Author's Note

What's the feeling that we all currently need a little fanfiction now more than ever?

I'd like to take this opportunity to give a special shout out to all my readers across all my stories from all parts of our planet. These last weeks have shown that our world is smaller and more connected than we could have ever reckoned on - and that we all are united in our attempts to safeguard our friends and family, our livelihoods and way of life, in the face of this now global concern. My best wishes to anyone who may be impacted by COVID-19.

And to my one lone, lovely reader from Italy, i miei pensieri e le mie preghiere sono con voi x

Love,

MrsVonTrapp x

Chapter Twenty Eight

The Year is a Book

Part Two

Anne smiled thoughtfully as she placed Gilbert's gifted lily in her hair, carefully coifed by Diana after a pleasant day together spent ostensibly studying, but which had descended on several occasions into openly girlish gossip.

Diana had been full of plans and dreams and laughter, readier than ever to wave Kingsport farewell now and settle back into the quieter rhythms of Avonlea, with the anticipation of her future wedding and arrangements adding a welcome diversion. If only her mother wouldn't send her constant updates from the mouth of Mrs Harmon Andrews regarding Jane's nuptials, she had moaned dramatically, she might be perfectly happy.

Perfectly happy… Anne mused to herself as she stared into the glass back in her dorm room. It was a concept that had once seemed sadly ridiculous regarding her own life, where happiness was mutable, relative, elusive… and dependent on so many external factors. Mere survival had given way to a determined resolution to succeed, which had settled into a numb sort of contentment. But at Redmond… with her friends… during times in class… in Avonlea… with Tom… and with Gilbert… she had caught herself happy.

Even Katherine's latest letter had, miraculously, outlined this concern. If the woman who could not -or would not – raise a smile for most of Anne's adolescence was thinking she should seek and even find happiness, then it was incumbent on herself to do the same, surely?

And Gilbert made her happy… sometimes such a deliriously silly sort of happy she thought she would never catch her breath again. His lovely mother had been right in his wanting to escort her to every occasion, large and small, that the term had thrown at them, but it was the quiet times too that wove a particular sort of magic … the sitting companionably under their oaks; the ducking in for a quiet respite in the nearest tea room; the meanders around the park; the knowing glances during their English tutorials; his rapturous applause during debating; his look searching her out in the stands after he had thundered down the football field. Him tucking her arm into his, with a glowing sort of pride, and parading them both the length and breadth of Redmond.

Anne smoothed the beautiful blush-hued gown that had arrived the week before in the post; Mrs Blythe's most amazing handiwork; a gorgeous floaty dream of a dress that she had lovingly and skilfully crafted for the girl who was courting her son. It was an incomparable gift and Anne still didn't know how she could possibly repay such kindness, except, as Adela Blythe had urged, to keep enjoying your time together… Thank you, Anne, you have made our son so wonderfully happy.

It seemed a cruelty to not be able to spend their first summer together, but there were myriad problems with that venture. Firstly, she could not in all conscience parade around Avonlea on Gilbert's arm knowing that Tom and all at Green Gables would see it firsthand if not most certainly hear about it later. She just couldn't do it to them, and to him. Neither would she trespass on the kindness of the Barrys any longer than was necessary to attend Jane's wedding and make a call to both the Blythes and Tom and the twins – and hopefully Mr Cuthbert – whilst she was there. It was out of the question that she would or could stay at either Green Gables or Blythe Farm, though for slightly different reasons. And perhaps Pris might ask her out of kindness but her own circumstances were rather fraught enough as it was, and Spencervale was not exactly down the road from Avonlea. Most biting of all, she was ever-mindful of money, and a long, sociable summer would neither help her save any nor give her the means by which to earn it.

So back to Summerside she would go.

Anne told herself – as she had told Gilbert – that she would be going back this time for her own benefit and on her own terms. With Katherine soon off to Europe, the Girls Home would be short a tutor, and the prestige of being both a former teacher at Summerside High School and alumnus of Summerside Academy would also help her pick up any stray additional holiday work that might be available at either institution.

It was small consolation, but it was the price of her dream – and her independence. And despite the love of one man and the loving friendship of another, those were still the only two things she dared, even now, allow herself to tie to.

"You're a born diplomat, Gilbert!" Phil smiled up at him, his ears still ringing from the resounding applause that had greeted his speech outlining the student council's achievements in his year as its' Freshman president. "Managing to celebrate the successes - and even to congratulate the people who weren't always responsible for them! Are you sure I can't press you into service regarding my mother?"

Gilbert grinned in both jubilation and relief, shaking imaginary perspiration from his brow. "Even I daren't stand against the mighty Mrs Gordon. I'm afraid you're on your own, there."

Philippa pouted prettily, snapping her ornate fan in defence against the warmth of the late May evening. Beside her, Gilbert scanned Redmond's rather grand ballroom for his date, who had been in deep conversation with their English professor at the time he had been required to take the stage.

"So what will your summer look like, Mr Blythe?" Phil enquired, taking his arm as they made leisurely progress through the milling crowds. "Will it be all lazy days by the river and apple picking?"

She was rewarded with his amused chuckle. "You are presuming I survive both my chemistry and mathematics exams in the meantime, Miss Gordon."

"Oh, I wouldn't exert yourself over Mathematics, there," she offered archly, to his wry smile of knowing.

"And what about you, Phil? Will it be all duelling swains and boating parties?"

Her merry laugh lit her warm brown eyes. "Haven't you heard? I've sworn off duelling swains. They take up too much time and energy. You always have to work so hard to placate them. It's all rather exhausting."

Gilbert shook his head at her fondly. "All you need is the one good man, Phil."

"And what a shame he's already taken!"

Phil enjoyed the color that rose promptly to Gilbert's cheeks, smiling benignly, and changing the subject in rescue.

"I must say, it was rather poor form for Jane to schedule her wedding to specifically clash with Mother's annual Summer Soiree," she now sighed. "You'll all be back in Avonlea, kicking up your heels amongst the hay bales, and I'll be talking to so many stuffed shirts over fresh strawberries."

"Well, we won't all be kicking up our heels in Avonlea…" Gilbert's look grew pensive. "Anne will only be there for the wedding, and even then only for five nights."

"You haven't been able to convince her to stay longer?"

He gave an almost imperceptible sigh. "Not yet."

"Well, she wouldn't even come to Bolingbroke at all this time around, so you're ahead of me."

They paused in conversation, watching Anne's enthusiastic approach towards them; a becoming blush-hued dress offsetting her pale complexion, flaming hair and smoky eyes.

"You know she just doesn't want to feel indebted to anyone, Gilbert," Phil reminded gently. "And for all your feelings about it – and perhaps even hers – Summerside is the closest place to home she has."

There wasn't the opportunity for a reply, and he didn't yet trust himself with one. Home. He had looked across at Anne at another dance, already seeming a lifetime ago, and knew that's what he saw when he contemplated her. Now he was very afraid that Avonlea might as well be of ashes to him without her.

"You're awfully quiet, Mr Departing President," Anne's smile was caught by a street lamp, lighting her face with a wistful glow as they passed under it. Ahead of them on the walk back to their boarding houses they heard Charlie's low monotone and the lilting laugher of Pris and Phil's banter.

"Just contemplating your incomparable beauty, Anne-girl," he smiled down at her. "The vision of you in this dress… I have no words. I've tried to come up all evening with something at all worthy of the sight of you."

Anne brushed down the fine fabric reverently, blushing to his open admiration.

"Oh, Gil… It is the most incredible dress I've ever worn. I can never thank your mother adequately."

"You don't have to, sweetheart. Just knowing it has brought you pleasure and that it looked so lovely on you is thanks enough for her, I'm sure. And…" he raised a teasing eyebrow, "there's always the pleasure she'll get seeing you in it at Jane's wedding, although it will be most uncharitable of you to outshine the bride."

"Gilbert!"

He laughed low and unrepentantly, drawing her to him for a quick, passionate kiss in the safety of the shadows.

"You are incorrigible!" Anne beamed a little too delightedly, which only served as further encouragement, for he stopped her completely for several further stolen moments, making them then run in their haste to catch their friends.

Priscilla and Philippa were waiting just inside the main doors, with an ever-impatient Charlie having waved them all off without ceremony, bitter experience telling him that Gilbert and Anne might draw out their goodbyes for another ten minutes at least.

"Well you two lovebirds, time to call it a night!" Phil teased.

"You make parting such sweet sorrow, * Miss Gordon," Gilbert grinned, arm still resolutely around Anne.

"Never mind the Shakespeare, Gil!" Pris interrupted with an air of excitement. "I've been meaning to tell you! Guess who I received a letter from yesterday?"

Anne found her eyes growing wide, wondering if it was to be an announcement of another of Tom's missives.

"You've got me, Pris."

"Stella Maynard!"

Anne and Phil exchanged a look of puzzlement, but Gilbert shook his head amazedly.

"Stella from Queen's? That sure is a blast from the past!"

Pris grinned, turning to Anne and Phil to explain. "You'd both love Stella – she's wry and clever. She's been teaching these past few years, but she's tired of the trials of a country schoolmarm ** and means to come to Redmond next year. She can enter as a sophomore alongside us, apparently, because she took a third year at Queen's. And she's sick of living out of a trunk boarding all over so she's wondering whether I could get up a few friends and we could all take rooms together somewhere in town."

Phil clapped her hands together jubilantly. "Ooh, count me as your friend there, Miss Grant! Board together, in our own place? Away from Hatchet Face?"

"That has a nice ring to it," Gilbert joked, smiling down at a suddenly pensive Anne.

"Yes, we could get away from our dreadful boarding house mistress," Pris nodded eagerly. "I'm sure you'd like to see the back of her, Anne."

Anne gave tremulous smile, not wanting to think of the ugly upbraiding she'd received on her arrival back from Summerside with Gilbert, and the rather wide berth she'd given her since.

"Diana, Jane and Ruby will be leaving at the end of the year…" Phil mused. "Their rooms are lovely but they are an awfully long way away from Redmond…"

"Won't it be more expensive to board independently?" Anne bit her lip.

"We'd have to do our figures, certainly," Pris agreed sagely. "At any rate, there's their Scottish landlady over at Diana's. We wouldn't be needing one – Stella comes accompanied by her aunt, who can act as housekeeper – and chaperone…" she gave a saucy look to Gilbert.

"Think of it, Anne… no curfew!" he gave a cheeky stage whisper, smiling broadly as Pris shook her head at him.

"Where would we even begin looking?" Phil puzzled. "We don't want somewhere too dingy…"

"Or too grand…" Pris warned. "Anne and I aren't one of your Bolingbroke heiresses, Miss Gordon. And neither is Stella. You might need to come down a notch or two to meet us."

"Oh, who needs notches anyway?" Phil laughed, waving her fan about airily.

Their buoyant mood was rather interrupted by the fierce tugging of the curtains by the doors, and a robust and disapproving throat clearing that could be heard even from their position outside.

Phil rolled her eyes. "So when do we start?!"

As a boy, before his mother died, Tom Caruthers had roamed Hopetown, inevitably drawn back to those who made their living along the row of tradesmen and market stalls just around the corner from the public houses and within sight of the docks. There was the smithy, clanging metal upon metal as a jarring accompaniment to the shouts of the flower vendors; the saddler, who told terrible tales of the tannery he had been apprenticed to as a lad, and who still seemed to carry the tang of those hides on his own weathered skin; the cobbler, affable and overworked; an ancient woman who weaved baskets of surprising skill and durability; and the woodturner.

He'd been fascinated by the working of the great lathe, and how pressure and continuous rotation were used to create something both practical and beautiful. How the pumping of the treadle with one's foot powered the revolutions, and how a single chisel or tool placed just so could cut a groove that became a decorative signature, or could shape an entirely new piece.

At Green Gables Tom had taken his love of wood and honed his skill not just in his whittling but in an ever-increasing list of handyman tasks; replacing rotting fenceposts; fixing the front gate or the barn door or a porch step or an indoor cabinet; but his yearning was not to mend but to create. His figurines were ever popular but he longed to challenge himself with other toys; spinning tops; a doll's cradle for Dora, before she grew too old to enjoy it; a wooden ball and skittles for Davy, before he grew past the interest in them; a chess set for Matthew; an ornate new serving tray for Marilla and Rachel. Pris Grant's letter, urging him to try for the Carmody Fair, had sparked new ideas and possibilities, but he lacked the tools and the knowledge, and had not much chance of gaining either.

Regular business took him to Carmody, and his own longings now always took him past the woodturner there. Fate took him in time to see the sign proclaiming the shop with the constant wood shavings on the floor was soon to close, and was available to the best offer lock, stock and barrel.

Tom entered, a strange churning in his gut, such as he hadn't felt since… well, since Anne had left him for Gilbert, and before that, perhaps the time as a boy he'd had to leave her.

"Mr MacPherson," Tom tipped his cap, entering the darkened domain of the man he had come to know well these past few years, ever asking questions about this and that, always fascinated by process as much as product.

"Hello there, sonny," Mac gave the same greeting he always did, shuffling over from his stool at his desk, both made by his own hands when he was younger than Tom was now. "Was afraid I wouldn't see you in time 'fore I shut the doors."

"Mac.." Tom took the offered hand, as large as his own. "I'm awfully sorry you're closing. It will be a real loss to the locals here. And myself, to be honest."

That was met with a grizzled grin.

"Was business not doing so well?"

"Ah, lad, as fine as it ever was," Mac waved a dismissive hand. "If I had the interest in it, I could still make a decent living, but my back plays up somethin' terrible, and I jist haven't got it in me anymore. Would've done away with it years ago, but we aint got no sons, and I wasn't about to hand it over to either them numbskulls my girls married; they don't know a lathe from a soup ladle."

He gave a raspy cough at his own joke.

"But you, sonny," he looked Tom square in the eye, "you got the interest and some skills already. I could train yer up in a few weeks, enough to have yer start off, and be on hand if yer need any help. You jist name yer price for the whole lot."

Time stilled for Tom; enough for him to feel the breath in his chest and the astonishment force his eyes wide.

"Me, Sir? Me buy the business?"

"Best prospect I got. Course, you couldn't advertise yerself as no woodturner, as you got no training behind yer and yer aint been apprenticed to no one. But nothin stopping yer from opening a store that sells whatever yer manage t'make with yer own two hands."

To own a store… to be a shopkeeper and tradesman… the boy he had been turned in an amazed circle, as if he had to physically see this dream represented. To be a shopkeeper – one of the respectable working class – would make his poor mother sit up in her grave, clasping her hands with joy. For a stunned moment he allowed the light of tantalising promise pierce the gloom of the dull interior. And then the light retreated, with slow, painful precision.

"Thank you, Sir," he gulped. "But I'm afraid it's impossible. I'm… I'm needed on the farm, back in Avonlea, you see…"

How to encompass that responsibility in the one explanation? Matthew hadn't done any real labour in years… Davy was still too young to contribute much… Marilla, Rachel and Dora could hardly be expected to drive a plough… The threshing machine had helped enormously, but Tom found he'd still needed to take on some boys during the busier months, particularly the last few years. An experienced farmer could take over the entire thing tomorrow, and be mighty glad to do so, but that was a pipe dream. Who could possibly do it? Mr Harrison was getting on and perhaps didn't have the temperament to deal with the women of Green Gables; Fred would be busy enough getting his family's farm back on track once his studies ended, let alone eying any land of his own to bring Diana to when they were married; Mr Blythe was good natured and proficient, but any ties to that family were out of the question on so many levels…

"I see that gleam in yer eye, sonny. Yer words say one thing but yer face says another."

He felt himself frowning, disproving the observation, suddenly forlorn.

"I'm sorry, Mac…" he shook his head. "It's a generous and tempting offer, but I regret I can't take you up on it."

"I'm sorry too, sonny. Shame to let all this rot out back," he gave a glance over the tools and machines encompassing his life's work.

Something in that tone stopped Tom up short.

"You'd sell the store as a separate concern?"

"Prob'ly have to, now."

"Without… all your tools, and the lathe, Sir?"

"Ain't no one has use fer 'em, it appears."

I have use for them… the inner voice, loud and clear, announced itself.

Tom took off his cap; fiddled with it absentmindedly as Matthew always did.

It was a mad idea, of course… where would he put everything? How would he properly learn to use it? How would he find the time to make it all worthwhile?

Tom did some rough calculations. He'd always had his own separate savings, not tied to Green Gables. Marilla and Matthew had always been insistent upon it. He'd been careful with money, having never had any, and not, besides the family, having anyone – or anything – to spend it on. He certainly could absorb a fair price for everything he saw in here and still keep a nest egg.

"I'll buy everything here, Mac," he suddenly determined, taking the leap, feeling his pulse drum with nervous energy. "I'll come back for the lathe last, if you'll be so good as to throw in a few lessons, before you close for good."

Pat MacPherson smiled with an almost-pride at the news. A part of him didn't even care about the figure they would agree upon.

"Got yerself a deal there, sonny."

Gilbert crossed the quad with long, determined strides, anxious to keep his appointment, smiling into the sun despite the fact his head was full to bursting with exam revision. End of year exams loomed large the following week, and he could hardly spare a moment, let alone an afternoon for a lunch date, but this had been a rather special request, and a more than special companion.

He adjusted his tie, almost out of habit, and plunged into the dim contrast of Anne's boarding house, pausing by the desk to scan the reception area, and smiling gamely at Anne and her companion in quiet conversation, patiently awaiting him.

"Anne!" he met them without delay, kissing her on the cheek before turning his attention to the woman with those arresting amber eyes. "Miss Brooke! Such a wonderful pleasure to see you again!"

Katherine Brooke, tall and imposing, if falling just short of stylish, raised those thick dark brows in what could have been mirth, if he hadn't known better, extending the hand not holding onto a rather impressive mahogany cane.

"Mr Blythe. The pleasure is mine, I am sure." The tight smile accompanying the sentiment was softened by her slightly warmer tone.

Anne meanwhile beamed as if Gilbert had greeted Katherine herself instead with a kiss, bravely linking arms with her mentor and chattering gaily during their brief tour of Redmond on the way to their favoured tea room. Gilbert knew she had been anxious at the prospect of farewelling Katherine for Europe, and understood with a little sad throb that her chipper cheer was her way of masking her feelings, not wanting to show how much of a wrench the parting would really be for her.

Settled quickly and without fuss, Gilbert sat opposite the indomitable woman they had both feared would die only months before. She was still a stern figure by way of her very nature, and there were etched some fluttery lines about those unusual eyes that had not been there before, and certainly her cane and the reason for it would ever remain, with a slight limp punctuating her gait. But he considered on the whole that her literal brush with death had softened her features and her attitude. She smiled a little more often, if sometimes reluctantly, and did her best to uphold her end of the conversation. There was still enough of that game spirit within, though, and he had to bite his lip when she gave Anne as her former charge enough dire warnings against academic complacency, given her remarkable success this year, as to make he himself determined to hit the books again when he got back to his rooms, lest he should risk disappointing her into the bargain.

"Dr McCubbin invites you to call on him if you find yourself in Summerside over the break, Mr Blythe," Katherine offered, eying him speculatively, her look hinting that it was obvious it wasn't a matter of if he made that summer journey but when. And that the decision would be hardly reliant on the availability of the affable doctor.

"Thank you, Miss Brooke. That would indeed be a delightful proposition."

"Though I trust you may make enquiries as to more suitable accommodation than last time," she parried, with a gleam in her eye.

He tried not to choke on his tea. "Indeed," he coughed, smiling away his discomfort, feeling that his short residence in that broom closet might haunt him forever.

Anne asked Katherine more specifically of her travel plans, and it was here, finally, that her enthusiasm for her upcoming adventure truly shone through in a flash of those amber eyes and in a new lightness to that low voice. Typically, Katherine Brooke's interest was far less romantic that Anne's would be, steeped in a practical curiosity to explore other cultures and civilisations. "It's not exactly the Taj Mahal yet, or the pyramids, but it's a beginning…" she offered with new openness. "I want to know, not just believe, that the world is round…" ***

Gilbert could readily understand her almost scientific need for answers; to gain knowledge through her own experiences, and not a dusty textbook. He admired her resolve as they said their goodbyes, even as he knew Anne's was wavering.

"Here will be my address in Rome," she handed a smart little calling card to Anne without ceremony. "I'll write you when I arrive, and by all means you may write me, but don't spent all your time recounting your life instead of going out there and living it."

Katherine turned to Gilbert, not hesitating as she offered another card to him.

"And for you, Mr Blythe," she acknowledged with a wry look. "So that you may write of anything Miss Shirley would rather not tell me."

"Yes, Ma'am," he gave an unrestrained grin.

There were years of friendship and unexpressed love in Anne and Katherine's slightly awkward embrace, with Anne trying to rein in her emotions and Katherine still uncomfortable in showing any.

"Oh, Katherine…" Anne snivelled. "Addio il mio amato amico…" ****

Those amber eyes focussed on Anne with their unusual intensity.

"Such high drama, Anne, even in your borrowed Italian," Katherine's smile betrayed a fond bemusement. And then, quietly, "Arrivederci, mia raggazza." ****

Whilst Anne tried not to cling to Katherine's arm, Gilbert hailed a cab and then helped her into it, hoisting up her small bag and shaking her hand enthusiastically.

"Safe travels, Miss Brooke."

"And to you, Mr Blythe, wherever the road may take you."

"As long as Anne is beside me on the journey, I don't much worry about the destination."

Anne blew a kiss and then they both waved the cab off, taking Katherine Brooke to her small Kingsport hotel ready for her early morning passage to England, and onwards to the Continent. Anne had hoarded a measure of composure until Katherine was out of sight, wherein she then began to whimper, as sad a sound as ever Gilbert had heard in his life.

"Darling…" he enfolded her in his arms. "You'll meet again. And until you do, you are surrounded by other friends who love you, and I vow to always be with you."

"Yes, of course…" she began to sob brokenly. "But I've just never felt so much an orphan, until now."

Gilbert swallowed hard and hopelessly at her distress. There was nothing that could be said to that, and for once he didn't try.

Chapter Notes

As previously, my chapter title is taken from Anne of the Island (Ch 22)

"The year is a book, isn't it, Marilla? Spring's pages are written in Mayflowers and violets, summer's in roses, autumn's in red maple leaves, and winter in holly and evergreen."

*William Shakespeare Romeo and Juliet (Act 2 Sc 2)

**Anne of the Island (Ch 9)

***Sullivan's Anne of Green Gables – The Sequel (Anne of Avonlea in North America)

****My Italian unfortunately doesn't extend much past Google translations, so I hope I have made an acceptable stab here. Anne's line translates as Farewell my beloved friend. Her use of Addio here is, as I understand it, a dramatic phrasing that introduces a finality to her goodbye, hence Katherine's reaction.

Katherine responds with Goodbye, my girl. Though her use of goodbye and not farewell is an indication that her goodbye is just for now, in an attempt at reassurance.