Sometimes, Gwen almost forgot why she was in the Glen. Yes, Aunt Ruth was confined to her bed, but really, she seemed so bright and cheerful that it was hard to remember that Uncle Bruce was concerned about her health and the baby's. She still ran the household, even from the spare bedroom. Every morning Gwen received what she mischievously called her "marching orders." Aunt Ruth administered whatever discipline or comfort and encouragement the twins needed, and everything seemed to be proceeding swimmingly.
Except—sometimes—a little frown shadowed Uncle Bruce's forehead when he finished checking on her each morning and evening, and as July gave way to August and Aunt Ruth's time to deliver grew closer, he began making noises about sending her to the hospital in Lowbridge to have the baby.
"Nonsense," Aunt Ruth said. Gwen wasn't trying to overhear, but she and Lynde were on the porch chatting over lemonade, and Aunt Ruth's window was open, and neither she nor Uncle Bruce made any attempt to lower their voices. "I've stayed here in this bed for the last several months—"
"Weeks, woman! Must you females exaggerate everything?"
"—because of your silly ideas, but I am not going to have my baby in a hospital. Being in a cold, empty place like that, with a lot of nurses bossing me to death, would be far worse for me than staying here until the baby decides to come."
"I am not just your paranoid husband, you silly woman, I'm your doctor! Don't you think I know what's best for you?"
"Don't you think that women know better than any man, even a most learned doctor, what's best for them in giving birth?"
Uncle Bruce growled incoherently, and Gwen and Lynde had to bury their faces in their arms to stifle their giggles. Aunt Ruth was a plump, placid woman, and Uncle Bruce a fierce, imposing man, but anyone could tell that she ruled the roost there at West House.
After Uncle Bruce stormed out and grumbled all the way down the hill to his office in the village, Lynde looked at Gwen with concern and guilt mingling in her face.
"Should we have laughed at that? If Dr. Bruce is so concerned, maybe Mrs. Ruth really should go to the hospital."
Gwen stretched lazily. "Nothing against Uncle Bruce, but if Aunt Ruth says she's fit to have her baby here at home, I'll back her against the finest doctor in the world."
It served her right, Gwen thought miserably a week later, for making such a blithe statement. That very night after getting into the argument with Uncle Bruce, Aunt Ruth had complained of a slight fever. She wouldn't allow Gwen to tell Uncle Bruce about it, though, and hid it remarkably well from Bruce when he checked on her. He was busy with an alarming outbreak of measles in Lowbridge, and she refused to trouble him with her little problem.
"I'll be just fine," she insisted when Gwen tried to argue with her. "It's just a little cold, and I'll only feel worse if I know your uncle is fretting over me. It'll pass in a few days, don't worry."
It didn't pass, though, and by the time Gwen was sufficiently alarmed to defy her aunt's prohibition, it was too late for Uncle Bruce to move her without endangering her health—and the baby's—even more.
"D—d stubborn woman," he growled. "Beg pardon, Gwen."
Gwen rather felt like swearing herself—though not at Aunt Ruth. She was supposed to be there to help. Why hadn't she seen that Aunt Ruth was sicker than she admitted? She should have spoken sooner. If Aunt Ruth lost the baby now, so close to its time to be born … if anything should happen to Aunt Ruth herself … well, Gwen would never forgive herself, never.
"I don't blame you, Gwennie," Uncle Bruce said gently, and the childhood nickname nearly sent Gwen into tears. "Your aunt is a determined lady, and you're not a trained nurse. There's no way you should have recognized how serious this was."
"But I was supposed to help!" Gwen tried not to wail.
He half-grinned. "And so you will. With this epidemic of measles in Lowbridge, I can't get a trained nurse to come stay for love nor money. I'm sending the twins to stay with Mother and Father, and you and I together are going to bring your aunt and the baby through this." He looked at her keenly from underneath his bushy brows. "Are you up for it?"
Gwen wasn't at all sure that she was, but under that piercing gaze she straightened her shoulders and raised her chin. "I'll do my best."
"Good girl," he said, and his tone was approving rather than patronizing. Then he sighed. "We've a long haul in front of us, Gwennie."
"Just tell me what to do," Gwen said.
And so began a long—or what seemed like a long—period of time which always remained hazy in Gwen's memory in later years. She remembered Uncle Bruce barking out incomprehensible orders, and following them to the best of her ability. She remembered crying herself to sleep most nights, and then hating herself for being so weak as to give in to tears. She remembered washing countless instruments that looked terribly frightening to her untrained eyes, but that Uncle Bruce seemed to find most comforting.
Grandfather Blythe was there most days, conferring with Uncle Bruce. He had stepped in to fill in at the main practice and yet still found time to stop by and check on Aunt Ruth. Gwen suspected he rather enjoyed coming out of retirement, though naturally he would have preferred for there to be no crisis that took Uncle Bruce out of commission.
And along with everything else he was doing, Grandfather always made sure to pat Gwen's shoulder and whisper encouraging words to her. Some days she didn't think she would make it through were it not for Grandfather's belief in her. He had always had faith in her abilities—he had been the first to cheer her on with her running, and had always made her feel that he would encourage her in whatever path she chose for her life. Gwen was deeply thankful for his presence during this trial.
Hayden and Ava were invaluable, too, showing the true worth of their friendship. Hayden ran any and every errand Gwen and Uncle Bruce asked of him, no matter how far it took him or how onerous it was. Ava stopped by every day with food and coffee from the café, and she forced Uncle Bruce to eat, which was more than Gwen could do.
"You won't be any use to Mrs. Ruth if you fall ill yourself from lack of food," she said practically, and hovered over him until he reluctantly ate his meals.
Of Tryg, Gwen saw nothing, which surprised her a little. She thought that he would have stopped by at least to see how they were doing. She tried to reassure herself that maybe he just hadn't heard, but knowing how quickly information spread in that community, she couldn't quite make herself believe that.
Oliver did come, once. He came into the kitchen where Gwen was sterilizing yet more of Uncle Bruce's instruments.
"Gwen, I'm so sorry. What can I do to help?"
"I don't know," Gwen said distractedly. "You'll have to ask Uncle Bruce. He's in charge and knows what should be done. I just take orders from him."
Oliver moved to stand right in front of her, so she had to focus on him. She blinked. Had he grown taller? Certainly he suddenly seemed much older than he had at the start of the summer.
"Gwen," he said, taking her hand. "I know the doctors are doing everything they can for Mrs. Ruth. Right now I'm more concerned about you. You aren't a nurse, aren't in the medical profession at all. You came out here this summer to be a housekeeper. I think you are wonderful for jumping in like this and helping your uncle, but I'm worried that you aren't going to be able to handle it. What can I do to help you?"
Gwen flushed and yanked her hand away. How dare he imply that she was weak, that she couldn't stand up to the pressure of helping Uncle Bruce? What did he mean by "jumping in," as though she hadn't put any thought into this matter at all? She had thought about what was involved, and she had decided that her aunt's life—and the life of the baby inside of her—was more important than any of her fears or perceived inabilities.
And what gave Oliver the right to be worried about her, anyway?
"I'm fine," she said through gritted teeth, the slow-burning Blake anger kindling within her. "This isn't about me at all, Oliver. It's about my aunt, and the baby, and doing whatever is necessary to keep them alive. I'm sorry you don't think I'm good enough to help with that, but I'm doing the best I can, and if all you're going to do is stand there and make feeble remarks, you might as well go home!"
And with that, she none-too-gently shoved him toward the door, and smiled with more than her usual graciousness at Hayden, coming in just then.
"Hullo, Gwen," he said, nodding casually at Oliver, who glared at his unconscious back as he passed. "Any errands for me today?"
"I'm sure Uncle Bruce will have plenty," Gwen said, slamming the screen door shut behind Oliver. "If you'd like to sit down, I'll tell him you're here."
"No hurry," Hayden said, doing as he was bid. "My time is yours."
Hayden Wentworth might be an irresponsible flirt, and Oliver Grant might be the most dependable young man in the Glen, but at that moment Gwen thought she would take a hundred Haydens over Oliver.
Chloe could have him, and welcome.
Later that evening, as she was collapsing into her bed, Gwen thought hazily that she might have been a bit unfair to Oliver. He probably hadn't meant for his words to come out the way she took them—he was probably trying to be sweet and caring. Unfortunately, it seemed that everything he did or said this summer just rubbed her the wrong way.
"Maybe I should apologize," she murmured sleepily, before deciding not to. He seemed to be taking everything she said or did the wrong way, too—only in the opposite direction, assuming any kind word or action meant that she was falling in love with him. An apology just might encourage his romantic endeavours even more.
Better just to let things be.
Besides, she was still a little annoyed at his implication that she was unfit to help her uncle.
And on that thought, Gwen fell sound asleep, without wasting one more thought on Oliver, Hayden, Tryg, or any boy at all.
The very next day, Aunt Ruth's fever finally broke. Uncle Bruce wept when she opened her eyes and scolded him for hovering over her bed. Seeing those tears from her big, strong uncle, Gwen no longer felt quite so bad about her tears at night. Maybe tears didn't always mean weakness, after all.
Winnie and Ruthie wanted to come home immediately, but Uncle Bruce insisted that they stay with their grandparents a while longer. Aunt Ruth was still too weak to safely have the baby, and Uncle Bruce wanted the house to be absolutely quiet and calm while she regained her strength.
"We can be calm!" Winnie cried, and looked sulky when everyone, even Ruthie, laughed at her.
"I'm glad they are staying with Grandmother Meredith," Gwen confessed to Ava later, when Ava stopped by with her daily provisions. "I don't think they have any idea how close they came to losing their mother, and if they see her as white and weak as she is, I think they'll just get scared unnecessarily. Besides, I have enough on my hands with helping Uncle Bruce; I don't think I could manage two youngsters as well."
"You've done marvellously well," Ava said, splitting open a scone and buttering it before handing it across the table to Gwen. "I so admire the way you stepped up and just did what was needed, without any fuss or bother about it."
"It didn't feel that way," Gwen said, biting into the soft scone. "I felt like I was floundering for air all the time!"
"But you kept on, just the same." Ava slowly and deliberately chose a scone for herself. "I think that's courage—or maturity—or character, whatever you want to call it. Feeling afraid or helpless, but acting anyway, just because you have to." She looked grim. "I wish Hay could learn some of that."
"Hay was wonderful through this—as were you," Gwen protested. She polished off her scone and reached for another. Now that the crisis was past, she was ravenous all the time.
"Oh yes, he makes himself useful, but he has no gumption of his own. The property falls to him, you know, and I'm so afraid of what will happen to it once he inherits. It has been in our family ever since Napoleon was defeated—our ancestor distinguished himself in the war and was given a knighthood and land. Father managed to hang onto it after the last war, when so many of the upper classes had to sell off parts of their property, and if Hay goes and loses it on us—or worse, sells to some rich American—I shall never forgive him!"
Gwen tried to imagine if, say, Jack tried to sell Ingleside, or Jeremy lost Mount Holly. She would be sad, she knew, but could never feel so passionate about a house and land as Ava clearly did. She didn't quite know what to say.
"Father has told me that it's up to me to keep Hay from doing anything rash, but you've seen him, he never listens to me."
Ava had never been quite so open before. Gwen reached across the table and squeezed her friend's hand. "He listens to you, Ave. I know he respects your opinion, and he wouldn't do anything you disapproved of."
"I told him not to flirt with you, and he completely ignored that," Ava said. "I told him he was going to damage your reputation, even if he didn't break your heart, and he just laughed and told me I worried too much."
"Don't worry," Gwen said, her mouth twisting wryly. "I haven't any reputation to damage, here in the Glen." How Chloe's careless lies about her had spread! Even people who had forgotten what the original claims were against her still suspected that Gwen Blake was … well … not quite a lady.
"And my heart is in no danger of being broken. Hay and I understand each other."
Ava sighed again. "I do so wish you were of our class. I would love to have you for a sister."
"I wouldn't do at all for Hay," Gwen said positively. "I could never take him seriously, nor him me. He needs to marry someone … well, someone more like you, who could help him take life with more than just a twinkle in his eye and charm."
Ava couldn't help but laugh. "Yes, that sums him up very well!"
"What about you?" Gwen couldn't help but ask. "What sort of a man do you want to marry?"
"Not someone like Hay, that's certain," Ava said quickly. "I don't want to have to be a mother to my husband. I want someone who is strong, but who isn't afraid of a strong-minded wife, either. Someone like the stories I've heard of Sir Frederick, the sea captain who was knighted. Lady Wentworth, Anne, had a mind and spirit, very unusual in their era, and he respected her and loved her deeply. That's the sort of marriage I want." She laughed. "Not too much to ask for, is it?"
Gwen responded to the cynicism in her voice rather than the words themselves. "I hope you find him, someday."
"What about you?" Ava asked, neatly turning the conversation from herself. "What sort of a man are you looking for?"
"Oh, I don't know. Someone who doesn't mind my clumsiness or social awkwardness. Someone who appreciates me for me, who isn't always trying to protect me or make me feel inferior. Someone who makes me laugh, but also can be serious." She sighed. "You're right, I think we want the impossible."
"Well, if our perfect men never show themselves, we will just have to live together in a small cottage near the hall, keeping an eye on Hay and the flibbertigibbet he's likely to marry."
"Deal," Gwen said with a laugh. It certainly sounded more appealing than marrying someone like Oliver, always patronizing and suffocating her!
Even being an old maid wouldn't be so bad if she could share it with someone like Ava.
"Besides," she said, following her own train of thought. "I want to have plenty of adventures before I settle down and marry, anyway."
"Yes!" Ava said, her eyes lighting up. "Travel the world!"
"See life!"
"Visit Africa!"
"Write books and become famous!"
"Climb a mountain!"
"Perhaps we simply aren't the marrying type."
"Well then, first we'll explore the world together, and when we're bored with that, we can settled down in that cottage."
"Now that sounds perfect."
The two friends clinked their teacups together to seal the bargain.
"What is the world coming to," Uncle Bruce said mournfully, "When two beautiful women decide they would rather have adventures than get married? What can the men be thinking to let you two slip through their fingers?"
Gwen laughed, happy to see her uncle teasing again. Ava, however, bristled just a little.
"What, you think the only thing women are good for is running a house and having babies?"
Uncle Bruce held up his hands. "Never! Not when Gwen here has pulled her weight better than any seventeen-year-old boy could have done, these last couple of weeks. In my experience, strength of mind and spirit comes in all shapes and sizes. It cannot be restricted to men, or to women, for that matter."
Ava inclined her head. "Sorry. I get a little testy, sometimes. Father often tells me he wishes I could inherit, and it is so very frustrating that the hall must pass to the eldest son, regardless of whether he would be the best caretaker or not."
"Primogeniture is an ugly law," Uncle Bruce agreed gravely.
"How is Mrs. Ruth?" Ava asked, changing the subject again.
"Better every day," Uncle Bruce said, brightening at once. "If we can keep this up for another week, little Meredith can make his appearance any time after that without danger."
Gwen groaned. "Don't say that, Uncle Bruce! Don't tempt fate!"
"We've beaten fate once already, Gwen, I think we can dare to face it again."
"You say that now …" Gwen said darkly. As Uncle Bruce left the kitchen to take his scones and tea into Aunt Ruth's room, Gwen looked helplessly at her friend.
"The baby is going to come tonight, now. I can feel it in my bones."
Ava's eyes crinkled as she laughed. "Then should I stay the night, just in case?"
"Yes," Gwen said emphatically. "We are going to need all the help we can get."
"I'll run back to the village and let Uncle know," Ava said. "And collect my things. Don't worry, Gwen! I shan't let you face this alone."
Lynde would have told her not to be superstitious. Fanny would have moaned and wrung her hands. At the moment, Gwen could think of no one besides Ava she would rather have by her side when Uncle Bruce challenged fate.
Except, perhaps, Phil or Jeremy. But even then, when it came to childbirth, another woman would probably be better.
Uncle Bruce could be as democratic as he wanted, but Gwen couldn't think of very many boys who could handle childbirth the way another girl could. Although Jeremy came closer than any other boy she could imagine!