Disclaimer and Notes
Una Meredith's face was impassive during the entirety of the memorial service for Walter Blythe. She did not shed a single tear during the service, and steadfastly kept those blue eyes that he had mentioned in his last letter...the last beautiful and heartfelt writing penned by those talented hands...downcast.
Many people watched the Blythe and Meredith families during the service. The doctor looked like he'd aged 10 years in a few days. Mrs. Blythe seemed numb with shock, the luster entirely gone from her gray-green eyes. Rilla Blythe, the usually merry and spritely girl, looked way too solemn for someone so young, the roses vanished from her cheeks. Nan and Di were in tears, Shirley looked moody. Reverend Meredith's face was pale and drawn, full of sorrow and compassion for the gifted young man. Mrs. Meredith wiped her eyes, and comforted little Bruce Meredith, who was sobbing quite openly. Carl looked tortured...he would soon join the men at the front. Faith, her beauty marred by the tearstains on her face, held her sister's hands. Una...her eyes, though filled with sorrow, were dry. Her face was white, but had she not always been rather pale? She seemed to have no reaction to the death of this close friend.
It was remarked afterwards that she was remarkably unfeeling about the death of a childhood friend. Una, always sensitive to social opinion, had laughed bitterly in the sanctuary of her room afterwards. A childhood friend! She re-read his letter, slim fingers running over the words that he had penned. She loved him, had loved him since they were two carefree kids in sunny Rainbow Valley. She had made sure that no one ever knew of her love for him, and even now, she was fairly sure that, with the possible exception of Rilla, no one had any suspicion.
He had been a friend to her always, intelligent, idealistic, caring, gentle...and nothing more. Of course, there had been that time, when he left, he had kissed her warmly on her pale cheek at the station. But he could well have done that to any of his sisters. Una smiled slightly as she read his missive about how he could see her eyes, shining steadfastly at him, the last evening he was alive. 'Did he wonder why it was that he saw that particular vision?' She mused to herself.
Gradually, as the days went by, she healed to an extent. She never cried in front of anyone, never talked about his death, lived and went on with her duties with the Red Cross and everything else with a quiet determination. He had held her in high enough esteem to expect her to keep faith, and she owed at least that much to him, to do that very thing. One cold night, about a year after his death, Una awoke at midnight and lit a lamp with a set face. Something in her had compelled her to go to her desk and take out a sheet of paper with a pen. Almost of their own volition, words began to appear on the paper, one final reply to his last letter.
~ ~ ~
Una Meredith
Glen St. Mary's
PEI, Canada, 1918
Dear Walter,
It has been a year since you...since Courcellette. I wonder where you are tonight... are you still in Europe, the guardian angel of the war-torn front which claimed your life? Or, perhaps, are you back here, in Glen St. Mary, in the beautiful land born of a calm blue sea, your home-is-where-the-heart-is? Maybe you are reading this just as I am writing it. Had things been...different...I daresay that I would never have written this to you. But, as it is, I think that I must come clean to you, and confess that which I never told you in life. I have no idea whether or not you already know, and I guess that I will never find out...but I need to tell you that I loved...no...still love...you.
Do you remember that time, back when we were children, when you had fought Dan Reese because he insulted Faith and your mother, despite the fact that you hated to fight? You had done something daunting and distasteful to yourself for another's sake. These days, everyone goes around saying that I am a good woman. But you should know, it was that act on your part, that inspired me to go talk to Rosemary, ask her to marry my father and make him happy, even though Mary Vance had convinced me that a stepmother would hate us, etc. I was not being "good". I was simply inspired by you and your beautiful, selfless bravery. Yes, you were brave. You were always so very brave. You should know that bravery is not about agressiveness and foolish acts of daring...it's about doing things that are frightening and horrible to you but need to be done, because of the goodness in your heart. I loved you for your bravery, and so much more.
I am not clever like Nan or Di, or beautiful like Faith or Rilla. I will never have your love, but you have mine. I will always love you for everything that you were, and even more for everything that you weren't. Even though you might now have realized it, I felt like we had an indefineable something in common. People saw you as Walter the dreamy young poet, a beautiful man with beautiful ideals and dreams and ambitions. Yes, that was all there, but beyond that, I saw Walter, the man, and fell in love with him. Just like people saw me, Una, the shy, sweet, amenable daughter of the manse. Our images never showed all of who we were.
You know, Rilla gave me your last letter. I've read it and re-read it until I nearly have it memorized. I wonder if, when you wrote it, you knew that I loved you. I never WAS brave enough to tell you, or show you in any way. But now, I hope you knew. Even though it will never be returned, I hope that you knew, when you went out that last time, that you had my love. Always. And I hope that that gave you strength.
It's fall now. The trees in Rainbow Valley are nearly all bare. There is a brisk, nippy wind whisting about the eaves. I daresay that tomorrow, there shall be frost silvering the edges of the grasses. Even when the world is in such straits, and bathed in blood, it is yet beautiful here.
I'm keeping faith, Walter. So are the rest of us. Oh, it still hurts, but I will make it through. We all will. Tomorrow will come, and it will be another day to live through and make the best of. Good night, Walter, rest in peace. Know that we will all keep faith for this world that you gave your life for, and know that in the starlight, I will always see your eyes. Fare you well...
Always yours,
Una Meredith
~ ~ ~
It was three in the morning when Una finally set down her pen. She was exhausted, her little face snowy white, with purplish shadows under her large, wistful eyes. But a huge weight had been lifted off her chest, and on that sweet countenance was a wan smile, the first genuine smile since Courcellette. She left the letter on her desk, knowing that no one in the manse would ever snoop through her correspondence, extinguished the lamp and went to bed. She lay down on her bed, under the covers, her raven hair fanning out and tumbling down around her, and closed her tired eyes. Just before falling asleep, she felt a cool, gentle brush against her lips, but perhaps that was just a breeze.
