Shirley came home from work one early October evening, whistling happily. The house he was designing was coming along nicely; the old lady for whom he was building it had not changed her mind again about the windows, which was a first, and a great relief as they were already behind schedule. The air was crisp with autumn's bite, and he was thinking absently about going apple-picking Cecily next weekend, when a flying figure came running out of the front door toward him. He recognized Charlotta's ridiculous blue bow before anything else, and a cold chill touched his heart. Had anything happened to Cecily?
"What is it, Charlotta?" he asked anxiously.
Their handmaiden's freckled face was white with terror. "Oh sir—oh Mr. Blythe—Mrs. Blythe—she—she just collapsed on the floor, sir! We were just standing there planning supper, and she—she just crumpled!"
Without waiting to hear any more, Shirley took off at a dead run for the kitchen. He found Cecily lying in a heap of crumpled cotton, her face pale, her hands cold. Shirley picked her head up and placed it in his lap, patting her cheeks and calling her name urgently.
"Cecily—Cecily dearest—wake up, my heart—wake up—Cecily—please, darling, wake up." He looked up as Charlotta entered. "Charlotta, call the doctor, quickly."
"Yes sir," gasped out Charlotta.
Cecily still hadn't awakened by the time young Doctor Morris arrived. Without a word, the young man carried her up to the bedroom and attempted to bring her 'round. Shirley paced outside the closed door in the hallway, nervously chewing his lower lip. What was wrong with his wife? Was it the tuberculosis? He couldn't believe that anything could really be wrong—not now. Her face had looked so white, so still, almost like she was…he couldn't even bring himself to think the word.
Downstairs, Charlotta had 'phoned the Irvings and then fled to the kitchen, where she sat down in the corner and cried. Paul, Rachel, and Miss Lavender hurried right over, waiting for the doctor's report in the living room.
The shadows had deepened into twilight by the time Dr. Morris came out of the bedroom. Shirley caught at his arm desperately.
"Doctor—my wife—is she okay? What is wrong with her?"
The doctor paused before answering, looking sadly at the man in front of him. It was moments like this that made him wish he'd become a farmer like his father instead of a doctor.
"She's awake. I was able to revive her," he began cautiously.
Shirley's legs gave out from beneath him. He leaned abruptly against the wall. "Thank God." He took a few deep breaths to steady his nerves. "May I go in to see her?"
"Yes," answered Dr. Morris, "but there's something you should know, first."
Shirley stood up. He looked at the doctor's set face, and a strange numbness seemed to settle around his heart. He set his teeth. "What?"
Cecily looked very young and frail all alone in their bed, covered with the cheery red-and-white patchwork quilt given to them by Susan for their wedding. Her face was still very white, but she managed a smile for Shirley when he went in.
"Hello, dearest," she whispered. "I'm sorry I gave you such a fright. I don't know what came over me. One moment everything seemed fine, and the next…" She gave a rueful smile.
Shirley managed a smile back through numb lips. His legs felt wooden as he moved over and sat next to her on the bed. He picked up her hand and held it to his cheek, feeling some of her life pour back into him. Tears started to sting at the back of his eyes, but he forced them back resolutely. There would be a time for tears later. Now he needed to be strong for his beloved.
"There is no need to apologize, my heart," he said gently. "I have—good news—for you."
A spark lit her blue eyes. "What?"
Shirley squeezed her hand. "It seems God has decided to bless us with children—two, not just one. Darling, you're carrying twins!"
"Oh!" Cecily fell back against the pillows, her eyes growing huge. "Oh Shirley—babies! Two of them! Oh, I cannot believe it."
"Try to stay calm," Shirley cautioned her, his heart breaking within him. Such news should have been joy, but instead it brought him nothing but sorrow. "You must be very careful from now on. Dr. Morris said that you shouldn't exert yourself at all."
"I won't," she answered, happy tears swimming in her eyes. "I'll do whatever the doctor tells me to do. I don't want anything to jeopardize our babies' lives. Oh Shirley, wait until Mama and Father hear this! We must tell them immediately. They'll be so happy, they've always wanted grandchildren."
"I'll go tell them," said Shirley. "They're here, waiting to hear how you are. You rest now, and I'll go tell them."
"I will," she answered immediately. She laid her head back obediently. "Go—tell them. I'll be quiet and resting until you come back."
Shirley stood up and left the room. He knew he would have to tell her the rest of what Morris had said soon, but he couldn't bring himself to dampen her joy so soon. he went downstairs to find his in-laws looking very pale, with Rachel sobbing into her handkerchief.
"Morris told us," Paul said immediately. He was shaken but in control, only his eyes, so like his daughter's, showing his anguish. "How is she?"
Shirley sank to the floor and covered his face with his hands. "I couldn't tell her," he replied, his voice muffled. "I told her about the babies—but nothing else. I couldn't bring myself to tell her yet."
"Is there nothing that can be done?" asked Miss Lavender from her seat in the shadows, tears evident in her voice.
Shirley shook his head hopelessly. "Morris says there is no chance. One baby, perhaps, but not two. She just doesn't have the strength."
Paul also sat down quickly. "God have mercy," he murmured. "My little girl—oh God!"
Nobody else said anything. All the agony felt by them all had been expressed in that one age-old cry.
Shirley sat there for a moment longer, then struggled to his feet. "I'm sorry…but I must go back up to her. You're welcome to stay…but I can't be parted from her. Besides, I have to tell her at some point."
"Go to her, son," said Paul hoarsely. "We'll be fine."
Shirley fled back up the stairs. Before he opened the door to their room, however, he leaned against the wall, his eyes staring unseeingly out the hall window. He couldn't bring himself to grasp it yet—couldn't understand it fully. It seemed like some hideous nightmare, from which he had to awake at some point. His bride—his beautiful wife—the love of his life—his little bird with the broken wing. It couldn't be real—it just couldn't. God couldn't do this to them.
He rallied himself and pushed the door open. Cecily looked like she was asleep, but her eyes opened as soon as he came in.
"I've been resting," she said with a happy little laugh. "But I couldn't fall asleep. I'm too happy to sleep." She looked at him searchingly as he once again came and sat next to her. "Dearest…you are not happy. What's wrong?"
Shirley swallowed. He had to tell her. "The—the doctor said…" He couldn't quite finish the sentence.
"What?" she cried. Her face suddenly flushed with terror. "There's nothing wrong with the babies, is there?"
"No…not the babies," said Shirley. He placed his hand over her heart. "I'll tell you…but you must stay calm."
"I will," she whispered.
Shirley closed his eyes. He couldn't bear to look at her. "The doctor said that you are not strong enough to give birth to two babies. He—he said—he said that you won't be able to recover from it—he said that"—He couldn't go on.
Cecily finished for him. "He said that I am going to die."
Shirley opened his eyes. Her sweet face was determined, but not shaken or even saddened. She smiled at his look of shock. "Dear Shirley, do you think I didn't know? I have faced death so many times in the sanatorium. I know what he looks like. I knew, as soon as I woke up, that I did not have much longer. That's why I was so happy about the babies. You'll have a piece of me left with you after I am gone."
"How can you be so calm?" whispered Shirley; his voice seemed to have left him with Cecily's declaration.
"It's easier for me, beloved," she whispered. "I am going to heaven. You are the one who is going to be left. I've known, somehow, ever since contracting tuberculosis, that I was not going to live very long. My only hope was to live long enough to see you again, and tell you that I love you. I've had that—and a wonderful, beautiful, precious year besides."
Something inside Shirley broke. He laid his head down on her chest and cried bitterly, all the sorrow and anguish he was feeling swirling up and pouring out his eyes. Cecily stroked his hair with a soft hand and crooned gently to him, letting him have his cry out.
Finally, he was calm enough to sit up and look at her again. "I don't know if I can forgive God for taking you from me," he said honestly. "I don't think I can live without you."
"Dearest," she smiled, "God isn't taking me from you. He has given us a precious gift of time together as it is. I tell you, I knew I was going to die when I first got tuberculosis. All the time we've had together has just been a little extension on my life. He gave us one perfect year together. He didn't have to, but He did, just because He loves us. And He has given us two beautiful children, so that you will have something to work for and live for and comfort you after I am gone."
"I'd rather have you," Shirley admitted.
Cecily laughed. "I know—but rejoice in our children, dear. Don't ever resent them or feel as though they are what took me from you."
"I'll try," Shirley said. "Oh Cecily, I can't live without you. I just can't do it." He buried his face in his hands again.
"Yes you can," she answered, holding him in her arms. "You are my strong evergreen. You will live and love and endure. Oh, you will sorrow for me, I know, but in time you will learn to go on with life. Trust me." She kissed his rough brown hair. "Besides, I am not going to die right away. When are the babies due?"
"April," Shirley managed to reply.
"There, then you see? We still have seven beautiful months together. Dearest, we must live these months with joy. Don't let approaching sorrow ruin what time we still have. Let us live each day rejoicing in the gift of one more day together."
Shirley still felt battered and bruised, yet he was able to find some solace in his wife's words. He raised his head and looked at her. "Where did you learn such wisdom, wife of my heart?"
Cecily smiled. "Through pain and suffering. They are difficult taskmasters, but they do teach you what you need to know."
"Cecily," Shirley whispered. "I'll be strong soon—in a little bit I'll be able to understand your words—but right now I can do nothing but grieve. It's all just too sudden."
"I know," she answered, tears suddenly standing in her eyes as well. "Oh Shirley, I do hate to leave you!"
They clung to each other and cried, and yet when the tears passed, a new strength and calm seemed to come over them. They vowed to God and each other to not rail against His will, but to be thankful for what time they had been given, and what time they had left. They never mentioned Cecily's death again, but lived each day cheerfully and with joy, anticipating their children's births with delight. Those who knew the truth of the matter—both their families—couldn't understand their attitudes. Rachel thought Shirley very heartless for not mourning over Cecily and refused to speak to him. Nan and Rilla didn't go quite that far, but it was obvious that they thought both of them just a little crazy. Even Mother didn't understand how they could be so calm—she couldn't have done it. Di, however, wrote from Toronto and told Shirley she was proud of him, and Paul and Miss Lavender both encouraged them.
Shirley still had his moments when grief and rebellion overcame him, but he always fought through, determined to do as Cecily had asked, and rejoice in the time they had, and be thankful for every precious moment they had together.
Author's Note: Don't hate me, please don't hate me...