Chapter 26

The early morning sun was just hitting the rocks behind Gilbert, where he sat on the loneliest part of the rocky shore. He'd recklessly climbed down there, taking odd pleasure in the sheer physicality of the exercise. It had been years since he'd been so active. He'd seen the place from a distance, and been seized by the desire to go there- and would not admit that the reason he had chosen it was completely ridiculous.

It was because there was no way on earth that Anne Shirley could get down here.

If she did he'd be furious- it wasn't safe for her. But he'd needed to escape for a time. She had now invaded every part of this shore for him- he saw her in the red of the sands, the stormy grey seas, even the flash of the lighthouse beacon at night. It had been that way for months, he could see that now. There was a faint smile that curved in his lips then, at the places he had come upon her unexpectedly here- never more so than her sandy tumble down the hill a week ago.

As the faint warmth of the sun began to penetrate his bones, Gilbert leaned back against the rocks with a sigh and closed his eyes. No one would want him for hours yet, he hoped. He turned his head to see the movement of gulls hovering above the steel grey waters, waves that looked small, but up close were enormous, well able to drown a man. Gilbert picked up a smooth stone beside him, pausing to throw it down towards the water, hearing it bounce as it hit the rocks.

So this was what it was like to be in love with Anne Shirley all over again.

Alone on the rock face, he relished in the sensation, his eyes closed.

It was unsettling not to be unsettled about it- especially since he had fought so hard at coming to this point. But there was no more running now. As he stared at the golden track the sunrise created on the water, he sighed. He'd been asleep, it seemed- and had awoken now with a vengeance.

A wry chuckle came from Gilbert's throat- how many times in the past had he taken Anne to task about the feasibility of fairy tales? This one was unrealistic, this one too complicated- who measured the worth of a prospective daughter-in-law with a pea under a mattress? One balmy summer night in Hester Grey's garden he'd baited and debated her about the story of Sleeping Beauty- enjoying the flush on Anne's cheeks, and her passion as she defended her beloved stories.

"Would you want to be woken up like that?"

"By someone who had thought me worth risking fire or dragon, yes!"

Gilbert rubbed his face wearily. How he'd wanted to tell her the truth- that he would go through anything for the chance to be with her. Over and over, he'd risked her anger to hear her defend love to him, and by doing so given her every reason to believe that his practicality over-rode any sense of romance. His smile faded. He should have known her better- no wonder she'd not considered him as a suitor back then. She didn't see that she was his romance.

Sitting now on the rocky outcropping, Gilbert came face to face with the simple truth. There was no falling in love with Anne again. He knew that already. He'd always been in love with her. Anne was why he'd never been able to seriously consider anyone else- she was why everyone else fell short. What was worse, he realised with shame that he'd been fighting it since he first saw her in Andrew's home- the very reason he had been so angry. The emotions that had rushed over him like the biggest of breakers had drenched him immediately. There was no more running, no more pretending to not recognise his own heart. Gilbert's skin seemed to burn as he recalled the way he had handled things over the last few months- he'd argued and badgered her, he'd fussed and confronted her on things she hadn't wanted to discuss- how had she let him do that? And then a white heat rushed through him at the times he had insisted on checking her ankle, and he covered his face with a deep groan.

Oh God, he'd even had his hands under her dress… How had he dared to be so bold with her?

Gilbert breathed in and out slowly, willing his pulse to calm. It was alright- he'd done nothing inappropriate. He was a doctor. Still, he hoped fervently that it wouldn't happen again, at least till they'd come to some kind of understanding. He'd be lucky if he could sit next to her now without falling apart. As he studied the shore in the distance, Gilbert thought about the chance of her moving to the Glen when she did. A cold shiver hit him when he realised how close it had come to never seeing her again. Would he ever have gone home? Would he ever have known? A sudden panic filled his chest. What if she'd been unable to work, or was all alone? What if, God forbid, she hadn't survived the fall? For long minutes he let himself feel the full impact of the chance that they had now- a chance that he'd nearly lost.

The questions kept coming, and he closed his eyes in exhaustion. What was it that had drawn Anne here to Four Winds? Was she, like he was to her, bound to him in some way? Did she feel something for him?

He'd tried to make sense of it all last night. Lying in bed, replaying every word she had spoken, every gesture, until he could unwrap the riddle that was his relationship with Anne. His limbs were too restless to sleep, and he'd ended up pacing his darkened house through the middle of the night.

Slowly, his thoughts began to unfold. She cared. It was impossible, unlikely, unattainable- but somehow, she did. A tremor shot through him as he stood in the darkness of his lounge room. She was his friend- but more than that was surely unthinkable. His breath came fast now, as he allowed the question to form in his mind.

Could she- did she actually, or was it possible- that Anne- loved—

He moved to stand by the open window, breathing deeply of the cool breeze coming through the valley. Every interaction with her in the last few months flicked through his mind- the harsh words he had spoken to her on the night they had met, the guarded way she had explained her presence in his town. The way she had chosen to open up to him about Marilla, about Roy, Owen- the heartbreaking look of patient grief that she had worn. She had been proud and fought him coming in as her doctor, fighting to maintain her independence in a way that only Anne Shirley could do. She didn't need him, didn't expect anything of him- and yet she made it clear that he was welcome.

Impulsively Gilbert strode out of his front door and onto the lawn, feeling oddly stifled in the quiet house. With a groan he flopped down on the grass, staring into the night sky. The stars above him burned brilliantly, and an old poem he and Anne had once studied together came to mind- the poet who had claimed that not even the stars above could match the wonder of being loved.*

Was it possible that it was so obvious, and yet he hadn't seen it? He'd thought that the accident had changed her- and perhaps it had. But her gentleness in the face of his anger, the astonishing way she had forgiven him for the hurtful things he had said made him wonder. He'd made her angry, he'd stepped on her boundaries- and yet she'd allowed him to apologise. Without placing any expectations on him, she'd simply been her own dear self, hidden under more layers of pain than anyone should have had to deal with. She'd known such hurt- and yet could it be possible that what had happened between them had hurt her as much as it had him? That had to be love, didn't it?

Gilbert watched the movement of the skies for an hour, and his breath began to come more quickly when he, at last, came to the enamel heart he had given her. She'd thought him married- thought that she would never see him again. She'd broken it, but kept it- she'd worn it all these years. She'd been jealous- Anne was never jealous.

No, it had to be true. If it was- and Anne never lied- then she'd cared for him all along. It wasn't about him dying- it wasn't about her being alone now. Gilbert sat up suddenly, his burning eyes turned in the direction of the schoolhouse, less than a mile away from him. She should be asleep, perhaps dreaming- what did she dream of now?

"She does," he whispered, letting himself hear the words. "She loves me." He walked up the stairs in a dreamlike state and closed the door behind him. After a moment of intense silence, Gilbert thrust his fists in the air with a triumphant yell that rang through the dead of the night.

Now he sat alone on the rock face in the morning sunshine, wondering at his own blindness. He'd always thought he was intelligent enough to know what he felt- now he saw that he'd only been waiting for some sign from her, one that he had never expected to get. Gilbert stood up then, his eyes roving the landscape hungrily. It would all be different now- he knew her better. And if he was wrong, and she was happy with how things were between them, he could only pray that he would be able to see it. A smile began to creep across his tired face in the morning light, a lightness that came with a decision already made. If it was true that she loved him then there was only one course ahead of him.

When Andrew walked into Gilbert's office that same morning, he stopped in consternation. Gilbert was coat-less and standing in front of a little mirror, wincing as he pressed a piece of cloth to a scrape on his forehead.

"What on earth did you do?"

Gilbert turned around sheepishly. "Rock climbing. I needed some air."

Andrew sat down on the other side of Gilbert's desk and chuckled. "You know you don't have to go anywhere to get that."

Gilbert splashed a little alcohol on his hands and threw himself into his chair with a groan. "Oh, I just needed to do some thinking."

"You missed a spot," Andrew commented, pointing to Gilbert's elbow.

"I forgot about that."

While Gilbert rolled up his sleeves to tend to the cut on his arm, Andrew put his hands behind his head. "I just dropped Lizzie off at school- I wanted to find out how she's going in class."

"Oh?"

"Since Penny left, she's very emotional. Still, Anne says she's doing fine."

The sponge slipped from Gilbert's fingers then, and he caught at it before it could fall to the floor. "That's- er, that's good. How- how is Anne this morning?"

"Oh, fine." Andrew watched him with a little smirk. "She looks lovely in purple, don't you think?"

Gilbert's head flew up, a light in his eyes that he couldn't disguise. "Purple?"

Andrew grinned. "Yes. Lizzie was enraptured and asked her where her pretty dresses have been all this time."

Gilbert chuckled. "I'm sure Anne felt that way about them too."

Andrew steepled his fingers together, watching Gilbert in silence with the careful eyes of a lawyer. Something was different. He chose now to address it bluntly. "Now while the new colours of Anne's wardrobe are very interesting; Gil, when are you going to admit that you're head over heels in love with her?"

Unluckily Gilbert had been moving the basin of water as Andrew spoke, and Andrew leapt out of the way just in time to avoid being drenched. Gilbert was swift to mop up the mess with an old rag, his cheeks burning. When he was done, he wiped his forehead and sighed.

"Alright. Will now do?" he asked his friend.

Andrew stared at him comically. "Now?"

"Yes. Now."

Andrew grinned, coming close to slap Gilbert on the back. "Atta boy! I thought it would take you a lot longer than that. I was preparing to present evidence and everything."

Gilbert rubbed his face with a sheepish look. "There's no need. I'm quite used to making an idiot of myself about Anne."

Andrew's laugh was loud and long. "Well, if you'll forgive the expression Gil, it's bloody well about time."

Gilbert touched his scratched forehead wryly. "Literally, it seems."

Andrew pulled Gilbert's coat from the rack with a grin. "Come on, I need pie for this conversation- and Patty's been missing us."

Springtime was evidently in the air as the gentlemen walked down the street. After the two of them placed their orders in the tea room, Andrew and Gilbert sat outside in the sunshine.

"So are you going to talk to her about everything now?"

Gilbert stretched out his long legs with relief. "I did. A week ago."

Andrew looked at him in surprise. "You've done it?"

Gilbert folded his arms. "I know what happened- or enough, anyway."

Andrew took a sip of his tea. "Oh?"

A long sigh came from the man across from him. Gilbert's certainty was so new- he was almost afraid to put it into words, lest he begin to believe it too good to be true. "There was a lot of misunderstanding. Most of it our fault- but some was from outside sources." Gilbert scowled, thinking of Josie's spiteful words. "She- cared. All the time, she cared about me. I believed her indifferent- and she wasn't. But she wasn't ready for me back then. And to be honest, I probably wasn't ready to propose when I did." He sighed, looking out on the quiet street. Andrew's look was thoughtful, and he watched his friend silently. "I'm three years older than she is. Did you know that?"

Andrew chuckled. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Back then, a lot. It meant I was ready long before she was, and I should have seen the signs of that. She was eleven before she became part of a stable family. I always wondered if that made a difference." Gilbert said absently. "And maybe she needed to be with Gardner for a time- maybe she needed to figure out some things first. The way she's responded to me over the last few months- I just wonder if I'd waited back then, if I'd not been so terrified of losing her- maybe we could have prevented all of this from happening." He sighed and sat up. "But that's neither here nor there. We're here now."

Andrew's smile grew. "So what next?"

Gilbert stuffed his hands in his pockets then, his eyes lighting up. "Now I set out to win Anne Shirley properly."

At this Andrew gave a derisive hoot. "Gil, you can't tell that you've already won? I've seen the way she looks at you- Penny's been writing weekly to ask if the two of you have made any progress yet."

Gilbert choked slightly. "Penny has?"

"Yes. She told me to tell you to get a move on. Anne needs you, and Lord help us, you need her."

"Well, I'm not rushing anything," Gilbert said stubbornly. "I've waited half my life for her- sometimes unwillingly, it's true- but I want to enjoy this. And she deserves better than another rushed proposal. She's had a rough couple of years- and if it takes me a bit longer to win her heart, then so be it."

"And if you find out she's ready now?"

Gilbert drew in a deep breath. "Then nothing will keep me from her."

On Friday afternoon at Rosewood cottage, Susan had just pulled some cakes from the oven when she heard the gentle tap of Anne's cane in the entryway and turned to see her enter, her satchel dropped on the chair with a sigh of relief.

"You're a little late," Susan commented comfortably, as she placed her towel over the chair, and went to pull the kettle from the stove. "Your letters are on your bed, dearie."

Anne smiled with relief. "Thank you, Susan. I'll go and get changed before tea, I think."

Susan watched her go with a short sigh. Owen Ford's abrupt departure had been the subject of much conjecture in the local post office that day, where several ladies had been discussing the situation- including Owen's housekeeper, who was now seeking employment elsewhere. All conversation had ceased when Susan entered the building, and more than one pair of eyes had turned to the housekeeper curiously. It was known that he had visited Miss Shirley from time to time- and that Miss Shirley had been declared very lucky to catch the author's attention in the first place.

Susan had greeted the women coolly, answering questions about Anne's well-being in as little detail as was polite. More than one person had stopped her on her way home that day- a young mother wanted to let Miss Shirley know that her son could now say his alphabet perfectly, another to remind Anne that her daughter was sensitive to noise- could she please not clap her chalkboard dusters so loudly? Susan had learned to take it in her stride, however, the gossip was another matter. More than one ladies aider had discovered in past months that Susan would not hear anything negative said about Anne.

Susan had watched Anne carefully in the wake of Owen's last visit to the cottage, all the time berating herself for not being careful enough about him. When she arrived home that same night, she and Anne had had a long talk about what had occurred. Anne felt it best to be as straight to the point as she could, and a horrified Susan had apologised for not learning more about him beforehand.

Anne had lovingly but firmly told Susan that it was not her job to protect her. She had sent Susan to bed then, assuring her that she was fine, and that a quiet night was all she required. She had been relieved to hear that Doctor Blythe had checked on her- with Penny gone, Susan had been concerned that Anne had no one to talk to but herself- and she was forced to admit reluctantly that the ways of the younger generation were beyond her.

Susan hung Anne's satchel on the hook in her office, placing the items inside on her desk as she liked to have them. She could hear Anne moving around in her bedroom, and gave a sigh of relief. Anne was doing well now- but just let any other unwelcome gentleman try to come near her girl again! At that moment her eyes fell on a photo frame that had certainly not been there a week earlier. Susan put Anne's marking on the side of the desk and picked up the frame to study it in wonder. She didn't hear Anne move into the doorway.

"It's from our Redmond days."

Susan turned in shock to see Anne standing there, an arrested look on her face.

"Is this- is this you and Doctor Blythe?"

Anne smiled. "Yes. It's one of the few photos I have with him in it." Anne walked over to her, her stick thumping on the bare wooden floorboards. "We were a part of the debating team- and we were in competition with another university. We won, and our photos were taken that evening. Gil- Doctor Blythe insisted on a photo of the two of us- to- to send to our folks back in Avonlea."

Susan's softening eyes looked at a young, laughing Anne standing straight and tall in the photo, with her hand tucked in the arm of a carelessly handsome young man who could only have been the doctor. She placed the frame down with a lump in her throat and gave Anne a bracing look. "Well, it's a fine picture, and the two of you must have been proud of yourselves. Don't you want to put it on the mantelpiece where the doctor could see it, the next time he comes to tea?"

She watched Anne suddenly flush. "I think not, Susan. He might not wish to be surprised with his younger self again- I think it likely that he didn't keep his own copy." She walked to the desk, and her fingers absently traced the frame.

Susan gave Anne a curious look. "The two of you must have been very close, back then." At the shadow that passed across Anne's face, Susan turned from the desk, regretting that she had commented on it. "Well, I'd best be getting the washing inside, dearie- the evenings are still a mite cool now."

Anne hardly saw her go. She sat down at her desk soberly. The photo had lived in a box of keepsakes in Anne's trunk, ones she had only recently opened. She smiled at the triumphant look on Gilbert's face in the picture- the cockiness that she had teased him about, but secretly loved. Always confident, always ready to argue- always with that bright Blythe look that told her he was certain of his own course.

She studied her nearly twenty-year-old self, remembering the peach gown that the irrepressible Phil had talked her into wearing that evening: a colour Anne certainly would never have picked out for herself. The tilt of her chin, the way Gilbert's hand had rested on her own- it seemed like only yesterday. She swallowed then. It was almost nine years ago now. The carefree young man in the picture had been only weeks away from proposing, and Anne sighed, burying her face in her arms. Had she really been so foolish to be surprised by that? Of course she had known how he felt- she had fought it too hard to be ignorant of the fact. Oh, to be able to go back to that moment again- to somehow ask Gilbert for more time, to tell him that she cared. Anne sighed, thinking of the way Phil had tried to tell her after Gilbert's proposal. In the wake of the events of that summer, Anne realised that it had been why she had allowed some distance to grow between herself and Phil. She had been so terribly, terribly right about everything- and it had hurt her bitterly.

She sat back from her desk now with an odd look on her face. So much had been healed between them after their talk, that a bewildered Anne was still trying to find her feet. Since that day on the shore, Gilbert had called in on her at the schoolhouse one afternoon. He'd brought a tea cake from the bakery, and picnicked with her on the floor of her classroom, drinking tea out of the plain mugs Anne kept in her desk. He had brought Andrew and Lizzie around on Saturday afternoon to help Anne to clear out the remaining flower beds and enjoy the sunshine, and only last night he had called in to discuss- no, actually, she couldn't recall what it was he had come to discuss.

Anne smiled then. Susan had taken herself out of the way- bored by their conversation, she assumed- and in a rare silence she had looked over to see that he had fallen asleep in his chair. Hardly surprising, since he had been up delivering babies the previous night. She had simply watched him for a time, studying his beloved face. The shadows he had worn when she had first come were lesser now- more and more she was seeing the boy she remembered, cheerful and engaged in life. When Susan had come into the room to check on the pair, she had stopped cold and turned with a knowing look on her kind face that Anne luckily did not see.

After a time Anne had reflected with a sigh that he needed his bed, and she resolved to wake him so he could be on his way. She had been somewhat stiff herself that day, and slowly lowered herself to the ground next to his chair. A hand on his was all it had taken, and she had chuckled to see him stir slightly, and his fingers closed around hers unexpectedly.

"I'm up. Did you want to go to bed?" he mumbled.

Anne gulped slightly at his words, her cheeks inexplicably hot at the sound of his husky voice. When Gilbert opened his eyes properly, he saw her looking at him with huge eyes from beside his chair and smiled sheepishly as he tried to repress a yawn. "I'm sorry, it's hardly manners to fall asleep on an evening call, is it?"

Anne found her voice then, her look warm. "You did tell me you could fall asleep anywhere. Although is this perhaps a comment on how interesting you find me?"

He smiled, and bent in closer to her face. "Come on, I've always found you interesting, Carrots." He reached gentle fingers to brush a red curl behind her ear. Perhaps in that moment of stillness, he was testing the waters a little when his hand moved to her soft cheek. She didn't move away, and his heart almost stopped as she closed her eyes, and turned into his palm for a brief second. Gilbert's hand shook. He wasn't imagining this. He swallowed as she pulled away, rising to hold his hands out to help her up. The exquisite tension in the room was swiftly broken by her laughter when she stumbled on stiff feet, thankfully with his hands to steady her again.

"I know. I make all the ladies swoon," he said matter-of-factly, and Anne's eyebrow lifted in humour.

"And what of the ladies who refuse to swoon over you?"

Gilbert pulled his coat on with a little smile. "They're the ones I like, Anne."

When the two of them stood before Anne's front door, she had handed him his hat. "You need sleep, Gil. You aren't going home to sit up reading, are you?" she asked archly.

"I won't if you don't," he countered, and she smiled. "Will I see you at the church fete on Saturday?"

Anne nodded. "Of course."

Gilbert stood without moving, and Anne watched him with warm cheeks. "You know, I can't help but noticing that you haven't gone yet," she said lightly. To her surprise, his voice was serious as he met her gaze.

"Because I don't want to."

In confusion, Anne went to turn from him until he caught her hand in his. Slowly, Gilbert pulled her back toward him, wondering if she felt it- if she could see anything different in him. "Do you want me to?" he asked quietly. The wait seemed interminable until she swallowed, and mustering her courage, she shook her head mutely. She could hear Susan making unnecessary noise in the kitchen so late in the evening and slowly came back to herself with a blush. He rolled his eyes and smiled at her then. "Nevertheless-"

"Nevertheless," she echoed faintly.

He released her hand then. "I'll be sure to find you on Saturday. Good night, Anne."

When the door closed behind him, a shaken Anne slipped down onto the floor to lean against the wall, her legs trembling. What on earth was happening between them? Surely it couldn't mean anything, it couldn't-

"Anne!" Susan's worried voice cried as she came into the hall, and Anne smiled at the way she rushed to her side. "Do you want me to call Doctor Blythe back? Are you hurt?"

To the housekeeper's consternation, Anne began to laugh helplessly. "Susan darling, that would be completely counter-productive."

"You aren't making any sense-"

Anne hauled herself up, steadied by Susan's arm. "No matter. There's no need to get Gilbert; after all, the poor man needs his bed- and I need mine. Would you be a dear and help me in there? My foot isn't being at all cooperative today."

She'd been tucked into bed with a cup of tea and warned that if she didn't sleep properly, that Susan would cancel Anne's class for herself. As a matter of fact, she had slept better than she had in a long time- and her day had gone exceptionally well.

In the present, Anne pushed up from her desk, pausing to touch his photo with gentle fingers. In truth, she didn't fear Gilbert seeing it- she only feared that her own heart would be more exposed than it already was. So much had happened between them since she moved to the Glen; she'd begun to heal, they both had. In some ways, the two of them were closer than they had ever been.

Months ago Anne had needed to make a choice: whether she could lower her defenses to the man she loved, knowing he had the power to hurt her more than anyone else. She drew in a deep breath, brushing the red hair off her forehead.

She still had to trust.

*Of Pearls and Stars, by Heinrich Heine