Eupheme is pretty and quaint. From the way Papa Montgomery described it, I knew I would feel at home here; I've never lived anywhere but in a small town, and I love it already.
At night it seems so very quiet; I can almost hear the leaves turning their burnished colors and falling from the trees. The roads seem ruddy with them, so much so that I find I am reminded of the red dirt roads of home. A vial of PEI's famous clay sits on my bedside table, from my youngest cousin. He knows how much I'll miss home, the trips to the seashore, how much I long for Silver Bush.
But I will be back at Christmas. Until then, we will send care packages back and forth, letters and love.
I am thankful to my grandfather-- hereafer referred to as Papa or Papa Montgomery-- for paying for my schooling. He understood how difficult and awkward it was for me to be back with Father (he is always Father, formal and respectful, and never Dad or Daddy). I like Mary very much and can hardly remember my own mother, so I am not angry with her or feel as if she is taking my mother's place-- but it still remains that they are virtual strangers to me, though Father writes me often.
And so I come to Eupheme. The air feels strange here, as if there is excitement in it, but I am apprehensive. I'm not terrible at making friends, but I am used to having people around who share my blood and must love me-- it is a universal requirement that there must at least be a grudging respect between people who share common blood ties. (I realize that there are exceptions to the rule, but really.)
I have a lot of catching-up to do in my studying. It makes me feel a little overwhelmed to think of it. Lord, deliver me.