Work Text:
A sunbeam filtered through the great tree in the yard, illuminating the very back of the room from the east, the beginning of a gentle dawn of pink and yellow. The rickety little house (Walter insisted the creaking was poetic, the house’s voice answering them back) had, just an hour ago, been filled with the pained moans and laboured breathing of, well, labour; and Una now held the perfect, bundled babe in the crook of her arm. She smiled a teary smile when Walter said something about babes and their being meant for crooks of arms, and he only held her closer and wiped the pesky tears away.
Little Blythe had very quickly— and without any particular merit— become, beside one another, Walter and Una’s most adored treasure. Pink flooded all his rather chubby body now, sparing only the still-purple-y tips of his hands and feet. He had inherited Una’s blue eyes, and her black hair too, a downy tuft of it covering his wee head. Or perhaps it was Walter’s black hair, there was no way to tell— but the blue had indubitably come from Una.
“What would you think of Meredith, dear?” asked Walter to his wife. “We could call him Merry.”
Una looked back at him, but the sunbeam had moved to illuminate his face, so bright and yellow it obscured him and hurt her eyes.
“Merry Blythe,” she smiled, caressing the sleeping babe’s darling little cheek with the back of her finger. He smacked his lips and tilted his head to suck on her finger.
Walter held Una closer, breathing her in, pressing kisses to her hair which remained shrouding the skin of her neck. She leaned further back, hoping for more, but his lips never managed to reach her neck. “Walter…” she complained. He didn’t seem to hear.
“My dear, fine, loyal girl,” he cooed. His fingers moved to entwine with hers, warming her hand. Una forgot her frustration. She smiled at Merry, who began to fuss. But Una didn’t panic, not for a second. She’d looked after babes before, hadn’t she? Certainly, there was Bruce and little Jims… a fussy babe must be rocked.
Una turned backward to hand him to Walter, but the sunlight still obscured him, and she found she could no longer reach his hands. Her fingers became cold without his, and amid her worry, the babe faded into oblivion. Had there ever even been a babe there at all?
“Walter?”
Though she couldn’t discern it, he did say something. His voice seemed far away, as if he answered from across a river or through a tunnel, rather than in bed where she could still feel his chest warm behind her. Walter spoke again; this time, Una heard it, but the phrase slipped her mind the moment it hit her ears.
It was deeply frustrating for Una, who huffed and stirred and turned to shake sense into her husband. “Stop teasing me,” she implored. “Don’t be cruel, you never tease.”
Walter’s face remained unseen. The sunlight, harsher than she’d ever known it to be, imposed itself upon the previously calm room; and for once, it was not her friend. Not gentle as it had been when they were children playing make-believe in their refuge of Rainbow Valley, when it had brushed over all the flowers, the lilies and the forget-me-nots and the farewell-summers they so loved, basking them in golden luminance like a mother’s embrace.
No, she hated the sun now, hated how it obscured her Walter, so incredibly brilliant it seemed to be ringing through her, too. Una squinted as it grew progressively brighter.
The warmth behind her vanished. Walter’s warmth, no longer holding her, so that all that existed were Una and the sun. Didn’t she remember Walter had long gone? That’s right… Walter had passed. Her heart clenched, she hadn’t considered that before now. Had he ever been holding her at all? she couldn’t be sure. Still she called for him. Perhaps, somehow, through the ringing and the tears— now sobs— she’d be able to decipher another word from him. Just one, perhaps, and she’d be content— happy, rather, should it be three.
I love you, I love you, I love you.
“I love you,” Una said. No answer came, but from the invading sunlight. Its ringing grew louder and louder and louder, still, and she came to understand it for what it was. She whipped the thick quilts off herself and ran to the window, where a host of boys, a line going on forever, twirled through the garden in single file. Leading the line, to her horror, was a shadowy conductor, one she’d never met personally, but recognized all the same.
A voice sounded behind her, her Walter, certainly. She was unable to turn to look, but to watch the conductor lead the little ones this way and that.
“The Piper will pipe me ‘west’ tomorrow.”
Una wept. In her mind, she implored him not to follow the call.
“Keep the faith,” Walter replied.
Una darted upright in bed, heart racing, breath quickened. There Walter had been… if only she could’ve clung onto him, if only the sun hadn’t been so bright… she remembered the baby, and her arms felt suddenly painfully empty. She began to cry bitterly.
A hand touched her shoulder: Rilla. She hadn’t noticed her presence before, her pretty, freckled face knitted into worry.
“You were yelling,” she told her. She had some idea why. Rilla sat in bed beside her and put her arm around Una, who was unable to control her weeping.
“I’m sorry for waking you,” Una said after a moment. “I had a nightmare.”
Rilla shook her head. She smiled in reassurance and patted her belly. “I’ve been awake.”
“Little Ford’s been giving you trouble?” Una smiled weakly through tears which Rilla wiped away.
“I’m just fine, Una, dear.”
They sat together in silence for a little while.
Una never had been able to marry, and it seemed such a waste to everyone else. Only she and Walter and, perhaps, Rilla (though they’d never discussed it explicitly) had known about their connection. A widow she thought herself, and how silly, for any chances at even a proposal of marriage had been lost to a bullet in the fields of Courcelette.
She did her part— kept the faith, as Walter had instructed— as best she could. Perhaps she’d never marry, but Una was quite content as the Fords’ housekeeper. She loved Rilla and Kenneth dearly, and little Jims, though he had his mischief (Susan certainly would’ve had a time with him), was as great a joy as anything. Her company had been especially appreciated lately, what with Rilla expecting their first— second if Jims could be counted.
Soon, the house would awaken. Kenneth would kiss his darling wife good morning, and Jims would come tromping downstairs, his shirt buttoned entirely wrong, for breakfast. Una would kiss his head and help him dress properly, giving Mr. and Mrs. Ford some moments of privacy, pretending every word of their flirtations could not be heard from the other room. She’d hum to herself and exchange pleasantries with everyone, or acknowledge Jims’ ramblings, as she made tea and set bread and preserves on the table.
Yes, she would keep the faith, in her own way. But as Rilla left her and she stood at the window alone, she would indulge herself in a few moments of wishing, of yearning for a life that could’ve been. It was all Una could do.