Soli Deo gloria

DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Anne of Avonlea.

So it's snowing all across my nice spring here, and normally, one of my favorite things to do in spring is to sit outside and smell the fresh air and listen to everything as I read through the Anne of Green Gables series. Seeing the snowflakes on the redbuds and peach trees has inspired me, though.

One question was often offered to Anne over the years, and she always had the same answer to it, no matter what. "What is your favorite season?" "Spring!" How could anything compare? Autumn surely tried, going to extreme lengths to make each next autumn better than the last in her memory, but spring would forever reign as queen and favorite of her heart. She loved spring, and so spring reigned eternally in her heart and spirit through the entire year.

She felt spring in her blood as she looked across her schoolhouse full of children. It was Friday afternoon, and they'd just returned from a nature walk, previously and because of Miss Stacey. The redbuds glowed on the trees and the tiny slips of green leaves crept out along the branches of many a species of trees. Anne could smell something in the air: it was too early for mayflowers, but was that the irresistible scent of peach blossoms? There was something keen and lovely and lovable in the air. Anne longed to run outside the walls of her beloved classroom and fall into the arms of her welcome spring.

Anne's mask of patience wore thin; her students felt that same call in their blood (or perhaps, for those with dissimilar tastes, they just wanted their break from school for the weekend to begin); thus, after they'd settled down into their seats, concentration upon their last essays from last week's nature walk was scarce and oftener turned upon the windows, their one outlook into the outside world.

Anne bit her lip and looked at the clock. It was twenty past the hour, and she would rather not set a precedent for upcoming weeks, but it was such a lovely day, with the white sun coaxing and waking up everything it touched, so it yawned and turned its face upon the world—

"Oh, let's be done for the day. I'm sure these essays will easily survive the weekend," Anne said.

Suddenly all those drowsy yet restless faces were effused with life, and exclamations of "Thanks, Teacher!", "Goodbye, Teacher!", and "See you on Monday, Teacher!" echoed behind scraping shoes and boisterous laughter.

Anne smiled. She remembered how in youth, trapped in chores and daily routine, she let her mind escape to the beauty of her imagination. The outdoors this lustrous spring was her imagination, and she allowed herself to escape this schoolroom to fall into the open arms of her imagination.

There was one left amongst all her students: Paul Irving. He stood up and said, "I'll help you lock up, Teacher."

Anne smiled appreciatively. "Thank you, dear Paul. Between the two of us, it'll be quick, and we can set off in good time."

Paul nodded gravely. "Yes. Grandma Irving wants me home inside before the snow starts up. It can get terribly snowy terribly fast on this island."

Anne, startled, looked up from the collected papers on her desk. "Snow? Paul, your grandma Irving is usually never wrong when it comes to her convictions and beliefs," (in raising small boys into great big men, at least), "but perhaps her instincts are quite wrong on this point. It's an unseasonably delightful day, and shows no warning signs of blizzard."

"Perhaps not a blizzard," Paul said, retrieving the bucket of water waiting in the coat room, "but snow nevertheless. I'm afraid Grandma, as usual, Teacher, isn't wrong. She's read her almanac and believes it in second to the Bible. It's to snow today."

Anne felt a frown crease across her face as she helped Paul wash the blackboard of its powdery chalk dust. That was the indescribable smell in the air, perhaps what made it so keen and strong. Snow. It was March, and Anne's birthday was next week, and she always felt such a kinship with spring. Winter had had its time; Anne had bided her own time quietly, sloshing around in the late sludge in Matthew's old swamp boots, avoiding the puddles of black ice lying in wait for unsuspecting passersby. Eagerly had she awaited the arrival of fresh green carpets of grass, of birds returning to their true homes with joyous cheers, of the creek gurgling afresh with life and chatter. To know that winter still imposed its authority over the land made Anne feel ice in her heart for the first time that season.

Between the two friends, Avonlea School was properly tidied and locked up for its weekend rest. In the foyer, the two bundled up in what winter wear they'd brought. Anne felt a tad bit underprepared in just her coat and scarf and gloves, having forgone a hat for the daffodil she'd found and tucked with a pin behind her ear. Paul, meanwhile, was as fat as a sausage in his voluminous coat and knitted warm things. "Grandma thinks I'm still too terribly thin," he said in way of explanation, "and as porridge isn't working just yet, she makes due."

Anne imagined all the time put into those knitted things, and conjured up an image of a prim, strict woman on a rocking chair dutifully working away at a mountain of scarves, mittens, and stockings for her loved grandson. Anne smiled and said, "Your grandma thinks of everything, Paul." She felt like Grandma Irving had won in preparation against the snow as she opened the front door; the old lady would sneer at her own inability to prepare for the future as she came face-to-face with a delightful sprinkling of snowflakes.

Paul looked up eagerly at his beloved Teacher. "Would you like me to walk you home, Teacher?"

Anne smiled at him. "That is a lovely offer, Paul. Shall we walk down to your harbor? I'll like to walk by myself part of the way to Green Gables. You see, I like to talk to my thoughts."

"Do they answer back?" Paul wondered.

"Of course. We have lovely conversations. Each spring there are a dozen new lovely things to discover, thus a dozen new things to name. I'd like to find them and introduce myself to them."

"I understand," Paul said. Anne smiled, a suffuse of pleasure lightening up her face. Wasn't it lovely to say something and to hear "I understand" in return? It was lovely to be understood. "Once you're introduced to them, Teacher, would you introduce me to them some day?"

Anne smiled and squeezed his thickly mittened hand. "Of course. I look forward to it."

The trailing road along away from Avonlea School was a delight. The barren fields sprinkled with snow reminded Anne of a fleshly frosted cake. Sloping trees lining the road down to the harbor held out buds on their branches; these buds were covered in a soft blanket of fallen snow. Snow and white narcissus looked like sisters; darling pansies and orange-kissed daffodils spoke to each other, maintaining a dialogue even as the snow fell in, as if trying to interrupt them and turn the attention onto it.

The beechwoods danced in the wind, casting waves and spirals of snow along with the regular, even fall onto Anne and Paul. The harbor were edged with ice and gulls diving and swerving along with the snow as Anne and Paul stopped. "Goodbye, Teacher," Paul said. "I'm going to talk to the Twin Sailors and the Golden Lady. I don't do it in the winter for Grandma fears me to gain a chill, but it is spring now, isn't it, Teacher? Mightn't I go to Andrews' Cave and see my Rock People?"

Anne bent to meet his shining eyes and said, in her understanding, quiet way, "Yes, Paul, I think it is all right to seek your Rock People. However, you must promise me to hurry back to your grandma. She does worry about you, and it is so terribly nice to have someone worrying about you."

Paul nodded, but sighed a little, like a martyr facing a little freedom before resigning himself to his fate. "I know it. I do love Grandma, Teacher, but she can be so . . . so . . ."

"Misunderstanding?" Anne ventured.

Paul's eyes shone up at her. "Yes. Yes, that is the very word, Teacher. You know." The eager small boy ran down the rocky slopes, fully set upon visiting his Rock People for the first time since the first snow of the season.

Anne smiled after him before sighing and looking up at the clouds. "It didn't look like snow this morning," she accused. She picked up her skirts in one hand and, bristling a little, engaged in her trek back to Green Gables. She regained her passage down the Newbridge road and looked up and cast aside the cold of her limbs and glowed with a grin at the delightful scattering of snowflakes all about her. There was something warmly magical about their descent, as if they foretold of stories, of new delight, of warm fires and cozy memories and times long ago and memories yet to be made.

Anne could just see faeries dancing in the cold snowfall along the Birch Path, walking its length. Anne ventured off-road, wondering what delights she would discover once she emerged into Violet Vale. It was too early for violets, but Anne could just imagine the vale laden with carpets and collections of them; if the faeries could dance in the snow, they could bring her to a hidden collection of secret violets. She was just about to step around the bend when she heard, "Anne?"

Anne turned to see a well-dressed Gilbert Blythe. He, at least, had some previous knowledge of this unexpected snowfall, and dressed appropriately for such chilly weather. He took off his cap, showing off his mussed brown hair, and dramatically bowed, saying, "It is an honor to be in the presence of a Lady of the Wood."

His solemnity melted under the light of Anne's musical laugh. "Gilbert," she said, making him grin, "what are you doing here? Haven't you just gotten home from White Sands for the weekend?" It wasn't the longest of drives, but it was still a trek from the White Sands schoolhouse back to Avonlea. "And you've passed your homestead. Have you come looking for me?"

"Of course," Gilbert said, reaching her side. "I dismissed school early due to the flurries scurrying at our doors. Old Nell was just as eager to come home as I was, and I thought I'd meet you on your way home."

Anne had secretly dismissed Paul on purpose; she loved his company almost more than anyone's on Earth, and yet this day she wanted the outdoors to herself. She wanted to reconcile her winter to her beloved spring and commune with the intertwining of the seasons. Part of her wanted to be alone now; the other part of her smiled and welcomed Gilbert's warm presence.

"I'd like that, Gilbert," Anne said.

Something shining in her smile made Gilbert's heart gallop, and then he noticed her burning red hair covered with ice crystals. "Have you lost your hat, Anne?" he wondered.

"No," Anne sighed. She squirmed, then confessed. "I was not anticipating a snowfall today. Perhaps Marilla told me to put on a hat and I forgot, or maybe I thought my daffodil was all the accessory I needed for today." She took out the daffodil, noted how wilted it was, and sighed. "Flowers in my hair have never gone well. You have, of course, heard the tale of my notorious flower crown my first Sunday in Avonlea?"

"No doubt I have, but I'd love to hear the tale again," Gilbert said. He noted how thick and long her scarf was, how well it fulfilled its role as scarf and how inadequate it would fill the role of hat. He said, offering his own hat, "Put this on, Anne. I can't stand by with my own head covered and let you catch your death of pneumonia. It isn't the gentlemanly thing to do, and I'm sure Marilla would have my head if I let you get ill."

Anne cast aside the proud part of her that wanted to waive away the hat and set forth with her own head uncovered, like some kind of stubborn yet brave heroine, and firmly latched the cap onto her own head, covering her ears and most of her hair. "I'm sure Marilla wouldn't be so harsh, but the offer is appreciated. That said, if anyone sees me in your hat, we will raise more horror and gossip in Avonlea than my flower crown ever did."

Gilbert took this warning in stride. "Of course, Anne," he said gravely. He didn't betray how he privately thought she wore his hat well. It gave her an even more mischievous streak to her already winsome air.

They walked, not quite hand-in-hand, but very close to each other in private conversation, down through the Birch Path, through Violet Vale (which sadly lacked all things purple and flower, but Anne found herself not quite as disappointed as she imagined she might), and finally cutting through the Haunted Wood past Orchard Slope. Anne regaled Gilbert with the tale of how she and Diana had once thoroughly let themselves be spooked by their overactive imaginations, making him laugh that merry, wonderful laugh Anne missed through the week.

Anne, however, grew quiet as their conversation dwindled into companionable silence. Her grey eyes were entranced by the lovely snow sparkling on the pine trees. There was a certain otherworldliness to the Wood today; perhaps it was haunted, or perhaps part of another realm had shone up unexpectedly in ordinary Avonlea. It was enchanted, full of promise and whispers of faerie land, full of soft silence where each noise was sweet and clear. The crackle of snowflakes finally landing where they fell; their steps upon the pine needles and old fallen leaves of last fall; early birds traipsing and winding and singing their way across the wood, calling to each in turn, happy to be back, early though they were. Anne listened and felt and smiled softly to herself. Conscious of Gilbert at her side, yet she felt lost in her own world, full of sights and smells and feelings which, though he must know of them, were hers alone.

Gilbert took this opportunity to study Anne as closely as he ever studied any of his school texts. How could all these years pass and yet somehow he could still discover something new about her, some exquisite detail unknown to him until this day? It amazed him. She amazed him.

Their silence was broken as they entered into the mystical calm of the Dryad's Bubble. Anne said, "Snow used to enchant me so as a child. It has spoiled my day of spring, but though it is not spring, it has many of its own bewitching qualities."

Gilbert couldn't agree more. He felt like the snow made Anne even more enchanting than usual, and wasn't surprised to find that he himself was bewitched as well.

They lolled down Lovers' Lane together, talking about one of the old Greek scholars' texts they were studying; Mrs. Lynde caught sight of them as she peeked through one of Green Gables' lacy curtains. By some miracle of God, the woods covered the fact that Anne was wearing Gilbert Blythe's cap.

"They're a pair of them, Marilla, and there's no doubt about that," Mrs. Rachel mused as she tsked and let the curtains fall. "If Anne wasn't so stubborn, they'd be a pair right this minute. It wouldn't surprise me if they do become a pair some time down the road."

Marilla glanced at them lollygagging down the road, putting off coming home to a warm fire, to stay forever in their own lost little world, together. "They're still young, Rachel. Give them time. They've got sense enough together." Marilla knew that trying to bring something about between them would never do; no, it must come together naturally. She only hoped that they wouldn't wait too long.

Anne and Gilbert stopped out by the Snow Queen just beneath Anne's window. "She is beautifully crowned today," Anne said with delight, gazing up at the dignified branches of the bejeweled queen.

"Yes," Gilbert said, looking at his Queen Anne, "she is."

Anne sighed in contentment, unconscious of Gilbert's meaning, and took off his cap. "I thank you, kind sir, for your noble gesture in that time of crisis," Anne said seriously, offering the cap back to him.

"It was only my duty, dear lady, a duty I would perform again and again," Gilbert said in a dignified tone, bowing stiffly once more, making Anne stifle a laugh.

"Won't you come in, Gil?" Anne offered. "We can do our studying together. Unless, of course, you want to get home before the weather gets worst."

"I left my studying texts in my suitcase, Anne," Gilbert confessed. "It's been a long week and I wasn't anticipating us studying together today. I didn't come to find you so we could study together. I just wanted to see you."

Anne smiled at him, pushed away the little creeping thought about the light in his eyes, and said, "Well, thanks for walking me home, Gil. I imagine you're tired after your journey home from White Sands. Shall we have a studying afternoon tomorrow, though? I'll grade students' papers tonight and make cookies with Davy and Dora tomorrow morning."

"Sounds wonderful. I'll see you tomorrow, Anne," Gilbert said. He took a step back, almost hesitant about his goodbye. He, however, quickly took hold of his senses, cleared his throat, donned his cap, and disappeared into the wonderfully wintry spring scene, soon out of sight past Mr. Harrison's pastures.

Anne watched him disappear before, smiling to herself from pure happiness of the afternoon, entering in through the back kitchen door of Green Gables.

"That cold weather's put some red into your cheeks, Anne," Mrs. Rachel commented, standing up. "And how was school today?"

"Hmmm, quite nice. I let out early due to this weather. Give everyone a chance to get home before it gets too cold, but also to enjoy what life is breathing outside our schoolhouse walls. I believe that much can be learned from books and work problems, but there is also much to learn and love and enjoy when you've got a wintry spring mix beckoning you outdoors," Anne said dreamily. She drew off her scarf while looking past Marilla and Mrs. Rachel, far past even the walls of Green Gables, to somewhere far away, into a faerie realm where everything is enchanted and bursting with hidden depths of meaning and mystery.

Mrs. Rachel gave Marilla a look that said 'Is she thinking of Gilbert Blythe?' as she pulled on her own shawl and said, "I'll be off to my poor Thomas. Can't be left alone for too long without me. Good day, Marilla. Glad you made it home in some good time, Anne. Goodness knows your lollygagging could've made you lose track of time and get lost for hours."

"Oh, no, it couldn't," Anne said demurely. "I could've got lost in my lollygagging, surely, but not lost in Avonlea. Not my beloved Woods, my Bubble, my Path. I know them like the back of my hand. And yet," she wore that dreamy, far away look again, "I still find new details in them, ones I've never known about until this day." A smile graced her features. Her eyes saw past Green Gables and watched the snowflakes falling gently down over her beloved spring.

Her hand felt at her hair for her daffodil; it was gone. She absentmindedly wondered where on their trek it had dropped out. She didn't entertain the thought that it was quite possible that Gilbert Blythe had hidden it in his hand during their walk. She didn't know that he took it home or that it now lived on his desk next to his journal, pens, and schoolbooks.

Anne/Gilbert forever! The snow has stopped by the time I've finished writing this, but I don't care.

Thanks for reading! Review?