After Goodbye

After Goodbye Part 6

Gilbert could tell his fever wasn't as high as it had been. For the first time in what like felt like forever, he rested semi-comfortably. He actually rolled over onto his side. He wasn't going to let this illness lick him. He'd seen many recover at the hospital in Halifax, and he would too. He was bound and determined to see Anne again. She haunted his dreams day and night. So did Christine, but not as often as Anne. But every time he saw Christine, he tensed. When he saw Anne, peace overcame him, he slept better. He didn't have to worry about Christine anymore; he'd called the wedding off. He'd called it off. His parents knew. He didn't have to worry about that any more.

Gilbert heard voices off in the distance, and then he felt cool water on his forehead. "How are you doing today, Gilbert?" There was the woman's familiar voice again. The nurse who'd been here day and night.

Gilbert barely opened his eyes. "As best as ... I can be." His voice wasvraspy and low. The water cooled him and he relaxed. He only wished he'd open his eyes and see Anne here. So many times he'd fought with all his strength to open his eyes in the hopes of seeing Anne, but every time he saw the same people—his mother, his father, his nurse. He remembered seeing the Reverend once or twice. How much time had gone by? He had no idea and didn't have the strength to ask. He let the coolness of the water calm him and he drifted to sleep again.

****

Mr. Blythe sat at the kitchen table, staring at a red-eyed Christine. It had been a day since they'd received her telegram. Mrs. Blythe stood behind her husband. Christine looked like she'd lost a considerable amount of weight.

"Gilbert has said very few words since he's been ill, Christine, but just about every word he has said has been that he's called things off between you two. Is this correct?" Mr. Blythe said.

Christine nodded and dabbed her nose with a tissue. "It's correct. He called off the wedding."

"Then," Mr. Blythe continued, "I don't want to upset him any further by having you go in and see him. I will tell him you stopped by, however, but if I were you, Christine." Mr. Blythe reached out and put his hand over Christine's. "I'd go back to Halifax, and we'll keep you informed of how he's doing."

"How can I leave when he's so ill, Mr. Blythe?" Christine said, and Mrs. Blythe felt so sorry for the poor dear. She was utterly heart broken; that was obvious.

"I'm sorry, Christine. Gilbert has made it clear that things are over between you two. I have to stand by my boy. I don't want anything to upset him. We'll be in touch." He shook his head. "I'm sorry the way things have ended up between you two, and I don't exactly understand what's going on, but as for right now, I think this is best."

Christine stared at Mr. Blythe, and Mrs. Blythe could tell Christine realized there was no getting around it. Her husband was adamant about protecting Gilbert from Christine. She, herself, didn't see what the harm would be in her going in to see Gilbert, but her husband had put his foot down, and there was no changing his mind.

Christine stood and gave them a half-smile. "Let him know I was here, then. Let me know how he's doing just as soon as you can." She turned and walked out the door, her dress swishing about her ankles. So beautiful she was, Mrs. Blythe thought. Why had Gilbert called things off between the two of them? Oh, why did she even bother asking herself that question any more? It was obvious the reason why. Anne. Anne Shirley. She'd only heard Gilbert repeat her name over and over again the last two weeks. He loved Anne Shirley, and that's why her son was not marrying Christine. But there was no Anne Shirley here. The last she'd heard Anne was at Kingsport Ladies College, and here was her son, practically on his deathbed, calling out her name. But ... Anne wasn't here.

It had been two days since Christine had come and gone, and Gilbert had remained about the same. Mrs. Blythe was thankful he hadn't gotten worse. She was beginning to let her hopes rise a bit that her son was going to come through this. She sat next to him holding his hand. He slept peacefully at the moment. The nurse came only every other day now. Mr. Blythe was outside much more than usual. Jerry Buote hadn't been here in about a week, but her husband still spent more time than usual indoors by his son. Mrs. Blythe was expecting the doctor any minute now.

"Doctor's here!" she heard her husband call. Mrs. Blythe stood and went into the kitchen and her husband and the Doctor were just walking inside.

"I hear Gilbert's been doing a bit better, Mrs. Blythe," the Doctor said.

"It seems so," she said. "His fever has gone down a bit and stayed that way. It's not gone completely, but it hasn't gotten any higher."

"Well, that's good. I'll go check him over." The Doctor disappeared into Gilbert's room, and Mrs. Blythe fixed some tea and poured herself and her husband a cup. She peered outside and noticed fog. She longed to see sunshine.

"Thank you," her husband said when she set the tea before him, and he took a sip of the hot brew.

Mrs. Blythe took a drink and found it tasted unusually good. She hadn't been drinking or eating much lately. She'd been so distraught over her son; she'd had no appetite. But the last couple days had been different. She was Gilbert's mother; she knew her son, and she could tell he'd stabilized. She breathed a sigh of relief. "I think our son is going to come through this." 

Her husband rubbed his forehead. "I think so, too." He smiled and his chest rose as he took in a deep breath. This had been the scariest thing they'd ever faced—almost losing their beloved son.

The doctor came out rather quick. "Gilbert looks good." He put his stethoscope into his black bag. His fever has come down, and I think in a matter of a few weeks he may actually be up on his feet again. He'll have to take things slowly of course. He's extremely weak. Could hardly speak to me, but he did answer my few questions."

"Thank you, Doctor," Mr. Blythe said and walked out into the foggy air with him. Mrs. Blythe breathed a sigh of relief and sipped her tea.

****

Gilbert closed his eyes. When the Doctor told him he was over the worst, relief washed over his body, even though his body couldn't feel that much—relief or anything—he was so weak. But now he knew he'd made it through. He was lucky.

He'd be able to find Anne, even if he had to go to Kingsport and tell her he loved her and that she was the only girl for him. After almost dying, he knew now he had to tell her the truth. She had to know. He loved her more than ever. She's all he thought about. Pictures of her face and sounds of her voice filled his dreams, pulling him through the bleakest moments. He shivered. He was still ill, he knew that much, but from what he'd studied about scarlet fever, he should be getting a bit better every day. But right now, he couldn't open his eyes even if he tried. He pulled his covers up and slipped into deep sleep.

****

Mrs. Blythe finished her cup of tea when her husband walked inside. Someone was with him. Mrs. Blythe put her hand to her mouth. It was Anne. Anne Shirley.