Disclaimer: This is strictly a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people is coincidental. “Anne of Green Gables” is a trademark of the Anne of Green Gables Licensing Authority Inc. I’m making no money from this.

A/N: Uploaded chapter 21 a bit late! Read it first if you haven’t.

This chapter is very dialogue heavy! In my defence, they are riding in a carriage for much of the time, and Anne is part of the group. This chapter is also quite light! I figure Diana deserves a break.

tvor: I’ll miss writing Oliver! He was fun.

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Saturday found me on a shopping expedition with Anne. I enjoyed these outings very much; I loved buying new clothes and trying the latest fashions that I read in the ‘Yankee’ catalogues.

Unfortunately, George and Julia had decided to accompany us. George was a nice man, to be sure, but he was a man, after all. No doubt he would get bored of our endless textile comparisons within the first twelve minutes and start clamouring to go home.

Julia, meanwhile, claimed that she had been unable to find the right material or pattern for the dress she needed for her cousin’s wedding. However, I was firm in my belief that she had come solely to tease me and get information.

It surprised me that she had waited until we were close to Carmody to finally bring up Oliver.

“So, why didn’t you get Ollie to stay, Diana?” she asked, craning her head back. She was sitting at the front with George, who was driving the carriage. Anne and I sat behind.

“It wasn’t my decision, you know,” I said, annoyed. “He had to go, due to various circumstances.”

“Various circumstances. How vague, Diana!”

“Yes, well, why didn’t you get him to stay?” I asked.
She looked genuinely confused. “Well, he clearly likes you, certainly more than he likes me. I really did think you’d be able to get him to stay.”

“Well, I wasn’t,” I said. I knew I was being harsh with Julia, but despite my acceptance of Oliver’s reasoning, I still wasn’t happy about him leaving.

Anne noticed my distressed expression and quickly diverted the attention.

“Now that Oliver’s moving, you’ll have to find a new target, Julia,” prompted Anne.

“Yes,” said Julia, taking on a serious expression. “This huntress needs some new prey. Someone tall, handsome, fun, interesting, a little clueless…ooh, maybe Thomas?”

Thomas? When he wasn’t being goaded on by Oliver, Thomas was still quite fun and interesting, but far calmer and more responsible.

Julia would eat him alive.

“Thomas! You’d eat him alive,” laughed Anne, echoing my thoughts.

“His last name is Strong!” exclaimed Julia. “I’m sure he’ll have the strength to deal with me, right?”

Anne and I exchanged sceptical looks.

“Oh, alright, not Thomas, then,” said Julia. “How about…Sam Boulter? Has he given up on you yet, Diana?”

I laughed. “Sam? He doesn’t meet a single one of your requirements, Julia. Maybe the clueless one. He’s backed off for now, but I’m sure once Oliver leaves, it’s just a matter of time before I see him standing at Orchard Slope’s gate at the oddest hours.”

“Romance is a complicated affair,” said Julia solemnly. “How about you, Miss Shirley? How are things going with young Mr. Blythe?”

“There’s nothing going with ‘young Mr. Blythe’, Julia,” claimed Anne. Sadly for Anne, her face always betrayed her at times like this, and she flushed red. In the five years I had known her, she hadn’t gotten any better at controlling her blushing.

“Oh, I see,” nodded Julia, sounding supremely disbelieving. “I’m surprised he didn’t come home this weekend.”

“He just got a part time job at a newspaper office near White Sands, and he’s doing his training today. They say they’ll mostly have him work weekdays after school’s done for the day, though,” said Anne. “But I feel terrible about it, since he needs that extra money mostly to pay his rent for the boarding house he stays at, and he wouldn’t have had to board if he’d just taken the Avonlea school instead of giving it to me. Although, I suppose at least he’s getting experience. I’m sure the office he works at right now only treats him as an errand boy but the moment they let him right an article or two, they’ll be asking him to write all the articles. He says he wants to go into medicine but I do believe he’d do just as well if he took his B.A. and went to work with the newspapers instead. But,” she finished, “who knows what the bends in his road will hold for him?”

Yes, Anne, who knows? As long as Anne eventually gave up on her denial routine, all three other occupants of the carriage knew at least one event on the ‘road’ of Gilbert’s life.

“Speaking of school,” said George, “How did your first week go, Anne?”

“I hope Minnie May didn’t give you any trouble,” I commented idly.

“Oh, no, Minnie May was a perfect angel, it was almost a little worrisome how well she behaved. What did you threaten her with, Diana? Anyhow, there’s this one student, Paul Irving, who I believe is a genius. Not only that, but I think I have found myself another kindred spirit. He’s like…like a slice of the sun – not the whole sun, no, because if you look at the sun directly, you’ll notice it hurts to look at it. The sun is far too dazzling, really. Paul is far more sublime –those that notice him are bestowed the opportunity to really, truly look at what the sun is like, because he’s only a slice of it, see. And to look at the sun, and really see it – oh, imagine it!”

George and Julia looked completely baffled at talk of kindred spirits and slices of the sun.

“He also gave me wild orchids,” added Anne, perhaps aware that she needed a clearer way of informing George and Julia of how great Paul was.

“Is he handsome?” asked Julia.

“He’s ten!”

Julia shrugged. “Will he be handsome?”

“He’s too young for you!”

Julia only shrugged again.

“Paul must be new this year,” said George. “The class I had could be a handful sometimes but they were mostly alright, except for certain ladies who would just not pay attention.”

“I hear there’s a few new pupils attending school, Anne,” I said, ignoring George’s unnecessary commentary and pointed glance.

“Yes, there’s Annetta Bell - who I think will do alright, Julia, she mostly pays attention and does her lessons - as well as Arty Sloane, Barbara Shaw, three Cottons, Prillie Rogerson, Anthony Pye, and ‘St. Clair’ Donnell, but please, if you see him, just call him Jacob, poor boy. Anyhow, you’re right George, the class is mostly alright, so long as Anthony Pye doesn’t entice them to do something ridiculous!”

“What can you expect from a Pye, though?” asked Julia rhetorically, as if her best friend wasn’t Gertie Pye.

“I don’t believe it’s related to his Pye-ness one bit,” responded Anne, sounding defiant. “He’s an independent-minded little fellow, and I believe he would be causing trouble for him even if his name was Anthony Barry.”

“I don’t know, Anne,” said George. “Pyes can be a trial to begin with, and I think a few of them specifically don’t like you.”

“No, I agree with Anne,” I said. “I don’t know Anthony but from what Anne says it sounds like he’s acting on his own will. Maybe…maybe it’s because you won’t whip him, Anne?”

“Not you too, Diana!” exclaimed Anne, sounding indignant.

“Well, I don’t think it should be done as a matter of routine,” I defended, “It loses its impact, then. But, sometimes there are special cases, you know…exceptions.”

“That’s just what Gilbert said,” sighed Anne. “But I won’t give up. Let’s talk of something else.”

“What happened with your outing with Lizzie, George?” asked Julia, all too willing to decide the next conversation topic.

George looked over and smiled.

“Well, we went to see Miss Violetfellow, but she was still as atrocious as the last time I saw her. When she finished her third song Lizzie grabbed me and stormed out the door.

‘I can’t believe how terrible that woman was!’ she said, and then she said ‘I feel conned. Wait, I was conned! You know what, George? I’m going to stay here until the end of the show and then demand your money back from the managers. You go to Brighton and catch that train to Charlottetown.’ When I asked her how she’d get back, she told me she’d be staying with some cousins in White Sands.”

We were duly impressed.

“Did she manage to get the money back?” I asked.

“I’m not sure…” Apparently an idea popped into his head, and George suddenly held a finger up. “But, if you don’t mind, can we pick her up and take her back to Avonlea with us after we’re done shopping? She said her cousin would drive her back in the evening, but it’d be far more convenient if we’d do it.”

Julia, Anne and I all shrugged and nodded, giving our seal of approval to the plan.

x

We first went to a textile store, where they sold quite the variety of cloths, both practical and exotic.

“What are you looking for, Anne?” I asked, as we looked around the place. Small square samples were neatly arranged on the countertops that were spaced evenly throughout the room. The names of the material were written on the wood underneath it in a surprisingly elegant hand, considering that this store was run by a Mr. Worthing, as the store sign proclaimed. Maybe Mrs. Worthing had written the names out.

“Something for winter coats. Both my church and normal coats are completely worn through.”

“So soon?” I asked, somewhat surprised.

“Well, I’m not sure when I’ll have another Saturday free to come to town, and I certainly won’t be able to on weekdays.”

Or, as anyone who was not Anne would say, ‘I hope this will be the only Saturday that Gilbert’s not in Avonlea, and when he’s in town I want to spend all my free time with him, because when he goes to Redmond, he’ll only be in Avonlea for Christmas and summers.’

“I see,” I said. “What about you, George?…Now that I think about it, you still haven’t told us what you’re shopping for.”

“Oh,” he said, sounding oddly bashful, “I’m looking for a gift, you know…for Lizzie. I mean, I feel bad that the concert turned out to be such a flop. Also, I just like giving her gifts.”

See, Anne, there was nothing wrong with being clear in intention.

“Let’s go to the milliners when we’re done here, then,” said Julia. “I’m sure they have some ready-made hats, and I think Lizzie’s winter one is in need of an update, right, Diana?”

“That blue one? Yes, definitely.”

“In any case, I need to get a hat for myself, too,” she said. “…It’s a Bell tradition, you know, to get a new hat every time a cousin marries,” she added, with a completely straight face.

Poor George looked like he believed her.

“No, it isn’t!” I stated. “Though your acting skills are admirable, Julia.”

“Thank you, Diana! I quite think so.”

“Your modesty is the most charming part about you, Julia,” commented Anne.

“Isn’t it, though? Oh, look here, Anne, some terrycloth, might be good to make your coat with.”

“I’m not looking to make bedlinen, Julia…”

“How about seersucker?”

“I’m not looking to get sick, either! Seersucker for a winter coat, that would be something.”

So it went, until Anne finally settled on a certain brown serge fabric for a church coat, and black gingham for her every day coat. I bought bright blue poplin, while Julia went with a deep red taffeta.

George was indeed rather bored the whole time we were in the store. Once we paid Mr. Worthing and left the store, George regained his spark. Once we got to the milliner, however, George’s knowledge regarding fabrics showed itself. He picked up hat after hat, pulling at their edges, and making odd hand gestures all the while.

“George…what are you doing?” asked Julia, with considerable hesitation and curiosity.

“I’m trying to approximate the size of Lizzie’s head,” said George.

“Well, you could use my head as a model,” suggested Julia. “I don’t imagine that her head could be much bigger than mine.”

“I doubt anybody’s head could be much bigger than yours, Julia,” I said.

“I take offence to that!” she scolded, thought she was smiling. “What kind of hat are you looking for anyhow George?”

George was about to answer, but here all three of us ladies piled on the questions (and answers):

“Casual or formal?”

“Or semi-formal? A casual hat would hardly be romantic, I think, and a formal hat perhaps too stuffy.”

“But a casual hat could be romantic, you know…you’ve just got to expand your concept of ‘romance’. All the other suitors would no doubt get her a formal or semi-formal hat-”

“-if they got her a hat at all! What a strange idea, George…”

“-so if George got her a casual hat, it would be a whimsical little memory for the both of them.”

“That’s true, but what kind of casual hat would he get her? A boating hat can only get so expensive.”

“I suppose you’re correct. Semi-formal is the way to go, then?”

“Agreed. A tea hat! Perhaps in woollen felt? With feathers.”

“Feathers, certainly, but not too many, or she’ll simply look ridiculous.”

“Oh, no need to be so concerned Anne, there’s a difference between putting lots of real foliage on a hat and putting a few feathers.

“That was so long ago!”

“Alright, not too many feathers. And in fur felt, instead of woollen, for added value.”

“And a broad brim! I saw many broad brims in the Bay’s catalogue when I was going over it.”

“A semi-formal, moderately feathered, broad-brimmed tea hat it is, then. Purple would go well with her colouring, I think.”

Hat obtained, and with Julia deciding she didn’t need a new hat after all, we left the milliners to go pick up Lizzie.

George sat silently in the carriage, still looking a little shocked at how many decisions had gone into picking a simple hat, and at how quickly those decisions had been made. He also looked a little doubtful, but that was because George had not yet fully grasped the power of three experienced shoppers who could pick out the perfect piece for another person in under five minutes, and bargain the price down by a full dollar, to boot. If he kept gadding about with Lizzie, and therefore with us, I suspected that he himself would soon be able to contribute to said power.

My male friends and acquaintances were not the best dressers (except for Gilbert and Oliver, who were adequate dressers), and my father would only let me buy things for him occasionally. Of course men had more important things to worry themselves about: the state of their farm, the state of the country, the state of their family. Although, Mrs. Lynde managed to concern herself with all of these in addition to the state of her neighbours, their farms, and their families…

We arrived at Lizzie’s cousin’s place and waited in the carriage while George walked to the door. We were too far away to hear him, but we could see him well enough. He took a few moments, maybe to collect himself, before knocking at the door. It was opened fairly quickly, and a short, unimposing woman stood at the doorway. A bit of conversation between George and the woman, and the woman disappeared back into the house. George took a couple of steps to the side and fiddled with the plain brown box that contained the hat we had bought.

A minute passed, and Lizzie walked out of the house, looking quite surprised at seeing George and at seeing us in the carriage. We waved at her and she returned the wave, and started walking towards us, but George put out a hand to stop her. She turned back towards him, looking curious as George handed her the box. Her look of surprise from before was nothing compared to how surprised she now looked.

Then, they smiled at each other for a moment before talking again, with Lizzie looking down bashfully and rocking back and forth on her heels, and George focusing intently on her and not looking away even once.

They talked for a full ten minutes. I was getting a little impatient, but I imagined that if I were in Lizzie or George’s positions, I wouldn’t notice time passing by either.

“Well isn’t that romantic,” said Julia. “I suppose we picked the right hat!”

“I imagine so!” I said. “I do wonder what they’re feeling now, though.”

If I were someone looking on at Oliver and myself having a conversation, would we look something like that? I suspected so, but I still felt a bit like a fraud, and I wasn’t sure why.

When talking of romance, Anne usually got a starry look in her eyes, and would describe castles, a dark and melancholic hero, flowery promises of being together ‘til death do them part, which wouldn’t be all that long because of tragically early deaths.

But this time, she got a different look on her face, a serious look, with her usually misty gray-green eyes having an oddly sharp, clear aspect.

“Maybe it’s like loving all the seasons,” said Anne, still unable to speak without excessive use of metaphors, despite her current demeanour. “You always know what’s coming, year after year, and…It rains too much in spring, summer is far too temperamental, fall is filled with bright colours that disguise death, and the winter is cold and staid…”

She kept her metaphor short, but I wished she had elaborated further. It seemed like she had reached some kind of vital insight, but I couldn’t understand it. I looked to Julia, to see if she had understood it. She was still watching George and Lizzie, and looked thoughtful.

Anne shook her head and frowned.

“No, I’m being silly. I wouldn’t know! I suppose you’ll have to ask George.”

And that was that. George and Lizzie finally got into the carriage, and we headed back to Avonlea.

I did ask George, after church on Sunday; but he was far too embarrassed to do something like describe his emotions.

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A/N: 1. I am not currently loving summer, Anne. My room is like an oven.

2. I had to learn way more about fabric and textiles than I ever thought I’d need to. At least now I know what LMM is talking about when she says organdy and serge and wincey, etc.

3. Next chapter: Letter(s) from Moody, and other things.

4. I rather like writing George/Lizzie…a wholly straightforward romance.