Two days before she was planning on heading back to Toronto, Di was finally allowed to see Rilla. She had seen Kenneth shortly after little Aidan's death, and was saddened at how haggard he looked. There were new lines in his face, his hair was silvering slightly around the temples, and the scar on his cheek stood out more plainly than ever. He didn't say much to anyone, but the look in his eyes was enough.
"He hasn't been this hurt by anything," Persis said softly as the two girls stood together to watch Ken hurry down the road from Ingleside back to the House of Dreams. "Not even when he came back from the War."
"I can't imagine losing a child," Di responded.
Persis smiled bitterly. "I can't imagine having a child to lose."
Di looked at her in surprise. "I didn't know you felt so strongly about it."
Persis shrugged her shapely shoulders. "I've always longed for children. It's one of the reasons I love working at the Home—if I can't have any of my own, at least I can be around them."
Di felt a sudden comradeship with her friend. She too felt that way about a family of her own, though she hadn't been willing to admit it to herself until just recently. She put her arm around Persis and they watched Ken's slightly stooped figure recede down the dusty road.
Di crept into the tiny bedroom at the top of the stairs. Mother and Aunt Leslie were both in there, Mother sitting by Rilla's bed and reading, while Aunt Leslie sat by the window and hummed softly to herself.
The windows were open to admit the sunlight and fresh air, but the room still felt dark and oppressive to Di as she moved to stand next to Rilla's bed.
She was shocked at the change in her little sister. Rilla's eyes were open, but not focused on anything, a haunted, empty look in them. On her face was a terrible, age-old weariness.
Di swallowed. "Hello, Rilla," she said quietly.
It seemed to take an enormous amount of energy for Rilla to turn her head and look at her sister. "Oh," was all she said.
What did one say to a woman who has just lost a child? "We've all been praying for you, dear," Di finally settled on. "You must hurry and get well."
"Why?" Rilla whispered.
Di blinked. "Well…for Ken's sake. And Gil's. And Mother and Dad and all of us. We're worried about you."
Rilla's eyes slid shut. "My son is gone…my little boy is buried in the cold, cruel ground. How am I supposed to go on?"
Mother leaned over the bed. "Enough of that sort of talk, Rilla darling. You must go on for the sake of all those that love you. You cannot give up."
But Rilla made no response. Sighing, Mother stood up and took Di outside, shutting the door behind them.
Di was stunned. "Mother—what's wrong with her?"
"She's grieving," Mother answered, sad wisdom hidden in her great grey eyes. "I know what it's like…I wanted to die when I lost my Joy. But your father and Captain Jim and Miss Cornelia and Leslie—and most especially, dear Marilla, all helped me pull through. Rilla—Rilla just won't let anyone in to help her. She's locked away in her own grief."
"She will get better, though, won't she?"
"We must have faith," was all Mother would say.
Di met Ken downstairs. He was seated at the kitchen table, staring blankly at the array of food Susan had prepared. She knelt down by his chair.
"Ken…I'm so very, very sorry. I wish there was some way I could help."
He turned to face her with fatigue evident in his face. "She's shutting me out, Di," he said hoarsely. "She seems to have forgotten that I lost my son, too. She won't talk to me, or even look at me. She slipping away…and I don't know how to hold on to her. Dear God, isn't it enough that we lost our baby? Must I lose my wife as well?" He buried his head in his hands.
Di stayed on for a little while, comforting him as best she could, but when she left, it was with the uneasy feeling that she hadn't really done much at all.
Persis was coming up to the house as Di was leaving. She raised one eyebrow questioningly.
"Any change?"
Di shook her head. "I don't know what to do for them, Persis," she admitted.
"I know," Persis agreed. "It's horrible to feel so helpless. When are you heading out?" changing the subject.
"Day after tomorrow," Di answered. "I feel terrible leaving everyone here like this, but I can't leave Tricia alone with the children for too long."
"Do you want me to come with you, or do you mind if I stay for a little bit longer? I hate to desert Ken at a time like this."
"Stay, by all means," Di urged. "I'd feel better knowing at least you were here. we can manage for a little while without you."
"Thanks," Persis replied. She sighed as she looked at the house and squared her shoulders. "Well, I'd best be inside. I'll see if there's anything I can do, even if it is just to relieve Mother or Aunt Anne for a little while. They've been by Rilla's side night and day, trying everything they can to help her. I'm just glad Gil is safe with Faith and Jem. It's not right to bring a child into a household like this."
"I hope Rilla remembers she still has one child," Di murmured as she walked away. "Little Gilly shouldn't be made to suffer for this loss."
Shirley drove Di to the ferry the morning of her departure. The ride was made in silence for the most part, but as they stood on the dock waiting for the boat to come in, Di released a long, long sigh.
"Feel better?" Shirley inquired.
She smiled ruefully. "I do. It's odd; even though this was such a tragic homecoming, and even though I am mourning for Ken and Rilla, I still feel the oddest sense of…peace."
"How so?"
Di answered, marveling as she did how Shirley was able to draw people out without ever using more than two or three words at a time. "It's hard to explain. I've been…restless for quite some time. I thought I was content and at peace with the way things were, but always, in the back of my mind, was a nagging little thought that I wanted something more. I love the Home…love the children…love what I do, but I still felt as though something was missing."
"And now you know what that was?"
Di smiled ruefully. "I guess I'm just an old-fashioned girl at heart. I want a family of my own. More than that, I want someone who can stand by my side and help me through the troubles and tangles of life. I don't want a husband for the sake of having a husband, but it would be nice to have a companion, someone to be a best friend for life."
"So what conclusion have you come to, sister o' mine, that brings this new peace to your eyes and face?" Shirley asked whimsically.
"The other morning when I walked down to the lighthouse, I wrestled this all out with God. I felt like Jacob…you know that old story in Genesis, of how he wrestled with the Lord? I realized, with Ken and Rilla's loss, that I couldn't bury my desires anymore. So I sat…and prayed…and struggled…and finally realized that I can't keep wishing things were different. This is the way life is right now. If I spend all my time wishing things would change…wishing Walter was still alive…wishing Cecily was still here…wishing Rilla didn't have to go through this valley of shadow…then I will miss the blessings this life has to offer me right now.
"I may not have a husband or a home of my own. I may never have that. But I do have brothers and sisters who love me. I have good friends. I have over twenty children whom I couldn't love more if they were my own. It is time for me to focus on my blessings and stop regretting what was or could not be."
"So in other words, the contentment you were pretending to have before, you actually do have now?" Shirley asked with a twinkle in his brown eyes.
Di laughed. "You might say that. The nice thing about this is that now I'm aware of my feelings, and therefore can have some control over them. When you pretend they don't exist, they get you down so easily. Now I'll have a way to fight when I start feeling gloomy over life." She sighed again. "I just wish Rilla could find some peace."
"She will," Shirley answered positively. "In her time."
"I suppose." Di looked out over the blue water, seeing the ferry starting to pull in. knowing she only had a few more moment with her brother, she spoke in a rush. "It sounds silly…but when I was fighting these things out, I really thought I could see Walter there, helping me and encouraging me…telling me to let him go, to stop mourning him, to move on with my life and have done with futile regrets."
"Oddly enough, that doesn't sound silly at all. I've had many a conversation with Cecily since she passed through the veil. The ones we love never truly leave us…they are just hidden from our sight. And sometimes, our eyes or our ears sharpen, and we can see or hear them, whispering to us on the wind."
This was so lyrical, coming from practical Shirley, that Di could only stare at him in wonder. He laughed and flushed a little.
"Look, here's the ferry. Have a good trip, dearest sister." He dropped a kiss on her cheek and handed her and her bag up the ramp.
As the boat pulled away, Di was still shaking her head. It seemed even Shirley had hidden depths to him!
She reached Toronto three days later, weary and worn, but somehow ready to face the long road ahead with no more pining for what could be or might have been. The children were radiant to see her back—even Olivia managed a weak smile—and Tricia was plainly relieved.
"They really behaved quite well, but I was lost without you," she admitted. "Di, you're a wonder. I don't know how you do it!"
Di smiled and picked up Mirielle, giving the baby a kiss on her rosy cheek. "All through grace, dear friend. All through grace."