Devoted To You || Gilbert Blythe

LXVI

~𝒜𝒹𝒶~
Eudaimonia. A noun. Meaning, a contented state of being happy, healthy, and prosperous.
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After an hour or two of catching up with my family, Aunt Josephine pulled me outside to talk. About? No idea. That's why I'm so nervous.

"Are you surprised?" She asks me as we stroll past the lake on the Barry property.

"Oh yes!" I exhale. "I am completely overcome with joy."

"My what big words." She teases. "I'm glad you learned a few things at that finishing school of yours."

"Has there ever been a Barry that got kicked out in the first month?" I inquire, linking our arms.

She looks up to the trees and sucks in some air. "Not that I recall. But what's wrong with being the first?"

I chuckle and follow her gaze. As we walk the sun peeks through the leaves making the light dance upon our faces.

I recall memories from my childhood. Diana and I running through these fields, playing in the lake. My mother's laugh. The most beautiful laugh. "Do you think she would be proud of me?" I blurt out making Josephine look at me.

"Willow?" She asks. I reply with a nod. "Beyond proud." My heart aches at her words. "Ada, you were your mother's greatest treasure. Of course she loved Alexander but a daughter—" Jo smiles mournfully. "that is a true blessing." Aunt Josephine paused for a moment, her gaze softening as she looked at me with affection. "Your mother adored you, Ada," she said, her voice filled with warmth. "You were her pride and joy, her greatest blessing."

Tears welled up in my eyes as I listened to her words, feeling a surge of emotion at the thought of my mother's love. "I miss her so much," I whispered, my voice catching in my throat.

"I know, my dear," Aunt Josephine said, her own eyes glistening with tears. She reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from my face, her touch gentle and comforting. "You have her spirit, Ada," she continued, her voice soft but filled with conviction. "You're brave, kind-hearted, and strong-willed, just like she was."

I swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in my throat at her words. To be compared to my mother, to carry on her legacy in some small way, was the greatest honor I could imagine. "Thank you, Aunt Jo," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "That means more to me than you know."

Aunt Josephine smiled, her eyes shining with pride. "You're your mother's daughter, Ada," she said. "And she would be so proud of the woman you've become."

As Aunt Josephine spoke, memories of my mother flooded my mind like waves crashing against the shore. I could hear her laughter echoing through the fields, feel the warmth of her embrace as she enveloped me in her arms. The ache of her absence was a constant presence in my heart, a reminder of the love we had shared and the bond we had formed.

"Do you remember the day she taught us how to make daisy chains?" I asked, my voice soft with emotion. "We spent hours weaving flowers together, laughing and talking as if the world would never end."

Aunt Josephine smiled, her eyes twinkling with nostalgia. "I remember," she said, her voice tinged with sadness. "Your mother had a way of making even the simplest moments feel magical."