Di stood alone in the grey dawn, wearing her only dress and a sweater borrowed from Mrs. Boyer, the neighbor, and stared at the ashes from last night.

Despite the firemen's best efforts, the Home had burned to the ground; they had been able to save nothing. It stood now in the cold half-light, a still-smoking pile of rubble.

Di blinked away stinging tears, unsure as to whether they were caused by the acrid smoke or something deeper. Her feelings were torn: relief that the children hadn't been harmed (aside from a little smoke in their lungs, something the doctor said a few days of rest would clear up); sorrow over the loss of the Home; and most of all, overwhelming tiredness. Aunt Jen had come over last night, with promises to return in the morning, and she had declared that they could rebuild, but Di wasn't so sure.

It was one thing to keep an asylum open against Mrs. Kennedy's opposition—it was another thing entirely to attempt to re-open. Besides, Di wasn't even sure she wanted to. Not that she had any idea what she would do if she didn't rebuild, but maybe this was fate's way of telling her it was time to change direction.

She pulled the sweater a little tighter around her body. The firemen had determined that the cause of the fire had been a greasy towel left too close to the stove last night. Mrs. Goccia, as always, had been in a hurry to get home, and must have left it.

Di couldn't find it in her heart to blame the old woman. The fire had been an accident—however it started, no one was to blame. Still, the fact remained that she and the three little ones were left bereft, and she had no options in front of her. Rebuilding didn't seem possible—even if Mrs. Kennedy wasn't in the picture, Di didn't think she had the energy to start again from scratch. She had been twenty-seven when she started, full of grand dreams and boundless energy. Now she was thirty-two, tired and worn out. Five years may not seem like much, but they had made all the difference to her.

"Di!"

At the distressed cry, Di turned and saw Rilla's figure flying down the street toward her.

"Kenneth heard about the Home just now. Oh Di, why didn't you call us?"

Di pulled back as Rilla moved to hug her. "I stink of smoke, Rilla," she said. "I'm sorry I didn't call. It was a little too wild here to think about anything."

Rilla hugged her despite her protestations. "I can't imagine … thank the Lord nobody was hurt! I nearly went crazy when Ken woke me up and told me. I rushed the children right over to Mother Leslie's and came here. I want you and the children to come home with me."

"Oh Rilla, that's sweet, but I can't. I need to figure out what to do."

Rilla had that stubborn look in her eye again. "You can figure it out just as well from our house as you can from standing in the street, or staying at the Boyers. Di, do I need to remind you again what family is for?"

Di relented. "No, darling. We'll come. Thank you—I didn't mean to sound ungrateful; I'm just so tired right now I can't even think straight."

"And no wonder!" Rilla hugged her again. "I have the car, so let's go get the children and go right home."

Home … what a wonderful sounding word. Di tried to imagine a home of her own … a home with a lowercase "h" instead of a capital one … a home with laughing children and a big, overgrown puppy … a home with lights in the windows and life in the rooms … a home that was a refuge from the world or a place to welcome friends, whichever you preferred … a home with a fireplace and china dogs, like at Ingleside … a home with a husband with a slight limp and warm blue eyes that crinkled when he laughed.

She sniffed a little as she turned away from the ruins of her Home, never to return again.

Rilla was wonderful. She prepared hot baths for the children, and insisted on tucking them into bed herself so Di could take her own bath. Di protested feebly at first, but as always, Rilla had her way in the end, and as she whisked the three children upstairs, Di sank into the tub and luxuriated in the feeling of the grime and stench being washed away.

When she finally emerged, after the water grew cold, nearly an hour later, Rilla had a hot cup of tea and some toast waiting for her.

"Sister dear, you are amazing," Di said, tying the belt of her robe—borrowed from Rilla, of course—a little tighter and sitting down at the table.

Rilla smiled complacently. "Well, I like to think so." She winked roguishly. "At least, that's what I tell Kenneth!"

Di smiled. "I'm sure Ken thinks you're wonderful all on his own, without any encouragement from you."

The two sisters chatted about trivial matters—how Gilly was going to be starting school in the fall, and how Rilla couldn't get over how her baby boy was growing up; Persis' latest exploits with the twins in France; the honors being heaped on the young American pilot, Charles Lindbergh; Kenneth's paper; and other such topics.

Finally, two cups of tea later, Rilla turned to more serious issues.

"Di, dear," she said, setting her teacup down. "Have you been able to think at all about what you are going to do next?"

Di sighed. "Well, the first thing I'm going to have to do is buy some necessities for myself and the children. We didn't have time to take anything, so we have nothing left but the clothes on our backs."

"You know you're welcome to anything of mine," Rilla offered immediately.

Di laughed. "Rilla, dear, you are at least two inches shorter than I am, and you have a lovely figure, unlike my straight up-and-down. I highly doubt much of anything of yours will fit me."

Rilla heaved a sigh of her own. "I remember the days when I was as slim as you—that was before Gilly and the girls. Well, dear, you know how I love to shop, so I'll be more than happy to accompany you whenever you plan to go."

"Thank you. As for what the Home is going to do next, I'm just not sure. Aunt Jen said we could rebuild, but … I just don't know."

Rilla looked at her sister with startled eyes. "Not rebuild? But Di—what else would you do?"

Di shrugged. "I'm not sure, to be perfectly honest. But I think—I think this might be heaven's way of telling me it's time to make a change, to go in a new direction. Now, if I could only guess what that direction would be …"

"But what about the children?"

Di straightened. "I'll never abandon Peter, Bran, and Polly. Never. Whatever direction my life takes, they will be a part of it. As for the rest … who knows?"

Rilla leaned back in her chair. "My goodness. I never thought you'd leave the Home."

"I probably wouldn't have, had it not been for this fire. But now the Home is gone, and I think it's time for a fresh start."

"So what are you going to do?" Rilla asked again.

"I thought about that while I was bathing," Di answered slowly. "I think, once we get everything settled here, I want to take the children to Ingleside for a little while. This has been a traumatic experience for them, and I think it would do them some good to get out of the city and away from anything that might remind them of the fire. And I think it would do me some good, too—maybe give me some perspective, give me a chance to sit down and really plan out what I want to do next."

"Well, that sounds like a good idea," Rilla said. "Ken and I are planning on heading to the Island in a few weeks, you know. If the timing works out, perhaps we can all travel together."

"That would be nice," Di agreed. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. How good it would be to see Glen St. Mary again! To ramble through the maple grove, dream in Rainbow Valley, feel the rocks and sand of the harbor under her feet again …

Her head tilted to one side, and she fell fast asleep, dreaming of home.

The worst part of the next few days was telling Aunt Jen that she had no real desire to start the Home afresh. That good woman looked positively crushed at the news.

"But—but—why?" she demanded.

"I just think it's time for a change," Di tried to explain. "I've been feeling worn out and run down for a while lately, and now that the Home is gone, I think it's a good time to start afresh."

Aunt Jen's face suddenly cleared. "I see. You're tired! You need a break. You haven't been away from the Home at all for almost three years—and that was when you went back to the Island for your sister's health crisis. You go back to the Glen—take the children with you—and once you've rested and recovered, you'll be ready to come back and start work again. Lewis and I will be ready for you."

Di tried to protest, but the Pringle spirit nearly matched the Blythe spirit, and in the end, she left Aunt Jen with the matter still unresolved.

"Well, it won't be so bad," said Rilla consolingly. "After all, who knows? Maybe you will want to start over here in a little while. And if not, Aunt Jen will have to believe you if you tell her in a month or so that you don't want to rebuild."

"I suppose so," Di conceded. "I just feel as though I was tricking her, somehow."

"Nonsense! You're being perfectly honest—if she chooses to ignore what you're telling her, then that's her misfortune. You can't be held responsible for it."

Rilla thoroughly enjoyed the shopping. She would have bought all kinds of charming dresses for Polly, and elegant suits for the boys, had Di not insisted that the clothing be simple and practical.

Rilla did have her way on an evening frock for Di, though. It was a slim princess style, made of Nile green chiffon, with a bolero jacket adding that extra touch of smartness. Di protested, but Rilla overruled her.

"There are always summer parties in the Glen," she said. "And it's been ages since you've had a really nice evening gown, Di. After everything you've been through this past year, you deserve something nice for yourself."

And so the days slipped by, and before they knew it, the nine of them—Rilla, Ken, Gilly, Ally, Anna, Di, Peter, Bran, and Polly—were on the ferry to the Island, all eagerly craning their necks for their first glimpse of the red soil.

From the harbor, it was merely a short train ride to the Glen, where all the family had turned out to meet them. Di was looking forward to getting to Ingleside—not only was she bone-weary from traveling, Peter was looking white and sick with nerves over meeting so many strange people, Polly was whimpering a little with tiredness and the strangeness of it all, and even Bran's boundless energy had flagged, leaving him unusually quiet and withdrawn.

Her spirits lifted as she stepped off the platform, directly into Mother's waiting arms. For just a moment, Di felt like a little girl again, coming home to Mother's wisdom and comfort. There were more grey threads than red in Mother's hairs now, but her grey eyes still shone with all the love and beauty of her youth.

Little Polly drew near at once, sensing a kindly mother-presence, and even Peter's drawn face eased a little when she turned to him and welcomed him to Glen St. Mary.

Bran, on the other hand, was drawn more to the elder Dr. Blythe, who for a change was not out on a case. That worthy gentleman, seeing that the women were all occupied with hugging, greeted bran with a grin and cheerful hello. Perhaps the Welsh boy saw in him a kindred spirit, for his wide grin flashed out instantly, and he and Gilbert were fast friends from that moment on.

Jem and Faith were there as well, with their two; Walt hiding behind his mother's skirts, Lily happily hugging cousins Gilly, Anna, and Ally.

Amidst all the hugs, Dr. Blythe's voice finally boomed over their heads.

"Enough! Anne-girl, we must get these weary travelers home. Di, you look ready to drop."

Di beamed at her father. "I'm doing much better now that I'm home," she said, truthfully enough. She hadn't realized how much she'd been missing the Glen, and her family.

Faith hooked her arm through Di's as the crowd started to make its way back to Ingleside. "You'll never guess what news I have for you," she said, winking roguishly.

"True enough, so you might as well just tell me," Di laughed back, holding Polly's hand in her free one.

"Una's coming home in a week!"

"Oh Faith, that's wonderful!" Di cried. Una Meredith had been working with needy children in India for the last several years. Her family and friends missed her greatly—letters only conveyed so much. "How long will she be here?"

"A month," Faith said happily. "I can't wait to see her. You and Nan and Rilla are all wonderful, of course, but Una's my own sister, and I've missed her so! Just think, she's never even seen Lily and Walt."

"Oh, it will be good to see her," Di said. "It's been far too long."

"It's been too long since you've been home, too, Di dear," Faith scolded lovingly. "I'm so sorry about the Home, of course, but I'm glad it at least brought you back. How long will you stay?"

Di was very aware of Polly pricking up her ears to hear the answer, as well, and of Peter walking behind her. She hadn't told the children yet that she wasn't going to reopen the Home, only that they were all going to spend some time at Ingleside. "I haven't quite decided," she finally answered vaguely. "We'll see how things go."

Back at Ingleside, with Rilla and Ken and their brood heading gaily off to the House of Dreams, Di insisted that her three lay down for an hour's nap.

"But I'm not tired, Mother Di," Bran protested. "I want to explore!"

"And I'm eleven, too old for naps," Peter grumbled.

Di couldn't help but smile. The mere fact that Peter was grumbling told her he was more tired than he wanted to admit.

"Humor me," she said firmly. "We'll be here for many days; there'll be plenty of time for everything you want to do. But if you don't rest now, you'll get sick, and miss out on all the fun you could be having. Now, lay down. You may get up in one hour."

They still looked sulky, but they did as they were told. Di tucked them in and exited the room in time to see Mother coming out of her and Nan's old bedroom. Mother had asked to be allowed to put Polly down for her nap, and Di had willingly agreed, thinking that the two boys were about all she could manage just then.

"How is she?" Di asked in a hushed tone.

Mother smiled. "She fell asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow."

"Good." Di peeked back into the boys' room. "And they're asleep as well."

They went downstairs together into the living room, where the other adults were gathered and Susan, older and slower, but still stubbornly refusing to slow down, was bringing in tea.

"By George, it's good to have you home, Diana, daughter of Anne," Dad said, smiling with satisfaction. "Now tell us, daughter dear, what are your plans for the future?"

The children being safely asleep upstairs, Di told them the truth.

"To be perfectly honest, dad, I just don't know," she said frankly. "But I do know that they do not involve rebuilding the Shirley-Stedman Home."

Jem and Faith opened surprised eyes at this, but neither Mother nor Dad seemed the least bit startled.

"Opening would be a great deal of work," Mother nodded. "If it's not something you're absolutely positive you want to do, it's best to leave it."

"Now, why aren't you surprised?" Di demanded, half-jokingly, and half in earnest. "Rilla nearly fell out of her chair when I told her, and Aunt Jen refuses to believe me at all."

"Parents can see these things, dear," Mother answered serenely. "We knew you were restless at the Home. I think it's good that you want a change. You don't want to get in a rut and go on plodding away at the same thing, day after day. If you've lost your love for the work, you should leave it and find something different."

"But what will you do?" Faith asked.

Di shrugged. "That's one of the things I'm hoping to discover, now that I'm home. For now, I just want to be carefree and irresponsible for a few days, and pretend I'm a girl again, and forget everything that has happened these last several months."

This seemed to satisfy everyone else, but later on, when Di and Mother were alone on the verandah, it was another matter.

"Di," Mother began. "I don't want to pry, if you'd rather not discuss it, but I was wondering … how do you feel about Patrick and Elizabeth?"

Di sighed and leaned back. "I don't know how you do it, Mother. You haven't seen me for a few years, and within hours of me being back home, you divine my deepest secrets."

Mother smiled. "It was fairly obvious, when your letters home suddenly stopped referring at all to Patrick, that something was wrong there. And this restlessness, this desire for something different … unless I'm mistaken, that has something to do with your feelings for Patrick. Am I right?"

So much had things changed in the last months, that Di was able to answer honestly and fully, with only the slightest twinge. "I think I've been in love with him for years, without knowing it. I knew I didn't like the idea of him marrying anybody, but I thought that was just because I didn't want to share his friendship. Then I met Elizabeth—and Mother, she's all wrong for him!—and I knew." She smiled ruefully. "Now that it's too late to do anything at all about it, I know my true feelings. It was very difficult for a while, but then everything happened with Mrs. Kennedy, and then the fire, and now … now I can just accept the fact that I'll never be with him. It hurts, but not unbearably."

She sighed. "It would be easier to bear, though, if I did have some sort of drive. You're right—as usual!—about my love for the Home waning right around the same time my love for Patrick blossomed."

Mother nodded. "It is rather hard for the heart to sustain two passions at once. Some can do it, but it's not easy."

"Exactly! I need something else, something to take the place of the Home … and hopefully replace Patrick … I just don't know what."

Mother patted her hand, smiling tenderly. "Don't fret, dear. Everything will work itself out in good time. You'll see."

Di rather doubted it, but she still felt better. Oh, it was good to be "mothered" again! For now, she was perfectly content just to stay at Ingleside forever. She knew the feeling wouldn't last, but she was going to enjoy it to the fullest while it did.

Author's Note: Not so much excitement in this chapter, but I thought Di needed a bit of an interlude. And just wait 'til you see what happens next ...