As she hurried down the path to Ingleside, Una tried to take deep calming breathes. She'd put on a plain white dress and done up her hair in a severe knot in an attempt to look like an experienced matron, but she still felt like shy, scared little Una.
"It won't matter if he doesn't hire me," she told herself. She'd just keep sewing dolls clothes for the harbor children and helping Rosemary with the mending. From time to time she'd visit Faith or perhaps she'd keep house for Carl. She wouldn't get her hopes up. After all she wasn't any good with boys. She tended to get along better with girls, quiet girls.
All too soon she arrived at the Ingleside gate. Mrs. Blythe was eating breakfast in the garden with a man and a small boy. Seymour Grant and his nephew. Una paused, and then decided to cut across the garden. She didn't have the nerve to walk straight up to Seymour.
The boy was hunched over something, and his back was towards Una, but she had an excellent view of Seymour's face as she walked across the garden. He had waving chestnut hair, a large sloping nose that dominated his face. His mouth was thin and curled at the corners. He wasn't breathtakingly handsome the way Walter was, but his face was interesting and it held your attention.
"Perfect timing, Una," Mrs. Blythe said, when Una arrived at the table. "Seymour, this is Una. I thought she could be Anthony's tutor."
Seymour looked at her, winced, and put his hand over his eyes. Una immediately felt like she had too many arms and legs.
"Oh no. No, she won't do at all," he said. "I'm sorry, but I really can't hire a woman."
"Why not?" Mrs. Blythe demanded.
"I live on an island all by myself."
"I wouldn't mind that," Una said hesitatingly. "If you wouldn't." She folded her hands behind her back.
"The neighbors would and if the reporters heard about this, they'd make your life miserable. Besides, the nature of my work requires a lot of traveling in odd corners of the earth. A woman wouldn't be welcome in many of them, so she wouldn't be able to accomplish some of the things a man could. I was actually hoping for a tutor slash secretary."
"But, I'm very organized and I keep house perfectly." Una said. Then she wished she'd been silent. Keep house perfectly? Was that really all she had to recommend herself?
"Una's a treasure," Mrs. Blythe said. "She cooks wonderfully. Don't think I didn't notice the way you devoured up those pancakes. You're starved for a good meal, and Anthony could use some excellent cooking. Do you really think a man will be able to take care of Anthony as well as Una could?" She smiled at Anthony, but Anthony said nothing.
Una wanted to walk around the table so she could see Anthony's face, but her feet seemed glued to the ground.
"I…I'd do my best," she said.
Seymour smiled and shook his head. "It's been lovely meeting you, Ms. ?"
"Meredith."
"Ms. Meredith, but we need a man, and I'm sure Anthony would feel much better with a man, wouldn't he?" Seymour smiled down at Anthony, but there was no reply. "It's not just about propriety, but practicality as well. Good day."
Una looked helplessly at Mrs. Blythe. For once in her life, Mrs. Blythe seemed to be at a loss for words.
"I'll see you later, Una," she said.
Una turned and fled.
It was dinner time before Una could convince herself to leave the comfort of Rainbow Valley and return home. At dinner Rosemary and her father talked about the manse as usual while her father discussed some ideas for his next sermon and Una wanted to burst into tears and tell them to stop, stop, just stop it but she didn't know what she wanted them to stop.
Una lay awake in bed that night. Mrs. Blythe's words kept ringing in her ears. Strike out on your own. Strike out on your own. But how? Doing what? If Walter was alive…If Walter had lived, she would have what? Married him? Una laughed to herself. Walter had liked her, certainly, he'd responded to her letters but there was no reason to believe he'd ever love her.
She rolled out of bed, pushed aside the window curtains and looked at her face in the mirror. The moonlight shone on her thick masses of hair which drowned out her small features. She looked like a mouse, a tiny trembling mouse.
She lay back down again and wondered if this was going to be the rest of her life: scurrying around with the mending, sewing so many doll clothes she couldn't give them away fast enough, tucking Walter's letter in her dress every morning. Soon Jerry and Carl would marry, all the Ingleside Blythes would move away and she, Una, would still be at the manse with Father and Rosemary, until they too died and she was left alone.
Una covered her head with her pillow, but she could not still her thoughts. Seymour was leaving next evening, and he would be taking her second chance at life with him. She had to make this happen. She had to. She tossed and turned and finally fell into a fitful sleep.
Then, at three in the morning, she sat up in her bed stuck by an idea so overwhelming in its lunacy it took her breath away. She was going to make this happen.
Seymour shook Dr. Blythe's hand regretfully and smiled at Mrs. Blythe. He was sorry to leave Ingleside but his next book was waiting on his desk, and besides he wanted Anthony to get settled as soon as possible.
"I'm sorry we can't see you to the train station," Dr. Blythe said. "Unfortunately, a doctor's schedule is determined by the whims of illness."
"Oh, Anthony and I will enjoy the walk," Seymour said easily. "We need exercise after the way Mrs. Blythe has been feeding us."
Mrs. Blythe smiled back at him. "I'm amazed I still like you," she said, "even though you won't be obliging and follow my plans. Are you sure you don't want—"
Dr. Blythe stepped on her foot.
"Oh, Mrs. Blythe, you're an angel for putting up with a scoundrel like me," Seymour said gallantly. Mrs. Blythe had spent the rest of the visit trying to convince him that Una-what's-her-name would be the perfect tutor for Anthony. Seymour was glad he was going, any longer and he might have caved.
"Oh, and Anthony, this is for you." Mrs. Blythe passed him a blue stuffed elephant. "It used to belong to one of my sons," she said. A shadow crossed her face for a moment. "I think he would have liked for you to have it."
Anthony took the elephant and stroked its trunk. "Does he have a name?"
"Yes." Mrs. Blythe said. "It's…" she struggled for a moment. "That's funny. I can't seem to remember it."
Dr. Blythe patted her hand.
It was a windy afternoon, Seymour thought. Windy enough that it was no surprise Mrs. Blythe's eyes were damp.
After a moment or two, Mrs. Blythe continued. "I think he's beginning a new life with you, Anthony. You should give him a new name. Make him happy."
Anthony smiled, a smile so startlingly sweet, that Seymour held his breathe. "I will. Thank you," he said.
The walk to the station passed quickly. For once Anthony talked.
"Shall I call him Bootles?"
"No. Imagine what all the other animals will do to the poor creature," Seymour said. "What about a nice simple name like Roger?"
"That's not very elephant-y at all," Anthony said.
Miracle of miracles. Anthony had opinions. Seymour clutched his heart and pretended to stagger. "Anthony, you wound me," he cried.
Anthony laughed.
I should have bought him toys, Seymour thought. That's what any reasonable caretaker would have done, but the idea hadn't even occurred to him.
"Wally?"
"No!"
"Woo?"
"Anthony, if you ever have sons you are absolutely not allowed to name them."
When they reached the station platform they found it deserted except for a thin young man holding a crumpled newspaper. From time to time he would peer at them over the newspaper.
Seymour smiled at him.
The young man put down his newspaper and blushed violently. Then he picked it up again. Then he crumpled it up again, stood up and marched over to Seymour.
"A-are you S-s-seymour G-rant?" he stuttered. His hat slipped over his eyes, and his clothes were far too big for him.
Oh lord. Another fan. Seymour hoped he wouldn't follow them into the compartment and insist on chatting for the entire train ride. He thought he'd be safe in a small place like Glen St. Mary, but apparently not.
"Yes," Seymour said curtly. "What can I do for you?"
"Iheardyouwantedatutor."
"Er, say that again?"
"Tutor. Do you need a tutor?" The young man gasped out. His hands were clenched into fists.
Seymour blinked. A tutor. Oh. He looked at the fellow more carefully. A few wisps of black hair peeked out underneath the hat. Rather on the smallish side, and young looking. Very young. His face was a pale oval without the slightest hint of stubble. Almond shaped dark blue eyes. Wistful eyes.
"How old are you?" he asked.
"Twenty four."
Seymour arched an eyebrow. "Really? You look about sixteen."
The young man shuffled his feet.
"Sixteen then. So tell me, why should I hire a sixteen year old?"
"I know a little bit of Greek and Latin. My handwriting is good."
"Good for you," Seymour said.
"I can cook a bit, I'm pretty handy around the house, and I'm a fast learner," he said all in a rush.
Seymour sighed. He didn't seem promising, but they weren't likely to meet more people on the way to Seymour's island, and once they arrived at the island it would be difficult to advertise. Still…there was something distinctly off about the man, boy, really. Why was he so nervous? "Anthony, what do you think?"
Anthony looked at the young man.
He looked back at Anthony. Seymour hoped he wouldn't pass out, he was staring at Anthony so intently he couldn't possibly be breathing.
"Please," the young man croaked. "Please, Anthony. I'll take good care of you…" he glanced at Anthony's arms, "and that very fine elephant."
Later, Seymour swore it was the mention of the elephant that did the trick.
"Alright," Anthony said.
Seymour's jaw dropped open. Where was Anthony's famous silence? Where were the days of staring at the ground? Then he grinned. The fellow coaxed one word out of Anthony. That was better than Seymour pre-elephant.
"What's your name?" Seymour asked.
"U—um, Walter. Walter Piper."
"Well, Mr. Piper, you're hired," Seymour said. He went over the wages (good), and the days off (very bad, none), and the duties which ranged from taking care of Anthony to running errands for Seymour, but the young man didn't seem troubled.
Instead he was gazing into the distance, his blue eyes full of light, brilliant instead of wistful, and he was standing very straight, his shoulders thrown back as if he could see far into the future and he was marching forward to meet it because it would be bright and glorious.