CHAPTER XV
UNTIL THE DAY BREAK
"The Germans have recaptured Premysl," said Susan despairingly, lookingup from her newspaper, "and now I suppose we will have to begin callingit by that uncivilised name again. Cousin Sophia was in when the mailcame and when she heard the news she hove a sigh up from the depths ofher stomach, Mrs. Dr. dear, and said, 'Ah yes, and they will getPetrograd next I have no doubt.' I said to her, 'My knowledge ofgeography is not so profound as I wish it was but I have an idea thatit is quite a walk from Premysl to Petrograd.' Cousin Sophia sighedagain and said, 'The Grand Duke Nicholas is not the man I took him tobe.' 'Do not let him know that,' said I. 'It might hurt his feelingsand he has likely enough to worry him as it is. But you cannot cheerCousin Sophia up, no matter how sarcastic you are, Mrs. Dr. dear. Shesighed for the third time and groaned out, 'But the Russians areretreating fast,' and I said, 'Well, what of it? They have plenty ofroom for retreating, have they not?' But all the same, Mrs. Dr. dear,though I would never admit it to Cousin Sophia, I do not like thesituation on the eastern front."
Nobody else liked it either; but all summer the Russian retreat wenton--a long-drawn-out agony.
"I wonder if I shall ever again be able to await the coming of the mailwith feelings of composure--never to speak of pleasure," said GertrudeOliver. "The thought that haunts me night and day is--will the Germanssmash Russia completely and then hurl their eastern army, flushed withvictory, against the western front?"
"They will not, Miss Oliver dear," said Susan, assuming the role ofprophetess.
"In the first place, the Almighty will not allow it, in the second,Grand Duke Nicholas, though he may have been a disappointment to us insome respects, knows how to run away decently and in order, and that isa very useful knowledge when Germans are chasing you. Norman Douglasdeclares he is just luring them on and killing ten of them to one heloses. But I am of the opinion he cannot help himself and is just doingthe best he can under the circumstances, the same as the rest of us. Sodo not go so far afield to borrow trouble, Miss Oliver dear, when thereis plenty of it already camping on our very doorstep."
Walter had gone to Kingsport the first of June. Nan, Di and Faith hadgone also to do Red Cross work in their vacation. In mid-July Waltercame home for a week's leave before going overseas. Rilla had livedthrough the days of his absence on the hope of that week, and now thatit had come she drank every minute of it thirstily, hating even thehours she had to spend in sleep, they seemed such a waste of preciousmoments. In spite of its sadness, it was a beautiful week, full ofpoignant, unforgettable hours, when she and Walter had long walks andtalks and silences together. He was all her own and she knew that hefound strength and comfort in her sympathy and understanding. It wasvery wonderful to know she meant so much to him--the knowledge helpedher through moments that would otherwise have been unendurable, andgave her power to smile--and even to laugh a little. When Walter hadgone she might indulge in the comfort of tears, but not while he washere. She would not even let herself cry at night, lest her eyes shouldbetray her to him in the morning.
On his last evening at home they went together to Rainbow Valley andsat down on the bank of the brook, under the White Lady, where the gayrevels of olden days had been held in the cloudless years. RainbowValley was roofed over with a sunset of unusual splendour that night; awonderful grey dusk just touched with starlight followed it; and thencame moonshine, hinting, hiding, revealing, lighting up little dellsand hollows here, leaving others in dark, velvet shadow.
"When I am 'somewhere in France,'" said Walter, looking around him witheager eyes on all the beauty his soul loved, "I shall remember thesestill, dewy, moon-drenched places. The balsam of the fir-trees; thepeace of those white pools of moonshine; the 'strength of thehills'--what a beautiful old Biblical phrase that is. Rilla! Look atthose old hills around us--the hills we looked up at as children,wondering what lay for us in the great world beyond them. How calm andstrong they are--how patient and changeless--like the heart of a goodwoman. Rilla-my-Rilla, do you know what you have been to me the pastyear? I want to tell you before I go. I could not have lived through itif it had not been for you, little loving, believing heart."
Rilla dared not try to speak. She slipped her hand into Walter's andpressed it hard.
"And when I'm over there, Rilla, in that hell upon earth which men whohave forgotten God have made, it will be the thought of you that willhelp me most. I know you'll be as plucky and patient as you have shownyourself to be this past year--I'm not afraid for you. I know that nomatter what happens, you'll be Rilla-my-Rilla--no matter what happens."
Rilla repressed tear and sigh, but she could not repress a littleshiver, and Walter knew that he had said enough. After a moment ofsilence, in which each made an unworded promise to each other, he said,"Now we won't be sober any more. We'll look beyond the years--to thetime when the war will be over and Jem and Jerry and I will comemarching home and we'll all be happy again."
"We won't be--happy--in the same way," said Rilla.
"No, not in the same way. Nobody whom this war has touched will ever behappy again in quite the same way. But it will be a better happiness, Ithink, little sister--a happiness we've earned. We were very happybefore the war, weren't we? With a home like Ingleside, and a fatherand mother like ours we couldn't help being happy. But that happinesswas a gift from life and love; it wasn't really ours--life could takeit back at any time. It can never take away the happiness we win forourselves in the way of duty. I've realised that since I went intokhaki. In spite of my occasional funks, when I fall to living overthings beforehand, I've been happy since that night in May. Rilla, beawfully good to mother while I'm away. It must be a horrible thing tobe a mother in this war--the mothers and sisters and wives andsweethearts have the hardest times. Rilla, you beautiful little thing,are you anybody's sweetheart? If you are, tell me before I go."
"No," said Rilla. Then, impelled by a wish to be absolutely frank withWalter in this talk that might be the last they would ever have, sheadded, blushing wildly in the moonlight, "but if--Kenneth Ford--wantedme to be--"
"I see," said Walter. "And Ken's in khaki, too. Poor little girlie,it's a bit hard for you all round. Well, I'm not leaving any girl tobreak her heart about me--thank God for that."
Rilla glanced up at the Manse on the hill. She could see a light in UnaMeredith's window. She felt tempted to say something--then she knew shemust not. It was not her secret: and, anyway, she did not know--sheonly suspected.
Walter looked about him lingeringly and lovingly. This spot had alwaysbeen so dear to him. What fun they all had had here lang syne. Phantomsof memory seemed to pace the dappled paths and peep merrily through theswinging boughs--Jem and Jerry, bare-legged, sunburned schoolboys,fishing in the brook and frying trout over the old stone fireplace; Nanand Di and Faith, in their dimpled, fresh-eyed childish beauty; Una thesweet and shy, Carl, poring over ants and bugs, little slangy,sharp-tongued, good-hearted Mary Vance--the old Walter that had beenhimself lying on the grass reading poetry or wandering through palacesof fancy. They were all there around him--he could see them almost asplainly as he saw Rilla--as plainly as he had once seen the Pied Piperpiping down the valley in a vanished twilight. And they said to him,those gay little ghosts of other days, "We were the children ofyesterday, Walter--fight a good fight for the children of to-day andto-morrow."
"Where are you, Walter," cried Rilla, laughing a little. "Comeback--come back."
Walter came back with a long breath. He stood up and looked about himat the beautiful valley of moonlight, as if to impress on his mind andheart every charm it possessed--the great dark plumes of the firsagainst the silvery sky, the stately White Lady, the old magic of thedancing brook, the faithful Tree Lovers, the beckoning, tricksy paths.
"I shall see it so in my dreams," he said, as he turned away.
They went back to Ingleside. Mr. and Mrs. Meredith were there, withGertrude Oliver, who had come from Lowbridge to say good-bye. Everybodywas quit
e cheerful and bright, but nobody said much about the war beingsoon over, as they had said when Jem went away. They did not talk aboutthe war at all--and they thought of nothing else. At last they gatheredaround the piano and sang the grand old hymn:
"Oh God, our help in ages past Our hope for years to come. Our shelter from the stormy blast And our eternal home."
"We all come back to God in these days of soul-sifting," said Gertrudeto John Meredith. "There have been many days in the past when I didn'tbelieve in God--not as God--only as the impersonal Great First Cause ofthe scientists. I believe in Him now--I have to--there's nothing elseto fall back on but God--humbly, starkly, unconditionally."
"'Our help in ages past'--'the same yesterday, to-day and for ever,'"said the minister gently. "When we forget God--He remembers us."
There was no crowd at the Glen Station the next morning to see Walteroff. It was becoming a commonplace for a khaki clad boy to board thatearly morning train after his last leave. Besides his own, only theManse folk were there, and Mary Vance. Mary had sent her Miller off theweek before, with a determined grin, and now considered herselfentitled to give expert opinion on how such partings should beconducted.
"The main thing is to smile and act as if nothing was happening," sheinformed the Ingleside group. "The boys all hate the sob act likepoison. Miller told me I wasn't to come near the station if I couldn'tkeep from bawling. So I got through with my crying beforehand, and atthe last I said to him, 'Good luck, Miller, and if you come back you'llfind I haven't changed any, and if you don't come back I'll always beproud you went, and in any case don't fall in love with a French girl.'Miller swore he wouldn't, but you never can tell about thosefascinating foreign hussies. Anyhow, the last sight he had of me I wassmiling to my limit. Gee, all the rest of the day my face felt as if ithad been starched and ironed into a smile."
In spite of Mary's advice and example Mrs. Blythe, who had sent Jem offwith a smile, could not quite manage one for Walter. But at least noone cried. Dog Monday came out of his lair in the shipping-shed and satdown close to Walter, thumping his tail vigorously on the boards of theplatform whenever Walter spoke to him, and looking up with confidenteyes, as if to say, "I know you'll find Jem and bring him back to me."
"So long, old fellow," said Carl Meredith cheerfully, when thegood-byes had to be said. "Tell them over there to keep their spiritsup--I am coming along presently."
"Me too," said Shirley laconically, proffering a brown paw. Susan heardhim and her face turned very grey.
Una shook hands quietly, looking at him with wistful, sorrowful,dark-blue eyes. But then Una's eyes had always been wistful. Walterbent his handsome black head in its khaki cap and kissed her with thewarm, comradely kiss of a brother. He had never kissed her before, andfor a fleeting moment Una's face betrayed her, if anyone had noticed.But nobody did; the conductor was shouting "all aboard"; everybody wastrying to look very cheerful. Walter turned to Rilla; she held hishands and looked up at him. She would not see him again until the daybroke and the shadows vanished--and she knew not if that daybreak wouldbe on this side of the grave or beyond it.
"Good-bye," she said.
On her lips it lost all the bitterness it had won through the ages ofparting and bore instead all the sweetness of the old loves of all thewomen who had ever loved and prayed for the beloved.
"Write me often and bring Jims up faithfully, according to the gospelof Morgan," Walter said lightly, having said all his serious things thenight before in Rainbow Valley. But at the last moment he took her facebetween his hands and looked deep into her gallant eyes. "God blessyou, Rilla-my-Rilla," he said softly and tenderly. After all it was nota hard thing to fight for a land that bore daughters like this.
He stood on the rear platform and waved to them as the train pulledout. Rilla was standing by herself, but Una Meredith came to her andthe two girls who loved him most stood together and held each other'scold hands as the train rounded the curve of the wooded hill.
Rilla spent an hour in Rainbow Valley that morning about which shenever said a word to anyone; she did not even write in her diary aboutit; when it was over she went home and made rompers for Jims. In theevening she went to a Junior Red Cross committee meeting and wasseverely businesslike.
"You would never suppose," said Irene Howard to Olive Kirk afterwards,"that Walter had left for the front only this morning. But some peoplereally have no depth of feeling. I often wish I could take things aslightly as Rilla Blythe."