Chapter 19

On a crisp Friday morning, Gilbert drove his parents to the station. The fields around the branch line were covered in frost, and wherever he looked tiny cobwebs stretched between clumps of grass. Gilbert smiled at the sight. Fairy webs, she had once called them. He gave the horse a pat as they stopped at the station, and moved to help his father with the bags. A few minutes later, he joined his mother as she tucked the tickets into her purse.

Sonia looked up at her tall son then, quickly blinking back tears.

"Will you be busy today?" she asked lightly.

Gilbert shrugged with a smile. "I can never tell. I have a few calls to make, and I plan to catch up on paperwork this morning."

Sonia looked at him indulgently, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm. "I hope you didn't get behind because we were here."

He grinned. "You know that isn't it, mother. It's been great to have you both here. And not just because you feed me."

Sonia chuckled. "No, but I would guess that it helps. It's rather wonderful to have you come and see us too, dear."

Gilbert's hands were in his pockets, and he smiled. "I'll make sure I come more often. Perhaps at Easter."

An emotional Sonia pulled him into a tight hug then. "Gilbert, you will think about talking to Anne, won't you?"

Gilbert's look was firm. "Mother, this isn't anything you need to fix. You need to let us be grown ups here."

Sonia sighed. "I suppose so. Gilbert; just promise me that if it all begins to matter, that you will do something about it."

Gilbert looked at his mother in shock, as John clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Look, the train's coming now, Sonia; you should be onto him wearing warm underwear and eating properly by now."

"Oh, that is such a ridiculous stereotype," Sonia said crossly and turned back to Gilbert. "All the same dear, remember that you need to wear your vest right through spring and that you need to take the time to eat." She gave him one last hug as the train pulled in, knowing they had only minutes to say goodbye. "Look after yourself, darling- and a few more letters to ease my mind about you wouldn't go astray either."

He smiled as she held him close. "I will." As Sonia stepped back, he spoke quietly. "I'll let you know how she is too."

Sonia smiled. "Thank you, dear. I would appreciate that."

John followed then, with a hearty slap on the back that made Gilbert cough. "Good grief, do you do that to your cows, dad?"

John grinned. "'Course. But they don't whine about it."

Gilbert drew in a deep breath of the chilly air as he watched them board the train, his mind already turning to the cases that he needed to write up. Through the glass he smiled, watching his father tease his mother as he placed their bags under the seats.

At the unexpected sound of his name, Gilbert turned to see Stan hurrying toward him. "Well, this is good timing, Doc. You've got a number of boxes on the train. Were you expecting anything?"

Gilbert frowned. "Supplies, I would guess- and some new equipment."

"We'll be a few minutes unloading them if you can wait."

Gilbert followed the older man toward the office and was startled by someone running toward him on the platform, and he turned, expecting that there was an emergency. Instead, he saw a dishevelled Owen Ford rushing to the office, his valise in hand.

"Steady on, son, you've got a couple of minutes," Stan said easily, turning to walk toward the ticket booth. "We're not done unloading yet."

When the ticket was paid for, Owen came to stand beside a stiff Gilbert.

"I've got a lead," he said in a low voice.

Gilbert turned to him with a frown. "I beg your pardon?"

Owen's manner was tense. "Leslie. My attorney in Ottawa thinks he has news of her."

Gilbert's reply was unenthusiastic. "I see."

"I'm surprised I even made it to the train on time," he grumbled. "I had to call by the schoolhouse on my way."

Gilbert stiffened. "Oh?"

Owen shrugged. "I rather foolishly promised the school board that I would be there for the building tomorrow- I didn't want the charming Miss Shirley wondering why I hadn't come."

"Well, I'm sure there will be plenty of people without you, Ford," Gilbert said blandly.

The other man suddenly looked at him. "You grew up with her, didn't you? What's her story?"

There was a spark in Gilbert's hazel eyes at that. "What do you mean by that?"

Owen sighed impatiently. "You know what I mean. She's unique- she's wasted here. What is someone of her calibre doing here so far from social and intellectual circles?"

"There are good people in this community," Gilbert said, incensed. "She's here because she wants to be."

"Perhaps." He gave Gilbert a shrewd glance. "Just how good a friend of yours is she?"

The look on Gilbert's face was enough to convince Owen that he was on dangerous territory. "I think that's between Anne and myself."

Owen scowled and kicked at a loose pebble on the platform then. "I was just- curious- to see if you'd mentioned anything to do with myself and- anyone else- to her."

Gilbert turned to him then in disgust. "That's what's worrying you?"

Owen smiled coldly. "There's a gentleman's code, Blythe. Not allowing knowledge of a more personal nature to be let slip to ladies of your acquaintance. You're a college man, you should be aware of it."

"Well, it's not how I do business," he said bluntly. "I've never needed to avail myself of that particular code."

Owen rolled his eyes. "'And all the saints say Amen'," he muttered. "Well? Did you?"

Gilbert's words were deliberate. "I don't violate doctor-patient confidentiality, Ford. Ever. But if you're still looking for Leslie Moore, then what are you doing trying to safeguard your reputation with Anne?"

"My reputation is fine, thank you," Owen said, sardonically. "And that would be my business with the lovely school teacher, don't you think?"

To his consternation, Gilbert smiled. "We'll see. You'll find that Anne tends to be in charge of her own business."

When the whistle blew, Owen picked up his suitcase. "You know, Blythe, you'd be a darned sight more fun if you had a woman in your life."

Gilbert chose not to dignify this with a response and merely nodded as Owen climbed aboard the train. He moved back down to his parent's carriage, and his father came to stand at the door.

"Friend of yours?" John said, looking at his steely-eyed son.

Gilbert's eyebrows rose. "Not particularly, no."

John Blythe studied Gilbert, and to his surprise, he grinned. "It's not just anyone who can get you riled up like that. He's not- by some chance- interested in someone you care for, is he?"

"Dad!" Gilbert spluttered, and John grinned at him. A week's observation had been enough for him to read the very simple truth in his son's life.

"I think you need to decide what you want soon, Gil. Do write a bit more this year, won't you?"

A flummoxed Gilbert could only nod, and the train began to move. John's grin was huge. "We love you, son."

Before the train could move far, he found his voice again. "Love you too, Dad."

After the train was gone from sight, Gilbert walked out to see his supplies being loaded behind a very patient horse. He climbed on board, watching the train disappear over the hill. He slapped the reins, feeling unaccountably as if he had missed something important.

"Hippocrates, I think it's going to be a very weird day," Gilbert muttered.

When Anne came out of her bedroom at six-o-clock on Saturday morning, it was to see a fully dressed Susan packing a large hamper of food for the day. She looked up in some concern.

"Anne, don't you think your grey cashmere would be better for today? You and the schoolhouse are on display, after all."

Anne smiled. "With the building, I think anything I wear will end up covered in dust, Susan." She adjusted the white lace collar on her black gown and stood looking over the plans she had been given. "There was enough money raised at the end of last year to buy some new books for the school- and Mr McAllister has built us some bigger bookshelves. Isn't that wonderful?"

Susan harrumphed. "I'll think it wonderful if Mrs Reece doesn't bring those troublesome children today. They spoiled the ice cream at the last picnic, and all she will say is that their father is the one who should discipline them."

"Well, there will be no ice cream today, Susan dear- unless someone forgets to put the milk inside," Anne said cheerfully. "The children and I are most thankful they aren't waiting until spring to extend the building-the old stove is doing very little to keep us warm."

The old stove would not be removed until the warmer weather, and by seven o clock Anne and Susan were at the schoolhouse and had made it as hot as it could be. The board had assembled a team of men and women to work on the schoolhouse that day, bolstered by the last Board of Education report, which praised the seaward community and their teacher to the skies.

Susan was kept busy preparing tea and coffee for the workers and was soon joined by women setting tables of food out in the old school barn. Two ancient stoves had been placed in a sheltered corner presided over by members of the Ladies' quilting circle, the Ladies Aid and the church missionary society- all present because Cornelia Elliot was the president of each one. Leaving the food to her committee members, Cornelia spent much of her time flanking Anne and browbeating the members of the committee to make sure that Anne had the schoolhouse she envisioned.

By midday Anne had begun the task of moving the books in the classroom around, resettling desks and pinning pictures to the classroom walls again. The mothers of the students had all been in to look at the slates that sat proudly on each child's desk, pointing out how neatly Tommy could write his name, and that Miss Shirley must have a wonderful gift with numbers to teach them such complicated sums. Anne only smiled. She had discovered that there was nothing a parent loved better than seeing what their child had produced, and had insisted that each child place their best work on their desk the previous afternoon.

There had been a slight commotion when some graffiti under the desks was seen by indignant parents- how dared that bold Simpson boy write his name with their Anabelle's? And who was this Jack that had inscribed his name under every girl's desk in turn?

With an unnaturally solemn look, Anne had assured the parents that she kept a very close eye on their little angels and that such behaviour was not encouraged in her classroom. Billy's parents were assured that the Wilson boy sat nowhere near him, and Mrs Wilson issued an edict that Billy Slater was to not be allowed anywhere near her Chester in the classroom. As a matter of fact, the boys had long since made up any quarrel they had and peace had reigned in Anne's kingdom for quite some time.

At midday, folks began to gather in the barn for a hot meal, and Anne was relieved as the room emptied. Penny Winston threw herself into Anne's desk chair with a sigh.

"You know, I don't quite know what I will do when I go home," Penny said thoughtfully, prompting Anne to look at her in surprise. She had told Anne a week ago about her intention to leave in the spring, and a bewildered Anne had been unable to respond immediately. Penny had assumed this was because she was taken by surprise- however, Anne's thoughts had immediately centred on the town's doctor in shock. Had he known? Was this why there was no future with her?

Anne looked at her curiously. "What you will do?"

Penny gave a chuckle. "I've had the care of a house and a child. I used to live a fairly idle life, I believe. I should like to have something to keep me busy, I think."

"You'll miss the chores?" Anne teased lightly, and Penny smiled.

"You know, I will. And I think I will need the distraction. I'll miss Drew and Lizzie terribly." She came around the desk to sit beside Anne, as she looked at the small classroom. "Do you think I would make a good secretary?" Penny asked suddenly. "My father is forever complaining that he can't hire anyone who understands his invoices. Perhaps I could help him there."

Anne smiled. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to spend some time being idle first? You've earned it, I think. Andrew says that you work tirelessly."

"If that means I am forever chasing my tail, then yes. But I think I will talk to Father about it. And Mother is always helping on committees and charities, perhaps I can join her on her outings as well." She gave a sigh, her blue eyes shining. "And visits to the museum, and Dorchester Square, and proper tea rooms-" here she laughed at herself. "I might be quite busy, after all. I can't wait to be at home again."

Anne's smile was genuine. "That's wonderful, Penny."

Neither woman had moved, and the younger woman shot Anne a twinkling look. "You don't seem keen to head out to the barn."

Anne gave an apologetic laugh. "Truth be told, I am enjoying the quiet too much- however, everyone has been so kind, and the schoolhouse has desperately needed work. Someone even sealed the crack in the floorboards under my desk- you can't think what it is like to have the cold breeze whistling around down there."

Anne went to stand up. However, before the foot that had been suspiciously numb all day could reach the floor, it became caught in the walking stick that lay innocently on the ground, and to her shock she found herself falling forward with a cry of surprise onto the wooden floor.

Penny leapt up after her in a panic. "Oh goodness, Anne, are you alright?"

Anne pushed the red hair from her face, with a wry groan. "Oh, I just tripped. I think I'm fine." She sat up and grimaced as she examined her hand.

"I'd better get Gilbert," Penny said, worried, causing Anne to wave her off.

"No, I'm sure I'm fine- besides, I haven't seen him here today."

"He's been on the roof since mid-morning, I believe. You most likely just missed him." She leant in to straighten the lace on a bewildered Anne's dress and stood up with a mischievous smile. "There, all ready now," she said inexplicably and left the room in a swirl of blue skirts.

An embarrassed Anne continued to assess her condition. She hadn't had an incident for weeks now. As she got to her feet she groaned, thinking of Susan's fussing, and suddenly paled- she would need to face Gilbert for the first time since Sonia Blythe's visit.

It had been a very unsettling week. Lying awake night after night she had grown exasperated with herself, unable to sleep and desperately trying to convince herself that nothing had changed, that they could continue as they were. And so she had been a little more distracted, a little more tired than usual- most likely adding to the situation she was in now.

There was a step at the door, and Anne looked up to see a dusty Gilbert walking in with an expression somewhere between amusement and concern. In that moment she began to relax- he looked just as he always had.

Before she could speak, he interrupted her. "You're fine, I know. How about we check just to make sure though."

Anne flushed as he got on one knee before her, and his gentle hands moved to examine her ankle.

"I don't think there's anything wrong, Gil, I can't feel anything," she said, as calmly as she could. "I only tripped."

He looked up at her with a quirked eyebrow, and for the first time, she noticed that he was in his shirtsleeves, and had rolled them up above his elbows. Drawing her eyes from his arms with a blush, she tried to focus on anything else but the man kneeling before her.

"Nothing, as in you didn't hurt it, or nothing, as in you can't feel it?" he said coolly. "Those are two different things."

Anne studied her fingernails absorbingly. "I suppose both."

"Alright, give me a minute here."

Praying that no one would enter the room, Anne tried to squash the droll observation that yet again Gilbert's Blythe's hands were underneath her skirt. Must her mind always go there? Of course, there was no real danger of interruption- Unbeknownst to Anne, an innocent looking Penny had stationed herself outside the classroom blithely redirecting questions about Anne's whereabouts to Mrs Jacob Mullins- who had conveniently left for the day.

After a moment, Gilbert sat back, relieved. "Well, the foot is alright- but- wait, Anne, what did you do to your hand?"

Anne had unconsciously been rotating her tingling wrist with a frown, and he held out his hand for it with a dry expression. His fingers felt around the bone carefully, and he stopped when she flinched. "You fell on your wrist?"

She gave a short sigh. "Yes."

Gilbert stood up then and grinned as picked up her stick. "You know that it won't help you down there, right?"

"I was decorating the floor."

He laughed at the way her nose had turned up and took her injured hand in his again, his manner quickly sobering. "Look, you've just sprained it, I think. I assume you haven't fallen in a while."

Anne shrugged. "No. I've been steadier, lately." She hadn't noticed him bringing his bag in and was surprised to see him now pull a small bandage out of it.

Gilbert began to wrap her hand carefully. "I really hope Jeremy can do something about this," he muttered. "He's here next week."

"Why, Gil?"

He stopped bandaging, unable to process her question. "What do you mean, why?"

Anne looked at him indulgently. "Look, it was an accident- something that could happen to anyone."

"Yes, well, I want it to stop happening." Gilbert continued to wind the bandage around her fingers, unconsciously smoothing the bandage over her hand as he worked. "I'm concerned. Every time you fall, the risk increases of permanent damage. What if you really get hurt one time?"

She watched him, her cheeks unexpectedly warm. She'd been afraid to put too much faith in the changing relationship between them- and yet sometimes it seemed to have been merely paused for eight years. Anne met his hazel eyes then. "I already have permanent damage, Gil. And I could get hurt. So could you- so could anyone."

Gilbert scowled at her. "This is different."

All embarrassment had fled now, and Anne spoke to him quietly. "I know that. But I'm not searching for a miracle cure, Gilbert. I can accept my limitations."

Gilbert released her hand, and with a frown, he placed his hands in his pockets. His mother's words to him had given him his own restless nights- and he drew in a tight breath now. She didn't want to be coddled, he knew that- but he somehow needed to explain.

"It's just that I thought you were safe all those years ago," he said slowly. "I thought nothing would be able to touch you. And instead, the next time I saw you, you were injured badly. And I couldn't do a thing about it. I don't want to be responsible for missing something that gets you hurt again."

Anne stood up and was startled to find that he hadn't moved. He was closer than he had been in a long time- and she studied the eyes now so near her own, trying not to imagine that she saw something in them. Her voice was gentle. "Gilbert Blythe, you're not responsible for keeping me safe- you're only responsible for being a doctor when I need to call on you as such," she said, with a slight chuckle. "I'm responsible for me. But-" here her cheeks flushed. "I'm very grateful for the fact that you care."

"Well, I do." He stepped away then, turning to face the classroom to regain some space. "You know, I overheard a rather interesting conversation this morning while I was on the roof."

Anne rubbed the bandage on her hand and picked up her walking stick. "You mean Mrs Peter talking about her husband shaving his whiskers off?" At Gilbert's raised eyebrow, Anne smiled impishly. "You must have missed that one. It was riveting."

He chuckled. "I imagine it was. No, I'm talking about the one where the celebrated Miss Shirley wanted to make food available for certain students."

Anne cleared her throat, embarrassed. "Oh."

Seemingly casual, Gilbert strolled over to the blackboard to inspect her writing. "The Ladies Aid are very keen to assist you- Susan was discussing ways and means in here while I was on the roof."

Anne gave him a droll look. "Eavesdropping, Doctor Blythe?"

"Feeling rather proud of a friend, actually."

At this she shook her head, her face flushed. "Don't be silly. Anyone would do it."

"Not everyone would notice it." He busied himself in rolling down his sleeves. "I most likely know the families. If there is anything I can do, let me know."

He saw her turn to walk back to the desk, and his heart broke at the unknown expression on her face.

"It happened to you, didn't it?" She was silent, and he pressed on bleakly. "You went without food." She lifted her eyes to his then, and he could read the grief in them. His own blinked furiously. "I'm so sorry." At her bewildered look, he swallowed hard. "I- I was an idiot to torment you. I didn't know what you'd had to endure."

She shook her red head, trying to smile. "You paid for that comment for five years, Gilbert. It was a harsh sentence even then. I told you, you owe me nothing."

"Maybe I owed it to the past."

As she went to move, he stopped her, suddenly afraid. "Anne, are you alright?"

Anne looked up, bewildered. "Yes, Gil. I'm fine. That was a very long time ago."

He looked at her, his face flushed. "No, now. Financially."

Anne manufactured a smile and stepped closer to him, her voice low. "I am fine. Really, truly fine. You shouldn't worry so."

Gilbert gave a reluctant grin. "I can't picture going without- and- I would hate to think that you-"

Anne lifted her head, smiling. "You are letting your imagination get the better of you, Gilbert. I thought you left that to me?" At his foolish look, she gave him a tender glance. "We live very comfortably, Gil. You've seen the way Susan stocks the table- I'm sure I have gained several pounds since Christmas."

Gilbert only just stopped himself from acknowledging that fact. He felt his cheeks redden, and drew in a long breath, willing himself to shut up. "Well, according to mother I could stand to gain a few, so I suppose we'd better head outside for lunch before the Crawford boys eat everything."

The building was completed as the sun began to descend, and painting would be completed on the next dry weekend. Anne was brought in officially to inspect the new cloakroom, and Gilbert watched with a smile as she made a little speech of thanks, somehow managing to include everyone who had assisted that day. The head of the school board thanked everyone then, and people began to head for home.

Gilbert was slow to collect his belongings, talking with various townsfolk and anticipating an easy meal at home before falling into bed. He had patched up several cuts and injuries that had occurred through the course of the day, including a splinter in Samuel Elliot's finger. Gilbert scratched his head sheepishly. He supposed he should have asked if the strapping fellow if he was squeamish before he pulled out his needle- however, the young man had regained consciousness eventually.

As he pulled his heavy coat on now, he scowled. One side effect of spending a day with various townsfolk was hearing the inevitable gossip that fluttered around- why the sullen Mrs Davidson had left her home so suddenly, the Willis child born yesterday who looked nothing like his pa- and hadn't he got a shock! Unkind laughter about poor Mr Cottsloe, who didn't remember his own wife last week- and then Gilbert's jaw clenched when Mrs Langley had brought up him again. The women clearly had no idea that the stove's pipe was an excellent conductor of sound.

Oh, it was nothing Gilbert hadn't heard before- snide suppositions about why he hadn't proposed to young Miss Winston yet- rumor had it that her brother may have vetoed the match; faint, insinuating comments about the mystery of the grey house amongst the willows- had Miss Winston heard the rumors about the mysterious Leslie West perhaps? Miss Caruthers had nodded knowingly. Oh, not that she would ever say anything was amiss, but a beautiful young woman's husband was mysteriously first alive and then dead, and alive again- and then became someone else. It just wasn't normal.

The gossip had halted for a moment when Cornelia Elliot arrived. Everyone knew that she would never hear anything said about Doctor Blythe, despite his youth and the whispers of unnatural surgery that could apparently bring the dead back to life. And heaven knew, it wasn't right to have a doctor so completely unattached- who knew what clever young woman he would seduce?

Up on the roof, Gilbert had tried to control his temper, remembering the funny old professor who had been in general practice for twenty years. He cheerfully reminded them that a doctor was always at the mercy of the gossips- and that one must always be mindful that you never knew who was watching.

When Mrs Elliot had ushered Anne into the room to inspect the height of the hooks in the cloakroom, sharp eyes turned to each other knowingly. Of course, Miss Shirley was excellent fodder for gossip. Orphaned as a baby, mysteriously crippled nine years ago, after a terrible argument with a lover. And could it be true that she wrote? Miss Caruthers thought she had heard that somewhere.

Gilbert's eyes now found Anne as she finished packing away her desk with Susan, and he sighed. She couldn't know what people were saying, he hoped- and he fervently prayed that no one had seen him attending to her foot in the classroom before. He'd assumed Penny would wait there while he tended her. She'd been most insistent that he come swiftly and quietly- and then he'd forgotten himself. It was just like it had always been. The moment the two of them were alone, they simply forgot their surroundings.

Hours later Gilbert finally fell into a roughly made bed, rolling now stiff shoulders. He wasn't as limber as he'd once been, he supposed. Well, another community project was completed now- and Anne had been so thankful. He hadn't been able to say goodbye, he'd only waved across the crowded classroom, as everyone tried to farewell the teacher at once. She hadn't been overt, but he'd seen the little smile on her face and had one last glimpse of her grey eyes before she'd turned away.

As he lay in the darkness, Gilbert sighed. Something was changing. She'd been incredible- and so open. And while he could appreciate the comfort that age and life had evidently given them both, since his mother had spoken to him a shadow Anne seemed to follow him as well- the girl he remembered from so long ago. Gilbert pulled the bed curtains shut around him and now stared up into the darkness. It was odd. When he saw Anne now, he could see her too- and once he would have said that he missed her younger self. Her sparkle and lightness, the exuberance and youth of the girl he had fallen in love with.

Yet as he watched the real Anne now, he was startled to see that the phantom in his memory had changed shape. Had it really changed, or had he only understood her now? She hadn't been perfect, and his understanding of her certainly hadn't been. He remembered how she had turned from him, the way she would hold him at arms' length.

She wasn't that girl now. And yet as he watched the closeness they had unthinkingly fallen into, the closeness that frightened him far more than he would have thought possible, Gilbert kept seeing two Anne's; the girl of the past, and the woman she had grown into. Sleep was miles from him that night, as he wrestled with two people that could not be reconciled. He wasn't an idiot- the past few months had shown him that she cared, at least. Oh, it was cautious and guarded, and at times she would grow uncomfortable with him- but he knew her better than that. Didn't he? Or had that been a lie too? How could he know her and yet not understand her? And someone who cared couldn't have- she wouldn't-

Gilbert exhaled. As he lay in bed on this night, he realised with a sinking feeling that it wasn't possible to completely wipe the past- it was here, with him. There was only one way to reconcile the two Anne's- and that was to understand what had gone wrong between the two of them. He'd fought this, tried to tell himself that it was no longer relevant to them. However, he knew better now. His mother had been right.

Because it was starting to matter.