Anne was right— Una was thinking of Walter. Could he have been gone for four years, now? Una could scarcely believe it. She expected to see him as she walked in Rainbow Valley, sprawled under a tree, languid, immersed in a book, or taking in the beauty around him. It seemed impossible that he should be dead.
If he was dead, she was, too. There was a piece of her soul that had been killed by the same bullet that struck Walter at Courcelette. He had been a son – a brother – a friend – but to Una he could have unlocked worlds of love. If only she had told him! If only he had lived!
Her letters to him had always been prim, lady-like epistles and his had been friendly and dreamy and wonderful but they had never hinted at anything more. Walter had loved Faith, and Faith and Una were as different as two sisters could be. It never occurred to Una that Walter might have loved her, but sometimes when she remembered a fleeting glance given or a line written in a particular letter, she thought he might have been fond of her. She knew that he would have grown to love her if he had lived – oh, if he had only lived!
How she had dreamed about him, for so long! Una had set so much by those dreams these past years that she was a little afraid. But – it scared her even more to think that she should give those dreams up. She read somewhere that the war had created a 'lost generation' – and Una felt as though she had been caught up in it, floating aimlessly and adrift. Wouldn't someone ever find her? But then – she wasn't entirely sure that she wanted to be found.
She sat down by the little brook and listened to the Tree Lovers waving their fairy bells on the breeze. The name of Walter Blythe was not forgotten. Jem and Faith had given his name to their little son, and shortly after Walter's death, Di, his 'twin of the heart,' had gone through his papers and put together a compilation of his works, including his famous war-poem, 'The Piper.' It was a only thin little book, but published and taught in universities throughout Canada—and read and loved by people the world over. A short, elfin, bewitching book of poetry. Una knew each verse in it by heart.
Her favorite lines in it were:
Her eyes of lovely steadfastness
Were lovely pools of midnight blue…
She had read them over and over again, weighing each word heavily. Could Walter have written those lines about her? Una's eyes fit that description exactly.
She gave a little sigh. The others had laughter and love in their lives—and children, and homes together that were full of joy—sometimes sadness, but mostly joy. Una had those two lines, that may or may not have been written about her, and a faded, folded letter given to her by Rilla Blythe, written in Walter's hand. It seemed so—little.
Una leaned over to see her face in the rippling brook that ran through the edge of Rainbow Valley. It was a fascinating face, though not beautiful—with white, white skin and a little rosebud mouth, and fine black brows like little wings of soot over eyes just as steadfast and unwavering as Walter's poem described—if indeed, he was describing her eyes. No one could know for sure, now. It was a mystery lost to man. Una knew she did not look twenty-five—but oh, only last week how condescending Irene Howard had been in Carter Flagg's shop. "I suppose you're going to be one of those 'career women,'" she had said. When she knew that Una had no career! She meant that Una was becoming an old maid.
Una had a reputation for sweetness and goodness—she was not a laughing, fun girl like Faith, or blithe like Rilla, or strident and confident like Nan. But she had taken her course in Domestic Science and could plan a menu and make pasty as light as a cloud. There were plenty of men in the Glen or Four Winds that would have her, if she wanted! But Una did not want. The only man she had ever loved—ever could love—was sleeping as soundly as man can sleep, thousands of miles away, never to wake.
"I feel so old," Una said piteously, at that moment looking especially young and vulnerable.
She would not allow anyone to know what she had felt for Walter. Rilla knew, of course, but Una had kept her from knowing the true depth of her feelings. She caught Mrs. Blythe looking at her with great pity and tenderness betimes, but Una would not let Mrs. Blythe pity her. She had no right to mourn, or grieve, so she did not. She helped Rosemary around the manse, and wrote long letters to little Bruce at Queens. Una thought fleetingly sometimes about going overseas to work in the missions like Faith – but it would hurt too much to be away from home. And so she had taken an active role in the church instead. She taught Sunday school. There were flowers from 'Una's garden' on the altar every week. Such lilies and peonies and tea roses! Not even Mrs. Blythe could grow tea roses like Una—fragrant, perfect, pristine little white blossoms.
She did a lot of things. The Rev. Meredith referred to her as his "stalwart," and Rosemary asked—often—how could they get along without Una? She did so much, for everyone.
"But there is one thing I will not do," Una vowed passionately, as she did at this time and this place every year. "I will never forget you, Walter."