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Anne Shirley looked wonderingly in the mirror, for the girl who looked back was so familiar but for once otherworldly, striking, and, indeed, beautiful. The curled and artfully pinned hair captured the dozen shades of sunrise, the face recalled Rosetti in its light cosmetic dusting, and the bridal raiment of tiny pink roses against white was truly fairy-made. Anne smiled at the girl, and girl smiled back. The glow in her cheeks and perennial sparkle in her eyes were well-known indeed, and comforting on this most singular and wonderful of mornings.
A dark-haired face propped itself on her shoulder, while an arm came around her waist, and Diana Wright sighed. “Anne, I don’t believe anyone was more meant to be a bride than you.”
“Well,” laughed Anne, “Right now, I believe you. I do feel that I could be ‘joy forever,’ but I think any bride would feel like the most beautiful woman on earth on her wedding day, and it would be the truth. I remember one four years ago who dazzled everyone who had the privilege of being at Orchard Slope, even if her hands were shaking so badly she could barely hold onto her bouquet.”
Diana grinned. “Can it really have been four years since that day?” she said. “I feel I’m already in the middle of my years, what with two children, while you’re just stepping out of maidenhood. Whatever happened to the castles we were going to build and the adventures we were going to have?
"Oh, but we have had them! Wonderful, marvelous adventures—especially you and I. I suppose we shall now have to content ourselves with being poor married matrons, with no greater kingdom than hearth, home, and family," said Anne with a wicked twinkle. “Although in truth, I imagine that they shall be no less exciting. Children are their own adventure, and I can’t wait until the day I have my own. You know, Diana, and if anyone is inclined to disagree, I daresay Marilla has enough stories to set them right.
“How I long to discover the endless new castles for my future darlings and share all their adventures, although I will dearly miss our old haunts here. How envious I will be when you introduce little Fred and Small Anne Cordelia to the magic of the Dryad’s Bubble, the Haunted Wood, and Hester Gray’s garden for the first time!”
In the mirror, the dark-haired girl’s face fell a little, and she turned her head into the other’s shoulder. “Anne, I shall miss you so much when you’re gone. The magic was yours, and you kept it alive, even when you were away at Redmond and Windy Poplars. But it will all be different with you and Gilbert moving away to Four Winds. Now you’ll be gone, truly gone, and I shan’t see you above twice a year at the most. You’ll have Gilbert, and your children, and soon there won’t be any room for me at all.”
Anne reached up so that her hand covered Diana’s and leaned down so that their heads touched together. “You’d have left me behind an epoch ago, then. But you haven’t, because it’s not possible. Gil is the keeper of my heart, and so are you, my Diana of the woods. There is a part that is forever yours, and I swear that Anne Blythe will write and visit and love Diana Wright just as much as Anne Shirley ever loved Diana Barry. And there will be so many new stories to tell each other, I can hardly wait. You are my dearest bosom friend, my kindred spirit, and the guardian of Avonlea’s magic. I know that it will always be here waiting for me because you’ve kept it so faithfully.
“And you’ll have new tales to tell, too! I will wait with bated breath for news of little Fred’s first set of racing crickets, or Small Anne Cordelia’s first climb up the stairs."
Diana sighed again. “Well, that won’t be long now, at least. She’s already wanting to go everywhere herself, and has climbed all the sitting room footstools a dozen times over.”
Anne kissed the hand she still held. “I promise, Diana, if I ever have a daughter, I shall name her after you,” she said.
“I hope she has red hair,” said Diana.
Anne wrinkled her nose at Diana, and both girls laughed.
“We’re getting maudlin in our old age, Anne,” Diana said. “And that has come too soon, as we haven’t even reached thirty!” She brushed the sleeves of Anne’s wedding gown and straightened the bow at her waist. “You do make such a lovely bride.”
The two girls admired their reflections in the mirror a moment longer, and Diana took up the gossamer concoction of lace, tulle, and blossoms on the bed.
“And since you’ve decided to have no bridesmaid, I shall have to provide a bridesmaid’s services, for all that I’m a matronly mother,” Diana said with a laugh. She lifted the wreath and settled it gently over Anne’s head, pinning and tucking the blooms delicately among the fiery locks until it couldn’t budge. The veil she arranged around Anne, until it descended in a graceful fall around her.
“Oh, Diana,” said Anne, speechless for once as Diana drew down the final piece and the maidenly curtain floated into place, casting its pale aura over her. “I still can’t believe you made this; it’s so very beautiful.” She grinned. “And to think, after all my childhood disappointments in birth names and purple diamonds, that on my wedding day I should look like everything I’ve always imagined a bride ought to look.” She kissed Diana on the cheek and said, “Thank you, my dearest friend.”
“You’re ready, dear Anne,” said Diana, with a last fond kiss and a tuck of those red locks, and went to join the waiting guests downstairs.
Anne smiled at herself once more as she bade the girl in the mirror goodbye, and stepped forth into the Blythe future.