Author's Note:

And here I was thinking that the LAST chapter was long in coming… I can only apologise again. And plead illness, school holidays, three weeks of solo parenting, and the vagaries of Real Life. Thank goodness for fanfiction! Thank you again for your patience!

A special welcome to all the new readers (and writers!) on this site. We appreciate your presence (and your feedback!) so much and know you will enjoy being amongst this wonderful community. I, especially, have been really humbled by the many new favourites and follows for this story over the past few weeks, which have thrilled and heartened me so much. And, as ever, I remain so grateful to my reviewers, particularly as I am so slow in communicating with you. Thank you, all, and please know there is still a lot of this story to go!

This Avonlea chapter is a Part Two and takes place immediately after the end of the previous chapter; you might like to read the very last paragraph of Chapter 22 to refresh! Otherwise we are straight into some action with some very familiar characters! I hope I do them justice. This was to be the middle of a three chapter arc, which might stretch to four, as there is just so much happening!

Finally to anyone playing the What's that 1980's Movie Reference? game with mavors4986 and myself, there are some references – five to be exact! – from one of the seminal movies of that decade (and one of my favourite films!) happening in the scene between Anne and Gilbert (and an additional reference in the scene with Anne and Tom!) HINT: Only proceed if you like 'kissing books'!

With very best wishes

MrsVonTrapp x

Chapter Twenty Three

A Fortnight of Halcyon Days

Part Two

"Golly! Her hair really is red!" was Anne's inauspicious introduction to Green Gables.

"I'm afraid it is!" Anne laughed in surprise, looking about for the owner of such an audacious comment.

"Davy Keith!" a matronly, handsome woman admonished, whilst a tall, angular woman, hair in a tight, greying bun, smiled apologetically and placed a warning hand on the shoulder of a frowning, golden-haired boy.

"Excuse us please, Miss Shirley," the woman stepped around the boy, extending a hand that was worn and creased and surprisingly soft, as was her smile. "I'm Marilla Cuthbert, and this here is Davy and his twin sister Dora, my brother Matthew, whom you may remember from the station, and our friend Mrs Rachel Lynde. It is mighty fine to welcome you to Green Gables."

"Thank you very much, Miss Cuthbert."

"Marilla, please."

Anne smiled into kind blue eyes, her voice catching on her own request. "And please, call me Anne. It's wonderful to be here, Marilla. What a beautiful house and setting it is."

Marilla Cuthbert smiled in acknowledgment, gently encouraging a young blonde girl forward.

"Hello, Miss Anne," she extended her hand with perfect manners. "I'm Dora Keith."

"Hello, Dora. Tom's told me so much about you and your brother. I've met a few twins in my time, actually. Tell me, do you like many of the same things?"

Dora appeared surprised by the question, and the easy way Anne had immediately attempted to engage her.

"No Miss, not really," she murmured.

"That's been my experience around twins, certainly." Anne's smile was generous and knowing.

"We're nothing alike on the inside," her lookalike brother interrupted, hazel eyes flashing. "She's good and I'm a ruffian."

The older women attempted to again silence such outbursts, whilst Matthew's eyes twinkled in amusement and Tom's already pleased visage almost cracked on its smile.

"Can't argue there," Tom turned to wink at Davy, and then drew the boy across to him.

"Miss Anne Shirley, may I present Master David Keith, known hereabouts as Davy and only occasionally answering to ruffian."

Davy extended a dubious hand, which Anne shook solemnly.

"Very pleased to meet you, Davy."

"And you, Miss. Are you Tom's girl, then? I want to know."

That further question seemed to prompt a great flurry of activity, with Anne invited to the table, making Mrs Rachel Lynde's proper acquaintance en route, and pausing to shake hands again with Matthew, the two smiling at one another warmly.

There was a generous spread the likes to rival anything Mrs Barry had tried to produce in the past two days; sandwiches and cakes and other homemade delicacies, with tea for the adults and milk for the children, and the now-famous preserves that had been a very popular addition to the breakfast table at Diana's rooms until, another week after Tom had left, Anne made her rather reluctant way back to her boarding house at the college.

Anne looked about in incredulous indecision at the embarrassment of riches, and glanced sheepishly at Marilla, who was looking across at her with an expression, if Anne had known the lady better, that might have been described as wistful.

"This is all so wonderful… I hardly know where to begin!" Anne's bright smile tried not to waver, and there was an attempt by both Mrs Lynde and Marilla to assist her in this endeavour by offers of apple turnovers * and plum puffs respectively, and Anne was politic and hungry enough to take a generous serving of each.

There was much pleasant chatter as the meal progressed, and Anne found herself fascinated by the interplay of relationships she observed. Matthew, quiet and calm; seemingly removed from the ebb and flow of the conversation and yet his expression showed he followed it avidly, pausing to smile and nod encouragingly in her direction whenever she glanced at him at the far head of the table. To his one side was little Dora, happily concentrating on her food with an earnestness and relish befitting the most starved orphan, though here again Matthew was quietly attentive to her, and Tom made sure to involve her in aspects of the conversation she was comfortable with. Davy, seated by his sister and almost opposite Anne, seemed to shovel an unending array of morsels into his mouth, accompanying a rapid fire commentary on every topic broached, and at other times stopped to stare at her with an amusing, fascinated wonderment, as if trying to answer his own questions about her (of which she was sure he had many). Marilla quietly instructed Davy on various forgotten aspects of his table manners on his other side, amusedly admonishing, in a serious tone overlayed with an exasperated and undeniable fondness.

Anne was seated on the opposite side of the table, between Tom and Mrs Lynde. The former was a smilingly sympathetic foil for the latter's excitable, ceaseless conversation, which ranged in topic and occasionally in volume, and neatly covered the time from Tom's arrival at Green Gables to her own. Mrs Lynde's fondness and admiration for Tom had grown, by her own admission, from her initial underwhelmed first impression of him to her undeniable gratitude resulting from the terrible day of her own Thomas's departure from this good earth. A lasting image that would stay with Mrs Lynde, and now Anne, forever, was of Tom, on desperate summons from the other end of the lane, carrying a rapidly ailing Thomas Lynde in his arms from the back shed into the house, so that he might have the decency and comfort of dying in his own bed.

There was little doubt in Anne's mind that Tom had become the steady, beating heart at the centre of this eclectic, loving, cobbled-together family.

Family. She hadn't known what to expect from her visit and the unsolicited thought was one she had to bat away for now, lest she start watering her third cup of tea with her tears.

Finally Marilla, with an astute observation of Anne's too-flushed features, gently urged Tom to take her for a tour of the farm, with the aid of Matthew and the wide-eyed twins in tow.

"Have you never seena cow up close?" was soon Davy's gobsmacked question to Tom's gentle ribbing of her; another promise remembered.

"Well, you see, I'm a bit of a city girl, Davy, though not always by choice," Anne explained patiently, the air and the gentle sun helping to restore her equilibrium. "My milk has always arrived in bottles from the milkman, left on my doorstep."

Davy and Dora exchanged an amused, almost disbelieving glance at this information, as if Anne had confided she also believed money actually did grow on trees and that pigs were natural-born aviators.

"What else don't you know about farms?" came the young man's reply.

"Now Davy," Matthew chastised mildly, "mind you keep a polite tongue in your head round our company."

Davy frowned. "Yes, Matthew." He turned his clear, beguiling hazel eyes up to Anne's. "I'm not trying to be mean, Miss Anne. I just want to know."

This led to Anne's full and sorry confession regarding everything from her inability to separate wheat from chaff, both literally and often metaphorically, to her having never seen a fresh-laid egg, let alone the chicken who may have been responsible.

Davy and Dora thought it incumbent upon themselves to extend Anne's education post-haste, and they all spent a merry hour circling the property, pointing out both the pleasures and the pains of life on the farm, culminating in an impromptu, interactive milking session with the assistance of one of their more affable cows.

"Now, you need a certain way about you when milking a cow," Matthew's soft, reassuring voice instructed a game but trepidatious Anne, perched precariously on the milking stool whilst the children had been banished to the other end of the stall, lest their anticipated laughter make things even more difficult. "Gentle but firm. Cows can see all about but they have trouble knowing how far away you are. Give her a pat, talk nice and soft and low to her, let her know you're there."

Anne looked into the kind blue eyes of Matthew Cuthbert, and then into the equally blue, equally kind yet resolutely twinkling eyes of Tom, standing sentinel not far behind Matthew. Anne suddenly felt every silly notion she had ever coaxed a reluctant Tom into at the asylum keenly; it was rather awful to be cajoled into doing something you had absolutely no confidence in tackling. Anne swallowed her reluctance and patted the soft hide determinedly. If nothing else she thought herself equal to the task of exchanging a greeting with a cow.

Anne crooned lullaby words to her, ignoring the sight on her periphery of Dora's amused smile and Davy stuffing his sleeve into his mouth to stop his ready guffaws. She daren't look at Tom.

"That's the way, now," Matthew encouraged. "Being patient is the thing. Dora may turn into one of our best milkers because she knows to be patient; Davy's still learnin' that lesson. Marilla's a good milker too, when her mind's on it. Milked all our cows for years 'afore Tom came to us."

"And Tom?" her face was hot as Matthew's large, work-reddened hand closed over her small lily white one, motioning her to feel for the teat with her thumb and forefinger, gripping firmly but not tightly.

Matthew chuckled knowingly, and Tom's wry reply floated across to her.

"Before or after the cow kicked over my first full pail?"

"Really?" Anne glanced up at him, perversely heartened to think not everything on the farm had come to him as naturally as breathing.

Tom's look was amused, accurately decoding her thoughts.

" 'The merit of all things lies in their difficulty,' ** there, Anne," he gave her what for Tom passed as a smirk.

Anne rolled her eyes to think he was using Dumas against her now, and the very book she had first introduced him to, but she couldn't begrudge him the advice. She merrily wrinkled her passably attractive nose at him, which made him grin all the more, and turned to the cow's udder with new determination.

"Ready thank you, Matthew," she breathed, and with his own smile he secured their hands and began to direct her, as the thin white warm stream hit the pail with a resounding, tinny whoosh.

Anne's mouth remained open in amazement, even as she tried to concentrate on the rhythm, and then, miraculously, she found her own fingers applying the pressure, as Matthew Cuthbert pulled back his hands, grinning.

"Atta girl!" he encouraged in his softly smiling voice, and Anne wasn't quite sure if he was referring to herself or the cow, but it hardly mattered.

Matthew corralled the somewhat protesting children, milk pail between them, and herded them back to the house. Tom lingered with Anne in the afternoon sunshine, grown stronger as the hours passed, as if Nature herself felt a benevolent gladness over her visit, and swept a joyful hand over dull yellow fields turned to golden brilliance under her watch.

Anne raised her face to the rays, basking in the sensation.

"Oh, Tom, do you think this is Paradise, sometimes?" she murmured reverently.

Tom drew his eyes away from her, looking over the fields he had toiled in since a boy, and leaned his long, strong body over the fence.

"I did," he chose the words carefully. "I still do. Except, perhaps, in winter, around a half hour before sunrise."

Anne smiled back at him knowingly. "Well, that I can understand. Wasn't there a time when we feared we'd never ever feel warm? That the cold had entered our bones and crept into our souls? And now look at us! We made it, Tom! We both of us made it."

It seemed all he could do was grin at her exclamation, as if still getting used to the way of her again.

"I can't believe you did this, Tom. This farm… this life… the people inside Green Gables. You are responsible for safeguarding all of this."

His sandy brows hiked upwards, and his throat seemed to work hard to form his response.

"You think so?"

Anne's grin turned soft, and for the first time she saw not the man, grown tan and tall and impressive, but the gangly boy, unsure and questioning, never quite having enough faith in himself without her words to bolster him.

"I know so."

His fleeting look of uncertainty steadied itself.

"I always had your voice in my ear, Anne, urging me forward. If I've done anything at all here it's because of you. Your hand is in everything here. You're everywhere. In… in every field I've planted and every… ah… cow I've milked and…" his blue eyes rolled to the heavens. "That started off better in my head," he frowned.

She might have laughed, sharing the joke, but she only remembered the shared vow.

"You were with me too, Tom," she admitted softly. "Always."

He struggled to push the words out. "And now?"

Her own brows hung like a curtain over grey eyes made huge and dark in her face.

"You are still the thought that warms me, Tom," she admitted, as truthfully as she dared.

His tanned face colored, and that muscle moved about his cheek frenetically. His look to her bizarrely mirrored Marilla's; wistful, even sad. Her farm boy… once poor, now perfect, with eyes like the sea after a storm.

"But… I'm not the only one, am I?"

His tone remembered their kiss, and her words to him. Her cheeks grew warm and her eyes darted from his, and she paused for so long he could have been forgiven for thinking she had bitten her own tongue off.

"Anne, I'm sorry… forget I ever…"

"No, Tom, you are entitled to the question… I'm just… I just…" she blundered helplessly. "I just can't give up the warmth, from either of you. It makes me so selfish. I'm so sorry. But you know, Tom! You know what it's like to cling onto any light in the darkness, any warm shaft permeating the cold. And all I can say to you is… is… your warmth is so central to me, to who I am, because you were the first one I ever felt it from, and I can't…"

Any further explanation, any continued attempts to reconcile her thoughts, were muffled against his chest, and arms as steel around her, as he murmured soothingly.

"Sorry, Anne! I'm the one who is sorry. You never have to explain anything. Not to me. Because I do know it. I thought… I thought… I'd lost that warmth, when I lost my mother. But you… you gave it back to me. I would never have been able to feel it here, from Marilla or Matthew, if I hadn't known it from you first."

The wheat fields seemed to wave approving testimony to his declaration. She allowed herself his embrace, and his words, but not her tears.

"I wonder what Mrs Cadbury would make of us now, becoming so sappy!" she made herself laugh, blinking eyes rapidly and drawing out of his embrace. "And I can't even think what Katherine would say about this!"

Tom took her determined tease as his cue, dropping his large hands from her and shoving them into his pockets.

"Well, I don't know about your Katherine Brooke, Anne. But I have Mrs Rachel Lynde. And she would say plenty about this, believe me. She would say plenty about this all the way to Carmody and back."

"Oh dear!" that got a genuine laugh from Anne now.

"Just be grateful we're hidden behind the barn where she can't see us."

There was a green spark to Anne's large grey eyes at this knowledge. He might have said it was a look he remembered from long, long ago, mostly proceeding her attempts to have him do something very ill advised.

"What say we give her something to talk about?" the green shone bright now, and her lips were curved knowingly.

And that was how it came to pass that Rachel Lynde, absolutely at the ready stationed at the kitchen window, having taken an inordinate amount of time with the dishes, was properly scandalised at the view of Tom and Miss Anne Shirley, hand in hand, all the way up from the barn to the very front door.

Anne thought she might be all right, that she might hold on through all the farewells and extracted promises… through Matthew's shy yet warm, fatherly embrace; through Davy's desperate demand that she return, accompanied by Dora's determined nod of accord; through Mrs Rachel Lynde's shrewdly knowing look and peck on the cheek; through even Marilla's grasp of her hands with both her own, and the surprising glint in her eyes and waver to her smile… might have survived all of it intact, and Tom's goodbye too, if not for Gilbert's unexpected arrival.

It had been a long while since Gilbert had stepped up onto the verandah of Green Gables, to knock on the bold green door to collect Tom for whatever youthful escapade he and the boys had planned that day. It was always with a tremor of trepidation, however misplaced, covered over with his characteristic charm and confidence, even though it was so very many years ago since his father had knocked in the same manner, and he himself could hardly be called to account for that outcome.

The Cuthberts, brother and sister, had been a mysterious presence to him growing up; before Alberta, at the very least. He would see Mr Cuthbert occasionally at the store, or Miss Cuthbert at church; quite liking the shy reserve of the former and always vaguely aware of the latter's eyes following him, with a sad sort of curiosity it would take him years – and the one frank, pained conversation with his father – to understand. Once Tom had arrived, to the incredulity of the general Avonlea populace, it seemed to galvanise Matthew and Marilla Cuthbert both; they became a much more commonplace presence about the town, and though never at the epicentre of goings on, there was a general sense of connection with - and for - them to their community that had certainly never existed before.

And Tom, it was obvious, had been the quiet conduit of this change, and absolutely, credit where it was due, the one responsible for the transformation of Green Gables into something both productive and profitable. He had even been one of the first to bring mechanisation to Avonlea, and was making back the money on his mighty threshing machine by hiring it out – for a very modest sum, naturally – for Tom Caruthers would be the last person to attempt to take advantage. Gilbert stuttered on the new thought… would his honourable nature extend to his dealings with Anne?

Gilbert determinedly brushed the doubt aside. He had known Tom since they were both still boys. He couldn't completely account for the closeness he and Anne shared, but he wouldn't be strangled by the dark hand of petty jealousy. Anne deserved better. And so, perhaps, did Tom.

Gilbert took a breath and rapped on the door.

"Gilbert Blythe!" Marilla Cuthbert greeted, clearly astonished to see him.

"Good afternoon, Miss Cuthbert. I was calling at Orchard Slope earlier when Diana was asked by Mrs Barry to collect some things in town for the picnic they're hosting on Tuesday. It was going to take a while so I offered to come over and collect Anne. That is, Miss Shirley."

Gilbert found himself ushered into the house, his hazel eyes darting about until they settled on large grey ones. Diana had laid claim to Anne upon their arrival in Avonlea, taking her hosting duties most seriously, and he had only seen her once since they had departed Bright River; he had gone to seek her out at Orchard Slope in near desperation today, only to find she was still here with Tom. He could have kissed Mrs Barry in gratitude for the mission to Green Gables, and the happy stolen moments with Anne it might afford. So now his eyes gleamed at hers, and he quickly detected Anne's wavering resolve in her too-bright smile hiding trembling lips. His eyebrows drew down in concern. Had she not had a pleasant time? Had she felt too hemmed-in by the well meaning folk now gushing their goodbyes to her?

Tom stepped forward to shake his hand. "Gilbert." He smiled widely, if a mite carefully.

"Good to see you, Tom. How do you do Mr Cuthbert, Mrs Lynde, Davy, Dora," he nodded politely to each in turn. "You've had a fine day for your visit here, Anne," he added generously.

"It's been quite wonderful," Anne answered in a voice that was an excellent imitation of her own, but felt too tremulous to his ears.

"Tom, Diana wanted me to especially remind you about Tuesday, and to extend the invitation to Davy and Dora. I hear Minnie May would be very glad of their company once we all start to become too boring." Gilbert flashed a smile.

"Thank you, Gilbert. Ah, Anne… if you could give acceptance for all of us, to Diana and the Barrys, and our thanks." Tom had turned towards the slight girl-woman, cheeks as aflame as her hair.

"Thank you, Tom. I would be very pleased to. I may be engaged in helping Diana on Monday so I… I look forward to seeing you at the picnic."

Tom held his smile for her, Gilbert saw, and her look lit him the way it had done back in Kingsport. Gilbert tried not to let the memory intrude, though it was more difficult to suppress the idea of their simpatico seeing it played out before his very eyes. He remembered the idiot he had made of himself back at Diana's rooms that day, Phil having to talk him down from his frustration and dejection, till he had shared that moment with Anne out in the little terrace. Of their book, waiting patiently on the shelf for them. Only… Anne was a voracious reader… and the shelf was becoming crowded with other books she was collecting along the way…

Stop it, Blythe, you damned fool!

Gilbert cleared his throat, though the next offer would be painful for him to make.

"Forgive me for intruding inadvertently; I'll wait outside for you, Anne. Good afternoon ladies, Tom, Mr Cuthbert, Davy."

Gilbert smiled and nodded again, as if not having a care in the world, as if absolutely reconciled to giving Anne and Tom a private moment of farewell as he lost no time in showing himself out and nearly staggered back down the steps. The day was Avonlea's finest of their stay so far, and he prayed it would continue into the morrow, when he would escort Anne after church to his own family and his own farm. Would she be happy to come? Would she wish she was back at Green Gables, with the blonde boy she had inexplicably known when she herself was still a girl? Or would she be reconciled to her past now; to shut the one book firmly and take down the other?

He sighed and patted their horse, and then climbed up into the buggy, taking the reins more firmly than he ought; old Bess protested this affront and he relaxed his large hands, murmuring his apology.

Anne emerged several minutes later, laden with a basket of goods; the others stood on the steps to wave her off, though Tom, naturally, came to help her up beside him.

"Thank you, Gilbert," Tom nodded. "Best regards to your parents."

"Thank you, Tom."

"Bye, Anne," he whispered.

"Goodbye Tom," Anne barely managed, before Gilbert clicked the reins and they were down the long drive and through the gate, Anne pausing to turn back to the house and give a final wave to its occupants.

"Well, I hope you have room for my mother's baking tomorrow, Anne!" Gilbert nodded at the basket nestled awkwardly at her feet, trying to arrest the haunted look that had come over her with the determined lightness of his tone.

"Oh yes… of course…" Anne nodded, her face pale against the sunlight.

"Anne… you'll be able to see them again…" he offered gently, and then through teeth he tried not to grit, "you'll be able to see… him… again."

Anne looked up to him through eyes made dark and limpid with her unshed tears.

"That was very good of you, to give us a moment," her eyes refused to draw away from his. "I know… I know this is not… easy…for you. I hate that I – "

"Anne, don't worry about me! Your happiness is what concerns me. But you look so upset now... What's the matter? Please tell me! Did something happen at Green Gables? Did you not have a nice time, or – "

"I had a lovely time!" Anne wailed, and then began to sob right in front of him.

Gilbert's eyes grew wide, and he stopped the buggy without ceremony.

"Anne!"

"I can't breathe! I can't breathe!" Anne gasped, and threw herself down out of the buggy, beginning to run for the fence, and then, to his utter astonishment, she clambered through it and staggered into the nearest field, cutting a haphazard path through the bobbing heads of wheat with her long skirts and erratic movements.

Gilbert jumped down himself, hastily securing the horse before following her, darting a look around to see they had to still be on Green Gables land, which was a mercy at least.

She didn't make it far before collapsing in a crumpled heap, sobs racking her slight body, and the sound and sight of her distress was like a knife to his heart, the blade clean and new and polished to the gilt, plunging in effortlessly.

"Anne!" he dropped to his knees beside her. "Anne, darling!"

The endearment, long fought against, blurted from him, as if steam shooting from the funnel of a departing train. She paused at it, diverted enough to momentarily halt her tears, but then recommenced even louder than before.

"Oh, Gil…" she moaned, and the knife twisted inside him mercilessly. He choked on her name again and gathered her in his arms.

"Anne… please."

"Family…" she gave a strangled sound. "I didn't… realise… how much of a family they were."

"Family?" he echoed. "You mean Tom? And the Cuthberts?"

"All of them!" she cried. "All of them, Gilbert! I thought I could manage… To not think if it had been me. I thought I would be all right…"

"Anne…" he tried desperately to make sense of things. "Didn't you like it there? I won't have you go back if it will upset you so much! I'll talk to Tom and – "

"No, Gilbert!" she pleaded, her slim hand grasping the lapel of his jacket, and her eyes drew to his, wild and pleading. "You must never talk of this! Of how foolish I've been! He must never know! It would break him!"

Gilbert wondered at the wisdom and fairness of this but nodded regardless.

"Of course… as you wish." He gazed at her for long moments, and then took out his hankerchief and began to mop at her face gently. "And you're not foolish, Anne. That would be inconceivable. Wonderfully perplexing, certainly, but never foolish."

She gave a broken laugh, submitting to his ministrations.

"You must be wondering what's gotten into me," she admitted shamefacedly.

"You don't have to worry what I think. You don't have to explain anything to me you don't want to, Anne."

She gave an agonised look to him at these words, and then offered a little chagrined smile, shaking her head sadly.

"I do need to explain to you, Gilbert. But I need you to promise me… that you'll never breathe a word of it. To anyone."

"I promise," he vowed, his eyes as earnest as his words.

And so she recounted the tale, of which he'd only heard choice snippets, previously neatly tailored for his ears, but now raw and frayed. Of the broken boy and girl, not chance acquaintances over at the orphanage at Hopetown, after all, but residents together, friends and comrades and more than that besides, they two against the world. Anne lingered on anecdotes such as of a boy galloping, seemingly headless, through the dormitory, and tripped, white-faced, over the visit of an Inspector and its hideous consequences. Gilbert could barely stand to listen, eyes closed tight against the truth of it as Anne settled on the ground and leant with her back against him, seeming to release a droplet of pent-up pain with every word. But there was more, of course… the family on the Island across the strait that was hers and yet not, and the boy who had landed on the Green Gables doorstep instead, never quite believing it was his place to be there. Gilbert remembered that pale, colorless ghost, who sleepwalked through those early weeks of school, having sensed there was something in him that was broken but too self involved to properly discover how or why. And much later… the now-tanned face turned pale at a New Year's dance, looking down on a letter he had almost lost hope of ever receiving.

Anne by the end was as exhausted as the sun beginning its slow migration westward, and lay her head against his shoulder.

There were long minutes of silence whilst Gilbert tried to process this incredible story; this wrenching, horrific, nightmarish tale.

"Oh, Anne…" he murmured, as if attempting to soothe those long-ago hurts, now made new again. "Anne…" his voice felt tight; his larynx stretched and strained. "I don't… I can't… I can't tell you how sorry I am. And angry. And – " Damn, he thought despairingly. At a time like this, that's all you can think to say?

"You need to put it away, Gilbert," she sighed. "You really can't go on unless you put it away…" He felt her take a shuddering breath. "I used to imagine the disappointments and the pain and the hurts as heavy stones in my pocket. And I would empty my pockets of them one by one, till I had let them all go…"

His response was to wrap his arms around her. "And now?" he breathed.

There was a pause; a heaviness in the spring air.

"And now… I try not to be so good a collector."

He smiled at the strength and determination behind the comment.

"You could have come to Avonlea…" it suddenly occurred to him. "You could have sat across from me in school."

"Maybe…" she faltered, perhaps, this once, truly allowing herself the thought. "If the mistake hadn't been noted; if Mrs Spencer hadn't come the same day to collect Lily… if… if… the Cuthberts hadn't sent me back."

His arms around her tightened. "What were you like at eleven?" he asked huskily.

Her laugh was short and sharp. "Impossible! You should ask Katherine one time."

"Maybe I will," he chuckled into her hair, resting his cheek against it. "Considering she and I are such great friends now."

Her response was a ripple of genuine laughter, and then she paused, as if considering something problematic.

"I wonder, sometimes, if you and I would have been friends," she mused quietly.

"Of course!" he scoffed. "Aren't we friends now? I told you way back, out in that storm we were caught in at Redmond, that we would make excellent friends, Anne. Providence thought so, too. You couldn't come to Avonlea, and so you just found all of us elsewhere."

He imagined her smiling at that, but she was still facing away from him.

"I rather think that you found me, Gilbert," there was a catch in her voice. "And you led me to Diana and all the others… and to Tom."

"Well, the fact is, it seems you were destined to meet up with Tom again, regardless," his throat had tightened anew. And then he added, with a quiet fervour, "I owe him a debt, Anne."

"Gilbert…"

"He safeguarded you when he was still just a boy. The things that could have happened… they're unthinkable. He was courageous and loyal and quick thinking. I am in his debt, Anne. Even if he never knows it, I do. I won't forget it."

There was nothing that could be said to that, so neither tried.

"Thank you for listening, Gilbert…" Anne ventured after a time. "For understanding and for… being here."

"I'll always be here for you, Anne. Here this now; I will always come for you. And thank you for trusting me with this. With all of your story. At least… I really hope it is. I don't think I could cope with any more revelations."

She turned to him, finally, her hair backgrounded by the russet-streaked sky, her eyes glowing emeralds against a bed of silver-grey.

"I do have one tiny final admission…" she announced gravely.

"Oh?" his deep voice wavered uncertainly. Please, God, let no one else have laid a finger on her.

"Yes," she grinned suddenly. "I milked a cow today."

He didn't know what he might have guessed at, but it certainly wasn't that. His relief burst from him in a rush of laughter, knocking him backwards into the dented crop of wheat that had sheltered them. Anne joined in his laughter, her face hovering above his, and all he had to do was reach out a hand to cup her cheek and drag her down with him, forgotten by propriety and the world.

Oh, Anne… he longed to say. How I love you.

Instead he rose to sitting again, shaking stray stalks out of his unruly curls, seizing her hand to press it to his lips.

"Oh, Anne, how you always surprise me," he offered instead.

She gave him her starry smile, which after the agony of her tears and her admission was the best gift he could have received.

Gilbert scrambled up and assisted her as well, watching as she shook out her skirts and composed herself, patting down her hair.

"Am I presentable again?" she asked with a wry look.

" 'There be none of Beauty's daughters

With a magic like Thee'" *** he quoted softly in reply.

Her fierce blush fought for dominance with her hair and the sky, and with a reassuring smile he took her hand and led her back to the buggy, picking their way carefully through another promising crop from Green Gables, which seemed to bow in parting at their passage.

Marilla didn't realise she was smiling until she caught her reflection in the cabinet as she put away the best china, pausing to stare at the weathered face transformed by the simple, unconscious action. There had been a time, so, so long ago, almost forgotten in the swirling mists of memory, when she had smiled with abandon; and laughed readily; and danced in her room, contemplating another reflection; when she had stared at herself in her best dress, and relived large tanned hands at her waist and soft lips pressed to hers.

It was nonsense to even think of it now, of course; to remember how her heart had thundered at the sight of another tall, broad-shouldered man at the door, all affable, grinning charm and dark curls. Gilbert Blythe had his mother's eyes but in every other way he was his father all over, down to the worrying, steady look of devotion his boy had given Anne Shirley, and which John Blythe had once gifted her.

Her smile gave way to an uneasiness that clouded the resolute sunshine of their guest's visit; she who had charmed the room, including Rachel Lynde; who had engaged both Davy and Dora alike; who had sent Matthew smiling into his newspaper long afterwards; and who had evidently given Tom wings in the way he had afterwards soared about the house, swooping to give Rachel a kiss on the cheek and enfolding Marilla in a loving embrace, whispering his thanks for all her efforts in welcoming their very special visitor.

Rachel had been delighted to inform, once Tom had departed to catch up on assorted jobs, that she had seen, with her very own eyes, the sight of Tom and Miss Anne Shirley, stepping hand in hand from the back of the barn all the way to their very front door. Rachel by her own admission set no store by women's further education. However, she had been rather pleased by their visitor's lack of airs and graces, and even more pleased by her admiration of the fine lacework on the large tablecloth that had once adorned the table at Lynde's Hollow, and so was prepared, this once, to overlook this big-city boldness.

Marilla had very much liked what she had seen, too; Anne Shirley was a vibrant rainbow come into their gently-hued world. She was a young lady now, certainly, with what Marilla suspected had been a hard-won polish and poise, though she occasionally let the curtain of confidence fall to reveal the girl perhaps still hoping, rather heartbreakingly, for approval and acceptance. Marilla could easily see why she had inspired such feelings of loyalty and devotion in Tom and how he had held fast to the idea of her for the better part of a decade. It saddened Marilla to think of the girl left behind in the rescuing of her boy grown to man; to think of Green Gables without Tom was untenable, but Anne Shirley, left without a true home all these years, was an uncomfortable gnaw of regret at her insides. Might they, even now, help the girl whom Tom looked upon as friend and clearly so much more?

Marilla tossed and turned that night, puzzling over how she would manage it.

"Someone was dropped off awfully late after being collected from Green Gables," Diana Barry smiled knowingly into the mirror of her dressing table, dark eyes full of teasing merriment as her reflection caught Anne's blush as she reclined on the pillows on the bed.

Anne had been offered the guest room on her arrival at Orchard Slope, and although the idea of a guest room always simultaneously thrilled and intimidated her in equal measure (the one of several at Mount Holly had been a veritable palace) she had been all too pleased to share accommodations with Diana. They had already spent several nights up late trading confidences, hopes and dreams in a laughingly girlish manner that was far removed from the decorous, ladylike behaviour Mrs Barry was forever reminding both her girls to adopt.

"Well…" Anne stammered, "it was a surprise to see Gilbert, as I was expecting you and Fred to return…"

"Yes, indeed," Diana offered a Sphinx-like smile, pausing in her brushing out of raven tresses to arch a perfectly matched brow.

"Diana…?" Anne queried suspiciously.

"Oh, Anne," Diana swivelled in her seat, "Gilbert's face just fell when he called round and discovered you still weren't back from Green Gables. I decided to throw him a bone. It was easy as a wink to start mumbling names of French foodstuffs and musing on ingredients we might be short of; Mother wouldn't know the difference. She dispatched me immediately to go and restock, and Gilbert just happened to be on hand to collect you instead." Her look here was now inordinately satisfied.

"Diana Barry!" Anne wasn't entirely sure if she should be impressed or aghast. "I don't believe it! I'm seeing an entirely new side to you here in Avonlea!"

Diana now grinned unrepentantly, the effect quite mesmerising.

"Were my efforts worth it? Did you have a good time with Tom and with Gilbert?"

Anne was determined that her expression would not waver. "I… did. I had a wonderful time with Tom and his, ah, that is, everyone at Green Gables and I had a very… helpful… talk with Gilbert."

It was not the time, and her emotions were too raw, to explore that discussion twice in one day, and she already observed that Diana was in a buoyant mood and perhaps wanting to indulge in a few secrets of her own.

"And how was young Mr Wright today? You two seemed uncommonly distracted by one another when you dropped me off earlier."

Diana's smile at this was positively beatific.

"Anne… can I trust you with a very great secret? Oh, scratch that – I know I can!" Diana determined giddily. She crossed from her chair to the desk, hair and nightgown billowing romantically as a sail, and foraged in the drawer for what she now extracted, carrying the little package back to sit with it on the bed before Anne. She held out the envelope reverently, and Anne clasped it with a curious look, noting the sender.

"Why Diana – this is from Fred. To your father."

Diana nodded, her dark eyes watching Anne carefully. "It just happened to be sitting under a pile of papers in his office when I went to fetch some notepaper for Mother this morning. I recognised the handwriting of course. There must be others, though Father obviously has them hidden away. Fred has apparently been writing to my parents every fortnight since the new year. Since… we began courting."

Anne's grey eyes widened at this development.

"That's… very dedicated," she offered. "But to what end, Di? Unless he…" Anne halted mid thought. "You don't think that…?"

Diana colored most prettily, the pink stain to her creamy cheeks making her lovely eyes gleam as polished onyx. "It would be so like Fred to make a case for himself; to work to get them on side. Mother especially was quite awful to him when he sought to court me. This latest letter asks… if he may call on Father whilst we are back here these two weeks."

"Diana… that can only mean that he… he wants to ask for your hand!" Anne was suitably gobsmacked.

"Yes…" Diana grew coy, biting her lip. "I believe so."

Anne felt her eyes might bulge out of her head, and banished inappropriate thoughts about poor Charlie Sloane. "Diana, I must say you are preternaturally calm about all this!"

"Am I?" Diana laughed.

"Yes indeed! What would you say? What answer would you give him? Do you love him? Oh – scratch that! I know you love him – but enough to marry him? You've loved Kingsport – do you still see your life here? Would you truly go against your parents if they didn't wish it?"

"Well, all those questions and I'm certain I'm not calm anymore!" that alabaster brow wrinkled in exasperation.

"I'm sorry, Diana! I'm badgering you!"

"No, not at all…" Diana took back the letter, stroking it fondly, a little smile hovering about her lips, attempting to land. "They are all important questions. I… I have thought about my answer to each of them, these past few months. I've never doubted Fred's intentions… only the timing of his declaration of them."

Anne swallowed a million excitable retorts, instead searching Diana's beautiful face for a clue as to her feelings. "And if that time is now?" she squeaked.

Diana took a long moment to sequester the letter in its hiding place and reposition herself on the bed before Anne, who had tucked up the covers around her as if settling in for a fantastical bedtime story.

"I have loved Kingsport," Diana ventured thoughtfully, "but not necessarily for the reasons you might think, Anne. Oh, I've been excited to get around a big town and meet new people and see new things. To actually undertake a course – not academic like yours, but still requiring study and practice and attention. It's the first time I've been away from the influence of my family, whether it be here or even my Aunt Josephine in Charlottetown… and I've survived. I've managed perfectly fine – more than fine! I've virtually run our household in Kingsport. I've proven to my parents and everyone that I can do it. I've had my Grand Adventure, Anne – or at least what for me amounts to it. I don't think I'm missing out anymore. I've seen what's out there and come the summer I'll be ready to move back and make my life here. My life, mind, and not Mother's."

Anne's eyes were shining by the end of this speech. "You are simply wonderful, Diana Barry."

"I don't know about that…" she murmured, flushing.

"You see things so clearly… to know what you want… and how… and even why… and you are very firm regarding the where…" Anne reached out to grasp soft, dimpled hands in hers. "So now all that's missing is the who!" she grinned.

"That's all very well, thank you, Miss Anne, with two beaux lined up, ready to fight to the death over you!"

Anne borrowed Diana's blush. "I believe that is a very poor attempt to avoid the question!"

Diana chuckled knowingly. "Ruby and Jane and I used to discuss all manner of romantic notions about the sort of man we would marry. Jane was too practical and Ruby too fanciful. I really only ever wanted a good man, Anne. Someone who loved me and whom I could work together with to make a good home."

"Well…" Anne's grip tightened. "You have a very, very good man there, Diana." Anne's thoughts drifted to Fred's efforts on their behalf whilst she and Gilbert had been in Summerside. "And he adores you. Anyone can see that. He's a hard worker; steady, determined and industrious and not put off by anything. He fulfils all your requirements, Miss Barry! Though does he fulfil the most important one? Are you made and meant for each other?" ****

"I'll know if he asks me!" Diana replied spiritedly, with a glint to her eye.

"Very well, then!" Anne giggled.

"Though Anne… to be serious for a moment," it was now Diana's turn to grasp hands, "I can't feel that I'm on eggshells forever. Would you keep an eye out for me at the picnic Tuesday? I'll be so distracted I won't know if Fred's gone off in a hot air balloon, let alone snuck into Father's office for half an hour."

"I will!" Anne nodded sincerely, and then with an equal gleam of cheekiness, "or is that I do?"

Gilbert was in meditative mood as he headed back from Orchard Slope to Blythe Farm, nearly running Fred over in the buggy in his distraction over his conversation with Anne.

"Sorry, Fred, my mind's obviously on other things!" Gilbert laughed in apology, offering his friend a lift home.

"I know the feeling…" Fred grumbled, settling beside him with a huff.

"So, you first then," Gilbert raised a dark brow, his lips curled upwards.

"Me?"

"What's on your mind? Or indeed whom?"

"Indeed," Fred nodded, trying to chuckle but only succeeding in looking more perturbed.

"Did you and Diana have a fight?"

"A fight?" Fred looked both astonished and affronted by the suggestion. "Of course not!"

Gilbert put a hand up in surrender. "Alright, good to know!"

"I'm just finding it hard to get the opportunity to propose to her," he offered baldly.

Gilbert, rather unfortunately still gripping the reins one handed at this juncture, was not best placed to negotiate a tricky bend on uneven ground, and nearly tipped over they two and buggy both in his surprise.

"Honestly, Fred, give a fellow some warning!" Gilbert called over the protest of Bess and the racket of of wheels squealing in attempt to right themselves.

"Sorry, Gil," Fred puffed, holding onto the seat and rather literally shaken out of his dejection.

"I think you'd better go back to the beginning," Gilbert advised. "You really mean to propose to Diana? Whilst we're all home?"

"Where better?"

Gilbert was agog. "Well, that's… that's marvellous, Fred! I mean, that's…"

Fred's small smile was knowing. "You think she won't say yes."

"No! of course not!" Gilbert spluttered uncharacteristically. "That's not it at all. It's just… that… I don't know if Mrs Barry will!"

"Well, yes, there's that…" Fred frowned, his large hand rubbing the creases of worry at his forehead. "I've been working on her for a while. Mr and Mrs Barry. Fortnightly letters from Kingsport since New Year, outlining all the recovered finances for our farm, plans for the future, that sort of thing."

"Fred… I had no idea. I mean, yes, that you were serious about Diana, but…"

"Diana doesn't know about all that groundwork… she doesn't really have to know. It's not important. Anyway, all I'm trying to do is to have a talk with her father. But it's impossible to do that without her knowing, being if she's home, and then when she's not home I'm usually out with her anyway."

"I see the dilemma. I guess, then, this is not the time to tell you Diana was out of the house this afternoon in the village, shopping for Tuesday's picnic. I actually picked up Anne myself from Green Gables."

"That's alright – I already know. I met Diana this afternoon, quite by accident," Fred sighed heartily at another lost opportunity. "How'd it go with Anne?"

Gilbert smiled softly. "Well. I think… very well, in the end. She's a remarkable girl."

Fred gave a sideways glance, and shook his head at his friend's lovelorn expression.

"Well, have a word with her, will you? About what sort of poetry girls like."

This elicited a great guffaw from his companion. "About what sort of poetry girls like?"

"Oh, I know you go around with Anne, quoting sonnets and Shakespeare and serenading trees and goodness knows. I just thought… if I could write down my feelings in a letter for Diana, you know, in case I got stuck or… well, I could give it to her, with a little poem perhaps, and she could consider my offer."

Gilbert looked back to his gentle friend with a countenance now transformed by his admiration and fondness.

"I'm sure Di would love that, Fred. Though she will love to hear your own feelings just as well."

"Yes, but I'm no orator like you are, Gil. I never was. But Diana… she does love all those things – reading and poetry and learning. Just not as showily as, say, Phil or Anne. I just wanted her to know that… well, that she wouldn't be cut off from that, with me. That I wasn't just some ignorant farmer."

"The man soon to have a diploma from Kingsport Commercial College is far from ignorant," Gilbert argued loyally.

"Well, not as ignorant as I was," Fred began to recover his humour.

"I could help you with the poem, you know."

Fred looked askance. "I wouldn't want anything too flowery or…"

"She walks in beauty, like the night," Gilbert recited,

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes…" *****

"Oh, well, then, that's lovely," Fred acknowledged. "I think she would like that."

"It's perfect! Lord Byron. We've been studying him in class."

"Byron? Wasn't he a bit… you know… racy?"

"Yes, but don't let that put you off. This poem has none of that. Just pure unadulterated love and worship for the girl. He even speaks of raven tresses."

Fred gave a soft smile. "Well, then."

"I'll bring it over on Monday for you. Or better still, I'll copy it out. It's not long. Then you won't have to lug the volume around, pretending it's a farm manual."

"Thanks, Gil."

"Fred, any way I can help, I'm here. I'd be delighted."

The easy red found Fred's cheeks.

''Thanks again. Really. I guess there is one more thing. I'm going to try to see Mr Barry at the picnic. I thought it would be smaller, but it seems Diana's invited everyone – Charlie and Ruby and Moody and Josie and Gertie too, and Tom and then Priscilla's coming across from Spencervale…" he sighed. "There will be a lot happening, and Diana will be busy, but just incase…"

"Say no more. I'm excellent at coming up with distractions."

Fred laughed. "I went to school with you, so I pretty much know that!"

"And you'd propose soon after?"

"I want it to be a surprise. And I don't want to leave it too long, and risk the Barrys changing their minds."

Gilbert chuckled and slapped him on the back. "You are a brave man taking the Barrys on, Fred. Diana's more than worth it, but still, better start developing a thick skin."

"To go with my thick head?"

Gilbert laughed. "The thick heads might be the night before your wedding! If you even know when that would be?"

"Years yet, probably. At least two. Maybe three. I want to save up for our own place, actually."

Gilbert let out a low whistle. "A potential three year engagement? You sure you'd last that long?" his hazel eyes flashed merriment.

"Says the man not quite a year into his bachelor's degree."

Gilbert groaned. "Don't remind me!"

They had reached the Wright's farm, and the friends sat together in the twilight, silently contemplating the future.

"I can see you two being very happy together," Gilbert acknowledged quietly, head nodding to emphasize his pronouncement.

"Thanks Gil. I hope so. Though nothing's certain, of course. And I have to survive Tuesday, first."

"Don't we all!" Gilbert grinned, shaking his hand before Fred hopped down nimbly, and he turned the buggy and his thoughts again to home, and the guest he would bring back there tomorrow.

Chapter Notes

My title, as previously, is taken from Anne of the Island (Ch 23)

*Freely accepting oz diva's New Canon renderings of Marilla and Rachel's polite war over pastries; please see the marvellous one-shot 'Ten Children, That's What!' for further enlightenment.

**Alexandre Dumas The Three Musketeers (1844). You may remember it is Tom's favourite book; my Anne's, unsurprisingly and referenced many times before is Jane Eyre (so glad the writers of Anne with an E agree with me!) My Diana's is Little Women; Gilbert and others are still yet to declare which tome is to have their allegiance. Phil will perhaps never be able to resolve this issue.

***George, Lord Byron from 'There Be None of Beauty's Daughters: Stanzas for Music'

****Anne of the Island (Ch 23)

*****George, Lord Byron 'She Walks in Beauty'