☁ o, dreamer || gilbert blythe x reader ☁

chapter nine: song of the open road

It had been almost a week since the formal dance and winter break was slowly but surely creeping to an end, though the frigid weather was still relentless. You hadn't seen or heard from Gilbert since the dance, but you didn't really think anything of it since you'd be seeing him at school next week anyway. 

It was a quiet afternoon, and you were in the kitchen preparing a cup of tea for Matthew, who had been a bit under the weather lately. There wasn't much to do since the livestock had already been taken care of and the heavy snowfall left no crops to tend to, so you made yourself a cup as well and were about to join your family in the den when you heard a light, but frantic knock on the door. You opened it to see a familiar face, but not one you knew well; it was Mrs. Kincannon, the woman that Gilbert worked for after school. 

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Kincannon." You smiled politely. "What can I do for you?"

She seemed a bit winded. "Good afternoon, (Y/N). I'm sorry to stop by on such short notice. Gilbert sent me to get you." 

"Gilbert? What's wrong?"

She paused, her expression very pained. "It's his father, dear." 

You were overcome with grave understanding and nodded solemnly. "I'll fetch my coat."

-- 

The ride over was completely silent. The uncomfortable kind. Once at Gilbert's house, Mrs. Kincannon led you inside, and up the old wooden stairs to a hallway. She stopped in front of the door at the end of the hall and went inside. A few moments later, she came out, followed by Gilbert. You rushed to him and the two of you hugged immediately. He held you tightly for a few long moments. Pulling away, he studied you; his eyes were puffy, and you could tell that he'd been crying heavily. He looked like he hadn't been sleeping much, either. He smiled gingerly at you and gently took your hand. 

"Come on, there's someone I want you to meet." Gilbert led you into the room, over to the bed where an ill John Blythe lay.

"Dad, this is (Y/N)." 

You curtsied shyly. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Blythe." 

He coughed weakly, gesturing with his hand. "Come closer dear, so I can see you." You did as he said, stepping over to the edge of the bed. He gently held your hand. 

"My, what a pretty girl. And smart, too, from what Gil's told me. My son is very lucky to have you." He smiled feebly, pulling you closer to whisper something in your ear. "Please, take good care of him. For me." 

You could feel hot tears welling up in your eyes and placed your hand firmly on top of his. "I will, Mr. Blythe. I promise." 

"And you," John said, looking over at Gilbert. "Be good to her, now. I want grandchildren, so don't mess this up!" he began to laugh heartily. Gilbert smiled softly, but his eyes were pained as John's laughter soon turned into a fit of coughing. 

Gilbert turned to you and took your hands in his. "(Y/N), could you give us a minute?" 

You nodded, affectionately brushing his cheek with your hand before leaving the room. Doc Spencer passed you as you stepped through the door frame. You don't know just how long you waited in that hallway- it felt like hours. Mrs. Kincannon was there with you, as well as some other neighbors and family members. The silence among quiet weeping and sniffling was the most deafening thing you'd ever heard; you felt physically sick, to your very core. You were lucky not to have been there for your own father's death- it allowed you to imagine that maybe, somewhere, he was still out there. You had often invented fantasies in your mind to alleviate the pain and loss you felt.