Di was pleased and surprised to hear that Lady Leah and Freddy had decided to spend Christmas and New Years in Avonlea. Originally they had just been planning on staying a few weeks and then leaving for England, but according to the letters she received from both Shirley and Lady Leah, they were having such a marvelous time that they really couldn't bear to leave so soon.

Peter, however, came back to the Home in time for Christmas. As much as he enjoyed Avonlea, he couldn't stand to be away from Polly during the holiday season.

Di had thought of going to Avonlea herself for the holidays, but two days before Christmas there was a tenement fire in one of the poorer parts of Toronto, which left three children with no family or friends to take them in. As always, the Shirley-Stedman Home opened its doors, and Danny, Bobby (short for Roberta), and Becky were made a part of the mishmash family at the Home in time for Christmas.

From what Shirley's letter told her, however, the holidays were quite enjoyable for all concerned, and even jack was coming slightly out of his taciturn shell—around Lady Leah, at least. Di wondered at that—an Earl's daughter and Canadian farmer didn't seem a likely match—but not being blessed or cursed, however one viewed it, with the matchmaking streak that ran through her family, she let it go, having more than enough to worry about on her own.

Patrick had returned to Avonlea for his school break, and reportedly had a "lovely" time with the Craigs. He and Elizabeth still hadn't set a date, but they were starting to talk more seriously about the wedding.

Di had a half-formed hope in the back of her mind that nothing would come of it all in the end, but she didn't really think that likely. Even if Patrick changed his mind, he was an honorable man, and would never go back on his word to anyone, no matter how much pain it caused him. No, the only hope there was Elizabeth … and she was reportedly so thrilled to finally be engaged that she didn't seem liable to call anything off.

It was all quite tangled, and Di was happy enough to simply have orphans and adoptions to deal with—they were nowhere near as complicated.

Leah gazed outside at the frosty ground and iron sky. It was a most unprepossessing day, but she still had a yearning to go out in it. All day she had felt trapped, confined, and if she didn't get outside, she was afraid she would burst.

So, with a quick check on Freddy—busily drawing a portrait of Little Diana, while Martin and Peter watched, the former with awe and the latter with amused tolerance—she snatched up her coat, hat, gloves, and scarf.

"Jessie, I'm out for a walk," she called into the kitchen.

The rosy matron came out of her domain, her warm eyes astonished. "In weather like this? You'll catch your death!"

Leah smiled demurely. "Not at all. My sister and I used to go on long 'cross-country tramps at Whitmore. We'd come home half-frozen and exhausted, and Mother would simply scold us and make us drink hot tea, and we'd be fine. I have a very strong constitution."

"Well, I'll be sure to have tea ready for you when you get back," Jessie capitulated with a smile.

Looking like a sleek swallow in her grey outerwear, Leah cut across the fields, rejoicing in the very grimness of the weather. Although her time in Avonlea had warmed her soul and thawed out her heart considerably, she had lived with fear and loneliness for so long that there were still times she needed to get away and be still.

She would never forget what it'd been like, those long years of war. First when Doro had died—of a fever, no less. Somehow, that had just seemed like such a cruel irony: working as a nurse in war, only to succumb to something as mundane as a fever. And for it to be Doro, the strong one, the one who seemingly was never ill a day in her life, just added salt to the wound.

Then Leah's own fiancé, the Honorable Charles Meriet, was killed in action. Leah had mourned long and bitterly for her Charles, but now, to her faint surprise, she could barely remember his face. He hadn't been handsome, she recalled, but their had been a pleasant inanity to his features and manners that always cheered her up, no matter how gloomy she got. They were engaged when they were both only eighteen—over ten years ago, now.

And then Reggie—darling, darling Reggie. The heir to Whitmore and pride of the Mercers. He was killed only a month or so after Charles, and the double blow nearly killed Leah, as well. Only her V.A.D. work—for she had followed in Doro's footsteps there, as she had in nearly everything, both their lives—kept her going, knowing that she was maybe helping some other girls to not experience her agony.

Still, by the time her parents died and Freddy disappeared—disappeared without her ever having seen him—she was so numbed that the additional blows barely even touched her. Had she not needed to search her brother out, she might have just curled up into a ball at the old family estate and withered away.

Now Freddy was found, and life was starting to touch Leah again. She could feel happiness, smile, even laugh, though the light-heartedness of her girlhood was gone forever.

She could not help but wonder, though, what life held in store for her now. She would go back to England with Freddy, of course, and manage the estate until he was twenty-one, but was she only to be a steward forevermore? And what of her life after Freddy came of age?

For a time, she could only think of surviving. Now she began to think of living, and was surprised to find herself somewhat intimidated by the possibilities.

In this new and pensive mood, she paused by an old split-rail fence and leaned on it, looking at the fantastic shapes the clouds made overhead, and shuddering a little at that one lurid orange streak that was all that was visible of a January sunset.

Lost in her thoughts, she was surprised to hear a gruff voice utter behind her: "Er … good day, Lady Leah."

True to her breeding, Leah showed no hint of discomfiture as she turned and said calmly, "Good evening, I should rather say, Mr. Wright."

Jack Wright, clad in a threadbare dark wool coat, bare-headed against the biting wind, actually felt the color rise in his cheeks. "Good evening, of course."

They were silent for a few moments, and then Leah felt it incumbent on her to say something to break the strain. "It's a rather beastly evening, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," he agreed. "I'm … er … a bit surprised to see you out."

"I enjoy a good walk when I can get one," she said, "No matter what the weather is like. Besides, I'm feeling a trifle low in my mind, and I find the weather suits me more like this."

His dark eyes were regarding her with a hint of respect and understanding. "I know what you mean," he said abruptly. "I prefer days like this to the bright, sunny ones … they hurt too much."

Sympathy dawned in Leah upon hearing those words. She had suspected that this man knew something of grief, loss, and suffering, but now she was sure of it. She would never insult him by asking about it, though. Let him choose to speak or be silent; she would not force a confidence.

"Still," she said carelessly, "I suppose I should be getting back, else Jessie will be fretting."

Jack's brooding face broke into a slow smile—somewhat rusty, but unexpectedly sweet. "She is a mother hen, isn't she?"

"A bit, but she's a dear," Leah said warmly. "I think she's delightful."

"Let me walk you back," he said, limping along next to her. "If you can stand being seen with an old cripple like me."

"That's very kind of you, Mr. Wright," Leah said, hiding her irritation at his self-pitying speech. If one had to suffer, it was her opinion, one should do it in stoical silence, not by continually reminding others of how much pain one was in. "Though I wouldn't want to cause you to go to any trouble," her voice a bit cooler.

He had the grace to look ashamed of himself. "Forgive me, your ladyship … I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"Oh, I'm not in the slightest uncomfortable," Leah said with perfect truthfulness. "I simply do not care to make a fuss over trifles."

Jack stopped dead, his face suddenly infused with livid anger. "Trifles? You think this is a trifle?"

"You have a lame leg," Leah said frostily. She wondered how they had gone so quickly from amicable companionship to this battle, but she was not about to back down. "Many died, or lost entire limbs, or came back paralyzed. You have much for which you should be thankful."

Jack unknowingly clenched his fists, his face dark red, his voice thick and low. "Thankful! I wish I had died! Anything would be better than living with this pain every day … my leg isn't the only place I was wounded, your ladyship." He made the title sound like an insult. "A shell exploded next to me … killed the fellows on either side, and left me, by some cruel twist of fate, alive but wounded. I wake up in pain every morning … but even that isn't the worst part." He paused for a moment, breathing heavily as he tried to tamp down his anger somewhat.

"Then what, pray tell, is?" Leah inquired tartly. "I lost my parents, brother, sister, and fiancé to the War … tell me how much worse off you are."

That stopped him short. "You did?"

She hadn't actually meant to tell him that, but she nodded. "I did."

"I'm sorry … I didn't know." The red slowly died out of his face, leaving him awkward and guilty. "I know many people suffered," he said slowly, trying to make her understand. "And I'm not saying that I came out worse than any other … and, as you said, better than many. But … the things I saw, the things I did, the atrocities …" his voice trailed off. He shook his head. "I can't explain it. But my anger is not so much at the physical results as the other: spiritual, Reverend Craig would say. I don't know if I even believe in a spiritual place anymore. All I ever wanted was peace. Just wanted to live my life quietly, beholden to no man, owing nothing, free to come and go as I pleased.

"But then I went over there, and what I did … now it's as if I owe a huge dept to humanity for my actions … and what I was unable to prevent … and fate has maimed me so that I cannot ever pay it off."

He closed his mouth abruptly. Without looking at Leah, he asked softly. "Is it any wonder I am bitter?"

Leah relented, knowing she could be too harsh at times. "Forgive me," she said quietly. "I judged you too hastily. I deemed you self-pitying and maudlin, and I had no business speaking the way I did. I am thoroughly ashamed of myself."

"No, you were right," Jack said, moving forward and catching her hands in his without even realizing it. "I am weak. I should be able to rise above this … or at least not inflict it on other people. I am the one who needs forgiving."

Leah smiled wryly. "Shall we take it, then, that we both have acted poorly, and move on?"

He squeezed her hands once before seeming to notice that he held them. He dropped them instantly. "I'm willing if you are."

"Very well, then." Leah looked off toward Lone Willow Farm, glowing warmly in the near vicinity. "Would you care to come along for supper? I know everyone would be pleased to have you … Jessie always makes more than enough."

Jack smiled again; this time it was less rusty, as though it just needed a bit of exercise to be fully sweet and warm. "You know, I think that would be fine.

They walked along together, and for once Jack hardly noticed the pain of his wounded body.