Author's Note: Thank goodness that my Twilight infatuation is over! I've now returned to my first and most enduring literary love, Anne of Green Gables. Here's my first ever "Anne" fic with our favorite Miss Shirley and Mr. Blythe. Enjoy, but do so with the knowledge that I own nothing of Anne of Green Gables. It belongs rightfully to L.M. Montgomery. Note that in the first section of this chapter, I have underlined passages which are taken directly from Anne of the Island, Chapter 40, entitled "A Book of Revelation." Everything else is just my embellishment of a classic.

Lilies of the Valley

Chapter 1—Not Gilbert

Even at the age of twenty-two, Anne Shirley, Bachelor of Arts, was not yet grown up enough to fully realize that visions and ideals are fickle things too often and too easily shattered. Indeed, after three carefree weeks spent with her friends at Echo Lodge, she did not realize—could not realize—how quickly life, and one's perspective of it, can change.

Despite a stormy evening, kitchen chatter at Green Gables was merry until Davy heedlessly remarked,

"Say, Anne, did you know that Gilbert Blythe is dying?"

For one long, horrible moment, Anne thought that she was going to laugh a humorless, hysterical laugh. Gilbert dying? The idea! But something in the air, something in the faces of Marilla and Mrs. Lynde, and something in the quickening of her own heart squelched the impulse.

Neither laughter nor words hailed from her lips. Anne stood quite silent and motionless, looking at Davy. Her face had gone so white that Marilla thought she was going to faint.

"Davy, hold your tongue," said Mrs. Rachel angrily. "Anne, don't look like that—don't look like that! We didn't mean to tell you so suddenly."

"Is—it—true?" Asked Anne in a voice that was not hers.

"Gilbert is very ill, Mrs. Lynde said gravely. "He took down with typhoid fever just after you left for Echo Lodge. Did you never hear of it?"

"No," said that unknown voice.

"It was a very bad case form the start. The doctor said he'd been terribly run down. They've a trained nurse and everything's been done. Don't look like that, Anne. While there's life there's hope."

Anne stared blankly.

Hope?

Her heart now stood still. Her hands were cold. Mrs. Lynde was talking about hope while Gilbert was dying?

"Mr. Harrison was here this evening and he said they have no hope of him," reiterated Davy.

Marilla, looking old and worn and tired, got up and marched Davy grimly out of the kitchen.

"Oh, don't look so , dear." Said Mrs. Rachel, putting her kind old arms about the pallid girl. "I haven't given up hope, indeed I haven't. He's got the Blythe constitution in his favor, that's what.."

Anne gently put Mrs. Lynde's arms away from her, walked blindly across the kitchen, through the hall, up the stairs to her old room. At its window she knelt down, staring out unseeingly.

Her mind was tumultuous. Gilbert was—dying? No, no that was impossible! Again, a nearly irresistible urge to laugh swept over Anne. But nothing broke her aggrieved silence save the low rumble of thunder and the rakish shriek of wind around the house as the storm intensified. Rain poured from the sky as a thousand thoughts and memories assailed Anne's mind.

She remembered Gilbert Blythe the schoolboy, who was, according to Diana Barry, "aw'fuly handsome."

Gilbert, who had the audacity to wink at a strange girl. Gilbert, who apologized for teasing Anne—and after she had smashed a slate over his head! Gilbert, who slipped a pink candy heart under her elbow as a peace offering. Gilbert, who rivaled her fiercely for years in school. Gilbert, who saved her life on Barry's Pond. Gilbert, who gave up Avonlea School for Anne's sake. Gilbert, who had waited patiently for friendship. Gilbert, who practically confessed his love for Anne that long ago evening in Hester Gray's garden.

No, Gilbert wasn't dying! Not the Gilbert who led the freshman class at Redmond. Not the Gilbert who captained the football team. Not the Gilbert who accompanied Anne to all the college functions those first two years. Not the Gilbert who called faithfully first at St. John's and then at Patty's Place. Not the Gilbert who gave her a pink enamel pendant for Christmas. Not the Gilbert who sent Anne beautiful lilies-of-the-valley on the day of their convocation.

No! Not that Gilbert.

Anne straightened up and smeared tears form her pale cheeks defiantly. Maybe somewhere tonight, a mere boy named Gilbert was—was dying. But…surely not…Gilbert Blythe. Anne's Gilbert wasn't dying.

Was he?

Anne wracked her mind to remember Mrs. Lynde's earlier words. She'd said that Gillbert had been terribly run down. Indeed, Anne remembered Marilla asking when Anne had first returned for the summer, What had Gilbert Blythe done to himself at college?

Anne remembered Gilbert at convocation. What she most remembered was the flash and fire of his usually gentle hazel eyes when he saw that she wore his flowers instead of Roy Gardner's. But now, in retrospect, she saw how thin and pale and tired he had looked even then.

And hadn't she seen him a month ago, just before she left for Echo Lodge? Now it hit her. Amidst all the gaiety of the A.V.I.S. hosted part, had she really failed to notice how—ill he'd seemed?

A sharp, sudden knock at the kitchen door startled Anne from her troubled ruminations. She rose from her place by the window and crept to the upstairs landing, where she would be out of sight, but well within earshot.

"James Harrison!" Mrs. Lynde's voice sounded in surprise. "You are dripping wet!"

"Thanks for noticing, Rachel," he retorted sourly. There was a pause before he said gravely, "I've come to tell you that Mr. Blythe's gone in hot haste for the Carmody doctor. Gilbert's got worse."

Marilla gasped softly. "I'll go tell Anne." Her voice was wooden.

But Anne didn't need to be told.

Her throat caught on a sob as fresh, hot tears spilled over. Time held absolutely still.

She had come to realize, at long last, that she was in love with Gilbert Blythe; that she had always been in love with him. That was why her face burned scarlet every time Redmond gossip had paired his name with Christine Stuart's; why her heart had ached over the loss of their cherished friendship; why she had worn his lilies-of-the-valley at convocation; why she had not been able to marry Roy Gardner

Anne trembled with this revelation. Everything had suddenly become so clear. And then a memory swept over her, unbidden, of that horrible day two years ago when she had so foolishly refused Gilbert's proposal.

"Forgive me Gilbert," she'd pleaded feebly. She blanched, remembering the way her stomach heaved when he had released her hand. How ashen his face had looked! How haunted his eyes!

"There isn't anything to forgive," he'd said in a strange, stiff voice, "There have been times when I thought you did care. I've deceived myself, that's all. Good-bye, Anne."

Good-bye, Anne.

The wretched words echoed hollowly in her ears until she thought was going to go insane. With a choked sob, Anne turned and fled into her room. She tripped over her desk chair in the darkness and it clattered to the floor. Anne fell in front of her trunk, still packed from her jaunt to Echo Lodge, and savagely fished for her heaviest shawl. She flung it around her shoulders and ran downstairs, barreling straight in to Mr. Harrison as she was about to dash out the kitchen door. He managed to grip her forearm before she could take another step.

"Whoa, missie!" He cried. "Where do you think you're going?"

She turned sharply to an astonished Marilla.

"Please," Anne's voice was a tormented whisper. "He can't die without knowing how I care."

Marilla opened her mouth to protest, but found herself nodding consent instead. She understood the frenzied pain in Anne's eyes.

Anne wrenched free of Mr. Harrison's grasp and disappeared swiftly, in the blinding rain, down the road.