Well, here we finally are… eight months later, and an update of this poor, neglected story eventually arrives! I was shocked myself when I discovered just how long the time had been between chapters, and vow to not let that happen again. Thank you one and all for your patience!

I am excited to properly move forward with this story, helped in large part by numerous new readers who have engaged with it so energetically and enthusiastically. I cannot thank you enough for your comments, encouragement, observations and questions. In particular can I take the opportunity to thank AnneNGil, immery and Curlieque who have read through the entire thing during these intervening months and left heartening reflections along the way. I have really appreciated the way you have encouraged me to revisit and reflect upon my own story. And anyone who has commented that they have been rereading it has my eternal gratitude!

I am amazed that this has just received 500 reviews, which is just so thrilling! And I have realized it is now 400 reviews for Let Love clasp Grief. Thank you to everyone who has been kind enough to respond to both stories of late – or right back at the beginning! I spent decades just writing for myself, not having any thought to my words being seen by other eyes, and now I have a readership that stretches around the world. That is sometimes still incomprehensible to me, and is a privilege I never take for granted.

I hope new and stalwart original readers alike are well and safe.

With love

MrsVonTrapp x


Chapter Thirty

A Rosy Mist of Hope and Illusion

Part One


Little Avonlea was never to see the like of Jane Andrews' wedding again in a hurry, which was exactly as the mother of the bride would have wanted it.

The elegant Andrews' abode was awash with guests, so much so that the house could hardly hold them all, * with most of the townsfolk and a goodly number of important-looking Winnipeg personages thronging the rooms and spilling outside onto the manicured back lawn.

Anne had never attended a wedding and thus looked about with interest and not a little trepidation; holding fast to Gilbert's arm he squeezed hers in turn reassuringly, gifting the proud smile that had lit his face to see her when he had collected her from Orchard Slope, his parents beside them in the buggy grinning delightedly. She didn't realize how much she glowed in the dress made especially for her, Adela Blythe's sure, talented fingers having fashioned the gown that had first turned heads at Redmond mere weeks ago.

Inside, the almost comical crush of bodies was already threatening the garlands of flowers housed in every available corner and threaded through the banisters of the staircase. Anne glanced above with a sympathetic pang for any bride trying to ready herself to face this hubbub below, let alone modest, practical Jane Andrews, the girl with the kind eyes and dry wit. At least she had the steadying presence of Diana, one of many bridesmaids also including Ruby Gillis, another local friend Josie Pye, and the bride's own sister Prissy as matron of honour.

They deposited their gifts on the beribboned and bedecked tables, already groaning under a veritable bounty of lovingly crafted soft furnishings, foodstuffs and items both decorative and practical. Avonlea was obviously determined to send one of her own off in style, though many a matron could be overhead remarking that a millionaire's wife was hardly going to find herself wanting.

"I wonder which one the millionaire is," Gilbert gave whispered aside into her ear, eyes twinkling.

"The most nervous-looking one, I should imagine!"

"Too hard to call!" he smirked in reply, as they both glanced towards a floral archway under which stood the minister and a quintet of uneasy-looking gentlemen, all closer in age to Jane's parents than Jane herself, excepting a tall, freckle-faced younger fellow whom she was informed by Gilbert, with a barely disguised displeasure, was Jane's elder brother, Billy.

Through the throng they spotted Pris, accompanied by her father, but could do nothing but wave helplessly in her direction, as the guests were being ushered to one side in order to create a veritable bridal path. There was an unfortunate general jostling for prime position which did not reflect well upon several individuals, and then, to the familiar strains from a violinist produced from goodness knows where, the bridal party appeared.

Over the bobbing heads Anne made out the bridesmaids, bedecked in dresses that veered uncertainly between custard and peach, and then the bride herself, almost sparkling in the shafts of permitted sunlight as she came down the stairs, and perhaps struggling under the weight of a frightening array of diamonds, and with all the diamonds and white satin and tulle and lace and roses and orange blossoms, prim little Jane was almost lost to sight. *

But her rather short and thin and greyish ** groom wore a wide, delighted smile at the sight of her, and Jane's own happiness was heartening to behold, and carried more lustre than any jewel.

As they gave their vows, Anne turned happily to smile up at Gilbert, and then turned away to contemplate the expressions of her fellow guests, coming to lock eyes over the sea of faces with a familiar blue.


Pris attempted not to be out of sorts as she endured the hot, dusty ride to Avonlea, doing her best to keep up congenial small talk with her doting, good-natured father and trying mightily to forget her mother's edict to dance with as many eligible young men at Jane's wedding as decency and her modest heels would allow.

Inside the impressive and well-appointed house there was found perhaps the entire village population, and Pris was aghast for the chum she had known since Queen's College days, who had once declared her intention to marry in the smallest and simplest ceremony possible, if at all. But that was before a strong-willed mother had evidently gotten her hands on this wedding, and strong-willed mothers, Pris had learned from sorry experience, were rather difficult to sway.

She longed for Phil's deadpan asides and winning crooked smile, but they would be employed today far away across the strait at her own mother's garden party, and at any rate, Miss Philippa Gordon would cut through any would-be dance partners in little Avonlea like a knife through butter. Or else… completely bedazzle those present. As Anne Shirley was certainly doing, she realized with a pang both sisterly-proud and just slightly envious, giving she and Gilbert a determinedly cheerful wave though it would be impossible to reach them on the other side of the throng. And then… as her gaze swept across the crowd her eyes met fellow blue ones, and her day became instantaneously brighter.


Seeing Jane Andrews duly become Mrs Harry Inglis, the invited guests felt leave to thus gratefully converge on the refreshment tables awaiting them on the outside verandah, and further, to the relief of the chairs and long tables set up in the marquee.

Tom did his best to help shepherd Marilla towards any chair that might be available, whilst Rachel circulated and chatted with her regular gusto.

"Will I fetch you some punch, Marilla?"

"That would be lovely, Tom, thank you," Marilla smiled a touch wanly, eyes struggling with the sudden sunny glare.

Tom turned and fell into her gaze, his heart, for the first time ever, slowing rather than speeding up to see her.

"Anne," he greeted.

"Tom!" she smiled, waveringly, as if not entirely sure of her reception.

Anne Shirley, wavering in her greeting, because HE made her unsure of her reception?

The realization was like a punch directly to his gut, to think that Anne would now not quite know whether he was friend or foe… well, not really foe, but not exactly kindred spirit, either, to borrow her beloved phrase. His oldest and best friend, unsure of how he would react to her presence?

In that moment he was ashamed of himself.

"It's great to see you, Anne. You look... beautiful."

She always looked beautiful to him; it was as much a certainty as the sunrise. Only the difference here seemed to be not only in her very pretty gown, cut specifically to highlight slender curves and contours, and made of a light, rich material in a very becoming color, but something more intangible… a confidence and poise in herself that had been missing… as if she looked out upon the world not only knowing, but finally believing, she was the equal to anyone in the room.

Had Gilbert helped her to see that?

And Tom knew, then. He knew. That as much as he loved her, and as much as he might have tried, he could never have given her quite what she needed. He may have not even been able to say for sure what that something was, and perhaps you couldn't define it. But you could feel it. And that Anne, reluctantly, had recognized this problem before he had…

Of course, they would always be tied to one another, but that the invisible cord that linked them need not be bound so tightly. He didn't need to tug on the other end to know that she was there, and always would be.

And likewise, he didn't have to tether himself to her so resolutely he hanged himself in the attempt.

It was, frankly, both revelation and relief; a slow-dawning realization that had crystalized the moment he had seen her. And the new-knowledge was strangely… freeing.

The sudden lightness that had come over him was reflected in his warm, heartening smile, his smile of old to her, and he saw her face transform; the watchful wariness gave way to the spark of relieved tears in her grey eyes, and her own smile broke over her face as a wave.

She took his large hands in her own, grasping tightly.

"It's great to see you, Tom!"

It would be all right. All of it, would be all right. And perhaps this was the first time he not only knew it but believed that, too.

"Miss Shirley!" Marilla's throaty voice floated up from behind them.

Tom gulped. He would make this all right, too.

"Ah, Marilla, you'll remember – "

"Anne!" Marilla beamed up at her, and Anne's smile widened, if possible. She relinquished her hold on him to brush past, taking up Marilla's own hands now, and then claiming the seat next to her with enthusiasm.

"How do you do, Miss Cuthbert?"

Tom stared, incredulous.

"Miss Shirley and I met the other day in town, Tom," Marilla explained, looking as delighted to see Anne as ever he had noted her about anyone. "When you and Matthew were in Carmody. We went back to the farm for a spell. We had a lovely chat."

"Lovely!" Anne echoed, nodding, positively grinning.

Tom stood there, stilled in shock as Gilbert came through the doors of the verandah and strode over, taking in the scene with some amazement himself, hands determined he had better not drop the two full punch glasses he was safeguarding.

"Hello, Tom!" Gilbert's own face betrayed a puzzlement he was trying not to capitulate to, knowing the only reservation Anne, and to an extent he, had in coming today was the expected awkwardness of their encounter with the folk of Green Gables. Things has not been ideally placed when they had last parted, and Gilbert had feared the cut still ran deep with Tom, and Marilla Cuthbert besides.

"Hello there, Gilbert," Tom nodded pleasantly, his greeting relaxed and open, and Gilbert blinked rapidly in surprise.

"Oh, Gilbert, thank you!" Anne indicated for him to relinquish both glasses, which he did without protest, belatedly offering the other to the older woman, her visage much softer than the stern look he had been fearing.

"Thank you, Gilbert Blythe," Marilla Cuthbert gave a gentle smile, taking the refreshment gratefully. "You are looking very well, and more like your father every day."

Gilbert was startled by the praise as much as by the comparison, and Tom's darting look seemed to suggest he was likewise astounded that Marilla should invoke the man who had once broken her heart, directly in front of the young man she perhaps had perceived as helping to theoretically break his.

"Thank you, Miss Cuthbert. I'm very happy to be home, and Anne has been so eager to see you all again."

Marilla nodded, almost serenely, and began to chat easily with Anne, the pair of them momentarily forgetting their escorts' very existence. Tom and Gilbert exchanged a look of almost comical astonishment that was, for once, a bond all of its own.


"Checking your handiwork, Mr Caruthers?" a familiar smiling voice greeted, and he turned with a bashful look.

"You've caught me, Miss Grant."

Pris Grant stood beside him before one of the gift tables, as they surveyed an embarrassment of riches, specifically of the wooden variety. He had been very pleased to have greeted her earlier at her table, stumbling upon his addresses to her and admiration for her very becoming appearance, thankfully rescued from any more embarrassment by her friendly, jovial father, who was likewise interested to meet the young man who had been writing to his daughter all the way to Kingsport.

He had retreated thus to lurking amongst the gift tables, and might even have hidden behind a friendly pillar, if there had been one to hand.

"Is it like a paper turned in at college, I wonder? Or an exam? You find yourself going over it in your head, wondering if you should have done anything differently."

"Exactly so," he admitted slowly. "This is my first attempt, trying to match something you might expect of a proper craftsman. Something that looks fine as you are creating it can turn disappointing in the cold light of day. And I have a lot to learn, still."

"I doubt anyone would be disappointed by your beautiful work, Tom. And I'll prove it in trying to guess what was yours."

"Guess?" his voice was betrayingly uneven.

"I believe I have come to know you well enough to try," Pris challenged with a gleam in her eye.

Tom turned back to the table with some consternation. There were half a dozen crafted wooden gifts, and frankly he would not want to lay claim to many of them. If Pris chose something that he would have rejected himself, what did that in turn suggest about his supposed skills?

And further, the creation of each piece for him was still, at this point, a deeply personal exercise; this particular gift made more personal still considering he had been thinking of Anne at the time and had bled his soul into its creation, in more ways than one. It was his equivalent of one of her youthful stories. In judging his work Pris Grant would be judging him… and he was only just beginning to understand how much her good opinion of him mattered.

She cast a discerning eye across the gifts in question, and Tom's own pale blue eyes followed her, forming his own judgements. There was a tea caddy, well made but lacking any flair; a trinket box created from a cheap wood and without due care taken with regards to its finishes; a very ornate serving platter, in a gorgeous polished mahogany but with so many outrageous swirls and patterns they obscured the simple beauty of the wood itself; a set of admittedly very nice salt and pepper shakers; and his own offering, a pair of candlesticks, in matching little wooden holders.

He watched Pris as she contemplated each gift in turn, occasionally running a finger over the wood in an action that he found disturbingly and surprisingly sensuous.

"Your gift would have to be both pretty and practical…" she mused thoughtfully. "And something worthy of the occasion. The tea caddy is rather… bland. You're more inventive than that. Forget the trinket box, too," she bent closer to him and lowered her voice. "Even I can see that it's quite… shoddy."

Tom couldn't help his quick grin.

"Do go on, Miss Grant," he responded.

She arched a blonde brow, giving a pleased smile.

"The platter diverted me for a moment, I must admit. It looks beautiful from a distance, but up close it is much too ostentatious for your taste, let alone Jane's. So that leaves…the shakers and the candlesticks."

He nodded. "I am very impressed by your insights, Pris, and I'll admit, mightily encouraged by them."

She held his gaze for a moment, before turning back to her final choice.

"The candlesticks," she deduced without further hesitation. "They are beautiful, elegant, and something that might be used every day. Obviously made with tremendous care, and have such a smooth and polished finish…" She took a moment to test that again with her finger. "The pale oak is lovely, too – something that might even reflect the light of the flame itself… just perfect for an intimate, romantic dinner, and a lovely reminder of home for Jane."

Pris shared a look with him at that which almost made him forget what they were actually talking about, so mesmerizing was her own face at the thought of such a setting.

The flush found him, and he felt suddenly he was a taper to her flame.

"You always find something more in me than I find in myself, Miss Grant," he gulped, unable to hide his proud grin. "What if I'd actually made the shakers after all?"

"Oh, I had a pretty speech about them, too," she flashed cheekily, delighting in his answering burst of laughter.


The wedding feast was excellent, which was just as well, considering the wedding speeches were interminable.

There seemed such a relief for the guests to be able to move about again that the makeshift dancefloor was crowded very quickly, which was a patent relief for Tom, able to lead out Marilla and then Rachel without anyone much noticing his large, clumsy feet. Rachel had taken him in hand to coach him, determined his good looks and gentle manner, let alone his fine suit, would be finally complemented by his dancing, and even had to stop herself from counting the beat when he partnered her. Seeing both ladies back to their table to converse comfortably with the Harrisons, he finally looked around to see Gilbert laughingly partner a delighted Anne.

It was the first time he had seen them dance together, and any day before this the sight of them would have been unbearably painful. They both turned to chat to Fred and Diana stepping out nearby with a convivial ease that spoke of many shared meetings up in Kingsport. It was a connection he would never have and a life he would never really know, and the realization of that had to sit with him for a moment, till he was able to make peace with it. Perhaps he would always feel the tiniest pang of the proverbial outsider, but the knowledge was softened by the fact that Anne had finally found herself right at the beating heart of the action; feeling the embrace of friends who had become a different kind of family.

Family.

Marilla had spoken of her surprising change of heart and new invitation when they had danced; wanting to be absolutely sure that, in welcoming one, she was not alienating the other. It was an idea he would have leapt at during Easter, when he had first helped welcome Anne to Avonlea and felt their story had come full circle. But he was finally realizing that endings and beginnings had a way of being interchangeable when it came to he and Anne. She would be invited to stay at Green Gables – and to extend her stay in Avonlea – not merely as his friend, but friend to them all. His chance would also become hers; like the figures of the boy and girl he had carved for her nearly a decade ago, always meant to remain together… but, perhaps, now, as then, as comrades-in-arms.

But he found he could not think of Anne and Gilbert too long – he had a promise to fulfil.

He was unaccountably nervous as he again approached her table, seeing Pris now talking with bridesmaid Ruby and another unknown gentleman, dark haired and pleasant-featured, if rather unremarkable, particularly positioned between two such arresting blonde beauties.

"Tom! So very glad to see you!" Ruby greeted generously. "Come and meet our friend Herb Spencer. He was in our cohort at Queen's with Charlie and Moody, Pris, Jane, Josie and I."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr Spencer. Tom Caruthers."

"Indeed a pleasure, Mr Caruthers." The young man, not much older than himself, shook his hand, giving an affable smile.

"Mr Spencer is my neighbour back in Spencervale, Mr Caruthers," Pris added, and then continued, more meaningfully, "his cousin, you may remember, is my mother's friend Mrs Spencer, now of White Sands."

"I see…" Tom nodded, seating himself and glancing back at Pris, locking eyes with her for a moment, their mutual connection to that branch of the Spencer family one he would be unlikely to forget. "And are you teaching now, Mr Spencer?"

"I was for a time, but found my skills and, dare I say it, personality, more suited to quieter pursuits. Accounts, book-keeping and such."

"I'm attempting to convince him to try my commercial college in Kingsport," Ruby gave an exceedingly pretty, cajoling smile. "But he will insist on staying put and working for Pris's father."

"Is that so?" Tom's eyebrows rose in question.

"Yes, it was a – lovely – surprise to find that out when I came home," Pris seemed a mite flustered. "Father's little business has been doing better than we ever expected."

"That is very good to hear," Tom smiled uncertainly.

"Are you still as good of a dancer, Herb?" Ruby challenged brightly.

"I certainly hope so," Herb Spencer grinned, asking Ruby for the next dance in order to prove his worth.

"Mr Spencer is not the only one taking up the dancing…. challenge," Tom segued awkwardly, watching the pair depart. "Would you do me the honour of dancing the next with me, Miss Grant?"

"I thought you'd never ask, Mr Caruthers," she smiled widely.

Tom wished the heat of the day, let alone that of all these dancing couples in close proximity, could properly account for the color flooding his face as he offered Pris his arm. It was certainly a far different proposition to dancing with Marilla or Rachel, or even an ever-patient Dora, and a world away, thankfully, from those excruciating attempts overseen by Mr Phillips back in the schoolroom.

Luckily, it was a waltz, and even luckier, Pris's proficiency rather masked his own unease. She soon drew him out with small talk, and regaled him with updates on her family, including details of her younger brother's imminent departure at the end of the summer for Queen's himself.

"And another thing, Tom…" she colored, before pressing on. "Herb Spencer is…. well, an old family friend, but he… that is, we…" She ended her sentence unhappily, looking away.

Tom attempted to swallow the very large lump rising in his throat, trying to identify the tiny flare of emotion he had felt in learning of Mr Spencer. It had tasted like… jealousy.

"May I ask if it's possible Mr Spencer would be writing to you once you're back in Kingsport, Pris?"

Her expression was aghast. "Tom! Certainly not!"

"That is just as well, then," he smiled slowly, "considering I'd hate to have to come at any competition."

Pris blushed mightily and gave a strange, breathy little laugh that acted like an electrical charge to his nerve endings. He had not much idea what was happening to him today, but he couldn't say he disliked it.

He even felt brave enough to hold onto her for a second dance.


"Another week?" Gilbert grinned later, gobsmacked. "Seriously, Anne?"

"Seriously!" she laughed joyfully, as he clutched her tightly during the latest of their many waltzes. "Miss Cuthbert discussed it with Tom, and she saw me just now whilst you were talking with the happy bride and groom."

"Gosh, I could spin you round at this moment! Or maybe Miss Cuthbert! So instead of only having four remaining days with you, we now have eleven?"

"I guess you're stuck with me for a little longer…" she couldn't help but smile at his delighted reaction.

"But Green Gables is full to the brim. Where will they put you?" he wondered.

"In the barn," she joked blandly.

He looked incredulous for a moment, before noting the playful gleam in her eye, shaking his head ruefully.

"I think Tom might be kind enough to bunk in with Mr Cuthbert," Anne explained. "At least that's what Marilla said."

"Oh, it's Marilla, now?" he teased.

Anne rolled her eyes. "Don't make me regret staying longer, Gilbert Blythe!"

"Longer? Who says I'm going to let you leave at all?"

"I'll have to go back to Summerside to earn my keep sooner or later…" she sighed.

"I'll find some students for you to tutor here instead, Anne. I'll round them up myself personally."

"The strange thing is, I do believe you would!"

Gilbert chuckled again, holding her just a mite closer than perhaps dancefloor propriety allowed, revelling in not only their closeness but their turn of fortune. He was thrilled personally, of course, but he also understood how much having good relations with Tom and all at Green Gables meant to her. All their different roads were converging so wonderfully, he dared not pinch himself lest he wake up.

"I am going to make this a summer to remember, Anne," he vowed passionately, looking down to her with that unmistakable fire in his hazel eyes.


There was announced a last dance, and Mr and Mrs Inglis again took to the makeshift dancefloor of the marquee, already exhausted and happy, and no doubt happier still that Mrs Harmon Andrews still wore an approving and satisfied look regarding the day's events.

Tom knew the last dance belonged to Anne; as he had looked over to her table time and time again, it was to see the innumerable times Gilbert claimed her, and if not Gilbert then a succession of gentlemen that had included Mr Blythe, Fred, Charlie, Moody, one of the many groomsmen and even - for a teeth-grindingly awful few minutes – Billy Andrews, who had stayed well clear of Tom ever since that fateful day in the schoolyard many moons ago.

Gilbert, having already thanked Tom and Marilla both for Anne's invitation with a winning sincerity, had left Anne, winked at Tom, and then strode off with his signature purposeful stride, to claim a dance with Pris. Tom wondered fleetingly if Gilbert would be quite so magnanimous if things weren't going his way quite so magnificently.

Anne met him with a starry-eyed smile that dispelled any lingering dark thoughts, drinking him in with greening grey eyes.

"You dark horse, Tom! You told me once you couldn't dance, and here you are, hardly sitting down the entire afternoon!"

He guffawed politely and took her carefully in her arms, marvelling at the delicacy of her slight form up close.

"Well, compared to you, Anne, I felt I might have needed to take a number!"

She looked like she would swat him playfully, but instead smiled broadly and allowed him to lead her with steadiness if not flair – himself versus Gilbert in a nutshell, he sighed to himself.

"You and Pris looked delightful together," she wasted no time in her conjecture, though Rachel had earlier beaten her to the punch.

"As did you and Gilbert," he began, and then added with a smirk, "and you and Fred, and you and Mr Blythe, and you and Moody…"

"Tom, stop!" she laughed easily. "Which one was Moody again, by the way?"

Tom paused, quirking a smile. "Ears."

"Ahh…" she nodded in understanding, giving a downturned smile in return.

They continued without word for several moments, until her voice, muffled by his shirtfront, drifted upwards.

"Is it all right, Tom? Do you mind?"

"Mind?"

She looked up to him properly.

"My staying for a time at Green Gables."

"You know that Matthew and the twins will be thrilled."

"That's very kind, but that's not what I meant."

"And Mrs Rachel is warming up to you again."

"You know I didn't mean that, either."

He wished he didn't have to talk and dance at the same time; it used far too many parts of his brain.

"Anne, I spent nearly eight years trying to get you to Green Gables," his voice dropped to a low rumble. "I'm not about to change my wish now."

She wavered, still not completely convinced.

"But it's not… it's not… as you might have once thought it would be."

"Anne, if we were courting, then you'd hardly be staying there anyway," he determined logically.

It was impossible to refute this, so instead she huffed in exasperation.

"Is it all right? Are we all right?" she couldn't disguise the pleading in her voice.

He had told her those months ago, on that bright, sunny day that had turned so dark for him, that things between them weren't all right yet, but they would be. He had realized today that point perhaps had finally arrived.

"I think it will be all right if…" he cast his mind about for an appropriately important question, "if you can guess what I made as a gift for the Inglis's."

She smiled as if he was asking an insultingly obvious question.

"The candlesticks, of course!"

His eyes widened. "Did somebody tell you?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Tom Caruthers! You think I've forgotten what you're actually like?"

He frowned, trying to make sense of her answer.

"The boy who saw to our fires at the asylum… the young man chopping wood for half his Avonlea neighbours… you do what you can to bring comfort, warmth and light. What better gift for a newlywed couple than your candlesticks?"

Tom blinked suspiciously, moved beyond measure.

"I've missed you, Anne," he sighed, finally comfortable enough with her to make the admission.

"And I have you, Tom," she gifted her lovely, wistful smile.

"Stay the rest of the summer! Stay the rest of the year!"

She giggled despite herself.

"Don't you start!"


The new Mr and Mrs Inglis enjoyed a long and emotional farewell with friends and family, finally departing for the trip to Charlottetown, before onwards to Europe on their wedding tour, Mrs Harmon happy to give exacting detail of the proposed itinerary for anyone who might care to listen.

Despite game opposition from several young ladies, notably Ruby Gillis and Josie Pye, Priscilla had improbably caught the bridal bouquet, making her cheeks color crimson as she tried to laugh it off in her characteristic way. Speedily thereafter she was taking her leave, as the late afternoon sun set, her father anxious for them to make the trip back to Spencervale before his wife missed them too much, with only Pris's younger brother for company.

"You'll come and see us at Orchard Slope soon," Diana was insisting, in the flurry of hugs and farewells. "Anne is decamping to Green Gables so there'll be plenty of room!" she teased, turning to gift Miss Shirley a cheeky smile.

"You're staying on, Anne? How lovely for you!" Priscilla smiled genuinely and very brightly indeed, accepting Anne's own hug and the farewells of Ruby, Gilbert and Fred.

"Thank you, Pris," Anne replied meaningfully.

Tom watched at the very edge of this friendly cluster, prostrate with indecision. He felt there was much more to say to Pris Grant, but hardly knew what, let alone how. The new agony ate away at him; he was back to that shy boy on her roof in Carmody, unable to decide whether he should come down and risk speaking to her. And then there was that Herb Spencer, too, now exchanging a quick word with her father, easy and affable where Tom found himself serious and tongue-tied.

And then, they were out the now-crowded front doors and preparing to depart.

Without conscious thought Tom followed them, finding Pris, in a truly fortuitous moment, standing alone by the road, waiting for her father to bring round the buggy. She looked almost forlorn with her beautiful dress and clutching the bouquet, and he had to blink away the image of another forlorn girl by the roadside, clutching not a bouquet but a tattered carpetbag, staring as his carriage departed at speed, carrying him off for the next seven years.

She turned.

"Tom!" her face lit with her smile.

"Hello, Pris…" he walked over to her almost sheepishly. "Although… I also wanted to say… goodbye."

This time she waited for him to speak, and he had to marshal his thoughts. Usually she was the one to initiate and even carry the conversation, unaccountably eager to engage with him, though she was one of the merriest and brightest of all the young ladies of his acquaintance, and he was just Tom, stolid and stupefied.

"Ah, congratulations…" he nodded towards the flowers.

"Oh, yes, well, it's only because I was tallest," she explained drolly. "Though my mother will be… unfortunately… delighted, even if I try to convince her its just a silly superstition."

"Well… they are a good match for your lovely dress, at any rate," he offered baldly, and then wished he could fuse his lips together.

Her mouth upturned softly at this, though he didn't dare attempt another blundering compliment.

"I'm sorry, Pris… I didn't realise that, of course, you would be travelling back home tonight. I had thought that perhaps you might have stayed again with the Gillises…" he stumbled. "But of course, your father, and… your mother, and not wanting to be away from her…" He paused, growing agitated and increasingly despairing of himself. "I only thought, if you were in Avonlea, tomorrow morning, you might want to visit with us at Green Gables for a time, but of course, that's rather impossible, now."

Pris looked at him for a long moment.

"Not completely impossible…" she gave a sly smile, "but unfortunately, highly unlikely."

"Yes." He blew out a breath.

Pris turned back to fiddle with the flowers absently, and they both became aware of others taking their leave and beginning to crowd the curb.

"I am likely to be back in Avonlea next week, though," she mused. "Perhaps to stay with Diana, or, yes, Ruby. I'd be very persuaded to accept your kind invitation then, Tom. I have wondered often about your Green Gables." She smiled in memory, and then grew thoughtful. "Unless you'll be too busy with Anne staying now?"

Anne. Having two lively, vivacious young women in his home at the same time was likely to turn the entire place on its head. But he realized that wasn't exactly what she was asking.

The right responses crowded his brain. Not too busy for you, Miss Grant sounded trite and shallow. The more the merrier was overused and meaningless. He sought and rejected other answers, and all the while she watched the struggle on his face, misinterpreting his hesitation, her own expression becoming more shuttered by the second.

Other buggies began to arrive, and then her father appeared, waving to them both.

"Goodbye, Tom," she offered shortly, making for the passenger side hastily, accidentally dropping her bouquet as she instead rushed to navigate her skirts.

He was beside her in a heartbeat, a hand on her arm to waylay her, bending for the bouquet and pressing it back into her hands, his voice low in her ear.

"You kept Green Gables a secret for me, but I don't want to keep it secret from you."

A moment later and he had handed her up, and she turned in her seat, her eyes shining.

He had gotten it right, for once.

"Till next week, Tom," she smiled, the setting sun transforming her blonde hair to spun gold.

"Till next week, Miss Grant," he grinned in return.

He watched them depart, his mind a complex mix of competing emotions, and processing the new, surprising truth of his thudding, thundering heart.


Chapter Notes

As always, my chapter titles are from Anne of the Island – this from Ch 29 'Diana's Wedding':

''She told herself that she longed greatly to go back to those dear merry days when life was seen through a rosy mist of hope and illusion, and possessed an indefinable something that had passed away forever.'

*Anne of the Island Ch 41 'Love Takes Up the Glass of Time'

**Anne of the Island Ch 39 'Deals with Weddings'

A word on Jane's wedding: As a few readers have noted, I have brought forward Jane's wedding from its canon timeline of summer at the end of fourth year, to summer the end of first year. Indeed, Jane with this new timeline made quick work of her move out west and her location of such a beau! But it didn't make narrative sense for me to delay her happy ending, and it also gave me handy occasion and opportunity to assemble many characters under the one roof, as in this chapter.


And some VERY overdue correspondence…

DrinkThemIn: As usual, your lovely words and encouragement keep me plodding on! There was quite a lot to go on with in this last chapter and you can almost see me trying to pull those marionette strings! It thrills me that this continues to read authentically for you, although as you say I do throw in some unusual happenings (Matthew writing a letter! Anne cross with Marilla!) And yes, Anne actually being of Green Gables, even for a little time, is going to change up dynamics yet again. Meanwhile, I loved your line that 'Apparently any man that pines after Anne, in an unrequited manner, has my adoration. Oh Tom! He has no Cooper to work towards but he has his very own unique set of skills.' Yes, indeed, Tom is hanging in there, trying to find some purpose, wondering why I have cast him in this hopeless situation. But he has a journey too that is going to eventually dovetail from Anne's, and I'm really excited to write it. Thank you, my Gilbert girl, in still being there for Tom's story too!

Guest of Dec 8th: Thank you for your kind and bolstering review and apologies it was offered so long ago! I am delighted that you are enjoying this close-to-but-not-quite-the-same universe, where I love including echoes of canon as I run though all these AU possibilities! You have asked such astute questions here which really do play into the future direction of this narrative, and thank you for asking them. The divided loyalties that Anne feels between the Blythes and those at Green Gables will continue to be a theme that won't find any resolution for quite a time, even as I try to iron out the romantic entanglements here. Financial difficulties, too, are indeed going to become more potent. I am so pleased these things are being noted and I look forward to your response to them with future updates!

SY-panda: Hello and here's hoping things have been good for you these past…argh… eight months! I appreciate all your lovely feedback and of course, any Jonathan Crombie fan is an obvious kindred spirit! You mentioned in particular the slow and VERY gentle burn of the Tom-Pris dynamic. Thank you for your encouragement of this as it is quite the balancing act to advance this relationship in a way that still feels believable and authentic for these characters! I am still finding my way with it and am really gladdened by your comments. Take care and I hope you have enjoyed more of these two in this chapter.

Guest of Dec 26th (Ch 21): Nothing delights me more than to know that you have re-read this story and are still finding things that are enjoyable or worthwhile in it. Thank you so much! You bring up a great question about the kiss between Anne and Tom – for technically, Anne and Gilbert were on a break at the time (lol!) I deliberated whether to have them kiss this point, to be honest, but thought given the emotion of their reunion it was more natural for them to do this than not. I felt the kiss was as much about putting the past to bed as it was addressing any romantic tension, as they both reference the attack by the Inspector in their lines to one another, and for this reason I feel Tom would never use the kiss against Anne (although she does confide in Diana about it). Thanks again for your support of this story.

Guest of Dec 28th (Ch 24): I am delighted beyond measure that swooning has been evidenced in readers for this chapter and not just Anne! There was quite a build-up to this moment that I wanted to be matched by the events detailed. So pleased it landed for you! Thanks for your comment which really made me smile!

Guest of Dec 30th (Ch 28): I am really thrilled that you mentioned Katherine in your comment here, and thank you very much! Alongside Tom she is probably my proudest characterization in this story. I enjoyed writing her immensely and was very sad to farewell her at this point – but not forever! I am so pleased you have enjoyed Anne and Katherine's relationship and my other canon 'tweaks'!

Guest of Dec 30th (Ch 29): Thank you for your astute and absolutely accurate musings! Money is going to be a thing which really impacts Anne and this narrative going forward, and you have noted I've tried to lay that groundwork already. In canon the subject of money does crop up frequently for Anne – she warns Phil before they all move into Patty's Place that she and the other girls are 'poor'; she later doesn't want to raid Marilla's little nest egg; and she does really pursue the Thorburn as a way to pay for her studies into second year. And yet, she is always fashionably turned out and able to galivant around with the girls and later Roy! You have hit the nail on the head regarding canon Anne's inheritance from Aunt Josephine, however; my Anne sadly never even meets her, and subsequently that money is directed elsewhere. The loss of this does have ramifications for my Anne, and thanks for being so thoughtful to note it!

Regarding Gilbert, that is a little more of a sticky wicket. He's not exactly flush in my story either, and this affects some of his decisions to come, but as he told Anne back in Chapter 9, he saved more than he thought he would prior to Redmond, and not having to forfeit the Avonlea School meant he saved a packet on boarding costs!

Guest of March 6th (Ch 29): Your words thrilled me here and thank you for this bolstering review when I didn't think I'd ever get the time to come back to this story! Your word on a consistent tone is especially heartening – that is probably the thing that is the most challenge for me, particularly if I've come off a long break from writing this. Thank you so much and I hope you enjoy this long-overdue update!

Severedwasp: I am so pleased that you have been enjoying this and for once I have a new reader who hasn't had to wait forever for an update! Thanks so much for your enthusiasm! Your possible future story scenarios are very intriguing and made me smile! I never say never with any story ideas, and infact have flirted with different ideas for a sequel to this – and I'll file your ideas away too! Thank you!

Can I also say that you were my 500th review! I wish I could offer you a door prize x