Sorry this is up later than it usually is - especially considering that, according to my ~statistics~, most of the people reading aren't American, which means it's probably already Saturday for you guys. :P
Reviews! You guys are really sweet and awesome :)
Marz: Thank you! Walter, like Una, is hard to get right - I have a lot of theories about it but I don't want to write a thesis up here. Suffice to say, I'm glad he rings true to you, and also that the present tense works out. (I...can't really write very well in any other tense, haha.)
Guest: I don't know that it was a row, exactly - the book sort of implies that Irene took offense at something Una did and stopped speaking to her, not the other way around. But I also don't think she's a complete doormat - she probably didn't care to try and fix the relationship, in my opinion. It's very open to interpretation! I definitely agree on Susan being insensitive; her attitude towards the war in the books makes me really uncomfortable as a modern reader - although many people felt the way she did. I don't want to be too harsh because the book was written in 1921, but the fact that her extreme nationalism goes unaddressed by the majority of critics worries me. (I have A Lot of Feelings about the historic context of Rilla of Ingleside, sorry! :P) And I haven't seen Joyeux Noël - although it's on my list! WWI films are some of my favorites.
Also! This past week was Dead Week for me, so absolutely no progress on this fic was made. I'll probably be skipping next Friday to catch up. Sorry!
Title is from "Nothing Without You" by Vienna Teng.
before it burns me numb
April opens with rain and by the second week, it seems to have announced its intentions to close with it, too.
"April showers bring May flowers," Bruce sings. "Will Walter bring Mrs. Blythe the first mayflowers? I'll do it if he can't."
Rosemary smiles at her son's thoughtfulness. "May's still a while off, yet," she says. "But I'm sure Mrs. Blythe would appreciate it."
"Do you know, Una?" Bruce asks. "Could you ask him?"
Una, who has been working on the mending, nearly stabs herself with the needle. She almost laughs. Her hand has just healed, and now she is going to injure it again. Stupid girl.
"If I see him," she promises. That seems good enough for Bruce, who wanders away to go play with Stripey. Rosemary, though, has been looking at her, and moves to sit closer to her.
"You haven't been up to see Walter yet?" she asks.
Una looks down at her hands. "It's only been two weeks. And I've been busy," she says. It is not - entirely - a lie. She is busy, knitting and sewing for the Junior Reds, preparing lessons for the Clow girls, running around after Bruce. But neither is it completely honest. In truth, Una is scared. Scared that if she sees him, she'll reveal herself, her feelings - scared that her selfishness will only increase the distance she saw in his eyes that day at the train station.
Scared that she cares too much for someone who won't - maybe even can't - care for her in return.
Rosemary tilts her head, but allows the explanation. "You're working so hard," she observes.
Una only shrugs. Perhaps she is, but hasn't she always? She had never been like her siblings, going out to meet friends every evening. She spent her free time reading, or practicing piano, doing odd chores, trying to make life easier for everyone.
"It's all right," she tells her.
"Una," Rosemary starts, her hand coming up to cup Una's face. "Don't - don't let this war take you, too."
"It's not," Una says, and Rosemary just shakes her head, eyes sad.
The telegram comes the next day.
"Una," her father calls up the stairs, his voice strangled. "Could you come here, for a minute?"
Una had been reading, an old book that she had read hundreds of times before. It only takes her a minute to close it - she doesn't mark her page - and hurry down the stairs. "What's wrong?" She doesn't know how she knows that something is amiss, but she does.
"It's Jerry," John Meredith says. "He's been wounded."
Something in Una's chest relaxes - she had half-expected to hear the other, more horrible option. Then she hates herself for her relief. Wounded is not much better.
"Where?" she asks, wondering. Is he like Walter now, with a limp, skin forever marked by burns? And she's heard of some of the men from over-harbor, limbs missing, eyes blinded by gas. And the silence - none of the men talk as much as they used to. Walter had been quiet by nature, but Jerry - he had always been strong, always quick with a quip or an answer. It seems impossible.
"Shot in the back," her father says. His face is drawn. "They don't - it's too early to say what - effects - " He cannot finish the sentence. Rosemary has one of his hands clasped between hers, and her face too is pale with sorrow.
"They don't know - " Una starts, and her father shakes his head.
She doesn't say anything. What is there to say? She only walks to her father and embraces him. It is not something she does often - he had been so distant from all of them for so long, and she had been too shy to seek affection from him. But his arms go around her in return, then Rosemary slips into their embrace, the three of them holding each other in their grief and worry.
"Will Jerry be all right?"
Una looks up from the mending to see Bruce staring at her, eyes wide with curiosity.
"We hope so," she says, trying to smile at him. Are my siblings and I cursed? she wonders. They had been so young when Mother died, had to grow up so fast - Jerry trying to take Father's place at the age of nine, Faith having to help Una with her clothes and plait Una's hair though she could barely do her own. And now Bruce may have to learn those same painful lessons at the age of eight. It's not fair.
"But will he?" Bruce persists.
She sighs, puts the mending aside, and pulls her little brother onto her lap. He is getting too big, now, legs hanging over hers, feet nearly touching the floor. But he will need this comfort.
"We don't know," she admits. "But we're all praying for him - you are praying, aren't you?"
"Every night," he says, solemnly.
She gives him a quick squeeze. "And God is listening." But He hadn't listened when we prayed for Mother - she smothers the thought quickly.
He looks at her, so serious with his thick, dark brows - like hers and like Jerry's - straight above his eyes. Too serious for someone so young. "What if He doesn't?"
Una tries to be cheerful. "Bruce, did you know that everyone in the Glen is praying for Jerry? I'm sure He couldn't ignore us if He tried. Uncle Norman is praying, and you know Uncle Norman can get anyone's attention."
Bruce smiles at this and kicks his legs happily - Una tries to mask her wince when his heels whack directly into the knob of her ankle.
"I believe you," he tells her, and she feels the creeping sensation of guilt.
"I nearly bawled when I heard about Jerry," Mary Vance says frankly. "Gee, I think about how we'd play together in the Rainbow Valley days - it doesn't seem right that he's been wounded. Then again," she adds, "nothing about this war seems right."
They're sitting near the bridge that connects Four Winds and the Glen - meeting each other at the half point. That has always been their way.
"Thank you," Una says quietly.
Mary bumps their shoulders together. "Don't be so quiet," she says. "I can't stand to see you sad. He'll pull through all right, I know it. Jerry's never let a thing get him down."
"I hope so," Una murmurs.
"I bet Nan Blythe is crazy. Remember how we used to fight, me and her?"
Una hums her assent and Mary sighs. "Sometimes I think I'd ruther go back to those days, and fight with her day in and day out, as long as we were all back together."
"Oh, Mary," Una says. Mary is rarely soft, and only around Una. She slips her arm through her friend's and rests her head briefly on her shoulder.
It is a testament to Mary's soft spot for Una that she lets her.
A few days later, she receives a 'phone call from Rilla, asking if she'd like to spend the day together. Una is a bit surprised that the youngest Blythe girl wants to pass time with her, but agrees. They meet in the village and walk to the train station - Rilla expresses a desire to go to town and 'get away' for a bit, and Una empathizes. She resists the urge to ask about Walter.
"We're sorry about Jerry," Rilla says as they wait for the train. "Nan 'phoned the day she found out, to talk to mother. I don't think they really talked - she just cried."
Una nods. She hadn't cried - couldn't find the energy for it. At night, she had laid in bed, wondering if he would be all right, wondering what would happen if he wasn't. She had tried, over and over again, to picture her world without her older brother in it, and all she could feel was an emptiness.
"Are you all right, Una?"
Una blinks, looks at Rilla. The youngest Blythe girl has grown, is no longer as flighty or selfish as she had been, but the depth of her perception still startles Una. Rilla Blythe knows more than she lets on, this she has discovered.
"Yes," she says. "It's just - everything. You know."
Rilla murmurs an agreement, though it's drowned out by the arrival of the train. The ride to town is quiet, the two girls looking out the window as the countryside whips by.
"I wonder if this is what flying is like, for Shirley," Rilla says.
"I think flying is better," Una says. Rilla nods, and then they are silent.
Una does not go to town often, but somehow she recalls it being very different. It is as busy as ever, but she notices that most of the people in the streets are children, women, and older men. It's not as noticeable in the Glen, she thinks, where they've always been used to the young men being away, at school or teaching. But here - it's glaring. Recruitment posters are everywhere - some of them featuring a mustached gentleman looking very gallant, urging men to join up and prove themselves, others featuring wide-eyed ingenues staring vulnerably out at the viewer: won't you fight for me? Una suppresses a shudder. Somehow she's reminded of the Greek sirens, luring sailors to the rocks with their song.
Rilla does not seem to have a destination in mind, and they wander the streets, looking in shop windows.
"Do you want to buy a new hat?" Una teases - kindly - as they pass the milliner's. Rilla gives a rueful laugh.
"I do need a new one, don't I?" she asks. "Even Mother said she wouldn't mind me giving it up. But I'm sticking to my mutton - oh, that's not right, is it?"
"I think it's 'return to my mutton.' And 'stick to my guns.'"
They both go silent at the mention of guns, for a moment, before Rilla breaks it with a little sigh.
"Oh, look at that blue hat! It would just match your eyes, Una."
Una doesn't say anything, merely marches Rilla past the shop. She doesn't need a new hat, and she doesn't think she wants one, anyway. She thinks of people noticing her and her choice in hats and her soul quails within her.
They end up at the ice cream shop - it is still a bit too cool for ice cream, but Rilla insists, and Una has to admit to a secret weakness for it.
"Una," Rilla says, when they're almost done eating, "I wanted to ask you something."
An odd sense of anticipation curls around Una's heart. "Of course," she says.
"You haven't come by to see Walter," Rilla says.
Has everyone noticed?
"I thought - I thought perhaps you didn't want visitors," Una says lamely.
Rilla gives a small laugh. "Oh, Una, that didn't mean you - or your family. Although," she adds, "I don't think Norman Douglas would be too - beneficial, at the moment."
Una allows herself a small smile, "No," she says. "But he's busy - between the farm and browbeating everyone who doesn't support the war into submission - we barely see him nowadays."
"Anyway," Rilla says, "I was hoping you'd visit."
Una blinks. "Me? Why?"
Rilla shrugs. "I think - I don't mean to pry, but he's told me about your letters - you've always known how to talk to him, Una."
Something in her tone is worrying. "Is Walter all right?"
Rilla bites her lip, swirling her spoon in the melted remains of her ice cream. "I - I don't know. He's not - there's nothing wrong, but - he's just so…quiet. Walter was never quiet - or not the way he is now. I don't know," she says, softer. "He's so - unreachable, now. And a few nights ago - Susan said something, and he got upset. He said - some things. I don't know what to do for him, Una."
"You can't think that I do," Una says quietly.
"No," Rilla says slowly. "I don't think - anyone - does. But you're - you're so patient. You could just - come by every now and then. We'll have lunch and play games. Nan and Di are coming home soon. Please?"
A nervous, excited feeling flares in Una's chest for a moment. She tries to ignore it. If Rilla fears for Walter, then there must be something wrong - something bigger and more important than Una's girlish emotions.
Still, she thinks of seeing him, talking to him, and then thinks of spending time at home, with Father and Rosemary waiting every day for word about Jerry, little Bruce asking questions that she cannot answer. She knows what she's going to say .
"All right."
