//'I'll leave you words; underneath your door'\\
a/n: play the song at any point <3
A storm is coming- It's all anyone can talk about. Dangerous weather, but exciting weather. With only a month left of school before Christmas break, any new occurrence is a good thing in the minds of the students at Queens. Anne walked down a parade of birch trees, her hair tucked into her thickest coat, bundled up around her chin and ears. She fumbled with her gloved hands to open the envelope, feet slowed subconsciously as she re-read the address. She felt a small reminisce, remembering that thrill she felt when she first read the words 'Ms. Anne S.C' . She sensed slightly, the spit of bitter rain wavering down- she covered the sensitive ink with the shelter of her body, angled over the letter as she finally began to read.
Dear Anne,
Her breath caught harshly in her throat, realising that she could nearly hear him in each word; the careful, subtle pronunciation of the 'e' tailing her name.
I'm sorry it's taken me so long to respond to your letter. At first, I was so worried about saying the wrong things that I just avoided saying anything at all. But I can't do that anymore. And now, I can't decide where I should begin. You were always more literate than me, Anne.
Flattery. It brought a competitive look to Anne's face, pursing her lips with that smile she always tried to hide.
I have been so fortunate. Really, I did not think I had any chance of getting into UOT, let alone being able to find a place to stay in Toronto. I am not too sure how much Diana has told you, but I am boarding in this grey-old home, named after the Family that lives there. The Wright House is endless. I swear you could not explore every room if you tried, and the gardens are just as extensive. If you wanted to visit Toronto, there a least 37 rooms you could choose from- maybe the one with big windows, it holds views of the school towers and just beyond is the city. Really, it's Fred who is inviting you. It's his grandmother's house, and he is especially eager to meet you, and also to see Diana again. It's only an idea of course, I know how focused you are on school.
To stay in Toronto? It was the perfect opportunity, and she'd always wanted to go. But to see Gilbert again would be difficult. But oh, she wanted to.
I'm so happy that your enjoying Queens. I don't doubt you've made a name for yourself there already. I wish I could have warned your classmates at the first day- the braids are off limits. As well as some particular vegetable nicknames- as well intentioned as they may be. And arguably sweet.
This boy! They were only kids. Of course, if they had been older they would both have made a much more measured approach upon meeting. Probably.
Phillipa Gardener seems to be a common thread between Toronto and Queens. I only met her the other night, but she seems like a kind girl, a bit of a socialite. Fred only says good things, I can see why you are both friends. I have been thinking, and although UOT is wonderful and terrifying, by the end of this year I'll hopefully have half my degree. What I'm trying to say is, I want to move to Redmond College. I love it here but I am so far away from home, so far way from Bash and Delphine. You're right, I have travelled. More than I ever expected to. But if I get the qualifications here, I can do my last year in Nova Scotia and be able to visit Avonlea more. I'm in conversation with both heads of the institutions currently. I can't really explain it, but this feels right. But if you could try to keep it quiet, I would thank you. I don't think everybody will be pleased with the decision.
Anne didn't know what to think, it was so unexpected. She would never have guessed that Gilbert would voluntarily leave UOT after only a year.. She could not ignore the fact that her heart missed half a beat at the thought that they could go to Redmond together. Or was this just more competition? Would he really try to take away her scholarship? Perhaps she was overthinking.
And here is the part that I had been avoiding. But Fred, he's leaning against the shut door of my room and his eyes are fixed to me. So I'll put pen to paper and just write it how it is.
I didn't propose to, and I will never marry Winifred Rose. I know I was cruel, and I didn't realise the weight of her and her parents expectations for marriage. I'm not ready for that, and Winifred is such an amazing person and she deserves someone who was ready, and committed. So she left for Paris. The loss stings, but I don't regret us turning our separate ways.
I'll admit, I'm not sure what you mean in parts of your letter. Again, if I could see you, if we could talk in person, things might begin the make sense. If only a little. We could try and talk to each other, with out yelling or arguing. And if we can't do that, just your furious face scowling up at me would be enough. Because I miss your voice too, Anne.
She struggled to organise her thoughts, flooding in with all messes of emotion. Relief, he and Winnie were truly finished. Warmth, lips dry- a strange realisation that he thought of her, missed her the way she did of him.
Phillipa Gardener and Fred Wright are childhood friends- or at least acquaintances. That willow tree wasn't hard to find, it's clearly an ancient relic in Toronto. You can almost sense it's past, the history is almost tangible. Fred told me about their story, it's a sad one. Tom Walker died a few years ago, and by rumour she hasn't been back since. I suppose this has also subconsciously increased my want to return to Avonlea, and move to a school closer to my own home.
Tom was... dead? But Phil only mentioned she hadn't seen him for years, not that he had died.. But, why ?
I am returning for Christmas, and I look forward to every little thing- the farm, and orchard and everyone there. Will you tell Moody to write to me? I'm not sure if you speak to him much anymore, but if you do I'd appreciate it. I'm attaching some writing, I found it lying about the house. It's torn, paper corner snagged under a floor board. I have searched for the book it's become detached from, but nothing seems to fit. Perhaps you have better luck than I have?
Best wishes,
Gilbert Blythe
-----------------
Jay Irving stood at the end of an empty road that lead to everywhere. The sky was a blank display of white, that made the haze of silent snow appear a begrudging grey. Feeling invisible in the bare scene, he drew nearer to the Queens Entrance way. Footsteps echoed off stone and breaths came quicker- instinctively, his eyes recoiled from the non-existent people that a few hours ago, packed the hallways. Monday declared it's self with the excited talk of Winter Exams, and he guessed it was met with nerves by the students there. Maybe not, maybe it was a normal pressure they received from Professors that they accepted with familiarity.
Maybe.
His stomach crawled uncomfortably with the thought that he wasn't prepared for them- his head ached with the constant reminder that these exams mattered so much more to him, than they did to most of the people at Queens College. These last few years he had been lucky enough to make an agreement with one of the teachers, he had managed to get his hands on some resources. Books, papers, even some personal feedback on his essays. But it could never be the same as actually enrolling there, he couldn't speak to anyone, couldn't talk about it.
At least respect your family enough to keep it to your self, Jay, please.
Last time he had met with Mr. Parker, he'd even said that he'd try to deliver an extra Test Pack to him individually, and collect it in to be marked with his own classes.
But at the end of last week, he got to Hollywell late. He stayed there, for hours, hanging onto everything ridiculous that the Professor would walk through the Inn's doors. Of course, it was stupid for him to hope.
As Jay ventured alone through the wide hall, he wondered if it was really worth it. Even if, by some miracle, he had the opportunity to take the Exams and got passing marks, there was still the rest of the winter and spring months of work, and then summer exams. He couldn't even bare to think about Christmas, let alone next July.
He reached the Anthropology classroom, raising his fist to knock, and remembered the last and only time he had been here before. It was that day, three years ago, that the arrangement started- it was that day, that Julia found him.
Julia Parker was the last person he expected to see in the College, on a quiet Sunday morning. He had cowered in the corner, stolen work books hidden in his coat. He remembered how she hovered over him, her face was darker than his and she had sparkling eyes, and smiled in an amused way. She outstretched her arm, palm facing up, offering him her hand. It was cool when he accepted it, and her cold touch calmed the hot tears on his cheeks. Julia had looked after him on odd days when his Father was out of town, and her embrace was familiar to him. He didn't remember the rest of that day, because he fell asleep.
Apparently, Mr. Parker had come looking for his wife and found her holding the fourteen year old boy like a small child. He didn't protest when she said they would take him home with them. But of course, he returned to his own house the next morning, but not with out a pile of legally acquired books safely strapped to his back- along with pen, the first he had ever owned, resting in his pocket.
Mr and Mrs Parker were married, but in order to keep his work stable they had to keep it from the school, and also from their families. They had no children, and different houses. Julia lived and set up her own shop in the racially black neighbourhood that Jay grew up in. Martin Parker, however, stayed in a weathered one-bedroom house with a tiny door that he would jam shut with boxes in winter. That was situated in the white sector of Charlottetown, and neighboured Convent Street.
"Come in!"
Jay opened the door.
"Mr. Parker, good afternoon." He greeted, still nervous even after all these months.
"Jay? I didn't expect you. Is everything ok?" He sat up straighter, uncrossing his legs as he saw him.
"Fine. I'm sorry to come, I wouldn't if it wasn't necessary."
"No worries. As long as you're alright." Mr. Parker said, as if he was checking again that he was ok.
Jay moved further into the room, holding the back of one of the classroom chairs with out thinking. He drew circles over the smoothed wood with his finger tips.
"I got to Hollywell late the other day, and didn't get my resources. I wanted to apologise and hoped I could pick them up today?"
Mr. Parker's face fell, and he shook his head in a way that showed disappointment.
"It's my fault Jay. I had so much going on, and a girl I teach offered to deliver them for me. I shouldn't have let her." He sighed, standing now and moving to the cupboards behind his desk.
"Oh." Jay didn't know what else he could say. Why would Mr. Parker think that a white girl would know where to find Hollywell Street? It was almost laughable. And why would she volunteer to deliver them anyway? Probably to get in his good favour. A good grade, or an exemption from extra work.
"Look, I've got more." Mr. Parker pulled out a pair of books, dust dispersing from its cover as he brushed it with rough hands.
"Thank you," Jay took the work books into his own hands. "Also, I wanted to go over this part with you-"
He was cut off by a knock at the door. Now he noticed, there were voices on the other side of the wall. Muffled, one- clearly high pitched- laughed as the other- a lower tone, but he couldn't be certain- hushed her.
He recoiled from the sounds, stepping back from the door. A table behind him grated against the floor loudly as a result.
"Mr. Parker? Are you there?" The voice from outside, in response to the sound he had just caused.
Mr. Parker, worried, glanced at him apologetically. But Jay wasn't looking at him, he was staring at the door determinedly, hands gripping into the back the chair.
"Yes. Come in." Mr. Parker called, and the door opened.
The moment after lasted an eternity.
Jay felt his breath come excruciatingly slowly, his lungs stinging in protest. Two girls stood in near-silhouette in the door way, and must have been students. One chalky, unblemished face matched with stark dark hair crowned with a bowed hat- and to her left, with lighter, uncovered hair and strangely familiar eyes of a russet hue. They both stared at him in shock, and he stared back, stubborn to not break the contact and seem nervous. Mr. Parker greeted them, moving forward to shut the door behind them.
"Girls, hello. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
The girl in the hat looked away from Jay then, and said to Mr. Parker.
"You requested that I come round this afternoon after school. For the work, that I missed Friday last week?" She explained, and now a charming smile lit up her face.
Mr. Parker responded with something like 'of course, I'll show you..' but Jay barely heard it. He couldn't hear anything at all, his senses entirely broke down under the other girl's stare. But he could still see- see the hesitant uplift of her mouth, and the uneven parting in her hair. He hadn't moved since she came in, his feet useless and brain faltering. Because of that slow recognition growing in her gaze, the inconsistent, gradual lift and fall of her chest- he could nearly hear it- the rattle of broken breath. Was it hers, or his own? He didn't know.
"That'll be perfect, thank you Professor." Phillipa said, and her voice drew Stella out of her own head. She broke the eye contact with the boy, blinking across at her friend instead.
"You're welcome. But don't make your absences a habit, even if they are for educational purposes." Mr. Parker replied, and began to guide her to the door as subtly as he could. He clearly wanted them out of there.
"Goodbye Professor." Phil said, turning back towards her. Stella nodded too in parting, and went to leave.
The door shuts behind both girls with a slam, then they were both left in silence. Phil, of course, is the first to break it.
"Oh my... oh my !" She grinned, eyes mischievous as she wraps arms with Stella.
"I felt as though we were interrupting.." Stella added, eyes shy under her friend's studious gaze.
"Oh, we most definitely were." Phil decided. "I have never seen a fellow like that boy so close before. How intriguing! He was very handsome Stella." She continued, a skip in her step. Phil delighted in all things bright and unfamiliar.
Stella found that with every step she took away from that classroom, the easier she could breathe, the clearer she could think. But for some irrational incentive she still felt that pull to turn back.
"Sure.. Phil, could you continue back without me? I'd forgotten, theres something I have to discuss with Mr. Parker." She asked, and when Phil caught Stella's eyes again there was a burning persistence there she knew would be useless to oppose.
"If you must. I have an tutoring session with Diana, so I can't come round to Patty's Place tonight. I'll see you tomorrow.." She withdrew her arm from Stella's, and took a few steps away from her.
"Good luck with Biology!" Stella calls, and her back is turned.
"Good bye!"
"Bye!"
----
Stella wasn't a bad liar; but she didn't enjoy it either. The sensation of guilt she felt when she could sense another person guessed she was lying, she hated- she became uncomfortable in her own skin. However, if the other didn't know.. well, it didn't matter. Did it? Phillipa was possibly the most honest person she had met. When she was around her, her duplicities became painfully obvious, stuck out in a way they hadn't before. That small lie stinging in her chest, Stella leant her back on the stone column, the ones that lined the open corridor encircling the school grounds. Cold seeped into them, running down her spine like a stream of ice water- she watched the silver blue of her dress darken in waves of grey, altered by the scatter of susceptible rain. Recently, days came in subdued hazes- but occasionally, as it was now, faint traces of light fell across the uneven surfaces, spread and flush like veins of muted saffron.
Then, too soon, he came into view- walking under the arches of ashlar stone. Torn overalls, ashen shirt and long coat swept past her with out a glance. Her legs faltered for moment, then she grit her teeth and pursued the fleeing boy.
He didn't stop. She felt ridiculous, so slowed to a halt and finally voiced "Excuse me!"
That made him pause, turning his head with out a sound to look at her. He blinked, then his eyes widened, recognizing her from the classroom. That uneven jaw, those striking eyes.. She'd seen them before.
"Can I help you?" He asked.
They stood in a capsule of dying sun, in between two columns- exposed to the bite of rain carried by a breeze brushing through the courtyard steps and into the silent corridor.
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to keep you from your evening." She phrased politely, mind stuck for anything else to say.
How could I say it? Should I just ask it directly? Say, 'have we met before?' She sounded like a crazy person! And a cliché at that.
"I haven't seen you at Queens. Are you new here?"
Bad question. Very bad question. Now he must think I'm an idiot, I can see it on his face- amused but also annoyed- the deflection of his gaze and a harsh exhale as turns away from me.
"No, of course not. I was just checking in with a friend."
Stella was a good liar- she could also tell when someone was too. He had regained the eye contact, kept his voice a steady, but unnaturally monotone. He was practised in masking himself.
"So is your friend, teaching you.. anthropology?" She asked with a hint of sarcasm, and gestured the the work books he held tightly in one hand. Just as she did so, she realised she recognised the titles of the spines. She had spent almost an hour staring at them before, and that wasn't because she enjoyed the subject.
"Is there an issue with that?" He almost sighed, the words rolling out with familiarity. His eyes shifted to the courtyard, and the town beyond it restlessly.
"No, no there's not."
"Fine." He finished, with a quick glance back to her.
"Good." She added, then in a rush "The truth is I think it's my fault you had to come here today."
He almost laughed. "What?"
"Last week I offered to help Mr. Parker deliver those books, to Hollywell Street. I waited there, then I handed them to the Inn keeper and asked him to return it to what must have been you. Right?"
"Oh, yeah." He inhaled, uncomfortably shifting under the discovery. "That makes sense."
"I should have stayed longer and given them to you in person."
"Forget about it. Those other books will be long gone." He shrugged.
Stella nodded, half pretending to understand.
"If I'm ever in the same position, I won't make the same mistake." She reassured him.
He laughed lightly again "I highly doubt you will be." And then with out really considering his question, he asked "How'd you know where Hollywell was anyways? It's not really a popular spot for Queen's students."
Subconsciously, he was trying to make sure. In his head, memories were blurring. Was it the same person, or did he just want it to be?
She bit her cheek once, then replied with a small smile "Oh, it was just a strange coincidence."
She didn't elaborate, didn't clarify- just dipped her head once with an almost inaudible chuckle- in knowing she was right. Then he laughed with her, lowly, like a rumble but lighter and with more heart. He pressed his lips together, his jaw was tight, containing a grin perhaps, accentuating the fine angle of his cheek and chin. He nodded slightly, a slight bop of his head, as if confirming a self kept thought.
"Well, if you ever do need me again, my name is Stella."
"Thanks for the offer, Stella." He replied, dipping his head once then moving down the stone steps, away from the columns. Theres a final waver of sun, spiralling over the bareness of winter trees, sparse warmth dissipates in a moment into the fragmented winter horizon- dancing in a rain of ash.
//'Hidden in the holes of wintertime; when you're alone for a moment'\\
a/n; remember to comment and vote if you enjoyed!! i'd love to get to know my readers, so if you could mention a favourite character or pairing that would be amazing. tysm for reading xx