A/N: Hello dear readers, it has been so very long since I last posted. My sincerest apologies for leaving you all waiting. I'm back to finish this story. Thank you so much for your patience. Please enjoy new chapters every Friday (hopefully). Fingers crossed!

An ice storm welcomed in the new year of 1886, curtailing plans for the annual young folks' bonfire and compelling all to seek shelter indoors. Gilbert and Anne felt no disappointment from such a turn of events, appreciating the opportunity to enjoy one another's company in their own little home without fearing the encroachment of any visitors.

After Christmas had been duly celebrated, the newlyweds were rather surprised to suddenly be the beneficiaries of numerous visits from folks throughout Avonlea. So many visitors came calling that Anne was obliged to bake daily an assortment of treats so that all who came would have the customary tea and pastry.

Clearly, the newlyweds were of great interest to Avonlea. Each visit was an attempt to glean insights into their whirlwind courtship and rushed wedding. Some visits were intended to unearth Gilbert's mystifying attraction to Anne. Others were to test Anne's mettle as a new housewife.

"You're a good housekeeper, Anne dearie," said Mrs. Rachel on one such visit. She had just been granted a tour of their home. "I've looked into your bread box and your scrap pail. I always judge a housekeeper by those, that's what. There's nothing in the pail that shouldn't have been thrown away, and no stale pieces in the bread box. Of course, you were trained up with Marilla—but, then, you went to college afterwards. I notice you've got my tobacco stripe quilt on the spare room bed, and that big round braided mat of hers before the living-room fire. It makes me feel right at home."

Gilbert, sitting beside Anne in the parlor, bristled at Mrs. Rachel's snooping. Anne opened and closed her mouth a few times, before simply saying, "Thank you, Mrs. Lynde."

After the matron's departure, Anne exclaimed, "I didn't know whether she was insulting or complimenting us!"

"You chose complimenting, apparently," said Gilbert.

Anne threw up her hands. "Better to do so. Mrs. Rachel Lynde is Mrs. Rachel Lynde, forever and ever, AMEN."

Some visits were more than welcome, however. Diana came with a splendid pie, and they enjoyed her conversation and company for hours. Fred visited and played jacks with them before the parlor fire on a winter evening. Despite the welcome visits from dear friends, both Gilbert and Anne were relieved by the respite that the ice storm offered them.

On New Year's Eve, Gilbert stumbled into the kitchen, half frozen, with the milk pail and eggs.

"Whew! It's a bitter night, Anne-girl," he told her, as she came hurrying to help him. He laughed ruefully, rubbing his backside. "I, uh, slipped and fell on the way back. See if the milk and eggs made it in one piece."

Anne lifted up the cracked eggs for him to see. "Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall... " she began.

"Humpty Dumpty slipped on ice," Gilbert corrected, while Anne giggled. "Did the milk make it?"

Anne looked into the pail. "A little at the bottom."

"Oh well," sighed Gilbert. "The milch cows are nearly dry anyway."

"Will there be calves in the spring?" asked Anne, helping him remove his coat.

Gilbert sat at the table to remove his boots. "Of course. Two, like last year."

Anne's eyes shone. "Calves are such darling creatures. What shall we name them?"

"Name them?" said Gilbert. "I haven't usually. They're just 'the calves,' and then they're just 'the yearlings.'"

"Oh, Gil," said Anne disapprovingly. "Whyever would you not name them? Don't they deserve names? Don't your other cows have names?"

Gilbert shrugged. "Somewhat. We call one Spot because of the spot on her head, and another we call Red because of her red color... "

"Goodness!" Anne huffed, sitting down to join him at the table. "You can't possibly be this lacking in imagination, darling."

Gilbert leaned over to play with a strand of Anne's loose hair, falling from her braid. "Definitely not," he said with a grin. "It was just… never a priority. It's not a good thing to get too attached to livestock." He thought of the sold yearlings and the hogs. "'Daisy' might end up in your soup bowl by the end of the year."

Anne rolled her eyes. "I agree to an extent, but milch cows, Gilbert, shouldn't they have a name? And not just some observation."

"I sense that the 'Great Naming of 1886' will soon be upon us," teased Gilbert in a lofty voice.

Anne slapped playfully at his arm. "Just you wait," she promised.

After a light supper, the couple sat before the fire in the parlor. Gilbert had spread a picnic blanket on the ground, and they sat quietly together. Anne held a teacup in her hands while she gazed into the flames with shining eyes. What was she thinking? Gilbert wondered, watching her.

The ice storm raged outside, sleet striking the walls and windows with a relentless rat-a-tat-tat. The cold crept in, held at bay by the parlor fire and kitchen stove. Anne shivered, and Gilbert put his arm around her, drawing her close. She roused from her reverie with a smile.

"What are you thinking, Annest of Annes?" he asked, kissing her cheek.

"Oh, I like that," said Anne. "Annest of Annes."

"And the kiss, too, I should hope," added Gilbert.

"I suppose," said Anne teasingly.

"You better," growled Gilbert, playfully pulling her onto his lap and kissing her thoroughly.

Anne succumbed to his kisses quite easily, and Gilbert slowly laid back on the floor with Anne still in his arms, enjoying the barrage of kisses as Anne became the instigator. He groaned as Anne straddled his waist.

"Anne-girl," he nearly purred.

"Annest of Annes," corrected Anne with a kiss.

"Annest of Annes," Gilbert said dutifully.

Anne smiled. "You asked what I was thinking earlier, and… it was this."

Gilbert groaned at the thought and pulled her closer to him.

"Perhaps you could prove to me that your imagination is not lacking," Anne teased, beginning to rock her hips atop him.

"Anne - darling," Gilbert murmured.

Anne began to unbutton her blouse, to unfasten her skirt, Gilbert watching feverishly.

His hands slid up her waist, to cup the fullness of her breasts. "My imagination failed to do these justice," he crooned, enjoying this game. Anne blushed. "They far surpass my most lurid thoughts in beauty and touch."

Anne, already pink, went red at his words. Chuckling, Gilbert reached up to stroke her heated cheeks.

"I imagined you - with me - like this," he confessed, smiling. "So many times."

"How so?" Anne whispered, eyes locked upon his.

"How can I count the ways?" Gilbert teased. "Perhaps I should show you instead."

"Perhaps." Anne's breathing hitched.

"Hmmm," said Gilbert. "We couldn't possibly do everything I've envisioned in one night." Anne's eyes widened. "But this is a good start."

He guided her lips to his and kissed her. Her hands found the buttons of his homespun shirt and swiftly unfastened them. Gilbert deepened the kiss.

The storm whirled and howled outside but all was quite heated within the old Blythe farmhouse that evening.

The storm delayed the opening of the school, roads were unmanageable, and the rail lines stopped. It was three days before the ice subsided, in frightening snaps and cracking sounds that could be heard all over the Island. Afterward, the ice was gone, and Island life carried on. Gilbert left for the schoolhouse for the first time since his wedding to Anne, bundling up and arriving early to light the schoolhouse stove.

As he huddled by the stove, he looked out at the little desks and the chalkboard. Nothing had changed, and yet everything had changed. He felt like a new man as he stood here, not just a schoolmaster. The yearning for a life beyond Avonlea did not tug at him as it had in the years he had taught at this school. And he knew that had everything to do with the wife awaiting his return a mile yonder.

The arrival of schoolchildren wrested him from his thoughts, and he passed a pleasant day instructing his pupils. When school came to an end in the afternoon, he left the schoolhouse as eagerly as the children, all hurrying through the cold to get home.

The old Blythe farmhouse was cozy and welcoming, cheery geraniums on the kitchen table and something delightfully aromatic in the oven. But Anne running into his arms and bestowing kisses was by far the best welcome Gilbert could have envisioned. She helped him remove his coat and unwind his scarf. He sat down at the table while she checked on the oven.

Some mail lay upon the table, and Gilbert began to sift through the envelopes.

"Mr. Harrison went into town today," said Anne, turning from the stove. "And he kindly brought us our mail. We had some letters from the mainland congratulating us on our nuptials, and a letter for you from Montreal from a Dr. Hughes?"

Gilbert was opening the letter as Anne spoke, pulling out the paper and reading.

Dear Mr. Blythe,

My name is Dr. Thomas Hughes, and I serve as assistant to Dr. George Branston. Dr. Branston is currently conducting field work in Western Canada, but he has empowered me to correspond on his behalf during his absence. My deepest condolences regarding the loss of your father and your friend. In regards to your question, extrapulmonary and pulmonary refer more to the parts of the body that are infected than an actual difference in disease. I hesitate to proffer any diagnosis from afar, but what I can tell you is that tuberculosis bacilli can be dormant in the lungs before becoming an active infection. Extrapulmonary tuberculosis is rather rare, perhaps existing in only fifteen percent of patients. I caution you to remain vigilant in protecting yourself from exposure to the disease. As we have known for some decades now, pulmonary tuberculosis is contagious. Although it is little comfort, there is no fear of contagion with extrapulmonary tuberculosis. Thank you for your inquiry and for your appreciation of Dr. Branston's lecture and paper regarding pulmonary lesions. I wish you good fortune.

Sincerely,

Thomas Hughes, M.D.

"What is it, darling?" asked Anne over his shoulder.

"An unsought but welcome reply," said Gilbert, folding the letter carefully. "It's been months, goodness." He recalled the letter he had written during the summer, and the medical journal that had inspired it. He had been so preoccupied with searching for answers to tuberculosis, but he had since become distracted, pleasantly so, by fine starry eyes and red hair. Said eyes were looking at him with some frustration he realized, wresting himself from his thoughts.

"What did he say? Who is this Dr. Hughes?"

"He is the assistant to Dr. George Branston, a leading physician in tuberculosis treatment," said Gilbert. "I wrote to Dr Branston after reading his lecture in the Montreal Medical Journal."

Anne's eyes softened and she brushed her fingers through his hair. "Consumption," she said quietly, "like your father, and Ruby?"

"Yes," said Gilbert simply.

Anne sat down at the table and took his hand.

Later in the night, Gilbert lay awake in bed, staring at the silvery shadows across the ceiling. Since reading the letter, his thoughts wouldn't settle. Thoughts of his father, of Ruby, of the illness that took them, and his helplessness kept him from sleep. Gone, gone, gone, sang his thoughts.

"Gone," Gilbert agreed, softly to himself, his heart heavy. It was a long time yet before he drifted off to sleep.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I greatly appreciate it. Come back next Friday if you would like to read more.