#awae ff

  Anne fought the sudden lump in her throat at the name of the woman who’d taught her so much in the short time they’d had together. “Mary?” she whispered.

  Bash nodded, his eyes briefly losing their light before he looked down at the envelope in his hand. A small smile appeared and he looked up at Anne, offering her the letter. “Seems my Mary could tell the future. She told me only to give you this letter if you were to marry our Gilbert. She had another one ready in case you married someone else.”

  Anne gave a quick laugh before carefully accepting the letter. Holding it reverently, she found herself in awe at the thought that Mary had decided to write her a letter in addition to the ones she’d written her children. How had she found the time and energy to do all that? She raised her eyes to Bash. “Would you like to read it with me?” she asked him.

  “That was the second part of the instructions,” he explained to her, “She wanted you to read it alone. So I’ll leave you to it, before Matthew and Marilla come home.”

  Anne nodded, picked up the package of puffs, and gave them to him, holding the letter close to her heart. She held back the door and he gave her a tip of his hat before leaving.

  When he was gone from sight, she closed the door and went to sit in her chair again. Moving the fashion plates aside, she put the letter on the table, crossed her arms, and rested her chin on top. She stayed like that for several minutes, just looking at the letter and absorbing its importance. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to open it, briefly considering that she would prefer to leave it in the state Mary had left it. Eventually, though, she accepted that she would have to open it–it had been one of Mary’s last wishes, after all…

 Taking a deep breath, Anne slowly broke the wax seal, carefully pulled out the folded pages, and smoothed them out onto the table. Exhaling, she briefly closed her eyes before pulling the pages to her and beginning to read them.

“Dearest Anne,

If Bash has given you this letter, it means Gilbert has finally realized what is right in front of him and has wisely asked for your hand in marriage. I only hope he didn’t wait until he was 50 years old to do so.” Anne giggled a the quip, clearly imagining Mary’s voice as she would have said it.

“Bash and I have known for a long time that the two of you were meant for each other. Bash tells me that he knew Gilbert was in love with you the first time he mentioned you.  Who knows, perhaps he was even a little in love with you before then!

Gilbert will make you a fine husband. He is your perfect match. Not only is he as intelligent as you are, but he is just as compassionate and loyal as you. The two of you will undoubtedly have a happy marriage.

But I still feel as if I should offer you some advice about married life…

First, make sure you tell each other you love each other each day. We never know how much time we have left.” Anne fought back tears and failed at the devastating reminder of how little time Bash and Mary had had together. It had been so unfair. She completely understood where that advice had come from. She wiped the tears from her eyes and took a breath before continuing.

“Second, there will always be fights. However, make sure to choose them carefully. Some battles might require a stalemate.” Anne smiled slightly. She and Gilbert had become experts at arguing in their school days. She felt they had a fairly good understanding of what their future fights would be like, but she’d store away Mary’s wisdom, just in case.

Third, never give up your sense of play and mischief. You’ll especially need it when the babies arrive.” Anne blinked at those words. Babies? As in more than one? Though she loved children, she’d done her fair share of child-rearing in her youth and wasn’t planning on more than perhaps one child. Two at most, so she supposed ‘babies’ was accurate…

Fourth, don’t try to change each other, it will only lead to heartbreak when those efforts fail. The only ones who can truly change us are ourselves.

And last, but not least, NEVER forget or surrender who you are. Should one of you lose sight of that, your relationship will only suffer.”

  Anne reread the last two pieces of advice, committing them to memory. She couldn’t think of anything she’d want to change about Gilbert, but who knew what the future would hold in regard to that? As for losing sight of herself within the marriage, she’d long ago learned her feelings of worth resided within herself, but she would admit to having moments of weakness. But when those moments materialized, it was Gilbert who would more often than not remind her of what she was forgetting. She smiled softly and returned her attention to the next part of the letter.

“Now, I have a feeling Miss Marilla won’t be able to discuss the wedding night with you, so unless Diana has already taken the opportunity to discuss it with you, I feel it’s my responsibility to tell you what to expect…”

  Anne slapped the letter face-down on the table, her face burning. She took several deep breath and fanned herself before cautiously picking it up again to read Mary’s matter-of-fact description of what the wedding night would entail–including a sketch in the margin of the male instrument so that, in Mary’s words, she “wouldn’t be too frightened by the sight”. Anne’s face burned even hotter at the visual. She was extraordinarily glad that no one was home with her at the moment. No wonder Mary had told Bash that she should read it alone! She could only imagine what Marilla would think if she saw the letter. Why, she’d likely have a conniption! 

   After calming down, Anne returned to the last part of the letter.

   “Anne, marriage can be the most wonderful part of your life, but it requires hard work. If there’s anything I’ve forgotten, don’t hesitate to ask Bash or Mrs. Lynde, whose marriage is one of the happiest I’ve seen. I’m sure they’ll be more than happy to help you. I only wish I could be there as well. 

   Keep dreaming, dear girl, and live your life to its fullest. There will be hard times, but holding hands with Gilbert, you will persevere and flourish. Congratulations.

All my love,

Mary”

“You know, Diana,” She started pointedly, speaking loud enough so everyone could hear.

“I don’t think it’s such a very impressive thing to walk a little, low, fence. I once knew a girl who could walk the ridgepole of a roof.”

“I don’t believe it,” Josie said, putting her hand on her hip, “I don’t think anyone could do such a thing. You most certainly couldn’t.”

It was then that Gilbert knew that things were about to get bad.

“Couldn’t I?” Anne countered.

“Fine then. I dare you to.” Josie smirked.

Anne blanched for the slightest moment. It was clear to Gilbert that she had not thought this through. He prayed that she wouldn’t go through with it. Prayed that she was sensible enough to realize that this was a death wish.

He was not shocked, though, when she stood up and confidently started walking to the ladder leaning up against the Pye house.

Both he and Diana scrambled to their feet and chased after her.

“Anne, no.” Whispered Diana. “You do not have to do this just because Josie Pye dared you to. Everyone knows it’s not a fair dare.”

“Thank you, Diana, for your concern but I can assure you that I know what I’m doing.” Anne replied.

“Anne, you can not climb up onto that roof. It is not safe.” Gilbert cut in.

“Gilbert Blythe, I do not need you to tell me what I can and cannot do.” Anne said, sharply.

“Anne-” He tried again.

“No!” She interrupted, “I am doing this and that is final. Now if you’ll please excuse me.”

Gilbert and Diana let her go. They both knew better than to argue with Anne once she made up her mind about something. It was useless and was more likely to only make things worse.

Gilbert watched as Anne reached the ladder. She paused for a moment before she grabbed to the first rung and began her climb. To anyone else, Anne seemed confident in herself as she ascended the ladder. But Gilbert knew what to look for. He noticed the slight tremor in her hands and the way her eyes widened slightly as she reached the top. He knew that she was not as nonchalant and collected as she pretended to be.

He held his breath as she took the first step of her on the ridgepole, arms spread out like an eagle for balance. Any other time, he would have admired the way her hair blew in the wind or how gracefully she placed her feet, one after the other. But now, all he could do was watch and pray that she would make it back to the ladder before he passed out from lack of oxygen. When she reached the other side and turned around to go back to the ladder, Gilbert relaxed a little. She seemed to be doing alright and it seemed possible that she would make it out unscathed. That was when she stumbled for the first time. The whole class audibly gasped and then let out a sigh of relief when she caught her balance. But the first slip up had made Anne lose her concentration and her rhythm. On the next step, her back foot slipped too far for recovery.

Gilbert’s whole world went fuzzy as he watched her tumble down onto the other side of the house. All he could focus on was how he shouldn’t have let her go up there. He should’ve tried harder to stop her, put up a better fight. He’d been an apprentice for Dr. Ward for a while now, he knew what could happen from a fall like that. And yet, he still let her do it.

He felt himself running around the house beside Diana, their classmates close behind them. She was there when he rounded the corner, laying still in a pile of bushes by the house. Diana reached her first.

“Anne, are you killed? Oh, Anne, dear Anne, speak just one word to me and tell me if you’re killed” Diana cried.

“No, Diana, I am not killed, but I think I am rendered unconscious.” Anne groans.

Relief flooded his body. He had never been so thankful before.

He lifted her out of the bushes with the help of Diana. That is when he noticed her limp on her right ankle. His jaw clenched and suddenly he was overcome with frustration. She had known exactly what she was getting herself into. She had known just as well as he had that it probably would’ve ended in disaster and yet, she still did it. She still put herself directly in harm's way and for what? To prove a point? He couldn’t believe her. He knew she was stubborn- heck, that was probably one of the qualities he admired most about her- but this was taking it too far.

As frustrated as he was, he knew he had to make sure that she got home alright, which is why he shot a reassuring look at Diana and then whispered to Anne, “I’ll take you home.”

He felt his classmates gawking at them- still in shock of what just happened- as they hobbled slowly down the driveway, Anne’s arm around his neck for support.

They walked down the lane, uncharacteristically silent. Normally he would’ve been attempting to cheer her up by telling her stories about Bash or his childhood but he couldn’t bring himself to speak, scared that he might say something out of anger that he would regret later.

This tense silence prompted Anne to speak up.

“I know you’re mad at me.” She began cautiously.

“Of course, I’m mad at you!” He finally burst. “Do you know how seriously injured you could’ve been? All for some silly bet?”

“But I wasn’t! I’m completely fine except for a rolled ankle that will heal in no time.”

“Your don’t have to prove yourself to everyone, you know. Was it really worth it to put yourself in such danger?”

“You heard her Gil, she was so smug, I couldn’t back down from something like that.”

They were stopped in the middle of the lane now, face to face.

“Do you never think about the consequences of your actions? What do you think would’ve happened if the fall had been worse? What would Marilla and Matthew have done? What would Diana have done? What would- what would I have done?” He whispered the last part.

She looked at him for a long moment before saying, “You’re right, Gil. It was stupid and I shouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry that I worried you.”

Gilbert smiled gently.

“Thank you.” He whispered.

Impulsively, he leaned down and kissed her forehead lightly. He heard her sharp intake of breath and pulled back to look into her eyes. They stared at each other for a moment before the corners of her lips tilted upwards.

With that, he picked her up bridal style, and continued towards Green Gables. He figured that it would be much faster if he was the only one doing the walking.

“Just promise that you won’t do something like that ever again.” He requested.

“You know I can’t promise you that.” She replied.

He smiled down at her.

“Yeah, I know.”

Anne’s smile wilted a little as she took in their surroundings. It was a charming bookshop right in the heart of Boston, with a little podium at the front and rows and rows of chairs lined up facing it. Any other time she would have been thrilled to be there, but there was just one thing spoiling the otherwise perfect day.

“Oh Gil, I hope you’re not too disappointed we had to cancel our wedding trip for my book reading.”

“Disappointed?” Gilbert repeated, his brow furrowed. “Far from it! Anne, I love you more than anything. You know that we could be taking a trip all the way to the moon, and it wouldn’t matter so long as I was with you. This book is an amazing achievement, and I couldn’t possibly be prouder of you.”

Anne blushed prettily, complimenting her pale skin. “Dr. Blythe, please don’t say such things in public when I’m forbidden from showing you exactly how much I appreciate them.”

“Apologies, Mrs. Blythe,” Gilbert said, his smirk belying his contrite words. “It won’t happen again, I swear.”

The distance between them had become scant, and Anne’s lips were tantalizingly close enough that if he just dipped his head a bit, he would be able to press his mouth to hers. Ever since their wedding, it had become almost impossible for Gilbert to keep his hands, and lips, off of his bride. It was especially difficult when one had an equally willing and eager bride such as he did. Said bride was looking at him with coy green eyes that conveyed she didn’t truly mind a break in propriety.

He would have been happy to oblige her but there was a sudden clatter and ringing of a bell as the shopkeeper, a pleasantly plump woman in her late 50’s, hustled inside, shutting the door behind her. She gave a squeak of excitement as she spotted Anne and Gilbert, who parted reluctantly and with some embarrassment.

Mrs. Winthrop seemed too distracted to notice. “Oh, Miss Cuthbert—Oh, my apologies! Mrs. Blythe! There is quite the crowd gathering outside for your reading. Shall I start letting them inside?”

Anne swallowed, her hold on Gilbert’s hand tightening, but she managed a polite smile. “Yes, Mrs. Winthrop,” she said, “I suppose it’s almost time to begin.”

Anne turned away and looked up at Gilbert with renewed apprehension. He smiled and placed a kiss on her forehead.

“You’ll be sensational, darling,” he told her confidently. “If you need any encouragement, just look for me. I’ll be right in the back, the whole time.”

She took a deep, calming breath and nodded. Gilbert watched as she made her way to the front of the room, smoothing down non-existent wrinkles on her dress. He wanted to be up there with her, but this wasn’t his moment to be in the spotlight, it was hers: her very first book reading of her very first published book. He was just about bursting with pride.

He stepped off to the side as Mrs. Winthrop opened the front doors. Almost immediately, people started trickling in: children pulling parents along, young men and women of college age, and even a few older folks with a gleam of adventure in their eyes. The children clamored to the front of the room to get good seats, each clutching a copy of the new book in their hands, talking excitedly amongst themselves.

Soon, all of the seats were filled, leaving many to stand along the sides. It was an incredible turn out, and a smile came over Gilbert's face as he spied Anne kneeling to talk to some children up near the podium, all signs of nervousness gone. She has a wonderful way with children, Gilbert thought to himself. Someday...

“Gilbert Blythe?”

Gilbert turned at the sound of his name to see a fair-haired woman, a little older than him, making her way through the crowd towards him. When she was finally in front of him, he was shocked to meet the brilliant blue eyes of Miss Winifred Rose of Charlottetown.

“Winnie?” He asked, incredulously.

She was the last person he ever expected to see in Boston, let alone that particular bookshop. It had been more than a few years since they’d last seen each other, and they hadn’t exactly parted on amicable terms. What did you say to the woman you’d once courted and almost proposed to?

“Ah ha, so it is you!” Winifred said triumphantly. She was just as statuesque and stylishly dressed as she was when they'd first met. Her eyes appraised him admiringly from top to bottom. “Gilbert Blythe, as I live and breathe! My, my, you’ve grown into quite the handsome man, haven’t you?”

Gilbert laughed, put at ease by her friendly demeanor. “And you’re even more lovelier than I remember,” he replied. “If I might ask, what are you doing in Boston?”

“Oh, I live here now,” said Winifred. She flashed her wedding ring flippantly. “My husband is heir to a shipping enterprise that calls Boston its home port. I’ve been here, why, it must be at least two years now, though we like to travel back and forth between Paris, depending on the season. But enough about me, dear Gilbert, I am very surprised to happen upon you in this bookshop. What brings you to Boston from far away P.E.I.? Are you here for the book reading?”

“You could say that,” Gilbert hedged with a smile. “The author is my wife.”

“Your wife?” Winifred echoed, in a tone that was somehow both surprised and pleased. “How extraordinary! I had not the slightest idea A.S. Cuthbert was a woman! But, who—?” She wondered, casting her eyes towards the front of the room. A small gasp escaped her as she beheld Anne, standing near the podium, speaking to Mrs. Winthrop now. “Is that—oh, but it is! Your Anne from Avonlea?”

“A.S. Cuthbert—Anne Shirley Cuthbert. Anne Blythe, now,” Gilbert added, sure he would always get a certain thrill out of saying the words. He watched Anne smile at Mrs. Winthrop, her face lighting up, and felt his own smile grow. “Her publisher insisted that she use a nom de plume for a least her first couple of books, and Anne was so enchanted by the idea of having a nom de plume that she actually agreed to it. She started writing the book shortly after we got engaged, while I was away at medical school and she was teaching, so it’s been almost a three year process.”

“Her book has become quite popular here in the States,” Winifred informed him. “You must be very proud.”

“Proud is almost too insignificant a word,” he said absentmindedly, his gaze still focused across the room.

After a moment’s silence, he realized how rude he was being and looked away from his wife to find Winifred studying him with an indulgent smile on her face.

“Love looks good on you, Dr. Blythe,” Winifred observed. She chuckled to herself. “You know, back when you broke things off with me, I thought, well, he’ll be back in a couple weeks, but you never did come back.”

“Winifred, I’m so sorry,” Gilbert started to say, but Winifred cut him off.

“Oh dear, don’t apologize!” She laughed, patting his hand. “You didn’t wound me, only my ego perhaps. It was good of you to call the whole thing off before there were any commitments made. We wouldn’t have suited each other in the end. And besides, Anne was always your destiny. I see that now.”

Gilbert smiled, glad that there were no hard feelings between them. “I’m really happy I ran into you again, Winifred.”

“As am I, Gilbert,” she replied. Her blue eyes were wistful, yet sincere as she regarded him. “I wish you and your Anne all the happiness in the world. Now, the reading looks to be beginning, and I left my niece and nephew with their nanny, so let me rejoin them. I trust I can count on you to reintroduce me to your wife later in order to procure a few signed copies?”

“Of course,” Gilbert readily agreed.

Winifred nodded in farewell and wound her way through the crowd to find her seat. Gilbert shook his head, thinking back to those turbulent years of his youth when he was sure Anne would never care for him the way he did for her. Winnie had been beautiful, witty, and easy to be with, but there’d been one crucial flaw: she wasn’t Anne.

The thing about Anne was that she had challenged him like no one else in his entire like, and not just in regards to schoolwork; she had pushed and shaped him into becoming not only a better man, but a better human being. She was pure light and warmth, and Gilbert had always been turned to her like a plant to the sun. Their love had been hard fought and full of obstacles, mostly of their own making, but he wouldn’t change their story for anything.

“Attention everyone, attention!” Mrs. Winthrop called at the front of the bookshop, jolting Gilbert back to the present. Everyone in the audience ceased their chatter, an air of anticipation among them. “It is my great pleasure to introduce you to the author of The Many Adventures of Cordelia Fitzgerald, Miss A.S. Cuthbert!”

Mrs. Winthrop started clapping and the rest of the crowd joined in, Gilbert included, as she motioned to Anne to come forward. Anne stepped up to the podium, and Gilbert could tell even from the back of the room that her nerves had returned in full force. Her wide eyes searched the audience until they found his at last. He mustered every ounce of love and assurance he could into his expression, giving her an encouraging nod that hopefully read, You can do this .

She nodded back, taking a deep, steadying breath. Before his eyes, she transformed into the poised, confident woman he knew her to be.

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Winthrop,” she said, a bright smile on her face as she surveyed the audience. “And thank you all for joining me here today. It makes my heart swell a hundred times over to see that Cordelia has struck a chord with so many people. She helped me get through a very rough time in my childhood, and for that, I’ll always be indebted to her. So, without further ado, The Many Adventures of Cordelia Fitzgerald.”

Anne dove into the first chapter with the same charisma and gusto she always had when doing a recitation. The fact that it was her own writing she was reading was awe-inspiring to him. He, who had read and helped edit the book too many times to count, followed along mentally, focused entirely on Anne’s animated face as she spoke. The audience was equally enthralled, with Anne’s voice being the only sound in the room besides the turning of pages as they read along with her.

As she finished the chapter with a flourish, the assembly burst into applause, and Gilbert whistled exuberantly through his fingers. True to his word, he called for an encore, and his cheer was soon taken up by the rest of the crowd. Up at the podium, Anne smiled, practically laughing with joy and relief, her sparkling eyes finding his again across the room. He winked at her, grinning widely as she returned the saucy gesture with a wink of her own.

“Very well, very well, I’ll read the next chapter, if that will satisfy you all?” Anne asked playfully to raucous cries of approval.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her as she began the next chapter. They’d been married for two weeks, and sometimes he felt like he’d wake up and it’ll all have been a wonderful dream. Every morning he woke up with her in his arms he thanked his lucky stars that he had followed his heart all those years ago and not given up on Anne, even when he’d stupidly thought he had every reason to. He’d made a choice then, one that had felt hard at the time as a young man with so many expectations weighing on him. But watching his beautiful, passionate wife up there at the podium, fulfilling her dreams, he knew he would make the same choice over and over again, in any lifetime, in any universe.

“You got into Queen’s?” he scoffed, referring to the Academy in Charlottetown where those with a vocation in mind chose to pursue them. Anne had not only gotten accepted, but gained the highest marks out of all the applicants in Prince Edward Island.

(She was tied with Gilbert though she often, and with much convenience, forgot that fact)

Billy, the thick-headed oaf, elected to ignore this certitude. He had nothing of import or quality to say for Queen’s Academy, having not applied (and in his innermost musings, known that he was not smart enough to be accepted anyway), and therefore inwardly envied and outwardly ridiculed those who had passed.

Anne, through no provocation of hers, nevertheless received his special brand of scorn.

“You may have fooled the Cuthberts, and our classmates. You may have even fooled this entire island. But you’ll never fool me. I know who you are,” he said this in low tones, and lower still as he crept closer and whispered in her ear like she were his lover murmuring sweet nothings to warm her heart, “the Cuthberts didn’t want you in the first place. They were stuck with you, there was no one else. You may have gotten lucky with them, but you ought not to forget who you are and where your place is.” He grinned then, blinding and malicious. “I feel sorry for the Cuthberts. If I were them, I’d have treated my dog better than you. You’re lower than dirt. You’re an orphan, and who could ever truly want you?”

How she burned and burned, the nerve of this insolent and ill-mannered fool! And yet—she meant to say this out loud, make the most of her extensive vocabulary but, her body betrayed her. Her throat felt parched and her feet leaden. Where had her voice gone? The words that were otherwise ready for her to wield as weapons or shape as clay? Where was her indignation?

Her spirit?

Just as quickly, heat melted to cold, noise gave way to a ringing silence and she felt herself rooted to her spot, Billy’s awful, smug smirk frozen before her eyes until—

“ANDREWS!”

Gilbert’s voice pierced through the static that clouded her mind and Billy’s ugly visage was, at last, removed from her line of vision as he turned towards their schoolmate. Anne did not wait to see what would commence between the two boys, however. As soon as the feeling returned to her legs, she imagined she walked out of there with the poise and dignity befitting a nobility such as the Princess Cordelia.

(Bolted, would have been closer to reality)

With nothing but moonshine for light and the faint rustling of the poplar trees for conversation, Anne was her own company. She thought for sure Diana would have come to her side by now, but she supposed that no one had really seen her leave. Billy, for once, hadn’t made a spectacle of himself though somehow this was worse, for she shuddered at the intimate way he had pressed himself onto her as he purred his contempt.

She did not even deign to consider that one witness to that deplorable interaction and what it meant that he had not followed her so for the moment...

She was utterly alone.

Evenings were a curious thing. There was, after all, something quite romantical about the night—lovers meeting in secret to proclaim their forbidden romance, friends exchanging hushed yet excitable stories beneath blankets by candlelight, oh the adventures to be had under the dusky twilight!

But, it was not called the witching hour for nothing. Terrible things happened once the moon had come to siege the sky for every sin, if only for a moment, could be hidden beneath the cover of darkness—ghosts and wolves and brigands and villains abound, and demons too.

Anne’s demons were not of the horned and pointy-tailed kind. Though they too were born of baneful things, they were mostly made of shadows, wispy and seductive intimations that brushed softly against her mind, lulling and comforting and infinite, till it was a pervasive tumor that lay siege to her sense of reason before she ever realized it was a threat.

She looked at the mud tainting her legs, at the stark contrast between muck and cloth, and thought about how she was much like her stockings.

I am a stain. All I’ve ever given Marilla and Matthew and even Jerry since I got here was grief. And Diana... I dread to think how many times I’ve gotten my bosom friend in trouble! As for Cole, the only reason he is still my friend is because he’s miles away in Charlottetown and therefore spared from my importunate nature. Not to mention, I almost drove Miss Stacy to quit her first year here. I’m nothing but trouble! Though I have no love for it, it must love me, for why else would it follow me wherever I tread?

Anne sniffed, shame filling her gut as she fought back tears. I’m just a stupid, orphan girl. There’s no imagining my way around that. No one could ever want me. No one.

So immersed was she in her melancholy that she hadn’t noticed someone was calling her name till a hand descended on her shoulder.

She shrieked (a shrill, embarrassing, banshee of a sound), closing her eyes even as she whirled around to face her assailant.

“Whoa!” exclaimed a deep and resonant voice.

“Whatever riches you may think I possess I assure you sir I am as poor as the dirt beneath your feet, poorer even, than a cow that grazes a pasture for I am utterly incapable of producing anything of value and I—”

“Anne!”

She hadn’t realized she was without breath till she let out a long and heavy exhale. It occurred to her, then, that the tenor by which her name was said was uncannily familiar, the scent of her would-be attacker was that of sun and grass and clean sweat and deeper still, an aura redolent of quiet, fortitude and refuge.

She opened her eyes and breathed.

“Gilbert.”

“Anne,” he chimed in equally, susurrous tones. When she let out another astonished gasp, the air before her crystallized in an algid cloud.

“Where’s your coat?”

She groaned. Of course! Of course, she forgot her coat and bonnet when she left in a huff. Why, walking out may be as dramatic an act as they came, but the books failed to mention just how inconvenient it was! How had the heroines in her favorite literatures managed their adversities with so much courage and grace? And such humor too! While she must have her exposé out in the cold, with (at this, she is gratified) no audience in sight (and at this, she is mortified) save for one, as she cowers and quakes in her boots?

The ardor that fueled the ire in her blood had by now dissipated, leaving an icy and hollow blitz in her veins. Humiliated to her core, she demanded of him, in squeaky volumes, “What are you doing here?”

So she cleared her throat and asked, more stately, again.

Gilbert shook his head. He did not answer. Instead, he looked at her with wide eyes—silver pupils darting back and forth, as if he couldn’t take in the image of her enough. She felt the fleshy, apple of her cheeks flush, a bit of heat returning to her body though a shiver continued to wrack her bones.

“You’re freezing,” he blurted, before an urgent concern (that made Anne rather uncomfortable, as she was wont to be whenever she found herself in Gilbert’s presence—alone or elseways) driving his motions had him divesting his own coat and, without evocation, wrapping it around her frame.

Encased as she was in his jacket and engulfed in the warmth from his body that had suffused itself onto the cloth, the sweet and opulent smell of him further intensified.

(As did the beat of her heart)

(Though this, if asked about, she would vehemently deny to her grave)

“I don’t need your pity,” she averred in what she hoped was a cold and unforgiving demeanor, even as her hold on the coat about her shoulders only tightened.

“It’s not—”

“Isn’t it?”

He sighed, his face scrunched up in exasperation and though a part of her felt abashed at her behavior, a larger part was content to drown in thorough defeat.

“We’re friends, aren’t we Anne?”

She licked her lips, something of a nervous habit. His eyes darted to track the movement and his throat bobbed. She felt her blush deepen.

“Are we?” She whispered.

He laughed though it was more tight than it was humorous.

“Must you always answer my questions with questions?”

She glared at him in the universal expression of, you’re asking for it.

He chuckled in genuine good-nature this time and she felt her irritation abate as she joined him. But their mirth abated all too soon and Gilbert was once more looking at her through hooded eyes that did nothing to lessen their intensity.

“I don’t know what Billy told you that made you react this way, but nothing good ever came out of his foul mouth anyway so, whatever it is he said—don’t believe it,” he shook his head. “It’s not true.”

At once, where she was bereft, the animosity welled within her at the reminder. The wrath that had been absent when she stood before Billy Andrews was now within her grasp and expelled itself onto the nearest presence—Gilbert.

She shoved him. It was a commiserable attempt since he hardly moved, but he let her anyway and she felt a little of her dauntless energy return.

“You can’t say that. You don’t know!”

“Then help me know,” he pleaded.

“I can’t,” she exclaimed, an unwanted sob building in her throat. “It’s too gruesome.”

“Then at least tell me that you don’t believe it,” he took her hand in his with utmost care, his palm coarse with calluses born from a life tending to a farm, his fingertips of ice. And yet, she had never felt so delicate, her hand cradled within his. “Tell me you know he’s wrong.”

“That’s the worse part,” she whispered as she pulled her hand away. “He’s absolutely right.”

A frightful silence had descended upon them. Even the wind had died and the poplar trees halted their rustling, as if Mother Nature herself wanted to be privy to their conversation.

“You can’t mean that, you don’t know what you’re saying—”

“And you do?” she sighed, running a hand—that same, still-tingling hand that Gilbert held what seemed like only a heartbeat ago—over her face.

He groaned. “Not this again.”

She scowled at him. “What do you care anyway? Why are you here? What I do or what I talk about with other people, worthless they may be, is none of your business.”

“And if I want to make it my business?” he countered, the muscle in his jaw ticking from restrained frustration.

She frowned. “What do you mean, Gilbert?”

“Tell me what Andrews said and I can prove to you, I can guarantee, that it’s not true.”

“But it is!”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes. It is! ”

They bickered in this fashion as if they were six instead of approaching sixteen. She insisted on her truth (or rather, Billy’s truth), though she hadn’t the faintest idea why. Is this not what she craved? Is this not the assurance and acceptance she sought her whole life? But still, she found herself scoffing.

“You don’t even know what I’m talking about!”

He rolled his eyes and in snide intonations, rebutted, “Because you won’t tell me!”

“FINE!” she relented and snarled, nay, practically spat the words at him.

“I’m an orphan! Is that what you wanted to hear? Maybe my parents loved me, once upon a time, but apparently not enough to live for me.” Her voice was guttural, her words laced with so much acrimony, it was unrecognizable to her. “I’m a burden to Matthew and Marilla, who wanted a boy in the first place and instead was saddled with me. I bring misfortune on anyone I touch. I’m nothing but a curse. No one could ever want me.”

There. She said it. And again, that insidious reticence, how she was beginning to abhor it. She closed her eyes, unsure of which she was dreading more: his resignation or condescension.

As it stood, she had neither to fear, for what she received was far worse.

He laughed. Laughed!

“How dare you, Gilbert Blythe!” She fumed. She punched him on the shoulder, though his chortles only grew in volume. She made to cuff him again, but he caught her fist in his and pulled her closer—closer than either of them had ever emboldened to be.

No one was laughing now.

“You are an idiot, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert,” he murmured, his whisper a hot hiss of breath against her cold and beggared lips. She had never been more aware of the weight of her hand in his, she had never been more aware of him. “A downright fool.”

She was mindful that she should have been peeved by this imputation, her common sense screaming at her to react and do so with equal and voracious impudence.

If only the rest of her faculties got the message.

For though his words were intended to wound, the effect was rather lost in translation. Not when there was an undercurrent of awe in his inflection, not when he said ‘idiot’ and ‘fool’ as if that was not what he meant at all; like they were terms of endearment rather than grave offenses.

As if Gilbert had his own personal meaning just for her, and it was the very opposite of its conventional connotations.

“Am I?” She returned in watery tones for she trembled under the weight of all that implied.

He smiled and it was slight in breadth but tremendous in affection. He stepped closer till she had to crane her neck just to be able to take all of him in, her face tilted towards the moonlight. He stopped his beaming then, for a silvery stream had caught his eye.

She hadn’t realized she was crying till he brushed away a droplet.

“I guarantee you,” he repeated, his eyes fervent and bright, “no one could have ever provided you a better home than the Cuthberts. And Diana—she’s positively radiant around you and she was never that way until you came along. Cole found the courage to be who he truly is and you helped him achieve that. And it was you who orchestrated the plan to keep Miss Stacy in school and believe me, she has never regretted the experience for a single moment. This whole island is alive because of you, you emit a gravity of your own and anyone who meets you can’t help but fall into your orbit. If that’s not enough to convince you…”

That same rough hand, from which he never relinquished her violent fist, now urged her to bloom her fingers so that he might place it on his chest. There she rested them and there he cupped her fingers, with a lambency that made her ache for she didn’t expect such a touch from one who lived most of his life as a laborer.

There she felt his heartbeat, strong and certain and—and racing.

How could it thud so hard and so fast when they hadn’t been running or walking since they began? Astonishment etched itself across her features.

“How—?”

“Do you really need me to spell it out for you?”

“For old time’s sake,” she strived to banter, afraid to reveal herself.

(Afraid to acknowledge the truth)

“How did you figure that no one could ever want you? I’m right here,” he avowed. “I’m here, and I want you. So much.” He shook his head and released a laugh that was riddled with disbelief. “I can’t even begin to explain just how so. I want you, plain as that. I wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you and I want you now and I’m—” he gulped. “I’m quite certain I’ll want you for as long as I live.”

She gaped, the flow of her tears halted from her stupor at such an exaltation. All this unbeknownst to Gilbert, her countenance spurred him to quip with a, “Well, Miss Shirley-Cuthbert, what say you about that?”

His lips stretched into a timid smile that betrayed his timorousness all the same.

“I’m at a loss for words,” she admitted freely. At that, his smile dimmed but did not diminish altogether.

He did, however, let her go.

(She hadn’t realized how much of him had seeped into her skin when at once, he stepped back, taking all the heat with him and leaving a resounding void in her chest)

“May I walk you home?”

And just like that, the conversation was dropped.

Anne, who was more confused leaving this exchange than she was when she entered it, acquiesced to this simple request for lack of a better reaction.

The true gentleman that he is, Gilbert indeed accompanied her the entire trek to Green Gables. Bubbles of conversation drifted between them before fizzling out due to the vapidity of their topics. It was only when they reached her porch did he speak to her with a solemnity that matched their earlier situation.

They stood facing each other, the space between them so corpulent it was its own presence. The camaraderie they had built (and sincerely enjoyed) in those final years at school seemed to have evaporated till their very atmosphere felt too hostile to breathe—they were that edgy. Still, he must have wanted to reclaim a bit of ease with a manoeuvre reminiscent of their first meeting.

He tugged on one of her braids.

But the stark difference between then and now was the intent for there was nothing teasing about his touch. There was no mistaking the feeling in his caress when it was so careful.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

It was devotion.

She licked her lips and again, the muscle in his jaw strained as he clenched it.

“Um,” she stuttered. Answer? Answer? She wasn’t ready to answer. Nor did she think she ever would be ready to answer!

“Relax,” He laughed, no doubt reading the panic that pulled her face taut. He smirked.

“We are friends,” he said, a bit of anxiety leaking into his tone. “Right?”

She blew a relieved breath though she shouldn’t have been, the uncertainty in his voice consoled her all the same. In this, she could unfailingly put her faith. She nodded with the eagerness of a pupil first in her class.

“Always.”

At her affirmation, he gave her hair one last, fond tug and replied quietly, “Good,” before arranging it away from her face and tucking it behind her ear.

“Anyway…”

She felt her breath catch in her throat.

“Anyway,” she returned in an equally hushed voice.

His parting smile was a shot of radiance in the gloom. She returned it with a crooked one of her own, praying it concealed the jumble of her emotions. His smile… it—did things, to her insides. Strange things. Things that made her sick at the image of him walking away from her.

Things that made her want to stop him leaving.

“Gilbert!”

He whirled at the sound of her voice, hope a living flame on his countenance. She floundered.

“I… you…” her hand clenched around the jacket engulfing her frame, and she remembered. “Your coat!”

She moved to take it off but Gilbert stopped her.

“Keep it.”

“But won’t you be cold?”

He shook his head. “I’ll be fine.” he said. “Take care of yourself, Carrots.”

She pursed her lips. Where once the nickname would have incensed her, now it filled her with a breathless sort of glee, like a language only the two of them shared because they were the only ones in the world who understood it.

“I guess… I’ll be seeing you around?”

Why was she stalling?

“So much, it’ll be impossible to miss me,” he teased with a roguish smile.

She chuckled.

He was approaching the gate when she called to him once more, “Goodnight!”

He turned, walking backwards as he tipped his newsboy hat towards her and bowed. “And to you, Miss Shirley-Cuthbert!”

And though he couldn’t see, she bit her lip, trying with all her might to hide her grin.

Watching him leave, she found her ebullience ebbing. Something felt different within her... had her soul shifted somehow? She did not feel like she had been halved nor did she feel any less of herself. If anything, she felt bigger. She felt more. Like her essence had expanded, only to carve a mold shaped suspiciously to Gilbert’s silhouette. She felt forever changed, it was incomprehensible to her that he didn’t feel the same way. And yet—

How could it be so easy for him to walk away?

His frame was swallowed by the darkness before he disappeared altogether, the echoes of their confabulation fading with him until she was all alone.

And it was as if it never happened at all.

Sun chased moon and dusk gave way to dawn. Recounting the occurrence to Diana and Cole (who was visiting from Charlottetown for the weekend to celebrate the start of summer with his childhood chums) betwixt the orange orchard that bordered the Barrys’ property, the sun warm and effulgent on their skin, she deemed her revelation from the night before as ridiculous.

“Right?” she questioned the two, expecting their full agreement. “I was being ridiculous!”

“I suppose that’s one word for it,” Diana muttered.

“I’m sorry,” exclaimed Cole, not sounding apologetic at all, “But I’m still hung up on the part where Gilbert proposed to you.”

Anne was certain she blushed to the roots of her flaming hair.

“He did not!”

“You’re right,” he acceded and she felt it safe for her mind to enter a state of palliation when he followed with a biting, “you are an idiot.”

“Technically, Gilbert said that.” Diana smirked as she spoke. Anne turned to her with a glare.

“And what is your opinion on this, oh bosom friend o’mine?”

She demurred but Anne persisted with a whinge in her voice.

Diana was perfectly aware what Anne wanted her to say, which is why it hurt her to divulge her true opinion. It seemed her friend was in dire need of a wake up call—not that she would be the one to give it.

So she skirted for an answer.

“Well, ‘as long as I live’ seems an awful long commitment…”

Apparently she hadn’t skirted well enough for Anne bellowed with a disparaging, “Diana!”

She cringed. “But—”

Anne groaned. “No! I think I’ve had enough of this conversation.”

Diana bit her lip, looking rather miserable. “I’m sorry, Anne.”

“Don’t be!” Cole reproached her. “Tell her.”

“Whatever it is, I won’t hear it!”

Anne, in a fit of childish tantrum, put her hands over her ears. It prompted Cole to roll his eyes and march over to where she was seated, buried amongst the roots of a tree so that he could unhand her. He locked eyes with Diana and raised his eyebrows. He tipped his chin towards Anne, who was glaring viciously at him.

“She needs to hear it.”

Anne turned her head away, but it didn’t stop her from hearing what Diana made known.

“I saw you leave last night,” she started. “I was going to follow you, but then Gilbert punched Billy! And apparently, it wasn’t the first time for no one stopped him. Personally, I think Billy has the kind of face that’s just asking to be punched so truly, who could blame Gilbert?”

“Diana,” Cole chided, though his mouth twitched in barely suppressed laughter.

“Well, Gilbert didn’t wait for Billy to get up, he just dashed for the door and that’s where he bumped into me. He asked me if I saw you come out that way and I said yes. I told him I was just about to run after you but, he stopped me.

“‘I’ll go after her,’ he said. ‘There are… words I must say and I can no longer conceal myself.’”

Diana and Cole expected Anne to react in an explosive manner, or, at the very least, say something. When she did nothing but give them both a blank stare, Cole gave Diana an encouraging nod.

“There’s something else, Anne.”

“Oh, what is it now?” she wailed.

Diana shook her head. “It’s not about you. It’s… I’m—”

Her troubles forgotten, Anne jumped to her feet and was at Diana’s side in a blink.

“Are you all right?”

Tears sprung into her eyes and Anne’s alarm grew. “Diana?”

She shook her head.

“I couldn’t be better. I’m, well,” she took a deep breath.

“I’m engaged!”

Anne stared.

Diana deflated. “Oh, don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what,” she said, crossing her arms in defense.

“Like I’m a different person. Like everything's about to change.”

“Everything is about to change!”

Diana looked away.

“When was this?”

She paused, as if unsure whether she should answer.

“Last week.”

“Last week,” Anne repeated, rolling the words around her brain till it clicked. “Last week!”

Diana nodded haplessly. Anne turned to Cole and pointed at him an accusing finger. “You knew!”

“To be fair, she only told me today, as we both made our way here.”

Anne furrowed her brows and rubbed at her forehead. An ache was forming at her right temple.

“But… but we’re only sixteen.”

“Prissy was sixteen when she first walked down the aisle.”

“Look how well that turned out,” she rebutted in a tone heavy with sarcasm. “And what have your parents to say about this? I don’t need a wide ‘scope of imagination’ to figure that Jerry is hardly their first choice for you!”

Diana flinched.

“They… don’t know. I haven’t exactly told them.”

“Oh Lord,” Anne muttered. She was beginning to sound a lot like Marilla, and was just now understanding the spectrum of emotions she herself put the female Cuthbert through on a daily basis.

“When will you tell them?” Cole asked in a more gentle manner.

“If you tell them!” she called out. "Diana, this is Jerry. He’s a dear friend but—"

“Stop it, Anne!” Cole bursted before he shot her a glare. “For someone who prides herself on her tolerance, you sure have a narrow perspective on this. If you would listen to her, you would see that she’s in love.”

“What do you know about love? What do any of us know of love?” she shot back.

Cole sighed in frustration. “You and I may be limited in experience but you would have to be blind not to see it in Diana. And perhaps you are, if you go on in this fashion! Are you so lost in your flight of fancies that you’ve turned your head around on what it means to love? Just look at her, Anne.”

She frowned but for once, Anne forced the words that piled itself into her mouth, down her throat. She turned still wary eyes to her oldest friend and observed her with the kind of open mind she beseeched upon the world, and saw her, truly saw her, anew.

Despite her pallor, she stood straight, her shoulders back in a way that would make her mother proud save for her chin, jutted out in defiance. She had never looked taller. Her eyes held a certain shine—as though nothing, not even the threat of her parents or the prospect of leaving Jerry behind to go to finishing school in Paris, could ever banish their light.

“I know he’s not the Ideal Man we promised ourselves we would find in our youth, nor is his proposal the grand advent that we dreamed of nor is our love the epic we longed to command, but Anne, I don’t know how to explain it without sounding like a silly, lovestruck fool. He’s so much better, he’s so much more…”

(She felt more. Was this not a thought she conjured to herself last night?)

Diana trailed off, evidently lost in her thoughts. In that moment, Anne had never felt so far away from her friend. But this wasn’t about her feelings. Diana had a smile on her face and it was awash in excitement but more than anything, it was serene. As though she had found her rightful place in the world, and it was by Jerry’s side, her arm slightly outstretched and her body angled in a way like she was merely waiting to fit herself to him.

Chagrined, the pit of her gut flooded with the shame of her actions. That she drove Diana to have to explain herself! How could she have done this and ever called herself a bosom friend?

In the end, she only had one other question to ask.

“Are you happy?”

Both Cole and Diana turned surprise eyes, at her and her tone, soft and apologetic. Diana though, her lovely jet-black hair a blazing amber in the noon sunshine, looked perfectly brilliant and Anne had her answer.

“If you’re happy, then so am I.”

She went to her, a mist transforming her gaze into pools as she hugged the girl who had grown into a woman, seemingly before her very eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “you can’t know how much,”

“It’s all ready forgotten.”

Cole shortly joined their embrace and the three friends were laughing even as they wiped rivulets of tears from each other’s cheeks.

“Well,” Cole prompted. They were spread on the grass, their heads together in a triangle while they mooned onto the blue sky and painted pictures out of clouds. “How did he propose?”

Anne’s mouth twisted as she deduced that it must have been unromantical—though this sentiment, she kept to herself lest she again upset the comradeship that was so newly established amongst them.

But Diana’s tenor was sweet and dreamy as she recalled, “He wrote me a letter—a full-fledged letter! He gave it to me personally, of course, for fear of my parents finding it first but oh, it was in an envelope and stamped and everything, as if he had sent it to me through courier.”

She was all too relieved that she kept her opinions to herself, for though he hadn’t gone down on one knee, Anne supposed that an epistolary proposal sounded absolutely beauteous—especially once she considered just how far Jerry had come from, being illiterate as a child. He prided himself on his abilities now.

“If anything, I have you to thank Anne, for you began his tutelage.” Diana sighed. “I’d show you the letter, but I’d like to keep it to myself if you don’t mind.” She blushed as she said this and they all giggled, for they did not mind at all. “But truly, it was divine, it was himself in words. All his emotions on a page, and yet all he wrote of was me...”

Nestled within the grass, Diana was a rose in bloom with the way she blushed as she spoke of her betrothed. It was then Anne had an epiphany.

Perhaps love did not always come in the form of impassioned speeches or grandiose adventures. Perhaps it wasn’t always a princess who was locked up in a tower guarded by a fire-breathing dragon, her prince ready to brave the flames.

Maybe it was a low-burning ember, less hot than the blaze of a fire sure, but just as passionate. She thought of Diana and Jerry and wondered if it might be letters written in longhand, if the prince’s sword was actually a pen, the ink his weapon that illustrated his ardor—if the dragon wasn’t a dragon but the politics of society that told young lovers they must not marry below their station or, and she looked at Cole, their same sex.

Maybe love didn’t always mean the adventure was in far off places, but was found within the four walls of her classroom; where a rival, in actuality, was not the villain but a prince in disguise?

Maybe love wasn’t always the stuff of legends. What if it was the quiet things? The constance? Love was steady, she realized. It was study sessions and long walks, an ashen gaze and an encouraging smile in a sea of faces that expected her to fail.

It was standing up for what and who you believed in, going after them when they walked away and promising to want them for all time.

“Anne?”

Diana touched her shoulder but all she could say was, “I am a fool.”

Cole smiled knowingly.

But, fool that she was, it took her till twilight to empower herself to take any sort of action. With word to Marilla on where she would be, and Marilla raising an astute eyebrow at the very young male coat she left behind when she departed (honestly, was she the only one oblivious to her own feelings?), she went where her heart led.

And her heart led her at the boundary of the Blythe farm, where she paced back and forth, back and forth and back and forth until—

“Anne?”

She startled. “Gilbert!”

“Hello…?”

He looked bewildered at her being there, and rightfully so. Dusk was falling, and here they were again. She chuckled, though it was riddled with tension.

“You’re always catching me unawares,” she jested. “I wonder when I’ll ever return the favor.”

“Impossible,” he muttered.

Disconcerted, she inquired, “why?”

He gave her a modest smile, though he didn’t look away.

“I’m always aware of you.”

She was tempted to look away—so heated was his gaze. But her determination was even more ignited and so she compelled herself to hold his stare.

“Not that I’m displeased,” he continued, before the silence could prolong. “But what are you doing here? It’s nightfall. Is something wrong in Green Gables?”

“No, no,” she assured in quick tones. “The very opposite. I just—I need to tell you something.”

His brows furrowed as he tilted his head for her to go on. “Yeah?”

“It is rather important,” she began. “Could we… could we talk somewhere more privately? Preferably, not out in the cold.”

“Oh!” Gilbert laughed in abashment. “Of course, let’s go inside.”

“Where are Bash and Mary?” She asked when they entered the dark and empty house. Gilbert led her to the parlor where he offered her a seat and he lit candles as he spoke.

“They’re in Charlottetown, I just came from the train station where I dropped them off actually. They’re going to attend to Mary’s son. He’s fallen ill.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I offered to go with them, but it doesn’t sound so serious. Overfatigue, probably stress from work, and a fever. Mary wants to be with him, just to be sure and Bash, well,” he rolled his eyes though when he spoke, it was full of fondness. “He never wants to be far from Mary.”

Again, they shared a weighted look. Anne cleared her throat, but nothing came out. Should she make more small talk? Ease into it? Or should she just dive right in?

“So,” Gilbert smoothly urged. “You had something important to tell me?”

Right, she thought, diving into it, then.

“I needed to see you,” she started.

“In the middle of the night?”

He sounded amused. Was he mocking her? Here she was, laying her heart bare and he was ribbing her?

“Hardly!” she burst out, her temper rising. “The sun hasn’t even fully set!”

“Hasn’t it?”

He gestured towards the window where, surely enough, darkness had conquered the sky with a swiftness Anne had forgotten it was capable of. She frowned and when she looked back at him, that insufferable smirk was affixed to his lips.

Oh he means to rile me, she conjectured. He thinks he’s so clever!

His goading gave her an inexplicable boost of confidence so, abruptly, she declared, “I have objections.”

“Objections?” befuddled, he scratched at the side of his head—a habit of his, she knew. “To what?”

“To ‘as long as I live’.”

“As long as I—”

He broke himself off as all humor was swept from him and the light of realization settled upon his eyes.

“‘Forever’ sounds ever more romantical, don’t you agree?”

“Anne,” he whispered, hope lighting his face and forging her heart and soul anew. She hid a smile. How unfair it was that he should look so glorious under the candlelight, the shadows sharpening his all ready chiseled jaw and the strong slant of his nose.

How he glowed.

“I think I ought to school you on the proper techniques to proposing. I am, after all, to be a teacher.”

“Oh,” he queried, his voice wobbly and a suspiciously wet gleam in his cinereal look. “What exactly would you have me do differently, teacher?”

“Well, for one, I would have you down on your knee like… so.”

Gilbert’s eyes widened in genuine shock. In truth, Anne too was surprised at herself. She never thought she would be so happy, lowering herself to the ground. But she was, as she bent on one knee.

“And then?” he said, low and susurrous.

“Then, I would have you take my hand,” Anne’s fingers touched his, resting open on his lap like he was just waiting, waiting.

They entwined.

“We would look deeply into… each other’s… eyes…”

Her breathing began to quicken. From the rapid rise and fall of his chest, so had his. She was drowning, captured by the depth of his wonder—nothing could have made her look away from him.

“Then?”

“The most important part, of course.” she breathed. “A vow.”

She gulped.

“I love you.”

Gilbert exhaled shakily, his grip tightening on her hand.

“Would you have me, Gilbert? Would you do me the honor of being my partner… forever?”

Her breath hitched. For one horrid second, she was of the mind he would deny her.

He let go of her hand. He shoved the chair away and was leveled in front of her in a heartbeat. He cupped her face in his hands, his touch light and cool as a doctor’s should be. Anne closed her eyes.

Was there ever any doubt?

Gilbert kissed her.

In this, she could trust. This, she thought, is true.

She was happy to stay that way, ecstatic to be linked in the most universal language of devotion. But air was a necessity, and when they pulled but a hairsbreadth away she asked, “Is that a yes?”

Gilbert laughed, jubilant and boisterous, and oh how it outshined even the shadows.

“What now?” she breathed, her hands cupping his own around her face.

“I love you, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, more than anything. I’ll love you in this life and the next, you can be sure. Forever isn’t nearly long enough.”

“Now that’s a vow.”

He laughed again. She joined him. "Shut up and kiss me, Carrots."

"You shut up and kiss m—"

He did, and she didn't even mind that he cut her off.

For Diana was right. They were no Elaine and Lancelot, but how could she ever give this up? Give him up? A lifetime of his kisses, a lifetime of his touch, forever in his arms?

No... this was better.

This was more.