"I do love getting ready for a wedding," said Rilla Blythe, pensively, one late summer afternoon. It was the kind of purply-gold PEI evening, with the last remnants of the sun shining down on the red roads, picking up a fairy glint here and there, that made Rilla clasp her hands and thank God for letting her have been born in such a lovely place.

"A wedding," she said solemnly to Susan Baker, who had washed and soothed and rocked Rilla to sleep when she was the roly poly young baby of Ingleside, and could hardly believe that she was now a tall, slim, woman of nineteen, "Is like a lovely package, all wrapped up in string. It hurts not to open it – you want to desperately – but oh, all the splendid things you can imagine are inside. I hate," Rilla's tone was especially strong, "When a wedding is over. It's like Christmas day when all the packages have been unwrapped and the dinner eaten – and there's only cleaning up to, and a whole year to wait until the next one."

"I do not think," said Susan, stabbing a needle through her sewing, "That we will have to wait very long between weddings, Rilla, dear. Did not you just dance at Miss Oliver's – Mrs. Grant's – last month? And is not Mary Vance's tomorrow?"

Rilla gave a delighted and delightful little laugh that made her throw her head back in mirth. "Mary Vance – married! It seems so strange."

Susan nodded sagely. She knew what Rilla meant.

"Cornelia is none too pleased with Miller Douglas – even with him a war-hero – though I would think, Rilla dear, that she would be pleased to make a match of her at all, considering."

"Oh, Susan," Rilla's laughing eyes turned doleful. "You mustn't say anything against Mary. I know I haven't always liked her so well myself – but she is quite capable, and has always been a good friend. I only meant it strange because Mary is a chum. Miss Oliver – Mrs. Grant – is so much older and so very much in love that it didn't seem at all odd to think of her getting married. But Mary – Mary is one of us. And tomorrow she will be someone's wife!"

Susan had never had too high an opinion of Mary Vance. She wisely said no more against her, but did not let the topic of weddings die all together. "Jem and Faith plan to make a match of it any time now, and Nan and Jerry will follow soon after. And," Susan's "and" was very arch, "And I expect that I will be weeping at your own wedding very soon."

Rilla stood rather abruptly.

"I don't like crying at weddings," she said nonchalantly. "Even happy tears. There is no place for tears at a wedding. I don't approve of them."

Rilla laid down her own sewing – Susan noticed that the stitches in it were just as fine and even in her own. She looked up fondly at her 'baby,' but Rilla had already run lightly down the steps and toward Rainbow Valley.

Susan shook her head to herself, and carried on. One of the things she had learned in her old age was that it was still pleasant to say things, even if there was no one around to say them to. Once she would have thought it very odd, but she did not mind, now. Wasn't it an ever-changing world?

"Poor lamb. She's probably nervous – and not a whit jealous. There is no doubt that it would be a trial to see Mary Vance married off first, with Rilla being quality and no one knowing anything at all about that Mary. Still, Rilla has handled it rather well, and is not jealous a bit. There is the last napkin done for the wedding feast tomorrow, and Mrs. Dr, dear will soon be home from setting the flowers in the church. No, Rilla is not a jealous girl – but I don't wonder that she wants to brood."

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Susan was right – Rilla did go to Rainbow Valley to brood. And she was not jealous. She was feeling low, which was out of character for her. There had once been a time when Rilla felt that she would never be happy again, but those days were beginning to be past – though there was an occasional pang of grief when she looked at the picture of her black-haired brother on the piano. At times there was a sudden realization when she least expected it, and it was like Walter had died all over again.

But tonight she was hardly thinking of Walter – not more than usual, anyway. There was always the chance that Kenneth would come by after work and meet her by the gate and they would go on a tryst and say dear, sweet things to one another that no one else would hear. Rilla longed for those trysts. Each night she ran down to Rainbow Valley each night hoping to see him, her face awash with expectant delight. Each night she – hoped – that Kenneth would ask her a darling little question -- but he hadn't. Rilla sighed.

Of course he had stayed at the House of Dreams this autumn, even when his family when back to Toronto, and he had taken an apprenticeship at the Glen Notes to be near her. Rilla did not doubt that Kenneth loved her. Didn't he say as much when they were walking, hand in hand, and he leaned his mouth to her ear and whispered it? But the fact remained that Ken Ford had not asked Rilla Blythe to be his wife.

"And I am beginning to doubt he will," said Rilla darkly. "What could be taking him so long about it?"

It was hard to be around Nan, now, with her always flipping through bridal magazines and planning her trousseau. If Jerry got the church in Lowbridge next spring, as he was expected to, they would have a winter wedding. "Don't sulk, Rilla," had laughed Nan, confident as ever. "I am the oldest sister, and I get to go first! But your time will come, kidlet – it will!"

Rilla felt at that moment like it wouldn't.

And Faith looked so lovely ever since she had become 'formally' engaged to Jem. There was no question that they would do it anytime soon – Jem still had a year, at least, of medical school! But Faith went around with a light in her eyes and a serene, womanly air that Rilla craved. She wore her little pearl in a circlet of gold like a queen.

She had thought, Rilla had, when she was young and silly and sixteen, that she and Kenneth were engaged – when he had asked her to save her lips for him until he got back from the war. Mother had thought so, too! And when Kenneth asked her that little, low question – 'Is it Rilla-my-Rilla?' – when he'd gotten home, she'd thought it was definite, then! But still there was no circlet of pearls of her own, and no plans. People all over town were asking Rilla when she would make a match of it! And she had nothing to tell them, because Kenneth hadn't spoken!

"I don't like weddings!" Rilla cried suddenly to herself. "In fact, I hate them!"

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Kenneth, and Rilla jumped. He did have the habit of taking people by surprise – he was so long and lean and he walked almost silently, like an Indian. He also had a habit of looking at Rilla by new moonlight – he often looked at her for a long while, gloatingly, before joining her on one of their twilight trysts. He had been watching her long enough that nightto see her brow furrow and wonder why.

"I'm sorry to hear you don't like weddings," said Kenneth.

"Really? Why?"

"Because you've got to come with me to one tomorrow, goose! I'm standing up for Miller, you know, and I must have you there to dance with me. I don't dance half so well with anyone else – and I've the feeling that no one else would feel as light in my arms."

"Oh," said Rilla, shoulders drooping.

Kenneth supposed she was thinking of Walter – she often admitted to thinking of him when in Rainbow Valley. Ken couldn't really help but think of him, either. His very ghost seemed to haunt the place, in a friendly, loving way. The bells he had hung from the tops of the Tree Lovers carried high and eerie on the breeze. Kenneth hated to see Rilla's eyes grow worried and her lovely, dented lip droop like a wilted flower. He would try his best to cheer her up.

Rilla could not laugh at his jokes or stories about work. About the typesetter at the Notes who had added bungled a headline to read, LOCAL FAMILY SAILS HOUSE. "Sails it where?" Norman Douglas had boomed. Or the very old woman who had come in to ask them to write an obituary for her pet cat! During the lunch-hour, Rita Crawford, whose father owned the paper, had tried to show Ken some new dance steps for Mary's wedding party and Ken had bungled them terribly. In face, he had upset a whole tray of type and they had spent the rest of the afternoon sorting the letters back into their slots.

Rilla smiled at that, almost despite herself. The idea of Ken, so full of quiet grace and so capable, bungling anything!

"I don't know what I'll do after this year," said Ken. "My apprenticeship is over in July – perhaps I can get them to take me on another. But when it's over – when it's over, Rilla…"

"Yes?" said Rilla hopefully.

"When it's over – well, I'll have to find another place to take me on – at a salaried position, no less."

Rilla let out a bated breath.

Ken talked on, and Rilla studied his face by the light of the rising moon. How she loved him! How handsome he was! She had long ago memorized the curve of his jaw, and was tracing it now, as he spoke, and then reacquainted herself with the way his eyelashes curled. Such, dear, curly little eyelashes! Wouldn't he ever ask her?

She was so intent that she did not notice Kenneth had stopped talking, and was looking at her.

"Rilla," he said, in a low voice. "There is something I want to ask you. Something important."

Rilla breathed.

"Rilla, will you – will you – "

"Yes, oh yes?" Rilla was almost wriggling with joy. He would ask her! He was about to! And oh, it was the perfect night, with the wind murmuring in the tree tops and the fairy bells like elfin music on high – !

"Will you tie my bowtie for me tomorrow?" asked Ken with a rueful smile. "I always bungle it – and I won't let Persis know I can't manage it. I'm the best man, you know – I've got to look my best."

"I will," said Rilla, dully.

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A/N: I know I'm not done with The Harbour Light, but I've hit a wall on that one and couldn't resist starting this one while I wait for inspiration on the other. Please review! I want to thank adriennelane, too, for her encouragement.