When Cecilia opened her eyes it was dawn again. Her cheeks felt stiff and sticky from dried tears. She must have cried herself to sleep.
"Good morning, sleepyhead!" Miss Branston seemed to be in a better mood today. Cecilia saw something in her eyes that let her know Miss Branston had seen her crying. "Poor dear," Miss Branston said. It wasn't like her to be so nice. Cecilia flushed hot with embarrassment.
"I'm going to go freshen up," she said stiffly.
Miss Branston nodded. "I'll have breakfast waiting when you get back."
In the train lavatory, Cecilia washed her face and straightened her hair with the comb in her pocket.
Then she stepped back and surveyed her handiwork.
She'd never thought she was pretty. Her hair was straight and black. It had been banged since she could remember and a thick fringe fell in a straight, stark line across her high, white forehead. Either her face was too small or her eyes too big. Her mouth was a small Valentine—that was nice. But her chin was too pointed, and her eyes an odd, striking blue-black. On Cecilia's best days, people said she was pretty, in an elfin sort of way. But after a night on the train there were dark circles under her eyes, and her mouth turned down in a tired slant. Cecilia thought of her handsome cousins and shrank under her own gaze.
"I hope they won't think I'm ugly," she lamented. "I want them to be my friends—I want them to be proud of me—I want them to like me!"
Before going back to her seat Cecilia searched her pockets again for the money Father had given her. She shook her coat and skirt, but nothing fell out. "Oh, well," she said tiredly. "I would have liked a soda, but it's not meant to be, I suppose."
When she got back to her seat, breakfast had been delivered. Hot, steaming plates of flapjacks and Eggs Benedict. And sitting smack in the center of the tray was a soda, with a scoop of ice cream, no less. Cecilia looked up at Miss Branston, who was eating meticulously and pretended not to notice.
For the first time a pang of excitement—a small pang, but a pang nonetheless—sprang up in Cecilia's heart. Perhaps this journey wouldn't be so bad after all?
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Dear Father, Cecilia wrote, her eyes inky with concentration.
I am on the Island now. Uncle Bruce met us with a car at the station, and we're whizzing along those red roads I remember so well. He was late meeting us, Uncle Bruce was, and was Miss Branston mad! He'd gone out to one of the benches outdoors and gotten so engrossed in his book that he lost track of time. Miss Branston was very cold and angry to Uncle Bruce and I thought it was because he was so late. She refused a ride, and said she'd rather walk. But when I asked Uncle Bruce about it, he said,
"Penny Branston has always been the most obstinate of women."
I don't know what obstinate means, but from the way Uncle Bruce said it, it can't be complimentary.
There's an ink splotch—we're hitting bumps in the road, Father dearest. Uncle Bruce's car is a jalopy' or so he says, but since he is a student it is all he can afford.
I just had a memory, Dad—as we passed the Four Winds light. Do you remember the last time we were here—three summers ago now—as a family? You and Mother sat under a beach umbrella at the shore and Susan and I played in the surf. I expected the water to be cold, but it wasn't. I remember how Susan liked the little shells that looked like unicorn horns and I made up a story for her about tiny horses that the mermaids rode.
I suppose you'd better not show this letter to Mother, now. That last part might make her sad.
I'm excited about seeing Grandmother and Grandfather Blythe and Grandma and Grandpa Meredith and all the aunts and uncles. I hope they like me. I hope Joyce is not too mean to me. Leslie said she is stuck-up, and jealous, but very beautiful. I don't think it's worth it to be beautiful but stuck-up. I'd rather be pretty on the inside.
You will give Mother my love, won't you, even if you can't show her the letter? You can read her the good parts, any how.
Love always, your girl.
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Uncle Bruce was in a bad mood until Miss Branston's slender, stubborn form vanished around the bend in the road and he could no longer see her in the mirror. Then he cheered up.
"It's on to Ingleside now, Little Cee," he said companionably. "You're a quiet kid, aren't you? Like your dad—and Una. But I don't mind. I'm like that myself. Not nervous, are you?"
"I don't think so," said Cecilia slowly. "It's just that I have a queer fluttering—here—below my heart. Like a bird trying to get out. It feels like something will happen, but I don't know what."
Uncle Bruce nodded knowingly. "I know just what you mean. Look up ahead, Cee! See that little farmhouse?"
"Ye-e-es?" said Cecilia slowly.
"Wave to it as we pass—you were born in that house. That's Red Apple Farm."
The old jalopy slowed to a crawl so Cecilia could get a better look. She remembered it, she really did!—the slant of sunlight coming through the window onto the pine floors, her little room with a windowseat, and sitting on the wide front porch as Mother shelled beans.
"Remember?" said Uncle Bruce with a sideways glance.
"Yes," breathed Cecilia. "Uncle Bruce, who lives there now? I loved that house—I hope whoever lives there loves it, too."
"No one lives there," Uncle Bruce said. "Your dad still owns it, I think—he didn't want to sell it because he said the happiest years of his life passed in that house. Di and Jack lived there for a bit after the fire at Green Gables, but that was years and years ago and it's been empty ever since."
"Oh," said Cecilia. For some reason the thought of that house standing empty—and waiting—made her sad. "Did Mother love that house, too?"
"She loved it fiercely," said Uncle Bruce. "I remember being a wee tyke and spending days with her there—Una was like another mother to me. Never was your Mother happier than when she was in that house."
"Then maybe if she came back she would be happy again!" Cecilia cried. Uncle Bruce slanted his eyes toward her again and said, "It might take more than that. Look! See those lights? That's Ingleside."
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"Ingleside, we're here!" Uncle Bruce called, and suddenly the quiet, lighted house sprang into action. The wide porch was flooded with people—someone grabbed Cecilia and someone else grabbed her bag—she was pressed on all sides, and ushered into the house. A thousand hands, it seemed, were patting her face, and a thousand eyes, it seemed were looking at her. A steady, bright stream of voices were raised up joyfully—most of the Blythes and Meredith's were talkers.
Finally Aunt Di gave a great yell. "Stand back, you urchins!" she laughed. "Let poor Cecilia get some air. She'll be here all summer—there'll be plenty of time to talk and chat."
Cecilia looked at Aunt Di gratefully. She was jolly—she gave a quick, laughing wink in response.
Auntie Nan was in and out of the kitchen but stopped in her haste to give Cecilia a quick kiss—"I don't want my pies to burn!"
"She prides herself on her pies," said Uncle Jerry, and shook her hand.
"Hello, Cee!" Aunt Faith called, poking her head out from the kitchen.
Uncle Jack picked Cecilia up in a bear hug, and Auntie Rilla and Uncle Ken swooped in to kiss both her cheeks. Grandmother Rosemary smiled and Grandpa Meredith touched her shining black head like a benediction.
"You remember this brood, don't you, Sis?" said handsome Uncle Jem indicating the crowd of Ingleside children that had gathered behind him.. He had smile lines around his eyes when he laughed.
Cecilia surveyed the group timidly. She wanted to hide behind Aunt Di's skirts—but she wouldn't—she was a big girl of almost fourteen, not a baby!
The big boys, Gil and Walter, smiled at her, but were more engrossed in a radio programme than they were in this new arrival. They were sixteen years old—they had no use for Cecilia, who they looked at and immediately thought to be a little girl. True she was just a year younger than Joyce—but Joyce was tall and Cecilia was thin and pale and looked much younger. The littler boys, Owen and Teddy and Jack, tried to imitate their elder cousins' cool demeanor, but all three of them gave Cecilia rougish grins.
Merry gave a wave on her way to the kitchen where she was helping the aunts, and Bertha and Trudy, holding hands, whispered in each others' ears—but smiled, kindly. The two Anne Shirleys, Hannah Ford and Nancy Blythe, born on the same day, and the true babies of the family, peeked out from beneath the legs of the kitchen table curiously, their wide hazel eyes shining.
Then Cecilia's gaze came to rest on Joyce.
There was no doubt that Joyce was beautiful. Her hair was a smooth, glossy curtain—smoother than molasses candy—and her eyes were a deep, soulful gray. Her features looked as if they had been molded out of china, and her long lashes flicked as she looked Cecilia up and down. Then she laughed—but it was not a friendly laugh like the others'. Cecilia did not like Joy's laugh.
Then she spoke. "Cat got your tongue?" Joy said—and laughed again.
"Stop it, Joy," said a quiet voice, and Blythe Meredith stepped forward.
He was the handsomest boy Cecilia had ever seen. He had molasses hair, too, but his stuck up jauntily in all directions. His eyes were gray, too, but had a sympathetic glint, and his own china-fine features flashed on his sister so that she stopped giggling and looked down at her feet.
"Of course she's quiet," Blythe said, taking Cecilia's hand in his own. "She's had a long journey, haven't you, Cecilia?"
Her name sounded so nice when he said it—like music! Cecilia was glad he didn't call her Sis or Cee like the others. Blythe took her seriously—Blythe knew her—she knew in a moment that Blythe was a kindred spirit. Cecilia flushed. All of those eyes were still looking at her, pressing down on her—she felt she must say something.
"Hello," she quavered, with a starkly white face and a voice like a broken bell. And then, still holding tightly to her cousin's hand, Cecilia Blythe fainted.
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Somewhere, a bird was chirping. It sounded like the bluebirds that built their nest in the willow tree outside the bedroom window at home. Cecilia rolled over in bed—stretched—and then sat up, suddenly awake.
She wasn't at home! Oh, where was she?
It took a moment for the memory of the day before to come flooding back but it did. Cecilia cringed with embarrassment. Had she really fainted in front of all of her cousins? Oh, what a baby they must think her—what a tremendous girl! She had hoped to impress them with how brave and grown-up she was and she had done none of those things. Instead she had toppled over like a windblown tree—probably not very gracefully, either.
But that feeling soon wore off as Cecilia surveyed her surroundings.
She was in a very pretty room. The walls were papered with a creamy white blossomy print, and lawn curtains fluttered at the window. There was a washbasin and pitcher painted with rosebuds, and a gilt mirror. Cecilia looked at her reflection in that mirror and thought she looked almost pretty.
The bed she was in was covered with an apple-leaf quilt—and an identical bed against the opposite wall matched it. "I must be in the twins' old room," Cecilia murmured. "It's not my dear little room at home—but it is pretty."
There was one thing missing. Quick as a flash, she jumped out of bed and took from her bag a photo of Leslie. She tucked it in the mirror frame and blew it a kiss. "That other bed's for when you come to visit, dearest," she said airily.
From downstairs came the clatter of dishes and chatter of voices as dinner was prepared. Cecilia felt herself shrink back again.
"Oh, I can't go down there," she thought. "Not after last night."
It turned out she didn't need to. There was a soft rap on her door and a smiling voice called, "May I come in?"
"Grandmother!" Cecilia ran to the door and flung it open and in a minute was in her Grandmother Blythe's arms.
"Oh dearest!" she said as Grandmother's arms went around her. "I missed you last night—didn't I—I didn't see you in all the fuss! Oh, Grandmother, darling—are they all talking about me down there? About what—a baby—I was last night?"
Anne Blythe laughed, her eyes sparkling with light, and gathered the thin creature with the pitifully big eyes closer to her. "Yes, my Cecilia, they are talking about you—but only about how happy they are that you're here. And no one thinks you were a baby last night—just a terribly tired, overwrought girl. Oh, little one—I am glad to see you."
"I still don't want to go down until after everyone's left," said Cecilia mournfully. "They might not be embarrassed of me—but I am."
Grandmother laughed. "I'll tell you what," she said, touching Cecilia's upturned little nose. "I'll bring breakfast up for both of us, and we can chat—I want to hear all about your journey. How does that sound? Darling girl—why are you crying?"
"I miss Father." Cecilia was horrified as two more fat tears slid down her cheeks. "And—I'm so—worried about Mother."
Grandmother Blythe smiled a gentle smile and stooped to kiss the shining black head of her little granddaughter.
"Your father called at dawn—and all is well at home. Leslie's watching your kitten and she says to tell you that he's fine—but he misses you. There, that should make you feel better. Dear, what's the matter now?"
For Cecilia had burst into a fresh round of sobs.
"You're—just—so sweet, Grandmother!" Cecilia cried. "I feel bad for being upset—I am glad to be here."
"I know you are," Grandmother said. "I'll go and get our breakfast. Your grandfather is on a house call now with Uncle Jem—but later he wants to take you for a walk on the shore."
In the hallway Anne Blythe leaned against the door and listened to the still-tired cries of the girl within. Cecilia was a gentle creature and the rest of the Ingleside brood, though well-intentioned, was a fierce, rambunctious group. Anne hoped they wouldn't be too much for this little girl. She had been through enough in these past months.
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A/N: I'm back! I'm ashamed to admit that I've been a total slacker these past few months. Let's just say the inspiration fairy went on a vacation and I was having trouble writing things I was happy with. But I'm back and taking just a short hiatus for now from my Juliet story—but it is definitely not abandoned. I have so many ideas about what's going to happen with Juliet, Allan, Mona, Maggie, etc.
I still have been reading all your stories, and they are all so good! I was just afraid to comment because I didn't want you all to call me out on what a slacker I was being!
I hope you like this story, and I'm so glad to be back.
ruby aka Cathy