Family and friends crowded near, congratulating Gwen on her finish. She smiled and thanked them, holding back her own disappointment until she was alone. By the time she finally escaped the throng of well-wishers and had changed back into her everyday clothes, she felt like her cheeks might crack from holding the smile in place for so long.
Grandfather had offered to treat them all to ice cream, but Gwen excused herself.
"I think I'd just like to head back to Ingleside, if you don't mind," she said politely. Seeing Jo's face fall, she laughed and added, "But don't let me deprive the rest of you! You go, enjoy yourselves."
"But you're the star," Fanny protested. She was positively beaming over Gwen's success, and with happiness at being included in the family celebration—so close to Jack.
Gwen shook her head. "Honestly, I'm just tired right now. I'm not going to be good company for anyone. Really, I want you all to have ice cream."
"You're the best sister," Jo told her happily. "Even if you aren't the best runner."
Phil swatted at him, but Jo ducked aside with the ease of long practice.
"Are you sure, Gwen?" Grandmother asked.
Gwen nodded decisively. "Really."
Finally, they all left her alone and left the school for the pharmacy, freeing her to be herself and think.
Third place—out of all the schools on the Island—was a triumph, so Coach said. For someone as new to this as Gwen was, part of a brand-new team to boot, it was a spectacular success. Grandfather had cheered himself hoarse; all the Glen St. Mary Blythes and Merediths were beside themselves with pride at their Gwen distinguishing herself so. She ought to have been bursting with pride herself.
So why did she feel so disgusted with herself?
Gwen reached Ingleside, but the old house seemed to look at her reproachfully, so she kept walking. Her feet followed the shore road down, down, down, all the way to Four Winds and the harbour mouth. She passed the old Moore homestead, now the summer home of the Fords; she waved a distracted hand at the House of Dreams, whose inhabitants were even now celebrating her third-place finish with ice cream; she went by the Elliot place without evening noticing it.
Finally, at the very edge of the rocky shore, she broke into a run. Not her school run, not the running she had been training to do, but a child's run, trying to outrun her own self. She raced along the shore, dodging pebbles, skipping in and out of the waves, getting her shoes and socks soaked, until she was out of breath and laughing at her own foolishness. She collapsed into a heap right there on the coarse sand, uncaring of the way it would cling to her skirt and give Lynde fits when doing the laundry.
"Well, that looked like fun."
The noise that emitted from Gwen's mouth was a cross between a scream and a gasp. She leapt up and spun around, coming very close to twisting her ankle on the uneven ground.
"Oof!" she grunted, pitching forward. Two strong arms caught her and held her until she steadied.
"Easy, now," Oliver cautioned. "I didn't mean to startle you."
Gwen's blushes could have rivalled the lighthouse beam in strength. Of all the people to see her being childish—and then to practically fall on top of him! Oh, she hoped he didn't think she'd done it on purpose. As bad as it was to be thought of as uncoordinated, it would be even worse to get a reputation like the Drew girls.
"I didn't think anyone—I thought I was all alone," she stammered.
Oliver shrugged and released her arms. Gwen promptly sat back down, not caring how childish it might look. It was better than collapsing because her legs, for some strange reason, wouldn't hold her up.
"I thought you could use some company."
"Did you follow me all the way from the school?" Gwen exclaimed. She knew she had been distracted, but surely she would have noticed someone trailing her all that way.
Oliver shook his head and chuckled. "I mentioned to Phil that I was going to make sure you were all right, and he told me to check the shore."
Phil knew her well, that was certain. "Why would you need to make sure I'm all right?" Gwen asked carefully.
Oliver sat down beside her, apparently not caring that he was dirtying his trousers, and fixed his gaze on the turbulent blue-grey seas. Gwen was grateful to him for not looking directly at her; it made carrying on a conversation with him much easier.
"I saw your face after the race … you didn't look quite so pleased as I thought you would. And then when you turned down ice cream, I knew something had to be wrong. Nobody turns down ice cream."
Gwen laughed. "Maybe I just don't like it?"
Oliver shook his head and slanted a sideways glance at her out of his dark eyes. "Everybody likes ice cream. At least, everybody our age does. Maybe somewhere there's some elderly people who despise it, but I doubt even that."
"My cousin Patty—she's Lee's age—hates ice cream," Gwen informed him, rather enjoying this nonsense they were talking. "She says it's too cold, and too sweet."
Oliver shook his head again. "Clearly, she is the exception that proves the rule. Poor child."
Patty, plump, jolly, fun-loving Patty Blake with the snub nose and pretty blue eyes, could hardly be described as poor. Gwen shook her own head, unable to reconcile the idea.
"So," Oliver said, returning to the matter at hand. "Why aren't you out celebrating with everyone else? Don't tell me you're upset just because you didn't win? That doesn't seem very much like you."
Gwen wanted to ask him what did sound like her, but couldn't quite work up the courage. "I think," she said instead, slowly, having come to an understanding somewhere during her run along the sand, "I think that I disappointed myself because I know I can do better. I was so nervous beforehand, and wanted so desperately to prove myself to everyone, that I froze, just a little. It's not about where I placed, or how everyone else thinks I did. I know I could have done better, run faster, more smoothly, been more focused, and I'm frustrated with myself for not doing so."
"Everyone gets some form of stage fright," Oliver reassured her. "You never do as well at a performance as you do at a practice."
Gwen's chin was in its stubborn set. "I could have done better," she insisted.
Oliver sighed. "You don't make it easy to comfort you, you know."
"Maybe I don't want comfort."
"What, you prefer to wallow in misery?"
Gwen considered this. "No, that doesn't seem like a good idea, either." She shrugged. "I don't know what I want."
"How about a friend, to watch the sunset with?"
That, Gwen decided, sounded perfect. She and Oliver sat in companionable silence as the lowering sun tinted the water every shade of orange and gold and red one could imagine, turning the sea into a fiery basin full of magic and potential.
Gwen felt the tension leave her body and she breathed deep of the briny air. "Thank you," she said without looking at Oliver. "You were right; this was exactly what I needed."
"I'm glad," Oliver said. "I should probably get you back to Ingleside before your grandparents send out bloodhounds after you."
Gwen giggled at the image. "I don't want them to worry," she agreed. Oliver rose, helped her to her feet, and they walked side-by-side back to the road, and civilization.
"May 30, 1936.
"Dear Mother,
"Do you remember how, a little while ago, I wrote to you that I didn't have a 'crush' or anything like that on Oliver Grant?
"Well—I think I was wrong.
"Oh Mums! I wish you were here to tell me what to do! Fanny and Lynde are nice, but they're just girls my age; they can't tell me about this sort of thing. And I'm far too embarrassed to talk about it with Grandmother or Aunt Faith or Aunt Ruth. I might be willing to talk about it with Aunt Persis, but she's so busy right now trying to get her veterinary clinic opened up in the village.
"Oliver found me after the meet yesterday. He noticed that I wasn't as happy as I ought to be, and sought me out, and then just sat with me down by the shore until I felt better. He walked me back to Ingleside, and stayed for supper, and he didn't say anything unusual or out-of-the-way at all, but he smiled at me when he left, and Mother, I could swear that my heart leapt right into my throat. I honestly couldn't breathe at first!
"And then—I knew.
"I'm not in love with him or anything silly like that, so don't worry, Mums. I am only fifteen, after all! But oh, I've never thought about boys as anything but good companions before, and now all these strange feelings are chasing around in my stomach, and I can't seem to focus on anything at all. Here, I'll try to write some of them down, just as they occur to me, so you can see how silly I am being.
"He smiled at me. Does that mean he likes me?
"He smiles at everybody. He's nice to everybody. Why does he have to be so nice?
"I wish I could cook like Lynde. No boy could ever like someone who's as bad in the kitchen as I am.
"He has such nice eyes.
"How am I ever going to be able to get through final examinations next week?
"I never used to like the name Oliver, but now I think it's distinguished sounding.
"There, you see how hopeless I am, Mums? How shall I survive the rest of this year? He and Jack are best of friends, and Jack practically lives at Ingleside during the summer. Then, come autumn, we'll all be back in school, and Fanny is already talking about forming a study group with us and Lynde and Jack and Oliver. How can I possibly be around him so much and not give away the fact that I like him?
"And Mother, strangest of all: when I think about the possibility of him liking me too, part of me is excited, but I'm mostly scared. I don't think I want him to think of me as anything beyond Jack's cousin!
"Well—maybe as a friend. That would be acceptable, I suppose.
"Please write and tell me you went through all this when you were fifteen, and how you survived. And then, tell me how you knew Dad was the right one, and how he was different from any other boy you'd ever liked before!
"Oh, by the by, I came in third at the big meet. Coach and Grandfather and everyone else was pleased, but I know I can do better if I just learn to control my nerves. If you have any advice there, I'd be happy to hear that, too!
"Phil and Lee and Jo are all doing well. I'm not neglecting them in my new befuddled state, I promise.
"Love always,
"Your crazy Gwen."
"June 15, 1936
"Dear Gwen,
"My dearest daughter, how dare you grow up behind my back? When your father and I left—just four months ago!—you were still a child, and now here you are having love-affairs. I haven't dared tell your father about your last letter; he'd likely abandon India and Una and me and take the fastest boat back to Canada to whisk you into a convent until you are thirty. I must confess to wanting to do that myself.
"Part of it, of course, is sheer selfishness on my part. I can't possibly be old enough to have a daughter who is falling in love. Oh no, I know, you said it isn't love, but to my mind, it might as well be. To have you even notice that a boy exists—well, when I received your letter, my mind immediately jumped forward and I saw you with an engagement ring, in a white wedding gown, carrying chubby little babies, and seeing little golden-haired children off to school yourself!
"Mothers, my dear, are a very strange breed.
"I had my first 'love-affair' when I was sixteen. His name was Ethan Montgomery, and he was from England (with the most delicious accent), visiting his aunt who lived in a big house over-harbour. Nan and I both fell madly in love with him, and for an entire summer fought each other over him. Oh, our poor parents! Ingleside had never seen such fury. I was jealous of Nan because she was so much prettier than I was, and smarter. She was jealous of me because I was such a good listener and shared many of Ethan's interests.
"Of course, if we'd had any sense, we would have realized that Ethan wasn't interested in either of us at all. We only found out at the end of the summer that he had fallen for Persis Ford the first time he saw her, and only spent time with us so that he could see her. To do him justice, I don't think he had any idea how in love with him we were; if he had, I am still certain that he wouldn't have done anything to encourage us at all.
"Persis didn't care for Ethan one bit, naturally! Even then she preferred the quiet, steady boys (like Shirley, although they didn't fall in love until the War), and thought dashing, handsome Ethan Montgomery a bore. Once she let him know (in no uncertain terms) how she felt, he stopped visiting us in the Glen entirely, and Nan and I both thought our hearts were broken.
"It didn't last long—by the time next summer rolled around Nan and Jerry were courting in their own peculiar way (which mostly involved debating and arguing), and I was spending most of my time with Walter and preparing for Redmond. I had decided, after making such a fool of myself over Ethan, that I was not going to fall in love again until it was the Real Thing. How I was supposed to know the difference between the Real Thing and false love, I wasn't sure, but I was determined, nonetheless.
"Then we were off to Redmond, and there was the War, and somehow in all that I met your father, and at first I didn't even think of love. We were friends, that was all, and we wrote to each other while he was overseas, and when Walter died he comforted me, and when he was injured my heart shattered beyond even how it had broken at losing Walter, and then I knew. This was the Real Thing. This was Love, not love.
"Jon made me a better person; he listened to me, encouraged me, helped me to grow, and yet never made me feel inadequate. He accepted me just as I was. He was—and still is—the very best person I have ever known. He reminds me of my father, and I can give no higher compliment than that!
"When it is the Real Thing, daughter dear, you won't need me or anyone else to tell you. You'll know. If you have to ask, it isn't Love.
"That said, you are going about your first affair far more sensibly than I did. I suppose I ought to feel some pride in that, as perhaps the way you were raised is helping, but really, I think it's your father in you. You are so very much like him!
"If you feel yourself starting to get foolish around Oliver, just ask yourself which is more important to you right now—this April love, or his friendship. If you care more for his friendship, you'll be able to act (at least somewhat) sensibly around him.
"Above all, remember that you are a wonderful, special young woman, and don't ever settle for anything less than the Real Thing!
"I love you very, very much, my Gwen, and I'm pleased beyond what I can tell that you trust your old mother with your affairs of the heart.
"Always yours,
"Mother."
Gwen folded up the letter and kissed it. She felt much, much better now, after reading Mother's comforting words (and more than a little tickled at the glimpse she'd been given into life at Ingleside when her mother and aunts and uncles were her age).
"If I ever do fall in Love, and get married, and have a daughter," she said aloud. "I'm going to name her Diana Joyce, and I'm going to call her Joy."
"And when I get married," Jo answered, wandering into her bedroom unexpectedly, "and have a daughter, I'm going to name her Diana Rose, after her grandmother and mother, and I'll call her Diana."
"Oh, Jo!" Gwen cried. "You are far too young to be thinking about marriage and children!"
"You're thinking about it," Jo said, "and you're only four years older than I am. At least I know who I'm going to marry!"
And that, Gwen had to admit, was something she did not know.