Two women sat at the kitchen table by the window. Outside, snow was falling so lightly, it was barely noticeable, but it made the air glimmer, shining discreetly against the light gray sky. Neither of them took any notice. One was sipping the tea she'd been served in a plain, brown mug, keeping her gaze on the small, round table's wooden surface.

The other stirred her tea, stopping when she felt the honey had dissolved. "So, what are you doing here?" she asked, not exactly unwelcoming, but with a certain curiosity.

"I needed a place to stay, and heard that you'd moved to the area."

"You just happened to be in the neighborhood?"

The skeptical reply was delivered with Josie's signature sarcastic tone. Anne felt almost comforted to hear it again. "No. I was on my way to Green Gables, but I wasn't ready to face anyone, so I came here."

"Logically. Because we're such great friends."

"Actually, because we're not." Anne had her full attention now. "I can't be around anyone who cares. People in Avonlea talk. They say they care, but then they talk...I don't want to be around them. I couldn't handle their pity."

Josie arched an eyebrow. "You've come to the right place, then."

Anne nodded. "I never doubted it."

There was a terse silence, then they both burst into giggles simultaneously. With some of the tension gone, Anne found herself experiencing an odd moment of camaraderie with the girl whom she had never befriended. Emboldened, she found herself speaking. "Gilbert and I are having some - issues."

"I take it you two got married, then?"

"You didn't know?"

"We don't make it to town." Josie shrugged and sipped some more tea. "I've been out of the gossip circuit for a while."

"But this was almost ten years ago!"

"You really haven't changed, have you? The whole world doesn't revolve around you, Anne Shirley. Blythe, whatever." She hadn't yelled, but there was something dangerous in her eyes.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

Josie stopped her with a sharp gesture of her hand and a shake of her head. "I met Abner when I was twenty. My parents didn't approve, but I wasn't going to let them rule my life anymore. It took us two years to save up enough money to buy some land of our own. Still wish we could have moved off the Island, or at least further away, but we didn't want to wait."

By her tone, Anne guessed that the decision had been impulsive, possibly even regretted. The woman in front of her did seem tired and worn, but there was a radiance of energy in her face. There was also a softness that she'd never seen on younger Josie's traits - perhaps because it hadn't been given the opportunity to manifest itself.

"You seem happy," mused Anne, the words floating from her mouth with a dreamy cadence.

Josie blinked. "Of course we are. We have our home, the farm is doing well. We want for nothing."

"No, I meant you. You seem happy. Motherhood suits you well." Anne intended this as a genuine remark, not a compliment, but it didn't stop Josie from beaming with a bright, proud smile.

"I was blessed with three strapping, good looking boys. It's the best thing Ab's ever given me." Seeing the look on Anne's face, she set her mug down. "He doesn't look like much now - trust me, back then, he had more hair and less gut - and I know he's pigheaded and kind of dull. But when we started our life together, he promised me a simple life. And he's made good on that promise."

"And that's what you want?" Anne was unable to keep her eyes from widening in surprise.

"Lord, yes," Josie sighed. "Not having to worry about what comes next, about status, or people nosing around our business...it's a happiness I hadn't considered possible at a time. Now, I couldn't live any other way."

And the surprises just kept coming. "Wow. All this time, I'd thought you aspired for the high life," admitted Anne. "You used to talk of marrying rich, acquiring estates, attending balls..."

"That would be my mother talking," clarified Josie, her nose wrinkled in distaste. "I hated socializing, never was good at it, unlike you. Oh, don't try that fake modesty on me, you never fooled me. You knew how to play people. How to say the right things, and make friends...even when you did wrong, everyone kept on raving about how wonderful you were."

It was Anne's turn to blink. "I did have you fooled, then. I had no idea how to act when I arrived in Avonlea: I knew I wouldn't be considered acceptable as I was, so I tried to be someone people would find admirable. It never worked, anyway - I only succeeded in getting into an endless amount of scraps. And I know how people talked about me: horrid redhead with a temper to match, dirty orphan with questionable past. A silly girl with a big mouth who would grow up all wrong - if ever."

"You don't think they talked about me, too? 'That mean girl, the uglier sister, Plumpy Pye'?" She huffed and looked out the window. "See, this is why we don't go to Avonlea. When it's time for the trades and markets, we go to Kensington, then drive back here, where it's just us..." A spark of understanding lit her eyes. "But you're living the social life, aren't you? Married to a doctor - you'd be a pillar of the community by default."

"I thought you hadn't kept up with the gossip," said Anne with an elegant arch of her eyebrow. "How would you know Gilbert's a doctor?"

Josie's expression now was the smug grin Anne remembered from their schooldays. "Gertie writes me on occasion, she keeps me informed when something juicy happens. You irked me when you assumed that I'd know all about your life, so I lied. So, what happened? You got married, and when you started having babies he stopped being the prince you used to fantasize about, and now you're stuck being the doctor's wife, with everyone scrutinizing your every move?"

Anne shook her head. "He never stopped being a prince. Gilbert's always been wonderful. I just can't pretend to be who he needs me to be anymore." She paused to drink some cooled tea, considering how honest she should be. Well, she'd come this far..."Did Gertie tell you I'd refused the first time Gilbert proposed?" Josie's astonished expression confirmed that she had not been in the know. "Well, I did. Twice. The third time he asked, he spoke of a simple life, too. A small house somewhere remote, serving a modest community. He made it sound so appealing...Well, you know how he is. He excels at everything he does. During his medical studies, he started getting a lot of attention from important people: professors, resident doctors. He declined several big hospital positions. But through the success of his publications (and his reputation from medical school, I suppose), he got all these invitations to attend events, join associations..."

"How bad was it?" asked Josie, morbidly intrigued. With the new revelation of Josie's distaste for high society, Anne felt she would understand.

"The worst of the old Island biddies couldn't compare. Hypocrites slapping each other's backs in congratulations, and stabbing each other from behind. There we were, a farmer's son and an orphan - you can imagine what easy targets we were. But, as always, Gilbert shone. He thrived; I was in over my head. It got to the point where I simply couldn't play the part, that I couldn't pretend to be that person he needed me to be, anymore." The tea was cold now, but she drained her mug anyway.

"I'm not buying it."

Shock had Anne frozen for a second. "Excuse me?"

"This whole 'golden boy' thing. Love has made you blind, hasn't it? Look, I'll be the first to agree that Gilbert Blythe has his charms, but the man's no saint. He was obnoxious, cocky and an insufferable know-it-all. In that respect, you're actually a wonderful match."

Anne didn't reply, didn't move a muscle. Josie went on. "He's not perfect, Anne. Far from it. He's not, and neither are you. Whatever 'issues' you're having, I highly doubt that he's blameless."

Elephant-like stomping in the hallway indicated that the workday was over. Dinner preparations were rushed through (their talk had taken longer than anticipated), but soon they were all seated around the dining table. Anne found herself lost in thought, only half-seeing the spectacle that had fascinated her the first few times. She'd never witnessed anyone devour a meal with such abandon, not even at the orphanage: Josie's offspring had a definite talent for making food disappear, something they indubitably inherited from their father.

Instead of being mesmerized by how much steak Ezekiel Thorpe, the middle child, could swallow without having to chew, Anne kept going back to something Josie had said earlier. Unwittingly, her former schoolmate had highlighted something rather obvious.

Love has made you blind, hasn't it?

Implying that there was love.

That she loved Gilbert.

And she still did.