when tragedy strikes ☾ shirbert

chapter 18: before dawn

a/n: long time no see... if anyone survived. it might be worth skimming previous chapters to get an idea of what this story is, i know i had to!

The Night of The Fire

The buckets, once lifted in desperate hope, were now slowly lowered to the ground. Looking upon the ashes, neighboring families exchanged glances, a few lending sympathetic eyes toward Marilla. She had a raised hand, covering her open mouth in quiet awe of the horror in front of her. She always thought she'd live the rest of her life in that house.

Mr. and Mrs. Barry approached first, the ladder rubbing a consoling palm up and down Marilla's shoulder. Following suit, others began to form a loose huddle around her, while the rest quietly dismissed themselves, leading their teary-eyed children back to sleep.

Anne believed Marilla was incapable of weeping until now.

As the girl sat in the cold grass, the lids of her eyes fell ever so slightly as they passed between the cinders and her found family. With the silent rapidity in which her tears came, they dried, leaving nothing but a twinge of red under her waterline. Forgotten beside her, Gilbert's gaze had drifted from the crumble and steadied on Anne.

He wanted to make it known to her, with just one look, how wholly he would lend himself to her— lend anything, to her — if she needed it. With this look came a familiar gleam, nearly habitual, though it went unrecognized at best.

While numbing minutes passed, Marilla's cries had been softened as she firmly held Eliza's kind hand. As the two of them entered Barry's carriage, Marilla mumbled a sputter of words to William (Mr. Barry), which were somewhat incomprehensible to any man unfamiliar with motherhood. Luckily, Eliza understood perfectly well, and soon enough William was approaching the slumped-over girl in the grass.

"Anne," He said upon nearing her, and slipped a side-eye at Gilbert, only just noticing him. "I think it's time we go."

Anne's stare lingered on the rubble, letting it burn into her vacant mind. There it would stay pristine, whether she liked it or not. When she stood, Gilbert met her halfway; one hand guiding her elbow, the other hovering inches behind her back.

"We'll be taking you to our home, Anne," William explained, "The carriage is just this way, I-"

He seemed to pause, noting her torn, bloodied clothing when she stood.

"May you walk alongside her, Mr. Blythe?" He asked, rather concerned, "I-I can't say it doesn't look like she might fall over."

"Yes, sir," Gilbert responded, without a beat of hesitation. "Gladly."

His hand cupping her elbow glided up to her shoulder, his thumb rubbing gently when meeting the frayed fabric. William seemed to nod, having to divert his shock over Anne's state elsewhere, and led the way toward their carriage.

As they walked, sparse gasps and murmurs seemed to encircle them, eyes gliding over their figures. William was a fair bit ahead of the two, a twinge of panic in his mind compensating for his speed. Yet neither Gilbert nor Anne noticed, the former's eyes on the ladder's, the ladder's on the ground.

"Can I do anything for you?" Gilbert asked.

His voice was gentle, genuine.