Thank you to all the lovely readers who have stuck with me through another long wait for this chapter.
I also welcome any new readers who have found this story recently or who have wandered over from my (very) new fic.
I appreciate your interest immensely.
Chapter Fourteen
Only This and Nothing More
The Summerside Home for Girls was a large, handsome building at the end of a quiet lane; Gilbert thought it had the look of a former hospital; there was something inherently institutional about its wide, foreboding dimensions, made gloomy and hulking in the darkness. If Anne was describing the scene she might say the building glowered down at them for daring to interrupt the sanctity of the slumbering night; definitely the woman who came to the door, peering distrustfully at them, appeared to think as much, if her unwelcoming countenance and greeting was any indication.
"What's all this at this hour of the night?" the woman indignantly shrilled, before looking at Anne more closely, the lamplight by the doorway catching her red hair, which the woman stared at in recognition.
"Matron Burgess…" Anne began.
"Miss Shirley? Oh, good gracious, child!"
"We came as soon as we heard! Miss Katherine – is she… is she…?"
Anne's composure was crumbling fast. From the time they had disembarked at Summerside she had been all jangling nerves and broken sentences. She was so distracted she'd nearly forgotten her carpet bag, which Gilbert now juggled with one hand whilst hoisting his own bag in the other, and he was managing hers perfectly well, despite her reservations, though if there had been time to have a conversation about it he would have owned to the handles being quite temperamental.
"Oh, holy saints! You didn't get the other telegram, did you?" Matron Burgess's distrustful brown eyes grew wide.
"Other telegram…?" Anne bleated, close to breaking. She swayed a little on her feet, and Gilbert moved to stand behind her, worried she might swoon before their eyes on the step. He tried not to scowl at the woman determined to have an entire conversation with them out in the dark, cold night air, heedless of the fact Anne was already halfway to nervous exhaustion, and that they had both travelled hours to get here.
Matron Burgess gave him a decidedly affronted look as she viewed him up and down slowly, as if not quite ever having seen a male specimen before, and then moving her eyes back to Anne.
"Oh, Miss Anne! The other telegram! I sent it a few hours later! Miss Katherine did give us the fright of our lives but she appears to be recovering now, and is resting fairly comfortably…" the woman trailed off as the realisation dawned as to the full import of the miscommunication, which Gilbert felt at that moment rivalled poor Balthazar in Romeo and Juliet racing to the banished Romeo ahead of the Friar's explanation that, it's OK, sit tight for a little while, Juliet is only appearing to be dead.
"Oh, thank God…" Anne muttered, her face very white, and leaned against him.
"Matron Burgess, Ma'am! Miss Shirley is really quite exhausted!" Gilbert couldn't bear this mad inaction a moment longer.
The redoubtable matron drew herself up to her full not-so-considerable inches, glaring at him for his apparent insolence.
"This is my very good friend, Mr Blythe…" Anne breathed. "He accompanied me here from Kingsport."
The Matron looked upon him with new acrimony, even as Gilbert was heartened by his promotion to very good friend status. He received the barest of nods in acknowledgment, and the matron seemed to remember herself and finally ushered them both inside, though she looked like she had rather have preferred to leave Gilbert back on the step with the bags.
The main foyer was dark and the echoes of their footsteps reverberated around them. Gilbert noted very high ceilings and wide corridors, which branched off in different directions. There was a rather grand staircase to the left which they bypassed completely, following the Matron as she hustled them along the endless route towards he knew not where. He glanced at Anne, whose pale, pinched face had a more determined set to it now, and she walked with new resolution, but he still kept protectively close to her all the same.
Gilbert searched for any signs that this was a true home for the girls here, but found not a single painting or photograph or cosy chair to suggest the place had any soul at all. Even the sanatorium in Alberta had contained a decent visitors' lounge and a map on the wall. Perhaps it was different upstairs, where he surmised the girls' dormitories were situated, but at the moment he shuddered to think that Anne had lived here – had grown up here – had spent…. what? Five? Six? years of her life here.
It made him want to grab her hand and bolt with her from the building, never to have her return.
"The Director Mrs Llewelyn has her private quarters at the back," Matron Burgess announced, whether in general explanation or as an unimaginative attempt at conversation Gilbert wasn't sure. "She is not to be disturbed. She was up half the previous night with me with Miss Brooke and is fair exhausted. We've put Miss Brooke in the downstairs guest room, Miss Shirley, so as better to nurse her. We couldn't be going up and down those stairs at all hours. She took a terrible turn and gave us the fright of our lives, I tell you."
The Matron had paused before a pair of great mahogany double doors, which seemed to form the entranceway to some sort of private section.
"Will you both be staying, then?" that disapproving frown was back, as was another long look appraising him.
"Yes, thank you, Matron. After all, Mr Blythe was so good as to accompany me all the way here, I could hardly send him off to camp out in the flowerbeds," Anne made rather archly exasperated reply, and Gilbert bit back a smile at it.
"But Matron…" Anne had moved to put a hand on the woman's arm, "I don't understand. I saw Miss Katherine here over the Christmas break, but I expected she would be back at the High School now. The term resumed several weeks ago."
"Did she not tell you? Oh, that stubborn woman! She had to take a leave of absence from the school; she couldn't shrug this illness of hers. It's been going on for months now."
Anne froze in amazement. "Months?"
"Months?" thought Gilbert, his mouth tightening and his brows drawn together as his mind ticked over rapidly.
Matron gave a very theatrical sigh.
"Just go in and see her quickly for goodness' sake, Miss Anne. I know you'll give me no rest till you do. And then after that I'll see about finding some sort of space for you and… er… the gentleman."
An excessive frown followed the sigh, and Matron thrust open the doors and continued walking.
Gilbert had positioned their bags and coats at the doorway to a fair sized room, furnished plainly; a dim lamplight glowed softly golden but the dark haired woman half reclining in the bed was cast in shadow. Anne looked up at him, her expression unfathomable; fear and worry still stirred in her grey eyes and in the uncertain set of her mouth. He looked down at her and tried to infuse his encouraging smile with all the care and concern that rose in him.
"You go, Anne – I'll wait outside here."
She nodded gravely, and took a shuddering breath as if to rally herself; she approached the bed tentatively.
"Katherine?"
There was a slight stirring from the bed.
"Katherine?"
"Mmm…?"
"Katherine? Katherine… it's Anne."
There was a long pause. "Anne…?" the voice replying was husky and surprisingly deep.
"Oh Katherine! Are you recovering? Are you getting better? Oh, we were so worried!" Anne had staggered to the bed.
"Anne? Anne Shirley? What on… God's… good earth… are you doing here?"
The reply must have been reassuringly sharp and affronted, for Anne's dam burst completely, and she began to sob pitifully, in a way that stabbed at Gilbert's heart, clutching at Katherine Brooke's hand as she collapsed onto her knees by the bed.
"Katherine!" was all Anne could manage, intermittently.
"Anne… Anne… what are you doing? Did someone… send… word?"
"Matron! She sent a telegram – we only received it a few hours ago. We came straight away! They were so worried! That last night you… you…"
"Anne, please, calm yourself. I'm all right. I had a very bad fever… or so they tell me."
"I'm sorry, Katherine. We didn't know. We came straight away…"
"And who… is this we you keep speaking of, Anne Shirley?" Katherine Brooke asked with admirable sharpness, her voice still raw and her breath halting. She cast her eyes towards him hovering in the doorway, squinting to make him out.
"It's all right, Katherine. He came with me. It's Mr Blythe – Gilbert Blythe."
Gilbert, who had ducked back behind the door upon his discovery, stilled, eyes widening, at the familiar way with which Anne referred to him.
"Mr Blythe?"
"Yes. He accompanied me. He was worried that…on my own… the train ride and … the night journey."
"Of course he was." The ensuing reply was very dry. And then, a touch louder. "You may as well show yourself, Mr Blythe."
Gilbert would rather not show himself at all, frankly, but the decision was rather out of his hands. He came quietly through the doorway, shamefaced and colouring unaccountably, noting that Anne had been instructed to turn the other lamp on, as she busily mopped at her tears. He offered her his hankerchief automatically, which she accepted with a tremulous smile, and Katherine Brooke's strangely colored eyes tracked the gesture, her dark brows in her worryingly pale face drawn down like a curtain.
"Katherine, this is Mr Gilbert Blythe. Gilbert, this is Miss Katherine Brooke." Anne introduced them, again in that familiar way, as if Katherine Brooke had heard his name mentioned before.
Gilbert kept himself a respectable distance from the bed, and had ensured the door was very wide open as he came through, through if anyone felt uncomfortable in this unusual situation it was most certainly himself.
"Miss Brooke," he gave a slight bow. "We are very sorry to intrude upon you at this hour. It is an honour to meet you; I am only regretful of the circumstances."
"Mr Gilbert Blythe…" Katherine Brooke's head shifted to her side, as she looked up at him assessingly. "It appears the honour is mine. I half… expected… from the look of you it was the Archangel Gabriel at my door… the sight of him would be hardly less surprising."
Gilbert's lips quirked at this, and all the warnings Anne had hinted regarding the redoubtable Miss Brooke were certainly coming to bear, even with the poor woman here in her sickbed.
"Well, we are greatly relieved to find you are recovering, Miss Brooke. Excuse me whilst I take my leave. I would not wish to interrupt your rest any further." He gave a nod of his head, cast a careful glance at Anne, and retreated to the relative safety of the hallway.
There was much whispering from Anne and Miss Brooke for several more minutes, before he heard Anne take her own leave, turning down one of the lamps, and blowing her nose loudly as she exited.
The look on her lovely face – of relief and joy and happy wonderment – was quite a sight to behold at this uncertain hour of the morning, when they had both travelled hours and were slightly delirious now after the adrenaline of worry and concern had dissipated.
"Oh, Gilbert – it's going to be all right!"
Katherine Brooke still looked very sick to him, in his obviously unqualified opinion, but compared to what she had already come through he found himself smiling regardless.
"Thank you, Gilbert…" Anne reached for his hand, returning his smile tenfold.
"Miss Anne!" Matron Burgess bustled towards them in unfortunately impeccable timing, her arms full of bedding and her sharp voice carrying sufficient warning to make Anne drop his hand immediately.
"Miss Anne – I have your old room made up for you – you share it with Miss Baker now, but she has currently been offered the settee in Mrs Llewelyn's quarters."
"Oh, thank you, Matron! Is Miss Baker here, then?"
"Yes, here again…" Matron Burgess might have given in to an eyeroll, thought Gilbert, if her own clear tiredness was not getting the better of her. "Her latest teaching contract ended at Christmas. She has been tutoring the girls whilst Miss Brooke has been indisposed."
Anne nodded.
Well, Miss Anne, I am sure you wish to retire now after your long journey," Matron Burgess sniffed. "The young gentleman will follow me, please."
Anne gave him a look, which he met with a knowing smile. Gilbert carefully picked up her carpet bag, handing it back to her somewhat ceremoniously, their fingers touching in the exchange.
"Watch the handles, now," he gave her a wink, and then walked off reluctantly behind the Matron.
Gilbert turned in a full circle in order to try to properly appreciate his new lodgings.
Matron Burgess, with the manner of one whose very life was an unending trial of such interruptions and inconveniences, had sternly instructed him to wait outside the door whilst she fussed, with many grievous huffs and groans, inside the room, emerging red faced and in even poorer humour than when she had entered.
"You will stay here, Mr Blythe," she instructed as a drill sergeant before a recalcitrant private. "There is to be no loitering about the halls. There is a restroom just down to the right. I trust you will fulfil any requirements quickly and then return. We are reliant on your gentlemanly conduct whilst you are under this roof. Have I made myself perfectly clear?"
Gilbert refused to blush. "You have indeed, Matron Burgess. Thank you for your ministrations."
She pursed her lips, nodded and set off. Possibly in search of some small children to newly terrify.
So now he sighed, having indeed washed himself with admirable speed if not dexterity, dubiously surveying the rickety camp bed the matron had set up in the corner, noting the uninviting mustiness of the room and the haphazard arrangement of cleaning equipment stacked in the corner. The only light came from the lantern left forlornly on the floor; there was not even the civilising influence of a little table. He sighed again, pulling down his suspenders and rolling his shoulders, feeling his entire body begin to sag. The camp bed looked like it would hardly hold him, but he was fast realising he was past caring.
There was a scrabbling at the door, and then a wonderful whisper.
"Gilbert? Gilbert?"
He nearly kicked over the lamp in his haste to open it.
"Anne?"
"Goodness, it took me ages to find you!" Anne's grey eyes glowed brilliantly, and the wry smile lit up her face. "Where on earth has Matron put you?"
"I'm not sure…" he flicked a glance back over his shoulder, "but I think if I get hungry there might be some rats about…"
"Gilbert! Don't you even joke about it!" her very demeanour made it appear she was dancing; she seemed quite giddy with relief over Katherine Brooke, and it was making her charmingly – and altogether too temptingly – enthusiastic and silly. She brushed past him to stand by his side at the doorway, and her face fell at what she saw.
"Oh, Gilbert, it's a broom cupboard!" she observed with dramatic sorrow.
"Well… it isn't very large, I grant you, but…"
"No, Gilbert – it's the actual broom cupboard! Oh, I can't believe this! This is scandalous!"
What was most scandalous at that moment was not his lodgings but the way her maddening proximity made his blood sing.
"Well, I tried to tell your Matron that I was President of Freshman Year, football captain and current respectable second in my English class, but it didn't appear to make much of an impression…"
She turned and gave him such a beautiful smile it made his heart stutter.
"I was so wrong, Gilbert Blythe. You are not just on your way towards good and decent. You are already wonderful."
Before he could even react, she had launched herself at him, arms flung around his neck as audaciously as anything she had done in his dreams. He barely had a chance to return her embrace before she withdrew, cheeks heated, and gave him a low good night before retreating back to the endless, shadowy halls.
He was rather dazed as he climbed atop the creaking bed. He was going to peruse The Physicians' Hand-book but couldn't face it. He drifted off to sleep with a smile, afloat on the memory of Anne's embrace. Let the rats come for him, he felt like shouting the challenge from the rooftops. And even, dare he say it, Matron Burgess.
Gilbert awoke to an aching back and a growling stomach. Inside his veritable broom cupboard- in every respect – it was impossible to ascertain if it was night or day or some netherworld in between. He shuffled over to the dim outline of the door and fumbled for his pocket watch, still in the trousers he had slept in. Opening the door a crack, he squinted down to see with some relief it was only a little shy of seven in the morning.
He wasted no time in making himself look respectable again; he hardly wanted to give the Matron or anyone else any excuse to cast him off to some boarding house in the town. He had come to be with Anne and he had to remain near her… not merely as a promise or even as protection, but because she was a puzzle he was still putting together, and she was trusting pieces of herself slowly but surely, and he knew that being here in Summerside was one of the biggest pieces of all.
Closer to eight, he surmised, there was a firm knock at the door.
"Matron Burgess!" he greeted with deliberate alacrity and a firm smile, deciding that if his much vaunted charm was ever to be employed in appropriate challenge it would be in winning over this most reluctant of ladies. "Good Morning, Ma'am."
The woman blinked in clear surprise several times.
"Good Morning, Mr… Blythe. We have breakfast ready in the dining hall."
Well, that was a reassuring enough concept; he had breakfast in their mid sized dining hall at the boarding house every day, and thought he had a fair chance of managing the process here. He followed Matron out, looking about him thoughtfully, noting again the vast spaces of the interiors, and seeing his broom cupboard was positioned near to those mahogany doors leading to the room where Katherine Brooke resided and along from where he presumed Anne was also staying.
They were across the lobby and soon ascending the staircase.
"You will please be mindful of the girls as they come in to breakfast, Mr Blythe," Matron Burgess warned. "They are not used to seeing gentlemen here, but for the occasional groundsman or the Inspector who visits every three months."
"Certainly, Matron, Ma'am," he murmured.
"You will come in with the adult party. I will make your introduction."
"Thank you."
At the top of the staircase was an equally vast first floor; he glimpsed a very large dormitory to his right with row upon row of neatly made beds; next to that were several doors closed off, and following on he heard the vague sounds - and identifiable smells - of a kitchen. Before another large, open room stood the party of women Matron had made mention of; a tall, handsome, middle aged woman with fine bone structure and a supercilious air; a younger, fair woman with a wondering expression and a mop of frizzy blonde curls marshalled into submission; another younger woman, darker, who resembled, perhaps purposefully, the older one in looks and bearing; two younger Matrons in identical uniform to Matron Burgess; and finally, like a beautiful, delicate, slender iris in a garden of yarrow, there was Anne.
Her lovely grey eyes met his, perhaps in apology; she gave the slightest helpless shrug of her shoulders before he was introduced around.
"Mr Blythe," the Director, Mrs Llewelyn, extended her hand. "What an unexpected surprise to have such a visitor, but how very good of you to accompany our Miss Shirley. It sets a wonderful example to our girls to see anyone off to Redmond College. You are undertaking studies there yourself?"
"Yes, indeed, Mrs Llewelyn, Ma'am. A Bachelor of Arts alongside Miss Shirley."
"How splendid," Mrs Llewelyn smiled, though the action fell far short of genuine animation.
Once Gilbert had been received by the Director's assistant, the Miss Baker mentioned the previous evening, and the two other Matrons, he was able to be shepherded along into the dining hall; large tables were already laid, and a collection of girls of various heights, sizes and presumably ages stood at the ready by long benches; from their raised position on their platform above them all Gilbert could identify was a sea of grey, with the bobbing white caps atop as if buoys cresting the dull colored waves.
He found himself, unfortunately and no doubt deliberately, beside Mrs Llewelyn's stern and not overly verbose assistant Miss Wethers; she was a graduate – if such a term was appropriate – of the Home herself, as he also learned Miss Baker was, and had been to Fred's commercial college in Kingsport to pursue secretarial studies. One might have thought this to be a good conversational opening between them, but Gilbert was soon shut down on that score and several others as firmly as the snapping cover of her imagined stenographer's notebook. Gilbert was beginning to wonder how anything lovely and delicate and unique as Anne had had any chance to survive here, much less flourish; as he surveyed the quiet, regimented order of the girls in their austere surrounds – indeed frighteningly Dickensian, and he made a mental note never to tease her on that subject again, for he was painfully and belatedly realising it was her lived experience – his throat closed over at her having been here. He turned his attention to his tea; he struggled to swallow. He was lucky to not bring up his breakfast completely.
The girls were dismissed and drifted out; he noted numerous darting, wide eyed looks in his direction, which made Anne smile knowingly and Matron Burgess frown excessively; he then had the various ladies take their leave, and he was finally, mercifully, left alone with Anne.
She was thoughtful and quiet this morning; he missed her giddiness of the previous late evening (early morning?) as much as he missed that beautiful long red braid which was now bound back up in a respectable knot at her nape. He searched her eyes to try to find a sign for how she was faring; he wasn't at all convinced he was now doing so well himself.
"How are you?" he asked earnestly.
"I'm fine…" she faltered.
"Anne?"
"I saw Katherine before breakfast. She is rather chilled but in fairly good spirits," she attempted brightly.
"That is certainly a relief to hear. I may pop in to her later if you feel it's appropriate."
"You are a brave soul, Gilbert Blythe. I believe she would like that, though she would never tell you." Anne tried a tired smile.
"What's wrong, Anne? Is it me being here?"
Her eyes shadowed at the question, and he could have kicked himself, but he thought they were getting past false pretences now.
"No… yes… oh, Gilbert, I don't know!"
She walked across to the banister, grasping it firmly, and turned back to one of the previously shut doors, which was now opened to their view, and he could see it was a neat classroom, with about twenty older girls sitting quietly, and the blonde Miss Baker fluttering around with indeterminate effectiveness.
"You had your lessons here?" he questioned gently.
"Yes," she let out a sigh. "I had them here, and then I took them myself. I tutored girls for Queen's and the Academy here in Summerside as I myself was tutored. I taught at Summerside High School for two years on my own merit certainly but also on the strength of Katherine's recommendation – she was Head of English, you know – despite the old money families of the town, notably the Pringles, raising all manner of objections… And the rub is I was moderately happy. I was working and saving and trying to make a bit of a difference, trying to do that purposeful, honest, real work in the world that you mentioned on the train. But I wasn't out in the real world, was I, Gilbert? I was in this institutional bubble. It's very… very… close knit here, you will have seen. Girls grow up in the Home and then they train and then they teach here at the Home, or end up always finding their way back through some demented magnetic force, like Miss Baker, who was here when I myself arrived. It's a neverending circle. There's a terrible fatalism about it… Even Katherine herself… She was the one who convinced me to aim for Redmond. I might have never aimed that high – or that far - if not for her. But she knew she had been trapped and she didn't want to see me trapped too. And now I come back here and I see them treat you with such suspicion and… and… you don't realise what a cage this has been, until you're free of it. But its only on the outside looking back in that you ever even notice the bars…"
She was on edge more than he had realised; she wavered, then gave an almighty sob and covered her face in her hands, and then he watched, aghast, as she fled down the stairs.
"Anne!"
He didn't mean to shout; it certainly wasn't a place that saw shouting, or, he thought, her wretched, wrenching tears. He took the steps two at a time in his haste to catch her; he thought fleetingly of that day when something in him had made him follow her down the steps at Redmond after class. He caught her at a set of great glass doors overlooking an outside area of lawn and forest not far from the private rooms. He seized her in his arms and turned her into him, and he didn't care how many Matrons saw and how it would be construed.
"Anne…" he crooned to her as she sobbed. "Anne… I think you are much too hard on yourself. Perhaps you sought the safety and predictability of this place for a while, after those experiences in the real world you mentioned… Marysville and Hopetown and all the rest… the real world was a cruel and unkind place for you. And I'm so sorry for it. You don't know how sorry I am. I don't know what inner strength you had to survive those places, or even to survive here… but that strength and those experiences led you to Kingsport…" he paused as she quietened, marshalling his emotions. "And I am so grateful they did…"
He swallowed, fighting the urge to say more.
"And if it hadn't been Kingsport, it would have been somewhere else… because you were never meant to take the regular road, Anne Shirley. You were never meant for ordinary things. You were always a bird meant to fly free and unencumbered…" he choked back a laugh. "There, Miss Shirley, you've made me talk in metaphors again."
She drew back from him, trying her own sob-smile.
"You mean 'no net ensnares me?'" * she sniffed, eyes bright and swimming.
He contemplated this, and nodded. "That's much more poetic than my attempt. But yes, that's it exactly."
"You've just now both inverted and paraphrased Jane Eyre for me, Gilbert." Her arch, pleased smile broke through her tears.
He sighed and rolled his eyes, unable to resist a small chuckle. "All right, Anne. You win," his arms gave her a final reassuring squeeze before he reluctantly released her. "I hereby officially admit defeat with regard to the Brontes."
Anne appeared in much better spirits afterwards, and they passed the remainder of the morning without incident. Gilbert tried to be as helpful and obliging – and as unobtrusive – as possible, offering his services for any menial tasks that might need attending to, and thus freeing Anne to be with Katherine, which in turn freed Matron Burgess from both her nursing obligations and from some of her ill humour. In all honesty he tried in every way to not imagine himself and Anne back at Redmond, taking all before them in their presentation on the sonnets, dovetailing their pride and happiness and success into the walk to the tea room of his mind's eye, where it could finally be just them… chatting companionably, flirting outrageously, and kissing sweetly in the new delightful flush of understanding between them, as they began to promise and plan and cleave themselves to the other.
It was a dream that was difficult to relinquish, and he held onto the comforting thought of it steadfastly, even as he was already distanced from it, not just geographically but emotionally. It was a sweet dream made naïve now, having seen Anne here, having already shared what they had together, having her release some precious pieces of herself to his safekeeping. He could hardly want to go back in time, for what they already were together now in these new circumstances was infinitely richer and better and stronger… but he was at sea trying to fashion a new dream for them, for it refused to shape itself in any way, and that frustrated him more than he wanted to admit, even to himself.
It was, however, a marginally positive measure, he supposed, that he found himself just after lunch, on a chair on the very edge between the wide open doorway to Katherine's room and the passageway outside, whilst Anne took the opportunity to visit with some of her former students upstairs, and Matron or someone deputised for her occasionally glanced in the door with characteristic disapproval. Katherine was asleep, and in the interests of the clear absence of any other reading material, he carefully balanced the Physician's Hand-book on his knee, and was so engrossed that he was completely startled by that throaty, surprisingly firm voice, and his precious tome nearly ended up on the floor.
"That is rather interesting reading material, Mr Blythe, for a student undertaking the first year of their Bachelor of Arts."
Gilbert in that moment felt as if one of his father's beloved cows at the undesirable end of a cattle prod.
"Miss Brooke!" he stood hastily. "Forgive me, I didn't know you were awake."
"Evidently, Mr Blythe," Katherine Brooke remarked dryly, and heaved herself up to a sitting position. Gilbert hardly knew where to look, though Miss Brooke, having complained of the cold, was swaddled in bedclothes up to her chin.
"I'll fetch Matron or Anne for you, Miss Brooke…" he offered falteringly.
"And whatever for, Mr Blythe? Are either of us in imminent danger? Apart from that of death through boredom and frustrating… inaction?"
He smiled a little, acknowledging, perhaps in his fleeting look, their joint difficulties.
"Nonetheless, Miss Brooke, I really should…"
"Don't go all skittish, Mr Blythe. It doesn't do you any favours. I am perfectly resigned to your presence. I am not a creature of conformity… and neither is our mutual acquaintance upstairs."
"No indeed, Miss Brooke," his smile was fond just at the thought of her, but he masked it quickly, though perhaps not quickly enough, noting the sharp look directed at him.
"Must I continue to shout at you across the room, Mr Blythe?"
He took that as his cue – or his command - to carry his chair towards the general proximity of her bed, juggling his Hand-book carefully. He sat down before her as he felt he would do before one of his professors before an unfortunate grilling on his coursework.
"So then, Mr Blythe, have you figured what is wrong with me yet?"
He spluttered a gobsmacked laugh, which seemed to amuse her.
"Miss Brooke… I hardly know how to respond to that!"
"Well, what is to account for your unusual choice? You are hardly perusing the sonnets of Shakespeare."
He colored annoyingly at the leading arch to her bushy brow.
"I guess one might call it a hobby, Miss Brooke. My Great Uncle is a doctor."
She raised both eyebrows at that.
"It looks less like a hobby and more like an ambition, Mr Blythe."
Gilbert was mentally revising all the metaphors he had created with regard to meeting Miss Brooke, and found a new one, stretched before her on the rack, to be now appropriate.
"Still much more of the former, Miss Brooke…" he allowed.
"I dare say the Gold Medallist at Queen's and the President of his Freshman Year at Redmond is not averse to ambitious undertakings."
Gilbert's own dark brows flew to his forehead.
"You seem surprised I am aware of such details?"
Gilbert fought the desire to have his mouth open and close comically, like a fish. "I own to being a little surprised, Miss Brooke. You see, I don't doubt Anne has been in your confidence… only that…"
"That you have featured in such confidences?"
Gilbert cast his eyes about, settling momentarily on the floor, in some attempt to conjure a great hole in the ground he could disappear into.
"I am an alumnus of Queen's College, Mr Blythe. I have a fair head for remembering details offered in their newsletters."
"Oh, well, of course…"
"And on the Queen's entrance exam pass lists."
She gave off a small, pleased smile, that reminded him somewhat of Anne when she was being haughty. She let the knowledge sit with him for a moment.
"I wondered at that, Miss Brooke. We only discovered that particular… connection… between us on the train coming here." He sat up straighter, remembering he possessed a backbone. "Anne told me she only ever saw the list for Summerside."
"Yes, that's true," Katherine remarked unrepentantly. "I thought it for the best. There was no possibility of her going to Queen's. Which was perhaps fortunate for you and your Gold Medal."
Gilbert quirked a smile. "I believe you are right about that, Miss Brooke. Though perhaps we could have split the Medal and the Avery between us, in the interests of fairness."
Katherine allowed her own tight smile, which this time reached her arresting amber eyes.
"Yes, perhaps, Mr Blythe."
That sat somewhat more companionably. Gilbert fiddled with the spine of his Hand-book.
"You know that Anne is ambitious too, Mr Blythe," Katherine Brooke continued. "And incredibly talented. As I'm sure you have discovered."
"And they are some of the very qualities I most admire in her, Miss Brooke."
"The world is finally opening up to her … I only hope that certain… friendships she might make at Redmond, whilst very lovely for her, wouldn't jeopardise her opportunities."
Gilbert flushed. Now they were getting to it.
"I assure you, Miss Brooke, I would only ever want the best for Anne. Wherever those opportunities were to take her."
Katherine Brooke's lips pursed. "I do believe you, Mr Blythe. The difficulty is in Anne herself knowing what she wants… and sorting through those opportunities."
Katherine Brooke let the observation hang in the air.
"Has she told you of some of her history?"
"Yes, Miss Brooke. Reluctantly. Snatches, admittedly."
"Hopetown Asylum?"
Gilbert tried not to frown. "She has mentioned she was there, after being fostered with the Hammonds."
Katherine Brooke's impassive face faltered slightly. "That time still resonates for her very powerfully, Mr Blythe. I do not pretend to know everything of her experiences, but I do know that much." She noted his perturbed expression, and changed tack with lightening speed. "Has she shown you anything of her writing?"
Gilbert was genuinely puzzled.
"Her writing? As in creatively?"
"That is usually what the term implies."
"Er… no." He made every effort not to scowl.
"Well, it's probably for the best, Mr Blythe. Most of her recent writings probably feature yourself. Possibly in the style of whichever writers you are currently studying." She grimaced out a smile, as if reliving some secret joke.
Gilbert bit back a sigh. He wanted to like Katherine Brooke. Infact, he did like her. He wasn't afraid of blunt, no nonsense, strong women. He'd grown up around Mrs Rachel Lynde and Mrs Harmon Andrews, for goodness' sake. Not to mention the fearsome personage of Aunt Mary Maria Blythe. It was just a little harder when the joke was on him… and when it was about Anne.
Katherine noted his discomfort, and her expression didn't soften, but certainly altered.
"Be that as it may, I'd like to return to my original question, Mr Blythe," Katherine Brooke ventured with new resolution. "Have you figured what is wrong with me?"
Now he did sigh. "Miss Brooke… as we have established, I am undertaking a BA. I'm years off even being a medical student…"
"Mr Blythe, with all due respect, you are an intelligent, thoughtful, observant man. You read and you understand. You consider from all angles. And you have a pre-established interest in medical enquiry. I would already consider you to be ahead of the last actual member of the profession who saw me, that gentleman being convinced my inability to get out of bed these past four weeks to be due to a nervous, hysterical disposition."
Gilbert's eyes widened, genuinely shocked.
"Miss Brooke… that is… that is a shameful conclusion to come to."
Her face was very stern. "It is indeed, Mr Blythe. So what can you offer me instead?"
Gilbert spent a good half hour in discussion with Katherine Brooke about her recent medical history, on which she was thorough, reasoned and not the least hysterical. He talked to her of her influenza, and of the troubling malaise that had debilitated her since. He questioned her as to every possible internal trouble from her heart down to her kidneys. He discussed her current clamminess and her recent, almost life threatening fever. He felt, for the first time, genuinely empowered; he saw, for the first time, her grudging respect.
Anne came through the door, and was astonished enough at the sight before her to stop up short. Gilbert turned, mid sentence, and was struck as if the sun itself had just wandered in to that dimly lit room.
"Anne!" he leapt up, forgetting himself entirely. He felt the automatic grin light his face.
"Hello Gilbert!" she offered her wonderful smile, before coloring slightly and darting a quick glance at Katherine. "Ah, I'm so sorry to have been away from you for so long." She directed the apology at Katherine; her eyes found his.
"I really should take my leave, Miss Brooke. It has been a pleasure… and most educational."
"Thank you for your company, Mr Blythe," Katherine muttered somewhat reluctantly, and he bit back his grin to see Anne's jaw drop in astonishment.
He gave her a wink, just to make her redden, and turned back to bow at Katherine, hazel eyes meeting amber ones.
As he was nearly out the door a voice halted him.
"Mr Blythe?" Katherine Brooke called.
He turned in response.
"Please do continue your reading, by all means."
He saw the first subtle wavering in her composure, and it made him tighten his grip on the tome he had lugged from Kingsport.
"I will indeed, Miss Brooke," he nodded in silent vow.
After an interminable day Gilbert had ducked in to wish Miss Brooke goodnight; he'd hardly seen Anne that afternoon and only across a crowded dining hall at dinner; once Matron Burgess had decided he did not pose an immediate threat to person or property she had foisted all manner of odd jobs upon him, and he could feel the frustration rise even as he swallowed it down, like a bitter medicine.
Katherine Brooke was looking tired but determined to endure; exactly as he felt. Anne was by her bedside; there was the tacit understanding they might travel back to Kingsport tomorrow, and he didn't want to begrudge her any remaining time with her friend.
Anne turned to him at the door, and again gave that smile; he thought his day had been long but she had endured years of long days here; he gave himself a mental shake and found his smile.
"I have just come to wish you good night, ladies," he offered gallantly, loathe to think this would be the way he would part from Anne as well, but striving for at least the appearance of decency.
"Gilbert…" Anne crossed over to him, "I hear Matron has run you ragged. I'm very sorry!"
"Don't worry about it. Pleasure to be of service!"
She had a hand on his arm. "Sit a minute with Katherine, Gilbert; I'll fetch you both some water."
She ducked out before he could refuse; he looked over to Miss Brooke and approached her carefully, and sat down in Anne's seat as she indicated.
"Hello, Miss Brooke."
"Good Evening, Mr Blythe."
"I'm sorry I haven't had the chance to further my reading."
"I am gathering you have been quite busily engaged elsewhere."
"Indeed." He gave a small smile; he opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again.
"I believe you have a question to ask me, Mr Blythe, and I'm relieved to think it has nothing to do with your previous extended obsession with ulcers."
Gilbert should have grown used to Katherine Brooke's probing, unapologetic directness by now, but he was still startled to be so easily read. He thought, fleetingly, that if he ever made it to medical school he would have to practice his impassive, detached demeanour; his doctor's face.
"Miss Brooke, as usual, you seem to be three steps ahead of me. No wonder you and Anne made such a formidable team."
She cocked her head to one side. "And you, Mr Blythe, are wondering if I see you and she as a team."
He was sure he had coloured like some lovesick swain at her observation, and he shifted in his seat, those amber eyes regarding him too curiously.
"I do appreciate you not beating around the bush, Miss Brooke."
"And I would appreciate the same, Mr Blythe."
He was well and truly caught in his own web, now; a fly helpless before her spider.
"Very well, Miss Brooke. We may perhaps leave tomorrow and I wish you to know that… I would like to court Anne. I have hoped for it for quite a while. You are the closest person to her; her family. I wondered that I might… not obtain your permission, obviously, but perhaps your blessing."
There were several extraordinarily uncomfortable moments, during which that amber gaze on him was completely uncompromising.
"Well, Mr Blythe. There we have it. I am completely unsurprised. Anne might be still unsure of your feelings but I cannot be; every time she walks into the room you only see her."
Gilbert felt the full colour rise to his cheeks now, but Katherine Brooke, typically, was hardly finished.
"Luckily for you she has learned to be a little better at circumspection, but obviously not much. The two of you together have been enough to give me an ulcer."
Gilbert smiled sheepishly.
Katherine Brooke took a long, rather difficult breath.
"She needs someone to stand beside her, Gilbert Blythe – not to fall at her feet."
"Yes, Miss Brooke – I well understand you."
"Yes, but you are still not there to completely understanding her. I wonder at it, Mr Blythe, despite your best intentions. You have a strong connection with her, obviously. That will mean a great deal to her. She is all about her kindred spirits. But I rather think you still believe yourself to be her heroic rescuer. She may be charmed by that but its not what she needs. Goodness knows she's rescued herself enough times. She's pulled herself up by her own bootstraps on more occasions than you would ever comprehend. But she needs you to see her clearly, Gilbert Blythe. To not put your own dreams and projections onto her. She needs you to know her and to see her as she is, to understand her and to accept her… even the parts she herself would wish to forget."
Gilbert felt sure his face was burning now. He could forgive Katherine Brooke for being protective of Anne – he liked her very much for it – but he felt she didn't quite appreciate the depth of their relationship. He felt he knew things about Anne that, save Miss Brooke herself, no one else did, except, perhaps, Diana or possibly Phil. He understood there were still things to know about her but he knew… and understood… and loved so much more about her already, things that their very journey to get here and even their brief time together today had uncovered.
"I do understand your reasonings here too, Miss Brooke," he tried not to sound defensive. "But I care for Anne very much, and, respectfully, if I still need to get to know her that is the very idea behind my wish to court her."
Katherine Brooke's tight almost-smile took in his discomfort.
"You do realise that you don't need my blessing, Mr Blythe – only hers."
Before Gilbert could answer, Katherine's eyes looked past him to the doorway. Anne stood, with a pitcher and glasses, wide eyed and still, obviously having heard it all, or at least enough.
Gilbert groaned loudly to himself. Perfect.
"Excuse me, Miss Brooke, with Anne back I will leave you to her much preferable company," Gilbert gave a wide, unconvincing smile. He took his leave of her with a nod; he gave Anne a quick sidelong glance of regret as he brushed past her, forgetting the water and everything else in his desire to get away, unable to even trust any words to her.
He stalked out, furious with himself and perhaps with Katherine too for having forced his hand; this was so very different to how he had planned everything in his head that it was farcical. He wanted to find some sort of escape from this wretched place and from his wretched feelings. He had wanted it to be perfect when he asked Anne, and instead she had overheard him discuss such a momentous thing as if commenting on the weather.
He found his room, though the description was an insulting one to rooms in general; he thought he might shut himself away in its tomb-like dimensions and dive under the covers and bury himself, in every sense.
He heard rapid steps, and he turned to see her. Naturally.
"Please, Anne, don't follow me in here!" he hissed.
"Gilbert?"
"I'm sure Miss Brooke still needs somebody with her."
"Miss Baker has come for her." Anne gulped at the doorway. "Gilbert? "To court you?"
He had his hands on his hips in exasperation.
"I spoke out of turn. I'm sorry, Anne. Forgive me. It was very thoughtless and selfish, and it's certainly not the time nor the place for this discussion."
"Forgive me, Gilbert, but I think we are already in the middle of this discussion."
He attempted to pace up and down, and managed about three steps in either direction.
"When?" Anne asked quietly.
He looked at her curiously.
"When would you have asked me?"
He tried his best to deflect her. "About five seconds after I met you. Before I teased you and you hated me for a month."
"Gilbert…"
He sighed, and tried not to look unaccountably lovelorn and pathetic.
"At the end of our date at the tea room today, if we hadn't come here; after our sonnets presentation."
Anne's eyes had widened to saucers.
"Oh, Gilbert!"
He looked at her sharply. "That's not a rapturous yes, thank you, oh Gilbert. That sounds like an oh Gilbert, I need to let you down gently kind of response, Anne!"
She stuck her nose very high in the air at that rejoinder.
"I can hardly know my response to a question that hasn't even been asked, Gilbert!"
"Well, I am hardly in a position to ask you now, Anne! Heck, I can't believe all this was so easy for Fred!" he was pacing again, and all the regret and disappointment spilled out of him. "He went to one dance with Diana, he saw her two weeks later over Christmas, he asked her, she said yes! Perfect!"
"Gilbert, Fred Wright by all accounts has grown up with Diana! As have you! It's completely different! They know one another and…"
"And we don't? Regardless, isn't that the whole idea of courting, Anne, if I'm not very much mistaken?"
"But Gilbert! There are… there are steps… before that!" Anne actually rung her hands.
"Steps?"
"Surely you would know, from anyone you've actually courted before!" she retorted rather hotly. "There are… calls to be made and… ah… dates… and… intentions… and…." she trailed off.
"Have I not made my intentions clear towards you, Anne?"
She blushed fiercely at that.
"You're, right, Gilbert – this is not the sort of conversation we – "
"Anne!" he pleaded, grabbing her hand.
They stood together in the doorway.
"Does this not matter?" he urged her. "That I'm here. In these…" he turned his head as if in great admiration, "salubrious surrounds?"
"Of course it does! More than you could ever know! More than I could ever express to you!"
"And so?"
"And so…." she still managed to fidget with the fingers of her free hand, "you have made your friendship very clear…" she swallowed with difficulty. "You have made your academic admiration very clear…" she cast her eyes to the floor. "You have made your chivalry and goodness very clear."
He held her hand, and was very quiet.
"But not my feelings?" his voice was throaty and raw.
Her face burned even more brightly, if possible; a mirror for her hair.
"Anne…" his voice was so low he could hardly make out his own words, "forgive me my ignorance. Despite all indications to the contrary – and despite what you may have heard from Charlie or any of the Avonlea girls or even Pris, who met me at Queen's… I haven't ever officially courted anyone."
"No?" she squeaked.
"No. A resounding no. I rather think I'd remember it if I had."
She gave a flustered and completely endearing little smile.
He reached up and lifted her hand, turned it palm up, and kissed it slowly. Her fingers curled around the gesture.
"The only reason I am able to stop myself from kissing you properly right now, Anne Shirley, is that I'll be hanged if our first kiss is going to happen in a broom cupboard."
He waited for her blush, which arrived on cue; it was her intake of breath and her quick reply that undid him.
"You have quite the faith in your own powers of attraction, Mr Blythe." Her voice was not quite even.
"Yes indeed, Miss Shirley. I believe I get that from my father." His voice was hardly steady either.
He squeezed her hand and let it go, reluctantly backing away. As much as his entire being cried out to arrest this ache for her, to proclaim her power over him, he had to remember why they were here; they were not on some romantic assignation. She was here for Katherine Brooke, and he was here for her.
The temptation of her was far too great. Particularly when his very own Eve still remained in the doorway, looking pensive and much too lovely.
"What if…?" Anne questioned. "What if we weren't … in a broom cupboard?"
For once he didn't quite understand what she was getting at.
"Sorry, Anne," he attempted a sardonic grin. "I am positive you could imagine this as anything… probably even as a magical bower of trees and flowers under a canopy of stars. You may well be able to imagine that, and to make it work. You're probably the only person I know who could. Goodness only knows you've had to survive on your imagination your entire life. But I'm not built that way, Anne. I can't do that. I look around me and all I see is a broom cupboard."
She shrugged her shoulders, her look and her tone wistful. Her face was still very flushed. "Well, then."
He felt his brows knit together. Had he just missed something? It felt like they were having two entirely different conversations. And then he stilled. When is a broom cupboard not a broom cupboard?
Oh, Good God. In that moment he could have launched himself at the door and slammed it shut; to lock them away from the world. What was he thinking? He had been given his chance, right here, right this very second, and he had thrown it away. He would spend the rest of his life wishing he was back in this broom cupboard.
You stupid idiot, Blythe!
Anne seemed to be able to hear his scathing internal monologue. She turned to take a step out of the doorway, and then, very deliberately, turned back to him, a beautiful, quivering smile on her lips and a question in her grey eyes, which darkened as she looked at him.
"Well, then?"
He was startled by her change of inflection. He sought her eyes with his own question, and the newly audacious reply in hers made the heat come to his cheeks. She left the door ajar and slipped through it, and he followed her.
They stole silently across the wide floors and the shadow islands made by the moonlight filtering through the windows. At the huge glass doors backing onto the outside grounds they paused, and Anne turned the nib to unlock them, but she pushed at the pane and it would not budge.
"Oh!" she breathed shakily, twisting the knob and giving the door a little rattle of frustration. "Oh, no!"
"Anne!" he whispered in caution, and he had his hand over hers; he then reached up his other and slid the bolt out from the top of the door.
He didn't contemplate the madness of their actions; they closed the door behind them and ran.
Anne was a wood nymph he was chasing in the darkness; a fairy sprite with red hair streaming behind her; his very own true life dryad of the trees. The cold air was fresh and biting after the stale stillness of inside; he felt like laughing crazily; a very happy escapee from this particular asylum, for the silly, schoolboy joyfulness in him was filling his lungs and spreading through his body. They darted across the lawn and into the polite tangle of the trees, where the moon played hide-and-seek with the dappled figure just before him. He had to trust she knew where she was going. She already trusted that he would follow.
Anne halted abruptly, and he was chasing so fast he almost sailed right past her. He was careful not to pull up short; his football training an intrinsic bodily knowledge, and he slowed and jogged in a little self conscious circle back to her. She was giggling and gasping; and then she bent over, and he grinned to himself, and crossed in front of her. His hand was on her waist without thought.
"Breathe," he directed.
He grinned again, for his hand on her appeared to make her rather incapable of following the instruction.
He remembered himself and stepped back, giving her space, and thrust his hands into his pockets, lest they stray to any other parts of her person uninvited.
"Look up, Gilbert!" she smiled widely, as her breathing slowed.
He craned his neck to view the canopy of stars he had himself outlined, vast and glorious, with a full moon besides, which may have gone some way to accounting for much of their present behaviour.
"That's amazing!"
"It is! But I meant the tree!" Anne laughed.
He looked back to her, and then up above her, and understood.
An apple tree.
He chuckled and shook his head, peering at the dusky, frost-bitten fruit on some of the lower branches, made into dark orbs in the night. He approached to stand by Anne, patting the trunk firmly.
"Well, she's not the best example, but it is winter – they don't like the cold; particularly with these stiff sea breezes from that harbour you mentioned." He turned to see Anne leaning her back against the cool wood, gazing up at him with a bemused expression, the shadows across her face reminding him of that magical dance they had shared at Redmond.
"Wow, it really is true about Islanders and their apple trees."
"You'd better believe it, Anne Shirley," his voice had become a dark, displaced, gravelly thing, seemingly unconnected to his body, as he returned her stare. She was the first to break eye contact and look down, her pale cheeks betraying her blush, even in the near darkness.
He dipped his head to murmur to her.
"There's a special apple tree of my own that I long to show you, Anne. Back home, in Avonlea."
"There is?" she breathed.
"There is." He had made it a vow.
Gilbert watched the face that had long haunted him, pale and pearled in the moonlight; luminous in her loveliness. He couldn't even believe they had just come out here; the forbidden allure of being properly alone with her was a dance they had shared since they had left Redmond, and suddenly it was made startlingly real, even as he felt in the sway of their moonstruck madness. If he could think much of anything clearly in this moment he might have questioned her motivations; might have lingered on the symmetry and symbolism of this girl, trapped all her life, finding a special comrade to escape with and finally breaking free. He would have understood that, absolutely, as he was coming to understand her, despite Katherine Brooke's vague misgivings. But what he understood now was much more elemental; it was of their new, shared understandings, borne not of her past but of their present; it was of their own undeniable simpatico, their chemistry together; it was of water and waves, of smoke and fire, of friendship and faith, of acceptance and attraction… she was grey eyes made green when he looked at her. He was a thumping heart and blood burning in his veins when he was near her. She was a woman trusting to wait in the dark with him and he was the man who loved her and they had shared everything but the inevitable outcome of that truth.
He reached out to her hair; to those tendrils he had longed to touch, then to her face, his long fingers pausing, stuttering, at her cheek, stroking gently, tracing a shaking, delicate path down from her brow to her jaw. He saw her shallow, trembling breath at his touch, but only heard and felt his own.
"Oh, Anne…" her name rushed from him, on his breath, to curl on the cold night air and float away in the darkness.
He needed to see her, to try to read her; he raised her face to him gently.
What he saw in her expression; her staring eyes, her softly parted lips, her head bent back to meet his, very nearly undid him; the elemental fought to take control over him, and he tried to wrestle his rational self away to safety. This was new to him, too; this tug, this fight, this heat, this wanting. He wished to surrender himself to it completely; he yearned to press himself against the length of her as they backed into the tree. He wanted to kiss her soundly, with the thrumming, persistent passion that beat away the sense in his brain. He wanted them both to abandon themselves to this thing between them and let it drown them. But another part of him knew, instinctively, that could not be the way of it here; there was, he sensed, something still bruised in her from long ago, and if he was not mindful of that he would not get another chance to be, and he wouldn't deserve one.
Instead Gilbert lowered his lips till they found and pressed against hers, with the infinite, tender, courtly care he had long planned and imagined. She stilled beneath him, but his mouth held hers, and he waited. He moved slowly, running his lips over hers, tasting, tugging gently, with love and longing, as his fingers threaded in her hair and his other hand found her waist again and held her lightly, reverently, against him. She was all the shy, soft, beguiling sweetness he had ever dreamed of and more. She was hope and promise. She was light and love. He thought it might nearly end; he knew it was enough and so much more than enough and not nearly, ever, enough, but it was lovely and perfect as it was, under this unexpected apple tree, with only the moon and the sky and the stars to bear witness.
He withdrew his head slowly, but close enough to still stare into those eyes as they fluttered open, and it took them a moment to focus, wonderingly, on his; and it took him a moment more to read the new knowledge in them, and what it meant.
"Oh, Gil…" she breathed.
That broke him, then, for she could not know how his name on her lips sounded to him and what it signified; he only knew of the feeling that overtook him; the rush of connection, of her body calling to him as her soul had long ago, and she must know he was hers, that he had given himself over to her utterly, and he made good on the silent promise by finding her lips again, this time with purpose and passion and new resolution.
He teased her lips apart; he felt her shudder and then sink into him; he deepened the kiss and wrapped his strong arms around her. The stars were literally before his eyes as their tongues grazed and there was a soft moan from her throat… or from his… he couldn't tell and it didn't matter. They were joined together in this blaze of sensation and he was being consumed by it and by her, by the response he felt from her. Oh, God… passion, passion, passion like an incessant, beating drum reverberating through him… He gave it even as he felt it from her and later his mother's words would ring prophetically in his ears, but for now there was only this feeling, this joining and this exchange… and if it didn't stop now there would be nothing for it but to just drift down into the cold grass with her, under the tree, and let the fire take them.
He pulled himself away, barely, and their gasping breaths sounded very loud in the stillness. She turned from him slightly to lean her forehead against the trunk, perhaps seeking coolness to help expunge the heat. Gilbert for his part felt unable to deal with anything but his own wild wonder at what had just occurred. He felt scattered in a million pieces and the bits were being blown about as he grabbed at them and tried to reassemble himself.
"Anne… Anne… are you OK?"
If he had scared her, if it had been too much, too fast, too soon, he really thought he would bash his head against the tree till he lost consciousness.
She did not reply.
"Anne?"
She seemed to nod, and gave muffled answer. "OK."
"You're OK?"
Firmer, this time. "OK."
He risked leaning in, close to her ear.
"Anne, darling, I'm sorry if I…"
She raised her head abruptly, and turned to him slowly, her expression newly amazed.
"Wh… what did you say?"
What had he said? He could hardly remember; his mind was still righting itself.
"Ah… I said…" Oh. He swallowed. "Darling."
She stared at him with wide eyes.
Oh, God. She hated it. The endearment had slipped from his lips as naturally as her name. It felt perfect and wonderful to him, because that's what she was to him, but frustratingly there were no understandings between them yet, to sanction the term; there still hadn't been a question asked, let alone an answer.
But then… as he stared down at her, agonised, she looked back up to him, and it didn't seem like she hated it. The blush found her anew, and her smile was embarrassed and beautiful and a little pleased.
God in all his Heaven, if she continued to look at him like that he really could not be held responsible anymore.
"Anne…" he sighed, withdrawing his hands from her with great difficulty. "I hope this all hasn't been… too much."
"Too much?" her voice was a little strangled.
He swallowed. "I hope I haven't been… too much."
He couldn't quite fathom the look she gave him.
"I'm afraid…" she bit her bottom lip, "I am afraid you are always… too much."
"Anne?"
"The Gilbert Blythe effect. You have to know that, Gilbert. The effect you have on girls, on any female under eighty you've ever met."
"Anne, what are you talking about?"
She gave her own embarrassed sigh. "Too smart. Too handsome. Too friendly. Too generous. Too much."
"Well, hold on a minute…" he gave a wolf's smile. "Now you're piquing my interest."
"Gilbert…"
"Too smart?" he raised a dark brow.
"I forgot too conceited."
"Too handsome?" he grinned.
"Too cocky."
"Too friendly?" he leaned in very close.
Her intake of breath was sharp.
"Too good at this…" her eyes left his to find the ground.
"Sorry?" he was not playing games anymore; what was she talking about? Again?
"You probably make every girl feel this way, Gilbert… To be …. carried off as if they…" she faltered. "It's not the same for you… you're probably well used to it by now…"
She leaned against the tree, as if for support. She refused to look at him.
He paused to go over her words for several moments. He finally understood her; the realisation was horrendous.
He let out such a groan of frustration she actually jumped at it, and he turned from her, raking his hand through his hair and stalking away and around her in a demented half circle.
"Anne… oh, Anne… if you only knew half of what I'm thinking and feeling right now you would know not to even voice such thoughts! I'm so shattered and overwhelmed I can hardly speak to you. You look at me and I melt. I touch you and I burn. You could ask me to do anything and I'd do it for you. For your information I have never felt this way before, ever, and sometimes I don't even like it, because I can hardly control who I am with you anymore!"
She had raised her head to look at him, incredulous.
"Gil…" she breathed, stricken.
He paused. "And just so as you know, Anne, I don't think I will cope too well if you keep calling me that."
Her smile was unsure but also the tiniest bit teasing, and her eyes lit brightly as she looked at him.
"You mean, call you by your name?"
He growled at her, but his grin came out to play as well. "You know what I mean."
He chuckled darkly, trying to compose himself as he continued to pace.
"I actually have no idea what you mean."
"When you call me Gil. You've never called me that before."
She frowned at him. "But lots of girls call you that! I've heard Diana occasionally, and Ruby, and Pris. And Maisie called you Gil all the time!"
"Well, yes, I hated it from her, actually. Only my closest friends call me Gil."
"And I haven't the right?" her tone was aghast.
He turned back to her, exasperated.
"Anne, when you call me Gil, you make it an endearment. You make it special. I didn't know it would drive me crazy like this. But Anne…" the catch came to his throat, "you say Gil but I hear darling."
They stared at one another for several beats. The cold of the night was still creeping around them but it felt mighty warm from where he was standing.
Anne looked at him very directly.
"Gil," she murmured.
He cocked his head, his dark brows drawn together. "Anne…" he warned.
"Gil…" she repeated, breathy yet determined.
The grin stole across his features; she hid her own knowing smile.
He took a step towards her.
"Say it again…" he challenged, and took two more steps to reach her, his hands coming either side of her, bracing himself against the tree.
He stared deeply into her eyes. Her face was so flushed it was fevered. Her eyes he was sure would be very green if he was able to note their color properly. But at this stage he was rather more focussed on her lips.
Her breaths came fast and sharp, as did his own ragged ones. Later he would learn, painfully, what it was to hold back; to rein in; to suppress; to deny. But for this moment, as she teased him with a new awareness; a coy coquette still shy and tremulous despite her own invitation to him, he could only think to answer her siren's call as fervently and faithfully as he could.
She barely breached the first letter before he dived on her mouth. Several minutes would pass before either of them resurfaced.
Only a short time later they sprinted back, through the trees, across the lawn, in the doors, grinning all the while, fingers touching, looks knowing and tender, fed by a new, almost feverish awareness and excitement. It had to be midnight, now; all was as quiet as they had left it. The world had revolved silently on; even if their own world had changed so irrefutably it was hardly recognisable anymore.
"I must look in on Katherine before I go to bed," Anne whispered up to him. "I rushed away from her before."
"Of course," he nodded. "But will you spare a thought for looking in on me as well, all alone in my little broom cupboard?" his slow grin was rather too pleased with itself, and he revelled in the new boldness that their ardent escapade had freed from him. "I might need a goodnight kiss, you know."
He loved the wry look she gave him.
Goodness, but he loved her. He loved her. He had wanted to say it out in the dark just now, beneath the trees; to declare it before all the heavens. He perhaps had breathed it as he kissed her. But he was aware that too much had already passed between them; he didn't want this added declaration to be a weight for her, an additional thing for her to contemplate and to carry; he wanted it to be a promise; an exaltation; a gift.
She knew he wished more than anything to court her. She knew he wanted to ask her. He would earn the right to do so, and his declaration would then come as fittingly and naturally as the feel of her in his arms.
"I thought you didn't permit kissing in said broom cupboards, Mr Blythe?" her question brought him back down from his hovering thoughts amongst those skies to very solid ground.
"That," he smiled, reaching for her hand and kissing the palm again, "was a first-time kiss concern, Miss Shirley. All other kisses are – "
There was a loud scream, interrupting their interlude and immediately shattering the calm and quiet around them. Anne and he shared a look of frightened incredulity before running across the floor and through the wooden doors. They burst into the private rooms even as lamps were flooding a different kind of light into the area and the sound of other footsteps echoed around them. At Katherine's doorway there was already a fair bit of commotion and the sound of somebody howling. Gilbert pushed past with Anne behind him. The howling was Miss Baker, who was hapless as ever, standing in the corner of the room, burying her shocked face in her hands. Matron was supporting Katherine who had obviously just brought up any scrap of food and drink she had managed in the past twenty four hours. The vomit stained the white sheets yellow-brown as an old bruise. And added to that was a new hue… the shocking, spotted scarlet of Katherine Brooke's blood.
Chapter Notes
"Anne had hurried home to the east gable and opened it eagerly – to find a typewritten copy of some college society report – 'only this and nothing more'". Anne of the Island (Ch. 28)
*Charlotte Bronte Jane Eyre (1847) (Ch. 23)