16th June 1919
Glen St. Mary Manse
It was late afternoon in the Glen, a deliciously warm afternoon in which the air was filled with the fragrance of late spring. Days like this had ended with evening revels in Rainbow Valley in those carefree days before the War.
Una Meredith was curled up on her bed, her journal open in her lap, but she had finished writing half an hour before and then drifted into daydreams. She could almost believe that after supper she and Faith and the boys would scamper off to Rainbow Valley to join the Blythes. Jem and Jerry would fish, Carl would chase fireflies, and she and Faith and Nan and Di would weave daisy chains while listening to Walter read from his book of myths or poetry. Walter… She sighed and closed her journal and glanced over at the clock on the table beside her bed. Four o'clock. It would soon be time to go downstairs and help Rosemary prepare supper. Supper preparations took more time now that Carl and Jerry were back home. Usually she enjoyed helping with supper, but somehow today she only felt like being alone with her thoughts, away from the chatter of her brothers and the concerned gazes of her father and stepmother. She knew they were all worried about her. They kept trying to get her to tell them what was bothering her, but of course, she couldn't. Carl was trying especially hard, and he seemed hurt that she wouldn't confide in him, her old confidante. Jerry was convinced that she was nervous about going to Redmond in the fall, and she was, but her nervousness was only a small part of her distress.
She opened her top bureau drawer and pulled out the last letter that Walter had written, the one that Rilla had so generously given her. Her heart still gave a painful bound at the sight of the upright handwriting that she knew so well. She stroked it gently and reverently and then pressed it against her heart. She had memorized every word of it, especially the last few lines. "…you two dear, fine loyal girls. Tomorrow, when we go over the top, I'll think of you both...of your laughter, Rilla-my-Rilla, and the steadfastness in Una's blue eyes...somehow I see those eyes very plainly tonight, too. Yes, you'll both keep faith...I'm sure of that...you and Una." Her eyes burned as she tried to fight back the tears that threatened to spill out of them. She couldn't cry now, or her family would know that she had been crying.
She wondered again for what seemed to be the thousandth time if Walter could have possibly cared for her as more than just a friend. Those last few lines…maybe he did feel something… But she knew she would never know for sure, and she thought it might be better that way.
She had been haunted by the thoughts of what Walter's last moments must have been like ever since she had heard the news of his death, but when the other boys started returning to the Glen, those tormenting thoughts had taken on an even greater intensity. She knew his commanding officer had written that he had died instantly, but sometimes she wondered if he had just written that to the Blythes to try to bring them what little comfort he could offer. Does anyone really die instantly? she wondered. It also hurt her horribly to know that Walter, who had loved beauty so, had died in such filth and squalor among horrible sights.
With another sigh, she placed Walter's letter back in the drawer and looked into the little mirror that hung on the wall. She tidied her hair and made sure that her eyes were not red. She pinched her cheeks, hoping to bring a little color into them. She knew she was not exactly pretty, but she wanted to do all that she could to look her best, even when she was only going down to help with supper.
Suddenly she heard someone rushing up the stairs, evidently taking them two at a time. The sound stopped at her door, and the someone knocked. "Una, may I come in?" It was Carl.
"Of course," she replied.
He opened the door and walked in. Una stared at him in surprise. His face was flushed and streaked with sweat, he was gasping for breath, and his hair and clothes were disheveled, but his good eye was sparkling with excitement.
"Carl………"
"I just came from Ingleside," he gasped out, still breathless. "I went over to see Jem and Rilla, and while I was there, some news came……"
"Not Shirley!" Una broke in, the familiar knot of dread tightening in her stomach.
"No, it's not about Shirley, and it's not bad news," he said, when he had recovered his breath. "I think you'd better sit down before I tell you, though."
"I thought you said it isn't bad news," said Una, as they both sat down on her bed.
"It isn't. It's just that it's surprising, that's all."
"Carl, please tell me now." Una was rarely impatient, but the suspense was almost more than she could bear.
"All right. While I was at Ingleside, Dr. Blythe came in with a letter from the Red Cross. He and Mrs. Blythe went into his office to read it, and when they came back into the living-room, they told us that the letter had informed them that Walter is alive and had been reported dead as the result of some terrible mistake."
For a moment, Una felt as though the room was spinning around her. Then she just felt numb. If this weren't so serious, I'd think it was just another one of Carl's jokes, she thought.
"Una?" Carl's voice cut through her confused thoughts. "Una, are you all right? I know this is quite a shock. It was for everyone. Mrs. Blythe looked ready to faint when she walked in the living-room."
"Carl, how can this be possible?" she asked, when the power of speech had returned.
"Apparently there was another Walter Blythe, who actually was killed at Courcelette, and he was confused with our Walter Blythe, who was somehow wrongly listed as having died of wounds he received at Courcelette. Walter was really sent to a hospital in Paris for treatment for a chest wound, but on the way there was some sort of accident that left him with a severe head injury. He had amnesia for a few weeks and he couldn't speak clearly or write or walk for six months following the accident. Somehow his identification had been lost, so no one at the hospital had any idea of who he was. When he could speak, he told them who he was, but since the only two Walter Blythes that they could find records for were listed as dead, they didn't believe him and thought he was confused because of his head injury. Dr. Blythe read between the lines and figured they didn't allow him to write home. Several weeks ago a man from Walter's regiment was brought into the same hospital, and he recognized Walter and together they convinced the doctors that he was who he said he was, and they got things straightened out. I'm sure Walter will give us the rest of the details when he comes home."
"And-and when is he coming home?" Una heard herself ask. Carl's explanation of what had happened to Walter sounded so incredibleshe still wasn't sure if she should quite believe it was true.
"They aren't exactly sure, but think he should be here by sometime in July. I suppose he'll want to go back to Redmond in the fall with the rest of us. This is just the best news ever, isn't it, Una? Walter was always such a swell chap."
Una didn't say anything.
"Well, if you're all right, I should go downstairs and tell the others," said Carl, standing up. "I ran straight up here to tell you first since you and I have always told each other everything, or almost everythingor at least we used to." He bent and kissed her cheek and walked out.
