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Chapter Text

Gilbert awoke to a gentle breeze drifting in his westward facing window. He breathed deep and exhaled slowly while running his fingers through his hair. It was later than usual, but he had a restless sleep as he played the events of the previous day over and over in his head.

He arose to meet the morning and greeted his reflection in the mirror. He looked more boyish than he did the day before, but his soul felt somehow older. He looked down at the seashell beside his basin and was reminded of his decision from the day before.

Tousling his brown curls he affirmed to himself, “Okay, Blythe, this is the first day of the rest of your life.” He inhaled again and let out a prolonged sigh.

He dressed in his usual farm boy clothes a far cry from his finest, but they felt more like him. He descended the staircase to face the music from Bash.

“Well. Well. Well. What have we here? It’s nice of you to join us Mr. Blythe. Especially on a day when our orchard is in dire need of picking.”

“Morning, Bash,” Gilbert mumbled as filled up his plate with bacon and eggs.

“What time did you get home last night? I thought the Charlottetown train got in at eight. You weren’t home before midnight.”

“It’s nice to see that you’re so concerned with my whereabouts. Should I start calling you Dad?” Gilbert enquired.

“Now! Now! I only get a few more weeks to be your tormenter and I intend to make the most of it.” Bash chuckled.

“If you must know, I decided to take a moonlight stroll down on the bluffs. I don’t think there will be any more warm evenings left before Autumn sets in.”

“Thinking about the love of your life, no doubt.” A smile set across Bash’s face.

Gilbert pondered for a moment, “I did, in fact.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a sudden knock.

“I’ll get it,” Bash’s mother cried as she scurried to the door.

She opened the door to Miss Stacy.

“Sebastien, it’s your white lady friend,” called Mrs. LaCroix.

Gilbert peered cheekily across the table, “White lady friend, eh?”

“Stop giving me a taste of my own medicine, Blythe, you’re not a doctor yet!” Bash swat Gilbert with a napkin.

Miss Stacy entered. “I’m actually here to see Gilbert.”

Gilbert rose to meet his teacher. “What is it Miss Stacy?”

“I just received the Queen’s results!”

Gilbert gulped, “and?”

Miss Stacy could hardly contain her excitement. “You came in first! We’ll to be precise, you tied for first with another one of Avonlea’s finest!”

Gilberts eyes widened, “Anne?”

“Yes, she doesn’t know yet, I’m on my way to Green Gables after this. And, to add to the excitement, our whole class passed.”

Gilbert could hardly stop smiling. “So we’re all bound for Queens?”

“Wait a second, Blythe,” interjected, Bash. “Aren’t you off to Paris?”

Gilbert sunk back in his chair and unhurriedly sipped his coffee, “I would like to keep my options open, that’s all.”

Miss Stacy’s gaze met Bash’s. They were both confused.

Miss Stacy spoke, “Well it’s always advantageous to keep our options open. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am off to Green Gables. Anne will be overjoyed to hear the news.”

“Do you mind if I accompany you? Asked Gilbert. “I have to return something I borrowed. And I also want to know more about the option of Queens.”

“Of course, Gilbert.”

“Please give me a moment to gather a few things.” Gilbert cleared his breakfast dishes and disappeared upstairs.”

Miss Stacy took the seat across from Bash, “Do you notice anything peculiar about Gilbert’s behaviour? Last week he was determined to attend the Sorbonne at all costs, and today he’s considering Queens?”

“Muriel, I have yet to understand the ways of Mr. Gilbert Blythe. He is a peculiar boy indeed.”

“Ready!” Gilbert smiled placing a salt-and-pepper hat atop his mound of curls.

“Then let’s not keep Anne waiting.”

“Destiny awaits,” Bash nodded towards Miss Stacy and opened the door.

…

“Anne you hardly touched your eggs,” Marilla noted. “You must eat something, or you’ll waste away to nothing.”

Matthew scoffed over his newspaper, “Anne it seems like Marilla has taken a cue from you in the dramatic department.”

“Oh Matthew, your humour will always bring joy to my life.” Anne mused.

“Woman cannot live on joy alone”, Matthew added leaning over and pointing to Anne’s plate, “she must also eat toast and eggs.”

A loud hurried knock was heard at the front door.

Marilla went to answer. “Why Prissy Andrews, what do we owe this pleasure?”

“Hello Miss Cuthbert,” Prissy smiled, I’m here to speak with Anne. Might I take a moment of her time?”

“Why of course, Anne, you have a visitor.” Marilla called.

“Prissy,” Anne questioned, “what are you doing here?”

“I’m here to ask you to accompany me to Charlottetown,” the confident blond responded. “There are a group of people I believe you must meet. You see, I sent them your editorial from the Gazette, and they want to meet you.”

“Well, if it’s okay with Marilla and Matthew.” Anne looked at her family and smiled pleadingly.

“I can’t see why not,” responded Matthew. “Do you have a chaperone?”

“I will be her chaperone,” Prissy exclaimed, “We are on the eve of the twentieth century, women can travel unaccompanied.”

Marilla tried her best to hide her worry with a smile, “who am I to stand in the way of progress?”

“Great.” Anne turned to Prissy. “Let me grab my things.”

“We must hurry,” pressed Miss Andrew’s, “the train leaves soon. I have my father’s buggy”

Anne was confused but curious. “Okay then, Prissy. Adventure awaits!”

“Don’t worry Miss Cuthbert, Anne will be home before evening.” Prissy grasped Anne’s arm and head off.

…

Once they were off in the buggy, Prissy shared more information with Anne. “I couldn’t tell you the whole story in front of the Cuthbert’s but I’m a part of an underground women’s newspaper at Queens. We call ourselves The Forbidden Fruit. When I read your story, I knew that you must be a part of our endeavour. We’re focused mainly on the advancement of women’s causes, but we also press other social issues.”

Anne was intrigued, “do you have much of a readership?”

Prissy stopped and piqued her eyebrow, “Anne dear, we are the forbidden fruit, the Queen’s folk can’t get enough of us.”

“These seem like my people.” Anne grinned.

“They most certainly are, and I can’t wait for you to meet them.”

…

Shortly after Anne’s departure, another knock sounded on the Cuthbert’s door.

“Glory be!” cried Marilla, “our house is quite the destination this morning.” She opened the door to see Miss Stacy and Gilbert.

Miss Stacy burst in with an heir of excitement, “Oh Marilla, we must see Anne, we have the most thrilling news for her. It’s about her Queen’s acceptance.”

“Well you just missed her, she’s off the Charlottetown with Prissy Andrew’s this very minute.”

Gilbert’s face fell but he managed to force a smile before anyone could notice. “Why is she off with Prissy?”

“Well, she was very secretive but they were both very excited,” Marilla remarked, “she’ll be back before nightfall.”

“Well, please hand her this letter.” Miss Stacy held out a white envelope in her hand.

“I will,” responded Marilla with a warm smile.

“Please tell her that I will be by tomorrow morning,” replied Miss Stacy with a nod. “Have a wonderful day, Matthew, Marilla.”

Miss Stacy left Green Gables to meet up with a certain raven-haired girl to inform her of her acceptance to Queen’s College.

Gilbert remained. Shuffling in his pockets he looked to Matthew. “Mr. Cuthbert, I have something to return to you.” He held out his hand and placed two silver cufflinks in Matthew’s hand. “Thank you for lending these to me, but I am no longer in need of them.”

“Well it was not a burden, Gilbert, I’m glad I could help.” Matthew received the cufflinks from Gilbert’s hand.

“That’s not all I’m here for.” Gilbert inhaled, “Matthew, Marilla, may I speak to you about a pressing matter?”

Chapter Text

Diana Barry sat demurely on the setae in her parlour listening to her parents speak as if she was not in the room.

Mr. Barry was trying his best to calm his wife. “Eliza, you speak as if our daughter murdered a man in cold blood. She merely took an examination without our knowing.”  

“William! She has been deceitful. We had a plan for her life, it was not to fill her head with Latin, Greek and academic nonsense. She was to be a lady! How will she ever marry well if she does not attend finishing school?” Eliza turned to her daughter, “Whatever made you think that you were college material?”

Diana felt a spark rekindle in her stomach. She rose to her feet, angry, but with poise. “I will not ruin my life by attending college! I was not deceitful! YOU were deceitful in planning my life without as much considering what I wanted.” Tears started to stream down her porcelain skin. “All my life, I’ve done what YOU wanted, and what’s the outcome? You’re miserable and I’m miserable!”

William Barry’s heart ached for his daughter, “Diana, sweetheart, why are you so miserable? We’ve given you everything.”

“Everything but choice,” Diana noted with steadfast determination. She was happy that some of Anne’s courage had rubbed off on her. “I want to choose my own destiny.”

Mrs. Barry rose her voice. “Diana, stop being ridiculous. You are barely sixteen years old; you don’t know what choices you are making. You’re nothing but a selfish brat.”

The spark in Diana’s stomach ignited into a fire. The truth burned like sparks to her skin. She was a selfish brat. She recalled how poorly she had treated Jerry. “It’s nice to know what you really think of me mother.”

“Shut up, Diana,” her mom shouted as she turned away from her daughter.

“I won’t. I will not shut up. I will not fulfill your destiny for me. Auntie Jo said that she will support me. I earned that spot in the Queens class fair and square, and you cannot stop me.” With her newfound courage, Diana turned and ran out of the house, slamming the door behind her.

“Aren’t you going to go after her, William.” Demanded Eliza.

“No, dear. I believe we need to let Diana have some time to herself.

…

Jerry Baynard was well into his work for the day. He had fed and milked the cows, gather eggs, and mucked out all the stalls. He was sitting on a log outside the Cuthbert’s barn drinking a cup of tea when he saw a familiar flash of black.

Knowing how their last encounter played out, Jerry was cautious of interacting with Miss Barry and resolved to greet her with a warm (but not too warm) bon matin!

“Bon Matin, Mademoiselle Barry.” Jerry tipped his hat and smiled. “If you’re looking for Anne, she is away.”

“I’m not here to see Anne,” confessed Diana. Her chestnut eyes gazing up at the young farmhand.

Jerry stood up and shuffled back against the barn door. “You’re not?”

Diana moved closer, close enough for Jerry to realize that she had been crying, her hands toying with her handkerchief. “I have not been kind to you Jerry. I acted like a spoiled princess and I did not treat your heart with the care it deserves.” She was trying her best to be sincere, but she was not even convincing herself.

Jerry grinned slightly, “It’s okay Diana, all is forgiven.”

Diana bit her lip and inhaled. “That was not the apology you deserve. May I try again?”

Jerry perked up, “well I can take my break and we can go for a walk, if you want to.”

Without hesitation, Diana agreed.

…

The train arrived in bustling Charlottetown not far from Queen’s Academy.

“We’re not too far away now.” Informed Prissy.

Prissy did not divulge too much information about The Forbidden Fruit on the train, but now with so much hustle and bustle, Anne thought it would be safe to enquire more deeply. “How secret is this society?”

“We all write under a nomme de plume because we still live in a time when the status quo is to trust a man’s opinion over a women. My name is Andrew Purcell.”

“How exciting! I wonder what my name could be?” Anne pondered, “perhaps Walter Matthews, an homage to by birth father and my dearest Matthew.”

“Sounds perfect!” Prissy stopped in front of a stone building. “We’re here.”

Prissy ushered Anne in through the heavy oak double doors and down a hallway. At the end of the hallway was another door leading to a small staircase.

Prissy grinned, “We’re underground in more ways than one.”

“How delicious,” exclaimed Anne.

The staircase led to another, albeit narrower, hallway lined with doors. Prissy walked to the end and made three knocks one just slightly softer than the last.

A woman opened the door. She wore small round-rimmed glasses and wore her chestnut hair in a long French braid with wispy bangs. “Hello Prissy, come in.”

Prissy entered the room, removing her gloves, “Good afternoon Stella. Is anyone else here?”

“No, Roy was here a while ago to do the weekly maintenance on the printing press, but he left shorty before you arrived.” Stella moved to a large table in the middle of the room and handed Prissy a piece of paper. “Here’s something we’ve been working on. It’s a story on how the women of New Zealand gained the right to vote. Imagine! Women having a voice in their very country is governed.”

Anne was intrigued, “Mrs. Lynde, my neighbour declares that if ‘women had the right to vote we would soon see a bloody change!’ Mrs. Lynde works hard for the plight of women. She’s even forced the board of trustees to increase the number of women on the board.”

Stella looked at Prissy’s companion with interest.

“Oh, how rude of me,” interrupted Prissy. “Stella Maynard, this is Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. She wrote the story on the woman’s right to bodily autonomy. Anne, this is Stella, our fearless editor in chief.”

Stella turned to Anne, “your piece was a little rough around the edges, but a true diamond in the rough. I hope you will join us when classes commence in the fall, you will be a welcome addition to our team.”

“I would be honored.” Anne was already considering the possibilities of being a part of such an endeavour.

“Do you have any ideas for stories?” Stella enquired.

“I do actually, there is a horrible injustice happening in our own backyard. Hundreds of native children are being stolen from their families to attend ‘schools’ where the only purpose is, and I quote, ‘to kill the Indian, but save the man.” Anne could feel her stomach fill with Holy ire.

“What evidence do you have?” Probed Stella.

“Evidence? I was there! Twice. They change their beautiful, God-given Mi'kmaq names and replacing them with English ones. And that’s not the worst part, they tried to shoot the father of my friend. The conditions there are deplorable and it’s all under the guise of Christianity. I am sure that God was not consulted in this process whatsoever.”

Stella’s eyes widened. “Anne, I think you have your first story. Have something written by the time you come back for the semester. The world must know about this!”

Prissy squeezed Anne’s arm, “see, I knew that you would fit in here.”

“I will speak up for those whose voices are not valued.” Anne vowed.

Stella took her fountain pen and tapped Anne’s shoulders as if to knight her. “I hereby knight the Lady Anne, voice of the voiceless.” She then handed the pen to Anne, “your sword, m’lady”.

Anne seized the pen, “I will use this pen to fight for justice and expose the truth.” She stopped suddenly, remembering her other pen. “Prissy, I must return to Avonlea soon.”

“We must, and we shall,” agreed Prissy. “Stella, we will see you in a fortnight.”

Stella nodded. “Yes, and don’t forget your story, Anne.”

“I will pour my very heart and should into every line,” Anne promised.

The young ladies of Avonlea parted ways with Stella and rushed back to catch the evening train. Anne’s heart was full, she had renewed passion and purpose. The sting of Gilbert’s impending marriage dissolved into a numbness. She could not wait to tell Diana about her meeting.

…

Gilbert sat on the back porch of Green Gables as he watched the sun approach the horizon. The sky was coloured with warm oranges, reds, and pinks. Each sunset is a gift and a promise of a new day.

He had spent some time speaking with the Cuthberts and they had agreed to help Bash and him with the apple harvest (among other things). Marilla insisted that he stay for supper and although the conversation had been sparse, Gilbert enjoyed feeling like he was part of a family again.

Gilbert traced the small cockle shell with his finger as he cupped it in his other hand memorizing every ridge, bump and barnacle. Every little imperfection helped him sketch a more vivid picture in his mind. He imagined the journey it had taken. Had there been times of great discomfort? Had they resulted in pearls? He wondered if his current struggles would result in any pearls. His father’s death. His months at sea. Finding family with Mary and Bash and losing her. His comfortable relationship with Winnifred. His complicated relationship with Anne. He felt older than his eighteen years but was reluctant to fully enter manhood.

Gilbert sighed, rose to his feet, and headed towards the setting sun. He remembered Anne’s words; tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it. He longed for tomorrow, but something was still holding him to today. He was terrified, but somehow consoled by its presence. He walked to the edge of the Cuthbert’s property but turned around and returned to his spot on the porch. He couldn’t go home just yet.

He could hear a gleeful tune being whistled in the distance and after following the sound, found himself in the Cuthbert’s barn. Jerry Baynard was brushing Belle’s coat and doing a poor job of concealing a smile.

“Bon soir, Jerry,” greeted Gilbert. “I don’t need to add comment ça va, because you seem pretty happy.”

“I am the happiest boy on the island ce soir, Mr. Blythe,” replied Jerry in a sing-songy voice.

“May I ask why,” questioned Gilbert.

Jerry glowed, “I had a sweetheart until she wasn’t and now, she is my sweetheart again.”

“I’m happy for you.” Gilbert forced a smile.

“You have a sweetheart too, don’t you, Gilbert?”

“I do. I did. I hope…” Gilbert trailed off.

Jerry looked questionably at Gilbert, “what do you mean?”

Gilbert removed his hat and scratched his head. “You see, it’s complicated.”

“Love is complicated, mon ami, that’s what makes it so sweet.” Jerry took an embroidered handkerchief out of his front pocket and wiped his brow. He peered off in the distance as if he was imparting the deepest wisdom. “Anything worth having is worth fighting for.”

“You’re a wise man, Jerry Baynard.”