Hallo, all!

Since the end of Blythe Spirit, I've created a LiveJournal exclusively for my FanFiction, etc., username Blytheauthoress. The Blythe illustrations and more can be found there.

When I first published Chapter One of Blythe in February, I had no idea that it would be as successful as it seems to have been, let alone that I would be typing this, the preface to a second story. But here we go again, back into Gilbert's brain—er, back into Avonlea, I mean.

Unromantic Ideal is essentially the Redmond years, so if you didn't much like Anne of the Island, you're in for a rough time for the next four or five months. Especially as it is my favorite book in the series. :D

But I know you prefer the novels to the let's-mesh-books-two-through-four-into-an-entirely-inaccurate second movie, right? Of course!

And…we're off!

Chapter One: A Broken Silence

I don't wanna run away,

But I can't take it, I don't understand:

If I'm not meant for you, then why does my heart tell me that I am?

Is there any way that I could stay in your arms…?

-Daniel Bedingfield, If You're Not the One

Jennifer Blythe let out her breath with a whoosh as she leaned on Gilbert's trunk lid. The silly boy, having finished his packing…somehow or other…had left it sprawling open on the floor, and it was full to the bursting point. She pushed harder, but the trunk would NOT close.

At the sound of footsteps on the stairs, she raised her voice. "Gil? Come in here and help me with this?"

"Coming, mother!" Gilbert came bouncing up the steps, full of good cheer. He hadn't seen Anne since the fateful day he had given her his opinion of Averil's Atonement, but his decision to cling tenaciously to his love for her had lifted his spirits to such an alarming state that his mother half expected him to float clean up into the air.

Fortunately, Gilbert was still corporeal enough to clamber on top of his trunk and sit firmly on top, cramming the brass clasps into place. "There." Rising, he stood back to admire his trunk. There was something so…so exciting about a packed bag…the feeling that one was about to go off to places unexplored, and to encounter adventures undreamed of.

He picked up his leather satchel and dumped it unceremoniously upon the trunk. He would take the satchel on the train with him. His school things were in his trunk but he had put into the satchel A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens, which he was reading; and another book, which had just been published by a Robert Louis Stevenson, called Treasure Island…in case Gilbert got bored of A Tale of Two Cities, which was usually the case. There were also a blank book to sketch or write interesting things in—a sort of unofficial, irregular journal; a lead pencil, since one could not really safely manage a bottle of ink on the train; a sweater; some apples; his pocketbook…with a certain pink crêpe rose tucked into the side pocket, to remind him always of what he was fighting for.

"Where are you going, Gilbert?" asked his mother, absently straightening his tobacco-stripe quilt.

"Post office. Be back in a few minutes." Gilbert drew from the satchel a letter which he had been intending to post to a Queen's friend.

At the post office Gilbert mailed his letter without incident or mishap, and began his trek back home through the woods. He was just about to enter a small glen when a familiar voice assailed his ears.

"Me?" Anne was saying. "I'd be honored to accept this dance."

What was Anne—or, rather, who was she talking to?

"You have lovely starry violet eyes," murmured a husky voice.

His confusion was complete. As Gilbert entered the clearing, his boyish face lit up with a grin as he watched Anne waltzing about alone, carrying on a conversation with an imaginary partner.

"Why, thank you! You can call me Cordelia!

"Cordelia, you have an exquisite rose-leaf complexion." Anne punctuated her imaginary suitor's compliments with an exuberant twirl—which brought Gilbert right into her line of vision and she stumbled and stopped, mortified.

Gilbert turned to the empty air beside Anne, as though he could see her imaginary partner. "If you'll excuse me—I have an account to settle with this young lady. Anne," he addressed her, "look. About the other day—I know you probably don't want to hear this again, but I'm sorry if I—"

"No, Gilbert." Holding out a hand to him, she smiled and said seriously, "I am the one who should be sorry. I…realize now that you were only being the good, true friend that you always are to me. You know I've never received personal criticism well."

"Of course I do," Gilbert chuckled, relieved. "I've never regarded carrots the same way since I was thirteen."

Anne laughed aloud; her high, sylvan laugh, which made people look 'round to see where the faeries were. "Shall we take one of our rambles through the woods?"

"First," requested Gilbert, holding his own hand out politely, "would you care to…?" The question died away on his lips as Anne, with a mysterious expression, took his hand and curtsied over it, as he bowed.

Though they had no music and no way of keeping time save for their feet, Gilbert and Anne moved together with an easy lightness and levity which their dancing together had never possessed before. Gilbert could not help but look fixedly down upon his graceful—not to mention beautiful—partner, and Anne blushed under his gaze, and stumbled again.

"I'm sorry, Gil. I must have two left feet.

"Priscilla Grant is going to Redmond, too, by the way," she continued inconsequentially, as they walked on; "I just received a letter from her. Isn't that splendid? I hoped she would, but I didn't think her father would consent, even if she did get the Vocal Talent scholarship back at Queen's. He has, however, and we're to board together! I feel that I can face an army with banners—let alone all the professors of Redmond in one fell phalanx—with chums like you and Priscilla by my side!"

"I think we'll like Kingsport," Gilbert reassured her, though he was a little disturbed by the subject change. "Charlie says it's a nice old burg, and has the finest natural park in the world. I've heard the scenery in it is magnificent."

"I wonder if it will be…if it can be…any more beautiful than this," sighed Anne pensively, gesturing about at the golden fields and purple glooms of woods they were traversing…not to mention Green Gables away in the distance.

"I think," suggested Gilbert, "that it will be just as beautiful…but in an old-city sort of way, not the calm, magical, Island way our beloved P.E.I. has."

Anne looked at Gilbert with new admiration in her eyes. "I never thought of it that way. It makes me feel a little better." She laughed sadly. "As you can see, I'm homesick even a few days before we've left."

Upon the bridge that spanned Barry's Pond, Anne ceased speaking abruptly and leaned her elbow on the railing, resting her cheek in her hand while her other hand idly trailed circles over the knots in the wood. She sighed deeply.

Gilbert waited a few minutes, admiring the scenery. "You are very quiet, Anne."

"I'm afraid to speak or move…for fear that all this wonderful beauty will vanish…just like a wonderful dream…or a broken silence." He words were barely above a breath.

Wonderful beauty. It was that, Gilbert thought happily.

The silence was at first comfortable, but Gilbert was amazed to find that suddenly it bore down on him, crushing him with its oppressive weight.

Say something.

Say IT.

IT?

Say what you want to say…what she needs to hear…what would make you both happy to have settled just before you leave for college together…in the assurance that it will not be the last thing you do hand in hand!

Gilbert's heart thrilled with a quiet intensity at this idea.

What better place to speak to Anne about his love for her than just above the place where he had rescued her as a Lily Maid?

Gilbert took a deep breath.

Tenderly taking Anne's beautiful slender hand in his own, he said, softly but excitedly, "Anne…I—"

"I must go home," interrupted Anne, freeing her hand from Gilbert's and using both to pick up her skirts as she stepped smartly away, down the Green Gables side of the bridge. "Marilla had a headache this afternoon, and I'm sure the twins will be in some dreadful mischief by this time.

"Davy is still getting into mischief," continued Anne, as Gilbert strode along beside her, abashed. "Not as much as before, but still, it's enough to turn Marilla's hair white. I'm surprised it hasn't yet. Mrs. Lynde says Davy is a holy terror, and Marilla says there's no 'holy' about it. I do love him, despite all his faults, for there is something endearing about people who need you, don't you think?"

"Well, I—" Gilbert was having trouble getting a word in edgewise.

"I'm afraid I only love your Dora as much as I ought. She is very well-behaved of course, and docile and mannered and a perfect angel. But as I was never such a perfect soul, I can't see how she can do it! Especially with a brother like Davy!"

"Let ME get a word in EDGEWISE once in a while before I PITCH YOU!" The memory teased Gilbert's mind so cruelly that he almost missed Anne's hasty "GoodnightandgoodbyeGilbertseeyouinafewdays!" before she bolted into Green Gables like a rabbit into its safe hole.