#di blythe

[ynhart]

A wip

-So many children to draw!!!

-added Anne + Rilla in this 2024 version

[lifeofmarvvel]

Some Facts and Headcanons about the Blythe kids' appearances

Including how tall I think they are in relation to each other and who they look the most like

Jem

We know that Jem has Anne's red hair but Gilbert's curls as well as his eye color (hazel). He's said to be tall, have Anne's nose, Gilbert's mouth (and probably smile), and "the only one of the family who had ears nice enough to please Susan" (RV)

Pretty much, he's a good mix of Anne and Gilbert

The AoGG wikia also kinda roasts him by adding "Although not as handsome as his brother, Walter, or his best friend, Jerry, Jem grew up to be a good-looking young man" (rip lol, why'd they go with 2 comparisons on his looks in one sentence)

He's also decently tall, though it doesn't specify any comparisons in how tall. I'd say probably a solid 5'10 or 11.

Walter

He's considered the "handsomest of the Ingleside children" with straight black hair, and dark grey eyes.

Given that Anne also has grey eyes (though more green-gray, iirc), and the fact that he doesn't look like any known relative, I feel like there's a chance he looks like either one of Walter or Bertha's siblings (if they had any at any point) or one of their parents, his great-grandparents

As for height, I feel like he was always close in height to Jem growing up, only an inch or two shorter. They end up being roughly the same height by the time they stop growing

Nan

We find out exactly who Nan looks like in the series! During Anne of Ingleside, we find out she looks just like her Grandma Blythe. Consequently, she looks a lot like Gilbert, too -- the most of the daughters to look like him, in fact

She has straight brown hair and brown eyes. Her hair is considered silky, too. Anne appreciates the fact that at least Nan can wear pink out of her daughters

As for height, she's taller than Rilla, but still pretty short. Like, Rilla is barely shorter than her. It's a tough victory but she's not the shortest so  ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯

Di

Anne's mini-me! Di has her red hair and green eyes. Her hair is said to have a "swirl to it" so I'm assuming that means she got Gil's curls as well (or at least some waves).

Since she looks so much like Anne, we can likely assume she's also pretty freckled

I like to think she's the tallest of the daughters. Like 5'8 or so, not too much shorter than Jem. While growing up, she was always taller than Nan but not too much -- Nan just stopped growing first

Shirley

Ah, Susan's "little brown boy" aka brown hair, brown eyes, and a darker skin tone than the Blythe kids who got Anne's Very White skin tone. He looks the most like Nan out of his siblings, and is the son that looks the most like Gilbert (just a slight difference in eye color)

We got nothing on his hair texture but I tend to picture him with curly hair too, probably just because of that "pretty close to Gilbert's mini-me" thing I've concluded

Little siblings have a bad habit of being rude and ending up taller than their older siblings. (I say this as an oldest child who has a younger sister that's a good few inches taller than me.) Because of that, I like to think that Shirley ends up the tallest of the Blythe kids. Idk how much taller than Gilbert that would make him, if at all, but he'd be pretty tall, definitely at least 6'2

Rilla

Rilla is a good mix between Gilbert and Anne, just in a different combo than Jem. She has Gilbert's hazel eyes, Anne's freckles, and "ripely, ruddily brown" which is probably exactly what Anne wanted her hair to be when she was younger. So, pretty much, she started auburn/red-haired and turned more brunette as she got older. The red is probably most visible in the summer sun

There also isn't anything about her hair texture, either. I'd say it's either wavy or the type of straight hair that actually does hold heated curls and hairdos better than others

Rilla is the baby and, unfortunately for her, I picture her as the shortest of the family. She's like an inch shorter than Nan. All growing up she probably said stuff like "I'll be taller than both of you!" to the twins and then. it just never happened. Sorry, girl

Fun Facts (aka all this but reworded exclusively)

Jem is the only son with Anne's hair color; he's the only son with Gilbert's eye color

Walter is the only kid with the grey-side of Anne's eyes. He has the darkest hair in the entire family

Nan is the only daughter with brown eyes

Di is the only one with the green-side of Anne's eyes, making her the one with the lightest eyes

Shirley is the only son with brown eyes

Rilla is the only daughter with Gilbert's eyes

None of the children inherited Walter Shirley's blue eyes (probably since the dark-eyed gene is so strong)

None of the children inherited Bertha's blonde hair

And Grandparent Look-Alikes

Jem and Di, because of their red hair, look most like Walter Shirley out of all of their grandparents. Di probably moreso than Jem

We only know John Blythe has brown hair, so it's also possible Nan looks like Grandma Blythe and Shirley looks like John with Gilbert either looking like John or a mix of his parents

Nan is the only grandkid confirmed to look exactly like a grandparent

Walter is an anomaly so who actually knows lol

--

Anyway, I don't really have a reason for posting this other than, hopefully, as a helpful guide to others and as a way for me to make sure my hcs for their appearances are written out so I don't mix up my thoughts in the future. Feel free to add any hc's you might have involving the Blythe kids and their appearances!

[alwayschasingrainbows]

Little Di Blythe's moodboard:

"Di is her father's favourite, because she has green eyes and red hair...red hair with a swirl to it."

"Di, in spite of her physical resemblance to her mother, was very much her father's child, so far as disposition and qualities went. She had the beginnings of his practical bent, his plain common sense, his twinkling sense of humour."

(Anne of Ingleside by L.M. Montgomery)

[do-you-know-these-multiples]

[raviollies]

Had a session today. Blythe dealt with an undead whale by air dropping it from a portal (several nearly dead)

[jomiddlemarch]

call understanding thy kinswoman

“Here,” Mary said, pushing a steaming mug in front of Rilla after hurrying through the ordinary polite exchanges required of a greeting, even among family. “Drink this first. You look green around the gills and I don’t fancy explaining to Jem why his baby sister ended up in a puddle on our sitting room floor.”

“We’re in the kitchen,” Rilla said, turning her face away from the table. Feeling the nausea rise in her throat, hardly daring to take a deep breath. “I can’t drink your coffee, it’s too strong—”

“It’s ginger tea, silly. And if you faint here, I’ll still tell your brother we were in the sitting room, not at the kitchen table. He’s been at me to get a girl to help and I don’t want one—”

“You’d lie about something like this,” Rilla asked. She reached forward and picked up the mug, inhaled the spicy scent of the ginger tea. She gestured with a little nod of her head at the scene, Mary across from her at the well-scrubbed table, all the pots and pans gleaming copper in the dull, cloudy light of a dull, cloudy afternoon that hadn’t made its mind up yet to rain.

“Of course. If the lie was what was needed. What James— what Jem needed,” Mary said. Rilla recalled Mary called Jem by his Christian name, the only one he’d allow to do so, though he’d given their mother a quelling near-glare when she’d remarked on it. Mary gave Rilla a familiar look, one that sized her up in a moment, though it was fonder than it used to be, an alteration Rilla attributed to Mary’s affection for Jem. “It’s Ken you want to talk about. Go on then.”

“How did you know?” Rilla said. She sipped at the tea, willing it to do something. Ginger was said to help. She’d learned though, that many things people said would help a difficult situation weren’t the least bit helpful and that people, with the possible exception of Una and Rosemary Meredith, had an endless supply of suggestions. Mary most often held her tongue around the Blythe family, but she wouldn’t hold back if you asked her opinion.

“You’d have gone to your mother if you were fussed about morning sickness or having the baby,” Mary said. “It would’ve been a gift, to give her something like that to occupy her. If you wanted some coddling. You’re here instead and it’s certainly not for my shortbread. Nan’s away and Jerry’s crippled because of his back, nothing else. She wouldn’t be much help and you don’t want her pity.”

“Mother’s useless,” Rilla said. Admitted. “And Nan’s a priss and always has been—”

“Finally,” Mary muttered under her breath.

“But it really is that Jerry’s wounds are all just physical. Sometimes I wish, I think, maybe if Ken had lost an arm or needed a cane, it would be better. Easier,” Rilla said.

“Maybe. Or maybe he’d be like he is now only with one arm of his jacket pinned up or walking around like an old man before he’s turned thirty. There aren’t any bargains to be made about this, Rilla. Nor wishes.”

“He came home and he said, he asked me, ‘Are you Rilla-my-Rilla?’ and I said yes,” Rilla said, looking down into the crockery mug. It was sturdy and practical, like her sister-in-law, and her own mother would have blanched to serve a cup of tea in it, let alone her sister. There were no tea leaves to read, so she looked back up and found Mary watching her, a little half-smile on her lips.

“Are you bothered by your answer or his question?” 

Rilla laughed in spite of herself.

“Dad says you’re wasted as a doctor’s wife, that you ought to be a barrister.”

Mary smiled and though there was no flush in her cheeks, her expression warmed, her fair hair suddenly seemed richer in tone, more like the narrow gold band on her fourth finger.

“Your father’s twice as fanciful as your mother is and I’ve heard her go on to Bruce Meredith about fairies and mayflowers more than I could ever believe,,” she said. “Being a doctor’s wife suits me fine. Jem will be home in a few hours, though, and I’ve his supper to see to, so if you do want to talk, you might be getting on with it.”

“He’s not himself. Ken. He’s not who he was when he went away. When he asked me to wait. He’s not mine, even if I’m his,” Rilla said, all in a rush. She felt queasy again, unsure why, neither explanation a comfort.

“Couldn’t be, could he? Especially since he came home and others didn’t. Walter,” Mary said. “I think he’d hate it, Walter, how he’s a saint now and Ken and the rest of them, they’ve got to be men all the time and tell us it’s all in the past, it was worth it. Cheerful, determined. I’ve never wondered Shirley won’t come back to the Glen, I’ll tell you that much.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Rilla said.

“There you go. That’s what you needed to get to,” Mary said. It was rare to be praised by her and Rilla was surprised how much she liked it. How much it was a balm. “Can he sleep?”

“Sometimes. Not well. He has dreams, he won’t talk about them,” Rilla said.

“I won’t say anything,” Mary replied. “To anyone. Certainly not your brother. He can’t sleep either. He cries sometimes, without ever waking up. You won’t say anything about that.”

“Oh,” Rilla said. “I didn’t know—”

“He doesn’t want anyone troubled. I’m the only one who won’t let him get away with that. Which is partly why he married me,” Mary said.

“I don’t know why Ken married me,” Rilla said softly.

Mary chuckled, but it had none of the wry mockery of her usual laughter.

“You poor pet. I forget, sometimes, how young you are.”

“I’m only six years younger than you, Mary, not a generation,” Rilla snapped.

“When I was six, my ma hung herself and my pa slit his wrists,” Mary said. “You were always precious. I wasn’t, not to anybody, not ‘til Jem anyway. Ken married you because you were the dream he had that kept him alive in that absolute hell in France. Because you wrote to him and you raised that baby and because you’re the happiness he always thought he wanted. You’re easy on the eyes too, but I’ll grant him that it’s easier to fall in love with a pretty girl than a plain one.”

“You can’t marry a dream,” Rilla said.

“No, you can’t. Nor live with one. They came home, however they did, and for a while, anyway, I suppose it’s up to us to figure out how to be more than that. It’s harder for you, because of your families and how you had that crush on him and he had that memory of you in a party dress in the moonlight to go by. Jem didn’t have any dreams of me to get in the way,” Mary said.

“Is this how you talk to Jem?”

“I’ll thank you to keep your nosy questions to yourself,” Mary retorted. 

“I only meant, is this how you help him through?”

“It doesn’t matter. You have to find out how to talk to Ken and I haven’t any advice about that man. Well, I’ve a little. I think he’s got to feel guilty as sin to have come home with just a few scars and everyone expects him to write some masterpiece and he won’t want to let anyone down. I bet it’s hard to have any ideas after the trenches and it’s hard to write when your hands tremble.”

“How did you know?”

“Jem’s do, sometimes. I’ve learned to look for it. Get Ken a typewriter, that’s my advice. Tell him about the baby before you tell your mother. Promise him you won’t call it Walter. Say you want some ordinary name that no one in your family’s gotten all tied up with sentiment and honor. John. Margaret. Maybe Alice, like Alice in Wonderland.”

“My grandfather’s name was John,” Rilla said. Grandfather Blythe, who’d died before she was born.

“Everyone’s grandfather was named John,” Mary said.

“I suppose that’s nearly true,” Rilla said and smiled. 

“Nearly true’s good enough more than you’d think,” Mary said. “You should come round for dinner here sometimes. We can let them go sit on the porch while we gossip about Faith Drew while we make some tea to go with the cake you bring. I heard she bobbed her hair and she smokes and Bertie don’t care. ‘Scuse me, she calls him Will, like we all don’t remember him being a holy terror and his ma hollering his name Bertie Shakespeare for him to come home.”

“You’ll serve my cake?” Rilla said. It was the biggest surprise, as Nan had already passed along the gossip about Faith’s hair and her modern ways. Fast, Susan said, frowning and Rilla, who had never thought it possible, had found herself nodding along. 

“Susan won’t give me her recipe for plum cake and it’s one of Jem’s favorites. He’ll have two slices, enormous ones, if we’re there for Sunday dinner and she puts it out,” Mary said. “He’s greedy for sweets now, though he hates to admit it.”

“Jem’s greedy?” Rilla said.

“Oh yes. He’s all sorts of vices. I’m sure Ken has his as well. You’d do well to find out which ones,” Mary said.

“To help him overcome them?” 

“To love him for them,” Mary said. 

[cptsd-kitsune]

Blythe Baird - If My Body Could Speak // Di Brandt - Questions I Asked My Mother

[lastanzadikuroneko]

(my ig: kuroneko.png)

[goatsandgangsters]

yes yes all the romances are great but MAUD AND HAWTHORN'S FRIENDSHIP / REPLACEMENT SIBLING-GOLDFISH / ADOPTION PAPERS SPEEDRUN IS EVERYTHING TO ME

[enchanted-keys]

i know it’s hard to hear, but anne shirley cuthbert will never love anyone as much as she loves gilbert, except maybe their children, and that’s just the plain harsh truth :’)

[itzpris15634]

Going Back (ft. Blythe and Roger)

Consider this a continuation to 'Butterflies' and 'The Things That Don't Matter'

===

Her week in Suburbia was just the break she needed. A little vacation from work, and a chance to revisit her favorite spots from her childhood. Her neighbors' wondrous cooking, her favorite boutique, and the local tailor shop. The big tree in the middle of the neighborhood where she liked to sketch. Catching up with old neighbors and friends. And the house for God's sake. Garden, bedroom, living room- all the photos, little decorations, and all the memories they held. Everything.

Blythe loved it all. She missed it all.

But knew she couldn't stay in Suburbia forever. She still had her whole life in Downtown City to go back to. Her friends, her job, and the cozy little apartment she got to call her own.

And while she'd prefer to be leisure with the time she had left, she had lots of preparations to make.

-

Blythe tugged and pulled at the zipper, groaning as she tried to zip her suitcase closed. But it was no use.

Oh, why oh why did I buy so many things while I was here?!

"Dad! Can you- ugh-! Please, help me out over here-!" Blythe cried out, hoping her father could hear her.

Footsteps sounded. The door creaked open.

"Blythie? What's wrong?" Roger's concerned face peeked through the door of Blythe's room.

Blythe relented, letting go of the zipper and stumbling back onto the floor, "Help please. I… can't get this thing to close…"

"Really?" Roger kneeled down next to his daughter. He opened the suitcase wide, "Maybe you didn't fold your clothes properly?"

"Nuh-uh, that's how I folded them when I was packing to fly here!"

Roger already got to work on taking every bit of clothin out of the suitcase, placing them on Blythe's bed, "Strange. And are you sure that was exactly the way you folded them? With this exact amount of clothing in it? Because I recognize a few of these from our shopping spree in the Beeline Boutique yesterday…"

Blythe's face flushed a little, "I uh… Look, Beeline Boutique was having a sale, alright Dad?"

Roger cracked a smile "You and your fashion, Blythe. I get it. You know, you really liked that place as a kid. You'd beg me to let you go in there."

"Yup, me and my fashion, Dad!" Blythe repeated.

"Either way, look, here's a way you can pack your clothes so you can fit even more into one space."

"Do teach me. Please?"

-

Thicker clothes were folded flat and normal. Thinner, delicate things were rolled up. Father and daughter got to work, folding and rolling clothes into the suitcase. Not many words were exchanged other than little instructions.

Blythe broke the silence that settled between them.

"Dad?" She said.

"Yes, honey?"

"How much time do I have before I have to leave for the airport?"

Roger glanced at the clock, taking note of the time, "Only 4 PM. I'd say that it's still quite early, Blythie. We have a couple of hours to spare before I drive you there."

"In that case… could we go around town again? One last time?"

"Really? Well of course! Anything you want, really."

===

Day 31: memory lane

Better late than never, right?

I'm gonna have to do a bunch of polishing on the fics before I post them on AO3. Spelling mistakes, totally wrong information, and overused phrases/words/punctuations galore. Lots of things I could have done better.

(Especially Pepper and her thoughts during 'By the Neck' because holy shit. Look, I was really tired when I wrote that, aight? …I was really tired when I wrote a lot of those ahahahaha-)

Soo yeah :)) I thank you greatly for reading and interacting with my little fics, and especially if you've left little comments! I love reading those.

[hereconduct]

this already happened. but not like this. from 11 to padmé 🫢

"doctor?"‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎their tone is empathetic,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎with the lingering curiosity that had her watched with adoration when she was only a child.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎the picture of sophistication–‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎the future queen.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎only this time is that curiosity not pigeonholed into expectations‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎&‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎plans to keep a fourteen year old safe,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎now that questioning lingers on their tongue with an intertwined excitement that borders on selfish.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎the doctor's features,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎the doctor's tone,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎it should concern them‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎(&‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎maybe if they were more scared of demise it would,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎but there is no threat,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎nothing big enough,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎to scare her–‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎if this moment should bring as much worry that is etched into @denouemente's shoulders,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎cheeks‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎&‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎eyes,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎it doesn't scare them one bit).‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"what do you mean?‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎is this not the planet you spoke of?"

her tone remains valiant,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎eyes glancing over the crowds of celebrating people,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎hugs‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎&‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎kisses‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎&‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎friends holding onto each other like they thought they wouldn't before.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎it's a beautiful sight to be seen,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎one that tugs at her heart in a way she cannot articulate.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎it's all beautiful‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎&‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎yet there's a somberness that befalls those around,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎one that feels unintentional,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎as if a collective loss that cannot be named has landed on their shoulders...‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎&‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎now falls upon padmé's.

she isn't scared,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎she's hurt‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎&‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎aching,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎yet she can't articulate why.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎each glance at another face bringing them closer‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎&‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎closer to forgetting how to breathe.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎the excitement that they had upon landing has started to fade now that he has brought attention to the slightly greyscale of such a bright scene.

"we're not supposed to be here are we?"‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎tone falls flat‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎&‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎for a moment she lets her eyes shut,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎hoping that not seeing will wipe away the sickness that slips up her throat‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎&‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎into her chest.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎the feeling is so painfully unfamiliar.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎when eyes open back up,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎they lock onto the doctor because it's easier that way,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎its easier to focus on that one thing,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎on this one person that she trusts than to the happily somber folks who dance around them with cheerful tone.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"why is it hurting me to be here?"

[alma-torran]

Honestly Gilbert being a shit cook and everyone making fun of him for it was the best on going joke in awae

[soliel-et-lune]

spoken word poetry is a religion and my gods are blythe baird, phil kaye, andrea gibson, sabrina benaim, kait rokowski, olivia gatwood and most other performers on button poetry. i love and respect them so much. fuck concerts if i ever get to see these people performing in person i’d cry so hard i love them so much of course they’re on youtube and here are some of my favourites on spotify

[raviollies]

POV: your warlock almost killed you

[jomiddlemarch]

gingerbread

1. “What are those, Anne?” Diana asked, pointing to the pile of unevenly shaped, lumpy brown biscuits which were keeping uneasy company with Marilla’s famous cherry jam thumbprint cookies and some of Mrs. Rachel Lynde’s golden shortbread. Anne cradled the well of her tea-cup and let the steam rise up like a genie before she answered; she knew Diana wouldn’t mind waiting because she was a bosom friend and had shown it even more every day since Matthew died.

“I don’t know, to be honest, Di,” Anne said. “I found them wrapped up in a clean dishtowel in a little wicker basket by the side door. There wasn’t a letter or a card or anything to say who made them or what they were. I know they don’t look particularly appetizing, but I thought I should at least put them out before I throw them away. They made me wish we had a cheerful pig named something splendid like Hieronymus to feed them to, but alas, we only have the chickens and the cow and it wouldn’t do to put Buttercup off her feed. We’d have no butter or milk for a week.”

“Marilla would never let you name a pig Hieronymus,” Diana remarked. She picked up one of the biscuits. “I’ll try one, a little bite anyway. If it’s terrible, I warn you, I’ll spit it out in my napkin.”

“You can’t offend me, Di—I still remember all those sets of Hammond twins,” Anne said.

Diana sniffed at the cookie, then took a dainty bite, chewed for a moment and then smiled.“I know what this is—and who it’s from,” she said.

“Don’t keep me in suspense,” Anne said. “Have I a mortal enemy in Avonlea who wishes to dispatch me with inedible pastry? It cannot be a secret admirer—"

“You have a friend, you goose,” Diana said. “As soon as I tasted it, I knew what it was.”

“Well?”

“It’s the Blythe gingerbread,” Diana said. “I’ve tasted it a thousand times, it’s their own spice blend and Mrs. Blythe will never say exactly what the spices are and in what proportion. But she never made this, she’d be horrified if she even saw these, halfway to burnt. Gilbert had to have made them.”

“Gilbert?”

“It’s not that surprising, Anne,” Diana said. “He hasn’t tried to hide that he wants to be your friend and it makes sense that he’d want to give you something—but in a way that you don’t have to thank him for it. It’s true these aren’t the best biscuits, but it’s the thought that counts and it’s awfully sweet of him.”

“It is sweet, isn’t it?” Anne said, looking at the biscuits again. He only had the most rudimentary baking skills, which was understandable since he was the Blythe family’s only son, but she imagined him in the kitchen, measuring out the flour and sugar, his brow furrowed as he considered how much of each spice to add, maybe licking a smear of molasses off his thumb. “I’ll have to thank him,” she said.

“I suppose,” Diana replied slowly. “Or you needn’t. He didn’t leave a card or a note. I don’t think he expects you to say or do anything. He just wanted to do something nice for you. I don’t think he expects anything in return, not even a thank you.”

“I’ll have to return the cloth and the basket, though,” Anne said.

“You leave that to me,” Diana said stoutly, as if she were undertaking one of Hercules’s twelve labors. Anne smiled again, thinking of Diana with the basket in the crook of her arm and Gilbert finding it on his doorstep, the cloth neatly folded with little pine tassel tucked in as a talisman.