AN: Apologies for the lack of updates! Had some family affairs to straighten out...anyhow, new chapter is up, and more to follow! Thank you for your patience, and I look forward to your comments.

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A breeze drafted through the girls' dormitory. Anne shivered and curled into an even tighter ball under the thin burlap. During the summer, she secretly coveted her bed, for two reasons mostly. First, it was in the far corner of the room, furthest from the door. Second was the window right beside her, a means for her mind to escape to another world - and potentially an escape for her body, as well, should the need arise.

During the winter, though, nothing could keep out the cold, and Anne's bed was first in line to receive the icy gusts. Old man Cooper had nailed the ledge to the sill a while ago, and done a poor job of it - a good thing, too, because when the bottom floor had caught fire last spring, she and some of the bigger girls had been able to pry the nails loose, and everyone had been evacuated safely. The worst of the damage had been a persistent cough shared by those who'd breathed in more smoke than others, and the acrid smell of singed wood and fabric that still lingered in every room. No one had thought of fixing the window after that, a fact for which Anne was grateful in the summertime.

Now that February was in full swing, and the night wind chilled her to the bone, she quaked under her thin, porous sack that had been cut up to make a blanket. She was so cold, her limbs hurt. The pain was such that she couldn't sleep, and to be kept awake when she was so tired and cold was torture. I just want to sleep, she thought. Anything not to have to feel this. Even death would be better. Only, death never did come, and neither did sleep...

Anne stared at the ceiling, disoriented and confused. It took her several seconds to identify her surroundings (her room at the Ulaafsens', her Scandinavian lodgers right across the street from Dr. Lebrun), and several more to understand that the sounds of the wind outside had woken her from a dream. She'd been reliving scenes from her past in her sleep increasingly since the doctor had deepened and sharpened the nature of his questions to her. In fact, between talking about it during the day, the dreams at night, and the moments in which her mind lost itself in memories more vivid than real life (waking dreams, the doctor called them), she was having a hard time telling fact from fiction of her own life story.

She'd brought up this troubling notion during her session last week. The doctor had, in her eyes, been awfully cavalier about it all. He assured her that "being certain of the accuracy of one's past would prove to be quite futile in the end of all matters."

"And the fact that I can't tell truth from my own fabrications is not worrisome?" she pressed on. "This is your field of expertise, after all, so you tell me - is the possibility of losing my mind futile?"

"First off, I feel quite confident that you are not losing your mind. I also feel confident in my assertion that separating true memories from the created ones is not necessarily key. What is more significant to me right now is that you are attaching importance to what happened."

Anne's eyebrows furrowed. "So, you're saying that it doesn't matter that I may be losing my sanity, as long as it matters to me?"

And then, the infuriating man did something she had deemed until then unthinkable: he laughed. A burst of uncontrollable, highly undignified laughter that had him doubled over in his chair. "I-I'm sorr- I'm so-" he choked out, only to succumb to hysterical giggles again. Eventually, the amusement caught on, and the corner of her lips lifted despite herself. A chortle escaped, then another, and soon they both were reduced to tears of hilarity.

Futile my hind foot, Anne thought with a sardonic smile now, and pushed her way out of bed to get ready for the day.

Fifteen minutes later, her spade pushed through the hard ground, digging until she found what she'd been looking for. Dropping the tool, she plunged her hands through the cold soil and closed her fingers around the thin green line. She tugged firmly but carefully, so as not to snap it, and pulled until it came out practically of its own accord.

"Quite an early start for you today."

She turned to smile at her interlocutor. "The day was beckoning," she said in guise of explanation, covering up the hole with the loose dirt.

"The sun has yet to rise," noted Dr. Lebrun, a bushy eyebrow raised.

"Weeds are best caught before the break of day." She discarded the uprooted vine and stood up, brushing the dirt from her hands. Like all good things, she had earned her position of landscaper by accident. The day Jack had returned to his job, she had wandered around the neighborhood. As it seemed that she would be staying here for a while, she figured it would be good to familiarize herself with the roads and houses - something she had never bothered doing in Port Hope. Later that afternoon, Anne had asked the doctor why his was the only house without the slightest bit of green around it - not even a shrub, and didn't it seem awfully bare to him? "Not for lack of effort," he'd replied over his teacup. "Nothing grows here. We've tried many times - bulbs, vines, herbs, even root vegetables! It simply won't take." Offended that he might imply the land to be at fault, Anne had assured him that plants could grow anywhere, given the right circumstances. "Perhaps you would like to try your hand at it, then?"

Glad to have anything to do with her hands again, Anne had agreed to try, refusing the doctor's offer to buy seeds on his next outing to town. "Please - if you don't mind, I'd rather collect some myself. I wouldn't want you to have to spend anything - not when you're already doing so much for me. Besides, there is plenty of life by the creek, I'll gather seeds and bulbs there." "You would rather poach wildflowers?" "They can thrive most anywhere - they're much more resilient than domestic plants, at any rate." "And why is that?" he inquired, wearing the same even, neutral expression as when he was analyzing her words, but Anne was too caught up to notice. "They belong to the real world, to nature. They endure frost, snow, scorching sun, high wind and deluge. House plants pertain to man made structures, they require pots and regular waterings, and so much care...wildflowers will survive foxes and birds and rabbits, even bears! We don't need to receive any adoration or care to survive." "We?"

Anne froze. The wrong pronoun had simply slipped out without her realizing. "They. I meant they." "People generally say what they mean, Anne." Her cheeks burned, her heart stammered, and moisture glazed over her eyes. "I...I'm not a flower, Dr. Lebrun." "Are you saying that you are wild, then?"

The tears that had been building up spilt down her cheeks in earnest, and the kind man had escorted her back to his sitting room, where they then proceeded to have the most revealing, eye-opening session yet. Since then, Anne had thrown herself diligently into gardening, plunging with great enthusiasm into the ground, and exploring the sides of the roads, making an inventory of what grew and how it grew. She would give the man a beautiful arrangement, vegetation fit for the gods: he certainly deserved it.

"Well, since you're here before my first appointment, you might as well come in for a cup of tea. I believe Hilda will be fixing scones."

"Thank you, that would be nice. I'll just fill up this hole and I'll be right in."

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Gilbert kept his eyes closed, reluctant to fully wake up. He'd dreamed of Anne again: they were walking in the woods together, giggling and chatting about anything that went through their heads, and she was making a golden crown of dandelions and yellow daisies. When it was done, she placed it ceremoniously on his head, her laughter ringing out, bouncing off the trees...

Sounds of morning preparations interrupted his fantasy: it was time to get up and face reality. Pushing himself off the bed and up on his feet, he shuffled like a weary old man across the room. Washed up, got dressed, headed to his office room. As it had been every day for the past few weeks, a tray of hot breakfast and tea was waiting for him on his desk. He settled down in his seat, picked up the document at the top of the neatly stacked pile and got to work, reading as he sipped on his tea. As usual, he would devour the pages in front of him and all but forget his meal, leaving the hot buttered buns and strawberry preserves practically untouched.

This routine had been put in place after the buggy ride incident with Celeste. That evening, upon their return, Gilbert had excused himself and informed Celeste that he needed to have a word with her Aunt in private, would she please give them a moment? The young woman had ducked her head and gathered her purchases, avoiding eye contact with him as she headed indoors. He hadn't quite caught what she'd muttered as she passed him, and hadn't cared either: Gilbert was at breaking point, and needed to confront Susan straight away. He found her in the kitchen, where, busy with the vegetables she was dicing, she did not notice the angry expression on his face.

"Oh, you're back, Doctor dear!" she exclaimed joyfully. "Supper is nearly ready now - lamb stew and cornbread, goodness knows you could use a little plumping, Doctor, I can only take your trousers in so many times, you know-"

"Susan." His harsh tone stopped her prattling, and she looked up, surprised. He cleared his throat and breathed in, trying to rein in his temper. "Why is she here?"

"Doctor?"

"Celeste," he spoke more evenly, struggling to keep his voice sturdy. "Why is she here?"

"Why, Doctor, we needed help with the children, what with the-"

"The children are in Avonlea with their godmother. Why is Celeste here?"

And then, the woman had had the nerve to give him a pitying look. "Now, Doctor, this house needs a woman's presence, children or no children. Goodness knows I do the best I can, but we can't rely entirely on Mrs. Wright - she has her own children to look after, Doctor, and her own husband. It was good of her to offer help-"

"She is the children's godmother!" he gritted out, straining against the heat spreading from his cheeks to his neck.

"-but it wouldn't do sitting here, moping about, all alone, waiting for God to change his will-"

"God's will?" He was aware that he was full on screaming now, but couldn't bring himself to cool down. "What do you know of God's will for me?"

"Doctor, I will not stand by while you denounce Providence-"

"Providence?!" he bellowed, still unable to rein his voice in. "Is that what you call your scheming, Susan? God's will! You have no idea- you just do not- cannot-"Gilbert gulped and dragged a shaky hand through his hair, breathing as though he'd just run a mile. He turned his back on a bewildered Susan, who remained mute, struck by his emotional outburst.

"You will leave in the morning," he enunciated quietly but clearly when he'd regained some control. "Both of you." He went on over her gasp: "You'll both receive an appropriate settlement, as well as excellent letters of recommendation. If you wish, I could find you fair and secure positions within good families elsewhere."

"Doctor," her voice was demure now, and filled with tears. "Surely you don't mean..."

He turned so that she could see his profile now, grave, serious, resigned. "Let me know where to send your belongings once you're settled," he instructed, and went to shut himself up in his office.

It was already half past eleven when a knock at the door startled him out of his thoughts. "Dr. Blythe, may I please come in?"

She was the last person he wanted to deal with at the moment, and so said nothing, but the door opened anyway, and in stepped Celeste, a plain burgundy shawl modestly covering what her nightgown didn't. As he took in a breath to send her away, the girl set her candle down on his desk. "I won't be long," she vowed. "I know you want me gone, and I will be, tomorrow, as soon as I can get a ride. Only, please, don't send Aunt Susan away."

Taken aback by her honest tone, one he hadn't heard much in her brief stay at the Blythe residence, Gilbert leaned back in his seat and gestured to the empty chair across from his desk. "I wasn't going to," he admitted as she accepted his invitation to sit. "I spoke out of spite, and other ugly emotions. I would never send her away on a whim." His eyes made contact with hers, now, monitoring the effect of his following words. "You do understand, though, why I have to send you away."

She nodded once, and he saw tears well up in her eyes before she averted her gaze. His reflex was to go around and hold her hand, to lend her comfort until she was soothed, but caution made him keep his distance. Too many boundaries had been broken, and it was most likely his fault. Who knew how many times he'd encouraged it, given the wrong impression. Instead, he held out his handkerchief, careful that their fingers did not touch as she reached out for it. She dabbed at her eyes and looked up again.

"I never meant to start trouble," she pleaded. Well, you did, he thought bitterly. Her lips quirked up at the corners, as though she'd heard. "You don't believe me, but it's true. Aunt Susan called me here to help, and I was happy to do so. Life at home was getting overbearing, you see. My father has a hard time with his illness, it's been so for a long time now, and my mother is at her wit's end. When it was mentioned that you might be looking for companionship, I couldn't wait. I told myself it wouldn't matter what you looked like, as long as you were kind. A surgeon typically has good standing in society, and of course one would have to be intelligent enough to become a doctor. We hadn't met, and I already set out to charm you, to appeal to your senses as much as I could."

"Good Lord," Gilbert moaned tiredly. "I could have been anyone. There is such a thing as bad surgeons, and violent doctors. Even stupid doctors."

"But you weren't! Of course I wouldn't have thrown myself at you were you completely barbaric, or feeble-minded, or toothless - but you weren't any of those things. You were wonderful, don't you see? So intelligent, and charming, and handsome...how could I not yearn to be a part of your life on a deeper level? I just had to try and win you over."

"I'm not a street prize at the fair, Celeste," he said sternly. "I'm a man, with his own thoughts and feelings, one that ."

"A man without a wife present." If looks could kill, Gilbert would have been in violation of his Hippocratic oath, but she didn't look up. "Men are breadwinners and decision makers, but without a wife, who would keep the house, mind the children? Aunt Susan was stretched thin, and I was willing to step into that role. I didn't care what people would say, Doctor- I still don't. I would have done anything to fit in your home, and not have to go back."

Gilbert rested his elbows on the desk, and his forehead in his palms. Gender class statements such as this one riled him up. But his shoulders and back were already sore, his eyes burned from lack of sleep, his mind swam in his aching head, and he was simply exhausted. He straightened up with a sigh. Maybe he would cave in and take a sleeping draft tonight.

"I'm sorry your situation with your parents is difficult," he said plainly to the girl in front of him. "But I am a married man, and I love my wife - a fact which no one seems to understand or respect. I can't stop the gossip mongers out there from running their tongues, but I will not tolerate it starting in my own home. Your aunt never should have led you to believe that I was looking for anything beyond some help around the house. I advise that you assess future situations with more care, before considering how you may enter them. Bear this in mind for next time."

"There might not be a next time," she said dejectedly, a small pout playing on her lips as she readjusted her shawl in front of her. "Father will be awfully cross at my being dismissed. I doubt he'll let me go out a second time."

Moved despite his better judgement by the girl's family woes, Gilbert felt himself soften a bit. "Look, don't tell him you were dismissed. You can say that the workload was manageable for Susan alone now that the children are in Avonlea, or that the area is being quarantined for rubeola. I'll place some calls in the morning, find you a position with a nice family."

The girl nodded and stood, gathering her candle. "I'll return the handkerchief by post, I'd like to wash it first."

"Susan can take care of it. Just leave it in the laundry basket."

"Thank you for keeping Aunt Susan. However I might have earned my dismissal, she truly doesn't deserve it."

"She's been good to me." A courtesy she had apparently not extended to Anne.

"Yes. Well." She said abruptly and walked away, pausing for a moment in the doorway to look at the man who could have been so much more. "Doctor?"

Gilbert turned in his seat to face her, his expression so grim that her heart broke for him, and she changed what she had been about to say. "I hope she comes back."

So do I, he thought with a sad sort of smile. "Thank you."

The next day, Celeste had been loaded into the Bundts' cart and driven to the station by their stable boy, and Gilbert had wired her parents to announce her arrival. He had apologized to Susan for losing his temper, and let her apologize in turn for overstepping her duties, but stopped her before she could say anything regarding Anne. "Not now. Maybe some other time, only...not yet." Sufficiently embarrassed as it was, Susan had nodded and disappeared off to clean the guest room.

And so they fell into a rhythm that involved minimal contact with each other. A fresh breakfast tray greeted him in his study every morning. He would leave for work, and upon his return, the papers would have been stacked up neatly, the room would have been aired out, and the tray would now be covered with a lid, under which a hot supper was waiting. His used clothes showed up cleaned and pressed on his bed, the water in his wash basin was always clear and fresh.

Hermit, he called himself. Lonely, pathetic recluse who cowers in his own house. No more, he scolded himself as he set down the document, picked up the tray and headed for the kitchen. Things needed to change around here, starting with his attitude.