Professor Ashton came up for a week in August—just in time to bid Will goodbye. Auntie Di hosted an eighteenth birthday party for Will, and it was surprising how many Avonlea folk attended. In the few short months he had been in their little hamlet, Will had worked his way into many hearts.

"How have you made so many friends, Will?" Auntie Di asked him in amazement, surveying the crowd on Tanglewood's front lawn.

He shrugged. "I guess it's just my winning personality … that and I stop to talk to everyone every time I go out."

"I hope I made enough strawberry shortcake," Auntie Di murmured.

Polly, standing nearby, rolled her eyes. "Oh Mum, did you hear Mrs. Andrews? She claims that you made strawberry shortcake just because you're too mean to make Will a proper birthday cake!"

"But I asked for it," Will said in bewilderment. "I don't like cake … too rich."

"Annabelle Andrews is Josie Pye's daughter," Auntie Di said calmly. "And that is all there is to be said about that!"

Polly and Auntie Di were better friends than ever now. Polly had taken Meggie's advice and told her mother all about Pierre. Auntie Di had been relieved to hear a true reason behind Polly's hysterics. It had been hard for her thinking she hadn't even taught her daughter the rudiments of self-control in troubled times. This, however … this combination of two heart-wrenching events, coming one on top of the other … that was reason enough for any woman to collapse.

For her part, Polly was amazed and delighted at her mother's quick sympathy regarding her love for Pierre. She had expected Di to be upset, or at least concerned, but instead she simply said,

"Pierre is a fine young man, and I've always thought so. Obviously nothing can happen between you two right now, but when the war is over, if you both feel the same, I see no reason why you shouldn't be together. You're seventeen now—old enough to know your own mind. I'd much rather have you waiting and hoping for Pierre than wasting your time chasing after young men here and now."

Whereupon Polly hugged her mother, and wondered why on earth she'd been bearing her burden so long by herself.

Meggie wandered by the trio standing on the lawn. She bore a pitcher of lemonade in each hand and smiled at them.

"We're starting to run low on lemonade, Auntie," she said. "Once I've delivered this batch I'll go make some more."

"Here, let me help you," Will said, springing into action. He took one pitcher from her and escorted her across the grass to the buffet table set up underneath the oak trees.

"But you're the guest of honor," Meggie protested. "You're not supposed to be doing any work."

"It's good for me," he winked. "Get me in shape for the army. They don't take it easy on you there!"

Meggie touched his arm with her free hand. "Keep your voice down," she cautioned. "Your uncle is nearby, and he doesn't need to be reminded that you're leaving in two days."

Will glanced at his uncle, who was deep in conversation with Patrick Samuels, but still keeping one eye on his nephew. "Poor old Uncle Kip. I hate leaving him all alone like this."

"Just make sure you come back to him, then," Meggie ordered, setting the sweating pitcher down on the table.

Will gave her a mock salute. "Yes, ma'am." He winked merrily at her and strolled off to talk to his uncle. Meggie walked back to the house, bent on making more lemonade.

She was surprised when Mrs. Andrews—Mrs. Annabelle Andrews—stopped and tapped her arm. Mrs. Andrews was a good ten years younger than Papa, but far too old for her outrageous clothing and disgraceful flirting. Meggie had never much cared for Mrs. Andrews, but politeness held her in place.

"So," Mrs. Andrews said slyly, one eye screwing up in an attempt at a roguish wink, "What's this I hear about your wealthy young beau back in Toronto?"

Meggie had lived in a small town her entire life, so she didn't even wonder how the news about her and Hawk had spread. She hadn't said anything—Matty and Papa certainly wouldn't, and neither Auntie Di nor Polly were gossips. As for Uncle Patrick, Meggie doubted he was even aware of her friend. Yet somehow, the entire village knew. Meggie gave an inward sigh of resignation and forced a smile on her lips.

"Hawk is just a friend, Mrs. Andrews," she said.

"That's not what I hear," the older woman said. "I hear he's even telephoned you several times since you've been home! Is it true you're visiting his family? His mother wants to approve of you, I suppose—see if a little country girl is good enough for her son?"

Meggie tried not to blush, but she was dismally aware of the pink rising in her cheeks. Hawk had only called her once—and how did Mrs. Andrews know about his invitation? That was carrying village omniscience just a bit too far!

"I'm not planning on going anywhere until school starts again," she said.

Mrs. Andrews tossed her head. "Well, that's just as well. I was married at seventeen, but you're still far too young. Besides, no doubt his family wants him to marry someone rich and well-bred. You Blythes may think yourselves grander than the rest of us here, but you're nothing compared to some of those Montreal families. Why, Blair Giraud's mother was Sara Stanley, the famous actress!"

"Who spent what she calls the happiest years of her youth right here on Prince Edward Island," interrupted Mrs. Rev. Craig unexpectedly. "Sara Stanley is my cousin, you know, and she is certainly not a snob, nor did she raise her son to be one. She has her peculiarities, to be sure, but she's far prouder of her King heritage than her wealthy husband or famous exploits."

"Besides," young Mrs. Gillis chimed in, seeing Mrs. Andrews' cheeks flame at this rebuke from the minister's wife, "I seem to recall, when we were in school, that you didn't think so poorly of the Blythes yourself, Annabelle dear. Didn't you always swear you were going to marry Shirley Blythe, and only agreed to take Tom Andrews after he married Cecily Irving?"

Meggie had never heard this story before, but she slipped away while Mrs. Andrews sputtered out something about schoolgirl fancies. While she appreciated Mrs. Rev. Craig coming to her rescue, she did so dislike the ill-natured gossip that seemed a crucial part of any Avonlea gathering. And she especially disliked it when she was the target!

"Why the long face, Meggie?" Matty asked her, joining her as she headed for the kitchen.

"I just wish people would stop talking about Hawk and me," she said.

Matty regarded her quizzically. "Why does it bother you? You get all embarrassed any time anyone even mentions him. Don't you like going on dates with him? Don't you like him?"

"Of course! I just don't like to talk about it, that's all. It's nobody else's business."

Matty quirked his lips in a wry smile. "In Avonlea, everything is everyone's business."

He snagged a cookie off the cooling racks where Auntie Di had left them to bring out after the shortcake was gone, and left Meggie to her lemonade and her thoughts.

Why did it bother her so much to talk—or even think about Hawk? When she was with him, she was delighted. She felt just like a princess in a fairy tale, being swept off her feet by Prince Charming. Hawk was handsome, gracious, kind, intelligent, and treated her like she was a fine treasure. Any girl would adore him, and when they were together, Meggie had no questions regarding her feelings.

When they were apart, though … she felt nervous and uncomfortable just thinking about him.

She stopped mixing and paused, one hand holding the wooden spoon suspended above the pitcher, eyes fixed unseeingly out the kitchen window. Maybe … maybe it was because part of her, deep down, didn't really believe that she could hold the attention of someone like Graham Giraud forever. Maybe because she always felt like she had to be on her best behavior around him. Certainly she would never dream of teasing him like she would her cousins—or teaching him how to fork hay into a loft as she had Will.

She couldn't quite be herself around Hawk. Oh, she didn't lie about who she was—but she wasn't her whole self. She couldn't show him every side of Meggie—only her best side.

Meggie shook her head and resumed stirring. It was nothing to worry about now. If she and Hawk were meant to be together, these things would work themselves out. If not—that too would become glaringly evident in time.

Meanwhile, Auntie Di had thirsty guests out on the lawn.

Two days later, Will was gone. Professor Ashton thanked them all profusely for their hospitality to "his boy," but Will just gave them his crooked grin and told them he'd be back after the war.

"You can't get rid of me now," he informed Auntie Di.

She embraced him warmly. "Dear boy," she murmured. "As if we would want to."

Professor Ashton didn't stay in Avonlea after Will left, though Auntie Di invited him. He said that Dr. and Mrs. Blythe had asked him to come stay with them for a week or so before term started, and he was taking them up on their offer.

"Now, I wonder what Mother is up to?" Auntie Di muttered with narrowed eyes as they waved the handsome professor off.

"What do you mean, Mum?" Polly asked. "Why should Grandmother be up to anything?"

"Your grandmother has some scheme in mind, some reason behind inviting Christopher Ashton to visit," Auntie Di declared. "I can smell it in the wind."

"Maybe she just thinks he'll be lonely with Will gone," Meggie offered innocently.

"Maybe," Auntie Di conceded. "But I doubt it." She sighed. "Lord knows we'll be lonely enough. I never would have believed any young man could belong to our family so quickly and completely as that boy did. Seeing him go—why, it's almost like sending off our own boys."

Polly wrapped an arm around her mother waist. "Don't be said, Mother. I'll be here this fall. You and Dad won't be alone again."

Auntie Di touched her daughter's smooth head. "And we're thankful for that, darling."

Before Meggie knew it, the last few weeks of vacation had flown by, and it was time to return to school. She hated to leave her beloved Green Gables, but part of her was eager to get back to her friends and studies.

"I wish you could meet Rose," she told Polly. "She's such a dear; I know you'd like her. And Connie, and even Samantha isn't too bad once you get to know her."

"They sound like wonderful friends for you," Polly answered. "But I don't really have the heart to make new friends right now, even if I was in Toronto, or going to Redmond. Between Peter and Pierre, I just can't focus on ordinary things. I wish I could—I think it would make it easier."

Meggie felt a pang of guilt over being able to push her fear for Peter to the back of her mind. Polly read her face and hugged her. "Oh, don't look like that! I know you love Peter and are worried about him, too. I'm not quite so selfish in my grief as I was at first. You're just—more balanced than I am. And I think—I think maybe your faith is stronger. You see, you really truly believe God is going to bring Peter home."

"Not always," Meggie whispered, but Polly continued as though she hadn't heard.

"I, on the other hand, have a sinking feeling that God doesn't care about us—any of us—any more, and even if He does, why should we be spared the pain that others have endured?"

Meggie tried to explain. "Polly, I know that we could lose someone we love just as easily as any other family—not just Peter, but even Uncle Bruce or Uncle Ken, for all they're non-combatants. But I know, no matter what happens, that God still loves us."

Polly smiled wanly. "I guess that's the real difference, then. I can't believe that God loves us—any humans. Or else why would He allow all this to happen?"

Meggie felt the bitterness behind the question, and wished desperately she could answer. She couldn't—she could only cling to what she knew in her heart to be true.

"Oh God," she whispered, after Polly had gone home. "Please help her to see."

She suddenly felt very afraid for her cousin—afraid of what would happen if something dreadful should overtake one of the men she loved.