November was coming to an end, there was a threat of rain in the air and most of the trees were reaching for their branches like hungry, ghostly hands. Parlor of the House of Dreams had been flooded with golden memories of the past summer, with the apple wood logs crackling in the fireplace, and the shadows of Gog and Magog being reflected on the wall.
Anne looked up from Owen Ford's latest letter.
About a handful of those letters had come every now and then, and every time Owen Ford's name was mentioned in the company, a quiet, barely noticeable hunger reflected in Leslie's eyes, and a slight blush rose on her cheeks, for few moments, in alluringly shadowy corners of House of Dreams where Leslie sat her usual seat, as Captain Jim and Gilbert argued, and Miss Cornelia entertained them all with her varied, refreshing opinions.
Miss Cornelia glanced sharply at Anne Blythe and said briefly, "I don't care what Mr. Ford might be doing in Toronto, gallvating probably, like all men. He came here for three months, and did his tricks."
Anne Blythe glanced warily at the last of the warm golden aspens and birches that swayed in the wind outside the windows of the House of Dreams Miss Cornelia's unmoved look, she sewed so fiercely, that Anne mused that Cornelia was stabbing with her shining needle the whole male sex, in her imagination, as Cornelia continued in a low voice, " All autumn there has been some new sorrow in Leslie's eyes, and that man, is surely behind it.I feel that it is my fault that that man came here. Anyway, one man starts the destruction, and another one about sixteen years later ends it. Mind you, I think Leslie never did love Dick, she is so dutiful, Captain Jim agrees with me things about Leslie are one of the few things we always pretty much agree on." Cornelia's knitting needles were tinkling, as she remarked "Has Leslie told you something, if so, even a little you have gained a place in the innermost chamber of that girl's heart, as Leslie really does not do confidences."
Anne was looking silently at Cornelia, as she said tactfully, and a little surprised, "How did you know?" There was a light smile in Cornelias fresh features, as she noted with twist of asperity, "Because it's you, Anne-dearie. You have the ability to make people open up, and with you Leslie has regained her former girlhood."
The winter became snowy and long. After New Year Anne and Leslie spent time together, sitting in silence, the frost conjuring icy flowers outside the windows. Finally, spring slowly began to arrive, like a shy maiden.
The March light was bright and slightly honey-toned as Gilbert walked across the cross-lots road to Moore House. His mind was made up, he would do his duty. For half a year, everything he had read about cranial drilling and neurosurgery in his spare time. Dick Moore was an extremely interesting case, medically, and in Montreal it was possible to perform that operation.
Anne's fierce, almost desperate resistance had come as a surprise. Some emotion had flashed in Anne's eyes, as she had scolded Gilbert in the most sensitive, cutting words.
Anne's focus had been on Leslie, on Leslie's feelings, and on unsaid things that were as light and icy as snowflakes.
Anne had treated Gilbert coldly, the last few days.
And just when Gilbert had taken his hat from the rack, and said, "I'll go to Leslie now."
Anne's neck had shone pearly white, and she hadn't even turned her face towards Gilbert, as she had been seemingly immersed in reading, her everlasting Tennyson.
Leslie, looked up from her accounting. And sadly she looked at the corner of the room where Carlo's bed had been before. The dog was now sleeping forever, in a corner of the garden.
The knocking repeated.
With tired, limp steps, Leslie walked to open the door to the veranda.
Surprised but delighted, Leslie saw Gilbert Blythe standing on the other side of the door, and cordially Leslie said, "Gilbert, have you got a package from Anne, perhaps? Come in, of course. Shall I make tea?"
Gilbert entered that cozy living room, and with a polite smile he said, "Leslie, please sit down."
Gilbert noticed a slight change, barely perceptible, take place in Leslie as she heard those words.
Her posture straightened, and her listening silence was compelling, almost hypnotically captivating.
Gilbert gathered his thoughts and said as simply as possible, "I believe there is a possibility of an operation that may perhaps restore Dick. It is my duty to inform you of this possibility so that you may make a decision."
All the color drained from Leslie's face. And for a few heartbeats there glowed in her gaze a piercing distress, and an unspeakable pain, before her eyelashes covered her eyes from Gilberts sight.
Gilbert felt extremely uncomfortable, he felt like he was witnessing the murder of a soul, as Leslie raised her vivid, intent eyes.
Her face was calm, only the glowing red that blazed on her cheeks hinted at her feelings, as she touched her arms, once, lingeringly.
Leslie's voice was distant, her warm, mischievous style that Gilbert was used to was erased, the contrast felt like a violent slap, as she murmured, "I have to think. I'm asking you to leave now."
After the door closed behind Gilbert's shouldered figure, Leslie stood frozen, as the announcement, possibility was almost incomprehensible, the possibility, a return to darkness, to cruelty.
Shivering, Leslie rubbed her arms once more.
Heavy footsteps were heard as Dick arrived from the Light. Leslie could barely look at her husband, but with steely inner effort she did it.
Dick's gaze was hazy, and in the half-light he seemed even larger than usual, as he hummed tunelessly, a few rising and falling notes that might have been, something inspired by Capitain Jim's tales.
Dick held out his hand, as he rumbled in his fractured baritone, "Pretty, Pretty, no fishes, this time." Stifled, almost tearful laughter that was distorted burst out of her lips, as Leslie murmured, "Nevermind, those fishes, Dick."
Hesitant fingers gripped her shoulder, confidently. The outline of the mermaid tattoo could be seen through the open collar of his striped shirt.
That grip tightened a little, as Dick began humming again, to the tune of a swinging, slightly fiery contradanza.
Leslie shivered
Behind the windows, the honey-colored light turned into dark syrup, and slowly turned into a dark purple hue as the sunset blazed in the sky.