[b]Part II: The Tragedy[/b]
[i]Ask me no more
What answer should I give?
I love not hollow cheek nor faded eye
And yet, oh my friend, I will not have thee die!
Ask me no more, lest I bid thee live,
Ask me no more.[/i]
Diana Blythe hurried up to her little white room and sat down on her bed, disregarding in her haste the gauzy white lace of the coverlet that softened the pale blue wool blanket beneath it, like the blurring effect of clouds on a bright June sky. In her hand, she held a slender envelope on which her name was printed in large, slanting capital letters, strangely delicate in their form.
iDear Diana/i, John's letter ran in an easy style that reminded Diana poignantly of his wonderfully expressive voice. iI can imagine that you're having the summer of your dreams in the little town of Glen St. Mary, but I hope you haven't quite forgotten your foolish college chums. You will, after all, be forced to see us once autumn decides to overthrow summer once again, my friend. I hope that this finds you well and happy in your sleepy island town. Don't be angry with my "superior" city dialect, Di. Sleepy and tranquil are not necessarily poor attributes for a town to have, especially amid all the destructive modernization of today. I've found the some of the most precious treasures on earth in the small, quiet alcoves that have been overlooked in the mad rush to steel plate and add gears to every aspect of our daily lives. I've seen too much of that here in my summer job in Kingsport. You'd be shocked at what these advocates of process are doing to the fair, dignified city. Gorgeous old oaks ripped up with as much care as one would take up an old, rotting fence. It angers me beyond reason, I suppose, but still I want to rush out and say "This is not what we fought for in the Great War. This is not what husbands and brothers and sons died for, so you could ruin their homelands in the name of comfort!" I'm sorry here you are, expecting a harmless letter filled with news and amusing anecdotes, and you receive a tirade on industry. But there is no real news to tell. Work fills my days and blissful idleness my nights. I've become a terrible sloth over the summer, but I'll put my nose back to the grind when school rolls back around. Thank you for your invitation to your sister's wedding. I'll come, if only to laugh at the absurdity of the youngest sister being married before the elder two. Yes, it is absurd, Di, especially when you consider all you and Nan have to do is lift a finger, and you'd have fellows from all walks. I'm only partially joking, Di. Oh, very well, I'll leave you to your more important pursuits than reading a letter from your epistle hungry friend.
Hope you're well, and your family--
Johni
Diana set the letter on her desk with a small sigh. Now that she returned from the comforting sense of John's presence, she felt lonelier than ever. This summer had been strangely empty and had given many opportunities for solitude. Jem and Faith were always off together, discussing their lives together and their dreams now. Nan and Jerry spent hours arguing in the all-too-silent Rainbow Valley, Una had been sent out west for her health, Carl was locked up in his room writing lengthy epistles to Cynthia, Shirley had never been a social lad, and Rilla was absorbed in preparations for her upcoming wedding to Ken Ford. Diana had never really needed any friends to make herself content, but now the silence around her was thick and pressed down on her soul. She would not admit, even to herself, how much she missed John. She missed seeing him, talking to him, laughing together, having someone to be with. The slight constraint between them had quickly vanished, and their friendship had been deepening all these months. Diana did not see the effect of John's acquaintance on herself, but her mother noticed the changes, and watched her daughter carefully.
At the moment, Anne stood outside Diana's room, her arms filled with Diana's bridesmaid gown for Rilla's wedding. Unseen by Diana, Anne watched her daughter drink in the contents of the newly arrived letter with a shy enthusiasm. Anne half suspected Diana of falling in love, and sighed a little at the thought. All of her little children that had slept, white-clad, on her motherly lap, were now tall and independent young men and women. Anne's mouth twitched as she remembered Nan and Di as dimpled babies, one in her arms, the other in Gil's. The two plump infants, distinguishable only by the pink and blue ribbons around their baby heads, had grown up into two distinctive little girls. Could she not see the twins now, wearing their prettily embroidered organdy smocks and identical white straw boaters--the only identical thing about the two little girls. The small child in Anne's memory vanished behind the corner to be replaced by a taller, thinner girl with two braids of ruddy hair. The image of her daughter running down the stairs at full speed in her blue pinafore, her sister on her heels, each desperately trying to win a race to be the first at the revels in Rainbow Valley. The girl disappeared in turn to be replaced by another Diana, one standing on the verge of womanhood. Her hair severely pulled back under the crisp Red Cross cap, she quickly and skillfully hemmed the sheets in her hands. Anne's face saddened as she remembered the horrors of the war that had taken one son's life and the happy innocence of all her other children. Her thoughts were shattered by Diana's voice.
"Mother?" Anne's daughter looked curiously at her and her burden. "Is that my bridesmaid's dress?" Anne shook herself free of lingering ghosts and echoes of the past to smile at the present.
"Yes, dear." Anne handed her daughter a soft, clinging dress of blue georgette. "Let me see you, Di." Diana eagerly retreated behind her Japanese screen to change, throwing her skirt and blouse over the top of it.
"How does Rilla look in her wedding gown, Mother? Like a dream, I imagine."
"Like a dream," Anne agreed, remembering Rilla's slim form in her beautiful dress, her cheeks already displaying some of the "bridal rose" all brides wore upon their faces that was far more beautiful than any powder. "But her bridesmaids will be equally lovely. Come out, darling, and let me see you.
Diana stepped out, her slender form encased in the dress. Her creamy neck rose up out of the square neckline, and the sleeves were cut away and fringed with small ruffles to show the glint of her pale arms in the golden lamplight. The dress gently framed her figure and cascaded to the floor in a fairy cloud of fabric. Without comment, Anne carefully pulled the pins out of Diana's braids so the rich auburn hair brushed her shoulders and back. Diana sat at her vanity, unconsciously regarding herself in the mirror as her mother loosely gathered her hair back and wove in the delicate white flowers of that adorned a nearby vase. With that, Anne sat next to her daughter and smiled at the reflection.
You're beautiful, Diana, darling. Diana smiled, a faint flush appearing on her cheeks.
Thank you, Mother. The moment lingered a second more, and then Diana stood up briskly. Well, there's still a great deal to do until the wedding. Where am I needed most, Mother?
With an effort, Anne pushed her thoughts away from childhood memories of Diana and towards the future. She pushed a lock of greying hair out of her face and frowned pensively.
Let me think, she said thoughtfully. I don't think Susan needs any help in the kitchen at the moment--I don't think she wants it, for that matter. Diana laughed as she went behind the screen to change once again.
Dear Susan, Diana said fondly, thinking of the grey-haired matron that had been with the Blythes for over twenty years. Anne smiled.
Oh, just go relax, darling. You deserve the rest. Diana raised her eyebrows.
Are you sure, Mother? If anyone really deserves rest, it's you, Rilla, and Susan. Anne shook her head and took the bridesmaid gown from Diana's hands.
Go to Rainbow Valley, Di, and see if you can see the lingering echoes of those old songs you used to sing. Diana laughed softly and left the room. Anne sat there a moment longer, staring into the mirror. Gilbert found her there, and slipped his arms about her waist.
Still as beautiful as ever, Anne-girl, he whispered softly into her ear. Anne laughed ruefully and rested her head against his cheek.
I see quite a few silvery threads among the red, she said dryly, pressing down on Gilbert's hands. That's the problem with daughters, Gil. They're your best friend and worst enemy at the same time, and while confusing you, they remind you of what you [i]used[/i] to look like. Gilbert's only response was to tighten his grip on her waist.
Di's falling in love, Gil, she said, a trifle wistfully. She doesn't know it yet, but she is. Gilbert sighed and looked out at the summer afternoon, bright and splendid in its loveliness.
I guess we couldn't hold it off forever, queen of my heart, he replied, a faint tone of regret tingeing his voice. But we'll still be married long after the children are gone. Anne turned her head and looked into his dark hazel eyes. Her lips met his in a kiss that began simply, but deepened as Gilbert drew her closer to him. The world faded away into a gentle blur of sound and light, and the conscious thought in Anne's mind was that someday, hopefully, Diana would be this happy with the man she loved.
The days until Rilla's wedding slipped as golden grains through the glass of time, passing all too quickly for Anne's tastes. To Di, however, the day seemed to linger forever until moving onto tomorrow. John was coming--and as his arrival date crept nearer, Di found herself ridiculously eager to see him, or so she phrased it. He was to stay with the Merediths, as he and Carl were special chums. A few days before the bridal morn, Carl came up to Ingelside to fetch Di for the ride to the station.
While Carl waited downstairs, Diana adjusted her new linen suit. It was a smoky blue that drew out the grey in her eyes and the rich browns in her ruddy tresses. Di's critical eye swept up and down her reflection, contemplating her appearance. With an exasperated sigh at her own vanity, she turned to go, only to dash back a second later to return a stray wisp of hair that had fallen onto her brow.
her mother called from downstairs.
Diana threw back in reply, hurrying down the stairs. Carl was waiting impatiently for her and with a quick nod, the two set off. Di felt her heart quicken a little, then made herself turn her thoughts from John for a full two minutes to punish herself for the silly weakness.
How's Una? she said indifferently, brushing an imaginary speck of dust off of her lap.
All right, Carl replied. She's a little better from her time out west--more colour in her cheeks and all that.
Is she going back after the wedding?
Well . . . Carl hesitated briefly. I don't know. Father and Rosemary don't want her to go. I think it must get pretty lonely up at the manse sometimes, with only Bruce and Aunt Martha for company. Di thought of how silent Ingelside could be when it did not ring with laughter, and nodded in agreement.
They rode the rest of the journey in silence. Di tapped her dainty heel against the floor, suddenly wishing that Rilla and Father had not taken the car today. What would John think? Carl's mouth twitched as he looked over at Di. The pale roses in her cheeks deepened to crimson as she caught his eye. Di nervously pressed her cool hands against her face, remembering a snide comment of a fellow schoolgirl.
You look so funny when you blush, Di. Your mouth is red, and your cheeks are red, and then you seem all red.
All in all, Di was grateful when they arrived at the station. Out of the train came a gradual trickle of people, starting with a little old lady, dressed in a distinctly ugly bonnet and black cashmere--cashmere! Di's skin itched in sympathy at the thought. The lady was followed by an odd assortment of mothers, aunts, uncles, sons, nosy neighbors--and then John stepped off. Di's first thought was how itired/i John looked. He had lost weight, and the flush that usually burned on his cheek had faded. Di noticed how his hand clung to the railing as he disembarked, and her brow furrowed in concern. He must have had an awful illness to be like this. She remembered something he had said in winter, when she had been sneezing and coughing up a storm.
I hardly ever get sick, but when I do, it's pretty bad. Di shook her head ruefully as they walked up to meet him. The silly boy had gone and gotten himself a cold or something while working--in the summer, no less! How on earth had he gotten a cold in the summer?
John met Carl with a firm handshake and a hearty slap on the back, and then turned to Di. He extended his hand for a polite greeting, but Di threw her arms around his neck. She could see the shocked face of Mrs. Alec Davis over his shoulder, and smiled inwardly. Diana had had a bit of a mischievous streak in her youth. It was good to see she had not entirely lost it.
John said conversationally as they walked back to the buggy. What's been going on when I wasn't here to chaperone?
Di only laughed. It was good to be together again.
On the fresh, pearly morn of Rilla's wedding to Ken, Ingelside bustled with activity. Finishing touches on the wedding feast had to be done, flowers given to the right people at the right time, and many other tiny details that had every member of the household on his or her feet. But Diana managed to slip away long enough to watch the first misty streaks of dawn paint the pale sky. Faint rays of rose and gold shot through the veiled mist and out into the day. The sand dunes sparkled faintly in the light and the waves seemed aflame with the dawning radiance.
John arrived at Ingelside with the rest of the Merediths and saw Di, her hair flowing freely over the light green shoulders of her dressing gown, and drew in a sharp breath. He knew that it wasn't right for him to be seeing her like this, but she looked itransfigured/i in the lovely morning light. Her face was faintly elfin--mocking, alluring, beautiful--as she gazed around at her surroundings. The practical bent of her lips that he was so used to softened into an adorably kissable mouth. She drew her chin a little closer to her shoulder, nestling the mass of shining hair into a halo around her. A call from inside startled her, and she turned to go, her hands already braiding up her curls. John smiled at himself and shook his head a little.
Sentimental rot, he muttered, amused at his own thoughts. And wasn't it just a year ago that you swore you'd never get like this over any girl?
But now that he was in love, John found that as he had so unromantically termed it, was justified from time to time--over a very special girl, of course. Di would probably laugh at him if she knew his thoughts. Luckily, she didn't--thank goodness for small favors.
Noon finally reached the bridal day, and the guests assembled on the lawn of Ingelside to chat and await the wedding. John shifted in his seat next to Carl and looked around. His hands anxiously played in his lap until Carl discreetly elbowed him.
It's not your neck going into the noose today, John, it's Ken's. What do you have to be so nervous about? John laughed quietly and calmed down.
I guess it's just the thought of being married that unnerves me, he responded jokingly. Carl glanced down at the ground and shrugged.
Well . . .in all honesty, John, and you'd better not repeat this--I'm thinking that if things continue as they are, I'm going to ask Cynthia to marry me. John raised an eyebrow. He hadn't known things were that advanced between the two.
Are you sure? Carl grinned shamefacedly.
I know it's early, but I can't fathom why I wouldn't ask the first girl who appreciates insects to marry me. . .especially when she's as wonderful as Cynthia. Carl tilted his head meaningfully towards Ingelside. And what about you, Mr. I'm-too-good-to-be-married? Methinks there's someone you're wanting to see today? John's cheeks warmed slightly as he caught the overtones in Carl's voice.
Well. . .it's just that Di. . .really isn't interested. But I'm going to keep trying. She's worth the wait of a hundred years. Carl let out a soft whistle.
Well, good luck, John. If you can win Diana Blythe, you'll win a jewel among women. Di's not the type to be won over by just romantic deeds, though. John nodded in agreement.
Oh, most assuredly. But Di's. . .Di's special, you know? Carl smiled sympathetically, but his words were drowned out by the beginning of the bridal march. The soft strains of music floated around the canopy as the flower girl, Ken's little niece, entered, strewing delicate rose petals before her. The ring boy, Bruce Meredith, came after, carefully balancing a gold band on a lacy, satin pillow.
Following the children came the four bridesmaids, Faith, joyous and merry next to Nan, who smiled demurely at Jerry and blushed a little as he smiled back. Next came Una--not really pretty, but lovely in a wistful way, the sorrow in her sweet eyes hiding behind happiness for her friend . And then--John's eyes widened as he saw Di. He hadn't thought it would be possible for her to appear more beautiful than she had. He had been grievously wrong. She stepped gracefully among her cloud of blue georgette, her hands filled with white flowers. John thought she looked exactly like a beam of pale moonlight in that gown, red hair and all.
Then the bride stepped out into view, and the guests drew a collective breath of awe. Rilla wore a beautiful dress of white silk that trailed behind her in a flow of lace. Her misty veiled frosted her soft, tawny curls, and was crowned by a tiara of flowers. In her hands, she held a lavender and white rose bouquet. Ken looked lovingly at Rilla as Gilbert escorted her down the aisle. Kissing his daughter, Gilbert sat down next to Anne, who sat with unshed tears of happiness in her starry grey eyes. He took his wife's hand reassuringly as the ceremony began.
Di smiled as she heard Rilla and Ken speak their sacred vows of love and fidelity. Her sister stood, radiating happiness as she repeated Reverend Meredith's words.
I Rilla, take thee, Ken. . .
After John Meredith pronounced them husband and wife, everyone cheered as the newly married pair kissed with deepest love. Turning from her husband, Rilla grasped her bouquet in both hands and closed her eyes, tossing the flowers as she did so. The roses sailed through the air and landed into Di's astonished hands. Her face flushed darkly as she looked up and caught John's expression. He had a quiet half-smile on his face, more contented and happy than she had ever seen him before.
Di blushed even harder after seeing John's smile. She shifted the flowers from hand to hand as the bridal party gathered to see the married pair off. Rilla, now looking exquisite in her green travel suit, kissed her family goodbye and cast a longing look back at the house where she had spent her years from babyhood to womanhood. Anne was the last person to say her farewells to the bride. Gently kissing Rilla, Anne smiled into her daughter's beautiful eyes, tears forming in her own.
I love you, sweetheart. Rilla, unable to answer, pressed her hand down upon her mother's. Gilbert tucked his arm around Anne's shoulders as the car started and slowly vanished from their site. Beside the Blythes, Leslie and Owen Ford stood in a similar position. Anne and Leslie sadly smiled at each other and embraced.
At least they're happy, Leslie said wistfully. Anne looked at the bend in the road and nodded.
It doesn't make it any easier, though, she whispered. Leslie shook her head.
she said quietly. It doesn't.
Gilbert stood next to Anne, remembering his baby girl, his A picture of baby Rilla flashed into his mind--her adorable smile, her satiny cheek, her crinkling eyes, the dark ringlets on her little head . . .Shaking his head in a vain effort to banish the sadness, he looked around at the rest of his children. They all seemed so young for careers and marriage and families. He felt a pang of sympathy for his own parents. He couldn't believe the faith they must have had in him, in order to let him go like that. Anne's hand tightened on his shoulder.
It'll be all right, she said gently. Gilbert wrapped her in his arms, smiling at his beautiful wife.
he said meaningfully. It will. Anne laughed girlishly and rested her head on Gilbert's chest.
Oh, Gil, she sighed, half-laughing. What would I do without you? Gilbert pretended to consider the issue.
I don't know, he said mockingly. I simply don't know. Anne elbowed him at that, and then slipped her hand into his. Behind them, merry jests and sounds of joyous laughter filled the tent. Anne and Gilbert remembered another wedding at an old, grey-green house so many years ago. Looking like a pair of newlyweds themselves, the happy couple walked back to the circle of love that was their family.
Di, meanwhile, was finding it distinctly awkward to be holding the omen of impending marriage. Several meaningful glances were thrown her way, bringing Di's fevered senses to a heightened pitch. Finally, she pushed the bouquet into Nan's startled hands and slipped off to say hello to various guests. While talking with Mrs. Donald Reese, she spotted John stood a little off to side, his face pale and clutching a nearby chair with an intensity that frightened Diana. Quickly excusing herself from her conversation, Di hurried over to his side.
she called, her voice tremulous with anxiety. Are you all right? Hearing her voice, John pressed his lips together and took a painful breath.
Di. . .I . . . And with that, John collapsed in an awkward heap. Di let out a piercing scream, her dress falling carelessly around her as she sank to her knees next to him.
she screamed, a thousand visions of sickness and death dancing before her terrified eyes. Father, please hurry! Gilbert broke away from his debate with Mark McAllister and ran over to where Di crouched, her eyes wild with panic. Quickly and professionally, Gilbert examined John.
Jem, Carl! he called, his voice taking on an edge as he stood. Help me bring him up to my office immediately! The two young men gently picked up their friend while Gilbert ran up to the house to telephone for a nurse. Deep in his heart, he felt a tinge of horrible fear for the young man that his daughter loved. Something felt very wrong about this.
Back at the tent, the occasion of joy had degenerated into a mingling of confused voices and mangled attempts at heap. Di stood, her face ashen and her figure rigid. Anne gently touched her daughter's hand, and a loose coil of ruddy hair fell onto her shoulder. Di didn't seem to notice.
her mother said softly, feeling a sympathetic ache for the anguish her child was feeling at the moment. Come inside, dearest. Diana's breath heaved, but she silently followed Anne into Ingelside's living room. Drawing the shades, Anne shook her head with fear as she looked at her daughter. Diana's stricken face and trembling hands betrayed her distress. Anne tenderly brushed Di's hair off her face. The heap of curls that were a younger, more vivid version of her own cut Anne to her heart.
It may not be anything, darling. He's probably just worn out from work. Di turned her burning eyes on her mother, eyes that seemed to read through her soul and through her comforting lies.
Do you really believe that, Mother? she demanded. Anne sighed and looked at the family photograph that graced the mantel. Diana's tone insisted on the truth--and her little daughter was a child no longer, but a woman with eyes filled with fear. A tear slipped down Anne's cheek along the well-paved grooves sorrow had wrought on her once youthful face. The desire to whisper comforting lies grew stronger.
she said quietly. Di shook her head.
Nor do I.
Diana Blythe walked the floor in agony for the next thirty days. Her soul was caught in a hideous trap that winked at and mocked her misery. The thought of what each horrible hour could bring danced before her , like some yawning pit of despair. Never, even in the black days of war had Di felt so utterly devoid of hope. Even when news was sent of her beloved brother's death, Di had managed to pull herself away from the grief to look up at the shining iIdea/i for which the men had fought. But here there was no all-compassing dream to rejuvenate the defeated soul. Terror washed over her at every moment, battering at her weakened defenses. She would not cry--she dared not. She was desperately afraid that her maudlin tears would murder the last hope that she clung to.
Oh, she loved him. She did not doubt that now. Loved him with a passion she hadn't known her soul was capable of. She could see now how narrow and empty her previous existence had been--how devoid of soaring grace and beauty life had been without the precious commodity of love. Love tore the veil from life's deep, mysterious eyes and revealed all. It wouldn't, Di thought angrily to herself, be right to let her go back to the colourless days she had lived before love had painted them with its glorious rainbow of dreams.
Every morning, she came down for breakfast, saw the quiet hopelessness in her father's eyes, and slowly walked back up to the blessed seclusion of her room. John hovered between life and death for those days, and nothing could be done for him. Whispers of dreadful words like and lingered in the shadowy corners of the guest room where John fought to breathe.
Each night Di knelt, white-robed by her bedside, and prayed. She let the need and the fear flow out of her in her whispered, inarticulate prayers to God. One word she repeated over and over again.
bEnd of Part II./b
