Devoted To You || Gilbert Blythe

LV

"Sorry about that," I murmur to Gilbert, feeling the need to address the discomfort that lingers.

He chuckles, lifting his hat, running a hand through his hair. "No need to apologize. It's... unexpected, to say the least."

I glance around the churchyard, trying to shake off the awkward encounter. Once the coast is clear, I turn back to Gilbert.

"So did you um?" He motions to the girls.

I nod quickly. "Yes they are—aware."

"Well, that must have been an adventure," he remarks, a playful glint in his eyes.

I nod, the tension easing. "Let's hope the rest of the day is less eventful."

"Forget to get your own, Ada Faye?" He smirks, and my heart flutters at the nickname, making me huff in response.

"I just wanted to see Mary's obituary," I protest, attempting to grab the paper from him. However, he snatches it out of my hand with a playful glint in his eyes.

"You can after Bash does," he says, smirking once again. I roll my eyes, realizing the sensible order of things – Bash should read it first; after all, it was his wife.

***

After Bash has read the obituary. I decide to take it out to Mary's grave. I haven't been since the day of her burial. It's just been too hard. But I settle into the grass and take a few deep breathes.

"Hello Mary." I whisper as I take in everything. "I'm sorry I haven't come to visit you. I think about you everyday. It's just— it's been very hard without you here." I look up to the sky blinking back tears. "But I've come today to read you your obituary, Gilbert wrote it. He did fantastic I'm sure." I take in a deep breath as I slowly unfold the paper.

"Mary LaCroix was born on a winter's day in 1865. As those who knew her well can attest, her presence was felt like an endless summer. Her smile could lighten a room where no candles were lit. Her laugh could warm a home with an empty hearth. Fierce yet kind, she could cut a man down with her sharpness of tongue, but would bandage the broken wing of a sparrow, such was her sense of justice. For she was as generous in spirit as she was with her cinnamon-sugar glaze constantly rebutting the lack of sweetness in this world. Her life was not short on challenges. And still, she held no grudges, believing instead that grace is perennial, like the green, green grass. Whatever Mary did, she did fully, unwaveringly, with open arms. Whether it be raising her beloved son Elijah, or welcoming her precious daughter, Delphine, into this world, she lived life with both her hands. And when she left this world on April 6, 1899, her hands were held tightly by Sebastian, the love of her life. She was laid to rest in the place she called home. Avonlea."

Tears stain the newspaper as my shoulders shake aggressively. As the words of the obituary linger in the air, I sit in the quiet of Mary's resting place, surrounded by the soft rustle of leaves and the subtle scent of flowers. The weight of grief presses upon me, and I find myself pouring out my heart to Mary, as if the very act of speaking could bridge the gap between the living and the departed.

"I miss you more than words can express, Mary," I admit, my voice choked with emotion. "There's so much confusion in my heart, and I don't know where to turn. I have a big opportunity in Paris. But part of me feels I should stay here with Bash and Delly. Then there's Gilbert. Sweet, oblivious, distrait, Gilbert... he's always been a source of comfort and friendship, but lately, it feels like there's something more, something unspoken."

Tears continue to stream down my cheeks as I bare the depths of my soul to the quiet graveyard. "I thought time would make things clearer, but it only seems to deepen the uncertainty. Mary, I wish you were here to guide me through this tangled web of emotions. I wish I could hear your laughter and feel your reassuring presence."

I take a moment to compose myself, glancing at the words on the obituary that now blur through teary eyes. "Thank you for listening. You're the best at it."

Silence settles around me, broken only by the occasional whisper of the wind through the trees. After pouring out my heart to Mary, I gather the folded obituary, wiping away the lingering tears. As I make my way back to the house, lost in my thoughts, I find Gilbert standing on the porch, his gaze fixed on the fading sunlight.

He looks up as I approach, and his eyes catch the evidence of my tear-stained cheeks. He runs down the steps, concern creases his forehead, and he asks, "Ada, are you alright?"

His genuine worry pierces through the emotional haze, and I find myself unable to hold back the tears any longer. I shake my head, feeling the weight of my grief and confusion pressing down on me. Before I can say a word, Gilbert pulls me into a comforting embrace, his strong arms hold me up. I let the tears flow freely, the vulnerability of the moment opening a floodgate of emotions.

I pull away from Gilbert's comforting embrace, and our eyes meet. With a heartfelt sincerity, I express my gratitude, "Thank you for writing Mary's obituary. Your words captured her essence beautifully."

Gilbert offers a somber smile, a mix of emotions playing in his eyes. "Her memory deserves to be honored."

I nod in agreement, appreciating the sentiment behind his words. "You did more than honor her memory. You captured the essence of who she was, the warmth she brought to our lives. I know Bash appreciated it as well."

He pauses for a moment, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "I just wanted to do right by her, by all of you," he admits.

His sincerity tugs at my heart, and I respond, "You did, Gilbert. Your words brought comfort, and for that, I'm grateful."