Hello, Kindreds!! Just posting an old Anne fanfic in honor of the day. Hoping you all had a lovely Valentine's Day!!
Best Wishes From Your Old Chum
All was uproar at the little green-shuttered house on the corner of Spofford Avenue. Mishaps and arduous decisions on every corner. Phil was surprisingly rather languid just then… hours before she had been near to tearing her hair out over deciding whether she should wear her pink muslin or garnet taffeta. But alas! For Reverend Jo had sent word that he couldn't come to the dance that evening… and sent a cluster of pink rosebuds along with his regrets… fresh and dainty and sweet. In silent agony, Phil had put on the pink muslin, without knowing she had, and took great pains over pinning the rosebuds to her sash.
Priscilla had sadly found a rent in her skirt and was rushing wildly about in search for an elusive needle. Stella had lost her best petticoat and was trying and failing to come to terms with wearing a flannel petticoat beneath her silken splendor.
In fact, out of the foursome, Anne alone remained rather calm and collected… and the girls silently envied her. She hadn't lost her best petticoat… she hadn't torn her dress… and her beau would be arriving soon to escort her to the dance. But fate had something in store for Anne Shirley, soon to be B.A., that, had they known, would cause the other girls to be relieved they weren't in her shoes.
The snow was drifting slowly down… not a mad blizzard nor a paltry flurrying… but just a gentle fall of feathery-light flakes. The sun was setting in purply-pink glory, sending flaming rays across the February sky and the frozen landscape was dusted with the snow.
"Like fairy sugar…" Anne said dreamily, then stopped and made a wry face at herself in the mirror. "fairy sugar"… what sort of romantic simile was that? No, indeed, there must be a better word for it. "Stardust," she murmured, trying out its effect as she feasted her eyes upon the frosted glory of the snowy landscape. "Tiny fairy beads dropped from a golden thread. Silver dust. No, there I go again. Not in the slightest." She glanced again at the generous bouquet of white orchids lying on her dresser and tried yet another. "Maiden nature arraying herself in robes of purest white… as a bride adorned for her husband." and smiled with satisfaction. A fitting simile for the day… the most romantic day of the year… the day in which hearts were hung on air and messages of love given freely. The fourteenth day of February. Then, in startling contrast to her lovely thoughts came a rather mischievous one that spoiled the effect
"It's snowing some today and Marilla says the old woman in the sky is shaking her feather beds. Is the old woman in the sky God's wife, Anne? I want to know." At first Anne was annoyed… as every dreamer is when their dreams are interrupted… but then she thought better of it and laughed most unromantically over Davy's poor little letter.
The clock was chiming out in the hall… such a cheerful, companionable clock it was! "Clocks have personality, you know," she had said once. "Some tick along in such a friendly way as if they were eager to make every moment of time a happy one. Others drone along monotonously and make life a dull and miserable thing. And others act as if they were frightened… as if they couldn't bear to see another bit of time slip away into oblivion." This particular clock, however, was signifying that it was nearly time to leave and Roy would soon be arriving to escort her to the dance.
Once again she surveyed herself, noting with pleasure the effect of the creamy silk slip with the rosebud-embroidered overdress of chiffon falling in graceful folds to the floor. With great deliberation, she chose the handsomest orchid from Roy's bouquet and held it against her hair. Phil paused as she came down the hall, leaning against the doorway with a discontented sigh as she watched Anne with her orchids and moaned about Jo's absence that evening. Anne didn't join her in her moaning… she had seen already what Phil longed to see in Jo's eyes and knew very well that he was madly in love with her coquettish little friend. She told Phil as much and Phil did seem to grow more cheerful. And then she let drop the little whim of fate that was bound to come sooner or later that evening…
"By the way, Gilbert Blythe is going about constantly with Christine Stuart. Did you know?"
Anne suddenly found that she could not quite seem to fasten her necklace. Darned old thing… what could possibly be wrong with it? But as she fumbled with the ill-fated little gold chain, she replied to Phil rather carelessly. She didn't know this Christine Stuart… but what on earth did that matter to her? Phil didn't seem concerned in the slightest… she had been furious when Anne had refused Gilbert. But she seemed to have dropped this view now.
"Roy Gardner was foreordained for you," she concluded. "I can see that now. You were right after all." And then Phil disappeared down the hall, leaving Anne alone with her conscience. Anne did not like to be left alone with her conscience. And what was worse… somehow the beautiful evening seemed tarnished… spoiled. And not even yet begun. And so she was short with Phil and positively raged at poor, unsuspecting Rusty who retreated in bewilderment.
Roy was waiting when Anne went downstairs… as handsome and inscrutable as ever. And simply full of romantic and poetical compliments… the kind of poetry that Anne had previously insisted "would win any girl's heart". So why did she feel so cross? And she felt as though she could barely find a thing to say, all along that walk to Redmond. It should have been glorious, that walk through the shining moonlight… for the moon had just risen… and the icy white snow was glittering like a thousand diamonds in the pale yellow glow. With her prince of dreams at her side… what more could she possibly ask? She didn't know. But something… something was lacking.
Gilbert was the very first person she saw… spotting him immediately from far across the wide reception room, over the heads of dozens of others. And the girl with him… the girl who was Christine Stuart… the very queen of her dreams. Ivory-white skin and rich masses of shining, raven-black hair. The bluest of eyes that shone like sapphires and a stately, classical figure. Anne felt somehow more miserable than ever… acutely aware of her flaming red hair and large grey eyes. But the memory of her nose came to her rescue, as it often did, and she lifted her head to smile brilliantly at Roy. He really was terribly handsome with those melting dark eyes of his and that mysteriously dreamy smile.
The orchestra was beginning to play… slow, soft music… the kind that seemed made of moonbeams and starlight. The rustle of silken skirts swished delicately over the marble floor and dainty heels clicked gracefully.
Dance with me?" Roy murmured in that deep, velvety voice that Anne particularly loved and held out his hand. She took it, smiling up at him, though painfully aware that she wasn't blushing as she knew she ought to be, neither was her heart exactly skipping a beat. But that, as she well knew, was a physiological impossibility and not to be hoped for. She would settle without it. And then she put her hand in his and they were whirling across the floor.
But in spite of being "madly in love" with Roy, as she had confessed and all others had declared her to be, Anne found no regret in flitting from partner to partner as they came to ask her for a dance. But Roy always reclaimed her, and quickly too. Then, in the middle of a splendid waltz, Gilbert swept past with Christine on his arm and Anne suddenly felt ill. The room was stuffy and close and her head ached. Roy was concerned, seeing her face grow pale, and insisted she rest. She did so, although it didn't seem to improve her condition. Nor did the constant attention from Roy improve it either. She noticed, from the corner of her eye, Gilbert bowing to Christine as the dance ended, and then backing away as a tall, blonde senior strode up to be introduced. She suddenly seemed rather interested in the solitary figure across the reception room. He wasn't… he couldn't be… but he was… he was coming this way. Anne suddenly felt her headache subsiding and the room didn't seem quite so stuffy. Gilbert was standing before her with the comfortable, companionable smile of old days and the old roguish spark in his hazel eyes.
"Care to dance with an old friend, Anne?" he offered his arm with an eloquent gesture and Anne rose to take it… forgetful of Roy who stood by her now-vacant chair, glass of punch in hand and slightly annoyed expression on his handsome features.
"Rather crowded tonight, isn't it?" Gilbert grinned as he swept Anne away. "Not like the little weekend dances in Avonlea… too many people out here. Fellow can't get a breath of fresh air."
"Of course, this is not dear old P.E.I.," Anne laughed. "And so we must not expect in vain our lovely, invigorating island breezes."
"I have an idea," Gilbert leaned closer, the hazel eyes twinkling maddeningly. "Let's sneak out to that moonlit garden I see out yonder," nodding toward the French doors at the end of the hall, "And have a session of 'do-you-remembers'. It's been far too long since we sat down and had a good chat."
Anne agreed, with a sudden wistful little pain shooting through her. She had forgotten how terribly she missed her chummy conversations with Gilbert. He suddenly seemed dearer a friend than ever before. Roy was wonderfully romantic but when it got down to a friendly chat… he fell rather flat. Besides, they didn't exactly share any 'do-you-remembers'.
The night was even more glorious than it had been before… the great golden moon swimming in a sea of stars. The garden was dead and buried beneath a blanket of snow… but no less beautiful for its mystical adornment of pure white. And what a relief it was after the oppressive heat of the reception room to feel the gentle chilling breezes of the February wind!
Anne and Gilbert wasted no time in sentimental reflections on the landscape for both knew that subjects of any remotely-sentimental nature was dangerous ground. And so they plunged into the talk of the old days with hearty good-will, recalling amidst peals of laughter the rivals and successes, the accidents and mishaps, the glories and the sorrows, the joy and fun, of the dear old days when they had been but children and concerned with nothing much beyond their own little world of Avonlea and P.E.I.
"Do you remember," Gilbert said suddenly, "That day we first met? When I called you carrots and… before I knew what was happening… you had cracked your slate clean across my head!"
"How could I ever forget?" Anne smothered a most unladylike shriek of laughter. "What a little beast I was in those days! When a word against this horrid red hair of mine made mortal enemies for me. But really, it was too awful. Carrots! What worse shade could there be?"
"I love carrots," Gilbert grinned mischievously and Anne made no comment. Indeed, any comment on her part would most likely direct the conversation where it had no business going.
"And then… the day that Mr. Phillips punished me by making me sit with you," Anne added. What a humiliation that day had been! Resulting in her decision to never return to school although, of course, she had… once her temper had cooled off.
"I remember that day," Gilbert smiled reminiscently. "And I tried to make peace over the carrots scene by giving you that pink candy heart… and you crushed it to powder."
"Or the time I nearly drowned playing the Lily Maid and you came along to rescue me… and I behaved abominably to you. I am still ashamed of what I said that day."
"But not a bit of it matters anymore… our friendship has erased all the old rivalry, hasn't it Anne?" Anne felt almost as if she could detect a note of longing… of pleading… in Gilbert's voice and she stiffened. "Kindred spirits can never hold grudges against each other."
"No," Anne conceded. "I've quite forgiven you all that… and I hope you've forgiven me."
Gilbert was silent a long moment… looking down at her in the moonlight. She swallowed hard, wishing in vain that she could find something… anything to say. But what? He reached out suddenly and took her hand in his. Something suddenly shot through her… something indefinable. And she felt her heart skip the traditional beat. Why must it do that now? Really, there must be something wrong with her. But he simply pressed her hand in friendly comradeship and dropped it again and then… the thrill was gone. But he was reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a little paper parcel.
"I… have something for you," he said slowly, placing the little box in her hand. "Consider it a token of our friendship." With a slow smile that seemed almost sad, he made an excuse and returned inside.
Anne lingered a moment in the frosty moonlight to open the little parcel. As she lifted the lid of the box, she felt something suspiciously like a lump in her throat and raised a trembling hand to her heart. Inside lay a little, thread-like gold chain with a tiny pink enamel heart dangling from it. A little pink heart… just like the one she had crushed on that fateful day so many years ago. And a card with Gilbert's familiar scrawl, "With best wishes from your old chum, Gilbert."
Almost unconsciously, Anne gave a sigh of regret. Regret for old days long past and dead. Her heart suddenly seemed very empty and the days ahead gray and bleak.
Many years have come and gone since that long ago dance on the fourteenth of February at Redmond College. But that night has not been forgotten. Nor have the years been successful in fading the laughter of old days. Rather, the years have enriched and beautified that laughter… turning a beautiful friendship into an ultimately more beautiful love. Old pains and regrets have healed.
There is a large, friendly house in Glen St. Mary on P.E.I. surrounded by ample gardens, covered now in snow, as they always are in February. The same glittering, pure-white snow that fell on Redmond years before. And this house is full of love and laughter. Candles flickering in the windows and a roaring fire in the living room fireplace, over which two little green china dogs keep a faithful and everlasting watch. In the center of the room sits an old doctor with iron-grey hair and hazel eyes still twinkling with merriment and as young and boyish as ever. At his side is his wife, his Anne-girl, with threads of silver in her carrot-colored hair and laughter-lines around her grey eyes. Around her neck hangs a golden chain with a tiny pink heart hanging from it. At their feet, all around, sit a throng of rosy-cheeked, bright-eyed little ones, some with their grandmother's fiery red hair, others with their grandfather's roguish hazel eyes. Ah, yes, time has been kind to them. And love is a beautiful thing.
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