"Dearest Gwen,

"I might as well jump right in to the main point here. I can't say your father and I were shocked when we received your grandparents' letter, but neither had we been expecting it. Rather, it was one of those moments where we said: 'Oh of course, naturally, why didn't that occur to us?' Not that we should have thought of you staying in the Glen while the rest of us returned to Kingsport, but we should have realized that your grandparents would think of it.

"Now, dear daughter, I am certain that by now you are hoping your dear old mum and dad will write and say: Do This or Do That. But I'm afraid we can't. You are fifteen and a half now, Gwen, and old enough to decide for yourself what you want. If you decide that it is important to you to stay, we will support you. If you decide you want to come back to Kingsport with us, we will support that, too. It has to be your choice, though. I don't want, later on in life, you to look back and resent us for choosing one or the other for you.

"Your father wants to lay out all the pros and cons for you—the benefits of staying vs. the benefits of going back, and the negative aspects of both. I talked him out of it, though. As much as I would like to help you write out a list for this, I am afraid that my own opinion might influence it one way or the other. And your father—well, I know how much you adore him, and if you even get a hint of what he wants, I know that my sweet Gwen will at once decide that's what she wants, as well.

"So I am afraid this one is all up to you, Gwen darling. Know this, though—it is the most important thing I will write to you in this entire letter: No matter what you choose, your father and I love you very much, and are very proud of you. Always.

"Forever and ever, your loving,

"Mum."

Gwen put the letter down with a sigh. She should have known that was what Mother would say. She ought to have expected that this wouldn't just be simple and straightforward. She was going to gave to figure it out all on her own.

Her father's suggestion of a list of pros and cons sounded like a good idea. Not tonight, though. She was too tired to do anything more tonight. England was without a king, Gwen was finding her own way in the dark, and she was exhausted.

Without hesitation, she flung herself into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. She resolutely closed her eyes and started counting sheep.

"One … two … what would it be like to spend two and a half years without the other kids? … three … four … five … in some ways it might be nice to be on my own, but I know I'd miss them … six … seven … I don't know why it bothered me so much that Oliver assumed I would stay … eight … I should have been happy, but it still annoys me to think about it … nine … ten … eleven … and do I even want to go to college? … twelve …"

Before she reached thirteen, Gwen was asleep.

The next few days, the adults in the Glen were all talking about the implications of the king's abdication, but the young fry were more interested in the details of the new king's coronation. As Gwen had predicted, the Midwinter Dance had been hastily turned into a Coronation Ball, though thankfully they could all still wear their frocks from 1910, in remembrance of King George V as well as in honour of King George VI.

"The Americans are lucky," Phil told Gwen. "Their leaders don't all come from the same family, so they all have different names. No numbering."

"So do our Prime Ministers," Gwen pointed out.

"Yes, but we still have to memorize all of England's kings and queens." For all his brilliance at science, Phil was terrible with history.

"I think the Americans have had a few repeats," Gwen said. Her forehead wrinkled, trying to remember. "Weren't two of their early presidents from the same family? And wasn't there a President Roosevelt before this one?"

"I don't know," Phil said indifferently. "It's bad enough trying to keep all our history straight. I'm not going to be bothered with the Yankees' history as well."

Lucy, and most of the girls, was breathlessly glad that King Edward's abdication had not interfered with the dance. To her, the upheaval of an entire monarchy and kingdom was nothing compared to the tragedy it would have been had the dance been cancelled.

Gwen knew, too, that as much as Phil was loathing the event, Lucy was nearly bursting with pride at having him as her escort. Little raven-haired Dotty Reese, the new girl on the track team, had nearly been in tears when she heard Phil had already asked Lucy, and she wasn't alone. Gwen was amazed, and a little amused, at how her brother was considered the best "catch" in the freshmen class, all without him even knowing it.

Fanny was excited about it, too. Though she had some concern for England, she was absolutely determined to make Jack care about her at this dance, and no little abdication was going to spoil it for her. Gwen pitied her friend, for Jack was so absorbed in world affairs that the dance had suddenly become more of a bother to him than anything. If he hadn't promised to take Lynde, she suspected he would have stayed home to pore over his father's newspapers.

As for her, she didn't really care about the dance anymore, either. It just seemed silly in light of everything else happening. Even aside from King Edward—Prince Edward, now—she had heard her elders talking in low voices about the Rome-Berlin treaty signed back in October, and its impact on world affairs. While she didn't really think there could be another war, just the possibility made her shiver, and made her reluctant to think about things like dances—or Oliver Grant, for whom her feelings were still utterly conflicted.

Still, she did have her beautiful white dress, and when she'd written to Mother about it, she'd gotten a long letter back detailing the first party Mother herself had ever worn it to.

"I loved it," the story had concluded simply. "Long after I had outgrown it, and it was out of fashion, I kept it in my wardrobe, to remind me of how beautiful I felt in it, and how Walter had told me I looked like a white lily with a head of flame. Only Walter could make my red hair sound beautiful! I hope that you make as many wonderful memories in that dress as I did, my Gwen."

Gwen hoped so, too. She hoped she wouldn't be humiliated in it, at her very first dance. Despite all her improvements due to running, she was still plagued with a certain amount of clumsiness, and she knew that if she tried dancing any of the new dances, she would trip and fall all over her own and Oliver's feet.

And what of nobody wanted to dance with her at all? Oliver could only ask her three times, at most, without it looking odd. Jean, who was on the planning committee, had told Gwen that they were printing out dance cards, just like they used to have in the old days. Gwen could just see her card, a vast empty wasteland with only a couple names scrawled in out of politeness.

She wasn't sure which would be worse, not dancing because nobody asked her, or dancing and making a fool of herself.

"Don't worry," Lynde told her comfortingly. "I don't care about dancing either, so we can slip out to one of the back rooms and wait there for the evening to be over, if we need."

"Bring some books in your bags," Phil suggested. His face was in a continual state of gloom these days. He wouldn't be able to get out of dancing—he had to do the gentlemanly thing and ask the girls.

"Oh Phil," Gwen laughed. "Our party bags aren't big enough for books!"

"Not even comics?" Jo asked, aghast.

Lynde sniffed. "Those things are trash, Jo. Not worth the eye strain of reading them."

"You only say that because you've never read one," Jo told her. "Boy, am I glad I'm not old enough to go to dances! They sound awfully boring."

"They are," Phil assured him.

"You don't know that for sure, Phil," Gwen said. "You've never been to one, either."

"You don't need to have measles to know they're a miserable disease," Phil said darkly.

The afternoon of the dance, Gwen and Lynde, accompanied by an awed Lee, went up to Gwen's room to dress for the party. Grandmother slipped in as well, a smile on her face as she watched them brush out their hair and don the old-fashioned stockings and princesse slips.

"It's almost like having my girls young again and getting ready to head off to a dance," she sighed happily. "If I close my eyes, I can pretend that Gwen is Di, and Lynde is Faith."

"I'm sure I don't sound a bit like Mrs. Dr. Blythe," Lynde protested.

Gwen nudged her. "You do if you use your imagination."

Lynde looked from Gwen to Grandmother to starry-eyed Lee. "Oh."

In the pink dress, Lynde looked like a fresh wild rose, and Gwen realized anew how pretty her friend was. There at Ingleside, she almost always had an apron wrapped around her waist, and at school she dressed with severe simplicity. Now, in the old-fashioned gown, her beauty glowed in the soft lamplight.

"Lovely," Grandmother said. "Here, Lynde, let me help you pin up your hair." Her long white fingers were very deft with the brush and pins, and in moments Lynde was transformed into a regular Gibson Girl, with her wheat-flecked brown hair piled high atop her head in a mass of curls.

"Let me get my camera!" Lee cried, jumping up and darting out.

"I hate photographs," Lynde grumbled.

Meanwhile, Gwen slipped into the white gown. Aunt Ruth had taken a few tucks in it to fit it better to Gwen's figure, but other than that had left it as it was. As Gwen fluffed it out, she looked up to find Grandmother's hands stilled in Lynde's hair, an odd expression on her face.

"Goodness," Grandmother whispered. "You carry yourself just as Di always did, but your face … my heavens, child, if you aren't the picture of Phil!"

"Phil?" Gwen asked in confusion.

"Not your brother, dear. Philippa, your Grandmother Blake." As Gwen turned to peer wonderingly in the mirror, Grandmother came up behind her. "Not so much in your features, even … Phil had a crooked little smile, and your nose is much straighter than hers, and her hair and eyes were brown … but her eyebrows were pointed just like yours, and the shape of your eyes is just right, as is your chin and cheeks, and oh, it's just something in your air! I can't think how I never noticed it before."

"Fine feathers make a fine bird," Gwen said self-consciously.

"Nonsense," Grandmother said decisively. "Your beauty has always been there, we've just been too blind to see it. It took a different dress, a different style to shake us out of our laziness." She rested her hands on Gwen's shoulders and kissed the top of her head. "Phil was always one of my dearest friends, and still is. I'm delighted to think that a granddaughter of mine carries so much of her into the next generation."

Without another word she began curling and pinning Gwen's hair up as best she could, finishing with the wide gold band Aunt Ruth had provided. Then Lee was back with her camera, insisting on taking snaps of the girls, and then, all too soon, it was time to go downstairs and meet their escorts.

The young men had scrounged in their parents' garrets, too, and though the suits were a bit worn, and had an aura of mothballs around them, they looked very distinguished in the cutaway coats and fancy waistcoats of a bygone era.

Phil had already left to pick up Lucy, so it was just Jack and Oliver, with Jo sitting interestedly nearby, waiting in the parlour, talking to Grandfather. When the girls, Grandmother and Lee trailing behind, entered the room, both boys stopped talking abruptly. Gwen blushed bright red, but Lynde merely smiled serenely, her usual stately air only enhanced by the elegant dress and fancy hairstyle.

"You two look lovely," Grandfather said warmly, coming over to kiss both their cheeks. His words seemed to break the spell; first Jack and then Oliver followed suit, stumbling over their words a little.

"Yes … quite, um, lovely," Jack said, trying not to stare too obviously at Lynde.

"Quite," Oliver choked out.

"Why, thank you," Lynde said. "I think the style back in our parents' day were much nicer than what we have now, don't you?"

"Harder to walk in, though," Gwen said ruefully, having already had to work hard at not tripping over the longer hem.

"More pictures!" Lee said cheerfully, holding up her camera. Lynde groaned, and the boys both flushed, but Grandmother and Grandfather backed Lee up, and so the two couples posed before the fireplace, with Gog and Magog winking solemnly behind them, and Lee snapped away.

Finally she declared that she had enough, the boys helped the girls put their cloaks on, and escorted them outside, where they had hired a sleigh to take them to the town hall.

"Very appropriate," said Lynde, snuggling down into the furs.

"We thought so," Jack said, his usual aplomb starting to return to him. Oliver was still uncharacteristically silent, and Gwen started to worry. Did he hate the way she looked? Was he regretting asking her? Did he wish he had asked Lynde, instead of Jack? The other girl did look almost impossibly elegant, and no matter what Grandmother and the mirror said, Gwen still couldn't make herself believe that she was beautiful.

They arrived at the town hall at the same time as most of the other young people. Watching everyone stream out of sleighs, or walk from their houses in the village, all in old-fashioned dresses and suits, gave Gwen the eerie feeling that she had somehow stepped back in time. Entering the town hall, might she not see Aunt Nan already there, laughing with a much younger and dashing Uncle Jerry? If she looked in the mirror, would her own hair have turned red? For a moment, she was afraid to turn her head, worried that Lynde might really have turned into Aunt Faith, and Jack would be Uncle Jem.

"Looks like a good crowd," said Oliver in her ear, and Gwen breathed out in relief. He, at least, was the same, and therefore so must the rest of them be.

Inside, Lynde and Gwen momentarily parted from the boys to go to the powder room, to fix their hair and exchange their stout boots for party slippers. There they met many of the other girls, all chattering and excited.

"Good heavens, Fanny!" Gwen exclaimed involuntarily. Her friend looked magnificent. If Lynde was a wild rose and Gwen a white lily, Fanny was a velvety crimson rose in full bloom.

"You look nice," Fanny said, her cheeks almost as red as her dress with excitement.

"Gwen!" a small voice shrilled across the room, and Gwen turned to see little Lucy bouncing up and down, waving at her. She looked darling in her green satin, with her eyes glowing. "Isn't it all marvellous?"

"I suppose it is," Gwen laughed, suddenly thinking she might enjoy this dance after all. Even if Oliver remained as silent as he had been during the ride, there were plenty of things to see and take in, and she could already feel a story plot fluttering at the edges of her mind.

Plus, with all the other girls in their magnificent garb, she would not really stand out at all!

Yes, Gwen thought, her first dance just might be fun after all.

"Oh look," Lynde said as they came out of the powder room to seek their escorts, "There's Mary. Who's that with her?"

Gwen saw the tall, broad-shouldered young man with the bright head and her heart suddenly gave an odd little squeeze in her chest. "Why, that's Tryg."

"Tryg Ahlberg?" Lynde queried. When Gwen nodded, she said, "Well, I suppose he and Mary must be friends from when they were both kids. All the fishing youngsters and the over-harbour folk are much better friends than either are with the Glen young ones. How nice that she brought him!"

It was nice, and Mary looked very pretty in her blue-grey dress from Aunt Persis. Tryg looked just as at ease in his old-fashioned suit as he did in his overalls and farm boots, and he and Mary caught up with the girls just as Jack and Oliver did. Hellos were exchanged all around, and Jack introduced Tryg and Oliver. The two boys were a study in contrasts as they shook hands: Oliver was dark, slightly built, and shy; Tryg was tall, sturdy, golden and fair, and completely open and forthright.

"Nice to meet you, Oliver," Tryg said easily. "Lynde, it's been a while. Gwen, very nice to see you again."

"You, too," Gwen said. She frowned slightly at Oliver as he moved closer and took her arm possessively.

"Well," Jack said. "I suppose now is when we start signing dance cards?"

"How many are escorts allowed?" Oliver asked, taking Gwen's card in hand.

"Two is usual," Gwen said. "Three at the most."

Oliver immediately wrote his name down for three dances—the first, the middle, and the last. Jack, with a grin, didn't even bother asking, but just wrote his name down twice. Tryg took one ("I don't want to steal all of them from the other fellows," he said amiably); then Phil came and asked for one with the air of a martyr, followed by Van, and before Gwen knew it her card was full.

She stared at it in dismay for a moment. How was she going to dance every single dance? She was going to make such a fool of herself!

The musicians started the strains of the first waltz, and Gwen didn't have any more time to worry about it as Oliver swept her onto the floor, joining all the other couples.

The Glen High's Midwinter Coronation Ball had begun!