Comments | kindred_spirit: White Sands Schoolhouse, 4:45 pm, November 24, 1881

kindred_spirit

White Sands Schoolhouse, 4:45 pm, November 24, 1881

Dec 13, 2005 11:22

School has been over for the day for some time, and the room is really too dark and too cold for what Gilbert is doing, which is (theoretically) marking compositions, though he hasn't written anything for almost an hour, and which is (in reality) avoiding having to walk through the schoolhouse door for as long as possible.

Comments 49

avonlea_girl December 13 2005, 16:32:08 UTC

He needn't have worried too much. One of his students, in their rush to get home, had not latched the door properly, and it hangs slightly open, letting in a draft of cold air which suddenly gets much stronger as the door is opened fully.

Late afternoon in winter, and it is hard to see, but doubtless Gil would recognize the figure at the door anywhere, as she stands there, twisting her hands before her, an unreadable expression in solemn gray eyes.

She'd driven from Avonlea after her own school day had ended, while Marilla looked after her questioningly and with not a little worry for her girl who had been so serious and quiet these past few weeks--but now that she was here, she felt her courage would fail her and she would turn and flee.

Instead, she takes a step in, watching him.

"Hello, Gil."

kindred_spirit December 13 2005, 16:34:46 UTC

He looks up, startled, and drops the pen.

"Anne, I --"

Closes his mouth before he says whatever he was going to say.

Opens it again.

Closes it again.

Picks up the pen.

Sets it down.

Stands up.

Opens his mouth.

"Anne."

avonlea_girl December 13 2005, 16:38:21 UTC

Her hands twist a bit more violently, before she realizes that it's her turn to say something.

"You're--you're busy--" she says, quickly, hating how flustered her voice sounds. "I shouldn't interrupt--ought to leave you to your work."

And yet she stands there, white hands twined together, looking at him.

kindred_spirit December 13 2005, 16:45:51 UTC

"No, no it's nothing that can't wait," he says. "Just marking compositions about -- well marking compositions."

He stands next to his desk, fists clinched, arms at his side, just stands for a long moment.

And then he's crossed the schoolhouse in what seems impossibly few steps, because she's here and he can't not go to her, can't not put his arms around her.

"I have missed you so much."

Thread 49