After that first visit to Echo Lodge, Shirley ended up spending much of his free time there. All the peace and rest he'd been craving seemed to center on the little stone house and its occupants. He liked to sit in the living room and discuss politics and world affairs with Paul; he liked to sneak into the kitchen and when Mrs. Irving was baking and steal tastes until she chased him out with a towel; he liked to help Miss Lavender prepare the garden for winter; and best of all he liked taking long walks with Cecily through the flaming autumn woods. They would go for long tamps and come back with enormous appetites and glowing eyes and rosy cheeks that caused her parents to smile and nod at each other in satisfaction. Sometimes on those walks they would talk about everything under the sun: 'Of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings.' For all her sweetness and reserve, once one got to know her Cecily had a keen grasp of many subjects and could discourse most eloquently on them, be it politics, the way the world was coming back together after the war, theology, literature, or even just nature. Shirley let her do most of the talking, just interjecting or word here or there to support or challenge her ideas. Many times she would quote poetry for them—sometimes her father's, sometimes from older poets. And quite often they would just walk in silence, enjoying the woods and each other.
And so golden October slipped by into grey November. Shirley's students prospered and thrived under his capable teaching. After school he would assist Mary and Robert with their schoolwork or help Uncle Davy prepare Green Gables for winter. Amid everything else, he found time at least twice a week to slip away to Echo Lodge. Mrs. Irving didn't want Cecily outside as much now that the weather was growing so much colder, but they would sit in the cozy living room by the fire and play cribbage, or Shirley would read aloud while Cecily sewed, or Cecily would read aloud while Shirley just sat and watched her.
One mild afternoon, when they were taking a walk around the bare garden, Shirley found himself telling Cecily about Walter. He hadn't been able to talk about him to anybody before, but something in the liquid sympathy of Cecily's eyes broke through his reserve.
"We weren't close—Di was his closest confidant, and after her Rilla, and Jem was his best friend—but I admired him so much," he admitted, strolling along with his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes fixed on the black treetops outlined against the stark sky. "He was the family genius—we were all so proud of him. I knew I could never do great things. I was the quiet one of the family, but I was content to live in Walter and Jem's shadows. At Queens, especially, everyone knew me as 'clever Walter Blythe's brother.' I always held my head up a little higher when people would praise Walter's talents. And it wasn't just that he was brilliant. He was so kind and gentle. Everyone loved him dearly, and admired him. When word came that he'd been killed, I thought there was some mistake—not Walter. It didn't—it still doesn't, in some ways—seem possible that all his potential and promise could have been cut down by that German bullet." He fell silent and shuddered, remembering those bleak days all alone at Queens, struggling to accept that his brother was dead, and yet still having to carry on.
Cecily placed a gentle hand on his arm. "We read 'The Piper,' of course, and Father said it was the best poem he'd ever seen—far better than anything he could ever write. He said it embodied the heart and soul of the cause like nothing else had. I think…I think that that part of your brother, his spirit, is still alive. His body may have been killed, but the essence of who he was lives on—and will forever."
Shirley let out a deep breath. It was true. Life was too strong in Walter to have ended completely at Courcelette. His soul was still alive, still immortal, and would be so long as those he left behind 'kept faith.' He smiled down at Cecily and drew her hand through his arm. "You're a comforting little woman, Cecily."
She smiled and sighed a little, and made no reply.
Early in December, Shirley received a batch of letters from home. one was from Susan, telling him all the Glen happenings and describing the baking and knitting she had been doing lately. An easy smile lit his brown eyes as he folded the letter and put it away after reading. Susan wasn't the best letter-writer, but just reading what she wrote seemed to put him back in the Ingleside kitchen.
Rilla's letter was light-hearted and gossipy, full of details of wedding plans and the mock competition that had built up between her and Jem over who was going to get married first. Shirley chuckled as he thought of suggesting they have a double wedding. He wasn't sure who would be more indignant, Rilla and Jem or Susan!
Mother had just sent a brief note, but the contents of it sent a thrill through Shirley. He had told her, casually of course, about meeting the Irvings and visiting there occasionally. Now she wrote and asked him to invite them all to come to Glen St. Mary for the Christmas holidays! At first he was excited about the idea—he knew Paul and Miss Lavender would love seeing Mother and Dad again, and he would have a grand time showing Cecily around—but then a little burr of worry crept in.
The rest of his family was so large, so fun, so—overwhelming, that he always receded to the background around them: plain, quiet Shirley Blythe. Right now, Cecily was his friend, his own special friend, but what would happen when she met the rest of his family? Rilla would whisk her off to discuss wedding dresses and bridesmaids, Dad and Jem would tease her and make her laugh that sparkling, delighted ripple that always sent an odd thrill through Shirley, Nan and Di would ask her all about Boston and the States, and Mother and Susan would pet her and fuss over her. And once the manse people and Miss Cornelia met her, well, he, Shirley, would be pushed out entirely. He would fade into the background, like he always did. Cecily was his friend; he did not want to lose that special relationship by being overshadowed as usual by his family—
Shirley got that far in his thinking before he stopped, aghast. What was wrong with him? How could he be thinking such things? How could he be so selfish? Why, he was acting like a child with a special toy, refusing to share it with anyone else. It was disgusting, and he was thoroughly ashamed of himself. He hoped his family would accept and love Cecily, he hoped they would take her into their hearts. He wanted his family to love her, and her to love his family.
He stood up resolutely, his mouth set in a firm line. He would go right now to Echo Lodge to invite the Irvings to Christmas, and he would do everything in his power to persuade them to come.
As it turned out, it didn't take much persuading at all. If Paul and Mrs. Irving had any thoughts of objecting, the glad light shining in Miss Lavender's eyes and the pink flush that crept into Cecily's cheeks when Shirley proposed the trip, soon convinced them. It was quickly decided that the Irvings would come a couple of days before Christmas and leave the day after New Years. Shirley had wanted to stay and talk to Cecily longer, but, caught up in the general excitement, he decided to go right back to Green Gables and 'phone Mother with the good news.
As usual, Cecily walked him to the gate. Her eyes were sparkling with cold and anticipation.
"Oh Shirley," she breathed. "Your family seems like something out of a storybook to me. I always wanted brothers and sisters, but I never had any—or even any close friends, until you came along. I was always so different from the girls in school. But Shirley"—her face clouded over suddenly—"What if they don't like me?"
Looking down at her eager and anxious face, Shirley silently reproached himself once more for even thinking about trying to keep her all to himself. "How could they help but like you?" he replied good-humoredly.
"Oh Shirley, don't tease," she pleaded. "I'm a Yankee, and I'm not at all strong or clever, and I've never been like other girls, and"—
Shirley took both her hands in a firm clasp, effectively stopping the flow of words. "Cecily Irving, you are the sweetest girl I've ever met, and my family will recognize that. You don't think they're snobs, do you?"
She blushed and pulled her hands away. "No, of course not. Oh, I'm sorry, Shirley, I'm just being silly. It's just—I want them to like me so much, that I can't help worrying that they won't." She looked up at him pleadingly. "I'm sure that doesn't make sense to you—you're always so strong and confident and sensible—but it's terribly important to me to be liked."
He wondered how confident and sensible she would have thought if she'd seen his thoughts earlier. "Just be yourself, Cecily," he said firmly. "Just be yourself, and I promise, they will love you. After all, you are one of the race that knows Joseph."
At that, she finally smiled, two dimples peeking out of the corners of her mouth. "You're right, Shirley. I won't worry any more." Gratitude shone out of her blue eyes. "What would I do without you as my friend? You're like the big brother I always wanted."
Before he could reply, Mrs. Irving called her back inside. Shirley watched until the front door closed, and then turned and trudged back to Green Gables, wondering why it would bother him so to be thought of as a "big brother" by Cecily.