A small ornate clock tinkled, on the walnut cabinet, and a light, slightly troubled silence reigned in the room, after Claire Hallet's carefree pert words, which were almost an echo of poor Ruby's style, as were her sensibility and desire to be admired, by various handsome Redmond co-eds, Gilbert, thought lightly. He turned to look at Christine, who was standing diagonally in front of the mirror. Her dress, looked like a creamy cloud, in this half light, although Gilbert suspected that the whole was more complicated, with several layers, with laces, slippery buttons, and all mysterious unmentionable things, of which once years ago Josie Pye and Ruby Gills had whispered to each other, as Fred, and he before Alberta's time had sat on the lawn after Sunday school, the freshly cut hay had smelled and Fred had stretched at the time still in his coltish way and said steadily, confidently "Someday I'm going to be a farmer, and I want to betroth a beautiful girl, preferably one with a certain polish, none of Pye snappishenss, or Gills liveliness, but a kind of sparkle and practicality." Gilbert remembered that he had glanced around and said lowly, "Well then, I suggest that maybe you start looking in the direction of the Barrys." And as the years went by, Fred had indeed ended up courting Diana, with relish, with the result that in June there would be a first class wedding in Avonlea, uniting two local families.
Christine's gaze was steady, and direct as she remarked, slightly mischievously, "A penny of your thoughts?" Gilbert, smiled as he said, "Just whoolgathering. Remember to make sure Miss Hallet drinks enough water if she needs it."
Christine's smile widened, as a slight lecturing tone had crept into Gilbert Blythe's voice. So she replied, "Yes, Dr. Blythe." Gilbert's eyes flashed as he replied walking to the door and opening it, "Not yet, but God willing I may be."
The light humming of Christine´s voice, in some snatch of an Händel aria or other, as she closed the door to the corridor was the last thing Gilbert heard, twined with were slight murmurs of lively, if drowsy discussion.
The high rooms echoed with laughter, as Lambs were carousing there. Gilbert greeted a few of his casual acquaintances, and then his upright figure departed, and the broad shouldered shadow appeared momentarily in the streets of Kingsport, before the shadows swallowed it up. As he was walking towards his boardinghouse, across silent and dim Kingsportian streets, he started thinking about what he could get for Fred as a wedding present, his means were slim, but something would surely be found. Christine might give advice, but somehow Gilbert felt that he should make this discovery alone, for Fred as well as for him. There was still time.
One flushed reveller remarked in a somewhat crude style, " I happened to notice that a certain Miss Stuart, is still spinning her webs, as ever, it seems. Let's see how quickly the engagement takes place, if it takes less than nine months, as she works fast I have heard if it suits her." Arthur Gibson, glanced at his interlocutor and said briefly, "There is no need, as Blythe probably wouldn't know what to do if the opportunity presented itself, unlike many of you. Although he got excellent grades in anatomy, at least that's what I've heard. He comes from some small teetotaler island, did you see his expression before. Local bacchanals are not his scene, not at all. He is annoyingly competent, in all areas of study that is offered here. What is his weak point, I wonder?" Julian Cartwright, raised his water glass and said pointedly, "You're only bitter because Blythe is challenging you for the Cooper Prize."
The brightness of April felt less painful than a year ago, although as then, now, too, delicate clusters of woodsy violets, peeked out of shady nooks adorned with bright grass and moss, as Gilbert and Christine walked in the park. With difficulty Gilbert tried not to remember what day it was, because a year ago today everything had broken and he had barely sewn the fragments of his soul back together.
Christine leaned against Gilbert's arm, and said lightly, with gentle emphasis, "Shall we have dinner?" Gilbert, taking Christine's wrist in a light grip, remarked seriously, "I'm not hungry." The mere thought of food was at once unbearable and only Christine's light, effortless company, she had demanded nothing of him from the first moment, except impeccable politeness, and refreshing conversation, which was as far from the style of Avonlea girls as possible. Christine could not replace Anne because she was completely unique, her own kind, an original, but in the absence of that special bond, of friendship that had been broken, Christine's presence would have to suffice. Quietly, the shadows of the evening spun their enchantment, as Christine lowered her gaze, with slight downward sweep of inky lashes, as she murmured, "Too late."
Eventually their route, took them to one of Kingsport's old monuments. Christine, looking into the sparkling water, quoted Robert Burns, with a flair. And listening to those, painfully familiar, verses, of Afton Water, Gilbert could scarcely hold back a shudder, for in Christine's clear, trained, resonant voice, there was not an iota of that bubbling charm which had always kindled Anne's spark when Scottish poems had been read in past Avonlea days. And today that difference was merciful comfort, like an ice shard that stung.
There was an excited hum in the living room of Orchad Slope, as Gilbert and Anne walked together down the carpeted stairs as was befitted to maid of honor and bestman to do. Anne noticed that Gilbert looked very thin, but not at all ill, as a healthy flush had risen on his tanned cheeks, as he had met Anne on the landing upstairs, as they had exchanged glances. For a moment it seemed as if their old friendship had been reborn in the magic circle of Orchad Slope, on that night dedicated to happiness and love. Anne could distinctly feel the soft, grip of Gilbert's strong hand, and a slightly foreign scent wafting from his clothes, like cologne, that scent was intoxicating, and it brought a slight blush to her cheeks, and a starry sparkle to her fluctuating eyes.
Rachel Lynde, sighed to Marilla Cuthbert, "Oh, they look splendid together." Marilla, felt a little sting in her heart, for the sight of Gilbert in his tailcoat was the same as John Blythe had once been, his shoulders had the same firmness, and with uncharacteristic sharpness Marilla remembered the rumors that had circulated in the streets of the Glen, of Anne and her model Kingsportian beau, and the slight frostiness that was in Mrs. Blythe's eyes, always at church on Sundays, when she met Anne's open gaze, when the collection went round and afterwards when the matrons of Avonlea and Laidies Aid, exchanged news.
The wedding supper was full of sparkling merry-making, and all old tales told in weddings since dawn of time. Diana was a vision of lovelyness in her wedding gown, with a flush of rose in her cheeks, misty, frosty veil draped in becoming folds. Fred's eyes showed his heart as he held his wife's hand in his.
Gilbert stood up and raised his glass and said audibly, in his smooth baritone, "As everyone here knows, Fred and I, our friendship goes back a long way, ever since Fred came to pick me up fishing when we were about seven, or maybe eight? Fred - you are the best of men, and I know that with Diana by your side you have achieved one of your heart's secret desires. It is easy to talk about love and loyalty on your wedding day, but I want to talk about companionship, for you have both waited and hoped, and today we are gathered here to celebrate you both, when you made a solemn promise before God and us. And finally, as my own words may not suffice, I will now quote Tennyson, who describes better than I what awaits you, later tonight.
I have led her home, my love, my only friend.
There is none like her, none.
And never yet so warmly ran my blood
And sweetly, on and on
Calm'd thro' the springs of belonging,
And holy and heavenly love.
There was cheeky, irreverent sparkle in Gilberts eyes, as those present laughed, and wiped away their tears. Fred cleared his throat, as he said, "You will pay for that, Gil. Just wait your turn," his dark curly hair stood on end, as Diana murmured something in his ear, as a flush rose to his ears. Afterwards, when Fred and Diana were amid showers of rice and old shoes, they had gotten into the carriage, and driven along the moonlit road, to their home.
Gilbert, looked at Anne, who looked sweet, like a lily in the moonlight, as he asked, "May I accompany you? It would be pleasant to ramble, in this beauty of blooming night, to old haunts." The Lake of Shining Waters was like a glistening mysterious mirror, and the air had the secret, nightly perfume of countless flowers, as Anne glanced at Gilbert, who seemed distant, pensive, as he gazed at the familiar sight.
With a slight whimsy, Anne concluded that surely Gilbert's thoughts were centered on Christine. This enchanted path where Lovers Lane began was now safe, there was no more fear of confessions, for there was Roy and Christine, their presence had restored the balance, Anne mused.
Gilbert looked up from the blossoming tree, and murmured, his eyes fixed covertly on Anne's profile.
Where'er you walk Cool gales shall fan the glade
Trees where you sit Shall crowd into a shade
Trees where you sit Shall crowd into a shade
Where'er you tread
The blushing flowers shall rise
And all things flourish
And all things flourish
Where'er you turn your eyes.
Anne, looked up in surprise, and said, "Oh how beautiful, it's perfect for this moment." And meeting again, those open, bright eyes, which in the dimness were a pure gray, Gilbert said, sincerely, "It was just something that occurred to me, for I thought you would like it." And then, the silhouette of Green Gables loomed, streaked by moonlight, and Anne flew past Gilbert down the path.
Leaning against the gray solid fence of his homestead Ildewind, Gilbert let out a long shuddering breath, for he had not meant to quote Händel, but suddenly he had felt that he was laid to do it, for the indescribable, sudden joy that had flashed from Anne's being was had been worth it, though it was bittersweet, for Josie Pye had said earlier in the evening, "Anne Shirley gets plenty of letters from the mainland."
A/N: Tennyson's quote is from Maud. "Where'er you walk" is from Händel's Semele HWV 58.