Anne was coming home today. Gilbert had known this fact for weeks, yet whenever Avonlea conversation turned toward its prodigal, adopted daughter, he pretended an ambivalence that few believed.
It was common knowledge that Gilbert Blythe had held a candle for the fiery redhead from Green Gables ever since she had cracked a slate over his head when they were children. It was also common knowledge that Miss Anne Shirley would soon announce her engagement to a Mr. Royal Gardner, a man so far removed from the fortunes of Gilbert Blythe that there was absolutely no threat whatsoever from Avonlea's favorite son wherever Anne was concerned.
This distressing fact had plagued Gilbert ever since he had first heard of Roy Gardner two years before, straight from Anne's pen in one of the many letters of their frequent discourse. Roy was the summation of all Anne's imaginings: a tall and dark brooding man with all the poetic and romantic musings to sweep her off her feet. That he was also rich and one of the most eligible bachelors of Kingsport was merely icing on the cake.
Gilbert, meanwhile, was only a poor farmer and school teacher, obliged to remain on the Blythe farm in Avonlea due to various misfortunes that had befallen him through no fault of his own. That he was widely considered the most handsome of his Avonlea generation did little to compete with the brooding Kingsport prince. That he had one of the finest minds in Canada, let alone P.E.I., was a fact utterly unacknowledged and unappreciated by anyone in Avonlea.
Only Anne and a few precious teachers had realized his brilliance, yet his education had come to a halt when he had not won the Avery scholarship at Queen's Academy, an honor that had gone, albeit deservedly, to Anne, enabling her dream of attending Redmond College.
He had nurtured hopes of working his way to college, but those hopes had been dashed when his father fell ill again. His school teacher earnings had gone to doctor's bills and then to pay for another trip back West for the prairie cure. His mother and father went, leaving Gilbert to continue teaching at the Avonlea schoolhouse and manage the only asset they had left, the Blythe farm.
His parents eventually gave up on the prairie cure and returned, his father weak and near death. Yet he lingered for more than a year, his wife and son doing everything they could to ease his suffering. Along with the doctor's visits, Gilbert studied borrowed medical books late into the night for any remedy that might help. He had once dreamed of becoming a doctor, a dream so far from reality that he had only voiced it once - to Anne. She had listened and believed in him. She had no idea how much that had meant to him, even though those hopes were now well and truly dashed.
Gilbert Blythe had become fairly accustomed to disappointment and sadness over the years. The expectation of Anne's engagement was merely another, yet it struck him especially hard. His father's last, rasping words to him had largely consisted of heartfelt apologies for his son's lost dreams. Gilbert had not allowed him to say such things. His beloved father had then said,
"Perhaps there is one dream left to you, Gil. One of the red-headed variety. I would rest peacefully, knowing you had won her heart, my son."
He had given Gilbert a loving look, then spoke no more.
His words resounded in Gilbert's mind as he once again heard about Anne's upcoming engagement.
"He's rich to be sure, and dashing and wicked I presume," Mrs. Harmon Andrews was saying to his mother by the Blythe vegetable garden. Gilbert paused in digging the new furrows for planting the summer vegetables, while his mother leaned against the garden's picket fence.
"Now my Jane, she made sure to marry a sensible and good millionaire," continued Mrs. Harmon Andrews with the air of much knowledge on the subject of millionaire matches. "They cannot be too young, you know, these rich men. Too wicked and fast-paced at that age to be of marriageable material." Jane's husband, Mr. Millionaire-from-Winnipeg, was decidedly middle-aged, short and stout, with an ever growing bald spot.
"I'm sure he's a nice enough fellow," Edie Blythe said, nervously glancing over at her son. "Anne is whimsical, but she's not foolish. Marilla has seen to that in raising her."
"Well, Anne has been over in Kingsport for nigh on four years now," said Mrs. Harmon Andrews imperiously. "All that good Green Gables and Avonlea sense has likely been snuffed out of her with that city life and college learning. It's no good for these young ladies to be getting educated. Surely it fills their heads with nothing but nonsensical ideas of life outside the home."
Gilbert straightened up. "Women deserve to be educated, if they like, Mrs. Harmon. Especially women as smart and ambitious as Anne."
"Oh, Gilbert," Mrs. Harmon sighed. "This all must be dreadful hard for you. You've never quite had your senses wherever Anne was concerned."
Gilbert's lips pressed together, and he returned to digging furrows as Mrs. Harmon Andrews prattled on.
"I suppose you must now be thinking of finally courting one of the other Avonlea girls. Of course, you missed your chance with Diana and Jane, waiting around for Anne. Now my Gracie is a bit younger than Jane, but she's grown so lovely, shall I let her know you might come visit us sometime?"
"Now, now," said Edie, sensing Gilbert about to erupt, "Let's leave the young folks to themselves."
"I suppose," said Mrs. Harmon dourly. "But please do come by, both of you. This time of year must be extra trying for you since dear Mr. Blythe's passing last summer. If there's anything I can do, please do not hesitate to ask. But be sure to not come on Tuesdays or Wednesdays or Fridays, or rather any day other than Thursday."
"That's very kind of you," said Mrs. Blythe, smothering a wry smile. "We'll be sure to visit then sometime."
Gilbert's head flew up at this pronouncement, but his mother ignored him.
"Well, I'll leave you to your planting," said Mrs. Harmon. "I'm on my way to my son Billy's place. Did you hear that Nettie just had their second son? Beautiful baby. I just cannot bear to go too long without seeing his dear face. So like his father already. Bye bye now."
Gilbert hoped the poor child did not actually take after his round, pockmarked father, but perhaps it could not be helped.
Edie sighed and looked warily over at her son, digging furrows with a vengeance. She walked over to him and laid a gentle hand on his bronzed shoulder.
"I love you, son," she said simply. Gilbert paused. "You are so good, the best son we could have hoped for. You deserve so much more than what life has given you."
"Mother," Gilbert protested.
She smiled sadly at him. "I hope with all my being that you get the happiness you deserve someday. Until then, pay no mind to the meddling and gossip. None of that matters."
Gilbert nodded. "Yes, Ma."
"God lad." She patted his shoulder and turned to pull weeds.
They worked in silence, the late afternoon sun shining upon them. Gilbert wondered if Anne had arrived yet, perhaps she was already at the Carmody station. Perhaps her fiance had accompanied her, to obtain the Cuthberts' blessing. Anne's last letter had been vague about her return. Nearly all of her letters had been distant and vague this past year, her final year at Redmond, no doubt due to the question of communicating with another man whilst courting another. Every letter discussed nothing further than the weather or time of year, with the inevitable mention of the dashing and worldly Roy. Yet Gilbert had treasured each letter, reading them over and over, searching for hidden meanings. Anne had always maintained a strict boundary of friendship between them, but he felt that she had begun to treat him as an acquaintance of late, likely owing to her romance with the fascinating Royal Gardner. However, the latest letter had set his heart racing with possibility.
Dear Gilbert,
I am thinking of Avonlea and recalling all her glorious secret bowers. Springtime is just not the same here in Kingsport. There is only the briefest flowering of violets and other posies that could not possibly hold a candle to the beauteousness of Avonlea throughout its lovely springtimes and summertimes. I suppose 'beauteousness' is not a word, Mr. Spelling Bee, yet it should be. Redmond has not yet been able to correct my poor spelling, so I doubt it ever shall. Redmond has also been unable to curb my longing for dear old Avonlea. It is true, though, that whenever Roy speaks of the glory of Venice or the majesty of Athens, I feel that I have simply not seen enough of the world. But is it really impossible to imagine that our beloved P.E.I. could not compete with such grandiose places? Surely they do not have the springtime bowers I speak of. At least, I shall return soon and see for myself. I hope nothing has changed, when I feel myself so altered by the circumstances of the last couple years.
Your friend,
Anne (With an 'E')
P.S. Gilbert, please be sure to envision my name with an 'E' every time you think or say it. I have the most queer feeling that you have not been doing so, and it bothers me somehow.
In return, Gilbert had written:
Dear Anne (With an 'E'),
Does that suffice, oh Anne With an 'E?' Your queer feeling is doing you an injustice, because I have and will always envision your name with an 'E.' Avonlea is indeed lush with springtime flowers and showers. I have rarely recalled so wet a spring. I hope that will mean more flowers for you, Dryad, when you return home. I cannot compare Venice and Athens to our island, and I doubt I ever shall, but I believe in the beauty of our little bit of earth and am glad to call it home. Whither thou goest, I hope your heart will always see our island as home, for it shall always be a home to you. You also do yourself a disservice - 'beauteous' is indeed a word and correctly spelled, although 'beauteousness' is a new invention perhaps. I think it is a bit too rainy to currently use 'beauteousness' to describe Avonlea, but I am sure you would disagree. Unfortunately, the rain has also revealed the numerous holes in the schoolhouse roof. I believe there are more pots, pans, and pitchers in the desks than pupils. Unfortunately, the school board finds the structure still suitable for learning. Thankfully, the students are sturdy little tykes and thriving despite the wet. They inspire me with their enthusiasm, just as you inspired me to compete with your brilliance years ago in the same classroom. It is wonderful to know that you are now on the verge of being a fully fledged BA. I wish you the best of luck as you study for your final examinations. (Although I doubt you'll require any luck at all).
Yours,
Gilbert
The letter exchange gave him hope for the first time since Roy Gardner had come into Anne's life two years earlier. Gilbert was certainly not Anne's only correspondent, however, and the conversations regarding her letters to other Avonlea friends all revolved around her declared imminent proposal from Mr. Gardner. The gossip was so certain of Anne's upcoming engagement, that Gilbert began to believe he had too long searched for meanings where none existed.
Gilbert could guess that Anne would be upset, if unsurprised, that none of the excitement regarding her return was about her BA. Surely that was the true accomplishment? But little else could be expected from a small village that had never before seen one of its women graduate from college.
Gilbert was annoyed with himself at how he listened to the engagement gossip, attempting to glean any bit of news about Anne. His life of teaching and farming felt on hold as he dreaded the day Anne returned with an engagement ring upon her finger.
The sun was still bright with early summer sunshine, but closer to the horizon, when he wiped the sweat from his eyes and looked up from digging the furrows. His mother ceased weeding and removed her gardening gloves.
"I think that's good for today," she said. "I'll make some supper whilst you do the evening chores."
They washed up at the pump, Gilbert splashing water up onto his bare chest and slicking wet his brown curls. Edie dried her hands primly, then Gilbert dried himself before neatly hanging the towel on the clothesline. She went into the house, and Gilbert headed to the south pasture to fetch the cows. The verdant pasture was flecked with wildflowers, the Jersey cows contentedly grazing. At his approach, the cows came eagerly towards him, a couple of shy calves hiding amid their elders. He guided them toward the water trough in the barnyard, before settling them with fresh hay in the barn. Milking followed, and Gilbert filled a tin pail with the milk the calves had not consumed. He carefully covered the pail with a clean cloth.
The sun was setting as he made his way back to the house, checking in on the pigpen. Their two young hogs were already squealing for the slops that would be theirs from the day's kitchen scraps. Gilbert supposed the late supper he would share with his mother would be some baked beans and creamed peas with some of the new lettuce leaves from their garden.
He sat with a sigh on the broad red sandstone step of the Blythe farmhouse. The sun had set rapidly, and only the red glow of its setting could be seen along the horizon. Darkness fell over Avonlea, moody blue and black shadows blanketing the pastures and woods. A crescent moon was rising and starting to give off a pearly light.
He could almost see his life stretched out in front of him in the darkness of the summer night. It would be school teaching interspersed with backbreaking work at the family farm, making him slowly stooped and weakened over time. He would be a bachelor who lived with his mother until she died, and then lived alone until he died. Respected in the village, but known as that "poor old man." It would be a life of weeding and milking and creamed peas!
Suddenly, Gilbert could not bear it one single moment more. He leapt to his feet and bolted from the farmhouse, leaving behind the covered pail of milk on the step.
In the shadows, he ran headlong to the Haunted Wood, where he leaned against a tree and ran his hands through his hair. He yanked on his curls as if he would rip them out. Tears stung his eyes. Wiping them away fiercely, he bolted again, deeper into the wood, where he nearly fell as he stopped short.
An eerie figure pranced about with abandon beneath the wood's ghostly trees. The figure leapt and spun around as fluidly as a wood sprite, and Gilbert stood transfixed at the odd display. The elfin creature suddenly released a loud, delighted laugh, and Gilbert finally recognized who was dancing in the moonlit Haunted Wood. Heart in his throat, he stepped forward, and the wood sprite froze at the intrusion. Gilbert hastened forward, afraid that she would disappear just as a startled wood sprite might.
"Anne!"
The wood sprite raised her chin as only Anne could, nose in the air, reclaiming her dignity. There was an awkward moment of silence, then she cleared her throat uncomfortably and gave a soft laugh.
"Gilbert…. You must think me mad." There was another momentary silence, and then she laughed breathlessly.
Gilbert crept closer, hardly believing he had stumbled across Anne - Anne! - and at her most elfin. Her beautiful face caught the moonlight, her grey eyes shining with mirth.
"I must be dreaming," said Gilbert, then blushed as he realized that he had spoken aloud.
"No," said Anne hesitantly, ceasing to laugh and nervously fisting her hands in her skirt. "I really am this foolish. I suppose I'm never growing up at this rate."
Gilbert came to stand before her and smiled. "Where would be the fun in that?" He was close enough to see her blush. "What made you dance, oh Dryad?" he found himself saying, then winced at his words.
Anne colored again, and Gilbert felt a sudden horrible realization that she must be celebrating her engagement in her own elfin way. He had not yet noticed if a ring graced her finger and found that he could not see her hand due to the nighttime shadows. A visceral pain seared across his heart, and he began to back away, when Anne spoke.
"I was savoring Avonlea's secret bowers," she said quietly, looking at the ground. "The flowers are just as wonderful as you promised. It is so very wonderful to be returned home."
Gilbert hesitated, then asked, "Has your fiance returned with you?"
Anne glanced up at him, surprised. "I-I don't have a fiance."
Gilbert stared at her, uncomprehending. "I don't understand. I thought Roy Gardner - "
"I'm not engaged to Roy," said Anne. She colored again, and something like shame swept over her face, before she lowered her head. "I refused him."
"Re - refused?" stammered Gilbert.
"He proposed," Anne whispered. Gilbert crept forward to hear. "And I realized…. I realized… "
He was standing directly before her now.
"Realized what, Anne?" He could hardly bear the suspense.
But Anne was unwilling to reveal her revelation, for she suddenly shook her head, and then shook it again as though to clear it.
"How - how are you, Gilbert?" she stammered in turn. Finally aware of how close they were standing, she took a tentative step back, and then realized that they were holding hands. Gilbert had not noticed either, but his hand burned with the loss as they hastily disconnected.
"Fine," he replied softly. "Same as usual."
Nothing could be further from the truth. The trembling, tentative happiness that was coursing through him was certainly a rare occurrence. He felt as though he needed to retreat to a quiet place to sort his thoughts and emotions in the wake of this monumental knowledge. Anne would not be marrying the Kingsport prince. She had refused him! It seemed an incredible thing.
"Congratulations on your graduation, Anne," Gilbert continued, "You're a B.A., now!"
"Thank you," she murmured, then added, "It's good to be home."
A/N: Thank you for reading! To clarify, this story takes place with the premise that Anne accepted the Avery scholarship, Matthew did not die, and Gilbert's father did. I have also taken a few liberties with timing in this story, as you'll likely note. I hope you'll bear with me, especially since I'm a slow writer... I will attempt to post chapters regularly. I am so excited to finally write an Anne of Green Gables fanfic! - E