After Goodbye

After Goodbye Part 7

"Anne." Mrs. Blythe stood. "You're back."

Anne's eyes filled with tears, and lines covered her forehead; obvious lines of concern. Her red hair was disheveled.

"I ... I ... was wondering how Gilbert is doing?" Anne looked down at a book she clutched in her hands, almost as if she was afraid to be here. "I found out he was ill, and I saw Jerry Buote. I have this book ... I want to give it to Gil." She held out the book. "Jerry Buote said I could come and give it to him." A tear spilled down her cheek which she quickly swiped away.

Mrs. Blythe looked at her husband who nodded his approval.

"Anne, why don't you do just as Jerry said, go in and give it to him," Mr. Blythe said. "Let me go and tell Gilbert he has a visitor." He disappeared into Gilbert's room.

Mrs. Blythe had never seen Anne look this way before. So concerned, so worried, so melancholy. They stared at each other a moment, as if they shared what the other was feeling—a deep, deep love for Gilbert. Everything began to make sense to Mrs. Blythe now. Gilbert loved Anne, and Anne loved Gilbert.

"Come right in, Anne," Mr. Blythe said.

Anne walked slowly to the door. She turned and looked at Mrs. Blythe again, and then Mr. Blythe led her inside. Mrs. Blythe wished she could go inside, too, but she knew she'd better not. Right away her husband came back out, and the two of them sat at the table, staring at each other, feeling something in the room they'd never felt before.

****

Gilbert lay on his back when he heard his father's voice. Someone here to see him. He was so tired. Didn't want to see anybody. He closed his eyes, drifted back into darkness.

"Hello, Gil. It's me."

He heard her voice, just like in his dreams, and brushed it aside. He felt someone sit on the bed next to him. He struggled to open his eyes. Someone was here. Anne? No. It couldn't be. "Anne..." he uttered.

"I've come to ask you to go for one of our old-time rambles in the woods." She smiled, and he began to see her more clearly.

It was Anne. She was here, next to him. She looked like an angel. He swallowed the lump in his throat and fought the tears. Old time rambles in the woods? An ache pierced his heart. Oh, how he wished he could. "I wish I could go..." his voice sounded so weak. He wanted to sit up and hug her, kiss her—anything—but he could barely move.

Anne leaned closer to him, and Gilbert again swallowed the lump in his throat. "I brought you my book," she said. "I've been published, Gil. I wrote about Avonlea, just as you said I should, without any high-falutin' mumbo-jumbo." A tear slid down her face. "I've dedicated the inscription to Marilla and to Matthew ... and to you." Another tear glided down her cheek which she wiped away. "I was thinking of saving it as a wedding gift, and then I just decided I couldn't wait."

Book? Wedding gift? "Anne," he fought to speak, "there's not going to be any wedding any more." His voice was so raspy. If only he could pick her up and twirl her around in his arms. Wipe the tears from her eyes. She was who he loved. Her nearness made it even harder for him to speak. He licked his lips.

"You're going to get well, Gil. I know you will," she said, their eyes locked on each other.

Gilbert swallowed. "I called it off. It wouldn't have been fair to Christine..." He wished she could read his mind, his thoughts, his heart.

She grabbed his hand. "Gil," she whispered. He closed his eyes. The way Anne said his name. Just like in his dreams.

He opened his eyes again. "There will never be anyone for me ... but you," he said, spilling out all that had been on his heart for days and weeks now.