Hello and welcome to the beginning of my oft-promised 'Act 2' of this story. Thank you to everyone here who has reviewed, followed and favourited or even sent a lovely private message. Every acknowledgement is certainly a gift for a story that was for a long time languishing in the proverbial bottom drawer of my metaphorical writing desk x

There is, as you will find, not a time jump in the narrative as yet (the action in this update takes place parallel to the end of the previous chapter) and I am probably going to leap frog over time passages in this section rather than blitz through entire years. I have yet to develop Lucy Maud's knack of doing away with half a year at Redmond in a mere sentence! There are hopefully some interesting developments ahead as well as widening the scope of this to include more Ford family backstory.

With love

MrsVonTrapp x


Chapter Eighteen

'So free we seem, so fettered fast we are'


August 29th 2017

Text: David to Anne, 11.35am:

You will still be in the air but here on the ground I am already missing you x

Text: David to Anne, 2.15pm:

Let me know when you are settled. Call anytime. I love you x


Anne knew her mother's quiet calm was but a mere stay of execution. Their trip back to Toronto was scenic and silent. She stared out the little cabin window until David was not even a dot dwarfed by land and her vision blurred with her tears, her hand pressed against the glass in communion with him until it ached.

She turned to her phone, and then, uneasy, thought better of it. She did not want to send her mother into a tailspin by texting David every second. So instead she closed her eyes and relived some of their more passionate moments, until, exhausted, she dropped off to sleep and did not open her eyes until her mother was at her elbow, gently nudging her awake with the news they had landed.

There was silence, too, back home in their beloved Victorian in Cabbagetown; empty rooms devoid of any past-life recollections for her, which was both a relief and a disappointment. The noise and bustle waiting for them just beyond the front door was disconcerting after the relative quiet of the Glen, and both she and her mother shied from it. Grandad was a jollying presence but even he, now back on home turf, seemed preoccupied through their late lunch, though he made all the right responses regarding their time on the Island and chimed in with a few reminiscences of his own.

Grandad and her mother were both huddled in impromptu conference as Tessa saw him out, and Anne waited for her to return to start the inevitable inquisition. She did not have to wait long.

"Darling, I would like to talk to you about what happened yesterday," Tessa's opening gambit was accompanied by a heavy sigh. "Let's sit down in the lounge."

"Would you like me to lie down on a leather couch while we're at it?" Anne responded crisply.

"Anne, sarcasm won't help."

"No, Mom, but some honesty will."

Another sigh, but Tessa was determined not to rise to the bait, and just as determined to have a civilized talk sitting down in the lounge and not a screaming match in the kitchen.

Anne followed carefully, seating herself opposite her mother. Tessa's rich brown eyes were shadowed and her beautiful smooth skin seemed stretched too tightly over her high cheekbones. The obvious signs of her worry put paid to any more sarcastic interjections.

"Darling…" Tessa now hesitated. "I want to tell you that you worried us all sick last night, disappearing without any notice, and having us all scour the countryside for you. It was not mature or fair. I was terrified something may have happened to you. I beg of you to never do that again, Anne. I can't go through that yet another time."

The yet another time reference hung in the air, sad and mildly accusatory. Anne knew without being told that reference was not just about her.

"And I think, after everything that's happened the last day or so, that you should take a break from messaging David for a while. Give one another a little space. You have school starting in a week, and he'll have his MCAT results. You both have enough to consider for now."

"Mom, I'm sorry. I never wanted to worry you, or David, or Rob. But it's not fair to cut off communication with him! This is exactly the time when I want to be there for him, and him for me… And in my defence, regarding last night, I had just heard some seriously disturbing things. Well, overheard, more like, and maybe I can beg you not to share such personal information before you've even shared it with me!"

"Anne, that's the very reason why I didn't share it! Because everything with your dad was upsetting enough!"

"You think I couldn't handle the truth about him, or what you feel is the truth about me?"

"Sweetheart, there are so many layers to this, going all the way down, I hardly know the truth myself!"

"Mom, bottom line, you think Dad had a mental illness! And you think I'm developing one too!"

Tessa leapt off the lounge, pacing as she had the night before, teary and exhausted.

"Anne, I'm sorry I said those things when I myself was too emotional! I'm sorry you had to hear them that way. I don't want to draw a straight line between you and your dad. I realise that wasn't fair. But there are some… similarities in what you were seeing and describing… how you were acting… and I couldn't bear it if we had a chance to help you, to support you, and we didn't take it!"

Help YOU as I couldn't help your Dad… the unsaid words rang as a warning bell, clear as day in Anne's head.

"What sort of help are you referring to?"

"I think, Anne, you might feel better supported by seeing a therapist."

"A therapist? Or a psychiatrist?"

"Darling…"

"Because there is a world of difference between those two, Mom! Are you really wanting me to just talk about my feelings, or are you wanting me to be treated for my supposed psychosis?"

"Anne!"

"And meanwhile, shouldn't we talk about my Dad for five minutes? Since you think all of this stems from him?"

Tessa, pale and quivering, without any of the self possession that had protected her for nearly five years, flashed a moment of the bare-naked vulnerability audiences had wept over during her time as Lost Margaret. It stopped her daughter in her tracks.

"Anne, I'm not going to talk about your dad at the moment. I can't do that right now. Right now my focus is on you. And I am begging you to talk to someone. We can go together if you like, as we did… well, when you were younger. Of course I can't make you go. Legally or morally. But it would be such a relief to me if you do. And it might be for you, too…"

"Mom…"

"No more please, Anne, not now. I have a headache and probably need some sleep. And I don't want any more shouting in this house."

Anne watched her mother depart up the stairs, straight-backed and serious, the worry and stress and grief of the past days… perhaps the past years… clinging to her as a shadow. Anne swallowed with difficulty, suddenly shamed.

Well, fine… she would go and see a damned therapist. She would go until her mother was convinced she had healed. And then, once she was 18, an adult legally and morally, she would find someone who could actually help her.


Upstairs, Tessa listened with new tears to the simple, deliberately cheerful voicemail from Rob.

Hello Tessa. I hope you and Anne arrived back safely. Wonderful to see Anne's Grandad Tom again, as insultingly good looking as ever. Love to you both. Rob.

Sniffling loudly, she composed herself enough for a reply.

Voicemail: Tessa to Rob, 4.10pm:

Hello Rob, just letting you know that we arrived back in Toronto in good time and are getting settled. I may need a few quiet days with Anne to see what is really going on with her, so forgive me if I am slow in responding. Please thank David for everything he did yesterday and last night. He was amazing. I'm sorry I laid so many family problems on you both. And thank YOU for… for showing me that goodness still exists in the world. I won't ever forget our time together. All my love to you and David. Tessa.

There. There. Tessa breathed deeply, marshalling her tears. It had been a glorious summer romance, as golden as the sun on the beach that first date, when she had looked into those lovely hazel eyes and felt she was home.

But home was of course not some PEI pipe dream, but here, with the worry of her daughter and of history repeating. She couldn't be mother and lover both; something had to give.

Perhaps… it already had.

Listlessly beginning to unpack her suitcase, she stared at the phone when it rang and rang, as if Rob was in communion with her to pick it up. Several minutes passed in immobile silence, before she replayed her message.

Voicemail: Rob to Tessa, 4.19pm:

Tessa, I'm so sorry I missed your call! I've had the phone with me all day and of course the second I put it down…. Anyway, we are very relieved that you all arrived safely and naturally you'll both need some time. Take all the time you need – you know that David and I are always here. As for the summer… I know we didn't make any promises, but I promise you this, I will never forget our time together, either, and will treasure you and Anne always. All my love in return, Rob.

The tears fell then, in an emotional torrent that even Anne would have been impressed by. Sad, self indulgent tears just to hear the sound of Rob's voice and all the love and longing held within it. Once, she had thrilled to another voice, with its silken bravado and sardonic bemusement. Anne had asked her, at the start of the summer, whether given the chance she would have done it all again with Alex, knowing then what she sadly knew now. Would she have made the same choices? Would she have made the same mistakes? Take her daughter out of the equation and she simply didn't know.

She had been seventeen when, unbeknownst, she had met him – Anne's age now – and nineteen when he had properly met her. What advice would Tessa Ford have given young Teresa Carmichael?

Wiping at her tears and taking off her bracelet to clutch it pathetically in her hand, she ignored her strewn clothes and crawled into bed. She really didn't know the answer to that question, either.


Interlude: Tessa Ford

Pembroke, Ontario

March 1994 - May 1995

Teresa Carmichael hadn't necessarily thought her life would change with a trip to the mall. Certainly not her little local mall in Pembroke, Ontario, the proud Public Murals Capital of Canada. She was sixteen and in the first full flush of her beauty, later to be so lauded, but entering senior high it was at this point a bothersome burden, distracting from her quick intelligence and gentle humour, and a certain determination to make something of herself that became a heated desire but would never quite solidify into a cast-iron ambition.

Meandering the mall with her friends, the fluttering advert caught her eye on the community noticeboard stationed near the food outlets;

Casual, Weekend and Holiday Work Available at Champlain Trail Pioneer Village. Ring for details or forward CV with two referees to address below.

There was the fading sheet with the well-known stock photos of their local attraction, and at the end a tear-off section with the phone number required, as if they didn't trust potential applicants to take it down themselves or look up the number anyway. There was one tear-off stub left; hanging limply, if not forlornly. If there had been no stubs remaining she might never have bothered, but the one stub called to her, orphaned as it was, and she took it, ripping it off the page with a smiling satisfaction.

XXXXX

The Champlain Trail Museum and Pioneer Village was one of the premier attractions of Pembroke. Run by the Ottawa Valley Historical Society, it contained the museum with main gallery known as Founders Hall, complete with replica of Samuel de Champlain's astrolabe, which was, she became used to explaining, an ancient astronomical instrument that was a handheld model of the universe. There was also the chance to wander a Victorian home and, so the brochures reminded, take a peek into an early doctor's office. Past Pembroke's first motorized fire engine, a 1930's barbershop, a beauty salon and an enthusiastically detaileddisplay on the story of Upper Ottawa Valley's timber industry, there lay the Pioneer Village itself.

Having scored a job interview, Teresa fronted the next week with a copy of her scant CV in hand and hope in her heart. If she was going to aim for university at all she would, so her mother had gently reminded, have to begin to puzzle out how she was going to help pay for it. The woman interviewing her, if that's what you could call it, looked her over carefully, asked her to read a little of the back of the brochure aloud, and then wasted no time in measuring her for her costume.

XXXXX

At first her remit was simply, in her pioneer girl garb, to wander around the village and greet the visitors, giving herself up for directions and photo opportunities. It was not taxing but soon became unbelievably boring. Teresa took to doing some research on the various exhibits and positioning herself to share these tidbits as tourists strolled past, in an amusing and not altogether successful array of accents. Her ingenuity was thankfully not unnoticed and after a time she was trusted enough to fill in for the main guides giving tours through Pembroke's Lowertown schoolhouse (est 1838), the restored pioneer home and the Micksburg United Church (circa 1879), before encouraging visitors to explore the rest of the grounds, ensuring they didn't miss the blacksmith or the woodworking shop. When a girl resigned to go to college she became one of three regular guides, still in pioneer dress as the visitors liked that, with an undisputedly pretty face and the ability to learn her lines as any actress, steadily increasing in confidence and in command of both her voice and her makeshift audience.

She found she enjoyed playing a role… and most surprising of all, she rather enjoyed performing for an audience.

There were no roles, however, in and around Pembroke, its population of just over 14,000 barely fluctuating in the last thirty years, and very little in way of audiences. Her school had a modest performing arts program but offered little that might engage her. As her final year approached she continued to dream inward but look outward. She began, as best she could, to research drama schools and various performing arts college programs.

And she continued at Champlain Pioneer Village, beginning to feel as ancient as the exhibits.

XXXXX

The man was certainly keen on the pioneer history of the Ottawa Valley if he had followed her around for a second tour, Teresa noted one Saturday afternoon in May towards the end of her senior year. He stared at her as she spoke with a disturbing intensity, and she was almost certain he had snuck some photos of her on his fancy camera at one point. He wasn't being creepy, per se, but he was dangerously close to making her uncomfortable.

She'd had cause to make the occasional complaint to her supervisor, if a guy wanted to get a little personal with her after a tour or, even worse, insisted ad nauseum she should become a model, nearly always with a friend who knew a friend in the business. She certainly had no intention of becoming a walking mannequin collecting low self esteem and an eating disorder in the process, and so it was easy enough to accept the compliment and rebuff the advances. But this guy made no advances, just watched her from afar, took his photos and scribbled notes in his infernal little notebook.

When the remaining visitors from her tour had dispersed he still lurked outside their start point, the schoolhouse, wearing a baseball cap and aviator shades, trying to look like the average college kid but something about him smelled of money.

And really, he was slightly too old – and too purposeful - for the average college kid.

When she became convinced he was surreptitiously sketching her, her hackles rose.

"Most people at least ask!" she challenged, scowling towards him.

He turned to her immediately, pen poised and auburn brows flying to the rim of his cap.

"Ask?"

"If they want to take a photo of me. And especially if they want to make a sketch of me!"

His full lips curved into an amused smile.

"And why would I want to make a sketch of you, darling?"

That silken voice threaded like a cold needle down her spine, her nerve endings tingling. She almost moved reflexively at the sound of it. Teresa instead crossed her arms in front of her chest disapprovingly, unfortunately forgetting the motion thrust said chest up and out to hover too near her not-quite-authentic pioneer girl neckline.

"Because the Lowertown schoolhouse is not that interesting."

The flash of a full-bodied grin unsettled her, disturbingly, and he swept a quick and slightly impolite glance over her.

"You're right, there."

He was leaning against a fence with entitled nonchalance but moved, still several feet away, to more closely inspect her. There was a hint of curling copper hair under his cap, bright in the gentle afternoon sun. She wished he would remove his shades for a moment so that she could know the color of his eyes.

"What are you doing here?"

"Taking in the scenery."

"Do you use that line often?"

His dark chuckle was more than she could handle, infuriating and mesmerizing in equal measure.

"Is it working?"

Something in his tease tugged at the corners of her mouth.

"God, that's better. You look just as beautiful when you scowl, but it tends to ruin the effect."

Really, his audacity was off the charts.

"I'd rather not have you make personal remarks, thank you very much."

"Apologies, ah…. Kate…" he leaned in slightly, completely unrepentant. Though I'm sure you're used to them by now."

Her porcelain cheeks sparked pink at his casual, almost throwaway compliment, and also for the unfortunate choice of name tag she'd had to borrow, having left hers that day at home. Of all the times to forget it! But it was too late to correct him now. She'd introduced herself to two successive tour groups as Kate. He might have remembered a Teresa, but he was never going to remember a Kate.

"What are you actually doing here?"

"Research, darling."

She could have protested at the tiresome darling, but she was more interested in the research.

"On pioneer life?" she answered dubiously. "Or ways to best annoy tour guides?"

"You are very distrustful, young Kate," he drawled, moving incrementally closer and flipping quickly through his notebook. Her eyes widened at the close-written notes, the rapid-fire observations, the very accomplished quick sketches of the surrounds… and of herself.

"Are you a journalist?"

"Hell, no," he laughed derisively. "A writer."

"A writer?"

"Does that seem so unlikely?" he flashed his bemused smile at her again, trying to get her back on side.

"No…" she frowned a second time, trying to get a read on him, till he tutted at her and she remembered his earlier edict, making an attempt to smooth her features. "What are you writing?"

He paused, considering his answer.

"The next Great Canadian stage production."

"Well, good luck with that," she smiled, a mite archly.

"Mmm…" he raised another brow at her gentle jibe.

"At least a writer is better than a modelling scout," she offered, trying to be conciliatory.

"Come across a few of those, have you?"

She rolled her brown eyes and then relaxed her arms, something in her searching out that laugh again, hand on hip and striking a ridiculous, exaggerated pose.

She was rewarded by his laugh, however briefly, before he shook his head at her, tucked the notebook in his back pocket, and consulted his watch. His gold Rolex kind of watch.

"Must be going now, young Kate. Thanks for the tours. They were very… informative."

"Have you got all the research you need?" she asked a little desperately, suddenly wanting to forestall him as he began to move off.

"I have the flavour of it, thanks," he smiled again, mouth downturned wryly.

She didn't want to watch him depart with this sudden, pathetic wistfulness, as if sorry he had to leave; a puppy just abandoned by its new owner. Teresa had the feeling he was already too used to that reaction. But she stared sadly after him anyway.

"Hey, listen," he turned back unexpectedly, shrugging off his sunglasses in surprising earnestness. "For Christ's sake, don't throw yourself away on modelling. You have a lovely speaking voice, good presence, great posture. And God knows you have the looks. Use them for something better."

She was too gobsmacked to thank him, and he did have a way of making a compliment sound like a passing grade on an invisible report card. But she hadn't yet talked to anyone about her acting ambitions, except for vague allusions to her perplexed parents, and here he was, this flash, infuriating, annoyingly handsome cashed-up stranger, seeing some potential in her anyway.

"I've been applying to drama schools!" she spluttered, as if seeking his approval.

He nodded agreeably, his smile wolfish. "Good luck with that."

"I've been researching places in Ottawa and – "

Those sunglasses slid on again, almost in disappointment, hiding his eyes from her. He was too far away for her to conjecture on the color. Hazel? Pale blue? Grey?

"Kate, darling, I said something better. Nothing against Ottawa, mind you, but you don't want to be a politician, do you? Or marry one."

He continued up the sloping path back towards the entrance.

"Toronto, then!" she shouted after him.

"That's more like it!" he smirked, giving her a final departing wave.


Text: David to Anne, 11pm:

OK, I can't sleep. Missing you is worse than waiting for results for the MCAT.

Text: Anne to David, 11.07pm:

I'm sorry I haven't texted earlier. Was pretty exhausted (I wonder why?!) and slept on the plane, then we a had a late lunch with Grandad, then I had massive fight with Mom and I crashed again after that, too. I can't remember the last time I fought with her, but it had to have been over Dad after he died. How ironic this fight was about him, too. She is on at me to take a 'break' from messaging you for a few days. AND she wants me to see a therapist. Well, you can imagine how well THAT all went down! If this continues I'll have to get myself legally emancipated. Meanwhile I love you and miss you and not being with you is harder than I ever imagined x

David: It is harder than I ever thought too. And don't apologize. I am happy just to hear from you whenever you can.

Anne: Even if it's just whole paragraphs of me venting?

David: The venting is clearly the best part. And I'm a champion venter too, you know.

Anne: I can't really see the venting. I can only see stoic stiff upper-lip-ness.

David: That's because you haven't seen me watch any sports on TV.

Anne: Right.

David: Hey, Anne?

Anne: Mmm?

David: Can I ask you something?

Anne: I believe you just did!

David: Smarty pants. Can I ask… do you WANT to see a therapist?

Anne: I don't know. Definitely not the type my mom wants me to see. Anyway, I can handle that. What I can't handle is her lying to me all this time.

David: I am so sorry about how that went down back here.

Anne: It wasn't your fault.

David: Well, plenty else was.

Anne: That's NOT how I see things, David! I know ultimately you were just trying to help. Meanwhile my mom has sat on this for YEARS. And though she wants me to talk to a stranger she won't actually talk to ME about it.

David: Anne… please go easy on her. I saw how upset she was. She was only trying to protect you.

Anne: God, I know! But I'm still so…. ARGH! I can't wait until I'm 18! I can't wait until I'm at uni!

David: I can't wait till I'm at uni too….

Anne: PLEASE get an offer for U of T!

David: I will certainly try…

Anne: And then we could see each other all the time!

David: Tempting, tempting… but you know, we can see each other VERY SOON too…

Anne: ?

David: My BIRTHDAY, Miss Ford! When I reach the ripe old age of 21.

Anne: Positively ancient!

David: Have SOME respect for your elders, now.

Anne: Grave apologies, Sir.

David: Funny. So October 12th* is the day, which is a Thursday… obviously the party will be the Saturday 14th (not Friday the 13th!) If you could get off school you could come and stay for a long weekend!

Anne: Tempting, tempting…

David: Your Mom too, of course.

Anne: If I haven't moved out by then!

David: You'll come?

Anne: Are you kidding? Of course! I'd love to!

David: Good. It's a date. Max, and Maddie will be there, and Meg if they can. So you'll know some people.

Anne: Great

David: Well, I'd better let you get some more sleep. And don't stress the stuff with your Mom. I'm sure she'll have a proper talk with you soon. And remember, I'm here, and definitely cheaper than a therapist.

Anne: Thank you David. I love you x

David: Love you more!

Anne: Not possible.

David: Night, Anne.

Anne: Night, Gerald.


August 29th 2017

Text: David to Anne:

Hey Miss Ford. Day 2 of you being back in the big city. Exciting times here. I cleaned my room and half of the garage. I made some space for all that stuff we had brought down from the attic for whenever you want it again. And then I was sick of being in the house and went down to the shore. It was a bit blustery today but I braved it all the way down to the strip of beach we went to, and to our little picnic in the dunes. Remember in the dunes, Anne? You had better. That's one of my favourite memories of us here And then I caught Max for a drink in town. He says hi and that Maddie will be in touch soon. Hope you are doing better. When does school start? I never did ask whether you have a cute public school uniform with a straw hat and everything. Any pics of that greatly appreciated. Love and all the love, David x


August 30th 2017

Text: David to Anne:

Hello, oh dryad! Meant to say I found my copy of Keats in my clean up as well. Do share any pearls of wisdom whenever you open up your 'Seven Centuries of Poetry' again. I may be a science nerd but I'd still like to hear what you are studying. In today's adventures I went out to Four Winds. I know the place definitely has mixed feelings for you now, but I think we can keep the night at the lighthouse x I wish I had taken you there during the day. It was a gorgeous afternoon, warm and clear and just beautiful. You'll be pleased to know I resisted the urge to break in again. I miss you. There are so many echoes of you here, all over the place. You put your stamp on it. I think Dad hears the echoes of your mom, too. He's been a bit down in the mouth and has finally remembered he actually has a job and an office to run. No pressure, just check in when you can. Love D x

Text: Anne to David:

Hello Mr Blythe. I am so sorry for my radio silence. I thought of FaceTiming you but couldn't trust that Mom wouldn't come and snatch the phone off me. Things have gone from bad to worse. Firstly, our class lists were uploaded and I am in most of my classes with a horrible bunch of girls who make the Mean Girls crew look like preschoolers. Secondly, Mom refuses to talk about Dad till she can double check with the psychiatrist about it. Thirdly, yes I had my first session today with this ancient old dude (and not unfortunately the turning 21 sort of ancient) because he could squeeze me in (probably because he has no other clients) as his younger offsider was still away on annual leave and it did not go well and I have refused to see him again. And then looking at your texts I am just so sad and wishing I was back with you in the Glen. And we DO have brimmed hats for the warmer months, though thankfully not straw! I am figuring the Lowbridge High dress code was slightly more casual. I might transfer there at this rate. And of course I remember the dunes x My memory of that day is a need in every respect as well as a want. And of course you are NEVER going to see a pic of me in my uniform! All my love, A x


August 31st 2017

Text: David to Anne:

Anne, I am so sorry about the therapist and your mom. Maybe you just need to find someone who is the right fit. Trust No One till it feels right, Miss Ford. Meanwhile I can match you for sad and frustrated. I was pretty down today. The summer is ending and things are so uncertain and once I thought that would be exciting – to not know what was round the next corner – but now I feel a bit sick with it. I don't know what I'll do if I crash and burn on the MCAT. It will hardly be worth having applied to any med schools if I do, even though I've applied virtually everywhere, and I don't really want to go back to Redmond for honors and another year of essentially marking time. Running away with you sounds pretty damn good about now. Meanwhile I went down to the Valley this afternoon and I think you will recognize this tree… and you might note in the pic I'm sending it has some new adornment… I love you. David x

Text: Anne to David:

David, don't make me cry! I love that tree. I LOVE both our initials there! Thank you thank you! I wish I could say more, but I am out at Grandad's. I think Mom hopes he can influence me into giving some therapy another go. I just hope he might tell me SOMETHING about my Dad. And you will NOT crash and burn on the MCAT. You are seriously a brilliant guy who is scary-smart and talented and you will have the most amazing medical career. Just hold on a little longer. If that fails, just imagine you are holding on to me xxxxxxxx Love always, Anne x

Text: David to Anne:

Anne, I wish I could hold onto you now. Really tightly. Because everything I thought I knew has just been upended. And everything you said at the House of Dreams that we… Jesus. Where to begin? Remember how my dad was waiting on some info and photos from Avonlea? Well, he got them today. And they are… the photos are… wild. It's just wild and incomprehensible. There are photos of the classes in the old Avonlea school, around the 1870's, and I swear to God it's a photo of you as a student there and later a teacher. That's how similar you are. And one of the students looks exactly like me. I'm talking about your favourite people, Gilbert and Anne Blythe. And I know that looks can come up again in families and that it is probably a coincidence but it's really freaked me out and I… [message deleted]

Text: David to Anne:

Hi Anne. Thanks for those really lovely words and all your support. I really appreciate it. I might check out for a few days, if you're OK with that. You know, the MCAT results coming up and everything. I'm a bit on edge and probably not good company, even from afar. I'll let you know how I go. Take care and don't let those Mean Girls get to you. Love, D x


Chapter Notes

Back to the Brownings! This week's chapter title is from Robert Browning from 'Andrea del Sarto'

*I naturally give all my Gilberts, and characters-chanelling-Gilbert, Jonathan Crombie's birthday of October 12th x And that date in 2017 was a Thursday!

A little on Pembroke, Ontario… a shout out to any readers who do happen to hail from this area or elsewhere in the Upper Ottawa Valley 😊 All broad descriptions and features of the Champlain Trail Museum and Pioneer Village are as accurate as I could make them, though I acknowledge tour guides could well have been volunteers and not paid. My research for this update was very interesting. In Australia we have a great fondness for recreated pioneer settlements 😊

And I have a great fondness for the name Kate. I have two lovely friends and a cousin called Kate. Please, Kates of the world, don't forsake me for having to use your name in this way for narrative purposes x


And a little correspondence…

DrinkThemIn: Ah… the perils of writing a 17 year old! So changeable! I am so pleased you highlighted Anne's mixed messaging here. Angry and then forgiving; in love but uncomfortable with a love token. She is all over the place and processing some big revelations on the fly. I am very pleased that came across. And yet I hope readers see her maturity in other areas. Meanwhile… yes, an eliza Easter egg for those in the know with that allusion to working in a lab – thank you for picking up on it, as several readers did 😊 Meanwhile, I am very excited to bring forth more glimpses of Alex Ford… as you so beautifully noted, we have seen him through the cipher of other character's perspectives, but not yet had his own. It's coming… but meanwhile, hope you enjoy the teaser of him in this update! Thanks as always for your thoughts and reactions x

Guest of Jan 11th (Ch 17): Hello and thank you so much for your comment! No time jumps yet, but lots of leapfrogging to get to the good bits (I hope!) Thank you for noting this Anne's relative quickness to forgive. That was important to me. Canon Anne's grudge against Gilbert is partly the action of an eleven year old girl, and I did not want to carry it over for my Anne. Hope you enjoy this update!

Guest of Jan 16th (Ch 17): Dear Guest thank you for your lovely comments – you have brightened my day with them and I am so pleased I can return the favour x I am thrilled you are loving this story and hope you enjoy this upcoming 'act' – which entails a lot of the growing up, as you rightly note, necessary for these characters.

A: Hello A! Thank you so much for your review and your thoughtful, on-the-money observations! I really appreciate them! The Fords definitely breathe rich and rarefied air and I am very glad this came across, even in the brief glimpse of Grandad Tom and his private plane. I also grinned at your thoughts regarding Anne swanning about with Toronto Roy types who run in her family's social circles… you are closer than you know and it is going to be an education for Anne and David both to be separated over this second act… it won't be ten years but, by and large, it will definitely by 5-6. So the times their paths DO cross will hopefully have a lot of meaning. Thanks also for your astute note regarding Tessa – there is definitely a vibe of her closing ranks on Rob and David as a protective measure that will continue to play out in these next chapters. Thanks again so much for your comments!

Grey hen: Thank you so very much! Sorry you had to wait so long!

Guest of March 1st (Ch 17): Thank you! Little leaps, rather than a big jump, but hopefully it will pay off!