Jack stood dumbly frozen, facing two strangers: one of whom was growing threateningly red in the face; the other, simply confused. He wished he could murder Blythe, who's shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter, and who was being remarkably unhelpful to the situation.

As the stouter, much angrier porter seemed about ready to read him the riot act, Jack scrambled to find an explanation - any excuse would do, to defend his current state. This would prove to be unnecessary, since Blythe had managed to get himself under control and turned to face the uniformed train employees.

"I'm so sorry, I must have lost track of my cousin, here. He does love looking at people's suitcases, don't you, Jack?" he said, as though addressing a toddler. "Really, it was my fault - I should have kept a closer watch on him. He just gets a bit agitated when we travel." Gilbert paused, probably to gauge the porters' credulity, then affected a look of sorrow. "He contracted rubeola as a young boy. There was nothing to do for it: he survived, but the brain damage is irreversible. His mother used to care for him, but when it became too much for her to bear - well, I couldn't have it on my conscience, knowing he had no one else in the world..."

He worried that he might have waxed it on a bit thick, when the taller and younger of the two workers' eyes softened. "I understand. My sister-" he gulped "she was never the same after the scarlet fever."

Gilbert nodded sympathetically. "I apologize for the trouble, I should have kept a closer watch on him. He's usually so well behaved - it's just that trains get him excited, and he has a hard time adjusting to new places."

The stouter, redder man stepped forward and laid a clammy hand on Jack's arm, offering a small, compassionate smile. "It's alright, now. But we do have to ask you to rejoin the passenger seating."

Gilbert redirected the conversation to practical matters, all whilst enjoying the steam escaping Garrison's ears: how could he replace the - uh, item his cousin had borrowed from the trunk that had popped open, and how he might retrieve the tickets he'd so inconveniently left in the very first car of the train when he'd realized Jack was missing. The porters were quick to wave away his concerns, and informed him on how to purchase a replacement ticket for the rest of their journey when they reached the large station of Montreal. Gilbert thanked them profusely, and bit his cheek to keep his laughter in check when the older employee gave Garrison a soft pat on the cheek before following his coworker to the next car up.

Jack waited, heat radiating from his face, until they were safely out of sight to lean in. "I - hate - you," he ground out, receiving only chuckles in guise of reply. Furious, he jabbed his elbow sharply in Blythe's gut. The man umphed and wheezed satisfactorily, but the chuckling persisted.

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Anne felt odd as she roamed down the path. Part of her was pleased - she had always liked this place. It sparkled with magic, and with the promise of new days with no mistakes in them (yet). Somehow, retracing footsteps she'd left here long ago rekindled some optimism in her.

At the same time, she was worried about running into someone who would recognize her. Familiar roads were one thing, but familiar faces were entirely another matter. Just to be sure, she pulled up her collar and tugged her had back to cover any hint of orange at the nape of her neck. One couldn't be too careful, even though there was no one outside, on account of the cold (and it being suppertime).

By the time she'd reached the house, it had started to snow again. Small white flakes twinkled down from thin air, it seemed, frosting the rooftops, decorating the fences like sugar crystals. The night was thankfully still, but even without windchill the cold in the air bit at her ears and nose. She hurried up to the front porch, then hesitated. Maybe it was best to have this reunion sheltered from prying eyes of curious neighbors. Circling around to the back door, her breath caught at what she glimpsed through the window: a warm fire glowing, the remains of a family meal being cleared by a woman who looked more worn and tired than Anne remembered.

The timing could be better, she reasoned, but now was no time to chicken out. Her other options were being recognized at the only inn in the area (a very long walk away yet), or to sleep in the barn. She dusted some snow from her shoulders and straightened herself, then quickly knocked before she could change her mind. There was commotion indoors, and it was two excruciatingly long minutes before anyone answered.

The woman blinked and stared vacantly for a beat, until recognition lit in her eyes. "Anne?!"

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Two grown men walked down the avenue in silence. The sun had only just began rising, and their breaths came out in white puffs of steam before their faces. They'd been walking for nearly an hour, unable to hire a ride from the minuscule train station, and neither was suitably dressed for the cold or the snow.

"Tell me we're almost there," groaned Jack, his teeth chattering.

"Right around the corner from that yellow house," said Gilbert, nodding into the distance. "Look, whatever you say, be respectful around Miss Cuthbert. She's very fragile now. This has been a really rough time for her."

"For the thousandth time, yes, I will be the very model of politeness. A regular altar boy."

"I mean it. She and Anne had a - very close relationship."

"Well, she was her adoptive mother, wasn't she?"

"It's complicated." Gilbert hated that he didn't quite know the answer to that. He settled for what he knew: "Look, as far as anyone could tell, Marilla's only ever shown her love for two people: her brother, Matthew, and Anne. Losing Matthew was hard enough, but Anne helped her through it."

There was nothing to say after that, so they walked on in silence until they'd reached Green Gables. Gilbert's fingers began to tingle: he would finally see Anne. Excitement flooded his veins as he thought of holding her. She'd been gone for so long, and he'd missed her the whole time, but now that she was near...

His heart beat wildly in his throat as he knocked at the front door. The Marilla who answered the door was barely recognizable - haggard and frail, she'd obviously lost some weight, and seemed to have aged about a decade. Her eyes widened, huge above her hollowed cheeks, glittering with hope when she registered who was standing on the doorstep.

"You found her?" she asked, cautiously excited. "My Anne! Gilbert, where is she?"

"You mean...she's not here?"