It was the rhythmic rocking of the train that finally lulled her to sleep. After innumerable nights of insomnia – of tears and heartache and resign – her mind had finally granted her some respite. Her head rested gently against the cool glass window, cushioned by her voluminous, curly hair.

She would have remained asleep if not for the abrupt jolt of the wagon and the conductor's announcement of her stop. Almost like a ghost, she drifted off the train, clutching a trunk in one hand and small carpet bag in the other. She looked around the station passively, finding it to be empty and lifeless. She was the only passenger destined for this small Island village – the rest were almost certainly traveling on to Charlottetown.

With an effortful sigh, she settled uncomfortably against a firm, wooden bench outside the station building. A shiver echoed through her as she wrapped her shawl tighter around her fragile frame. As the train disappeared into the horizon, she almost allowed herself to enjoy this impromptu moment of tranquility. The air smelled of sweet wood and stale smoke. The crickets chirped in unison, their sound amplified by the stillness of the night. The piercingly bright stars glistened against the inky darkness of the new-moon sky. These were the things from which she once derived energy and inspiration, the things that once gave her life. Now, she scarcely acknowledged their presence.

As she waited at the platform, some of Diana's parting words from earlier that evening echoed in her mind. Darling, the change of scenery will be good for you … Aunt Elizabeth and Uncle Jim will care for you as one of their own … Nothing makes you happier than teaching … You know you always have a home here should you wish to return to Avonlea…

Her thoughts trailed as the trot-trot of horse hooves grew and grew, until a shadow of a buggy appeared before her. In it sat Diana's uncle, Jim Barry, a member of the local school board and owner of the teacher's cottage where the red-headed woman was to stay. He greeted her kindly, helped her into the buggy, and inquired politely about her travels. For the remainder of the journey, they continued to make small talk about various things – the pleasantness of the August weather, the record number of children enrolled for the upcoming school year, the quality of the late summer harvest – until they reached the small red cottage which she would now call home. He assisted her in bringing her luggage to the parlor and handed her the cottage key. She smiled in a manner that was both grateful and solemn as she thanked him for his kindness and hospitality. With a tip of his cap, he bid her a good night and returned to his buggy to continue down the road toward his farm.

After the man left, the woman sighed and leaned back against the door, a wave of realization washing over her. This was her home now. Not Green Gables, not Patty's Place, but rather Teacher's Cottage – uninspiringly named, yet quaint nonetheless.

She had moved the majority of her belongings into the cottage a few weeks prior, while in town settling her contract for the teaching position. Then, it all still felt distant, intangible, hazy. Now, reality struck with a vengeance. It was so official, so final, so irreversible. And that scared her.

Carpet bag in hand, the woman slowly made her way upstairs and through the door on the right, where she found her tidy, comfortable room waiting for her. She changed into her nightgown, ever so exhausted from the grief that had consumed her for the past few months. She paused momentarily at the sight of a letter resting on her nightstand. She unfolded it as she settled her tired body into bed.

My dear,

I trust that this little note finds you well. Diana made me promise to watch over you during your time here in the Glen, and thus I have set out to do just that. I hope the cottage is everything you want it to be, and that you are ever so at home here. I shall be over tomorrow to check on you and ensure that you are settling in comfortably. Should you need anything at all before then, I am but a mere eastward stroll down the road.

Kindly yours,

Elizabeth Barry

The note warmed the woman's heart ever so slightly, but she could not find it in herself to smile. Without much thought, she folded the note, blew out her bedside candle, and let her eyelids lower once again, this time submitting to her exhaustion with little protest.

—-

A man sat pensively in his study, a pen resting gently between his index and middle fingers. No matter how many hours he put into his work, the thick stack of papers on his desk never seemed to shrink in size. He had innumerable cases to review, bills to send, prescriptions to fill, and journals to read.

It was that time of night where, on rare occasion, he would enter a dream-like state and find himself thinking of her. All these years later, she was a mere shadow in his mind, a blurry outline only identifiable by her unmistakeable hair. Sometimes he saw her sitting against the dunes of the shore, writing fervently in her journal, her pen propelled by the seaside breeze. Other times, he saw her skipping through the rolling farmland, braids bouncing against her shoulders, without a care in the world. In these rare moments, he allowed his imagination to run free, to give him a tantalizing taste of something he would never know again.

A delicate knock on his study door quickly drew him back to reality.

"Doctor?" Nancy peaked softly into the room. "Why are you still awake at this hour?"

"I was just finishing up the rest of my paperwork, Nancy. It's been one of those weeks. Everyone in the Glen is sick, it seems."

"Best get yourself to bed, else you'll work yourself into the grave," his housekeeper warned kindly.

The man smiled, yet his eyes looked weighted and sad. "How is Emmy?"

"Much the same, I'm afraid."

He sighed heavily, pushing himself up from his chair and capping his fountain pen. "Thank you for looking after her, Nancy." He paused for a moment. "And for looking after me."

The older woman smiled, a slight rosy color rising to her cheeks. "There's nothing else I'd rather do, doctor dear. I'm just happy to be needed."And with that, the young doctor was once again alone, absently staring out of his study window, sinking deeply into his thoughts, consumed by his imaginings of what could have been.