Chapter Text
“It’s starting to get bad out there,” Gilbert said, removing his gloves and unbuttoning his coat as he walked into the kitchen. “I haven’t seen a storm like this since I was 11; we were snowed in for two days and it was more than a week until school reopened.”
“We’d better make sure we have plenty of firewood in, maybe put out some extra feed for the horses tonight,” he continued as he moved to put the kettle on before turning to face his brother, noticing for the first time the look on Bash’s face. “What? What’s going on? Do I have something on my face?”
Bash eyed Gilbert speculatively from his seat at the kitchen table, watching his reaction as he said “If it’s really that bad out, you’ll have to take Anne home.” He was exceptionally proud of the fact that the corner of his mouth quirked for only the briefest moment when Gilbert’s head snapped up. “Anne’s here?”
“She was watching Dellie while I fixed the fence in the north field; it took a bit longer than I expected so she’s upstairs putting her down now. You know as well as I do that it’s not safe to walk all the way to Green Gables in a storm like this, and it’s only going to get worse. If you hitch up the buggy now, though, you should make it alright.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Bash,” Gilbert mumbled, busying himself with getting the tea ready and avoiding his brother’s eye.
When Anne hadn’t answered his letter, Gilbert had told himself that it was fine, that he meant it when he had said that he didn’t expect her favour. But while he had prepared himself to hear that she could never feel the same about him, he wasn’t at all prepared for no response whatsoever. He just hadn’t considered that she might care so little about him that she would simply ignore him, and when he realised that was the case he had been utterly heartbroken. Four months in Toronto had done little to ease the ache, and when he had returned to Avonlea for the Christmas break he was torn between desperately hoping to see her and desperately hoping not to. He thought he might just be able to work himself up to spending Christmas Day with the Cuthberts, but that would be a busy, bustling day surrounded by family. He certainly wasn’t prepared for a quiet ride to Green Gables, alone with her.
“Why not?” Bash interrupted his thoughts, “Worried that she’ll start goin’ on about the ‘unending beauty of winter’ and you’ll confess your undying love?”
“Bash,” he started, the warning in his tone evident as he strained to keep his voice low.
“Or that she’ll shiver all pretty and you won’t be able to resist puttin’ your arm ‘round her and holdin’ her real close to keep her warm?”
“She’ll hear you!” Gilbert hissed. “You know I would never lay a finger on her. After the letter...” He stopped suddenly, swallowing hard and looking away. He didn’t mind Bash’s teasing most of the time, they were brothers, that’s what brothers do. But this, to joke so casually about something that he knew Gilbert wanted so desperately, something Bash knew he could never have...
Gilbert hadn’t told anyone about the letter he had written to Anne when he left it, not even Bash. It wasn’t until the night he received his acceptance to U of T, a night that should have been spent in celebration, that Bash came upon him on the porch with a bottle of whiskey and an empty glass. It was that night that he finally told Bash everything; how he loved her so much he sometimes felt like he couldn’t breathe with it. How he knew, he knew, he could never love anyone else. How he had to tell her, just once, just because she deserved to know that she was perfect.
How she hadn’t even cared enough to respond.
Bash had clapped a hand on his shoulder, squeezing once, before disappearing inside the house, only to reappear with another glass. They didn’t say much else that evening, just slowly emptied the bottle as they stared out at the orchard. At some point Gilbert realised that he was looking toward Green Gables, toward Anne - that he would always orient himself to Anne. He finally hung his head, letting the tears come as Bash put an arm around his shoulder and said only “I know, brother...I know.” The next morning Bash greeted him with a solemn nod and a mug filled with the strongest coffee he had ever tasted. Gilbert nodded back, and they hadn’t spoken of it since.
So Gilbert couldn’t understand how Bash could tease him about it now. Of course, he didn’t know that in the months since Gilbert had left for Toronto, Bash had come to suspect - and admittedly, to hope - that he was wrong when he said Anne didn’t care about him. He wouldn’t claim to know exactly what Anne felt for Gilbert, but anyone with eyes in his head could see that she certainly felt something.
Gilbert had said that he had told her that he hadn’t proposed in his letter, but she never asked about his plans, and she was so obviously shocked the first time Bash mentioned Toronto. He remembered the way her eyes had flashed and then gone carefully blank when he explained that, after his acquaintance with Miss Rose had ended, Gilbert had applied to U of T as a late admission. She made an excuse to leave soon after that. And of course, there was the time Gilbert had begged him to give Anne his address in the hope that maybe, now that some time had passed, she would write to him. When Bash had offered it to her, insisting that Gilbert would love to hear from her, she had flushed to the roots of her hair, quietly taking the piece of paper and turning away without a word. No, he was certain that Anne was anything but indifferent to Gilbert.
Thus, each occupied with their own thoughts, the two men didn’t notice the footsteps coming down the hallway, or hear Anne’s sharp gasp when she heard Gilbert say words “after the letter.” She hadn’t intended to eavesdrop, but she couldn’t help but overhear. Since they had last seen one another over four months ago, a small but eternally hopeful part of her had come to wonder if perhaps she had misunderstood Gilbert’s letter. If maybe, just maybe, she had pieced it together incorrectly. After all, he hadn’t married Winnifred, had he? She couldn’t help but wonder, couldn’t help but hope, that maybe that meant something.
Until now. She stood frozen, one hand pressed heavily to the wall, the other on her stomach as she bent forward. Here it was, proof that he had received her letter - had discussed it with Bash! - but hadn’t felt the need to reply in person. “I guess he didn’t think I was worth it,” she thought. And to hear him declare that he would “never lay a finger on her” was like a physical blow. She had offered him her heart, and there could now be no doubt that he had discarded it along with her letter.
The well-worn pain of his rejection was brought back to a jagged edge by this new humiliation, and she knew that it was too much, too deep for her to deal with now. So she did what she had so many years of experience doing - she buried it, allowing it to give way to a protective anger that would enable her to walk out the door with her dignity intact. She stood for a moment, closing her eyes and breathing in slowly, before she rolled her shoulders, lifted her head, and walked confidently into the kitchen.
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Gilbert and Bash continued, unaware of the woman silently making her way toward them. Gilbert took a steadying breath before continuing “Bash, you know I can’t do this. Can’t you take her?”
“Take me where?” Anne said steadily, giving nothing away as she fixed the men with an even gaze.
“Queen Anne! We were just talking about you!” said Bash. “The storm’s hit earlier than we thought, and with no one at Green Gables to make sure you get back safe, Blythe was just sayin’ that he would take you home.”
“Or Bash can take you, if you would rather... I mean, if you don’t…” Gilbert’s hand shot to the back of his neck as he faltered, unsure of how to continue and, in any case, distracted beyond reason by this newly transformed Anne. Gilbert had always thought her beautiful, and could finally admit to himself that his love for her brilliant red hair was probably bordering on the unhealthy. But still, this…
He knew that she wouldn’t have gone to Queens in her old schoolhouse pinafore and twin braids. Logically, he knew that. And there were fashionable young ladies in Toronto, he knew vaguely what they looked like. So he had absolutely no explanation for his reaction to her long skirt, upswept hair and newly-corseted figure other than to say that she was stunning, and therefore he was stunned.
There. Logical.
“If I don’t what?” snapped Anne as she walked to the window. She was shocked by the sight before her - the storm really was noticeably worse than it had been when she had last looked outside, already several inches deep and starting to blow; there would be no making her way home on foot.
“Actually, Blythe, I need to stay here - with Mama and Elijah visiting the Bog for the weekend I’m the only one to look after Dellie, and if she wakes up she’ll want her Papa. Anne doesn’t mind, do you Anne?”
“Of course not,” she said, in a tone that rather indicated she did mind, before turning to Gilbert.
“Whenever you’re ready, then?”