Gilbert paced around with Walter in his arms, much like when he'd been a baby. His son of five was too heavy to do so comfortably now, but Gilbert shifted the boy so that the crook of his knees hooked better around his grip. Truth be told, he was enjoying the communion - bouncy curls tickling his neck, fast little heartbeat against his chest.

Green Gables' parlour was full to bursting: Marilla sat at the table, Fred Wright at her left and Rachel Lynde at her right. Next to Rachel sat Sarah Blythe, and Davy Keith crowded in between John Blythe and Jack Garrison. Diana Wright could be heard from the kitchen, she'd insisted that they all let her prepare the tea. Freddie and Jem seemed to be playing some game that involved blasting each other to smithereens with imaginary guns, leading them in and out of the room, with Anne Cordelia chasing after them, begging incessantly to be let in on their fun. Between those three, and little Jack Wright who kept crawling down from his father's lap to go climb on the rocking chair, chances of tripping over a child were heightened, but Gilbert managed.

When the bewildered inhabitants (plus a visiting, equally surprised Davy) had made it clear Anne wasn't, nor had been recently at Green Gables, he'd found himself at loose ends. He'd been so certain of finding her here...

So he'd had to call Diana while Davy fetched his parents, and all were reunited at last. His mother had hugged him painfully, but not as desperately as Walter upon seeing his father. One glance at him, and the boy had run up to him, grabbed his neck and cried. Even when the sobbing had faded into hiccups, the little hands at his nape refused to let go, so Gilbert participated in the conversation over Walter's curly head, in a way that was second nature to most parents.

"Of course, we'll have to be discreet about this," Rachel was saying when Diana came in with a loaded tray, expertly dodging her youngest son who was now crawling on the floor, and Sarah helped pour the tea. "We can't have the town talking about such matters," the eldest lady in attendance went on, "It's bad enough with the little they do know."

Fred hid a grin in his teacup, and Davy tried to pass his snort for a cough. Even John's moustache seemed to twitch - there was no telling how much of the Avonlea gossip had rooted down from Mrs. Rachel Lynde herself.

"If you haven't heard from the Blakes, we might try them next," suggested Davy. "Might have to take a trip up there."

"Thank you, Davy. Perhaps later," said Gilbert softly, declining Diana's mute offer for tea with a shake of his head and a sad smile. "If it's alright with you, I'd like to spend a few days here."

"Well of course, son," answered John, to whom the question had been directed. "You're always welcome home. As is Mr. Garrison." Sarah, delighted at the prospect of having Gilbert home, beamed at him with a tearful smile.

"You'll be both joining us for supper tonight - Anne Cordelia Eloise Wright, you put that down this instant! - I'm sure the children would be delighted." Gilbert smiled thankfully, and a sheepish Small Anne reluctantly set the piece of the Cuthberts' fine china back in the cupboard, where it belonged.

"Thank you. Thank you, all. I'm not sure how I - how we might have managed without your help." It wasn't until he'd said the words that he realized how true it was. He sighed, lulled by the sounds he hadn't known he'd ever miss: of his family and friends chatting, and of children playing. As Walter's arms slackened around his neck, Gilbert turned his head to breathe in his little boy scent, and deposit a feather light kiss on his temple.

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Abner Thorpe was a simple country man, who enjoyed simple pleasures in life. He liked to wake up at 5 o'clock in the morning to go tend to the barn with his two dogs on his heels. He liked to come in for his usual breakfast of porridge, eggs, grilled bread and ham. He liked to work his fields until noon, break for lunch and a nap, then whistle for his dogs to follow him back out to the crops. After a good day of labor, Abner liked to sit on the porch (or if it was really too cold, by the fireplace) and smoke a cigarette before supper. He liked the way his sons ate with healthy appetites. After the evening meal, he liked to sip a mug of warm milk with honey, then go to bed early.

In short, Abner Thorpe liked routine. What he did not like was the strange woman sitting across him at the dinner table, the one who'd disrupted his daily schedule. Arriving yesterday right as he was getting ready to sit down was bad enough, but then his wife had made him move his trapping gear from the storage room so that they could unroll the spare mattress.

The stranger in their house hadn't shown up for breakfast or noon, but she'd taken a place at their table for the early evening meal. Had barely eaten anything - which was good, he decided, because his boys needed their strength. Still, he wondered how long he'd have to keep his gear out in the barn - he didn't want it to rust.

"You go ahead," said his wife as he got ready to turn in for the day. "I'll join you later."

Why she was telling him this, was beyond him. It had been two years since they'd last touched each other in bed. He didn't mind: three boys was enough. But there she stood, looking at him the way she did when she wanted him to say something. What it was, he didn't know.

"Alright. I'm going to bed."

Wrong thing to say - her eyes narrowed, and she sighed in undisguised disappointment before leaving the room in a huff. Abner shrugged to himself: sometimes, he thought he'd never really understand what went through Josie's mind.