Devoted To You || Gilbert Blythe

IX

~𝒜𝒹𝒶~

Resilience. A noun meaning the ability of a person to adjust to or recover readily from illness, adversity, major life changes.
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The first light of dawn peeked through the curtains, casting a golden glow across my small bedroom. I stirred, the soft warmth of my quilt contrasting with the chilly winter air that infiltrated the room. With a reluctant sigh, I swung my legs out of bed, bracing myself for the inevitable shock of the cold wooden floor beneath.

The floor, an unwelcome conductor of winter's chill, sent a shiver up my spine as I padded across the room. The sun, still low on the horizon, painted frosty patterns on the windowpane. I gazed out for a moment, contemplating the quiet beauty of the early morning, the world blanketed in a layer of pristine snow.

I love the snow. It was my mother's favorite. It's so white, so pure. I also love eating it. But that's all I will say.

Feeling a sense of purpose, I wrapped myself in a cozy blanket and ventured down the creaky hallway, the echoes of each step announcing my descent. The familiar smells of a winter morning greeted me in the kitchen.

As I navigated the kitchen, I couldn't help but revel in the solitude of the early hour. The world outside was still asleep, and the crackling fire cast a comforting warmth that contrasted with the frosty landscape beyond the window.

With a deft hand, I set about preparing a simple yet comforting breakfast – the sizzle of bacon in the pan, the rhythmic crack of eggs on the skillet. The familiarity of the routine, the act of creating something from the raw ingredients, brought a semblance of normalcy to the morning.

The table was set with care, the winter sunlight filtering through the curtains to dance upon the polished surface. I paused for a moment, taking in the quiet satisfaction of the scene – a tableau of domesticity in the early hours of a Saturday.

As the aroma of breakfast wafted through the house, I couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. The anticipation of sharing this meal with my father and brother added an extra layer of warmth to the morning.

***

"I can't tell you the last time I had a home cooked breakfast." Father sighed in contentment as her took another bite of eggs.

"Do they not have eggs in Paris?" Alexander smiles cheekily.

"They do. But no chef compares to Ada." Father says making me smile.

"Father, I've been meaning to ask you—" Alexander wipes his mouth before continuing. "Could we use the money from John Blythe to purchase another heifer? We'd make more money if we had two for our bull to breed."

"About that uh—" he began, his voice heavy with a weight I couldn't decipher. "There's something we need to discuss."

I furrowed my brow, a sense of foreboding settling in the pit of my stomach. "You seem troubled."

A heavy sigh escaped him, and his eyes briefly fell to his intertwined fingers on the table. "The bank is in dire financial need, and your grandfather and I have come to a decision. We're going to sell the Avonlea property. It's a measure we must take to assist the bank in these trying times."

The words hung in the air, heavy and devastating. Selling the Avonlea property, or as my mother and I would call it Willowsby Hollow, meant more than just a financial setback; it meant upheaval, uncertainty, and the loss of a home that had been part of our family for years.

I felt a lump forming in my throat, and my eyes welled with tears. "No, Father, this can't be happening. This home is my livelihood. What will we do?"

He reached across the table, placing a gentle hand on mine. "Ada, we'll find a way through this." He looks to Alexander. "You two will adapt, and we'll face whatever challenges come our way."

The weight of the news pressed down on me, and I struggled to maintain composure. "But Father, the farm, our home—" I cut off Alexander.

"Mother's home."

"Ada, listen," he interrupted, his voice filled with a mix of compassion and determination. "We have each other. We've faced hardships before, and we'll face this one together just as we always have."

The truth of his words resonated, but the fear of an uncertain future overwhelmed me. Without realizing it, I pushed away from the table, the chair scraping against the floor. "I need some air," I choked out, my voice trembling.

My father reached out, his eyes filled with concern, but I hurriedly left the kitchen. The brisk air outside did little to calm the storm within me. The weight of the news, the impending loss, and the uncertainty of what lay ahead felt like an unbearable burden.

I ran, not knowing where my feet would take me, my tears blurring the landscape. The world around me became a blur of colors and shapes as I grappled with the enormity of the changes that awaited us.

My feet lead me to the west end of the property. I lean against our willow tree and that's when the dam breaks and tears flow down my face and neck.

As I stand there, overwhelmed by the weight of uncertainty, I hear the soft rustle of the willow leaves, a gentle reassurance that nature itself is witnessing my vulnerability. The familiar creak of the old swing swaying in the breeze reminds me of countless afternoons spent here with my mother, sharing laughter and dreams.

In a shaky breath, I whisper, "Mother, I don't know what to do. Everything seems to be slipping away." I feel an imaginary embrace in the wind, as if her spirit lingers among the branches.

My thoughts are a tumultuous storm, a collision of worries about Gilbert, the fate of our farm, and the unsettling decision to sell the home that holds so many treasured memories. The bank's financial struggles loom like a shadow, casting doubt on the future I had envisioned.

With a deep breath, I wipe away the tears, steeling myself to face the reality unfolding. I imagine what mother might say if she were here, her comforting wisdom guiding me through life's uncertainties.

I murmur, "What would you do in my shoes? Gilbert, the farm, the prospect of leaving this place to go to Paris... it feels like I'm standing at a crossroads, and every path seems clouded."

I sit in the sounds of my sobbing. The whispering willow seems to respond with a gentle rustle. I feel warmth spread across my body. As if she is giving me a hug from behind.

"Ada?" A sweet gentle voice whispers. I catch my breath and quickly wipe my eyes. "Are you alright?"

"Y-Yes. Why wouldn't I be?" I turn towards him.

His eyebrows pull together. "I could hear you crying from my backyard."

Wow. They might want to check the graveyard and make sure I didn't wake the dead.

"It's nothing I just..." I can't tell him yet. I need time to process all of this. "I miss her."

"Your mother? Willow?" He asks. I nod quickly. He sits us both down on the ground, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "She loved you very much, Ada. You know that if she could be here she would. I know this is the last thing you'd want to hear but I know how you feel."

"It's just hard being the only girl. I don't have anyone to talk to about my— issues and feelings." I pull my knees to my chest.

"Well— I'm here. And I don't plan on leaving you any time soon." He rubs circles on my shoulder. I give him a small smile before laying my head on him shoulder.

I just wish I could promise him the same.