Dear Lovely Readers

It was not my original intention to split this all important chapter, which has been seventeen chapters in the making! Tom received fleeting mention back in Chapter Two, and since that time I have been building towards this moment, this reunion for Anne and Tom, and the repercussions for all the characters going forward. I thus thank you all for your continued support of this already long ride, which I estimate to be approaching halfway through; my intention is to see out the Redmond years and to follow the general progression of 'Anne of the Island' and hopefully beyond – though the 'beyond' will be a story unto itself!

So apologies, again, for the continued haphazard postings and lengthy times in between – part of splitting this is a desire to get back onto a regular posting schedule with this and my other story, 'Betwixt the Stars' and also partly to give Anne and Tom (and Gilbert!) their due.

With additional love and thanks to my reviewers here. I do so love to hear from you and touch base with you all – and apologies if my response is sometimes also delayed.

And additionally… with remembrance of Jonathan Crombie, my incomparable Gilbert Blythe, who passed away three years ago today, 15th April. He is in my head and before my eyes with every Gilbert word I write.

With love

MrsVonTrapp x

Chapter Nineteen

Part One

Young Gentleman Callers

Gilbert hunched at his desk, weary long body slumped into the hardbacked chair, the Thursday night after arriving back at Redmond. He contemplated the list before him; one he had long memorised, now extended and amended as this most horrendous, interminable week had staggered forwards, he lurching with it from crisis to crisis, like a drunken sailor on shore leave. He hadn't thought he could spend a week like the one he had just come from; in Summerside, cradling Anne as she had sobbed in his arms, fearing Katherine Brooke would slip away right before their eyes. He certainly hadn't thought the ever-present churning in his gut, like a putrid boiling soup about to bubble over the pot, was a sensation he would ever feel again after his worst weeks with his father in Alberta. Perhaps the churning was, finally, beginning to settle, though the acrid aftertaste remained in his throat, however much he attempted to swallow it down. He wondered, not for the first time, if he would ever feel anything but this numbing, pervasive dread ever again.

He crossed another item off his list with the one determined dark stroke, pushed himself away from the desk and paced the small room in frustration, coming to stop by the window, staring out unseeingly at the frigid late winter landscape. Kingsport was reluctant to throw off the shackles of winter if this week had been any indication; the bleak, bitter turn in the weather had seen everyone scurry for the heavy woollens they perhaps hoped they could almost consign to the drawer; certainly the shockingly vibrant ensemble Charlie had been sporting, which he told everyone within earshot was vermilion which might as well be scarlet but looked to Gilbert to have suspiciously more in common with pink, had at least been a welcome diversion. That's if Gilbert allowed him to live the rest of this week to wear it, let alone long enough to actually see the spring; damn Charlie and his damn big, traitorous, gossipy mouth.

The item just completed from that list resting with accusatory acclaim on his desk had been the long letter to his parents, posted just today, following the telegram he had wasted precious money on after his mother's own letter, which had arrived Tuesday;

DEAR MA AND DAD STOP NOT MARRIED OR ELOPED STOP PLEASE DON'T WORRY STOP ALL WELL WILL EXPLAIN LETTER FOLLOWING STOP LOVE GILBERT END

He had agonised over his reply to them; his mother's words, still resolutely loving despite the disbelief and regret etched into them, thinking their only son had not only denied them the chance to see him married but had thrown away all his hard fought dreams and their own hope and sacrifice in the process. That had indeed been the bitterest gall * and a shock he would probably spend the remainder of the school year attempting to soothe. He feared his feelings for Anne had bled between the lines of his own assurances of friendship and protection of her in recounting their time in Summerside; his actions had been, after all, a little more than friend, and rather much too kind.

Defiantly, he still refused to be sorry; and he still, determinedly, vowed to win her.

Fred's warning – and his advice – had rung in his ears when he had left him last Sunday; Fred, stalwart and supportive to the last, but not really understanding the fire that burned in him with regard to Anne; surely if he had any inkling he would have seen the very notion of staying away from her was impossible. But then Phil, who had hunted him down on the Monday, was of the same mind; Pris and later Diana followed suit, and he had now spent days without her after having shared everything with her; after having been so close they had breathed the same air. Oh, the agony of that little rehearsal for their overdue presentation on those blasted sonnets, only tempered by how they had both risen to the occasion before their class yesterday; they had indeed been triumphant, carrying all before them and earning the good Professor's highest result in years.

There had been no celebration, however; no tea room; and certainly no tree.

Anne, still pale and worried and tremulous, grey eyes shadowed and limpid, had walked with him quietly after class; barely speaking a word except to echo those of others. That they should appear friendly for now but not overly so; that they should not see one another privately for the moment; that they would only contact one another through their many intermediaries; when all he wanted to do was to take her in his arms and kiss away all her doubts. He knew – he knew – that the gossip and innuendo had been harder on her and more harshly directed at her; to hear some of the uglier thoughts circulating had nearly killed him; if he had been made hero through all this she had been made harlot.

It was so bitterly unfair.

Luckily, their supporters were manifold; Phil and Pris guarded her as joint tigresses during the day and Diana now at night, Anne having decamped to some spare room of hers on Tuesday; Fred had looked up every law in his business tomes relating to the spreading and manufacture of false information; even Charlie, in his very unSloaneish shamefacedness, had mumbled retractions to anyone who might listen, and had written his own mother again to set the record straight. Furthermore, Gilbert's other telegram, early Monday, had enlisted the services of those at Summerside, and he had been in receipt just today of a flurry of supportive missives; the good Dr McCubbin, kindly and complimentary; the Home's Director Mrs Llewelyn, firm and factual; and Katherine Brooke herself by Matron's hand, polite and exacting and barely seething in indignation for them beneath the surface. It would be more than enough with which to return for a second appointment with the Dean tomorrow, who had been greatly concerned by the events that had transpired but not wholly unsympathetic; he had before him, after all, with that first ghastly meeting he and Anne had attended, the all-conquering President of Freshman Year and the young leading lights in the Science and English departments respectively. He had seen much in his time and was not quite at the stage of throwing the baby out with the bathwater. Still, the Dean had sternly urged the utmost care and caution, couched in the firm understanding that nothing of this nature must be allowed to occur ever, ever again, or his hands would most certainly be tied, and no mistake, and no matter how many just-recovered letters of explanation from the still bedridden Mr Fitz or anyone else they might brandish in their defence.

So tomorrow they would see the Dean again; anyone after that whispering falsehoods would need to offer an official retraction, he was sure; he could hold his head up high again and so, more importantly, could Anne.

And then let the dust settle… and then… and then… finally, finally, they could find a quiet, safe place to take down their book from the shelf; he could fully and completely declare himself as he had so longed to; and she could be by his side and he by hers, and defy you, stars! **should anyone or anything dared try to come between them again.

Anne sat swathed in her dressing gown Thursday night, steaming mug of tea in hand, nibbling on one of Diana's biscuits with more relish than she had tackled any morsel of food in nearly a week. Diana, reclined in the cosy chair opposite Anne's perch on the sofa of their sitting room, smiled at these efforts with rosy cheeked approval. Anne was certainly looking less wan and wearied than when she had met with her on Monday, coming all the way to Redmond to find the pale girl bunkered down in her room, prostrate on the bed, exhausted from a day dodging speculation and enduring an endless round of meetings with everyone from the Dean to her Debating Club Captain. The offer of the little poky attic room, disused except for storage, but with a bed and wardrobe and dresser and desk all the same (though hardly the room for them), had been taken up as a miraculous port in this very ferocious current storm. Diana was now already so used to Anne going about in the lovely old house – and she had already of course charmed their landlady to boot – that she was loathe to ever have her leave; what a wonderful spirit she was to talk to, even at this horrid time; with Ruby always out and Jane always rabbiting weddings and Diana not quite realising before now that loneliness was not the state of being alone, but could be felt amidst the otherwise happy clamour of countless busy comings and goings.

Anne had talked precious little of their time in Summerside, and that had been mostly about Katherine Brooke or sketchy outlines of her own experiences growing up there before her arrival at Redmond; but a note from Gilbert this afternoon had been awaiting her when she picked up her mail and some fresh clothes at her boarding house, and Anne had shared the news of letters from their Summerside cavalry with a soft, faraway look that made Diana bold.

"Right then, Miss Anne. Are you going to divulge what really happened between you and Gil in Summerside?"

At the use of Gilbert's abbreviated name Anne's cheeks blazed suspiciously, and Diana looked on in delighted wonderment.

"Well then, that rather confirms it," Diana smiled serenely.

"Diana Barry, even you yourself admit that Gilbert is a perfect gentleman," Anne hedged, biting her lip.

"Oh, Anne! There's gentleman and then there's man. I am quite sure Gilbert managed to be both."

Anne digested this as with her tea, staring at the liquid in contemplation for so long Diana thought she'd go quite mad with the anticipation. She had shared everything with Anne – Fred and the dance and the mistletoe; Fred's visits over Christmas and that near-extraordinary overhead conversation with her mother; the courting; the New Year's Eve dance in Avonlea. She knew Anne wasn't nearly as used to sharing parts of herself – hadn't her awful childhood seen to that? – but they were women together now, ensconced in the cosy sitting room, before a roaring fire, with tea and biscuits, and if that didn't get a confession out of Anne nothing short of the Spanish Inquisition would achieve it.

Anne placed her mug down carefully, and regarded Diana with her big, starry grey eyes.

"Gilbert kissed me."

"I knew it!" Diana's response was a whoosh of delight, and she very nearly clapped her hands together. "Oh, I knew that had to have happened! How wonderful, Anne! You must tell me everything!"

Anne's eyes were round. "You knew?"

"Oh, that was on the cards forever," Diana waved the thought off with her hand with smug satisfaction. "Anyone could tell as much whenever he looked at you. Definitely since that football fundraising dance."

Anne's color had only increased, and her gaping mouth joined her eyes in her patently incredulous expression.

"So you must tell me where? And when? And goodness, probably a little of the how for good measure!" Diana continued gleefully.

"I would think a young lady being courted herself would be familiar with the basics," Anne replied with a little flustered laugh.

Diana would not be denied. "Anne, this is Gilbert. I've known him forever. He's never acted towards anyone the way he acts towards you."

Anne's eyes swept downwards. "He said a little of the same thing to me." Her voice was low, as if divulging something very private.

When Diana made no reply, Anne looked back up to her questioningly, to see her lovely face with its dark halo of hair nursing a beatific, dimpled smile.

"Diana?"

Diana moved to the sofa, grasping Anne's hands in hers.

"Anne, I'm so pleased for you. I cannot tell you how thrilled I am for you. But you know I'm a little pleased for Gilbert as well. I had my suspicions that he was only a terrible flirt because he was bored and could get away with it; I never really believed his heart was really in it. I suspected that one day… when he fell for someone, he would fall hard. Almost as a penance for driving every other girl between here and Avonlea quite crazy. I hoped it would be someone nice that we could all half stand. Especially with Gil and Fred being thick as thieves. So you must allow me to be very pleased indeed to find out that the girl for him is actually you."

Anne's reaction left Diana unsure whether Anne wanted to grin or to cry.

"And your first kiss, too," Diana offered gently, meaningfully, her dark eyes kind and full of sympathy.

Anne nodded and gave a shuddering breath, remembering that emotional, wrenching conversation over kisses, first or otherwise, when she had dared to share some of the darker moments of her past with the lovely girl opposite her. The one betraying tear broke ranks to journey down her cheek, and Anne brushed it away impatiently.

"So… how was it?" Diana persisted, after having given Anne a moment, squeezing the hand still in hers encouragingly. "I am imagining that Gilbert was a little more expert than Fred. Not that Fred isn't a very diligent and hardworking student," she giggled.

Anne's laugh was relief and delight combined. "Diana, you are incorrigible!"

"I will take that as a compliment."

"You are more like Gilbert than you know!"

Now Diana laughed too. "Probably because he could have been my brother."

Anne's look was appropriately astonished. "Pardon?"

"It's a very long story. But my father courted Gil's mother. They were very nearly engaged I believe. But they found other matches in the end. There is obviously a right person for everyone… and so Gilbert is for you."

Anne's cheeks flashed scarlet, or even vermilion. "You really think so?"

"Well, tell me about your kiss and I may be better able to judge."

Anne did grin at that, looking to the fire with eyes sparking in conversation with the flames. She murmured with admirable innocence, "which one?"

"Anne Shirley! Oh, that's it! You are forbidden from leaving this room now!"

The two young women giggled like the schoolgirl friends they might have been in another lifetime, and Diana, in her own dressing gown and dainty padded slippers, scooted over to the plate of biscuits to properly fortify herself for the upcoming revelations, whilst Anne took hasty sips of her cooling tea.

"It was before Katherine fell ill…" Anne remembered, hugging herself as if she would clasp the memory to her. "Gilbert had spent the entire day being quite wonderful, running errands for staff and goodness knows what else. They really didn't know what to do with him. They put him up in this awful little room, Diana – you can't imagine - but he bore it all with such good grace. He had been so lovely on the train and so good at the Home and he was so good with Katherine, who is not the easiest person to get along with… and I saw that he was trying to do all this for me. And I realised that he couldn't have done all that unless he really cared about me…"

Anne paused and Diana stayed wisely silent, hugging her knees, unwilling to even breathe lest she interrupt the narrative.

"And then later… I happened upon Gilbert talking with Katherine. I heard how he wanted to court me…" At this Diana's eyes flew wide. "I guess he was asking Katherine as there was no one else to ask. I should have been a little put out by this, I suppose – all this talk about me that wasn't even including me – but Diana, all I could think was that he… Gilbert Blythe… wanted to align himself with me. He had seen where I had come from – or some of it, at least – and he still wanted me to belong to him in that way…"

Diana, breathlessly agog, took another bite of her biscuit, uncaring as to crumbs and decorum alike.

"Well then, he refused to talk about any of it after that … he hated that everything was all backwards between us… he is so attached to doing things properly… well, somehow we ended up outside in the dark. There is this wooded area at the back of the Girl's Home… and I showed him the apple tree there… and he kissed me under it. Oh, so sweetly and romantically, Diana, like something out of a novel… and then… and then… well, there was a little talking, and a little teasing, and I guess I might have challenged him into kissing me again… only this time… this time… it was a little wild… it was sort of abandoned… I had never felt like that before in my life… the passion from him and I guess the passion from me and in that moment I was a little afraid for us and what would happen and you know it might be shameful but I didn't even care in that moment what might have happened…" Anne trailed off, lost again to the memory, and looked up to her amazed friend with blazing cheeks and pleading eyes. "Nothing did happen, of course. Is that… is that how it's been for you and Fred?"

Diana's own cheeks had caught Anne's blush, and her eyes stared as if forgetting how to blink. She cleared her throat.

"A little," Diana squeaked.

Anne nodded, twisting the hem of her dressing gown distractedly.

"What happened next?" Diana barely managed.

"We went back inside… Katherine became violently ill… we spent all night and the next day trying to save her… Gilbert, thank God, insisted on a better doctor and went across town to fetch him… and through a true miracle, Diana – there is no other explanation for it – she was spared."

"Yes… a true miracle…" Diana murmured distractedly. "And what happened with, ah, you and Gilbert?"

Anne shrugged her shoulders helplessly. "What could happen, Diana? He couldn't have asked me about courting there, in that situation… we agreed… well, we mutually vowed… to wait till things were on an even footing again, back here in Kingsport… and well, you know the rest of that story…" Anne rolled her eyes.

Diana took several unladylike gulps of her own cold tea. "Goodness…" was all she was fit to comment.

"Yes…." Anne sighed.

"Will you, Anne? When he does get to ask you?"

"Will I….?"

"Courting!" Diana laughed. "Or have you forgotten that bit?"

Anne chuckled, a little unconvincingly. "It's a little complicated now."

"Well yes, I know, but that will settle, Anne. What a horrible time for you, last week and this… but really, the letters you told me Gil has received seem to be an end to it. You can go to the Dean with them tomorrow. And I'm not saying run off to the nearest apple tree or anything after that of course but…" Diana frowned as Anne fumbled about in her pocket, withdrawing a letter.

"What's that?"

Anne's expression was grave. "A complication."

"Oh my goodness…" Diana eyed the return address. "It's from Tom."

"Yes…" Anne gulped.

"But…?"

"It was waiting for me when I got back on Sunday."

"Oh my Lord!"

Anne leapt up in agitation and paced the sitting room anxiously, eying Diana as she read the words she herself had reread and cried over just about as much as anything to do with supposed elopements.

"Oh, Anne…" Diana breathed.

"I know…"

"What a lovely letter." Diana sighed with the deep satisfaction of the intrinsically romantic.

Anne's reply was mournful, and her grey eyes glistened suspiciously. "I know…"

"I had no idea Tom Caruthers was… well… that he was quite so… eloquent. I don't mean to be disparaging, of course. It's just that he usually has about as much to say as Fred does." Diana gave a knowing smile.

Anne nodded absently and resumed her pacing.

"He's wanted to come to see you for ages Anne…" Diana reread several sections. "Gosh I had no idea the situation with the Cuthberts had gotten so desperate. I knew of Mr Matthew's heart problems but I didn't know about Marilla's eyes…"

"Are they very elderly? The Cuthberts?"

Diana paused to think on this. "No more so than most of our parents; my father's general age certainly. It's just that growing up they always seemed old. Till Tom arrived at any rate. Just a little stern and a little sad, out there at Green Gables on the edge of the woods. Marilla Cuthbert especially. You know it was rumoured she might have married Gilbert's father back in the day…"

"Gilbert's father?" Anne's incredulity had halted her pacing. "Are there only a dozen people in your Avonlea, Diana?" she couldn't resist the jibe.

Diana rolled her eyes. "Don't you be saucy with me, Miss Shirley. You have enough problems."

"I know," Anne let a very long breath of chagrin escape, thumping back in her seat next to Diana.

"Does Gilbert know about Tom?" Diana asked pointedly.

"No…" Anne's cheeks heated anew. "He knows that… when we returned to Redmond I gave him a letter in which I revealed that… there is someone special to me, dating from my time at the orphanage… I guess I haven't really specified their gender… it's just that, I would tell Gilbert the story – or at least the parts of the story I can bear to remember – but it's not solely my story to tell, is it, Diana? It's his too. I can't betray Tom in that way."

It was the dark haired girl's turn to sigh. "Does Tom know about Gilbert?"

"In general terms…" Anne hedged. "Insomuch as we're friends and I met him here in Kingsport, the same as you all…"

"Excepting you don't go around passionately kissing all your Kingsport friends," Diana gave an arch smile.

"Well, I'd think that rather happened after my letter to Tom," Anne huffed in reply.

"Yes, it did, darling. I'm sorry. I shouldn't tease."

The two young women sat in befuddled silence.

"What will you do?" Diana ventured after a long moment.

"Tell Gilbert," Anne determined, with a shuddering sigh. "I owe him that much and so much more, after all. "Perhaps after the Dean and after classes, this weekend some time…" Anne shrugged her shoulders helplessly. "And I guess I will tell Tom when he comes to visit the end of next week…" Anne continued. "Though I hardly know what to say to him. Tell me about him, will you, Diana? What's he really like now?"

Diana had been frowning down at the letter still in her hand, but now she stilled. "I think you'll find out for yourself soon enough, Anne."

"Well, yes, I know, but in the meantime…"

Diana gulped. "There is no meantime, darling."

"I don't understand you, Di…"

"Anne, you have it in your head that Tom is visiting you next week, but you are forgetting that you were away a week in Summerside already. You haven't counted back far enough from when he sent this. Anne, darling, Tom doesn't arrive in Kingsport next Friday…" Diana looked into those haunted eyes grown round again, "he arrives tomorrow."

Tom rose before dawn on Friday, dressing not in his worn overalls but in his equal best still-new navy suit, after very carefully, if critically, examining himself in the glass, noting with some surprise how the color on him complimented his blonde locks and brought out the gently shaded depth of his pale blue eyes.

He looked around the little east gable room. What would he tell Anne of this room? Of this life? Would he be able to get out any words at all?

Downstairs all the people in his world were again assembled; he carried his bag and placed it by the door, and then came back to the dining table carefully.

"Won't you eat something, Tom?" Marilla urged, and his ears caught the catch in her voice.

"Sorry, Marilla. Perhaps on the other side… you know how I am with the ferry crossing," he shook his head despairingly.

Some things had never changed. Tom had been back and forth to the mainland enough times over the years to know that the churning in his gut always accompanied the churning of the water across the strait, and wasn't a one-time coincidence brought about by the wretched emotion of that taxing, traumatic day all those years ago, when he had expected to wave off Anne to a new life and instead had her wide grey eyes on his as the last image he feared he would ever have of her… of her eyes on him as he had left her.

But he was coming to her now.

'Through sleet and snow

To where I know

She waits for me…' ***

"You have the name of the hotel?" Marilla wavered.

"Yes," Tom nodded. "And a second choice. Don't worry there, Marilla. I think somewhere in Kingsport they'll have room for me," he smiled wryly.

"Mind all the beggars near the station, Tom," Rachel warned, still oblivious, as Tom never could be, that if things had been different he could well have been one of them. "Even in hoity toity Kingsport. They will badger you something terrible, seeing as you look like a businessman and all in that suit. I was clear surprised when Matthew and Marilla decided on that color for it but I have to stand corrected. You look right handsome. More than enough for some reunion with… who is it again now?"

"Just an old friend studying at Redmond College, Rachel," Marilla interjected firmly, catching Tom's eye.

Providence had been kind in sending Rachel off to bed early that night so, even above Davy's protestations, it had only been Marilla herself to greet the new year when Tom had stumbled in the door to Green Gables not long after it. Only she to know how his large hand shook as he gave her the letter from an unknown girl who could well have been a ghost, so effectively had she haunted him all these years; only Marilla in that moment to make sense of the chatty, generous missive which ran to eight pages of heartfelt sentiments and tearful regrets and happy tidings and warmly-fond remembrances so that she understood, perhaps for the very first time, why Tom had never quite been able to let the thought of her go.

And now this girl, grown to young woman, was made a reality, and Tom's step was light and his speech lively and his look eager as never before. Would they take to one another as of old? Would she regret not coming to Avonlea? Would Tom regret that he hadn't been able to bring her? Would he want to come back?

That was the real question. Every time Marilla saw him go, whether it be to visit his mother's grave in Hopetown, which he had journeyed to on her birthday since he was fifteen; whether to Charlottetown in search of new books and manuals or to White Sands and beyond in search of new equipment and farming methods; whether even to Carmody for his new suit; the nagging, gnawing, ever-present, unmentionable fear; had they – had this – been enough for him?

"Best be heading to the station 'fore long," a well-recovered Matthew, set with the buggy to drop him off, reminded them all quietly.

And then there was Dora giving him a hug and Davy attempting his new man-of-the-house-now handshake and Rachel giving a kiss and hearty reminders not to accidentally leave his pocketbook in his coat when he took it off indoors and Marilla standing before him with bright eyes and a determined smile.

"For your friend," she said brusquely, thrusting a jar of plum jam and a jar of preserves into his hands. "Perhaps a little of Green Gables for them."

Tom surveyed the jars with a broken smile, enfolding her in the sort of embrace that they had both taken a while to grow into, but now both sought in unquestioning affection and sympathy and solace.

"I'll be back soon," he whispered into her ear, in the refrain he had offered since still a boy, at the start of every lone journey he had ever made beyond the reach of Avonlea. It was the refrain he had always given his mother. It was the vow he had whispered under his breath to Anne as the carriage had pulled away from the orphanage.

Matthew clapped him on the back and then waited for Tom to don his coat, scarf and hat. He wondered at the symmetry of life every time he had dropped Tom off at Bright River over the years, remembering too well the boy who had sat there waiting for him, sleepy and spent in the sunshine, a world ago, and occasionally wondering, too, about the girl he may have found waiting for him instead.

Tom turned to give a wave and an easy smile, thinking he would definitely, always return, but already wondering whether, one fine day, he might bring a visitor.

Gilbert sat with tapping foot and jangling knee outside the Dean's office Friday morning. They had already endured a joint meeting and now the distinguished and refreshingly sympathetic gentleman was having a quiet word to them separately. Gilbert's quiet word had been along the lines of remembering his responsibilities as a gentleman and as a Redmond scholar (the two concepts naturally thought interchangeable), which included safeguarding a young lady's reputation above middle of the night mercy missions halfway across the country. He greatly feared Anne was sequestered away hearing a tailored version of the same thing; her shamefaced look and heated cheeks once she emerged into the waiting area informed him of as much. He tried to catch her eye but she did not pause and instead swept past him, and he paced after her, bounding down the steps and out into the grey February day, which should at least have made the effort of a little sun to warm them after the week they had endured.

"Anne!" he pleaded, reaching for her arm.

"I just needed some air, Gilbert."

"Of course. I'm sorry. About every second of this week."

"Don't be," she sighed. "I dragged you into this."

"No, Anne…" he determined, clasping both her arms and turning her to face him. "We have been in this together. From the very first. We were in Summerside together and we saw Katherine Brooke survive together and we have put up with this hellish week together, fighting for one another if not always side by side. There is no I about any of this. Only we."

She blinked back quick, too-ready tears.

"I only hope…" his voice wavered, not in resolution but in general fatigue and the overwhelm of the moment, "that there is still a time for us. After we take a breath after all of this. That, Anne, you and I are still a we."

She seemed to choke on her reply, which sounded worryingly like a sob.

"Gilbert… I sincerely hope you will still feel that way after this weekend. Truly, I do."

"What would make me change? Have you any other young men lined up to pretend elope with?" he tried an ill-fated stab at their old teasing humour.

The poor joke was met with such horrified consternation he took a step backwards.

"Anne? What is it? You know we are in the clear now. I'm so sorry all the talk has been so awful for you especially. It has sickened me. I have shut down every single approach from anyone seeking to dishonour you in any way. There had better now not be one pointed look in your direction or - "

"No, Gilbert, that's not it…"

"Then what? Are you worried about us being seen together?"

Her look to him was mournful. "The Dean strongly advised against it outside of class for the next few weeks. Till all the talk completely dies down. I would hardly think either of us want to endanger his support of us by flouting his request."

Gilbert straightened slowly, dropping his arms.

"No, of course not, Anne… I respect his motivations even if I don't entirely agree with his reasoning. But we have done nothing wrong. Our actions this end were ill judged, I will acknowledge that, but they weren't wrong. I know you might need some time… I understand that. Heck, the Dean has all but demanded we take some time. I know the dilemma we face at the moment. But I… I've missed you."

"Oh, Gilbert…"

"Will you let me call on you, round at Diana's? That's far away enough from the Redmond gossips and any prying eyes. Either tonight or – "

"Gilbert…" her voice was strangled now. "I'm sorry, I don't think that's a good idea…"

"Any time this weekend, Anne; anytime that suits you… You do need some rest, I know. We don't have to decide on a time straight away… "

"Gilbert! Please stop for a minute. Let's walk… I need to explain something to you."

"That sounds ominous," he intoned, quirking a dark brow and falling into step beside her.

Her watery smile did not even attempt to reach her eyes. "Gilbert, I'm sorry I can't meet you, even at Diana's… I have… a friend coming to see me today."

"A friend?" he echoed the term uncertainly, as if it was a foreign concept.

"An… an old friend. I'm sorry, the timing was very unexpected. They sent a letter while we were in Summerside."

"Well, Anne…" his face showed his relief, "of course you must see her! I wouldn't want to stand in the way of that."

Anne drew in a long breath and turned to him in challenge. "The her is a him, Gilbert."

His hazel eyes grew wide, and he slowed his pace as if his brain needed all his energy to make sense of the thought. "Oh."

"We knew each other a long time ago… we haven't seen one another for many, many years…"

"How many years?" he asked warily after a moment, fighting to keep his voice even.

"Does it matter?"

He regarded her carefully. "I have a feeling it might."

"Gilbert…"

"From your time in the Home at Summerside? Or before?"

She paused for breath. "Before," she admitted tightly.

He stopped suddenly, placing his hands on slim hips.

"The orphanage? Where was it… Hopetown? Or when you were with that horrible Hammond woman who –"

"Gilbert! What point do any of these questions serve?" she asked desperately.

"I'm sorry Anne! It's just that this is a little sudden and… well, a little disconcerting."

Her look to him seemed a touch disappointed. "Disconcerting that I should have a male friend other than you? Or disconcerting in that you are only just now learning about it?"

He tried very hard not to scowl, and failed miserably. "Both, frankly."

"Oh. Right, then!"

"Anne! Please don't be like that! We're both on edge still. Just when I thought things would be going back to normal, this now comes along!" he tugged at his hair in frustration.

"You might have to work on your ability to deal with the unexpected, Gilbert!"

"Well, I thank you for another lesson there, Anne!"

If he had suspected he'd crossed a line as soon as the words had escaped him, the spark of green as her eyes flashed to his was enough to confirm it. He groaned heartily to himself.

"Anne…"

"I'll leave you alone to process these dramatic revelations, shall I?" she gave sharp, highhanded reply, and resumed her pace.

"Anne!" he reached for her hand, holding it firmly, halting her. "I'm sorry."

Hurt grey-green eyes blistered in her pale face as she glared up at him. "I am not sharing this information to make your life more difficult, Gilbert," she huffed.

"I know. I'm being an idiot."

She bit down on her lip, hesitating. "I wouldn't go that far…"

His smile was gentle. "Anne, I'm a little worried. Where are you even meeting this male friend from all these years ago? What do you know about him now? Is he of reputable character? Can he be trusted? What if – "

"Gilbert…" now she gave her own reluctant smile. "I do appreciate your concern! Especially in light of all we've gone through. I'd trust him with my life, actually, as I do you. I… it's so difficult to explain to you… I fear you won't understand, even if you try to."

"Well, good to know the confidence in my abilities still stands," he grinned, looking at the hand he still held and lacing his gloved fingers through hers determinedly.

Her cheeks were very rosy indeed at this bold gesture. "Gilbert…" she murmured, darting an anxious glance around her.

"You trust me to hold hands but you don't trust me with the truth," he sighed in exaggerated fashion.

"This is not a simple thing, Gilbert. This friend is… he's part of my past. An important part. But he's part of your past as well…"

His brow furrowed. "How is that possible?"

"Because… I knew him when I was at Hopetown Asylum, Gilbert. When his mother died and he was adopted and moved to Avonlea."

Gilbert had stopped, his mouth falling open. "Pardon?"

"Gilbert…" she shook on the very words so long in being revealed, looking up to hishazel eyes narrowed in confusion, "my long-lost friend is Tom Caruthers."

"Right, Anne," Gilbert breathed, leaning his elbows on his knees as they perched on the most secluded bench they could find, on short notice, near the back of the science building. He rubbed at his temples worryingly. "Just take me through this all again."

"Gilbert, you have a class…" Anne reminded gently. "You can't get behind after just catching up again."

"Hang my class, Anne!" his handsome face darkened considerably. "I need to make some sense of this."

Anne wrapped her arms around her waist defensively, searching the skies as if the heavens held the answer to how to navigate this conversation.

"You know about the Hammonds, Gilbert. After Mr Hammond died I was sent back to the orphanage in Hopetown. I… there was a boy locally, who chopped wood for the orphanage and up and down the nearby houses. His father had left them and his mother was sick. We would talk when we had the chance. I… I was very lonely. I think so was he. We… we became friends." Anne bit the inside of her lip, knowing that she was being rather particular with the facts, picking her way through them like fruit at a market stall, taking only what she preferred and what looked best when held up to the light. But she had not protected Tom all this time to falter now. No one need know he had been resident at the orphanage too.

"How old were you?" Gilbert asked quietly.

"Eleven. Tom was a year or so older."

"The thought of you in that orphanage, Anne…" his deep voice faltered, and he looked at her bleakly. "I've seen Summerside now, and you've hinted that was a picnic compared to the asylum."

"In a way it was," she shrugged helplessly.

"And then Tom's mother died…" he took up the narrative. "She had consumption."

"Yes… I know…"

"He was already in Avonlea by the time I arrived back from Alberta with my father. We… we talked about his mother once. That wasn't an easy conversation. He was very knocked about by her death," Gilbert frowned, staring into the distance, long body still hunched over.

"You were his friend, then?" Anne asked with a small smile, her heart lurching at the thought of those tall boys, dark and blonde, walking home together, fishing, doing all the things boys did – all the images of his new life that had helped sustain her. "That makes me so glad, Gilbert."

He gave her a quick flash of his lovable grin.

'Not just a friend – he was in my posse."

"Oh, well then!" her laugh struggled free. "And who else held such an exalted position?"

"Fred. Charlie. And another friend, Moody, whom you've yet to meet."

"And you were their fearless leader?"

"Naturally," he smirked.

"Are you still friends?" she asked tentatively.

It was Gilbert's turn to shrug. "Sure. Of course. I just haven't seen him much these past few years. What with Queen's and teaching, and now Redmond. Fred actually is probably closest to him. He's done very well for the Cuthberts actually… being on the farm… that was mutually lucky, for him and for them. He was a distant relation of theirs, wasn't he?"

Anne swallowed carefully. "So I understand."

"So… he came to Avonlea…" Gilbert reflected, hazel eyes looking intently to her, "and you went to Summerside."

Anne cleared her throat. "That's about the size of it."

"And you never kept in touch, even being such good friends?"

On this part she could be unequivocal. "We weren't allowed to, Gilbert!" she flared. "Believe me, if they had let us write or keep any letters – "

"Anne! I'm sorry! I'm not trying to accuse you of anything. As I said, I'm just trying to understand…"

She huffed herself into silence.

"There's just one thing…" Gilbert hesitated. "You said in the letter you gave me, when we came back here after Summerside… well, you said that there was someone from your past who was still important to you… that you felt… I think you said… bonded to them." He looked at his large hands, rather than her, his mouth working around the words. "You're meaning him, aren't you? You were trying to tell me about him there."

Anne gulped. "Yes…"

"That must have been a pretty strong connection, for you to feel it still after all this time, Anne. When you were both just kids, too."

"What are you trying to say, Gilbert?"

"Nothing, Anne. Just trying to understand, as I say…"

"He was my only friend, Gilbert. And when I mean only I mean only, ever. Till I came to Redmond. There was no posse for us. There was just us. We were frightened, abandoned kids trying to survive. Isn't that bond enough?"

"I'm sorry, Anne. I didn't mean to upset you. Yes… yes, of course… absolutely it is."

There was much staring at the sky, the grass, their hands, which they kept carefully to themselves. It didn't feel very much like a we sort of moment.

"Gilbert," Anne attempted. "I know this is challenging. I know it's not usual. But he has been your friend. Can he not be mine again, too?"

"You don't need my permission for that, Anne," Gilbert sighed. "Nor does he."

"No…" she echoed his words to Katherine Brooke back to him. "But I'd like your blessing."

He gave a twisted, pained smile.

"I don't think I could deny you anything, ever, Anne."

She stood and put a hand on his arm. "Go to Biology, Gilbert."

"Right," he huffed. "Where I can look daggers at Maisie for helping to spread rumours about us."

"People's words only have the power to hurt you if you let them."

"Is that something you learned at the orphanage?" he rasped, his look unfathomable.

"Yes, most definitely," she gave a sad smile, her memory flickering back to two terrified children huddled together, and of an evil man with excellent aim. "And also," she added pointedly, "this past week at Redmond."

Phil and Pris had seen out their final classes for the week with a relief more deserving of the end of the year than the near-end of February. They envisioned a weekend fighting for the armchairs by the fireplace in the common room downstairs, catching up on overdue correspondence, and struggling out to Diana's on Sunday to check on Anne and be force-fed uncommonly delicious French delicacies. The high drama of the past fortnight concerning the beleaguered Miss Shirley and Mr Blythe was fortunately fading to intermittent encounters with ill informed individuals who were soon set to rights by one of Miss Gordon's glorious put-downs. There was now the additional knowledge of Anne's breathless update before Art History; she had informed them that the matter, aside from any lingering innuendo, could be put to rest; that neither she nor Gilbert had any official sanctions imposed excepting a dire warning to keep a low profile, and that, barring any difficulties in catching up with their coursework, the Dean did not expect to see either of them in his office outside of academic matters again.

This should have been due cause for celebration, but Anne was so wild-eyed and distracted both her friends feared Diana would need to put a sleeping draft in some warm milk for her just to get Anne to settle down that evening. She left them with vague mumbles that she needed to run some errands and that she would look forward to seeing them on Sunday. It was hoped a good night's sleep would arrest some of her obvious nervous exhaustion.

So now both women came down the stairs that opened out into the boarding house foyer and reception desk, noting the tall, broad shouldered, well outfitted young man leaning against the desk, avidly perusing a note, promising bouquet of pink roses resting beside him. His fair hair rather radiantly caught a stray shaft of struggling winter sun, and the image was unintentionally mesmeric.

"Good gracious," Phil murmured in awestruck admiration. "I think my memory has just wiped all trace of Alec and Alonzo."

"I don't believe it…" Pris breathed. "I think…I'm pretty sure… that's Tom Caruthers."

"Tom What?" Phil repeated stupidly, as if in a stupor.

At that moment the man who might be Tom Caruthers turned, and pale blue eyes darted around the unfamiliar foyer and swept up towards the ladies, coming to settle with surprise on the familiar pretty blonde girl, arm in arm with an arrestingly attractive brunette. Tom started and almost dropped his note, grasping it more tightly as he worked to compose himself. She was not here; which was just as well. It was much too public and peopled for the quiet, private reunion he had always envisioned in his head. However, others were here. Still holding his note but temporarily abandoning the flowers, he took a tentative step towards them, and Pris responded with fervour, pulling Phil and herself towards him.

"Excuse me, Miss, er, Grant, I don't know if you remember me…?"

"Mr Caruthers. Of course I remember you! How very nice to see you again."

Pris extended an eager hand, which was dwarfed by his large warm one, looking up at him in not a little wonderment.

A discreet nudge to her rib cage prompted a reminder of her manners.

"Mr Caruthers, I am pleased to introduce to you my friend, Miss Philippa Gordon."

His eyes swung to the young lady beside her. "Miss Gordon. A pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise, Mr Caruthers," Phil gave her generous, winning, crooked smile. "And how do you know our fair Priscilla?"

Tom blinked at her easy familiarity and forthrightness.

"He fixed my roof," Pris blurted, lest he think she didn't remember it at all, being as he seemed so differently attired these days. "Two years ago, he and Gilbert fixed my schoolhouse roof. When I was teaching on the Island. In Carmody." Pris inwardly frowned at the usual fluency that had now quite abandoned her, though Tom Caruthers smiled at her remembrances.

So she did remember. He had thought over that weekend more times than the event itself perhaps warranted. Which probably said more about his poor attempts at socialisation over the years than the impression left by the encounter itself. Gilbert and he, incongruously fixing stray shingles to guard against the rain whilst bathed in the late September sunshine. Gilbert had spent an inordinate amount of time halfway up the ladder, in laughing conversation with the young schoolmistress. Tom had seen him in action on enough occasions to recognise the spark of their exchange; the flirtatious frisson like a rosy haze with which all Gil's interactions with young ladies seemed to be colored. He did not envy him his expertise, for that presupposed he wanted some of it for his own; he envied his secure footing and knowledge of his place in the world, whether it be fronting his own class at White Sands or staring down school bullies or as then, trading witticisms with the vivacious girl who seemed to be not quite buying what he was peddling but who was enjoying gazing in the window at the goods all the same.

And then Gilbert announced the need for more nails. Surely, thought Tom, they had enough to see them though?

Which left Tom trapped on the roof, whilst Miss Priscilla Grant coaxed him down like a reluctant cat stuck up a tree.

He had barely said a word, glancing at her above his lemonade glass, but she appeared not to mind so much, her lips pressed together as if to ward off her amusement, though her clear blue eyes surveyed him with a frankness that tried to unmask him, and he wondered if he stayed much longer whether she would succeed… and even, the realisation, frightening and unwarranted and new, whether he wanted her to.

He felt not unlike that trapped cat again now, though he had an even merrier and perhaps even sharper set of new eyes to deal with.

"You know Gilbert Blythe?" Phil's brown orbs lit with interest, and Tom snapped back to the present like a rubber band stretched and pulled too taut, and then let go. "You're from Avonlea too?"

Tom cleared his throat. "I was born in Nova Scotia, Miss Gordon… but I grew up in Avonlea. Where I indeed became friends with Gilbert."

"My goodness, what a little town to hold two such tall, strapping young men."

Tom colored faintly at the obviously flirtatious praise; Pris felt her teeth gnash together completely of their own accord.

"What brings you to Kingsport, Mr Caruthers?" Pris ventured, wanting to save him from the embarrassment of such overt attentions; not wanting to admit perhaps she also wanted to save herself from witnessing them.

"Please, Tom, Miss Grant. I… er… I am here to visit a very old friend."

"I'm afraid you might have the wrong boarding house at that rate, Mr Caruthers," Phil twinkled gleefully. "The male boarding house is around the corner."

"I… er… I am in the right spot, I assure you, Miss Gordon," Tom Caruthers blushed keenly now. "Though I am… er… not so fortunate at this very moment." He remembered the note, which he folded carefully and tucked in his breast pocket. "That is… forgive me, I do not mean to imply I am not fortunate to meet you two ladies…" his cheeks had morphed to crimson, and his awkwardness was made all the more endearing by his self aware, exasperated smile. "It is just it seems my friend Miss Shirley is across the other side of the city."

"Miss Shirley?" both women offered in synchronised incredulity, pretty mouths falling open.

Tom stared at this sight, not knowing if he should chuckle or gawp his own surprise.

"Er, yes. My friend, Miss Anne Shirley." His eyes brightened just to be able to name her out loud. "She has written me of her close friendship with the both of you."

Phil beamed at this. "Well, Anne is a darling, Mr Caruthers, so it appears you have excellent taste there. But I'm afraid she is staying with another of our mutual friends, which you have discovered I see. She's temporarily at the lodgings of Miss Diana Barry."

"Yes, thank you, Miss Gordon. So I understand."

"Is that where you are headed now, Mr Caruthers? Do you have the address?" Phil enquired.

"Yes I do. Thank you."

"Will you have some tea first?" Pris interjected, with an edge of desperation. "You must be tired from your travels."

Admittedly, Tom Caruthers looked far from tired. He felt – and looked – energised to be so close to seeing her, despite this small setback, and already rather liked the handsome, genteel old town. An extra half hour's journey to find her after seven years of waiting was hardly going to be arduous.

Tom's gaze settled on Pris momentarily.

"Thank you, Miss Grant, that is a very kind offer. But I'm afraid I must be going."

Something seemed to flicker in his pale blue eyes as he looked at her, but was blinked quickly away.

"Thank you, ladies," he bobbed his head. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Gordon. And you, again, Miss Grant." He paused, deliberating, and then inclined his head ever so slightly in Pris's direction.

"Stay dry, Miss Grant," he gave a small, knowing smile.

Her own quick, answering grin was a little more flustered than she may have ordinarily reckoned on, and Tom Caruthers was then back towards the desk with long strides, collecting flowers, overcoat and hat, and out the doors as they stared after him.

"Tea, darling?" Phil repeated, giving an arch smile at her companion accompanied by a dark raised brow.

"Don't tease, Phil! I was just being polite."

"Indeed."

"He made a joke," Pris reflected wonderingly. "I didn't think he was quite capable."

"He made quite the impression, at any rate," Phil's tone was characteristically dry.

"Do you think Anne has told Gilbert about him? And that they have known each other all this time? How is that even possible? Old friends? Don't you think that's a little extraordinary?"

Phil shook her head. "All I know is that Miss Anne is currently besting all of us when it comes to young gentleman callers without even trying, and we had better lift our game, Priscilla Grant."

"Yes, indeed…" Pris made wistful reply.

Chapter Notes

My chapter title is from Anne of the Island Ch. 3

"Miss Hannah gravely told me we could have 'young gentleman callers' two evenings in the week, if they went away at a reasonable hour; and Miss Ada asked me, smiling, please to be sure they didn't sit on her beautiful cushions."

*William Shakespeare Romeo and Juliet (Act 1 Sc 5)

**Romeo and Juliet (Act 5 Sc 1)

***Thomas Hardy 'I Need Not Go' from Wessex Poems (1898)