While the fields scrolled by, Gilbert started to formulate a plan. The jostling of the train as it picked up speed fed his newfound energy, which had originated upon his waking up at dawn withe the knowledge that Anne was alive.
What a fool he had been to believe, even for a moment, that it could have been her lying in morgue. He would know if she had died: distant as they might have grown, they were still spiritually bound. If Anne were no longer in this world, he would feel it.
But she was, and she was somewhere. And he was going to find her. How, though, was the question. She wasn't in Avonlea: were it the case, she would have gone to Marilla or Diana. His former Kingsport classmates with whom he'd just visited this morning had neither seen nor heard from her, but had offered to place calls to their own colleagues in the vicinity. Gil supposed the next logical step would be to reach out to Phil, Priss and Stella. Contact with them had been sparse, to the point where Gilbert couldn't remember when their letters had tapered off.
A memory entered his mind:
He was heading over to Patty's Place on a Friday evening, as he had done countless times. He knocked at the door and straightened the collar of his shirt under his jacket as he waited. It was Stella who'd opened the door.
"Oh, Gilbert, I was hoping you'd turn up!" she said in manner of greeting, stepping aside to let him in.
"Today's Friday - was Anne not expecting me? I thought we had a study-" His response was cut short by angry screams coming from upstairs. Hysteria made the words undistinguishable, but he could tell beyond doubt that one of the voices was Anne's.
"They've been at it since Aunt Jimsie left for tea," explained Stella, taking his jacket and cap, urging him further into the house. "Neither Priss nor I have been able to get a word in, let alone break up the argument. Maybe you can talk them down from their tizzy, because we certainly can't."
Curious, he let Stella urge him to the bottom of the staircase. He set his foot on the first step and paused when the screaming ceased. They heard a door open and slam shut, and a red faced Phil came into view. The normally friendly girl came down to Gilbert's level, eyed him cynically and scoffed. "Good luck with that one," she'd muttered with contempt before stomping away. Bewildered, he gaped at her retreating form, then at Stella, who gave him one last nudge. This kicked him back in motion, and he climbed upstairs three steps at a time, rushing to the door he knew to be Anne's and knocked quietly. "Anne? It's me."
He strained to hear signs of anything through the closed door: nothing but silence. Then, after a beat: "I'll be out in a moment."
"How about you let me in?" he suggested. Another beat, then two...
"Are you alone?" she asked timidly.
"Yes." The door opened a fraction, and he quickly slipped through before she could change her mind. Seeing as it was just the two of them in her bedroom, he deemed it more proper to leave the door cracked open, and turned to face her.
Anne's face was red and streaked with angry tears. He knew from experience (and all too well) that no amount of reason would calm her down from her worked up state. He approached her carefully, as one would a wild animal, until he was standing right in front of her. His fingers sought hers: he held her hands in his, resting them on his thighs, and waited for her erratic breathing to steady itself. When she looked up at him, it took all of his strength not to greedily engulf her mouth in a savage (and highly inappropriate) kiss.
Instead, he held her watery gaze. "Would you like to talk about it?"
"I'd rather not."
"How come?"
"Because you'll be disappointed in me, and I couldn't bear it."
"I won't be disappointed," he vowed.
She fixed him seriously. "Promise?"
Gilbert couldn't remember what the problem had been - something rather small and petty, in the end. He'd rubbed her arms and listened as she talked, letting her rant without interrupting, abstaining from commenting. Eventually, she'd rationalized things in her own way, and they were able to get to their scheduled study session. When a considerably calmer Phil had returned asking for forgiveness for whatever harsh words she had said, Anne had apologized in turn for reacting as she had, and the two roommates forgave each other on the spot, and that was the last they had thought of the incident. Until now.
What was the particular significance of this memory? Gilbert wondered. Anne had always had a hot temper - it was something he'd learned the hard way, and wasn't prone to forget. On occasion, he stuck to his guns when it came to something important (or when a streak of mischief inspired him, and he just wanted to rile her up a bit) - but for the most part, he soothed her, kept her calm, spoke as the voice of reason, apologized on her behalf.
It was a heavy role at times which made him feel as the sole grownup in their relationship, but he recalled feeling a sort of pride in the beginning: knowing that he could work her down from her legendary fits, that he held the key to her inner peace.
He couldn't remember when he'd last used that key. There had been occasions to do so, but he simply hadn't been in the mood - for crying out loud, they were no longer children! They were fully grown adults, parents with responsibilities, and after a full day of work, the last thing he wanted to do was play mediator between his wife and the neighbors, or whoever was complaining about her at the time.
When had Anne become a burden in his life? When had she gone from being his dream come true, to being a silent, sullen figure at the dinner table, another confrontation late at night?
He began to suspect that if he wanted to truly find Anne, he'd have to search not only around him, but within himself as well.