Gaining strength and courage from his momentary haven in the sanctuary,
he realized that he could no longer prolong the inevitable, and started
again his journey home, feeling much like Odysseus finally returning from
Troy after a long journey. The old cross-lots road through Rainbow Valley
was worn from frequent footfalls, and the evening sun poked its way through
treetops giving a sort of Heavenly Highlight to his leaf- covered pathway
home. Heaven and Earth seemed to be pointing him in the direction of home.
Yet, as he made his way through the maple grove, he stopped. There was a
celebration taking place at Ingleside, and guests were crawling about the
lawn like an army of ants.
This wasn't how he wanted it to happen. This wasn't how it needed to happen. It would be enough of a shock, if not some sort of scandal without the multitudes being present. He must hide himself and wait until the people were gone. Quietly, without being noticed, or so he thought, he slipped into the barn and found the hay-mow he had slept in all those years ago when little Rilla had been born; there he would wait until the time was right.
Anne was experiencing one of the happiest evenings she had had in years. Everywhere she turned, loved ones surrounded her. There was Jem and Faith with their children Walter and John and baby number three on the way. As already mentioned, Rilla and Kenneth were there with their two young ones. Nan and Jerry had their little vibrant Cecilia close at their feet. Diana and Jack were there with Jack's parents, Anne's oldest friends, the first Diana Wright and Fred. Diana and Anne would soon be sharing a grandchild, and neither could have been happier. Then there was also shy Shirley with his new bride, Rebecca, the youngest child of Anne's college chum, Phillippa.
Anne took in a deep breath and counted her blessings, and caught a glimpse of precocious young Walter, stealing off to the barn, no doubt in search of some sort of adventure. Something in her wanted to know what it her eldest grandchild had found that so enchanted him. Young Walter and Grandmother Anne were kindred spirits from his birth. He was the very image of his father; body and soul. More often than not, Anne felt that he should have been named for his father, and John for Walter, if names held any indication to character. Being chums with all of her grandchildren allowed for the child that never grew up inside of Anne to visit the outside world for a while.
Anne excused herself from a conversation with Miss Cornelia and Leslie Ford to follow Walter into the barn. She wasn't as spry as she once was, so he was inside the barn long before her. She looked around and couldn't find him anywhere. Yet this wasn't a problem because it allowed her to play a favorite game with Walter.
He was tired from his journey and started to nod off the moment he retired in the hay. However, he soon heard a voice calling out to him. A voice long missed, full of love and warmth.
"Walter! Walter Blythe, where are you?" Anne called through the barn. There was no answer. She turned around and called again, "Walter Blythe, where are you? Please come out!"
He could resist coming to her call. She had been denied too much already. He stepped from the hay mow and was right behind her when he answered, "Here I am mother! Home at last!"
She heard his unique, velvety soft voice, but didn't believe it, couldn't allow herself to believe it. She slowly turned around to see that it was true, yet her mind couldn't handle it. Her eyes filled with shock as she slowly slumped into her son's arms.
Just then, a little boy with red hair popped out from behind some tools. "Here I am, Grandmother!"
Walter looked to the little boy while holding his mother and demanded, "Get help, now! Hurry! Run, Walter, Run!"
This wasn't how he wanted it to happen. This wasn't how it needed to happen. It would be enough of a shock, if not some sort of scandal without the multitudes being present. He must hide himself and wait until the people were gone. Quietly, without being noticed, or so he thought, he slipped into the barn and found the hay-mow he had slept in all those years ago when little Rilla had been born; there he would wait until the time was right.
Anne was experiencing one of the happiest evenings she had had in years. Everywhere she turned, loved ones surrounded her. There was Jem and Faith with their children Walter and John and baby number three on the way. As already mentioned, Rilla and Kenneth were there with their two young ones. Nan and Jerry had their little vibrant Cecilia close at their feet. Diana and Jack were there with Jack's parents, Anne's oldest friends, the first Diana Wright and Fred. Diana and Anne would soon be sharing a grandchild, and neither could have been happier. Then there was also shy Shirley with his new bride, Rebecca, the youngest child of Anne's college chum, Phillippa.
Anne took in a deep breath and counted her blessings, and caught a glimpse of precocious young Walter, stealing off to the barn, no doubt in search of some sort of adventure. Something in her wanted to know what it her eldest grandchild had found that so enchanted him. Young Walter and Grandmother Anne were kindred spirits from his birth. He was the very image of his father; body and soul. More often than not, Anne felt that he should have been named for his father, and John for Walter, if names held any indication to character. Being chums with all of her grandchildren allowed for the child that never grew up inside of Anne to visit the outside world for a while.
Anne excused herself from a conversation with Miss Cornelia and Leslie Ford to follow Walter into the barn. She wasn't as spry as she once was, so he was inside the barn long before her. She looked around and couldn't find him anywhere. Yet this wasn't a problem because it allowed her to play a favorite game with Walter.
He was tired from his journey and started to nod off the moment he retired in the hay. However, he soon heard a voice calling out to him. A voice long missed, full of love and warmth.
"Walter! Walter Blythe, where are you?" Anne called through the barn. There was no answer. She turned around and called again, "Walter Blythe, where are you? Please come out!"
He could resist coming to her call. She had been denied too much already. He stepped from the hay mow and was right behind her when he answered, "Here I am mother! Home at last!"
She heard his unique, velvety soft voice, but didn't believe it, couldn't allow herself to believe it. She slowly turned around to see that it was true, yet her mind couldn't handle it. Her eyes filled with shock as she slowly slumped into her son's arms.
Just then, a little boy with red hair popped out from behind some tools. "Here I am, Grandmother!"
Walter looked to the little boy while holding his mother and demanded, "Get help, now! Hurry! Run, Walter, Run!"