Christmas was over. 1919 had gone out in a wild blizzard, and 1920 had begun. Nan went back to her school in Lowbridge, Faith to Harbour Head, Di to Carmody, and Jem, Jerry, Grant, Una and Carl all went back to Kingsport. The Fords went back to Toronto, taking Rilla with them for a visit, and the Wrights, Irvings, and Shirley all went back to Avonlea together. Shirley was looking forward to teaching again, but he knew he had an unpleasant task and hard road looming ahead of him. He hadn't been able to work up the nerve to speak with Cecily when they were all still at Ingleside, but he couldn't put it off any longer.
He rose from his seat next to Jack and made his way back through the train car to where Cecily and Miss Lavender were sitting. Miss Lavender was napping, but Cecily's eyes brightened as Shirley sat in the empty seat across the aisle. His resolve almost gave way at the sight of her smile, but he hardened his heart and drew a deep breath.
"It was a good vacation, wasn't it?" he began casually.
"Yes, it was," replied Cecily eagerly. "I had a marvelous time. Your family is all so kind."
"I'm glad." Shirley steeled himself. "This fall and winter have been quite pleasant, overall. I just wish it could last."
"What do you mean?" asked Cecily, a puzzled look crossing her lovely face. "Why can't it?"
"Well, I'm going off to Redmond next fall, so this spring I'll be very busy trying to brush up on my studies. I took the third year at Queen's, so I'll be able to enter Redmond as a sophomore, which means I'll have to work very hard now to make sure I'm at my classmates' level." His honest brown eyes looked straight into her pure blue ones. "I'm afraid I won't have much time for visiting. You won't be seeing much of me at Echo Lodge this term."
Disappointment shadowed Cecily's delicate features, but she immediately mustered up a smile. "Why Shirley, we'll miss you, of course, but naturally we all want you to do well at Redmond. You just do what you need to do, and never mind about us." She reached over with her small gloved hand and patted his arm understandingly.
Shirley forced a smile, muttered a few commonplaces, and went back to his seat, thankful that Jack was so quiet. He had never been good at subtlety; he always felt uncomfortable and out-of-place trying to use it, but he couldn't have told Cecily his real reason for wanting—no, needing—to avoid Echo Lodge.
After much thought and prayer over the last week, he had concluded that he had no right—at that time—to confess his feelings to Cecily. She was only seventeen, which was too young to ask her to make a commitment, and he would be leaving soon for college. The timing was all wrong for him to ask to court her. He would wait until he had at least a year of college out of the way, and then, he felt, he would be in a much better position to offer her his heart. It was the only logical and practical thing to do, and yet for all that, there was an odd ache in his heart, one that couldn't be reasoned away, one that had only been made worse by the look of disappointment on Cecily's face when he told her he wouldn't be by Echo Lodge much anymore.
But, he told himself sternly, it was all for the best, and he wasn't going to let emotions interfere with his common sense. He tilted his felt hat over his eyes and tried to doze off and forget about the lonely few months he saw looming before him.
It was a lonely winter and spring, despite the coziness of Green Gables and the amusements and enlightenments of school. Shirley resolutely studied for Redmond in the evenings, or strolled over to the Wrights to visit with Jack, but he only went out to Echo Lodge once, on an unusually balmy day in February. After that, no matter how much he longed to return, he made himself stay away. It was just too hard to be with Cecily and not tell her how he felt. To his honest nature, it felt as though he was lying every time they spoke.
The months slipped by, and finally it was June. Shirley's students acquitted themselves marvelously o their year-end examinations—even Annabelle Wright and Richie Andrews did well enough. The children were all very upset that their soft-spoken, good-humored teacher wasn't returning next year. Mary Keith and Little Diana Wright were especially inconsolable. Shirley himself was startled to find that he was going to miss teaching. He had taken it on as a chance to start a younger generation off right, and despite his eagerness to get to college, he hated to leave them all behind, even the unlovable ones.
After attending a slew of farewell dinners, he went back to Echo Lodge to say goodbye to the folks there. He was leaving for Glen St. Mary in the morning, but it seemed churlish not to at least bid farewell to the Irvings, after they had been such good friends to him. He would just have to master his feelings for Cecily, that was all.
He was spared, however, the necessity of doing so, for Cecily had been taken ill with a bad spring cold and was confined to her bed. Miss Lavender was sitting with her, so Shirley was only able to make his goodbyes to Paul and Rachel. They were very friendly, but Shirley sensed an undercurrent of worry flowing between them. Unable to puzzle out what had caused it, and not wanting to trespass on their time, he rose to leave fairly early. Rachel kissed him on the cheek and told him to take care of himself at college; Cecily sent Miss Lavender tripping down the stairs to bid him a fond farewell.
Paul walked him out to the gate. By mutual accord the two men just stood there for a moment, leaning on the gate and drinking in the soft evening air. Paul's lips moved soundlessly as he perhaps began to compose a poem based on the golden and turquoise sunset and the soft scent of roses wafting through the breeze.
The sunset, the roses, or something, caused Shirley to lose his head. Facing Paul, he suddenly blurted out: "Sir—I—I love Cecily. I know I have nothing yet to offer her, and she is very young, but I do plan to come back here in a year or two and—and court her, if you and Rachel approve, that is," he ended lamely, suddenly feeling very awkward and foolish. What had come over him to make him spill everything out like that? He hadn't even told Mother or Susan yet.
Paul looked at him appraisingly for a long moment, causing Shirley to flush redder and redder. Then he smiled his beautiful, sweet smile—so much like his daughter's—and said: "Son, as far as I'm concerned you have my blessing. I appreciate you speaking with me first; it's a courtesy many ignore these days, and I also appreciate the good sense and maturity you've shown in making the decision to wait a few years. Not many would do it. You are a sensible, good-hearted young man, and I know you'll do right by my little girl."
Relief flowed warmly all through Shirley, mixed with a little embarrassment at hearing himself praised so freely. He spoke quietly, master of himself once more. "Thank you."
Paul hesitated, then spoke again. "I have to warn you, Shirley, her health isn't very good. She has always been prone to colds, and she's never been very strong."
"I understand," replied Shirley gravely. "I'll take good care of her."
"I know," said the great poet, smiling again. "You already do."
They said goodnight, and Shirley walked back to Green Gables in a happy daze. He would have a restful summer at home—a year at Redmond—next summer he would confess his feelings to Cecily—they would court for the next two years—he would graduate and find work and they would be married, and everything would be wonderful. He could see it all unfold like a moving picture, clear and bright before his eyes. He never once doubted that it would come to pass.