Even Uncle Jem admitted, after Cecilia's wakening, that he had not expected her to get well so quickly, or to come through it all so unscathed. The broken wrist would take some time to heal, that couldn't be helped. But it troubled the girl very little, and she soon was adept at doing things one handed. They were amazed by other things. The day after she woke she was sitting up in bed, receiving visitors and laughing. All the cousins wanted to talk to her--even Bertie came up from Avonlea--and the Douglas girls and Cecilia matched them all smile for smile and laugh for laugh. She was just so happy to be alive! The only time she came close to crying was when Sid Gardiner came, with a bunch of golden chrysanthemums like little suns. He laid them on her lap and then buried his face in her shoulder and cried and cried.
On the second day Cecilia was allowed to come down and join the family for lunch, though she had to be carried in by her father, since she was still so weak. On the third day she walked downstairs by herself and helped Aunt Nan with the breakfast dishes-- all the while making sure not to get her cast wet. But on the fourth day after it all, she woke before anyone else in the house and had a great breakfast steaming on the table when they came down.
Cecilia was back to normal-- she was better than normal.
Because Mother was here!
Cecilia could barely take her eyes off of Mother's dear face for a second, lest she vanish like a puff of smoke. Grandfather Meredith did it, too-- it was a long walk from the manse to Ingleside, especially with his rheumatism, but he did it every day. Aunt Faith did it-- her eyes followed Una hungrily-- and Mary Vance spent most of her time at Ingleside, her fat, brown hand tucked possessively around Una's thin, white one.
"I suppose I'm neglecting my children terribly," Mary Vance laughed. "And my husband. But Nellie can get up a meal almost as good as I can, and what doesn't kill them will make them stronger. Say, Una, why didn't you have any boys to marry those wild girls of mine? Then we could be as good as real sisters."
"There's always Marshall," Joy laughed, overhearing. "Only he's a little young. Anyway, Cathy is in love with Gil, and Nellie is positively pining for Walt."
This time it was Walt's turn to overhear and he blushed crimson to the tips of his ears. "She does not," he mumbled. In truth, he quite preferred the dainty Catharine Douglas to the brash, hardy Nellie. He hadn't known she was in love with Gil, but he supposed that Joy must know. Girls were always telling each other their secrets. Could Gil be in love with her, too? Walt ran out, and down to Rainbow Valley. He wouldn't ask Gil about it--he would just mention her name-- and let the chips fall where they may.
Una laughed as he went. It was so good to be home!
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"How we visit to the shore this week-end?" Uncle Jerry asked at the supper table. "All of us-- since we're almost all here-- and who knows when this will happen again?"
"Oh, please, lets!" chorused the little Annes, and the young boys tried to cover their excitement with nonchalance. But it showed anyway.
It was such a happy, homey scene. Aunts Faith and Rilla were talking in low voices as they cleared the table, and they sounded so much sweeter than the dire news coming from the radio. Grandmother was pouring them all cinnamon tea-- how Cecilia loved the smell of cinnamon tea, though the taste of it burned her throat so! Cecilia sat with Father on one side and Mary Vance on the other, and both of them fussed over her so. Mother had slipped into the garden like a moth in a white dress and filmy shawl.
A visit to the shore would be so nice! Cecilia almost clapped her hands in excitement. She hadn't been since earlier in the summer-- she'd gone with Sid-- then in all the excitement over Uncle Bruce and Aunt Penny's wedding, there had been no time for it. But what was Father saying?
"That does sound like a good idea, Jerry, but we're going to be flying out Friday morning."
"Oh!" Cecilia gasped and then choked as disappointment welled up within her. She supposed she must have known that they would go home--sometime--but she hadn't expected it to be so soon. And she never would have admitted it, but now that Mother and Father were both here, a small part of her had really thought they would live here, on the Island, always!
She could not bear it. She pushed back from the table and flew out into the night.
Cecilia walked for a long time before she realized where she was headed. She looked at her feet ruefully. Besides being very muddy, they had betrayed her! She looked up at the sleeping white house in front of her. It's windows glimmered in the moonlight.
"I might as well go and see it one last time," she sighed. "Dear Red Apple Farm-- oh, the hopes I had for you!"
She sat down with a thud on the wide front porch and buried her face in her hands and wept.
Cecilia wept for so long and so hard that she did not notice someone else was sitting in the shadows on that porch, appreciating the way the apple trees danced together in the moonlight. They were slim white, pretty maidens-- but not half so pretty, Una Blythe thought, as her own girl was, even with a tearstained face and windblown hair.
"Whatever is the matter, dearest?" Mother asked, laying her hand on Cecilia's shining hair. "Are you feeling ill?"
"Oh-- Mother!" Cecilia cried. "I didn't know you were here. No--I'm quite fine--bodily, at least."
"It's your soul, then, that aches," said Mother wisely.
"Yes-- oh, I don't want to leave the Island, Mother." Cecilia dried her eyes and looked up plaintively. "Of course I want to be wherever you and Father are-- but I don't want to leave Grandmother and Grandfather and Grandpa and Grandma Rosemary and the aunts and Uncles-- and Joy-- and Trudy-- and Blythe."
"I am glad that you have grown to love the Island so much," Mother said. "One of the things that I always will regret is that Susan had such little time to get to know it."
Mother--had spoken of Susan! Nonchalantly, without crying. Her voice sounded even and happy! Cecilia looked at Mother sharply, but Mother had already moved on to other things.
"I have always loved this place," she said. "This little house is where I learned to love. When I had to leave the Island, I thought it would kill me all at once-- but instead I just started dying by inches. It does--hurt-- to come back here, but it's a good, clean sort of hurt. Not like the hurt when I'm away from it."
"Why does it hurt you, Mother?"
Mother smiled. "I don't want there to be any secrets between us, dear," she said. "Let's tell each other all of ours-- but you go first. I still have to build up the courage to tell you things I am ashamed of, now. Tell me, darling Cecilia, what has your life been like this past year? I'm ashamed of that already-- that I don't know what it's been like."
Cecilia talked of Sid-- and Blythe-- and the problems with Joy, haltingly at first, but then easily, and casually. It was so nice to confide in Mother! She told Mother of her hopes and dreams-- she would like to go to nursing school one day-- even medical school perhaps. Mother did not dash her hopes, but nodded sympathetically and helped her make her plans. She laughed when Cecilia told about the great romance between Bruce and Miss Branston.
"Dear Bruce," she said. "I can't wait to meet the woman that's captured his heart."
Finally Cecilia had exhausted herself and it was Mother's turn. She sat in silence, collecting her thoughts, and then spoke.
"I was in love when I first came to this house," she said. "But it was not with Shirley."
Cecilia's mouth dropped. "Who was it, then?"
"You never knew your Uncle Walter," said Mother, as if Cecilia had not even spoken. "He was so tall-- so fair-- so velvety fair-- we looked more like brother and sister than he and Nan or Di, or he and Rilla. Walter was in love with Faith you know, for ever so long-- so was Jem--just like Gil and young Walt are in love with Catharine Douglas now. It is funny how history repeats itself! But I hope none of you young ones will repeat my mistake.
"I never cared that he loved Faith-- I never hated Faith for it. For I couldn't have ever told him-- I was shy. So shy-- it took me longer to get over it than it has you, darling Cecilia. Well you know the rest-- Walter left-- he died-- and I still loved him. Then your Father asked me to marry him-- and I said yes. I had no idea what I was doing! For a long time I was tortured-- so tortured! Until I realized that I loved him-- loved Shirley so desperately-- and he was sick, and I almost lost him without ever telling him. Even after I realized that Shirley was the one for me-- and that what I had felt for Walter was a flush of first, young love-- I still grieved for the lost possibility."
"Kirkegaard says that the saddest thing in the world is what might have been but never was," Cecilia piped up. "I believe him."
"So do I," smiled Mother. "But after we lost Susan-- and after I almost lost you-- I have seen that there are more important things to lose than possibilities. Oh, I think this old house remembers me, Cecilia. I wish I could go in-- what would we find? A young, mother, Una-ghost? A baby ghost with soft dark curls and rosebud lips? That's you. Or maybe just the ghosts of happy memories. We've had so many here."
"We can go in, Mother!" Cecilia had to stop herself from wriggling like a puppy. "Come on! I'll show you!"
They climbed the rose trellis together like young girls and slipped inside the skylight. Then arm-in-arm they wandered through the darkened house. Mother pointed out certain spots as they went.
"Here is where you were born-- here is where I was standing when I first realized I loved Shirley. Oh, Cecilia, I was standing by this window, looking out when I first felt you kick, from inside of me! It was such a strange, wonderful feeling! Look-- Gog and Magog! I'd forgotten about them! Oh, and will I ever forget the time I had the visiting minister's wife over for tea-- at that very table-- and a mouse ran across her foot! I had no idea what to do, so I kept pouring the tea. She was shrieking and carrying on and all I could say was 'Two lumps or one?'"
They laughed together over the thought.
"Cecilia," said Mother, wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes and growing suddenly serious. "Would you like it-- if me and you and Father were to live here-- forever? In this very house? You would, I can see it."
"Yes, I would." Cecilia felt something like a dream start to grow in her chest.
"Then we will," said Mother happily.
"Oh-- Mother-- really? But--how will we convince Father?"
"It won't be hard," Mother laughed. "Shirley hates the city, though he tells himself he doesn't. He's Island through and through-- he'll never be comfortable when there's too many people around. I know he misses these red roads--and this dear white house-- as much as I do."
"Besides," an impish dimple appeared in Mother's cheek. "You're a recovering invalid and I'm crazy. Those are our trump cards."
They unlocked the front door and went out together, not bothering to lock it again behind them. They'd be back the very next day-- when the sun rose-- and they would start putting the house to rights. But for now they were very happy with the moonlit scene around them.
Mother gave a deep curtsy and faced the ring of apple trees around the house. "I'd like to introduce you to someone," she said to the trees, which looked like they were listening eagerly to her words. She put her arm around her girl. "This is my Cecilia-- Cecilia of Red Apple Farm!"
A slight wind came up off the gulf and tossed the dry leaves on the branches. And it sounded for all the world like the trees were applauding.