Greetings and salutations! A Happy Halloween to one and all – hopefully this update is more treat than trick!

I am loving reading everyone's reactions to this story and my Betwixt update. Thank you for your encouraging comments x

Very best wishes

MrsVonTrapp x

Chapter Thirty Two

A Rosy Mist of Hope and Illusion

Part Three

Anne's two weeks in Avonlea stretched to almost three, virtually half of the summer, as if some fairytale spell had been cast, making it impossible to leave the village perimeters. Every day there seemed a new and urgent diversion, delaying her departure. She, Pris and Gilbert hosted a picnic in Tom's honour, celebrating his success, which morphed into a grand all-day trip to the seaside inclusive of Ruby, Moody, Charlie, Davy and Dora, Jane's younger brother Ralph, Diana and Fred and Minnie May. Diana and Fred then decided, with everyone home and Jane's nuptials done and dusted, that they would belatedly celebrate their engagement with a small party for their nearest and dearest, and how, with Diana remaining now in Avonlea, could she not stay to attend? Then there was the final merry day at the Blythes, including both lunch and dinner, and the fond farewells over tea at Orchard Slope. Her send off from Green Gables could hardly be borne with the tears encountered on all sides, and Davy contemplating the closet as a hideaway to help manage his sudden, inexplicable dismay.

Though everyone wanted to wave her off at the station, in the end it was decided only Gilbert would have the honour, because the sight of all her beloved en masse as she was transported away from them was an alternative impossible for Anne to countenance. They had a quiet and contemplative drive back to Carmody, her only consolation being the knowledge of the happy states in which she had left all she cared for, and the certainty she would be reunited soon with a fair few of them back in that beautiful university town with the dreaming spires.

"It's only a few weeks, really," Gilbert was now holding fast to her hand as they awaited the train to Summerside, his resolution as much for himself as for her. "Hardly any time at all, Anne-girl, and we will be back in Kingsport together, Sophomores ready to take on the world."

"I like the sound of that!" she smiled bravely.

"And not being President this year, we will have so much more time at Redmond to be together," Gilbert continued encouragingly, hoping his stabs at conversation would not be heard as helpless prattle. "Although I am determined to keep up the connection to the Patterson Street school."

"And we have a mascot for them, now," Anne smiled down at the large stuffed bear at their feet guarding her old carpetbag, won for her at the fair a mere week ago, his scruffiness made rakish by the jaunty little scarf and woolen hat in Redmond colors Mrs Blythe had made for him. She had searched out the scraps left over from the scarf she had knitted for Gilbert, which had sparked such animated conversation between he and Anne in the early days of their friendship, accounting for his unlikely moniker of Lancelot. *

"At least I can picture you in Summerside, now…" Gilbert offered quietly, unable to keep the mournful inflection from his tone.

"And I can picture you in Avonlea…" she attempted her best, starriest smile.

"Anne…" he drew her as close as public propriety might allow, "it's not too late to come back with me, for the rest of the summer. Tom would have you back at Green Gables in an instant, and so would Diana, and – "

"Oh, Gil… I have to earn my keep somehow…" Anne swallowed down her sigh.

"You shouldn't have to," he protested, agonized.

It was by now a well-worn and disheartening conversation. Gilbert had indeed made enquiries on her behalf with regards to any local students needing a tutor, but it was rather an awkward time of year, with the current Queen's College students already having undertaken their entrance exam and prospective students not yet ready to begin their preparations. Anne knew she faced a similar problem back in Summerside but did not say. Already she counted on free board there for these remaining few weeks in exchange for supervising the regular girls for some summer excursions and activities. Her only recourse would be to offer additional tuition to any keen or needful resident girls, and to pick up any stray students from Summerside Academy who may have been offered the chance to re-sit their teacher's certificate before the new academic year.

They were saved any further debate by the arrival of the train, hissing steam in its approach. Her trunk was already checked, needing two porters to lift it, crammed to the brim with goods from Green Gables, Orchard Slope and Blythe Farm into the bargain. And likewise she felt the weight of everyone's love and friendship, settling around her not as the protective cloak she had once described to Phil, but as the warmest, comfiest cardigan, snug and secure.

"I love you, Gilbert," Anne vowed before his passionate parting kiss. "And I will be more than fine, my beloved."

"Darling Anne, I love you. I'll miss you with every breath."

There was nothing else for it but to help her up into the carriage, carrying her carpetbag with the troublesome handles he now managed effortlessly, securing her amusing travelling companion in the seat next to her.

From the window Anne waved and blew him a kiss, taking his heart along on the outward journey with her.

Tom sat at the kitchen table, glancing up at the clock, knowing that Anne's train would have now departed and letting out a regretful breath at the knowledge.

Green Gables likewise seemed to sigh, already bereft over her absence. In the almost two weeks she had spent there she had brought a buoyant energy that now seemed depleted, like a popped balloon. It would take time for them all to become used to those quieter rhythms again, even with the summer still flourishing around them for several more weeks.

He tried to concentrate on the newspaper in front of him, the latest local edition out of Carmody, with its generous section dedicated to the happenings of the fair, including a summary of all the prizewinning entries. Tom was featured in two photos, stationed at his stall and accepting his award, and was mildly surprised to see himself appear so calm and assured, confidently gazing at the camera, when he knew he had been a jangle of nerves at the time. He had often wondered how Anne had managed that self-same poise, or Gilbert, concluding that perhaps he too had developed a little of it without even realizing, as if their outward confidence had rubbed off on him.

He wondered, too, about her train journey and how soon she might find his departing gift, snuck into her carpetbag that morning before her departure. His other gift – or rather regift – had been those precious exercise books she had first bequeathed to him in Kingsport, telling the story of their youth and lost years and what-could-have-beens.

"Anne, you must have these back," he had urged her up in that little attic room that would forever bear the traces of her too-brief occupancy. "They have brought great comfort and insight – and entertainment," he grinned shyly, "but they are of a story only half told. You need to write the rest of it."

She had taken the stack of tomes back carefully, resting them on her knee.

"Tom, I hardly think the world wants to know about two orphans on a series of fanciful imaginary adventures," she grimaced.

"So…" his look was earnest and steady, and his answer came as a quiet aside, "then leave out the imaginary part."

She surveyed him for long moments with that grey gaze, grown dark and thoughtful.

"Are you saying write about it all… as it really was?"

Tom shrugged those broad, farm-hewn shoulders.

"I'm not saying right now, Anne. I'm sure it would be too soon, and still too painful, like reopening an old wound. And I know you are busy enough already. But I really think you should, someday. You love your Mr Dickens but he never lived as Oliver Twist, you know. We did. And think of all the others who still are, who are still stuck in that hopeless situation. They need someone who will champion their stories. Who better than you?"

Anne was very quiet beside him, biting her lip.

"Maybe that sort of thing is too depressing a topic to write about, I'll admit," he now chuckled awkwardly. "I'm sure there are far happier stories to write, and the world needs those too. But you've got a gift, Anne. You need to take your chance with it, like you always said I needed to myself."

"Well yes, Tom, but we all can't be prize winning wood carvers fielding commissions all the way to Charlottetown," she parried with pride, having perused the exhaustive list Pris had copied out for him of those at the fair interested in his products, with a few potential clients living as far as the Island's capital.

He blushed at her praise, as ever.

"Well, Anne, I don't know where any of that will lead, but remember I started off pretty small. You can, too. Test the waters before you make the leap, if you have to. Just promise me one day you will just, well, plunge in."

"Thomas Caruthers, Esquire, offering career instruction and life advice," she grinned now, reaching to squeeze his large hand affectionately.

"Well, I learned from the best," he matched her smile, the cheeky glint of old showing in his kind, pale blue eyes.

It was marvellous to see her mother almost, well, merry, Pris mused, smiling through what must have been their third recount of the day at the fair and her mother's second and third placings in the produce and baking sections respectively. The prizemoney would keep her in the powders and potions that sustained her for many a month, and help offset her regular doctors' visits, which were not cheap. Her father had been into Carmody to buy several copies of the paper, and a handsome frame besides, and her mother was currently pasting the article and her photos onto stiff-backed cardboard, ready to mount them on the wall, as proudly displayed as her father's bookkeeping diploma which adorned his little office, or her own teaching diploma which had long sat in the place above the mantle in the parlour.

Pris perused an additional copy at the other end of the kitchen table, gaze lingering on Tom's handsome representation, smiling wistfully at the other memories of the fair she now held dear. She had finally been able to introduce him to her mother in the happy hour after the prize announcements, and additionally – and equally gratifyingly – to the Cuthberts, the twins and the effusive Mrs Lynde, and the ladies' compliments to her mother, as renowned bakers themselves, had been flattering and fulsome.

A shadow leaned over her shoulder; her father, smiling knowingly.

"Young Mr Caruthers looks set from now to next Christmas," he offered.

"He does indeed," she found herself beaming, and her mother looked up suddenly with a guarded expression.

"A very talented young man," her father nodded to himself, as Pris eagerly agreed.

"Herb Spencer asked to call the day after tomorrow, Priscilla," her mother countered, that other young man having taken some time off over the summer from his assistant duties, so at least she had not seen him every time she was back at the house.

"That will be very nice for Papa," she answered blithely.

"Priscilla, I would have you remember your manners around him. I did not like the way you cast him off at the fair."

"I didn't cast him off, Mother! Isn't he an adult who can look after himself on occasion?"

"He accompanied us as our guest. Is that not a reason to be courteous?"

"Yes, Mother," Pris sighed, a mite extravagantly.

"He is a very nice young man, from a very respectable family."

"And he is an excellent assistant for Papa, I'm sure."

"Which means he'll have much to do with our family, Priscilla. The Spencers are our longstanding friends, and provide a valuable social connection for us all, and you'd do well to be more mindful of that."

"The Spencers are not royalty, Mother! They just act like it."

"Herb is a good natured sort of fellow, love," her father, ever the peacemaker, urged of her, indicating her mother with a meaningful glance in the latter's direction.

"Indeed, he's perfectly innocuous," she conceded, a touch saucily.

"Innocuous?" her brother Samuel piped up from raiding the larder before lunch. "That makes him sound like a weed you can't be bothered yanking!"

"The English professor at Queen's is going to love you!" Pris laughed at her beanpole brother, some of her humour restored even as she was wary of her mother's machinations. She turned back to that beloved lady now. "And I am mindful of Herb Spencer, Mother," she answered more gently. "It will be a comfort to know he is here when Sam and I are away from you both."

Her mother smiled, perhaps a little sadly. It would be one thing to farewell herself, who had been away to Charlottetown, Carmody and now Kingsport, but it was quite another for her to farewell her baby for two years, even if he was still to be on the Island.

"Well, then, love, that is more pleasing to hear. I'm sure you may express those sentiments by also writing to Mr Spencer when you're back at Redmond, on occasion."

Outmanoeuvred by her mother, and not for the first time, Pris could only sigh again. Turning back to Tom's photo, she remembered her impassioned declaration to him at Jane's wedding, about how she wouldn't ever countenance writing to Herb Spencer as she did to him – and all that might be implied by it - and felt truly deflated.

Anne had never taken this particular train line across the island to Summerside and was awed by the beauty she observed in the delicately changing landscapes. Surely that had to explain the swelling of emotion constricting her throat and the stinging tears to her eyes. It wasn't just that she had seen and experienced so much more of the Island now, but that she felt increasingly she belonged to it, in a way she had never before when it only marked her comings and goings, which were different from arrivals and departures, from greetings and farewells. She felt she could properly greet the Island now, as her own – to lay claim to it as resolutely as Gilbert did or as Tom had learned to.

To finally… almost… call it home.

Summerside Home for Girls wasn't home, she knew that more than ever, but nor should she see it as a cage imprisoning her, as she felt when Gilbert had come here with her so many months ago. It helped that, during summer, there was a slightly more relaxed air about the stern building and its occupants. As she walked back in through the imposing ground floor there was the echo now of the faint, occasional laughter of the resident girls as they went about non-academic activities or played outside in the woods and grounds. It was a genteel, restrained sort of fun to be had here, admittedly, and it wasn't Avonlea… but it also no longer felt like a prison.

And there was, even here, a homecoming to be had – the quick smile of Mrs Llewelyn and the even quicker nod from Miss Wethers and the less-severe-than-usual greeting from Matron Burgess. And then, better still, the excited hug from Miss Baker, blonde hair still, strangely reassuringly, in its regular tizzy, and the cavalcade of her former charges, including young Martha Mayerling, whom she had first farewelled a year ago with colored ribbons and Longfellow.

There were a few letters for her, which she seized upon eagerly; a longed-for missive from Katherine, detailing all her recent Italian travails and her summer up and down the Amalfi coast, and a chatty note from Phil, detailing the jamborees her days had been filled with, when she wasn't hopping back across to Kingsport to secure their new abode…

Anne, honey, I look forward to receiving everyone's compliments regarding my cleverness in securing us all the most delightful little dwelling – and on Spofford Avenue, no less! Even Mother couldn't frown at that. It's being rented out by an adorable old lady and her niece who are, frankly, as dotty as the day is long, who wish to go travelling and who were quite relaxed about the rent if only we proved ourselves worthy of their sweet little Patty's Place. That's what the house is called, don't you know – isn't that darling? Named for the owner Miss Patty Spofford. Well, I made a great case for us, if I do say so myself, and they kindly assented to our hanging our hats there, and we can all move in as soon as everyone arrives back from the summer. I've written this Stella Maynard and her aunt, and of course to Pris too, and even offered a deposit to the old dears but apparently all the security they needed was that I complimented them on their cushions and on a pair of quite arresting china dogs guarding the fireplace. So it's all settled. Goodbye to boarding house life and horrible Hatchet Face!

The news was welcome, even if the rent – divided by four – still made her eyes water. Anne sat down heavily on the bed, having been able to retain her old room, though they used it as a guest quarters during her absence, her mind tallying figures even as she organised her things after her journey, finding a temporary home in the corner chair for teddy Lancelot, and unpacking her Jane Eyre, her Shakespearean sonnets and her boy and girl figurines; her trio of talismans accompanying her everywhere. Reaching into her carpetbag she extracted the bundle of old exercise books, which had now travelled to the two destinations which meant the most to her – Kingsport and Avonlea – and had returned, symbolically, to the place of their creation.

Tom had urged her to do something with her writing… if not yet of the past, then something that looked towards her future. Anne stroked the covers of the old books thoughtfully, frowning. She couldn't find the inspiration in them yet, but it didn't mean to say that she couldn't find it elsewhere.

Diving into her bag again, she pulled out the few magazines Diana had thoughtfully passed on to her, such as Canadian Woman and Women's Home Journal, ** which she had flicked through absently on the train and now perused more carefully. They were always asking for stories and contributions, paying rather handsomely for them, and there were even advertisements for a few writing competitions, one of them – for a baking powder no less – making her chuckle aloud. But perhaps she wouldn't be laughing in derision if she actually won something.

Goodness, based on her current finances, to survive the year in rent alone she would need to win them all…

Her work at the Home wouldn't start till tomorrow, and suddenly exhausted, in body and in heart, Anne pushed her carpet bag to the floor and crawled under the covers.

Anne awoke with a jolt. She had slept the afternoon away, and twilight besides, her growling stomach informing as much as the pitch black outside that she was well into the evening. She had missed dinner, and the Home was not the type of institution to indulge absentees with a tray for their room.

No matter. She had some crusty bread left over and raspberry jam from Green Gables, washed down with a little flagon of delicious apple cider sent along by the Blythes. Diana had baked some cookies and she munched on those for dessert, leafing again through the magazines and trying not to think back to all the darling folks in Avonlea, a young dark-haired man in particular, probably seated at this very moment for his supper, being ladled lavish amounts by his adoring, merry mother.

Anne, contemplative, sought out the magazines again, and the page featuring the baking powder competition. Rollings Reliable, a new product, hoped to launch itself with a literary splash through an accompanying story that would be published in pamphlet form and even in the mainland newspapers. The prizemoney of twenty-five dollars *** gave her pause. What she wouldn't be able to do with that amount propping up her dwindling finances…

But what on earth to write? Any story must surely involve baking of some description, in advertising an actual baking powder, and she had only her own scant experience to fall back on, comprising of scones, assorted French pastries courtesy of Diana, and now, after her time at Green Gables, apple turnovers and plum puffs. She'd only have to write about baking a cake, though… she wouldn't actually have to bake it…

She actually had attempted to write that once, she remembered with a smile, turning back to her old exercise books, seeking one of the most recent ones dating to the time she was fifteen, during her teacher's licence at Summerside Academy. It had been quite arresting at first, after her cloistered years in the Girls Home, to be thrust back into the company of young men, sharing classes with them though precious little else. Most of her classmates, slightly less academically-inclined than their Charlottetown counterparts, were more than a little intimidated by her, and being tutored by Katherine had encouraged a forthrightness in her opinions and an uncompromising pursuit of academic excellence that served her studies well but was less beneficial when it came to making friends.

She sighed. It wasn't the memory that she sought, now, but her long-ago words.

The stories had been more romantic and fanciful than she had written before or since, and owed much to her impressionable age and reading material at that time. She almost blushed with embarrassment to contemplate them again now… Cordelia's Conundrum… Averil's Atonement… and their unfinished sister, Rosamond's Revenge. **** Averil was the one, she recalled, who had made the cake. It was a comical scene that she saw, now, wasn't quite related to the rest of the flowery story, but she had thought, then, for the heroine to bake a cake for the hero was the highest illustration of romance. Perhaps she could rework it a little and even… send it in?

There was nothing to lose, and in determination she cleared her little picnic supper and gathered some writing paper. But where was her pen? Gilbert had gifted her the most beautiful new fountain pen the day before, ostensibly for the new year at Redmond but hinting, ever so vaguely, at any other writing she might wish to do in the future. She had bit her lip in indecision, on the cusp of telling him all about her old writing, whilst she had spent a final day with the Blythes. But there had never been an opportunity, and she worried what he might think of her juvenile outpourings, she who had won the Thorburn and led the class in English the entire year.

It had probably done him an injustice, and she resolved to share something of her old literary endeavours when back in Kingsport. But in the meantime she still needed the perfect pen.

It must be at the bottom of her carpetbag, and she dived in, extracting the pen… and something else.

Astonished, she grinned as she unpacked the fine square of linen cloth it had been wrapped in, thinking of the first offering she had ever received from its creator, wrapped in the corner of his old greying bedsheet for want of any alternative. Tom, this time, has outdone himself, if it was even possible… a little carved book sat on a wooden stand, the cover as green as the gorgeous rolling hills she had left behind that morning, with the finest gold lettering proclaiming the author and title… Take Your Chance by Anne Shirley.

Anne blinked back happy tears, shaking her head at his kindness and encouragement, staring at this keepsake and message cradled in her hand for long moments.

Tom had taken his chance and she would too.

With Tom's delicate hand-hewn ornament beside her and Gilbert's gift grasped in her pale fingers, she set to work.

Chapter Notes

This is the final chapter title detailing the quote from Anne of the Island Ch 29 'Diana's Wedding'

*Referring to a scene in an earlier chapter of this story – Ch 3 'A Likely Looking Girl'

**You know I enjoy including little love-notes to the Sullivan series: Canadian Woman is of course referenced by Diana in canon, but Women's Home Journal Magazine is memorably mentioned early in Anne of Green Gables: The Sequel :)

***It was very tempting to utilise the prizemoney mentioned in The Sequel ($100) but in this instance I stuck with canon ($25)

***Averil is of course canon; Rosamond I believe is Sullivan, and Cordelia's Conundrum is my own creation :)

Some correspondence…

Guest of Oct 13th (Ch 1): What a lovely note, and thank you! I am so glad to bring a little joy – haven't we needed it more than ever these past few years?! Hope you continue to enjoy my more frequent updates!

DrinkThemIn: Darlingest, thank you for your chatty reviews – I always so look forward to them! Something in them always makes me grin giddily. Bless you noticing things like the Snow Queen – it is really hard to include these more prosaically, through Tom's eyes, but such fun when I can quasi-greet them as canon Anne did. And the 'Anne of Green Gables' opener was an epoch in the life of this story! I'm glad you JUST CAN'T (lol!) be mad at Tom. I've done my job, then! There is lots more Tom and Pris on the horizon I am delighted to say, and I am thrilled that a fellow Gilbert girl is enjoying them x

yunarthur: I can't tell you how delighted it makes me to have such an invested reader across several stories, and I am so happy to have more updates now for such kind reviewers! It genuinely touches me when a new chapter might have brought a smile to someone's day! I do have a general plan for this story and know where it is headed, and I can't wait for everyone's reactions! Thank you so much for your readership and enthusiasm x

Guest of Oct 13th (Ch 31): Thank you so very much! Is this reviewer Denie?! Regardless, I love your description of 'the flames of romance shooting forth for Tom and Pris'. That brought such a smile to my face! So glad you enjoyed the update!

Guest #1 of Oct 14th (Ch 31) (after Grateful fan): Thank you for your kind note! I'm so glad you are enjoying Tom and Pris! I think you made a great distinction – T&P bring the sweetness, as opposed to A&G who I always see as bringing the passion!

Guest #2 of Oct 14th (Ch 31): Thank you guest! I love a bit of a romantic triangle/square myself! I know that several readers are relieved that the Anne-Tom angle has resolved itself! Thank you for your note abut Tom in particular – I am thrilled he has been so well received.

Guest #3 of Oct 14th (Ch31): So glad you loved it! Thank you for letting me know x

Guest #4 of Oct 14th (Ch 31): I loved your comment here so much – 'Two things Anne was always meant to find: Gilbert and Green Gables.' It made my day to think I have (so far!) pulled both things off. I tell you, the second requirement was harder and took more time to navigate! I really look forward to exploring this Anne's relationship with both in the remainder of this story. Meanwhile, it is always wonderful when a fellow Jonathan fan makes themselves known. He is my Gilbert in everything I write and yes, a beautiful soul so very missed xx

Guest of Oct 15th (Ch 31): Haha! I am thrilled that I seem to have some forward momentum on a few of my stories at the moment and can finally thank readers by updating more regularly! I will keep on keeping on, as another reviewer put it!

Guest #1 of Oct 16th (Ch 31): What a lovely comment – thank you! I am glad to be compared to Santa in any respect, and you yourself have given ME the gift with such a sweet thought x

Guest #2 of Oct 16th (Ch 31): Thank you so much – I am so happy myself to finally BE updating! I have a plan for forging ahead on all my stories and am excited to share upcoming chapters!

Guest of Oct 17th (Ch 31): I laughed so much at your worry over the 'finer, happier day' ending to this chapter – and can see that in a certain light it is dreadfully doomsayerish! I can assure you that there will still be many good times ahead, but am not thinking total annihilation at this point! Thank you for your kind and flattering comments!

Guest of Oct 19th (Ch 31): Thank you very much!