began to untangle the first of the roses, her mind wandering. Mrs Lynde had written faithfully every week- exhorting Anne to rest well, wear warm underwear and to be sure to attend church every week. She had smiled, her heart missing the older woman. How she had infuriated Marilla at times- and yet she had been a faithful friend to her. Through her companionship, Marilla had borne Anne's departure and after several months had written that the arguments had a way of breaking up the monotony- which was her way of saying that the two of them got along very well together. Mrs Lynde had been the one who had held Anne first on her arrival home last May- the only one Anne would allow to touch her, at first.

As she took the secateurs in her gloved hand, she heard a gentle voice behind her.

"I don't think we are quite done with the frosts yet, dear."

Anne froze, her eyes wide and unsure. She turned on the spot to see Sonia Blythe standing in a warm hat and coat, and began to scramble to her feet. Sonia laid her hand on her shoulder, preventing her. "Please don't rise on my account, Anne, I'm content to rest here. These old bones aren't what they used to be." She sat down on the chair, watching Anne's hesitant expression.

"Mrs Blythe, I'm sorry I wasn't inside to receive you."

Sonia smiled then. "If you were, I should feel like you were a stranger. The Anne Shirley I remember was rarely inside when she could be outside."

Anne's cheeks flushed. "Yes. I was concerned that if I waited for spring to prune these, that it might become even more a jungle than it is now. I figured if I could make a start while nothing else was growing."

"Oh, I would guess they are. We just can't see the evidence of it yet." There was a silence between the two women, and Sonia looked up at the small house. "Your housekeeper was kind enough to point me in your direction, dear. She did suggest that you may wish to come inside before it becomes too cold though."

Anne gave a faint smile at the amused look on the older woman's face. "At times I feel a little caged by the cold weather. I like to come outside to feel it, every now and then."

Sonia chuckled. "And what does Susan have to say about this?"

Anne gave her a wry smile. "Oh, she is quite used to me now- although she will readily go for the doctor if she thinks I'm being silly." At the allusion to Gilbert, the change that came over her face then was startling, and Anne busied herself by dusting her hands on her apron. Sonia eyed her curiously.

"Well, as my son thinks you are doing rather well, it seems you take care of yourself just fine."

Anne's cheeks were scarlet. "Thank you." She frowned warily. "All the same, perhaps you had better not mention me coming outside to him. The two of them together are quite a force to be reckoned with."

Sonia studied Anne's face. "How are you doing, dear?"

Anne's hands clasped the secateurs close to her, her posture uneasy. "Very well, thank you. How has your visit been?"

Gilbert's mother nodded, trying to smile. "Lovely, thank you, Anne. We've been fortunate that Gilbert hasn't been called out much."

When the silence grew longer, Sonia cleared her throat. "Anne, how are you really faring?"

Anne's face was startled. "What do you mean?"

"I only wondered how things had been for you since Christmas. It's a hard time when you have recently lost someone," Sonia replied quietly.

Anne shifted the secateurs to her other hand, trying to be frank. "It was- difficult. I don't suppose I could expect it to be otherwise, really."

"Marilla was very proud of you, you know."

Anne looked up at her, with tears in her eyes, and Sonia's look was kind. "I spoke to her from time to time- and she always mentioned you with great love."

Anne swallowed, her forehead creasing. "As I do her."

There was a longer silence then, and Sonia sighed. "Anne, I suppose you are wondering why I am here." There was no answer in the negative, and Sonia continued carefully. "I hope you will forgive me for the boldness of coming here without an invitation. Dear, there are times to keep things in the past, however I don't believe this is one of them. I need to make you an apology that is long overdue."

Anne went white. "No, please, Mrs Blythe-"

"Please, dear." Anne saw a determined expression in her brown eyes that made her jump- the one she knew best from her son. "It was quite some time after the event itself when we learned that Gilbert had proposed to you." Sonia saw the flinch Anne gave, but continued. "We didn't know at first. He never spoke of it to us." She looked out toward the schoolhouse with a sigh. "The way that I responded to you after we found out was wrong."

Anne tucked her skirts around herself, thinking sickly that the best thing she could do was to remain silent, to let Sonia say her piece and leave.

"It was not my place to take your decision out on you, nor was it appropriate for me to take the offence to myself the way that I did." She gave a little sigh. "When you are a mother, Anne, you will understand how blind the partiality is- and how unfairly it can cause you to respond. It was wrong of me to act on that."

Anne shook her head, every muscle aching with the stiff way she held herself. "You don't need to do this, Mrs Blythe," she muttered.

Sonia's smile was brittle. "I do, dear." She cleared her throat, trying to gather her courage. "There is something more important that I need to tell you. And while I am loathe to do anything to cause the two of you more heartache-"

The tortured look in Anne's eyes made Sonia's heart sink. "Please, Mrs Blythe, please don't do this-"

Sonia reached down to take Anne's hand in hers, her heart breaking. "Dear, you need to talk to my son. There are things that the two of you don't know." This time a terrified Anne pulled away, and Sonia watched in anguish as she blindly got to her feet, fumbling for her walking stick.

"Anne," she said, without heat, but arresting the girl with the authority that Marilla's tone had always held. "Anne- listen to me. He doesn't know that you came to see him."

Anne stilled and turned to Sonia, and the glassy look of terror in the girl's eyes made her shudder.

"I beg your pardon?" she said faintly.

Sonia sighed. "You really must sit down, dear. If you fall, I don't fancy facing either an enraged Susan or Gilbert."

Anne, feeling nightmarish sat on the seat beside Sonia. She was white to her lips, and Sonia touched her arm gently.

"He doesn't know-"

"That- isn't possible."

To her surprise, Sonia gave a slight, bitter laugh. "I can assure you, that it is."

"No- I heard him- he knew that I was there-" Anne managed to choke.

"No, I don't believe that he did." Sonia looked older than her years, remembering how ill her son had been. "Anne, he was terribly sick. When I asked you in to come and see him I believed him stable. Obviously, I was wrong. I was concerned that any further upset would cause him to relapse, and I was too afraid to question him about it once the fever left. I assumed that whatever had passed between the two of you was destructive enough." Sonia's heart clenched at the hopelessness on her face. "He was delirious, Anne. He didn't know what he was saying."

Anne's lips were numb. "He doesn't remember?"

"No. He believes that you chose not to come," Sonia said slowly. "That you didn't care enough to stay and see him."

The look of wild panic on Anne's face made Sonia flinch. "That's- that's even worse! How could he think that I would ignore him almost dying?"

Sonia took her hand in her own, tears standing in her eyes. "That is why you have to talk to him. He needs to know the truth."

Anne stood then, clutching the chair, her voice passionate. "The truth, Mrs Blythe? That when he was fever ridden he didn't want me anywhere near him? That the mere mention of my name was enough to make him furious, even in his state? No!" Her voice broke under the strain. "How can I possibly tell him about that now?"

Sonia rose to plead with the distraught girl. "The truth is better than the lie he has believed all these years-"

At this Anne broke into a sob. "It isn't!" she cried. "Whatever he thinks now, he has clearly put it behind him. If I tell him, I risk awakening everything that ever came between us. I was a fool and deserved everything that Gilbert said, whether he knows it happened or not. He would see that. And delirious or not, even if he learned that I cared enough to go, he will not be able to forget this. He would never forgive me."

Sonia wiped away tears of her own. She put her arms around the sobbing girl until eventually, Anne began to calm. When she did so, Sonia sat her down on the chair again. "Anne, I have very little idea of what went on between you before you left Redmond," she said gently. "Gilbert never told us anything. And I confess that I was convinced enough by his behaviour to not ask questions. I should have seen how out of character it was at the time, and I will admit that my prejudices blinded me." Anne's hands came up to cover her face in anguish. "I can't help but think this would be a very different story had the two of you spoken only a week later." The girl's eyes were pained, and Sonia swallowed. "Anne, dear, I believe that the thought that you didn't care is far more damaging than anything else that separated you. You need to tell Gilbert what happened."

Anne tucked a wisp of red hair behind one ear, her voice wooden. "If you felt he should know, why didn't you tell him at once?"

Sonia laughed mirthlessly. "Anne, I only found out the other night. You can't imagine how shocked I was."

"Oh, I think I can."

The older woman looked towards the later afternoon sun with a sigh. "There is no way I could answer the questions he would have had. Only you could answer them. And you deserved to know the facts first."

Anne wrapped her sweater around her thin shoulders, dully. "I- I thought he was only being kind in not bringing it up." Her eyes squeezed shut, as another tear fell down her cheek. "He really doesn't know?"

"No, dear. I'm sorry." Sonia sighed. "It's why you left Avonlea, isn't it?"

Anne nodded, her eyes closed. She could still hear his hoarse voice from the stairs in his home- the words that still came to her in nightmares. When his voice reached her from the unseen bedroom, she had turned, not hearing Mrs Blythe call her name- she had stumbled down the staircase, out of the house and into the deepest part of the Haunted Wood, from then on to be shadowed by the ghost of the boy she loved laying so near death, telling her to leave him for good.

Anne shuddered. To tell him- to open up afresh the very worst moment of her life- no. She couldn't do it. It was better that they forget, better that he never knew. Gilbert's mother sat waiting, and at last Anne shook her head. "I'm sorry- I can't tell him," she said unsteadily. "I- it's better this way."

Sonia rubbed her face, exhausted. "You are quite the pair, the two of you," she said with a sigh. "Anne, please at least consider it. You deserve to have that laid to rest. You both do." She placed a tentative hand on her shoulder. "And I am- glad- that in some fashion the two of you are friends again." After a moment she turned to face Anne. "Dear, I have no right to ask this of you- but if you can forgive this meddling old mother, why did you come to see him that night?"

Anne looked at her, dumbfounded. The words were forced through her pale lips. "Because I cared." She shook her head, trying to come to terms with what Sonia had told her, and then turned back to her in anger. "When he was in so much danger, why did you allow me near him? I only made it worse."

Sonia felt a jolt go through her and she gazed at the girl, her eyes haunted. "Because I believed that he needed you."

Anne's voice was defeated. "He didn't- he didn't need me, Mrs Blythe. You saw that clearly."

"You're wrong, dear. I know that now." The girl looked up then, and Sonia smiled sadly. "Anne, do you know how long it has been since I have seen my son?"

To her surprise, Anne gave a faint grin. "I imagine not since breakfast."

Sonia's face was sad. "No, dear. It's been far longer- over eight years."

Anne's face twisted, as fresh pain tore through her heart.

"I blamed you," she said honestly, before continuing. "Before last year. But you coming to live at Four Winds showed me something very different. Anne, I didn't lose him because of your presence in his life- I lost him because of your absence." She gripped Anne's arm then, wanting her to understand. "Now, I know the two of you both made choices afterwards- you left, and he left. But since you came back into his world, he's changed. He is regaining something of himself that I thought he had lost forever. No, it isn't perfect, and I can imagine that it has been impossibly hard for the two of you- but he's connecting with life again. That's because of you."

Anne shook her head. "No," she said unsteadily. "It's not me, Mrs Blythe."

At this Sonia's look grew firm. "He's not with her, Anne."

At this, Anne's hands fluttered up to ward off the words, and Sonia stopped cold at the look of misery on her face. "No, please don't say anything. It's none of my business. He needs to be happy."

"He does. But it will not be with Penelope Winston. He told me that."

At Anne's silence, Sonia rubbed her eyes wearily. Had she only made the situation worse? And yet someone needed to remove the rubble that lay between her son and the girl she had once felt sure would become her daughter. Equally as stubborn as each other, equally afraid to lose the little they had. How could the understanding they had once had become so broken? For a moment she bit her lip, determined not to interfere, not to make things any more complicated. And then the silent tear that fell down Anne's cheek broke through her resolve.

"Anne? Forgive me- but- are you in love with my son?"

Hardly breathing, Anne sat like stone. Wanting to run, to do anything to escape the simple answer to her question. It was then that she heard a step behind her, and Sonia looked up to see a cautious Susan come behind Anne, placing a protective hand on her shoulder.

"Anne, dear? Do you need to come inside now?"

Sonia spoke up. "I'm sorry, Susan, it's my fault. I should have been sensible and allowed Anne to come in, instead of keeping her in the cold talking."

Susan was relieved to see Anne turn to her then, pale but steady. "I'm quite alright, Susan. I don't believe you have properly met Doctor Blythe's mother. We spent a good deal of time studying together before we went to college- and Mrs Blythe was well used to the two of us being outdoors in all kinds of weather."

Sonia smiled, wanting to ease Susan's mind. "Like a pair of children they were, at times. Susan, Gilbert tells me that you have been very good to him, sending him home with baskets of food- thank you very much. I do worry about him from time to time."

Some of the tension left the housekeeper at her friendliness, although Anne's colour still concerned her. For a minute more the two women chatted, and at last Sonia looked at Anne, her eyes falsely bright.

"Well, I believe I have kept you outside for long enough, dear. I had better take my leave as well; I have supper to prepare for the menfolk."

Anne stood with her walking stick in one hand, carefully keeping her posture straight as she walked. The habit of pushing unsettling thoughts down resurfaced, and when at last she stood at her front door to farewell Sonia, her look was calm.

Sonia felt her throat catch. Tears stood in her eyes, as she looked at the pale, red-headed girl before her, the careful way her grief was covered.

"I'm sorry, Anne." Sonia spoke, with difficulty. "I didn't wish to upset you. But you needed to know that it wasn't Gilbert who said those things that day. If I may be so bold, I don't think the problem is with either of you being able to forgive each other," she said slowly. "The problem is the two of you learning to forgive yourselves." For a fleeting second she saw the spasm of pain on Anne's face, and then she swallowed, and it was once again hidden. "I wondered if- when you came home next- if you would like to come and visit us," Sonia said quietly. "We've missed you."

Anne's lip trembled, and at first, Sonia was afraid she would refuse. Then she saw her nod.

"Thank- thank you," she stuttered, and after a moment of hesitancy, she spoke again. "You are most welcome to visit next time you are here seeing Gilbert."

Sonia smiled. "I would like that, dear. Now, I will leave you to your rest, before Susan chases me out of here with a broom."

When the door closed behind her, Anne drew in a deep breath at the world that had been suddenly tipped on its axis.

He didn't know. He had no memory of it. And yet Anne feared that delirium had only forced him to say the things he was too polite to give voice to. Most likely his feelings had been little different at the time. She trembled then, her hands clenched. Would Sonia tell him now? Unconsciously she shook her head. No, she wouldn't. Sonia had left that with her. And she simply couldn't do it.

Anne turned to see her housekeeper watching her from the doorway in concern. Something inside Anne broke at that moment, some hold over the secrets she had become so adept at keeping. She walked across to her slowly, and then tucked her free hand into Susan's work-worn one.

"Susan, dear, there is a very long story I need to be telling you one of these days. However, I must admit that it is completely beyond me today. I wondered if you would mind if I took a very long, hot bath now, and then put myself to bed at an unbearably sensible hour."

Susan gave a sigh of relief, and turned Anne towards her bedroom. "Well, thank heavens for common sense, Anne dear. I'll have the water heated in no time."

When a sober Sonia Blythe entered her son's house late that afternoon, it was to find a relaxed Gilbert in the living room playing checkers with his father. The stew she had prepared before leaving was bubbling on the stove, and she smiled to see the new shelving her husband had nailed to the wall.

"Did you enjoy your walk, dear?" her husband asked her.

Sonia turned to hang her coat and hat on the hook, taking up the apron that she had left there earlier. As she tied it on, Gilbert came to lean on the kitchen bench beside her. "I didn't expect you to be gone for so long. Did you see anything interesting?"

She tied the stings to her apron, her face not giving anything away. "I went to see Anne, dear."

Gilbert turned to her in sudden worry. "Mother-"

She placed a gentle hand on his cheek. "Son, she is your old friend- she is the child of someone I knew, and someone I should have been in better contact with, all those years. I wanted to know that she was alright for myself."

He stumbled then, trying to keep his voice light, however, the panic in his voice betrayed him. "Is- is she? She's fine? Is she alright?"

Sonia drew in a deep breath, fighting back the frustration she felt at their stubbornness, at the complete terror of loss they both lived in. "She's well, Gilbert. You're right- she's stronger. She's going to be fine." Her words failed her then, wanting to plead with him to talk to her- to somehow attempt to fix the mess that had gone between them. Sonia's brown eyes fixed on him, and her final words seemed to echo in the stillness of the house. "The two of you need each other, Gilbert. I don't know in what fashion- I imagine that is up to the two of you- but you need her in your world. And she desperately needs you in hers."