Soli Deo gloria

DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Anne of Green Gables. Here's a little one-shot into the childhood of Anne and Gilbert with an earlier reconciliation. :)

There were decidedly worse things than breaking your ankle on a dare by Josie Pye on the Barry ridge pole, and Anne was mortified to discover one of them at a moment she felt entirely too flummoxed to deal with it.

Anne found herself, after that unfortunate incident that rendered her into bed in the warm familiar Green Gables garret with a broken ankle of some weeks to heal, the pleased victim of daily visits by one or more of her friendly girl chums from school. Diana came in everyday, as usual to keep her vigil as Matthew was to pop in every evening after fetching the cows to hold the little brown paw and pat it between his two hands, not saying a word but just listening to Anne's delighted tongue rattle on forever and a day with a kindly patient ear.

Sometimes Jane Andrews, blonde-haired, fine-looking Jane, would accompany Diana on such visits, always ready with a prim backup to the delicious morsels of gossip Diana gave with an openly generous hand to the invalid. Other times it was gold-haired Ruby Gillis, with her senseless chatter about boys, chums and laughable 'beaux' alike, and who was being 'written up' on the side of the little school wall, or who walked her home on the fall-decked roads. Anne listened with a fine knowing look in her eyes, almost as if she was putting up with Ruby, thinking of no real amusement her obsession with everything related to the wonders of the male sex, but she turned a blind eye and a rejecting ear to any conversation that contained the words 'Gilbert' and 'Blythe.'

She'd sworn Diana to never mention the name the first afternoon pop-in when Diana told her just who was leading the math class that very first day; Diana found herself making an effort (though not quite as hard as Anne, as Diana thought Gilbert a great tease and a good lad overall, and couldn't quite comprehend the depths of humiliation and burning indignation her friend harbored deep in her cold soul for the boy) to make the other girls hush up about him as well, for the pert-nosed, freckled patient laying up with a broken ankle. Yes, Anne lay in bed in her nightgown and her hair down away in a long braid down her shoulder, with her ankle supported by two of Marilla's old pillows of ugly blue with green buttons, all for the world a little martyr, but she still carried the air of a queen, a certain keen uniqueness that none of the Avonlea girls had and for that which they were all envious of her, even if they didn't know they were.

It happened in the third week after school started, when delicious dark red maple leaves were finding new homes on the grounds of Lover's Lane and the sweeping yard of the schoolhouse, that Diana Barry was home for the school day. She'd spent the previous evening in the low twilight alone in Violet Vale gathering up positive armfuls of the soft purply blossoms for her best friend, to fulfill a hankering for them that only the rich purple buds could fill. She awoke the next morning after spending an hour dutifully stomping around the wet mush to a sniffle and red nose, and off to bed she was by order of Mrs. Barry. Her effort wasn't for naught, for she pleased Anne, who knew not the fate of her poor bosom friend, and only knew that she was the only advocate in Green Gables for the poor little dears against the merciless Marilla, who found them wilting and withering and littering petals all over her nice rag rugs, and wanted them rid of.

But this devoted bosom friend remained home from school that day and since she'd been always the constant deliverer and mediator between Anne and their new teacher Miss Stacy concerning schoolwork, no one was left to take up the stack of papers and notes in books left on the teacher's desk when school let out that day. Except perhaps one brown-haired, hazel-eyed, jolly lad, whose smile was noticeably vacant that afternoon. His eyes never left that distinct pile of books, his entire focus anchored on those papers. Miss Stacy patiently called upon him more than once, and each time he awakened as if one from a love-struck daze, such as a daydream. This wasn't gone unnoticed by Miss Stacy. The bell rang and the children gathered their things and beamed at their adored lovable teacher on their way out of school, and she called upon Gilbert Blythe for a moment.

The boy, own books tied together with brown leather and a buckle, stood dutifully next to her desk. "Yes, Miss Stacy?" he asked in his polite yet engaging voice.

"I have a favor to ask of you, Gilbert," said Miss Stacy.

Gilbert's eyebrows raised. Miss Stacy, though very new, was a straight favorite amongst the old and young, mild and bold, boys and girls of the little Avonlea school, and any chance to do anything for her in particular was an esteemable honor.

"I have here a stack of schoolwork from today that I specially put together for a little girl at the Green Gables place named Anne Shirley. Usually her good friend Diana Barry is here to take them to her, and then delivers her papers back for me to grade the next afternoon, but Diana wasn't here today, for whatever reason. I know that your house is passing Green Gables, and I was wondering if you would take these up there for Anne to work on, take her finished homework, and then give that to me tomorrow morning?" Miss Stacy wondered.

Gilbert's heart thumped strangely but his face betrayed none of this peculiarity. "Of course, Miss Stacy," he said. His hands grabbed the books and he held them in the crook of his arm against his chest for balance. Though he didn't really care much about Diana's schoolwork, in order to have a grasp on something he asked, frowning, "What about Diana's schoolwork?"

"Unless I get word of her being ill or such, I expect her back tomorrow, when she can make up for it. I understand that Anne Shirley is laid up with a broken ankle?" Miss Stacy said.

Gilbert nodded. Not that he had seen the incident or witnessed the sight of that carefully but stringently wrapped young ankle, but it was all Josie Pye could talk about first day; she'd raised her hand after class attendance had been taken and explained in a mean derogatory tone Anne's predicament, especially painting a bad light on Anne, which Gilbert didn't like Josie for. Anne had spunk and Josie was a Pye. Josie Pye was many, many things, but she was especially a Pye.

"I understand she will need her homework taken to her for a few weeks yet," Miss Stacy said, trying it out suggestively.

Gilbert gave her a wry smile. "That's why she's got Diana Barry." Gilbert gave a tip of his brown cap to Miss Stacy, said good day, and was off alone with his thoughts as he walked down the road he didn't know was called Lover's Lane. He'd ignored walking with Charlie Sloane and his googly eyes and Moody Spurgeon MacPherson, instead not wanting any of the boys to know his mission. If this was a job given him to take schoolwork to Josie Pye or Jane Andrews, he wouldn't mind the company of the boys, and he would've smiled and not taken it so seriously. But the recipient being that firm-minded sharp little redhead, he wanted to walk the road up to Green Gables alone.

He felt quite remorseful about calling her 'carrots' last fall. He'd thought she'd find it funny; all the girls laughed and called him an awful tease and took his little jokes quite light-heartedly; Gilbert wasn't a mean-hearted boy by nature. As a matter of fact, he was a thoughtful, loyal, serious lad, with a good healthy humor, which apparently that Shirley girl didn't share. He couldn't understand why that pale freckled girl so resolutely refused his apology, and any interaction with him last year. He'd grown used to it under Mr. Phillips's tutelage, but now he felt a little hole in himself with no competition taking up the seat next to Diana Barry.

He stood at the neatly trimmed white gate leading up the path through the front yard of Green Gables with his free hand at the latch. He and Anne had avoided each other all summer, his side unintentionally and hers probably not. Their paths hadn't crossed until now, and as anxious as Gilbert was to see Anne, he felt a little frightened by the prospect of seeing her again. But he was a duty-bound brave boy, and he opened the latch and walked up the rutted road to Green Gables.

Marilla had just taken down a snack tray from the garret; laid-up as she was, Anne was getting a little weight on her otherwise thin bones. She responded enthusiastically to the cup of warm milk and fresh hot biscuits with just a touch of Marilla's coveted blue plum preserves, and yet kept up a conversation so one-sided and long that Marilla couldn't tell how she'd eaten the biscuits and preserves. But they'd disappeared and so, still mystified, Marilla took the tray downstairs and looked outside the kitchen window for a moment before she set about getting tea for the hardworking brother of hers in the barn. She pushed back her crocheted lace curtains and afforded an eye to check for any schoolmates of Anne's tripping up the lane for a good gossip session. She expected the white-skinned, crimson-cheeked, crow-haired Diana Barry to come running along the dusty road with heaps of books and her good shoes becoming dirty. Perhaps proper Jane Andrews, or the prone-to-hysterics Ruby Gillis. She instead said, "Saints preserve us," as she saw a contemplative, straight-faced lad of fourteen going on fifteen, who was a stunning image of John Blythe, walking up the path to Green Gables.

Marilla knew, though Anne'd never spoke of it, that Anne detested Gilbert Blythe with every passionate fiber of her skinny being. Yet Marilla, a sensible, completely unromantic or sympathetic creature, had an inkling of what his visit to pay at Green Gables was, and therefore was completely silent up to the knock upon the door.

Gilbert explained his errand and Marilla understood. She barely heard his words, though, too stunned and haunted by the roguish corners of his grin and the light beaming in his brown eyes, all remembrances in memoriam to his father in youth. But Marilla was never caught off-guard if she could help it, and she allowed Gilbert in to place the stack of books on the kitchen table, still distracted.

"Will Anne be coming to school any time soon, Marilla?" Gilbert wondered, now swinging lightly his bound books with one hand and slipping his free hand into the folds of a pocket in a relaxed casual way. He pretended to not care, or at least feign indifference, to whichever answer she gave him.

"The doctor here this morning examined it and says she's got a few weeks yet. I then heard him say he's over to the Barry homestead. My understanding is Diana's caught a chill from fetching Anne violets at sunset hour last night." Marilla's admittance was apologetic.

"Does Anne value violets?" was Gilbert's strange question.

Marilla frowned. "It'd appear so, as they're littering her room this very second." She waited for Gilbert to elaborate, but he instead nodded his head thoughtfully, bid her a good day, and walked off the farm with a whistle on his lips.

Marilla, displeased by this disturbance in what had become a usual anticipated time in the afternoon, took up the day's workload in to disturb the delighted conversation between Anne and the open window, through which extended the boughs of the Snow Queen.

"Marilla, back so soon? Is there any news about Diana? I was just talking about her with the Snow Queen before you came in. My heart aches to know she's sick, and all on my account. Of course on my account. I wish I could take her place, but I don't think she'd wish the same," Anne said, with a wry twist of her mouth as she looked at that bandaged ankle.

"Rachel was in this afternoon during your nap, and Diana's got a couple more days before she goes back to school. Tramping around that swamp when the sun's down," muttered Marilla. She cleared her throat after placing the stack of books upon the little nightstand and said without turning her back, "Someone else was here."

"Oh, Jane? Ruby? Josie? Oh, I hope not Josie. I can stand only so much Pyeness, and she'd simper about my broken ankle and make me wish I could walk more than ever, walk away from her presence and never return," said the little invalid.

Marilla suppressed that springy quirk of her mouth and said, "Gilbert Blythe brought your schoolwork because Diana couldn't."

His name mentioned had the effect of a swear word on Anne. Her pale face was darkened with a dark cloud of cool moodiness, and her jaw set, and her chin was lifted ever so much higher, and her nose perked up; instead of speaking she pretended absolute coolness so as to say that name meant nothing in the world to her.

Marilla looked at the nightstand by Anne's bed and the untouched look on Anne's face and said suddenly, "I'll invite him in tomorrow when he brings them again."

Anne rose up in bed like from the dead, alarm and whiteness all over her face, but Marilla nodded solidly once, and then, hands clasped and those mouth corners not surely repressed, walked out. "Marilla, you wouldn't! You couldn't!" Anne said.

Marilla didn't know whether or not young Gilbert Blythe would once again be tasked by the favor asked by Miss Stacy to bring Anne's schoolwork to her the next day, but that blithe green-sunny afternoon, with that first real taste of fall riding on the wind and smelled by all, neither Jane or Ruby had been urged, so Gilbert eagerly took up the task again, and, true to her word (and finding Anne's refusal of his existence somewhat trying and thinking that the proud little creature needed some comeuppance), Marilla cordially invited him in.

"Anne's up in the garret, at the end of the hall," the humorous heartless hostess of Green Gables told stolidly to Gilbert. He gave her an appreciative nod and under the false pretense that Anne anticipated his visit, trooped up the stairs with that load of knowledge in his arms and knocked patiently on her bedroom door.

Anne had firmly put away any and all thoughts concerning the existence of a charming young man from school ever living upon God's green earth, and (in a nightgown, to add salt to her forthcoming wound) lay against her warm pillow and dreamily imagined out a conversation between the mayflowers hidden away in the Dryad's Bubble wishing a farewell and yet a welcome to the fall-blossoming violets of the Vale over. Absentmindedly she answered "Come in", thinking no doubt that since Matthew was out in the fields, it must be Marilla, or maybe her darling Diana returneth.

Imagine mortification personified on that little waif's face when she saw the curly-haired head of her mortal enemy, he-who-must-not-be-named-in-her-presence, atop a pile of schoolbooks and papers. She didn't shriek as she'd thought she would've under the circumstances; a tiny sharp gasp escaped her and the redhead disappeared from view under a coveted quilt of Mrs. Rachel Lynde's, leaving nothing to view except that poor lone uplifted ankle.

Gilbert, whose sense of humor was stoic and good-natured, found it funny but likewise stepped out, not wanting to talk to a bed that would no doubt not answer him back. He left the books outside the door, told Marilla so, and then left without any explanation as to why the books were keeping guard by her door instead of on her nightstand.

Marilla delivered the books with a solidly shut face and shook the covers. "Anne Shirley, come up out of there and get some air, child," she commanded.

The pink overtaking Anne's pale face was very unattractive in contrast with her relentless ginger hair. Her face was horrified and strained with anger. "How could you allow that horrid boy into my room?!" demanded the aggrieved.

"Did you invite him in?" Marilla asked patiently.

"I thought he was you!" said the humiliated child.

"I think I can invite him into my own home. And I think you invited him of your own accord, even if it be a mistaken one," said the merciless Marilla.

All she got in a reply was a series of groans as the quilt was pulled over the embarrassed girl. "In my nightdress, Marilla!" Anne hissed emphatically in a last-ditch whisper before disappearing from view again—all except that little lone ankle.

This continued in a series of failed attempts for the next week. Each time Gilbert would bring the books, sometimes walking up the path with Diana, who found a secret liking to him going up to visit Anne, and Marilla would let both in, and then quietly walk into the kitchen, finding it all amusing. (Rachel Lynde, who came over nearly every day for a good talk to Marilla as she sewed one of her famous quilts and occasionally went up for a chat with Anne, found the relayed episode of Gilbert's second visit to Green Gables as mortifying as Anne, and couldn't find any reason for Marilla to find the funny twist of humor as she did.) Diana would tiptoe up the stairs with a mischievous grin and Gilbert would come behind her. Diana, smothering her laughter, would knock on the door. Anne, having learned her lesson, called out meaningly, "You may come in, Diana." Said Diana would come in, close the door behind her, and Anne would regard her dearest bosom friend with cold mercy as Diana pleaded Gilbert's case for coming in and visiting her. The haughty little maiden would refuse the knight into her guarded tower, and each time Diana would give Gilbert a sympathetic look as she delivered into the little garret those needed books. Diana would take her sweet time, though, allowing Gilbert to call through the cracked open doorway, "Good afternoon, Anne." Anne would promptly ignore him and any noise he must utter and told Diana coldly to close the door in order to leave them in quiet and to 'prevent any drafts.'

Gilbert would then show himself out after a tip of the hat to Marilla and the harrumphing Mrs. Rachel and leave the premises with a casual walk and whistle on his lips.

"I declare, he is persistent. But to go into a young girl's room while she is laid up in bedclothes isn't a thing to be encouraged, Marilla Cuthbert," Mrs. Rachel pointed fingers, accusing Marilla of letting this go on far too long. But Marilla found Anne's hatred of Gilbert stupid, without foundation, and begrudging. She knew from experience what it was like to not forgive someone and then find that they could've shared years of wonderful friendship if only old bygones were left as old bygones, forgotten in the past. At the rate Anne was going with Gilbert, they would go for years without talking, and Marilla knew that those would be wasted years if she allowed this pattern to continue.

That afternoon Marilla knocked on the door after Diana's departure and was answered by a tired schoolgirl working away at her sums on a piece of new green chalkboard. "Good afternoon, Marilla," Anne said wearily. Diana's visit had been both refreshing and exhausting, and she could barely find it in herself to apply herself to her studies at that particular moment, when the lull of the gentle wind creeping in from the farm and the soft murmuring of the Snow Queen's branches brushing against the house were a lullaby to make her close her eyes and allow herself to be carried away in their arms into a different land altogether.

Marilla sat at the edge of her bed. She didn't know what to do with her hands, so she clasped them atop on her lap, however unnatural that felt to her. She didn't know how to gently reprimand, or implore: she wasn't a born reassuring mother. Her words were more a command than a loving guidance: "Anne, I think you should get dressed and invite Gilbert Blythe in for a visit sometime. He comes out of his way to bring you schoolwork so that you won't get behind, and you could be a little hospitable."

"He's only bringing me schoolbooks so that I won't let him be the best so easily," Anne sniffed. "He enjoys a challenge, and won't let me fail."

"And I won't allow this nonsense to go on further. Next Monday, when he brings you your schoolwork, you'll have gotten yourself dressed and will entertain him like a good hostess, if it only be for a few minutes. You're acting like a very spoiled, stuck-up little girl, Anne Shirley. This boy is showing you a kindness and you don't see the need to repay that."

"He doesn't have to bring me my schoolbooks. Diana's done it before and it wouldn't hurt her to continue doing so. If I asked her, she would do it. She would. I can't abide Gilbert Blythe. I detest him. He humiliated me in front of the whole school twice, and he is simply unforgivable," Anne said passionately.

Marilla wasn't persuaded to back off by that excessive use of italics. "You will do so because I told you so, Anne, and if you don't do so, I will tell Diana that you cannot see her until you come back to school." Marilla stood up, cold-hearted old maid she was, and left the dumbfounded, gaping Anne in her stead. . .

Anne valued Diana's company extremely, and so she swallowed her pride and managed (with Marilla's acquired help) to wiggle into one of her new school dresses Marilla had sewed for her over the summer, one of three not quite-so-ugly-as-the-others dresses. It was still a dull faded green, but it offset the sharpness and glow of her ugly red hair. Anne could only press her little lips together and not complain after last year. She brushed her hair, washed her face from the nightstand (and succeeded in getting water all over the floor in her attempt to keep standing up straight on one leg), and held onto the windowsill as Marilla made up her bed and pulled forth a chair brought from the kitchen. Anne sat in this chair with the home-sewn, ugly, fringed blue cushion with a history book, forgoing an adventure book lest she get totally lost from the task at hand, and awaited the arrival of the usuals.

Instead of Gilbert, though, in came the attending Jane Andrews, Ruby Gillis, and the despised Josie Pye. All had their varied exclamations of sympathy, and Anne addressed them with controlled, coolish tones. The three left after feeling unwanted, and Josie Pye said as they walked away, just missing the approaching figures of Diana Barry and Gilbert Blythe arriving from the opposite direction, that "Anne Shirley has sure turned surly. Being waited-upon has made her a queen and makes her in turn treat us like peasants!"

Next came the usual routine of Diana's knock, and Anne said primly, putting away her book and resigning herself to the inevitable, like a true martyr, "Come in, Diana, Mr. Blythe."

Diana blushed furiously on Anne's behalf as she opened the door and let entrance to Gilbert. Gilbert brightened at the sight of Anne up, dressed, and ready to receive him, as not she wanted to. "Good afternoon, Anne. Isn't it a nice day out?" Gilbert said conversationally. He lifted the heavy load he bore and said, "Where'd you like these?"

Anne waved a lofty proud hand to the nightstand, where there was a cleared-off space for it. Gilbert put them there and looked around, hand in pocket, hand holding his strap of books. Diana had taken her accustomed seat on the bed, and wasn't sure whether it was appropriate for Gilbert to sit next to her or not. But the floor was hardly an option, as much as Marilla Cuthbert kept even the very ground walked upon in Green Gables stringently clean without a taste of dust marring it, and there were no more chairs, seeing as Anne took the only one, even that being a foreigner in the little garret. However, the circumstances called for strange unorthodox measures, and as Mrs. Rachel at the moment hadn't lugged her heavy-set body up the stairs to come talk and watch with a hawk-like eye, Gilbert sat upon a proffered section of the quilt.

"How's the ankle, Anne?" Gilbert asked.

Anne disliked immensely the familiar tone he took on, and relayed her disgust in her polite, restrained tone. "It is doing quite well, Mr. Blythe. Dr. Spencer says I am on the mend, and I shall be attending school in three weeks."

"Excellent. School's an awful bore without your friendly competition. Miss Stacy's a good teacher, but she can only do so much to motivate," Gilbert said comfortably.

"I understand from Diana's recountings that the school is well-run by Miss Stacy," said Anne icily. Really, she glowed and groaned over the stories told of the angelic, good-hearted Miss Stacy, with Friday afternoon nature walks, keen interest, gentle patience, and 'wicked' sense of humor and jumble of 'modern' ideas. Anne hated the days away from meeting Miss Stacy, but she wouldn't betray that secret wanting to the likes of Gilbert Blythe.

"Yes, it is. Mr. Phillips was all right, but Miss Stacy takes interest in students. She recommends that I, when older, endeavor to take the Queen's exams."

"For whatever reason?" Anne blurted.

Gilbert was slightly undaunted. "To get a teacher's degree. If I want to go to college, I'll have to earn my way through. Haven't you harbored dreams about attending Queen's or college, Anne?"

"Miss Shirley, Mr. Blythe," said the offended maiden, and she didn't answer his question in that respect, and thus the interview was ended. Diana kept dragging it along, attempting to play mediator between the two parties, but she met with enthusiastic if not baited answers from Gilbert, and cold rejection from the side of Anne. So presently the two able students up and left, Diana blushing on Anne's behalf and Gilbert wholly amused by the affair.

Marilla came up to the garret to hear news of the interview. Anne looked out her window, her all-seeing grey eyes momentarily enraptured by the world living, breathing, and dying around her, all beyond her past her window. She wanted to reach out and touch the feathery petals of Violet Vale, and stomp along Lover's Lane with Diana as the falling leaves became for seconds best friends and comrades with a little to say before they disappeared from earshot. The Lake of Shining Waters never sparkled so beckoningly before, and the sunset with its layers of thick warm pinks, reds, and oranges was never so inviting. Anne felt as if she could reach out and grab a handful of that mysterious thick film left behind by today's sun to be swept away from view by the cold dark night and replaced with the dusky blackness and sparkling stars.

"Well, how'd today's visit go?" Marilla wasn't one for subtlety; bluntness was an assertive trait of hers.

"Fine," Anne said automatically.

Marilla wasn't left not disturbed by this reply. The usual chatterbox had managed to condense an entire visit into one little white lie of a word, and Marilla wasn't entirely pleased.

"Did you have a good talk with Gilbert? He's really a fine, conversational, thoughtful boy," Marilla said, taking a seat on the well-clothed bed.

"If one can look past his mischievous streak, intent to humiliate girls in a public setting, and his habit of being absolutely intolerable the rest of the time, I suppose one could discern those traits by and by," Anne sniffed.

Marilla couldn't stand for Anne's flowery language. "Why do you hate that boy so? He's apologized, I've heard, and tried to make amends, and you've hardened an unrepentant heart against him."

"He's wounded my soul with no chance of forgiveness, Marilla," Anne said, laying down her law. "I can't be expected to forgive such a horrible boy."

"You're acting like the one who cannot be forgiven, with your bad behavior, Anne Shirley," Marilla told her bluntly. "And until you can get over yourself and see his sincerity, you're not allowed Diana over." Marilla got up to leave and Anne said, "But—but you said if I invited him in for a chat that Diana could remain coming over!"

"I thought surely you'd be best friends by the end of a talk, for you both are intelligent, eager young things, but it appears one of you is more hard-hearted than the other. I'll tell Diana you cannot see her as punishment when she comes in tomorrow; you'll see her again when you've realized how ridiculous you've been," the hard-hearted disciplinarian commanded, so let it be written, so let it be done.

Anne, with this flame under her belly, decided to rise to the challenge. Marilla was so sure that she simply couldn't get along with Gilbert Blythe out of sheer determination; Anne resolutely decided to put forth effort, and welcomed Gilbert with hospitality the next afternoon. His face peeking through the crack in her bedroom door was eager and amused, quirked with confusion. "Good afternoon, Anne," Gilbert said.

Anne smiled from her window seat and waved a lofty hand to the nightstand. "Thank you for bringing in my assignments and taking them to and fro with school. How are your own assignments going?"

Gilbert had waited long, long days for this faraway bright firecracker of a girl to initiate a conversation with him, and he sprang on the invitation with vigor. He stood next to her chair with the air of a man of the world, but with a bright eagerness and obvious intelligence radiating off of him. Anne realized an air in him then as he explained Miss Stacy's introduction to ancient Rome and its empire spreading through much of the known world in ancient times, and Anne could see the proud cities of Alexandria and Antioch, see the architectural wonders now crumbled in ancient oblivion, smell rivers running past industrious cities with roads extending through them leading to the mother city, Rome. The air spoke of quiet knowledge, a scholarly one, and Anne knew that he'd be someone to be reckoned with in the various fields they'd come to in harder classes in their little one-room schoolhouse.

She found herself of her own accord asking several questions, which he answered. He fed on her constant wondering and imaginings as only as a member of the race of Joseph could (it would be several years before either could become acquainted with this term, but they knew its meaning just the same right then). He sat on the edge of her bed after an hour of constant discussion, and she didn't notice. She allowed him to adjust her ankle set on a pillow and stool and felt quite genuinely grateful for him doing so.

It never occurred to Anne that neither Diana nor any of her other cozy schoolmates dropped by that day. Her attention was also so diverted to her and Gilbert's animated lively conversation from her usual daydreaming the hours away outside her own second-story window that she didn't notice that flower of a red rosy sun disappear with a show; it sank away, disappointed that it'd be ignored, and plunged the world into severe darkness, with no redeeming moon or stars. Gilbert'd pulled out a history book and brought it to Anne's waiting side. She held it in her lap with reverence and her quick little tongue ran fast. Sometimes, when Gilbert couldn't get a word in, he'd look down with his hazel eyes on that bent little head with fascination on those pages, with the slightest of knowing grins on his face.

The cows brought in and milked, Matthew came in to tea. "Has Anne eaten yet?" Matthew wondered from his seat.

Marilla poured him his tea and set some currant preserves on the table. "No, she hasn't. You'll never guess what she's been doing all afternoon."

"Well, I dunno," Matthew said, not quite sure what range of activities Anne had access to in her invalid state.

Marilla tsked, having not presented it as a question Matthew would actually answer. "She's been discussing the Roman empire with Gilbert Blythe."

"That's nice, very nice," Matthew said, taking up some good homemade bread and spreading creamy white butter on it.

Marilla wasn't entirely pleased with Matthew's lackluster take in stride. "I've been trying to get her to engage in a civil conversation with him for a week and suddenly she's lost all track of time and day." Marilla shook her head and said, "Far be it from me to disturb her now. She either does something wholeheartedly or not at all. That girl. . ." Yet kind-hearted Marilla took up a tray with two meals' worth on it. When she returned it downstairs, it was barely pecked at, for those two children had better use of their tongues than to eat.

Rachel Lynde had huffed and puffed over with a quilt in basket at elbow, and worked vigorously in sewing a design and talking up future designs for the two upstairs. Marilla raised an eyebrow at this but didn't either refute Rachel's predictions nor encourage her. Matthew disappeared out to smoke (Marilla turned a blind eye to this) and eventually the even steps of long young strides taking stairs two at a time brought a stop to Rachel's motion, and the two women saw off young Blythe. He bowed his head respectfully to them, thanked Marilla for having him over and tea, and wished them good evening before leaving them with the echo of his whistle behind him.

Rachel turned to Marilla. "They talked for hours without end about the Roman empire?"

"It would appear so," Marilla said, bending her head over her knitting with renewal.

"Humph." Mrs. Rachel wasn't satisfied with that. "Either Roman history is very interestin', or they've got the gift of gab," said Mrs. Rachel. Said Mrs. Rachel!

The next weeks sped by for Anne and Gilbert. It was no longer demanded of Gilbert to take Anne Shirley her missing days of schoolwork; Miss Stacy grew used to see the boy pick up the stack of papers and reference books each day; sometimes he'd be accompanied by Diana Barry, who still managed to secretly blush over Gilbert (it was terribly hard to not like him, and his attention was most wanted by every girl in the school—now every girl); sometimes Ruby Gillis, tilting the edge onto boy-crazy, would follow him in, only to be shunted to the side, upstaged by the stately queen residing in her window seat. Sometimes Moody or googly Sloane or Fred Wright would fall in step with him and chide him to join them in frogging, fishing, climbing trees, playing a good ball game, or assisting in some loathsome chore their pa'd forced them into. But he'd politely reject their invitations with sole intent to stick it out to see that Anne at the end of his school day, for excellent discussion, and also to see her little winning airs, pert nose, graceful gestures, and sparkling star-studded grey eyes. She'd been cold, stone-hearted, like a little impertinent statue before, but she'd finally revealed her true nature that won over nearly every single person she'd met to him. He awed over it, and felt as richer but also needing to grow in academic fields and as a person every time he left her presence. She had a profound influence as an inspiration to himself to grow and become better, just as in the same matter he was to her.

The two had many winsome, wholesome conversations, writhing with humor and seriousness together. Once they talked in quiet tones of their future hopes for Queen's and college. Neither saw the path there as a straight one, but one filled with turns and particular financial challenges. Then the next day, after this quiet soul-opening in low tones, the young man brought the young girl a bouquet of late violets: they took up a coveted spot on her nightstand.

One day, three days before she was due back to school, Diana came trooping in in skirts and petticoats and announced, businesslike, to Anne as she unpacked herself from the walk, that "Gilbert went with his father to Charlottetown for the day and won't be back 'til late."

Anne's demeanor changed from anticipative to cool, and she remained somewhat subdued and quiet as she and Diana worked away at their homework sent by Miss Stacy. By the time Diana decided it was getting late and she had chores, Anne grabbed her white wrist and said, "Diana, please don't think me mad at you or anything of that sort. I have found myself in a rather . . . quiet mood, which doesn't happen often. But it's not through any fault of yours, Diana, if you were thinking so. It's all mine . . . rather. . ."

"It's because I brought your schoolwork instead of Gilbert Blythe." Diana felt quite the victor as speechlessness beset itself on the tongue of Anne Shirley for the first time. To add to her abject humiliation, a delicate offsetting pink bloomed on her pale freckled cheeks. "I have eyes, Anne," Diana smirked, flouncing her skirts as she bid her goodbye. She shut the door and Anne turned away from the seclusion of the studying and looked out over the dusk-settled late afternoon, and wondered aloud, to herself and the company of the listening Snow Queen, "Is that quite the reason?"

Anne deemed it to be so when the next day Gilbert and his cheerful youthful air and thirst for knowledge came riding back into the garret at Green Gables. Marilla also noticed the change in Anne's demeanor, and rightfully attributed it to Gilbert's appearance.

As the golden afternoon sun drifted away and Gilbert collected his things, he approached Anne with a sudden sober air. "Anne, I am truly sorry for my childish name-calling, that one day last fall," he said suddenly.

Anne realized she'd forgotten about that all. The memories of his vexing whisper and then of Mr. Phillips's wrongful sentence of her sitting with the boys hadn't recurred in her mind over the past few weeks after that first long, meaningful conversation. She said quietly, "I believe I forgave you a long time ago, Gilbert."

A weight lifted from his strong young shoulders and he looked alive again. "That's good to know, Anne."

At long, long last, Saturday afternoon Dr. Spencer came around and after a proper examination, unwrapped the ankle and announced Anne fit to walk. Carefully and slowly, first time off in a while, of course, but Anne took it in stride. She practiced and hopped and limped and bathed that ankle. She didn't attend Sunday school next day, as Marilla deemed that the walk was too far for so soon.

That Monday morning, bright and early, lunch bucket in hand and the remainder of the book load from her room tucked under her arm, Anne in her new school dress was bright in spite of it. "I'm so excited, I cannot eat," she declared to a beaming Matthew and Marilla, who rolled her eyes. Marilla practically tucked a jam half-sandwich into Anne's hand as a knock sounded at the door.

"Diana, most likely," Marilla said aloud, though she harbored a secret hope that was realized when Anne opened the door to reveal Gilbert Blythe. Marilla didn't hear the two's conversation, but she watched them from the kitchen doorway as she dried dishes, a vehicle to keep her hands busy. Anne was animated, and Gilbert was enamored.

A few minutes later Anne came skipping over in a hurry. "Gilbert and I are going to walk to school. We'll get Diana on the way there," Anne relayed to the two Cuthbert siblings.

"Hurry then; your gabbing has made you late," Marilla pointed out, though inwardly her heart swelled. She wouldn't look at Matthew as she watched the two walk down the lane to the main road, Gilbert holding Anne's load of schoolbooks. The girl looked ahead, beyond grateful to be walking and breathing in the fresh air of her precious outdoors, and the boy with his brown cap—well, his eyes stayed stuck willingly on the beaming face of the girl with the red—not carrot—colored braids.

Thanks for reading! :)