Ingleside looked just as it always did—as it always would, Gwen thought with satisfaction. The white clapboard walls glowed like rubies in the light from the setting sun. The snow was piled high in the walled garden (when she was little, Gwen had been convinced that fairies lived in that brick wall, and they made the flowers prettier at Ingleside than anywhere else) and over the wide lawn, but yellow lights shone from every window, making it all look cozy.
Uncle Shirley caught her eye as he hauled their bags out of his auto. "Good old Ingleside, eh?" he said with a smile.
"It never changes," Gwen agreed. "Phil, Jo, help with the bags."
The front door opened, and Grandmother, Grandfather, and a number of others spilled out onto the verandah.
"Is that you, at last?" Grandmother called gaily, waving at them with one hand while clutching a shawl to her chest with the other. Grandmother was not old, she often explained to the young folk, but she did occasionally get bothered by the cold.
"As dear Aunt Jimsie used to say, anyone can get rheumatism in their body, but only old people get it in their souls," she was wont to say.
Gwen promptly forgot about being helpful and launched herself across the snowy lawn to envelop Grandmother in a bone-cracking hug.
"Go on," Uncle Shirley told the others, and they dropped bags and trunks to follow their sister's lead.
"Oh Grandmother," Gwen blurted, holding back those treacherous tears only by the force of her stubborn will. "I'm so glad to see you."
"As am I to you, dear heart," Grandmother said, gasping a little as she eased herself out of Gwen's fierce embrace. "Your grandfather and I were quite selfishly glad when we heard that your parents were going to India. We don't see enough of you Blakes … having you here for an entire year seems like heaven to us."
"We would have rather gone to India," Jo piped, much to Gwen's mortification. He followed that by offering a beaming smile at Grandmother and adding with disarming sweetness, "Since we couldn't, though, we're awful glad to be here, Grandmum."
"Well, come inside," Grandfather said, putting his arm around Lee's shoulders. "It's too cold to stand out here chatting. Your grandmother and Lynde have put on a fine spread for you weary travellers."
Lynde was an unfamiliar name, but Gwen was too busy secretly cuffing the side of Jo's head to ask.
Inside, there were aunts and uncles and cousins, people Gwen hadn't seen since last summer's family reunion, and with whom she was both eager to get acquainted and nervous. What if they thought she was dreadful? Jo hadn't made a very good impression of them to start with. What if they Mum and Dad had raised them all to be so rude?
Aunt Persis was as beautiful and kind as ever, shaking her hand in a business-like manner and asking Jo if he was too old to be kissed now.
"Yes," that terror replied, to which Gwen and Phil both glared at him.
"I'm not," Lee said, and so Aunt Persis bent and very sweetly kissed her.
Aunt Persis was the local veterinarian, and Uncle Shirley was a fisherman, and a commercial pilot during the off season, and they lived down at the old House of Dreams near the harbour. Uncle Shirley was quiet and Aunt Persis exuberant, and together they were Gwen's favourite aunt and uncle, even more than Aunt Jenny and Uncle Jeremiah.
Their two children, Leigh and Owen, were twelve and ten respectively. There was always much mirth in the family when Lee and Leigh were together, and the girl cousins were great friends. Leigh was quiet and calm, like her father, while Owen had inherited his mother's radiant good looks as well as her effervescent personality.
Uncle Jem was helping Uncle Shirley bring in the bags. "Not on call tonight, Jem?" Uncle Shirley asked, and Uncle Jem said that no, Bruce had agreed to fill in for him so he could welcome the travellers.
"He and Ruth and the twins will be here tomorrow, though," he added to Gwen, who smiled happily. Uncle Bruce and Aunt Ruth were considerably younger than the rest of the aunts and uncles, and their little Ruthie and Winnie were darling.
Then Aunt Faith was there, hugging her and asking how the trip was, and Jack was there behind her with another hug. Jack was the eldest out of all the cousins, just a year ahead of Gwen but already looking like a man, with his mother's goldy-brown hair and Uncle Jem's hazel eyes, set in a face that was, as Grandmother often said, the picture of his Uncle Walter.
Jack was like Uncle Walter in other ways, too. He loved poetry, and all things beautiful, and was a dreamer. Although he and Gwen were the eldest of the cousins, they were not the leaders of the clan—Jack was too dreamy, and Gwen too impulsive. Usually Phil took charge of cousin events, or even bossy Chloe Ford, for all that she was only ten.
"I'm glad you're here, Gwen," Jack said now, smiling at her. "It'll be nice having a cousin of my own age around, especially in school."
Gwen started to feel nervous, thinking about a new school, but just then a very pretty girl poked her head in through the doorway to the dining room.
"Supper is ready," she announced in a sweet but firm tone. "Best eat now, while it's still hot." The words were common enough, the the inflection indicated that if they demurred, there would be dire consequences to pay.
"Coming right in, Lynde," Grandfather said, leading the way to the other room.
Gwen nudged Owen, who happened to be beside her. "Who is that?"
"That's Lynde," he said, as though it were obvious.
Gwen rolled her eyes. "Yes, but who is Lynde?"
Grandmother, coming along behind them, heard the question and answered for Owen, who was clearly thinking more about the meal awaiting him than the hands that had prepared it. "Lynde Wilson," she supplied, "Great-granddaughter, and named for, my dear old Mrs. Lynde, from back in Avonlea. Her parents moved back from the States when Lynde was just a baby, and purchased the old Lynde farm when the MacPhersons died. Mrs. Wilson said she had always heard stories about the old place, and wanted to raise her family there."
"Then why is Lynde here?" Phil asked. Gwen hadn't seen him join them, but she was suddenly comforted by her brother's solid presence. It had been a long day, and as much as she loved her family, she was starting to feel overwhelmed.
"She wanted to learn all about keeping house, and earn a little money for herself," Grandmother said. "Nan and Jerry would have hired her, but they don't really need the help, and Millie and Davy already had a hired girl, so Nan asked me if I would mind taking her. I never wanted anyone after dear Susan Baker died, you know, but Lynde … well, she's almost like part of the family. Of course I said yes, and I am glad I did. She's been wonderful."
"She rules the household with a rod of iron," Grandfather said.
Lynde, coming in from the kitchen just then bearing a platter of chicken, smiled gently. "You'd be lost without me, Dr. Blythe."
Lynde was tall and sturdy, with light brown hair gathered back out of the way in a plait down her back, and soft hazel eyes that glowed with zest for life. Gwen decided she would like Lynde, who looked just about her age, but she would probably like her more once she'd gotten some sleep and had her feet under her again.
And that was the last coherent thought she had, working her way mechanically through the meal, plodding upstairs after Grandmother, and collapsing into bed in the dainty room that had once belonged to her mother and Aunt Nan.
The next morning, Gwen couldn't remember where she was at first when she opened her eyes. She had never visited PEI in the winter before, only during the summer holiday. The morning sunlight sparkling off the pristine snow and in through the windows gave an entirely different look to the room than it had in the summer.
Then Gwen remembered, and she was quite happy just to lay quietly in the pretty brass bed that had been her mother's before her and just think about her family history.
In this room, Mother and Aunt Nan had whispered secrets as children. Here, they had prayed and wept together during the Great War. Here it was that they helped each other prepare for their double wedding, sixteen years ago—Aunt Nan to Jerry Meredith, the preacher's boy who had been her beau since they were children, and Mother to Jonathan Blake, a preacher himself and her college sweetheart, son of Grandmother's old and dear friend Philippa Blake.
Gwen loved looking at the photographs from that day. Aunt Nan had looked like a film star in her long white dress, with her starry eyes and proud tilt. Mother, though, Mother had looked like a queen: tall and splendid and regal. Gwen knew she'd never be half so elegant as Mother, not if she lived to be a hundred years old.
The twins' room hadn't changed much since they had left home. The walls were still papered with the pretty purple and green flowering vines. The shelves above the beds still held their girlhood treasures—dolls and a jewelry box and scrapbooks above Aunt Nan's; books and a black-and-white framed photograph of Uncle Walter as a boy above Mother's. The window seat still had a fat green cushion on it, welcoming anyone to sit and read, and the green rug underfoot was still worn thin from years of feet tramping across it.
Lee was next door, in Aunt Rilla's old room, and Phil and Jo were down the hall in the uncles' room. There, nestled in the heart of her family, with all the hopes and memories of a past generation beating against her, Gwen started to feel at rest, as she had not felt since Mother first told them about India.
Perhaps … just perhaps … they would all survive this year after all.
Gwen heard a timid tap on the door. "Come in, dear," she called softly thinking it was Lee. The door cracked open to reveal Lynde's startled face, her hair hanging in loose waves around her face.
Gwen sat bolt upright in bed. "Oh!" she stammered, feeling a blush covering her cheeks. "Oh, I didn't mean—I thought—I wasn't—I thought you were my sister," she finished lamely.
Lynde came the rest of the way in, closed the door behind her, and laughed a little. "I should have identified myself, but I didn't want to wake you if you were still sleeping."
"Oh no, I always wake up early," Gwen said. "I like to wake with the dawn. The morning feels so fresh, the day full of endless possibilities. Most of them," she admitted ruefully, "have fallen flat by the time the day had ended, but at least you always know tomorrow is a fresh start."
"That sounds like something your grandmother would say," Lynde smiled.
"It probably is. I likely learned it from her."
"Well, I won't keep you, but I just wanted to know if you would like me to bring you breakfast in bed, it being your first day and all." After this, Lynde's tone warned, Gwen would be expected to toe the line like the rest of them.
"Oh no," Gwen said, springing up out of bed and stubbing her toe on the floorboards. "Ouch! No, I'll come help you get breakfast ready myself. Where is my skirt? And my blouse? I don't suppose you've seen my shoes?"
Lynde shook her head. "I'll be here all day if I wait for you. Come down when you're ready, Gwen, and I'll have your breakfast waiting on the table."
Gwen's head was under Aunt Nan's bed, where her socks had apparently gone to rest last night, but she wiggled her legs in agreement.
By the time she pulled herself out (thankfully, she was not covered in dust, as she would have been had she dived under a bed at home—Lynde was apparently a more zealous housekeeper than Mother) and was getting dressed (her clothes were nowhere near where she had placed them last night—Gwen was sure they ran off while she was sleeping and found new places to wait, just to bedevil her), the door had opened again to reveal a sleepy Lee. In her yellow flannel pyjamas, her red curls in two plaits down her back, she looked half her age, especially when she rubbed her eyes with a fist.
"I heard you banging away in here," she said plaintively. Unlike Gwen, Lee was not a morning person. "Why do you have to be so loud?"
Gwen finished running a brush through her short locks and kissed Lee. "Sorry, darling. Here, curl up in Auntie Nan's bed and go back to sleep. I'll come get you when it's time for breakfast."
Lee did so, and Gwen looked back and smiled as she went down the stairs.
She met Phil on the landing. He, like her, thought dawn was the best part of the day. Jo was a night owl, and the brothers often had difficulty sharing a room.
"Our first day," Phil said.
Yesterday, that would have sent shivers down her spine, but today Gwen was able to greet that thought with a smile. "Yes," she said. "And just think of all the lovely things that could happen today, and tomorrow, and all the days left to us here. Why, Phil! It's an entire year of exciting things just waiting to happen!"
Phil sniffed the air appreciatively. "The first good thing to happen is breakfast. Jeepers, Lynde! This looks swell!"
"Oh Phil, you know Mums doesn't like you to use slang at the table," Gwen reminded him as she slid into the seat across from him. She smiled at Lynde, who placed a plate full of eggs and bacon and rolls in front of her. "Lynde, you're a marvel. Won't you join us?"
"Not my place, Gwen," Lynde said reprovingly. "I eat in the kitchen."
"So do we, at home," Phil grinned around a mouthful of eggs. "These really are sw—er, delicious, Lynde."
"Thank you," she said, beaming at him.
"You two are up early," Grandfather said, strolling into the dining room.
"You don't mind, do you, Grandfather?" Gwen asked.
"Not at all. I enjoy having someone to keep me company over my morning coffee. Thank you," he added, as Lynde whisked in with the coffee pot, as if on cue. "We used to keep regular morning hours around here, but once all the children grew up and moved out of the house, your grandmother decided to start sleeping in a bit in the mornings."
"Why doesn't Lynde share coffee with you?" Phil asked.
Lynde, bringing the doctor's loaded plate in to him, sniffed at the question.
"Lynde likes to keep us firmly in our place," Grandfather grinned. "We've all tried convincing her to be one of the family, but she won't relent. Hard-hearted woman," he added loudly. They all heard another sniff from behind the swinging door. Grandfather's eyes twinkled, and Phil nearly choked on his food trying to stifle a giggle.
Gwen, meanwhile, was eying Grandfather's coffee longingly. She had always wanted to try coffee, but Dad told her it was a terrible habit to start.
"Want a cup, Gwen?" Grandfather asked, noticing her interest.
Gwen bit her lip. Dad wouldn't mind, she told herself. After all, she was in charge of her siblings now. Surely almost-fifteen was old enough to make up her own mind about coffee.
"Yes, please," she said before she could change her mind.
"Gwen!" Phil said, shocked. "You know Dad says—"
"And Mother says everyone is allowed one bad habit," Gwen interrupted. "I think coffee will be mine."
"I should think disorganization would be yours," Phil muttered. Gwen pretended not to hear him.
Lynde brought Gwen her own coffee cup, and Gwen, terribly excited to try to exotic, adult drink, raised it at once to her lips.
She nearly gagged on the bitter black brew. Phil was watching her intently, so she tried desperately to keep a straight face.
"Cream and sugar, Gwen?" Grandfather asked, laughter hidden under his voice.
Gwen stiffened her spine. She wanted to drink coffee, she would drink coffee. "No, thank you, Grandfather," she said primly. "It's delicious, just as it is."
And she grimly finished off the cup, promising herself that she would drink one every morning no matter how revolting it tasted, for the entire year—
Just because she could.
Because that was part of being grown-up.