Dearest Readers
This has been, by far, my longest time without posting, and I apologise for the delay and thank you all for your continued interest and faith in this story. Thank you to anyone who has reviewed or PM'd, particularly in the last few weeks, as I battled Real Life interruptions and a longer block of time than I originally thought spent on my other story. I assure you that my efforts will be directed here for the next little while, especially as this is quite an important part of the narrative! I specifically wrote an Anne who did not know Avonlea or grow up at Green Gables, and now she is HERE. So I am trying to tread carefully and do justice to what has already been a long journey!
This chapter in Avonlea is the first of a little three-chapter arc, so there will be plenty of time to linger, and many well-known Avonlea stops along the way.
With a very special shout out to my new readers – some of whom have read ALL THESE WORDS in a short space of time – you are incredible! That really makes my day! And thank you to anyone who offers their thoughts back to me – it is a privilege to read them.
Very Best Wishes
MrsVonTrapp x
Chapter Twenty Two
A Fortnight Of Halcyon Days
Part One
The small, lily white hand moved with mesmerising speed across the page, filling it with line upon line of neat, looping script. If he stared at it just so, unblinking, he could hypnotise himself into feeling that hand pressed in tenderness against his cheek, or threading with seeking passion through his brown curls, or clutching his shoulder, or clasping his own large hand to it in affectionate fellow-feeling. His eyes travelled from the hand to the arm, which had on several occasions folded itself against his chest, and one fevered time was remembered as twining itself around his neck. His eyes travelled further still, up to a narrow shoulder, which could delicately lift in question or shrug in exasperation; then a glimpse of collarbone above collar, which was his recurring dream to touch with his lips; and ever upwards to a pale, graceful neck, which he had magically managed to greet, once, with his mouth. Finally to that fair, beloved, beautiful face, complexion as translucent as the moonbeam he had kissed her under; the darling, pointed chin, tilted, not so much in stubbornness now, but just as often in jest; the pale cheeks which flushed with color so easily when he expressed any sort of compliment or endearment it had become his life's mission to extract a blush at every opportunity; the proud nose with its smattering of exactly seven sweet freckles; the dark auburn brows, so expressive they almost spoke a language of their own, and one he never tired of decoding; the pale forehead, so often leant against his chest, seeking solace; and crowning all, that lustrous, arresting flame of hair, so fragrant and so silken he could spend happy hours running his fingers through it. If his gaze travelled down again it could linger on that still-quizzical mouth and lips of shell pink, soft and warm and welcoming that one time beneath his … and those clear, intelligent grey eyes which sparked with green flecks whenever her emotions were aroused, and had now turned to him with humour, softening at the glazed look in his own.
'As fair in form, as warm yet pure in heart,
Love's image upon earth without his wing…' *
"And what is your view here, Mr Blythe?" their kindly English professor's prompt came from somewhere far away; a vague echo in the distance.
Luckily Gilbert had learned to snap himself to attention through long practice, even when losing himself when looking upon Miss Shirley, which was just as well, as he would receive no help from that quarter today as he had so unexpectedly that time so long ago, setting into motion a friendship, and so much more that a friendship, which had transformed his life.
Byron. They were still on Byron.
Oh! Let that eye, which, wild as the Gazelle's,
Now brightly bold or beautifully shy,
Wins as it wanders, dazzles where it dwells,
Glance o'er this page, nor to my verse deny
That smile for which my breast might vainly sigh
Could I to thee be ever more than friend…' *
Gilbert cleared his throat, and his long fingers adjusted his tie.
"Well, Sir, it would appear that debate continues as to whether Lord Byron's eminence rests on his literary merit or his personal appeal, and the reputation he upheld as the very embodiment of the Byronic hero he himself invented and popularised. By all accounts Byron rather revelled in this notoriety and it in turn fed and informed his work. I myself cannot separate one from the other, and I don't think at this stage, so very many decades after his death, we are meant to." Gilbert flashed a knowing hazel gleam towards Anne. "I hesitate to suggest we are back to one of our earlier debates regarding Mr Dickens."
Anne appeared to be swallowing her own tongue at this bold assertion, and the audacious reversal of his own previous arguments regarding the necessity to separate the personal life of a writer from his work. He relished the two bright red spots staining the otherwise untainted cheeks of the newly announced recipient of this year's Thorburn scholarship. ** Meanwhile their professor chuckled in remembered pleasure, and then noted the impatient shuffling of Mr Ed Sanderson and others, which rather interfered with his desire to have Miss Shirley give her anticipated reply, though her mouth was open and her stance indicated her readiness to do exactly that.
"Yes, yes… touche, Mr Blythe," their professor smiled. "Though your assignment over the break I trust will be much more focussed on a deconstruction of Don Juan and other works than on Lord Byron's travels and entanglements in Europe."
"Yes, Sir," Gilbert grinned, and as their professor instructed the class on deadlines for after the break Anne could do nothing but give a fetching impression of a fish, opening and closing her mouth ineffectually as he himself had once done, and then have no choice but to graciously accept the round of applause led by their delighted professor regarding the Thorburn, before the last class of the term was dismissed and Spring in all her promise beckoned their classmates with a virtual stampede for the door.
Gilbert lingered as they both shook hands with their professor and then he was alone with a flustered Anne, as he had once been that long ago day, and too pleased with himself he leaned laconically against his chair while he waited for her to pack up her notes.
"You enjoyed that!" Anne finally turned to him, unable to keep the quirk from her lips and certainly unable to prevent the alluring fizzle of green, like a sudden sunburst lighting the darker reaches of those grey eyes.
"I did, rather," he smirked, crossing his arms.
Anne sighed extravagantly. "I fear you are much more attached to the idea of Lord Byron than you have ever been about his work. And likewise, Mr Blythe, I fear you are equally 'mad, bad and dangerous to know.' " ***
This elicited an unrepentant grin from him, and his tone turned scandalously suggestive as he surveyed her with a jungle cat's appraisal.
"How you wound me, Miss Shirley," he purred. "I have been the soul of patience and the paragon of virtue since you requested us to concentrate on our studies for the rest of this term. Which now appears to be over…" he raised a dark eyebrow. "And as for my liking of Lord Byron's poetical works, I might have once decried his romantic excesses and all the gnashing of teeth but I now find that his sentiments seem to speak to me." He gave her a heavy-lidded look.
"Oh?" Anne squeaked, eyes wide.
"Perhaps I still have the power to surprise you…" He took a step forward, and then another, inching ever closer, till his breath stirred the tendrils of red hair near her ear as he whispered into it.
"There was a time, I need not name,
Since it will ne'er forgotten be,
When all our feelings were the same
As still my soul hath been to thee." ****
Gilbert stepped back, all the better to see the new blush forming on those cheeks, and a slow breath emit from that slight frame, as if Anne had struggled to manage it.
"Are our feelings still the same, Anne?" he found his own breathing, and his voice, far than steady.
It was less a question seeking reassurance and more a remembered vow. Though he had made light of it, deliberately, it had been more difficult than he had ever anticipated, these past six weeks, to have looked upon her as a lover would and yet treat her as a friend. He should have been used to it; had he not been doing the very same, in some shape or form, since the moment he had met her?
To the outside world, after their deliberately circumspect few weeks post- Summerside, and particularly after Tom's visit, it would appear that their relationship had progressed much as it ever had; the teasingly close connection; the camaraderie of their academic exploits. Yet he had been required to stand aside at her birthday, in the merry circle surrounding her with his cheers, and not beside her to bestow his kiss. He had not been able to delightedly spin her round at her blushing news of the Thorburn earlier that week, instead having to settle for a too-brief hug; he had not been able to warm her with his arms as the new-spring winds caught them on the way to class, or take her hand to run for their oak trees at the first genuine rays of sun. He had not even, to his great regret, been able to serenade her over their recent studies of Tennyson or the great Romantic poets; the old masters Wordsworth and Coleridge and, ever painfully, the next generation of Byron and Shelley and Keats. Though his actions had been in every way supportive and sincere, he worried over his secret selfishness; would mere friendship ever be able to fully satisfy him now? And what of her letters from and thoughts of Tom? So it was no wonder he took surprising refuge in Byron; he at least would have understood and appreciated all this pent-up passion; the dam about to burst its banks.
"Gilbert…" Anne hedged, blushing and voice wavering. "You've been so wonderful this past month or so that I… I feel I can't thank you enough. But I feel I am being so unfair…" she blinked rapidly and turned away from him.
Oh, damn! Six weeks of reining himself in only to fall at this last hurdle?
"Anne, no, of course not! I'm sorry. I'm not trying to force some sort of confession out of you… I guess that I'm just relieved the term is over and excited to think that you're coming home."
He groaned inwardly, convinced he was rapidly digging a deeper hole for himself. He thought of the time, the very moment, he realized his feelings for her had changed; seeing her in her spring green at the football fundraising dance; gazing, awestruck, upon her, and thinking to himself that she was Home.
"Home? To Avonlea?" she darted a look to him, potential tears drying in the wake of her shy curiosity. "You're excited for me to come?"
How could she have ever doubted it? It was the fulfilment of so many long-cherished dreams to have her there he could hardly separate them.
His tried to share the full force of his feelings in his ever-widening grin.
"Anne, I'm so excited for you to be coming that I could swim the strait in my eagerness!"
She gave an incredulous, gratified little laugh, her embarrassment and uncertainty falling off her like a discarded raincoat.
"Well, let's not have it come quite to that! I feel I share some responsibility in delivering you to your parents unscathed!" She gifted him her lovely smile, before her expression changed. "Particularly since you're famous now!"
"Pardon?" he was still grinning even as she fished in her satchel and drew out the latest copy of the Redmond student newspaper, handing it to him with a flourish. "The front page no less, President Blythe."
He colored faintly under her admiring gaze as he quickly scanned the generously sized article; Freshman President Leads Patterson Street Charity Endeavour. It had taken him a while to light on an idea for Anne's challenge to him; to use his power and influence for good, and then still more time than it should have to convince not only those on the Student Council, but even the Dean and fellow powers-that-be, that education started at the grass roots and that it was shameful, in a town that had sprouted both Redmond and the commercial college, that there were still students at the other end of it lacking the basic materials to even learn to write their names. It had then been quite a process attempting to solicit donations, both from students and the few booksellers in town, and to round up his eclectic army of both former teachers, such as himself and Anne and Pris, and fellow students such as Phil, a dubious but uncharacteristically obliging Charlie, and various student councilors, debaters, footballers and interested volunteers, who all gained special dispensation to descend upon the little school amidst the slums of Patterson Street last Friday, to distribute writing materials and free books to the children there for the beginnings of their little library, and to then spend the afternoon reading and playing with the very same children who hardly hoped to get through their weekly lessons uninterrupted by the demands of family or illness, let alone make it all the way to wearing the scarlet and white.
Even more than the positive report, the photograph was his favourite thing – all his friends surrounded by schoolchildren, grinning giddily at the unexpected success of the afternoon, and he remembered having maneuvered Anne to be by his side, a little curly-haired boy between them, and his heart skid momentarily at the image; a flash of a future he dared not even contemplate. And yet some chance-sewn seed ***** had buried itself deep within him, taking surprising hold.
"It was a wonderful day, Gilbert," Anne murmured appreciatively at his shoulder, her eyes very bright as she risked meeting his. "Just such a wonderful initiative. I don't want this to sound condescending- I'd hate for it to come out that way – but I was so proud of you."
He swallowed carefully. At one stage he had only ever thought of himself – to do right by others was an automatic, ingrained thing in him, but he had never taken the thought further, to do something that was beyond himself, or any of them.
"Anne – it's not condescending. That means an awful lot to me – that you would think that way. I would never have thought of anything like this but for you." And if not for Tom, his conscience acknowledged.
"I've heard the Dean will perhaps make it a termly thing, or at least twice yearly," Anne continued.
"Yes – they might throw some money our way next time," he rolled his eyes. "It would be nice for the Student Council to get behind some social causes."
"Gilbert Blythe, The Great Reformer," she smiled up at him, in a way that made his stomach flip.
He chuckled sheepishly. "Better not let my dad hear you say that! He might think I mean for him to co-op the farm!"
Gilbert moved to lean once more against a chair, the newspaper in hand, and he looked back to Anne more seriously.
"Anne, the books and everything were a great thing. But the conditions of the children there… It was pretty shocking. I had no idea…" he struggled for the right words. "If those children could get better basic medical care, it could make such a difference to their educational outcomes… just to their basic welfare and…" he faltered, shrugging his broad shoulders. "I mean, I don't know where you'd even start…"
"You start here, Gilbert…" she indicated to the paper. "And here and here…" she touched her heart and her head. "You've no idea how even a little can do so much. Those children will remember that afternoon for the rest of their childhoods. Every time they see one of those new books it will spur them on… they will hold fast to the memory of it, and the little sprig of hope you and all our friends brought along that day."
His eyes locked with hers, and he wanted nothing so much but to crush her to him.
"You're speaking from experience, aren't you, Anne?" his voice caught on the question.
She colored faintly, but had grown braver in sharing herself with him.
"Yes…" she nodded slowly, not elaborating, but the admission itself was perhaps enough for now. "I do… and so does Tom."
His eyes widened at the new thought, before his dark brows lowered in contemplation. "Of course," he offered quietly, nodding.
She gave a soft smile. "It's all right, Gilbert. He and I were the lucky ones."
He smiled faintly. "I forget how I'm one of the lucky ones, Anne."
He folded the paper gently, offering it back to her.
"No, that's for your mother to keep," Anne shook her head, giving him a knowing look. "Phil and I went by the newspaper offices early this morning, snaffling copies enough for everyone, with a few extra to take home to families. I've put away an extra copy for you yourself, back in my room."
"You are magnificent, Anne," he shook his own head at her. "My Ma will want to frame this of course. And it's just another reason for her to love you. They both can't wait to meet you."
"And I, them." Her pleased blush made him want to clasp her for altogether different reasons.
"Well, I guess we'd better get on, then, or there will be some pretty perplexed parents waiting for us to alight from train!"
Anne grinned her assent, and he ushered her towards the stairs without further delay.
They made a merry party all heading back from Kingsport together; Anne, Gilbert, Diana and Fred, Pris and Ruby; even Jane, bearing the separation from her fiancé Harry for one last holiday, and Charlie, who was rather grateful for Anne's kindness over his seasickness, and may have even requested her to rub his back comfortingly in a way that made Gilbert roll his eyes in exasperation. Only Phil was disappointed to not be heading across the strait, and in farewelling her Anne had been sure to mollify her friend with thoughts of Alec and Alonzo duelling for her attention back at Mount Holly, and the prospect of Mr Summerfield, still lurking on the scene, writing a lovestruck letter that she could read in front of them at every opportunity.
After a time, Gilbert was able to find a quiet spot on the windswept deck of the ferry with Anne, and he watched with a fascinated wonder at the play of emotions across her expressive face, made pink in its exposure to the elements.
"How are you feeling Anne?" he queried.
"Fine…" she hedged. "Well, I guess, just a little… at sea," she shook her head, despairing at the obvious metaphor. "I feel like Byron's 'Childe Harold'—only it isn't really my 'native shore' that I'm watching," said Anne, winking her gray eyes vigorously.****** I don't really know which one my 'native shore' actually is. I don't know why I feel so strange to be going back. It's not as if I didn't just spend the last seven years of my life on the Island… or to have gone back with you a little over a month ago…" she admitted with a chagrined, faltering smile.
"But it's not quite the same," he stated, his hazel eyes on hers full of concern.
"No," she sighed.
Gilbert looked ahead to the distant landmass himself, thoughtful. "Well…" he sought for a way to lighten the subject, "I'm afraid Avonlea is no Summerside. We only have the one general store!"
"Oh no!" she laughed, seemingly glad to be diverted. "The horror!"
"Indeed. And the Post Office is run by two ladies who are among the worst gossips in the entire maritime provinces."
"Most reassuring. Are you trying to put me off your home town, Gilbert?"
"Not at all…" the thought of little Avonlea bringing a smile to his face, unbidden. "For there are many compensations. The gentle green hills… and the red roads… and the orchards… and the shore… and the woods…" he trailed off, mesmerised by the dreamy look that had come over her.
"There is a pleasure in the pathless woods…" she began to recite.
"There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is a society where none intrudes
By the deep sea, and music in its roar…" *******
"I believe you don't think Byron is so bad either, Anne," he grinned till she blushed. Having gained his reward, he contemplated further. "And I've forgotten the lanes in Avonlea…" he added. "Many secluded, romantic lanes, excellent for rambling." He turned into her, and his smile had become deliciously knowing, accompanied by a decidedly smoky inflection to his smooth baritone.
"Romantic, secluded country lanes, Mr Blythe?" she parried.
"Yes indeed, Miss Shirley."
"And have you much experience of such settings?"
"Ah… a little, of a very… that is, somewhat… limited variety," he found himself coloring, annoyingly, and Anne gave a delighted little laugh at his discomfort.
"I have a feeling my de facto guardian in times past, a Miss Katherine Brooke, might have something to say about such excursions."
"And how is our indefatigable Miss Brooke?" he was relieved to swerve further incriminating confessions.
"Oh, Gilbert, she is so much better!" Anne visibly brightened. "Up and about perfectly well now, although her foot is still weak and can't bear much weight. She has sought out a very handsome cane to use, apparently, and likes to brandish it with alacrity. I fear even by her own admission she makes even more of an arresting presence now!"
Gilbert shook his head ruefully, his smile broad and fonder than he thought it would be. "I didn't think that was possible."
Anne chuckled in acknowledgement, and then, as if forgetting herself, put a hand on his arm.
"She hopes to be well enough to travel by the summer. She mentioned you almost, well, fondly! She sends her very best to you, and wanted to tell you that Dr McCubbin is continuing to check on her, and has sent his best to you as well."
"Thank you. And please remember me to her with equal fondness. Tinged, as she would be well aware, with not a little fear."
Gilbert put his hand over hers, and smiled down into her eyes and curled lips, and for a moment all was perfectly right in his world again. He would have Anne in Avonlea… he could almost taste the pleasure of her reactions to all the many places he had cited, not to mention the pride that swelled in him in being able to introduce her to his parents. Perhaps not quite as the girl he was courting, but the intention of his actions would be unmistakable. And once Anne was able to visit Green Gables and with Tom, and settle her issues with her past, she might feel she could refocus on them again, and well… let's just say there was the perfect spot down his favourite lane, where the new-spring canopy would shield them like a mother cradling a newborn; and the feel of her lips beneath his again would hopefully no longer be just a fevered memory.
Perhaps his thoughts betrayed him; Anne read something in his look which made her avert her eyes and withdraw her hand, turning away to let the breeze ease the flush to her cheeks. Soon he hoped to kiss away the heat of those twin spots on her cheeks, or else encourage that flush to light her skin all over. Either way, with a small smile, Gilbert once more resolved to bide his time.
It was twilight when the train pulled into Bright River station.
Like a little girl with her nose pressed to the glass, Anne had stared out at the incredible landscape; undulating fields; gently rolling hills; red roads bathed in a golden sunset under a vast, open sky.
"Oh, Christ! it is a goodly sight to see
What Heaven hath done for this delicious land!
What fruits of fragrance blush on every tree!
What goodly prospects o'er the hills expand!" ********
Her first passage to Prince Edward Island had been at eleven; being shunted onto the ferry upon leaving the asylum and forced to sit, unmoving, in view of the steward; then met at the other side by one of the junior matrons of the Girl's Home, who was unsmiling and silent all the way to Summerside. The lack of chatter had barely bothered her; she was so far from feeling connected to herself, so blanketed by her fog of depression and despair, that she was hardly aware of her surroundings. She was simply exchanging one big town for another; one more stop on the ceaseless journey of her life to which she owned no ticket and knew no end destination.
But here, now, was both an end and a beginning. And she clutched her own ticket firmly in her hand.
The others seated nearest her – Gilbert and Diana and Fred – had been mercifully, thankfully quiet; murmuring their conversation like a gentle, lulling hum; largely leaving her to her private musings. But now, all was the clash and clamour of foraging for coats and hats and hand luggage, and the waving to unseen folks on the platform, who made a long, snaking line of quivering expectation in the almost-dark.
Anne grabbed at her carpet bag, grasping the handles resolutely and earning a smile from Gilbert as he helped her with her coat and they followed the throng through the carriage and out into the bracing, lightly fragrant air.
There seemed to be half of adult Avonlea to greet them; a tall, slightly balding man with a fine coat and a distinguished air, who shook Fred's hand and enfolded Diana in his arms; a genial, beaming, fair-headed man who could belong to either Ruby or Pris with that shared coloring; both a man and a woman who launched themselves at Charlie, the woman flinging both greetings and instructions into the air at a loud and startling rate; a quiet man with Jane's pleasant, unassuming looks and ready smile, shaking his head wryly at the pandemonium around them; a tall, broad shouldered older version of Gilbert, with his son's hair and smile, who stepped forward to hug him tightly; and further down the platform, in the shadow of a large, beautiful cherry tree, there stood a tall, fair figure, carefully watching proceedings, a patient look of longing in his gentle, pale blue eyes.
Forgotten momentarily in the crush of happy reunions, Anne made her way silently towards him, till they both broke rank, quickening their steps and ending in a tight embrace.
"You're here!" Tom breathed into her hair.
"You're here!" her relieved laugh bubbled up from her. "'Tom, you didn't have to!"
"I had to," he answered firmly. "I could never have let you come and not met you, Anne."
She drew back from him, smiling stupidly, and then movement at her periphery alerted her to a likewise tall, quiet personage, emerging from the shadows, fiddling with his cap anxiously.
"Anne…" Tom grinned. "I'd like to introduce you to Mr Matthew Cuthbert."
Anne peeked from behind Tom to take in the figure of her imaginings and Tom's own descriptions… the kindly blue eyes; the shy smile; the long hair and magnificent steel grey beard. All were present and accounted for, certainly… but nothing could account for the flutter of feeling in her belly… the ripple of recognition upon seeing the man who had helped raise Tom, and the sensation of having known him when she hadn't even met him.
"Mr Cuthbert!" she smiled up at him. "It's wonderful to meet you!"
"Please… call me Matthew, Miss Shirley. It's… a real pleasure to know you at last."
"Well then, you must call me Anne."
"Anne with an E, if I'm not mistaken," he smiled a little slyly.
"Yes, indeed!" she clasped his large, weatherbeaten hand in both of hers, squeezing tightly, and then, quite overcome, threw her arms around him as she had done Tom.
"Anne!" Diana called out to her, and then it seemed half of the platform was moving like the tide down towards them; Diana then introducing her father Mr Barry; Jane introducing her own father before he departed with his daughter and Ruby; Charlie barely getting in a wave in their general direction as he was whisked away by a parent on either arm; Pris coming up with her rosy cheeked father, giving Tom a most enthusiastic greeting and Anne a fond kiss farewell before making her rather forlorn way to nearby Spencervale; and then Gilbert and Fred approaching, shaking hands with Tom and Matthew Cuthbert before Gilbert introduced her to his own father with a beaming smile.
"Miss Shirley!" John Blythe extended a hand, and Anne stared up into twinkling blue eyes, full of his son's mischief, his own blinding smile warming her down to her toes.
"Hello, Mr Blythe! It's lovely to meet you!"
"And you, Miss Shirley! Gilbert's mother and I hope you have a lovely stay in Avonlea. You and Diana are most welcome over at Blythe Farm while you're with us."
"Thank you very much," Anne smiled and nodded, feeling overwhelmed by the charm that obviously ran in the family, aware that Tom was also nodding in sympathy of his own such idea, and whose last letter had been full of such wishes from the folk at Green Gables.
Diana glanced with mindful dark eyes at Anne, and then at the two tall young men flanking her.
"Anne, we have your trunk with us, and Father will take your carpet bag. Fred will go with Gilbert and Mr Blythe. Tom, we hope to have a little gathering at Orchard Slope on Tuesday at lunchtime – do please come! And now, Miss Shirley, we still have a little ways to go and lots to talk about!"
Diana smiled expectantly at the men assembled - Barry and Blythe and Caruthers and Cuthbert and Wright - as she linked her arm resolutely through Anne's. The men immediately galvanised themselves into action, doffing hats in their now-hurried goodbyes as if the lovely Miss Barry had shrilly threatened all of them with a cattle prod. With a slight flourish Diana twirled Anne in the opposite direction and began strolling with her back down the railway platform.
"How did you do that?" Anne whispered to her, agog.
"Years of watching my mother," Diana responded dryly. "The men are dead easy to manage when they're by themselves. It's the women you have to watch out for."
Anne gulped audibly, thinking on all the women of Avonlea she had yet to try to win over.
"And anyway, Miss Anne, none of us could have stood around in the dark waiting for you to decide which of your young men to kiss goodbye first!"
"Diana!" Anne hissed, receiving a delighted titter in response. "You know that is very private information, divulged only to yourself!" The tinge of mortification, worn the first time she had confessed the great sin of having kissed not one but two men in just over as many weeks, found her anew.
"Oh, Anne! The knowledge is safe with me! At any rate, you might be able to add to your tally while you're here."
"Pardon?" Anne turned green.
"You are yet to meet Moody Spurgeon MacPherson, you know!"
Marilla Cuthbert was waiting anxiously for the men of the household to return. She was keeping a late supper warm and was busily baking, determined there would be more than enough to tempt a certain visitor come the weekend.
She lived with a loud former neighbour, a demure girl and a rambunctious young boy, and yet she felt the yawning silences most potently when the two quietest occupants of the house were not within it. Tom had been on pins and needles all day, uncharacteristically unsettled, and it had almost been a relief to see him and Matthew off to meet the train at Bright River. Had Matthew gotten a pang from the thought as she had, thinking of that summer nearly eight years ago? How different might things have been, in so many ways, if a young girl had alighted from the train and not their strapping boy?
At last she heard the familiar, reassuring squeal of the gate, and the buggy turn into the long drive. She watched through the window as it passed through behind the house and towards the barn, and knew that Tom would urge Matthew inside whilst he unsaddled the horse and gave it plenty of feed, drink and attention before it settled down for the night.
Whether Tom would be able to settle for the night was certainly another story.
Marilla wiped down her hands on her apron as she heard Matthew's heavy boots on the outdoor mat, and then he was inside, quietly divesting himself of his cap and jacket, tussling with his boots to exchange them for his slippers. Marilla looked on in bewildered impatience as he smiled at her, nodded approvingly towards the supper preparations, and shuffled across to wash up, taking his chair at the table composedly.
"Well?" she finally asked in exasperation, knowing that Tom would be upon them any minute, and then she'd have to summon Rachel and the twins from upstairs.
"Well?'' he frowned, as if genuinely puzzled by the question.
"How did it all come off, then?" she attempted to manage her tone, which threatened to climb in decibels in her frustration.
"Oh, fine. Everyone was met off the train safely."
Marilla rolled her eyes. This was indeed reassuring news, but not quite the detail she wanted to hear.
"For Mercy's sake, Matthew Cuthbert! Of course I meant the girl! Anne Shirley. How did you find her? What did you think?"
There were precious few times when it would have been useful to dispatch Rachel on a mission with regard to these questions, though this was undoubtedly one of them. Her brother was certainly no wordsmith. Although this mysterious girl certainly was. The expected short note of thanks for the preserves Tom had taken with him to Kingsport had instead been a generous, chatty missive of three pages, followed only this week by yet another letter telling of her excitement and delight to be able to come to Avonlea, and to thank them for their kind invitation to visit with them at Green Gables on Saturday. Marilla was building a definite picture of this young lady in her mind – intelligent; lively; gregarious; generous of spirit; but it would be somewhat helpful to also have some first-hand impressions to be going on with. Marilla now stood there, hand on hip, incredulous to see the soft smile creep across her brother's craggy features.
Matthew steepled his hands together, giving Marilla's request for information due consideration.
"Lovely…" he nodded to himself, smiling widely. "She was… lovely."
Marilla's eyebrows flew up to her delicately-lined forehead. And in that moment, Tom entered through the door, his own smile a flash of sunlight strong enough to reach every dark corner of the house.
It took a decidedly long time for the excited occupants of Blythe Farm to find their beds that evening. Spring in Avonlea was such a very different proposition to the bitter depths of winter, and likewise, in contrast to his last visit, it appeared Gilbert's affable charm and good humour had re-emerged in the seasonal thaw. He was bounding boyishly once more, unable to sit still for more than five minute intervals; a dervish of dancing energy, leaping from his chair to rifle through his luggage, producing his letter pronouncing him the recipient of the small Science scholarship that had been on offer; rattling off an impressive round of figures confirming his leading status in every class except Mathematics (where he was only two points behind a Miss Gordon) and in English Literature (where he confessed to being a very happy second behind a certain Miss Shirley). The latter young lady featured in a notable percentage of the conversation, not least when he arrived at the explanation behind a certain Redmond newspaper article, and Adela Blythe delighted as much in the report of the wonderful efforts of Gilbert and his supporters in such a worthwhile cause, as she did in finally getting a first glimpse at the mysterious young woman behind a long-ago gift under a pillow, and not least a suspected not-so-long-ago elopement.
Now her boy was tucking himself into his too-small bed in his boyhood bedroom, and his mother couldn't contain her joy at having him again just down the hall, her smile drifting into a kiss she gave his father, who grinned delightedly as he grasped her tightly under the covers.
"Well, now, Mrs Blythe, if that's your reaction to having our son and heir under our roof again, then I can't in all fairness let him go back to Kingsport," John murmured leadingly.
Adela giggled into his chest.
"Oh John – he seems so happy! Doesn't he seem just so happy to you?"
"Any happier or energetic and I could hitch him to the buggy and have him take me into town," John chuckled.
"He's full of news of this Anne. I must ask – how did you find her this evening?"
"On the platform with all the others," came wry reply.
"John – be serious!"
There was more soft laughter. "Sorry, love. Alright. She is… a very pretty slip of a thing. Not your usual looks or coloring, but she wears them well. Nice, friendly, direct manner. No simpering, thank goodness. Decent handshake, too. And Gil swarmed about her like a bee about a flower."
At this Adela sighed. "I suspected as much. Remember that letter, John, after that awful time when he was in Summerside with her? He couldn't help his feelings emerge with every line. Thank goodness no one here knew her name to link her to that rumour. They barely avoided a dreadful mess."
"Mmmm…" John was thoughtful.
"I know that sound, Jonathan Blythe. What aren't you telling me?"
"I'm sure it's nothing, love."
"Well then, that means it's definitely something!" Adela frowned. "Please, John."
There were a few pained moments of silence, but Adela knew from long experience to wait them out.
"Er, it's just that… Gilbert might not be the only one with a claim to this girl's affections."
"How do you mean?"
"I mean that… I can only tell you what I saw. And I saw Marilla Cuthbert's boy there at the station, too. He and this Miss Shirley seemed very… pleased… to see one another."
"Marilla's boy? You mean Tom Caruthers? Fred's friend?"
"Well, and Gilbert's too, going back. Matthew was there with him."
"Matthew Cuthbert? What on earth?" Adela sat up, leaning in surprise against the headboard.
John Blythe groaned softly to himself, hauling his long body up to sit beside her. "I tried to quiz Gilbert on it once we'd dropped off Fred, but he was pretty tight lipped. He would only say that they knew each other briefly, over in Hopetown, before Tom was adopted by the Cuthberts."
"How extraordinary… but that would have been years ago…" Adela frowned into the darkness. "Surely they'd hardly have anything in common now? Not like she and Gilbert, over together at Redmond?"
"Mmmm…" John replied.
"Honestly, John! Tom is a very nice boy; a good, decent, hardworking boy, but, well, he's… he's not quite Gilbert."
John's grin was very amused. "Spoken like a true mother. Though I must say, I wouldn't mind having a Tom around our farm."
Adela bypassed the tease, warming to her theme. "At any rate, I hardly think Anne Shirley would be coming along to visit us after church on Sunday if there wasn't something there with Gilbert."
"Indeed. I can't argue there."
"But you want to!"
"Well, look here. They are all young yet. In a way they are children, yet ***** you know. Gil's not even finished his first year at Redmond. You were beside yourself to think he had eloped and now you want to tie him to this girl?"
"I just want him to be happy."
"Which we've established he is."
"Sometimes, John Blythe, you can be the most infuriating man!"
"Yes, but you know that's why you love me…"
Adela felt those strong, work-hardened arms come around her, and the nuzzle of his lips to her throat rather put paid to further musings on the matter. But much, much later, with her husband sleeping very contentedly beside her, she crept down the hall, opening the door on the boy-man who had been the light of their lives. He was stretched out the full length of the bed, his sleep-tousled curls dark against the pillow, the slight smile to his mouth, his large, long fingered hand still clutching the article with its grainy photo of a large group surrounding he and a girl. Adela extracted the paper carefully, glancing at it again as she laid it on the desk… and this time she identified the same hand lightly placed on the girl's shoulder, and his other hand, touchingly, on a dark, curly-haired young pupil in front of them.
Adela's throat tightened.
She laid a light kiss on his forehead before turning back, pausing at the doorway to stare in contemplation.
Yes, he was still so young… and Miss Anne Shirley even younger. They had years yet to sort through the inevitable youthful crises of love won and lost… She would try not to read too much into circumstances now. But Adela Blythe knew a little something of the power and pain of a choice between two good men.
She hoped with all her heart that there would not come a time when Anne Shirley would have to make one.
The whitewashed steps leading to the wide verandah creaked in welcome under her delicate weight, and the wind rushed through the trees as if in whispered gossip about her. If houses were human, ascribed traits and personalities - and she had always felt sure they could – then the pristine, fresh-scrubbed façade of Green Gables was a decent, genteel, God-fearing older lady, spending quiet days in industrious endeavour.
Just how that rag-tag redheaded long-ago girl may have fit into such an environment was anyone's guess now. Anne could almost feel that eleven year old's tremulous trepidation and her pained eagerness to please. Would it have made a difference how helpful and humble she was, how grateful and good, if they had only ever had need of a boy? Gilbert had once asked her, had it been more painful or less so to have lost her parents so young, never having a single memory of them, than to have grown up in their love and then have it be taken from her anyway? She didn't know her answer then any more than she knew it now. All she knew as she paused at the forest-green door was that she must knock upon it, and be admitted, and bravely waltz with her could-have-beens.
She didn't get as far as knocking; the door swung open and Tom was on the other side of it, his expression one of unassailable delight, and he crossed the threshold to take her hand in his own.
"Anne! We were listening out for the buggy!"
"I had Fred and Diana drop me at the gate – I wanted to walk. To take it all in."
He smiled brilliantly at that. "I won't tell you how scared and awed I was when I first arrived, then."
"Best not to!"
His smile faltered, along with his voice. "I can't believe that you're… here. Thank you, Anne, for finding me."
It would possibly not do to start sobbing on the doorstep, so instead she squeezed his hand, and he led her inside.
Chapter Notes
"Anne spent a fortnight of halcyon days at Echo Lodge in the golden prime of August."
Anne of the Island (Ch 23)
*Lord Byron Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (1812) [Section: To Ianthe]
**Canon Anne had clearly won the Thorburn by the end of her first year, but I have used a little licence regarding how early it may have been announced, being as they have only just completed their second term here.
***One of the all-time terrific sayings, and part of the cultural lexicon now. It was indeed said about (and most probably to) Byron and attributed to Lady Caroline Lamb, who was married to Sir William Lamb – later Viscount Melbourne and eventual Prime Minister of Great Britain. For anyone who has watched either Paul Bettany in the film 'Young Victoria' or Rufus Sewell in the first series of 'Victoria', he becomes Queen Victoria's charming and beloved 'Lord M'.
Caroline and Byron had a torrid affair for several months in 1812, shortly after the publication of 'Childe Harold'. Although she was demanding and histrionic, bombarding him with letters after their break up and once trying to slash her wrists with a broken wine glass in front of him after he publicly insulted her at a society event, it seemed Byron acted just as terribly and outrageously. The two remain linked all their lives, writing poems in the style of one another, about one another and even to one another such as in his hate poem 'Remember thee! Remember thee!' (which in itself was a response to her writing 'Remember me!' in one of his books).Caroline, a poet and authoress, wrote the popular Gothic novel Glenarvon in 1816, which contained a thinly-veiled portrait of the both of them, and contained the first version of a Byronic hero outside of Byron's own work.
Though obviously not the most functional of families, I can't help for personal reasons liking the Lambs – they themselves had a loving and passionate relationship (particularly before Byron!) but sadness regarding their children. A second child, a daughter, was premature and lived only 24 hours, and their firstborn son was widely reputed to have a mental disability, thought now to be autism, and rather than send him to an institution as most aristocratic families in similar situations did, they cared for him at home, till his death at 29 in 1836, his mother Caroline having died eight years before.
****Byron 'There was a Time, I Need Not Name'
*****Anne of the Island (Ch 2)
******Anne of the Island (Ch 3)
*******Byron 'Childe Harold's Pilgrimage' [Fourth Canto]
********Byron 'Childe Harold's Pilgrimage [First Canto]