𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 | anne & gilbert

ii. beyond your wildest dreams

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, NO?" Anne asked Mr. Church angrily. "It's a tragic romance, and we all need some imagination in our lives!"

"Apologies, Miss Shirley, but this sort of thing doesn't sell," Mr. Church said over his wire-rimmed spectacles. "The country just got through yet another war. The people want answers and information, not some...frivolous romance written by a girl especially!"

"So this is what it's all about? Because I'm a girl, you won't publish my book?" she exclaimed, slamming her hands on the table. "Girls can do anything boys can do, if not better. Look at Jane Austen, the Brontes, Mary Shelley! They were successful!"

The wrinkly man puffed out a blast of smoke from his pipe. "I'm sorry, you'll have to try your luck at another publisher's, which there won't be within fifty miles. The nearest is in Toronto, and I doubt they'll take you if I don't."

"You haven't even looked it over!"

"I don't need to. After reading the summary, I can already tell it's going to be some knockoff version of Romeo and Juliet. There's nothing that anyone wants to read in here, and these types of things don't sell in the time we're in. Look around, look around at how lucky we are to be alive right now! We're in the midst of a war, almost everyone in Avonlea already wasted their money on that blasted gold scam, and nothing is going to change the fact that no one will purchase your story."

Anne grabbed the stack of papers and left. "Just so you know, I will sell this someday. It may take longer than expected, but I promise you, sir, I will."

Mr. Church laughed and snorted loudly. "Keep dreaming, kid," he yelled after her as she left the room. "Oh, keep dreaming."

That night, Anne went home to Green Gables, frustrated and ill-tempered. A part of her wanted to give up, but the other told her to prove the man wrong. Ultimately, the latter won. She grabbed her candle, a piece of fresh paper, her favorite fountain pen, (which Gilbert returned) and began to write.

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-the Blythe-Lacroix farm-

"ANNE SHIRLEY CUTHBERT, will you marry me? I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you," Gilbert rehearsed in front of the bathroom mirror. "How about, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, my one and only, my equal, my Anne with an E, the true love of my life, will you marry me?"

"God, why is this so hard? If you love the girl, just go ahead and say it!" he scolded himself. "This isn't hard, it should be easy! As Diana said, you've loved her since she came to Avonlea and smashed that slate over your head!"

"Oh, so I see you go propose," Bash appeared in the door with a huge, cheesy grin on his face, holding Delly.

Gilbert removed a small box from his pocket. "I've had this ring for over a month now. I just can't seem to find the time. I know, she's busy with her writings and trying to find a publishing company that'll accept, but it's going to take time and precision. I want this to be a moment she'll remember forever."

"Ah, and I expect there will be nothing less from you, Blythe," Bash answered, putting a hand on Gilbert's shoulder. "You're going to blow us all away with whatever you got planned."

"I sure hope so," Gilbert sighed. "I just don't want to let her down."

"Look at me," Bash told his friend. "Nothing you ever do could change her opinion of you. I remember my mother once told me, we are all fools in love. She loves you, you love her. If you're willing to commit, then propose. Everyone can tell, Blythe. You're her one and only landmark, and she's yours. You don't want to lose her again, do you?"