Thank you to my awesome beta, bluealoe! I'm sorry I didn't get the second part done in time for you to beta it :)

Mrs. Lavendar Irving looked at her husband over the top of Anne's letter.
"Well, that's all. What did you think?"
Stephen Irving smiled fondly at his wife.
"It's an excellent letter, of course. Anne's always are. She tells so much, yet does it all so beautifully it doesn't feel as if she's throwing information at you, like some people do. But I have a feeling you want my opinion on some part in particular, rather than the whole. Perhaps you could tell me which it is?"
"Wise as always." She chuckled. "This family she suggests we visit - The Graysons - we must go, of course, but I'm wondering what would be the best way to go about it."
Mr. Irving looked at her over the top of his glasses, eyebrows raised in confusion.
"Well, I can see that we must give them time to settle in, but after I should think we could go when we pleased. Anne does describe them as 'kindred spirits', so it should be all right" he said.
Mrs. Lavendar nodded. "You're quite right, my dear. All three of us must go soon. I long to meet Little Elizabeth, Anne describes her so well. I think Paul would enjoy meeting Elizabeth too, it sounds as if they would get along wonderfully."
Mr. Irving eyed his wife rather sharply. She did not see his look, as she had returned her gaze to the letter. He relaxed. It seemed that Lavendar did not, despite his fleeting suspicion, have any match making in mind. Just as well; the girl was just a child, really, and his son a man. Perhaps when they were both older, but at moment, such an idea was absurd!
Truly, Mrs. Lavendar had no such thoughts. The same, however, cannot be said with any certainty of an auburn-haired girl in Green Gables, whose big eyes loved to look into the future with the aid of imagination.

The meeting between the Graysons and the Irvings went well, as encounters between kindred spirits are apt to go. Pierce Grayson, so newly settled in the States after his long stay in Europe, was delighted to find a good friend, especially another Prince Edward Island man. Little Elizabeth adored Paul, who had been lucky enough to be her dear Miss Shirley's pupil, while the young man found the child's imagination just as delightful as his "beautiful teacher" had - indeed, she reminded him very much of himself at her age. The pair would cheerfully spend hours lost in fancy, making up fairy tales with the help of Elizabeth's map of fairyland.

But it was Mrs. Lavendar who perhaps helped Elizabeth the most. Although she adored her father and was very happy to be living with him, as was evidenced by her calling herself Betty nearly all the time, it was a strange change for her. Having grown up with two severe old women, she now had to adapt to a man who loved her, but was not quite sure how to treat a young girl. Mrs. Irving's sensible advice helped to make their home run smoothly.

The good woman's heart had gone out to the motherless child, and before long, she had spoken with Paul about the advisability of offering to be a sort of substitute mother for her. She didn't fear jealousy from him, but thought he would know best how Elizabeth would take it. Paul, however, had frowned.
"I'm not sure... it's not that I object to sharing my dear Mother Lavendar with her, but I'm not sure she'll accept it. She pins a great deal on names, you know. It might be best to let her choose her own name for you, and see what she comes up with."
Paul was to be proved quite right, as Betty's answer to Lavendar showed.
"I'd like to call you Mother Lavendar, but that's Paul's name for you, and I want to find a name for you that can be all my own. I can't call you Mother, because that's my mother's name... but I'd like to call you Auntie Lavendar. I had lots of aunts back there, but I didn't love them and they didn't love me, so I could never call them Auntie. You'll be my only Auntie... If you'd like it, that is."
The hopeful, worried look in the golden hazel eyes wrung the newly christened Auntie Lavendar's heart, as she gladly agreed to her new name.

A few months later, a golden haired girl was sitting on a garden bench, when a tall young man entered the garden. He inclined his head solemnly.
"To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to today?" he inquired.
"I think I'm Bethie today, Paul. I feel more thoughtful than Betty, but more cheerful than Beth... So it's Bethie". Elizabeth still used different names for her different moods. She wouldn't do it for everyone - many of her schoolmates thought it strange or silly - but Paul understood.
"Lovely to see you, Bethie. And what are you so thoughtful about?"
"I was thinking about soulmates...Father and I were talking about them recently; how everyone in fairy tales and romances always has a soulmate. It seems to make things very complicated, but I suppose it would be worth it. Do you believe in soulmates, Paul? He thought you would, being a poet, but I wasn't so sure."
"You're quite right, Bethie. I believe in love, of course. But somehow I can't bring myself to believe that there is only one person I ever could or ever will love. I suppose partly it is because I have two mothers..." he trailed off, surprised - as he often was - to realise how much of his thoughts he was revealing to his friend.
"And Auntie Lavendar and your father obviously love each other, but he must have loved your mother, too." As always, Bethie understood what was left unsaid. She frowned pensively, then looked up at him.
"I think I do believe in soulmates... I just don't believe you only have one. I think it must be like kindred spirits - there must be hundreds of them, all over the world, but you only meet a few. Soulmates should be similar. There will be many of them - there has to be! Imagine if you only had one, and they lived on the other side of the world. How would you ever meet? They're not quite the same as kindred spirits, though, because you can meet plenty of those; but I think when you've found one soulmate, and realised what they are, you don't find another." Her eyes met his, anxious to hear his opinion.
Paul smiled. "I believe you've solved my quandary. I like your soulmates very much, Bethie."
"Have you found any of yours yet?"
The question surprised him, and he searched her face, wondering if another one was hidden beneath it. He found nothing, however, in the innocent look, so he answered - truthfully, he believed.
"Not yet, but I'll keep looking for her."

******
Dear Paul,

This can only be a short note, I'm afraid, or it won't be mailed in time to catch the next ship!
I'd always heard that Paris was the city of love, but I don't think I'd ever really believed it. I love Paris itself, but it seemed silly to think that one place had a monopoly on love. Now I'm starting to believe it - though as I write this, it all seems so strange that I'm not sure anymore.
Isabelle is certainly in love with Jean; or as she would say, j'aime Jean! When I'm her, I'm sure he's my fairytale soulmate; or one of them, at least. Right now, though, the Eliza who's writing this isn't at all convinced. And somewhere in the corner of my mind little Betty is wrinkling her nose at this grown-up foolishness!
Reading that paragraph again, I can see why some people might think me a bit strange. You don't, though, Paul, do you? You've always understood, from the first time we met. Perhaps if I had a name that I couldn't change so much, so that I had to be one person all the time, I'd be certain how I feel about Jean. As it is, I'm terribly confused. I wish you or Auntie Lavendar was here to help sort me out. I suppose I'll have to puzzle it out myself.
Do write soon. Your letters aren't as good as having you here, but they're better than nothing. That's the one thing I don't like about living in Europe, everyone being so far away. Wouldn't it be wonderful if I could just make a magic wish and you appeared here? You must come to Paris some time, so I can show you everything about it I love. I know you visited it when you were studying in Europe, but places are different depending on who you see them with, aren't they?
Your last poem was beautiful. I wish I had the time to discuss it, but I'll never finish this letter in time, for I could go on for pages! You'll just have to wait for the next post.

Love,
Eliza

Paul's blue eyes were troubled as he folded the letter away. It was absurd how much he could dislike a man he had never even met. It wasn't that he cared for Elizabeth that way, as he explained to Mother Lavendar so patiently. He simply didn't like the impression he got of him from her letters.

"Letters for you, Irving!" A voice rang across the barracks.
A head of close cropped chestnut rose from its pillow.
"Thanks, Ford. Anything for you?"
Kenneth Ford nodded, holding up two envelopes.
"One from my parents, and another from my sister." He grinned. "I felt quite important until I saw you had three!"
Paul examined his.
"My parents, Elizabeth... and Mrs Blythe. I wonder why she's written to me?"
Kenneth looked up.
"Tell me if she says anything about her children, would you?" The tone was carefree, but Paul could see the hope in his eyes. He knew it was Rilla he truly hoped for news of.
The two had liked each other at first sight. The realisation that they both knew Dr. Blythe's family had helped to make them firm friends, sharing their fears and hopes for the future, even when it seemed there might never be a future as the war dragged on.
The pair fell into silence, reading with anxious, loving eyes the words of their dear ones at home.
Mr and Mrs Irving gave Paul forewarning of Elizabeth's sorrow. Or was it Isabelle's? And it was Lizzie who signed the letter... No matter, really. In each name, she was his friend, and he shared her grief. Jean - her dear, brave Jean, who she had been forced to leave behind when her father decided Europe was no longer safe and they returned to Boston - had been killed in action. Paul bowed his head, grieving for yet another death in this terrible war.
His beautiful teacher's letter touched his heart in a very different way. She had sent him one of Walter's poems. "The Piper"... Paul had been trying to find a poem that could hold the horror and grief of the war, without success. Now he understood. There could only be one as perfect as this, and he could not have written it, only Walter could.
Wordlessly, he handed it to Kenneth, then looked away to hide his expression as the words ran through his head, piercing his heart.

For a few days, Paul would write no poetry. The Piper's music still played in his ears, and he could think of nothing else. Slowly, however, the need to write returned, but changed. He would write little more of the war itself, preferring instead to write with nostalgia of the world before it, now changed for ever; or with hope of the one that they fought for, that must come with peace.
A strange poem, different to all he had written before, was beginning to shape itself. A fairy fantasy, of an elven princess "with a thousand different tempers, and a name for every one". A golden haired child with beautiful eyes, who was found by a battle weary knight. The knight loved her, but could not find the name with which she would love him.
He wrote like a man possessed, unable to stop. Then, suddenly, he realised he did not know the ending! Perplexed, he read it through, and found himself laughing aloud at how clear the meaning , he put the papers away. As long as the war lasted, the knight could not find the fairy princess.

******
Eliza moved anxiously about the house, unable to sit down anywhere. Her father watched her in perplexity. The soldiers were coming home today, true, and young Irving was with them. Still, he could not see the cause for the agitation. But no matter how often he called "Eliza! Settle down", she would not.
Suddenly, a sharp knock on the door. The girl flew to answer it, leaving her father sitting in bemusement and shaking his head.
Paul stood on the doorway. Dressed in a uniform, with new lines on his face and new depths in his eyes, but still Paul.
"I read your poem" Eliza whispered.
No need to ask which. As soon as he knew he was coming home, Paul had mailed his still incomplete fairy tale to her.
"How should it end? What name must the knight call the princess?" he asked, half dreading the answer.
Hazel gold eyes met blue, and Paul's heart leaped at the expression in them. They held the look of one who heard elven music. She held out her hands to him.
"My name is Elizabeth."
The fairy story's end was 'Happily ever after'.