//"Snow, brother ; I'll bet it all gold."\\
Anne's eyes were full of sleep when she stepped off the train, and into the open night. Arms, belonging to which of the girls, she did not know, pressed in and locked onto her shoulders, her hands, the crook of her elbow. The pressure encouraged her movement into the further darkness of the train station, boots dragged the scuff of her toes. Feet scattered the platform. As the darkness squeezed in on them, a mass of billowing emptiness rushed beyond their view. Stained, the path was occasionally streaked by the breath of lanterns- the girls corralled between these points like sheep between gates. There was a scattering of carriages, duos of mares kicking at the ground agitatedly. Ruby was ushered to the front of the group, to clamber on and greet her parents driving the carriage. One by one, they all piled in. There were murmurs, but lips shrank away, words dampened by the world crashing down around them. Silent impact- the sky howled in pain. Anne was the last remaining on ground, and hooked her right foot into the wheel for leverage, aware of the glove outstretched above. Just out of reach, almost disembodied from this view.
She let her hold slip.
"I think I'll walk. Green Gables is a long detour anyways- you'll all get back quicker."
"You are kidding right? You'll freeze." Josie's voice, clear when she others were muffled.
"No." Jane scowled. Anne imagined her brow furrowing deeply.
"I'll be fine."
The next scoff sounded as if it came from an older man. Mr. Gillis she supposed.
"She's crazy-"
"No, she's right. She's fine. And she knows her way." This was clipped, but not demanding.
Soft, her smiling face shivered above her.
Ruby Gillis.
She turned away.
"Now can we please, please get out of this weather?"
Snow swallowed Anne up- she let it. Let it twist the toes in her boots and crystallise the remaining breaths in her chest. Freezing her from the inside out, fighting to seize her mussels and reduce her to only hallow bones. Ruby let her do it, and for that she wished to thank her ten times over.
Perhaps Ruby just wished to get home quicker, to see her siblings and rush to the fire-side. Probably. Or maybe, she saw why Anne needed to walk home. Something Anne was still trying to figure out herself.
Her footsteps disappearing the moment the damp sole of her boat left its surface, she felt as though if she allowed her entire weight to crash to her knees, the ground would give way and she'd never touch the bottom of the white, white whirlpool. Instead she kept its entirety in her chest, holding onto to it, keeping it high, so she would not fall. Even if her mind dabbled in a space detached from this snow storm, her feet kept their path, pulled along by a wire. So thin, you could barely see the line tying her to home. Just a shiver. And beyond that, a vision of comfort sprawled in perfect stillness across the hillside. The barn gaped, a darkness greater than the sky seen between slats and frames and arches of that spiralled, smudged dark wood. Fencing teased the way, a delicate stencil that rippled with dashes of snowflakes. After, there was nothing but all-absorbing black and the quiet pulse of marigold light, emitted through veiled windows in ginger fingers across the porch.
Green Gables was silent to her reverie.
She nearly tripped up the step, helplessly smiling at the memory of the countless occasions she had danced over it with no attention to her bare knees and trailing laces. How could it all feel so distant? If four months left her in such fond recollection, what would she feel after double that time? Or a year? Seven?
Her arm reached, muscle memory guiding her fingers to the door handle in the shadows, when a thundering from inside made her hand jerk backwards. Fortunately so, as in suit the entire frame of the door swings, nearly hitting her.
A long, flared nose, flushed cheeks and angular eyes meet her surprise abruptly. Then his arms are wrapping around her, and Jerry Baynard laughed by her ear.
"The sight of you- you're,"
He was holding her, long arms hugging her tighter and tighter.
"You're back. Anne's home."
She had hugged Jerry before, but this- this was anticipation, this was relief, this was content.
And, she realised, as she managed to wrap her comparatively tiny arms around his now towering shoulders, and he let out something between laughter and a victorious howl, lifting her from her feet and spinning with a small stumble, this was their love.
"I have missed you, insanely!" Anne admitted, regaining her balance.
"Funny," Jerry pointedly crossed his arms. "I barely noticed you'd left."
Anne scoffed, and they both left the doorway- the warmth washed over her splendidly.
Humans are tied to a nature of adaptability, but she thought there was also something to be said about the sensation of relapse- the return to what you have adapted away from. When each function, each extension of body and mind has developed to satisfy a new environment. How fatally easy it is, to forget those mannerisms when met with a flow that runs so eternally deeper. How thoughtlessly simple. How dangerously painless. Familiar angles sparking a wave of rushing, desperate warmth that bubbles up in her chest and in her eyes. Blunt surfaces, so plaintive, unmoving staples of every memory that now ever seemed important. Long bare table with their tiny square chairs that are left untucked, not buried beneath. Their legs- smooth on smooth floors, the culprits of so many swings and tumbles. So open, the cream walls pull back from the reflection of fire dancing, sprinting unbridled loops around the rooms.
Then Marilla was altogether there and altogether untouchable. Her frame still nailed straight, her shoulders down. The sense of it being a natural or forced posture was still trained and unreadable. The fine bones that stuck out there, structures pressing hollows under her throat and collar, were over keen and pulled restlessly at the dragonfly-wing, semi-opaque skin that creases in fearful reaction. The folding fight of bone is decidedly avian, imitating the resistance of wings against their bodily containment. Her solemn chin and sunken cheeks lead to the protrusion of that eagle like nose and flash of beaded eyes. Clasped hands seemed to stifle the pulse of internal power, linked in front of her. An anchor, almost the last tie that rigged her to the ground. She was feather-light.
The moment she saw Anne, that pull seemed to increase eleven fold, instantaneous, her chest lifting helplessly.
The stress of a smile drew those bright tones into that single, unparalleled word.
"Anne."
Matthew was behind her, his eyes alight and cheeks glowing. His hands were big and secure when they held her, cradled. She didn't remember how she got here- she didn't know when. Only that she found herself in the warmest embrace, worn cotton and dry threads between her fingers, over her face. Wood and straw, rust and coffee- covering, soaking all her senses.
She tried, "Hi."
It's involuntarily fragility stunned her. It made her laugh. She chuckled into Matthew's chest. It turned into tears. She was laughing and crying altogether, and he let her.
The dinner was wonderful. Jerry's laugh, the roar emanating from the fireplace. Marilla's light conversation, fluffy potatoes and red current jam. Matthew's face, his silent beam- the deep, taste of cordial lasting, lacing her lips.
"The owners of her board were hardly there, so Stella was quite desperate for company. That was most definitely not scarce at our place. She's a complete sweetheart- quiet, but endearing." She spooned up some beans. "I promised her- and Phil - that they must come to visit Green Gables as soon as possible." There was satisfied munching.
"I suspect Avonlea pales in comparison to Summerside. So modern." Marilla sipped from her glass.
Anne protested, swallowing quickly "Oh but nothing compares to Avonlea, it is the single most beautiful place on earth. No level of modernity could outshine it." She catches Matthew's gaze from across the table.
"Your friends are welcome," He nodded, then added "anytime." and smiled.
Anne found her chest felt full and bubbly again. "Thank you, Matthew. We would try to keep the noise and bother to a minimum."
He countered. "No, no we don't mind."
"How about the others?" Jerry asked, and although he was making a grating, scrape with his fork and plate, she didn't comment on it.
"Well. Josie was accepted to work at a newspaper editing place, not far from the school. She starts next term."
"Oh, that's wonderful."
"And Diana?" Jerry urged, a little red cheeked. He rushed to justify his perfectly reasonable question. "You had mentioned, she was looking for jobs. One of your latest letters."
Anne inhaled. "Yes, and she got one. A job, I mean."
Marilla put down her knife and fork. "Well that's awfully exciting. And how is she feeling about it all?"
Anne stared at her potatoes.
"No worries, I can ask her myself at the Panto tomorrow. My questions can wait a day."
Biting her lip, she broke in. "I'm afraid you wont be able to."
"Why ever not?"
"Because she's not here. She wont be here- tomorrow night or otherwise."
Anne continued in the following bewilderment. "The job invited her to a trial period. Over the holidays- she left today."
Eyes wide, Marilla sat up straighter. "And?"
She spooned her peas in silence.
"Anne?"
Her plate clattered sharply with the falling cutlery. "Look, don't ask me where or what because I haven't the slightest clue, alright?"
Matthew shifted in his chair.
Marilla pulled and released her lips together a few times before nodding "Alright."
Jerry held up a bowl, smiling lopsidedly before offering "Beetroot, anyone?"
Anne suddenly missed that warm, bubbly feeling. Guilt had hollowed out any of its remains. It made her feel as though she was awfully ungrateful for all the comfort provided for her. All the things she'd longed for and dreamt about since leaving for Queens. All of it suddenly flared up, and all she wanted was to push it away. Far away, until she could feel warm enough, soft enough, pliable enough to appreciate it. Now, she felt brittle.
Dinner was over and there was a general drowsiness no one was willing to ignore any longer.
"I reckon you're looking forward to sleeping in your own bed tonight." Matthew said gently, an arm behind her shoulders.
"You wrote how much you missed your Gable Room: your own covers and your own window." Marilla chimed in.
"Oh, I'm sure the guest room will be fine."
"Fiddlesticks, the Gable Room is your room whilst you're here."
Anne glanced over at Jerry.
"I've already taken out all of my things."
"You shouldn't have.." Anne murmured, but mostly to her self. She knew there was no arguing, even when she wanted more than anything to hide away, as long as she had too, from the Gable Room. Not now- not while she felt like this.
She glanced up the staircase.
And Jerry watched her go.
//"It was heaven a moment ago; oh, I had it almost"\\
Four months ago, Jerry Baynard had felt like an intruder. Some kind of mistake, a smear of ink on otherwise spotless paper- a drop of blood in a crystal clear pool. Spreading, changing whatever he unrightfully touched. Four months ago, he had stood at the foot of that bed, and felt his stomach drop. Tense, he lowered him self onto the very edge, barely touching it. The Gable Room was absolutely silent. He wondered a little, if it had grown to be that way. With Anne residing there, her chatter mustn't have left much room for any ambient noise. A little embarrassed, he realised he had always thought of this room as having appeared along with her. Tiny Anne Shirley- although taller than him at that time, he still thought of her as such- with her unchanging red braids she had arrived at the farm, and along with her had apparated the soft, silent, daylight-strewn Gable room. The perfect half, the home that made her whole. He became aware that he had been holding his breath, staring about the space apprehensively, and made an effort to release it. He was helplessly inclined to withhold- as if breathing would disturb the tranquillity. As if the room would be able to sense that those breaths were not belonging to their other, perfect half. Grimacing, he pushed his creased case- containing everything he desired to keep at the farm- under her desk. And there is stayed. Four months later, the case still lay on its side. A t-shirt sleeve trailed out of the side, but apart from that, nothing of his touched anything of hers. Ever. The bed- sheets tidied and tucked every morning with out fail- was the only point of intersection.
//"Don't go, you're half of me now; but I'm hardly stood proud"\\
Phillipa Gardener thought she suited white. At least her mother agreed, with murmurs of 'a striking contrast..' The blatant veil was blinding, knotted over her black hair. Her scalp ached- the ghost of a million pins imprinted lined behind her ears, and the crown of her head. Like branded cattle.
Diana,
If the address tucked under the stand of the Moon Mirror is correct, you must have received this at your new residential post in Toronto. Or, you may have received my previous letter. The one addressed to The Barry's House, in Avonlea. I pray you will have not read that letter. I pray even more that your mother has not read that Letter. I did write clearly on the front 'Only To Be Opened By The One And Only Diana Barry.' So hopefully that would have been enough.
But the doubt is eating away at me, the endless sweat- it rather mercilessly rids my skin of this powder and paint Mother keeps covering me in. She is practising to create the perfect face, for the wedding. Oh. The moment I write that it ruins me all over again. But this time it's the guilt.
Diana. You must hate everyone who lies to you, the dishonest. Except for me. Please, not me. For no other reason than the selfish one I bare- I could not endure existence if it was with the weight of your hate. And if not for that, then for the memory of October. The gold-grey day that you said that you thought I was honest. You remember, don't you? If you can no longer bare myself today, then try to forgive the memory of me. Try to do that.
But that doubt is not whole if not accompanied by my greater fear. The fear that you didn't go. The fear that you wont read these words in Toronto. Please, write. If only to reassure me. If only to tell me that you took your chance and left.
//"Oh, I can't seem to not need to need you; and I can't breathe anymore"\\
Diana knew he was behind her before she sees, the steam and dust of the train station not able to obscure his tall frame entirely. Leaning against the rail-way brick as if it were his own bedroom wall, he had watched her leave the train carriage. Watching her step. She half turns. Half wants him to approach her first- half wants to rush over and away from the tracks.
"Have I thanked you yet?"
"A few hundred times." He moved away from the brick and steam, towards her. "It's getting rather tiring actually. Every letter saying no more than that."
"What else can I say?" She turned fully now, satisfied with his advance.
"Perhaps the details of payment." He suggested, face serious.
"Oh.. sure." Words failed her, and she just blinked.
Then he laughed, looking down at his shoes once then quickly back up to her again.
"I'm kidding, Diana."
She exhaled- the idea of having to write to her parents for financial favours a short but dread inducing idea- and found she was extremely irritated by the blush that was rushing to her face. He on the other hand, maintained that unbothered calm that seemed acquitted only to him. Fred's dark blonde hair brushed along his long brow, out of which his bottle green eyes sweep across her expression. Constantly moving.
"Of course you are."
"Although I'm flattered that you thought of me. When asking for an escort, I mean."
"Well, I don't exactly have a lot of connections in Toronto." Diana covered her trailing thoughts with sarcasm, as his wording felt oddly deliberate. She did think of him. She thought of him when she realised she needed somewhere to stay for a night in Toronto. She thought of him, every time that threadbare coat folded over her chair back in the dorms, caught her eye. She thought of him when she felt detached from her self. She thought of him when she truly should be thinking of something else. She thought of him a great deal more that she suspected was wise- or logical, for the matter. That challenging tilt of his chin, those hazy words exchanged on that blurred evening, caught under the influence of a sleepless night and half-visible moon. Those things, only one night, should not have infiltrated her mind as irreversibly as they had done. A stranger's coat should not be kept quietly in her travel bag- like a secret. A stranger's face shouldn't so stubbornly burn into her memory, a strangely lasting trace- like a smoke fingerprint.
"Of course you don't." Fred hummed, casual.
She could not decide if he were making fun of her. So she let it slide; giving into a smile. They walked side by side, until the crowd grew too thick and he shouldered in front of her, carving a way for them through the station.
"You only have Blythe and I."
"Speaking of whom.." Diana's tone pinched. He inhaled loudly, understanding her unspoken question.
"I kept my word. He left none the wiser, and I was left twice-the-guiltier."
She decided she shouldn't feel bad about his last comment when his false struggle slipped into a grin.
"You don't have to worry."
There was a trained politeness to her response, "Thank you."
She hated how it sounded coming out of her tense mouth. Painfully conscious of her instinctive propriety. His effortless state of belonging, made her rehearsed manners stick out like an extra finger.
"He will find out though, I'm sure you know that." He truly looked at her then- not with the fleeting, momentary attention he had payed her before. This was a grounding stare.
"And he won't be too pleased about it either."
Diana chewed on her lip.
"Gilbert needed to go home, I'm sure you know that."
She adopted his phrasing from before, but didn't pause to see if he had picked it up.
"If he knew I was here, he'd either want to stay, or more likely... try to take me back home with him."
There was a pause where they both absorbed this, the aching knowledge of their common betrayal hanging inarguable between them. Strange, a thought lightly passed near Diana. Her old, familiar understanding of Gilbert Blythe- collected moments and virtues she gathered subconsciously in her head to paint her perception of him- she found was now challenged. Fred Wright had a foot hold on a clear, new comprehension of her life-long friend. Although thin and limited, it also carried a nuance and integrity she wildly envied. She could not detach her patchwork portrayal of him from what he had become, could not cut away his past selves. This, she realised- as that thought moved from light passing to a curl up inside her, unmoving- deeply bothered the prideful parts of her she had successfully buried inside of her since childhood.
She thought, defensive if not a little drawn, that he didn't even have to dig.
"That makes sense," He turned a corner, the business of the station dissipating. Streets pile on, stretching the skyline are buildings that parade sheets of grey and blocks of intense browns. But as they pass, shop windows flash teasing colour and walls of fabric. Snow is stubborn memory, fighting under overhangs or clinging to roof tiles. Is the fall similarly short-lived, back home in Avonlea?
"Is that also the reason that you didn't tell Anne?"
Diana's shoulders curled, and her lips moved with out uttering a thing. Fred exhale with out pressing- the strained, brim-full turn of her eyes having disclosed it all.
Instead he offered, "I think it'll work out for you," Then shrugged, "It's just a.. gut feeling."
"Thank you." She said again, but this time when she says it the words are grit and difficult to swallow. But at least she can feel them, real between her teeth. The weight of them is personal.
His bottle green look flashed.
"You're welcome."
//"A palm to my mouth; I said it, almost"\\
hey! i took a few months break, but i hope this chapter can make up for it somewhat :) happy new year! thank you so much for reading <3