In all his later years, Shirley looked back on that first year of marriage as a time of exquisite, perfect happiness. What bliss to work all day designing buildings and bridges—really using your creativity and your common-sense—and then come home to a dear little blue-and-cream home with a beloved wife awaiting you, her flower-like face lit up, and a beaming Charlotta the Fifth hovering in the background.
For Charlotta the Fifth was established quite happily at the little house, and seemed to belong to it as much as the jam cupboards and cushioned window seat looking out onto the lake. Her real name was Jane—just Jane—but from the first she was Charlotta the Fifth to the Irvings and Blythes. She was almost an exact duplicate of her mother, snub nose, freckled face, wide mouth and all. Her hair was bobbed and held in place with a "jaunty" blue band with an enormous bow to one side, looking exactly like a large blue butterfly perched on her ear. She "adored" Cecily, and thought Shirley the finest husband any girl could have (mainly because he brought Cecily home flowers every night). For their part, the young newlyweds delighted in the girl, and there was no denying that she had a knack for housework. She refused to let Cecily do anything; they had a pitched battle over who was to do the cooking, settled finally by Shirley declaring that Charlotta could make the meals three days a week, Cecily three days, and he himself would do the cooking on Sundays. This decided, Cecily yielded the rest of the household chores to Charlotta and spent her days walking by the lake, sewing in the living room, or reading and dreaming in the window seat.
She wasn't growing any stronger, something that concerned the Irvings and the doctors, but of which Shirley made light. She would—he knew it—and even if she remained delicate all her days, what of it? She was happy and healthy, and neither of them had any fears for the future.
The evenings were their favorite part of each day. After they had finished eating and the dishes were cleared away, they would go and sit in the living room—Shirley in his overstuffed "easy chair" and Cecily on her low stool by his feet, her head leaning against his knee. They would tell each other about their days, and Shirley would read the newspaper and they would discuss world affairs, or Cecily would read a bit of poetry or something interesting she had discovered that day. Sometimes they would talk about their future plans and all the places they would go visit—Paris, England, bonny Scotland, ancient Rome…Shirley thought that visiting lands he had flown over during the war with Cecily would take some of the sour taste from his mouth when he thought of them.
Sometimes Paul and Rachel would come over and the four of them would have a grand visit, gathered around the little fireplace. Shirley and Cecily didn't get to know too many of their neighbors. Most of them were modern young couples, busy being shocking and contemporary, hosting wild parties and playing raucous music long into the night. They contemptuously viewed the Blythes as old-fashioned and dull, and a mutual polite animosity existed.
Not that they needed anyone else to be happy. As the days slipped by and fall turned to winter, Shirley dug out their old skates and they spent hours in the heart of the village, skating along together on the ice rink. Some Sunday afternoons they would exchange skates for skis or snowshoes and go out 'cross-country. Mirror Lake froze over, and an enterprising elderly man charged for dogsled rides across the frozen expanse. At any given time one could hear the yelps of the huskies and the laughter of the passengers echoing over the ice.
They always kept a fire burning in the fireplace, and Charlotta made sure to have hot cider and homemade bread ready for them when they would come back after an outing, cheeks flushed with cold and fresh air, laughter rising on their lips.
Christmas approached; their first Christmas together! Paul and Rachel invited them to spend the day with them, and Jerry and Nan sent an invitation down from Ottawa, but Shirley and Cecily decided that they wanted to spend their first Christmas alone, in their own little house. Shirley tramped off to the woods and brought home a darling little spruce tree, which they set up in one corner of the living room and decorated simply and elegantly, with shimmering glass half-whorls and spheres, delicate golden balls, and shining silver trim. They set an angel on the tip, and tied tiny white candles to every limb. Green garlands went up in every room and over the stair rail, mistletoe was tied up in every doorway, holly bedecked the windows, and an air of festivity pervaded all through the house. Cecily and Charlotta spent hours in the kitchen, poring over cookbooks, while Shirley searched the stores to find just the perfect gift for his beautiful bride.
Christmas Eve they hung up three stockings over the fireplace, and then gathered around it for one last mug of hot cocoa while Shirley read the Christmas story from Luke, and Cecily recited the sweet tale of why Christmas trees are always green.
"Winter was coming, and the birds had flown far to the south, where the air was warm and they could find berries to eat. One little bird had broken its wing and could not fly with the others. It was alone in the cold world of frost and snow. The forest looked warm, and it made its way to the trees as well as it could, to ask for help.
"First it came to a birch tree. 'Beautiful birch tree,' it said, 'my wing is broken, and my friends have flown away. May I live among your branches till they come back to me?'
"'No, indeed,' answered the birch tree, drawing her fair green leaves away. 'We of the great forest have our own birds to help. I can do nothing for you.'
"'The birch is not very strong,' said the little bird to itself, 'and it might be that she could not hold me easily. I will ask the oak.' So the bird said: 'Great oak tree, you are so strong, will you not let me live on your boughs till my friends come back in the springtime?'
"'In the springtime!' cried the oak. 'That is a long way off. How do I know what you might do in all that time? Birds are always looking for something to eat, and you might even eat up some of my acorns.'
"'It may be that the willow will be kind to me,' thought the bird, and it said: 'Gentle willow, my wing is broken, and I could not fly to the south with the other birds. May I live on your branches till the springtime?'
"The willow did not look gentle then, for she drew herself up proudly and said: 'Indeed, I do not know you, and we willows never talk to people whom we do not know. Very likely there are trees somewhere that will take in strange birds. Leave me at once.'
"The poor little bird did not know what to do. Its wing was not yet strong, but it began to fly away as well as it could. Before it had gone far a voice was heard. '"Little bird,' it said, 'where are you going?'
"'Indeed, I do not know,' answered the bird sadly. 'I am very cold.'
"'Come right here, then,' said the friendly spruce tree, for it was her voice that had called. 'You shall live on my warmest branch all winter if you choose.'
"'Will you really let me?' asked the little bird eagerly.
"'Indeed, I will,' answered the kind-hearted spruce tree. 'If your friends have flown away, it is time for the trees to help you. Here is the branch where my leaves are thickest and softest.'
"'My branches are not very thick,' said the friendly pine tree, 'but I am big and strong, and I can keep the North Wind from you and the spruce.'
"'I can help, too,' said a little juniper tree. 'I can give you berries all winter long, and every bird knows that juniper berries are good.'
"So the spruce gave the lonely little bird a home; the pine kept the cold North Wind away from it; and the juniper gave it berries to eat. The other trees looked on and talked together wisely.
"'I would not have strange birds on my boughs,' said the birch.
"'I shall not give my acorns away for any one,' said the oak.
"'I never have anything to do with strangers,' said the willow, and the three trees drew their leaves closely about them.
"In the morning all those shining, green leaves lay on the ground, for a cold North Wind had come in the night, and every leaf that it touched fell from the tree.
"'May I touch every leaf in the forest?' asked the wind in its frolic.
"'No,' said the Frost King. 'The trees that have been kind to the little bird with the broken wing may keep their leaves.'
"This is why the leaves of the spruce, the pine, and the juniper are always green."
"Oh ma'am," sniffed Charlotta, furtively whisking her hand across her eyes. "That's just beautiful, Mrs. Blythe, ma'am."
"Indeed it is," agreed Shirley, leaning forward to kiss his wife on the tip of her nose.
"I've always loved that tale," reflected Cecily, gazing into the flickering flames dancing around the Yule log. "I always felt so sorry for the poor little bird with the broken wing, and so angry at the selfish trees who wouldn't help it. It must have been so lonely and lost, the poor little thing."
"Ah," said Shirley, "But then imagine its joy when the evergreens gave it shelter at last. And imagine how happy they must have been to be able to take care of such a delicate and beautiful little thing."
"Maybe its wing never healed entirely," said Cecily softly. "Maybe it stayed protected and loved by the evergreens for the rest of its life, always sheltered from winter's cold blast by their strength."
Charlotta couldn't quite understand what they were talking about, but she knew it had to be something sweet by the way they looked at each other.
Winter turned to spring, and the birds came back in droves, singing madly, even drowning out the music from the neighbors. Little rabbits hopped briskly around the yard, and Cecily began a flower garden, spending hours in the mud, tending her plants like children. Shirley still looked at her with awe, amazed that she was truly his. Sometimes he felt that it was all a dream, and he would wake up presently and find himself alone. He couldn't quite shake the thought that it was too good to last.
Charlotte watched them rather wistfully, thinking how wonderful it would be to have someone love her the way Mr. Blythe loved Mrs. Blythe. She couldn't help but feel it was almost indecent for two people to be as much in love as they were—why, he would kiss her whether anyone was watching or not!—but she did think it was just beautiful and so romantic.
Paul and Rachel and Miss Lavender watched them with concern, worrying what would happen to Shirley if Cecily were to suffer a relapse.
"I've never seen a man set such store on a woman before," sighed Rachel, half-proudly, half-worriedly.
"Not to fret, Rachel dear," said Miss Lavender softly. "Shirley loves her deeply, true—but this side idolatry."
"But still…" trailed off Rachel, looking out the window at the two loitering in the garden.
Paul came and stood beside her. "God has them in the palm of His hand, dear," putting his arm around his wife. "He will not give them more to endure than they can bear. Even if something does happen, they will have these memories, that nothing can take away, and nothing tarnish. Don't put yourself in the place of God, dear. As much as we love them, He loves them still more."
And so spring turned to summer, and summer to fall, and before they knew it, their one-year anniversary came.
"It doesn't seem possible that a whole year has gone by," sighed Cecily that morning.
Shirley kissed the top of her shining head. "The first beautiful year of many, my heart."
"It has been a beautiful year, hasn't it?" she said. She smiled. "I may be just a bird with a broken wing, but thanks to my evergreen tree, I haven't felt any of the harsh north winds this year."
"And the life of this evergreen has been made more beautiful than could possibly be imagines thanks to the presence of his little songbird," answered Shirley. Then he laughed at himself. "My family would never believe I could be so poetical! I guess love really does makes poets of us all." He put his arms around his wife and held her close, reveling in her nearness, his soul filled with deeper joy than he'd ever believed possible.
Author's Note: The story of "Why the Evergreen Trees Never Lose Their Leaves" was written by Florence Holbrook.