A/N: So sorry for the delay. We have all been sick over at our house the last few weeks, and it's made me reassess my self-imposed weekly posting. I'm going to aim for every two weeks on Saturday, since Fridays seem to be a challenge for me! Anyway, we are finally feeling better, and here is the latest chapter. I hope you enjoy this wedding. :)
One May day Avonlea folks were mildly excited over some "Avonlea Notes," signed "Observer," which appeared in the Charlottetown Daily Enterprise. Gossip ascribed the authorship thereof to Charlie Sloane, partly because Charlie had indulged in similar literary flights of fancy in times past, and partly because one of the notes seemed to embody a sneer at Gilbert Blythe. Avonlea juvenile society persisted in regarding Gilbert Blythe and Charlie Sloane as former rivals in the good graces of a certain damsel with gray eyes and an imagination.
Gossip, as usual, was wrong. Gilbert, aided and abetted by Anne, had written the notes, putting in the one about himself as a blind. Only two of the notes have any bearing on this history:
"Rumor has it that there will be a wedding in our village ere the daisies are in bloom. A highly respected citizen will lead to the hymeneal altar one of our most popular ladies.
"Uncle Abe, our well-known weather prophet, predicts a violent storm of thunder and lightning for the evening of the twenty-third of May, beginning at seven o'clock sharp. The area of the storm will extend over the greater part of the Province. People traveling that evening will do well to take umbrellas and mackintoshes with them."
Of course, the wedding referred to the upcoming nuptials of Fred Wright and Diana Barry. But as for the weather forecast…
"Uncle Abe really has predicted a tremendous storm for a long while," said Gilbert, "but do you suppose Diana and Fred's wedding will beat the daisies?"
"A good chance, I suppose," said Anne, laughing. "Although if the daisies come first, we can add them to her bridal bouquet."
Gilbert had chanced upon the idea of writing the notes as a distraction. Anne had been much preoccupied with her mysterious manuscript, and Gilbert was growing more impatient to read it. The notes had quite succeeded, albeit temporarily, in preventing him from sneaking a peak at her work.
Avonlea was abuzz with the notes, and Charlie, quite at the center of them, was thrilled to be of such importance. But poor old Uncle Abe felt rather indignant over the notes. He suspected that the "Observer" was making fun of him. He angrily denied having assigned May for his storm, insisting it was August, but nobody believed him.
The wedding day of Diana Barry and Fred Wright arrived, with nary a daisy in sight. Gilbert gloated about this as he escorted Anne to Orchard Slope early to ready the bride. He then made his way to the Wright farm to ready the groom.
Said groom was redfaced and pacing outside the house. Gilbert hailed him as he arrived.
"Congratulations, Fred. Beautiful day for a wedding."
"Yeah," said Fred. "I'm nervous. Come in for a drink?"
Inside, the Wright family was readying themselves for the wedding. Mrs. Wright smacked Fred's hand as he stole a sugar cookie.
"Those are for the wedding, dear. Shoo!"
Fred and Gilbert hastily made their way to the cellar, where Fred filled them a stein each of home-brew. They clinked the pewter mugs together and drank.
"To Diana," said Fred. They clinked and drank again.
"To a lifetime of love and joy," said Gilbert.
"Thanks mate," smiled Fred. Another clink and drink.
"To a firstborn son," said Fred, raising his mug.
"Or daughter," amended Gilbert. They drank.
"To predictions and forecasts," said Gilbert with a wink.
Fred gasped. "It was you! I just couldn't wrap my head around Charlie being that clever."
"Don't worry, he isn't," said Gilbert rather uncharitably. "It was Anne and I."
Fred laughed. "Poor Charlie, and poor Abe. He's quite distraught about it, you know."
"At least Charlie's thrilled about it," said Gilbert. "And perhaps we've done Uncle Abe a favor, and a storm will come by the end of the month. There's as good a chance as any."
"Sly fox," said Fred, raising his mug.
Gilbert grinned, raising his stein as well, and took a gulp.
They soon finished their beers, and a couple more, before emerging from the cellar to discover it was time to depart. Both young men were bright-eyed with drink, and Mrs. Wright looked at them with disapproval.
"Heaven help me, it's your wedding day, son," she said, wringing her hands.
She had both of them sit down and have a slice of buttered bread, before washing her hands of them. Walking off in a huff to the cookies and pies ready for the wagons, she muttered under her breath, "Lord, may they sober up in time for the wedding. Must women do everything? Poor Diana!"
Only slightly stumbling, which could have been very well attributed to nerves not drink, the groom and Gilbert soon led the way to the wedding at Orchard Slope, the Wright wagons trundling along after them filled with womenfolk and the many fruits of their labor.
Gilbert was alert enough to realize he did not quite want to appear this way before his wife, let alone an entire wedding. A ripple of shame and frustration wended through him. When they arrived at Orchard Slope, however, the house was such a hubbub of activity that two men in their cups were scarcely noticed, even if one of them was the groom. They were also hardly the only ones who had partaken of some drink. Quite a few men, as well as Mrs. William Cartwright and the elderly Almira Andrews, appeared to be tipsy. Teetotaler Mrs. Barry must have felt enormous consternation to have intoxication on her premises. At least she would, if she were present. Gilbert mulled that she must be upstairs with the bride. As he wandered through the bevy of jubilant wedding guests, it occurred to him that perhaps Mrs. Barry's prohibitionist stance had backfired on her daughter's wedding. Anticipating no wine or beer, guests had arrived already soused.
Before long, Anne appeared at his shoulder and gave him a quizzical look. Gilbert shrugged helplessly, and Anne gave him a benignly disapproving smile.
"How's the groom?" she asked sagely, knowing if Gilbert was in this state, Fred must be also.
"He's well," said Gilbert firmly. Anne arched a brow at him.
"You best fetch him," she said. "The minister is here, and Diana is ready to come down."
Gilbert hurried to the door and found Fred once again pacing outside, the pink and snow of the blossoming orchard behind him clashing remarkably with his reddened face.
"Is it time?" asked Fred, looking up.
Gilbert nodded and clasped Fred's shoulder. "You're a lucky man, Fred," he assured him.
"I'll feel luckier when this is all over," moaned Fred with anxiety.
Gilbert readily agreed, wondering if Fred was even aware of his double entendre. Gilbert guided him inside, reassuring him all the while. Slightly mollified, Fred ambled, red-faced, into the house. He found his place before the parlor fireplace, while Gilbert waited at the stairs for the bridesmaid. It should be Ruby, thought Gilbert as he offered his arm to a cousin of Diana's. Diana would have longed for Anne, or Jane, or Ruby to be her bridesmaid, but two were wed, and one was…. No, Gilbert would not finish that thought. A burning filled his eyes, and he surreptitiously dried his eyes as they entered the crowded parlor.
His eyes were certainly not the only teary ones present. Anne's eyes were misted with tears, but her gaze was focused on her bosom friend behind Gilbert. Diana swept into the parlor on her father's arm. Nothing untoward occurred to interrupt the ceremony, despite the intoxicated guests in attendance. Almira Andrews fell asleep, but this was not unusual, and as long as she did not snore, few were perturbed by it. Even Mrs. Lynde did not object.
Feasting and merrymaking followed, much more than should have been enabled by lemonade. As the evening waned, Fred and Diana drove away through the moonlight to their new home, and Anne and Gilbert walked to theirs.
The night was so very still that one should have been able to hear the laughter of those daisies that Gilbert had predicted - the piping of grasses - many sweet sounds, all tangled up together. The beauty of moonlight on familiar fields met the pleased eyes of the young couple, slowly strolling home.
Gilbert paused to pluck some mayflowers, which he handed to Anne with a flourish. She accepted them with starry eyes as they crossed the bridge over the Lake of Shining Waters, in which the moon lay like a great, drowned blossom of gold.
Anne paused on the bridge. "Lovers' Lane is a veritable path in fairyland tonight," she said, tucking the mayflowers behind her ear.
Gilbert bent to kiss her upturned face. They kissed for some moments before continuing on their way.
"The wedding was pretty much as I used to imagine it long ago," laughed Anne. "She was the bride of my dreams, with the 'lovely misty veil.' But, alas! I was not the bridesmaid. Neither is my heart wholly breaking nor do I exactly hate Fred."
"Well, you were the bride of my dreams," said Gilbert, giving her hand a squeeze.
"And I had very happy reasons that I was not able to be a bridesmaid," said Anne, smiling at him and caressing the slight swell beneath her gown.
"It's unfair, though," said Gilbert. "I have the same reasons, but my presence as a best man was perfectly acceptable."
"Aunt Katherine would be very proud," said Anne. "She's made you a suffragist!"
"Would that be so bad?" asked Gilbert.
"Not at all," said Anne. "She has a point!" She walked up the sandstone porch steps and turned around to plant a kiss on the top of Gilbert's nose.
They went into their house of dreams with a lightness in their step, their life filled with love and hope.
May slipped away in sweeps of mayflowers and eventually daisies. And the evening of May twenty-third came and went with a beautiful and thoroughly dry and calm sunset. The lovely evening was met with laughter by readers of the Avonlea Notes, and only slight consternation by Uncle Abe and the Observer. Or should we say Observers?