Work Text:
September 3rd, 1899
Dear Gilbert,
I look like my mother…
It is such an astonishing and wonderful revelation that my soul will not give it a rest! I had never thought I could ever say such a thing about my mother and that is fulfilling my whole body with such delight, so much energy, that I can’t even phantom to sleep, even though I should. But if I have to be truly honest with you, that is not the main reason why I am still awake, listening to my heart that sings the most heavenly melodies.
You.
You are, my dear.
Was it just the most marvellous of dreams? Did you really run through all of Charlottetown just to see me?
I confess I am still having some trouble accepting what transpired earlier, that you genuinely feel for me as I do you. I think… Well, as I mentioned before, my heart sings like it has no other day to do it, filling me with the most wondrous of sensations. I can feel the happiness radiating out of me, like a small sun, always shining, despite the sadness that tries to infiltrate my veins because you are gone. I anxiously await the next time we might meet. Nevertheless, I believe I have some follow-up questions, as you will as well.
After everything that happened this afternoon, I thought it was wise to speak with my dearest of Dianas, and she informed me that you never received or were in possession of my letter. That, in actuality, you were shocked at the mention of my letter! I have no idea what might have happened to it because I left it on your kitchen table! However, I must tell you that I did not read your letter either. Oh, more like I thought I had read it and understood you plainly but now I can see I was terribly mistaken.
(On another note, my dearest, what were you thinking when you left that letter in my bedroom? Do you know the scandal that it could have caused had Marilla walked into my room before I did? Not that I have ever been one to follow the rules and mind propriety too much, as you must know…)
Well, I presume you are, by now, acquainted with my dreadful temper. Oh, what awful things you must think of me now! I’m afraid to admit that I was rather angry and hurt at you when I found your letter in my bedroom. I believed you to be engaged, you see; and that you had chosen to ignore my letter as a way to spare my feelings and dignity. I thought that your letter was the way you had found to say goodbye to me while giving me your most respectful rejection, and all of that without having to speak to me directly.
Gilbert, I tore it up. You cannot know how immensely sorry I am for that! I regretted it the minute I had thrown it out of the window, however, when I tried to piece together the remaining scraps of paper that I had been able to catch, I ended up severely misinterpreting what you had written.
We have been most unlucky regarding timing and tremendous miscommunications, have we not? To set your mind at ease, I speak now without any riddles:
I love you.
I want to apologize for all the miscommunications that we’ve had, due to the fact that many of them are my fault. Since the slate incident that I feel we have been trying to achieve a friendship, without actually forming bonds, which is rather strange, since you are part of my family, alongside Matthew and Marilla, Bash, Mary, little Dellie and all of our friends. Someday I shall tell you the whole story that leads up to the slate incident, just not in this letter.
I am sorry for giving you the cold shoulder for so much time after that, especially when you were one of the only people who were kind to me in Avonlea at the beginning (if you think that I did not notice that you let me win that spelling contest by forgetting the letter “E”, you are sorely mistaken. I appreciated it anyway, so thank you). I am sorry for the competitiveness, sharp words and shutting you out when you were trying to help.
But, most of all, I am sorry about the night at the bonfire. I confess that I was astonished, stunned and quite a long way from sober. My clouded and confused mind could never have understood what my heart was trying to say. Even sober, I had some difficulties coming to terms with what you had said, what that meant for me and for us. I had already convinced myself that I would be the Bride of Adventure forever, that, even though I have many kindred spirits, I would never be loved quite like that and was doomed to a life of unrequited love.
Fortunately, I know my heart now. I know that I love you immensely. More than that, I am in love with you, so excessively that I cannot breathe, think, or live properly whenever I am around you, which sometimes is quite inconvenient, I tell you.
I have absolutely no idea when it started, but I believe it has been growing in me for some time, like a flower blooming in spring with all its sweetness and beauty. Maybe I loved you from the start when you defended me from Billy and hated you immediately after that for calling me “Carrots”. Maybe I started loving you again when you showed me that I was your equal in and out of school or when you came back from your travels and did not say a word about my hair, which I am grateful about. Maybe, and just maybe, I fell in love with you during all the unforgettable days that I cooked with Mary or studied with you or saw you taking care of Dellie.
I am thankful that I can put this on paper, where I can rethink my words before they come out in a hurricane of excited thoughts and questions.
Earlier today, when you appeared in front of my boarding house, I could not utter a word. I do not know if it was the shock of seeing you or the fact that I was going back to Avonlea to talk to you. I thought I had conjured you out of my imagination! But there you were, real, in the flesh!
I don’t claim to know much but I know this: I know that we haven’t been truly honest with each other and that we have been avoiding our feelings for a long time in this complicated dance that is not “The White Sergeant”. I know that you and Winifred are not together, that you did not propose to her and that you are not courting – Winifred stated that herself this morning before leaving for Paris. I know that you did not read my letter, nor did I read your letter. I know how deep my feelings are for you. I know that you kissed me, and I kissed you after you run through Charlottetown to get to me. My world has been turned upside down in the best of ways, but that is not enough, and I have many questions for you.
In truth, I know so little, Gilbert. When did you realize you had some feelings for me? What did you write in your letter? I promise not to misinterpret it this time around. What happened with Winnifred if you feel comfortable telling me? And how did Toronto come about? I thought your dream was the Sorbonne. Are you not planning to go there anymore?
I feel quite astonished that I can now write to you like this, with this new openness that I have found since I realised my feelings for you when all was quiet and peaceful. Life goes by so fast and all changes in a single moment, so I believe that we all just need to cherish everything that happens in our lives.
Right after you left, my darlings Matthew and Marilla arrived. Without my knowledge, they had gone to Nova Scotia, to the house of old Mrs Thomas, the lady that first took me in right after my parents died, before I was sent to the asylum because they were neighbours. They found something of my parents, Gil; a book titled “The Language of Flowers” my father gifted my mother. There was an inscription at the beginning and a portrait of my mother (drawn through my father’s eyes) at the back.
You won’t even guess! She had red hair, Gilbert! The thing that I have hated about myself the most and, suddenly, becomes a bond that connects my mother and me forever.
I look like her and she was beautiful.
I have always adored pretty things; the world is so full of beauty that is nearly impossible to escape admiring it. However, I never thought, not in a million years, that I could resemble someone as beautiful as my mother. Yet here I am, sitting at my desk while writing you a letter filled with love and looking at myself in the mirror. I am starting to think that maybe all those people that told me that my hair was a horrid red, the hair of a witch and that I was scrawny and skinny and plain were wrong. At the very least, partially wrong.
I am unaware if I ever told you that I found my parents’ records at the church in Nova Scotia. The orphanage had nothing; the matron told me that the records were destroyed by rats a few years back. But in that church were the particulars I needed to feel a bit more complete. My parents were from Glenmark, a city in Scotland. They were Scottish and so am I. They were very young and poor, but my mother was a teacher. That is another thing, besides my hair, that connects me to her.
I have finally something concrete that tells me that my parents loved each other and loved me; something tangible that shows me they existed, lived and were happy during the short time they were married. I recognise that I want that too: a relationship bursting with love, understanding and happiness.
Talking about relationships, what are we now, if you don’t mind me asking? Are courting? Are we just pen pals for the time being? I guess I am making sure we understand each other now, so there’s no more room for heartbreak.
Diana is telling me to go to bed, that I should rest because tomorrow is our first day at Queens.
But honestly, how can I rest? I am excited for Queens and all the new things that will transpire and that I get to experience. My mother’s book and Diana coming to Queens as well, which created this wave of happiness and giddiness that hasn’t gone away. I am also thinking about you, a lot. About your kiss, your hands on mine, your body next to mine… It felt right. And, for the sake of honesty, I should tell you that’s, by far, the most romantic thing that has happened to me.
I promise to be always honest with you, from now on, Gil. And if you will have me completely, with all my faults, misjudgements, dreadful temper, and strange ideas, then I will be more than willing to have you as well. A relationship of equals?
I must go now, but I await your response and let’s just hope that this letter does not get lost as well.
Sincerely yours,
Anne with an E.