Remains to be Seen

Chapter Sixteen: Emotions, Empathy, and Embrace

WOW! Thank you guys SO FREAKING MUCH for 2.6K reads!!! Ilya!! ♡ ♡

quick note:

LONG chapter! and have that box of tissues!

(( also, how freaking sad is that image ),; ))

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Breakfast went silently, neither one looking at the other. With his last bite of pancake, Gilbert wiped his plate of all its syrup. Standing up he looked at Anne's plate to see if she was finished so he could clear it for her.

"Anne!" Gilbert was startled, but she simply looked up at him.

"What?"

"Y-you haven't even eaten!"

"That's not true!" Anne countered, "I have taken exactly two bites!"

It was true, Anne had truly only taken two bites, of a single pancake.

"And maybe I just don't ingest my food like other people," Anne shot Gilbert a sarcastic smirk.

"No no, I just-erm. Never mind. I'm sorry, do you wish to continue nibbling? If so, I will just start to clean up if you don't mind?"

"No, I'm finished. I feel awful, maybe save the food? For later? No. It won't be any good later will it...oh! I'm sorry Gil. I'll eat a few more bites."

"No no, Anne, you're fine. And do not worry, it should save, and if it doesn't it can go in the slop bucket. Just do not feel bad, Anne-girl," Gilbert smiled at her.

"Okay," Anne stood and started to clear the table but paused looking to Gilbert, "I don't know where anything goes."

"That's fine, you don't need to help. I'll do it. You go sit in the living room and I'll bring tea in when I'm finished," Gilbert took the preserves from her hands and turned to open a cabinet.

"No, I can help. I should help, after well everything last night," she walked to the wash basin full of dishes, "I can wash. Washing doesn't change from house to house."

"Anne—" Gilbert began, but she cut him off.

"Gilbert, please."

"Okay, thank you."

"Least of what I could do," Anne looked out the window as she pumped the water.

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"Well, Anne-girl, what do you wish to do this fine day?"

Gilbert handed her a cup of tea and then turned to mend the fire back to life.

"I feel like an imbecile asking, but do you have any books to read? Oh, preferably poetry! My soul could use some divine poetry right now."

Gilbert smiled at hearing Anne talk like her normal self once again, "Yes, of course! Here," he tossed an additional log into the fire and walked over to a bookcase in the corner.

Anne scanned the shelves, many of the names and books she knew but paused at one. She pulled it out and found the binding was loose from repetitive readings.

"Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman," Anne read and Gilbert's head shot up from scanning the lower shelves, "I've never read this, but it looks although to be a favorite in the Blythe house."

Gilbert slowly stood up and took the book from Anne's hands, gently touching the front cover, "Yes. It—it was, it is," he looked at Anne to find her face puzzled by his sudden change in mood and voice.