I stayed far away from the orchard the next day, feeling as if it were a stranger to me. Something had been marred about the thought of it now. I did not wish to see the man again in my hallowed place! The very thought sent a tremor through me. Mother had said men were bad. And I had no reason to disbelieve her. Everything she said must be true, for she was my mother, was she not?

I spent the day feeling like the pendulum in the grandfather clock. I wished to be a good girl, and obey what Mother said. But at the same time, somehow, I did not think the man would do me harm. For what I had seen of him, his looks had struck me as handsome, or at the very least nice looking. I am afraid to say I did not get a very good look at him, for I had been too terrified. And I felt a bit foolish for being that afraid of a stranger.

But then there was Mother. I could not deny what she said. And again, I would like to at least have another look at him and see if he was as bad as she said. I didn't know what to do, and Aunt Janet noticed. I was quieter and more careless with my chores, and she said to stop my thoughts from "wool gathering". That got her a smile from me, for I thought the expression funny, but I did not want to tell her what had happened. I would be forbidden from ever going to the old orchard again, and that, to me, was unthinkable. It was a close friend to me, and to have myself barred from it forever… no, I could not think of how sad I would feel. It would hurt so. No, I would not tell Uncle Thomas or Aunt Janet what had happened. After some thought, I decided not to tell Neil either. I used to tell him all my secrets, but as we grew, we had grown apart. He was twenty-two, and a man himself. But no, somehow, I felt it would not do to tell him either.

I thought briefly of my father, Ronald Fraser. Mother hated him. She told me so. But she must have loved him once, and I must have been born out of that love. But when his real wife came around, well, as she told me, her love turned to hate. Mother was like that. She either loved something or hated it. There did not seem to be anything in between. It was partly why I was a little afraid of her. Her moods were something tremendous, and I remember being afraid sometimes of making her angry. There was this one day, I recall, when I was very small. I had just gotten a new dress that Janet made for me, and how proud I was of it. I had dressed in it, and managed to braid my hair by myself… I was that small… and then went to present myself to my mother. She had taken a look at me, and the look on her face! I did not know what I had done to make her angry, but she went throughout the house and smashed every single mirror to be had. The noise had been terrific. Uncle told her something about bad luck but Mother wouldn't listen. I think that was the day she first told me I was ugly too.

There was something that bothered me about this situation. Mother said men were wicked. This is what I kept coming back to. But all men could not be so, I reasoned. Uncle was so kind and good, and he was a man. Neil was now a man too, and he'd always been faithful to me. There. That was two men that were neither wicked nor dangerous. So all men could not be so. But this man? He could be. I did not know how long he had been watching me before I saw him. Then, if he had been watching so long, he could have done something bad had he desired.

So then, now what? What should I do? Stay away? Go back? I wavered back and forth that day and most of the next, trying to decide what to do. Finally, I could take it no more. I would go back. Uncle was always talking about fairness. I would be fair to this stranger. If he did not like me, well then, then he did not. And that was all there was to it. And I could always ask him to leave.

Therefore, it was with a determined heart that I set forward to my favourite place: the old orchard. I wandered here and there, looking around in case he was hiding. But I was alone in the orchard, save for the birds and small creatures that I could often hear, but not see. I went to visit my flower friends. The blood red roses, the pink posies, the little blue forget-me-nots, all were my friends. But I also loved the June lilies. I was bending over these, my fingers trailing over the white petals, when he came.

He had paused on the edge of the open area, seemingly not wishing to frighten me again. I lifted my head, feeling fear wash over me again, but I was determined not to run away this time. I felt my face pale a little and could not help the little shudder in my breath, but I stood firm, watching him intently.

Now the man came closer. My heart thumped so in my chest at his nearness, but I was also able to see chestnut hair that had golden streaks when the sun hit it. His eyes were a grayish blue, and his face was pleasing to look upon. I shuddered again, wondering what he must think of me and my ugliness! However, he spoke very gently, "Do not be afraid of me. I am a friend, and I do not wish to disturb or annoy you in any way."

Annoy me? Heavens, no. It was more the other way around. However, he did not seem repulsed or stare at me, but stood with ease for my response. He did seem friendly, and not wicked or dangerous, like Mother had warned me. I decided to give him a chance, and wrote on my slate, "I am not afraid of you now. Mother told me that all men were wicked and dangerous, but I do not think you can be. I have thought a great deal about you, and I am sorry that I ran away the other night."

I could not read the expression that flashed into his eyes. Had I offended him? Should I have just gone away again? But he spoke again, and I could hear the kindness in his voice as he said, "I would not do you any harm for the world. All men are not wicked, though it is too true that some are so. My name is Eric Marshall, and I am teaching in the Lindsay school. You, I think, are Kilmeny Gordon. I thought your music so very lovely other evening that I have been wishing ever since that I might hear it again. Won't you play for me?"

In that instant, I relaxed entirely. This man… Eric… was no enemy! He was… nice! And he loved my music. And knew my name. I could see the truth in his eyes of his words. I now smiled at him in a frank and friendly manner, pleased with him. I apologized to him that I could not play, for I had not brought my violin. I did not say that I had entirely forgotten it in my distressed state of mind. It was an unusual thing for me to do, but there it was. However, I told him, "I will bring it tomorrow evening and play for you if you would like to hear me. I should like to please you."

And what I said was true. I did want to please him, somehow. And I felt I could do that very easily. And it might be nice to know someone new that did not mind me in the least. I was willing to give him a fair chance, just like I had set out to do.

Eric smiled back at me warmly, and accepted my invitation. He now looked at me with excitement dancing in his eyes and asked, "And now won't you give me some flowers?"

This I was most happy to do, and nodded at him with a smile. Then I bent over the June lilies again and searched for the most perfect blossoms. They must be the very best for him, since he asked. My fingers brushed the white flowers and I picked only those that were white enough, had all their petals, and were the most pleasing and perfect shapes. At last, I had a good bunch, and carried them softly to him. I loved their scent and was so happy to see the warm light in his eyes when he received his gift.

Then Eric told me, "Thank you. These flowers are the sweetest that the spring brings us. Did you know that their real name is the white narcissus?"

This was news to me. I never knew that. I had read of several different flowers in mother's books, and had often wondered what the white narcissus had looked like, as it always sounded beautiful. And to think that I knew them after all! My own dear friends, merely under a different name. This pleased me very much, and I told him so.

Eric had a very nice smile as he told me, "You couldn't help but make friends with the lilies. Like always takes to like." I wondered what he meant, even as he motioned to me and patted the old worn bench to sit beside him. What could he possibly mean? The lilies were my friends, yes, but how was I like them? I was nothing like them. They were fair and lovely. Perhaps he meant my spirit was like them, and in this I would agree. I wanted to dance like them, and did at times, in my own way.

I trusted Eric immediately as I sat down next to him and watched him. After a moment, I remembered my manners and felt the need to apologize for running away the other day. It had been a foolish cowardly thing to do, and I was feeling a bit silly and ashamed about it. But it seemed that he didn't mind at all. How nice he was! Then I frowned slightly, and wished to make things very clear, for that is how I liked things. I wrote, "I cannot speak, you know. Are you sorry?"

Immediately, his response was polite, "I am very sorry for your sake."

Shaking my head, for that isn't what I meant. The written word doesn't always translate to what I wish! I erased what I had written and tried again, "Yes, but what I mean is, would you like me better if I could speak like other people?" Now I watched his eyes carefully for any trace of a lie when he answered. And I would know.

I saw no deception in his face as he frankly replied, "No, it does not make any difference in that way. By the way, do you mind my calling you Kilmeny?"

Mind? Why would I mind? Kilmeny is my name! What else would he call me? How very odd. I did not understand him, until he explained politely, "But I am such a stranger to you that perhaps you would wish me to call you Miss Gordon."

Miss Gordon! No, I didn't not like that one bit. The name was strange and made me feel very...no. Absolutely not. I wrote very quickly, impatient with my letters, wanting to resolve this situation quickly. "Nobody ever calls me that. It would make me feel like I were not myself but someone else. And you do not seem like a stranger to me." After a moment of thought, I added, in case it was some breach of etiquette that I was making, "Is there any reason why you should not call me Kilmeny?" I didn't want to make a mistake, after all. I did not know the rules of the world. Perhaps it was wrong for him to call me Kilmeny.

To my relief, Eric replied, "No reason whatever, if you allow me the privilege. You have a very lovely name, the very name you ought to have." I smiled broadly at him then, for I did like my name. I thought it lovely too, and I told him that I was named for my grandmother, whose name was Kilmeny too. I liked this, to have a link from the past, but it was my own name. I could imagine no other. I couldn't understand why Aunt Janet didn't like the name. Perhaps it was too strange for her, for she did like my grandmother. I told him how glad I was that he liked my name… and me. I did not say how glad I was that my ugliness didn't matter to him. He had never mentioned it, so I would not. Why ruin a good thing? I had also been afraid that he would not want to bother with me since I wouldn't speak, but it seemed that this, too, did not matter to him. And I told Eric that too.

But his face was alight with understanding as he said, "But you speak with your music, Kilmeny."

Ah, now! He really did understand me after all! Joy sprang in my heart at this, for it was true. I poured out my thoughts and feelings into my music and made it speak for me. And he understood without being told. Eric did ask if I "composed" my own music. I had never heard the word so I frowned at him and shrugged. He saw at once I did not know what he meant and asked instead if someone had taught me my music that I had played the other night.

I explained to him that no, it just comes as I think of it, and how Neil had showed me how to play. Oh, I like Eric so much. It was true that he was no stranger to me. He was so interesting to listen to, and I asked him about himself. I sat there fascinated by stories of what he did. It turns out that he came from a place called Toronto, which was in another province altogether. I knew the world was big and wide, but it was bigger than I thought. He told me of his father, and that his mother died. He told me of going to Queenslea College and some of the things he did there. It was so interesting, and very much story like. I did not entertain any thought or wish to see these things he spoke of, for I had none. I would never do such a thing. But I did like hearing him tell of his life, and his voice was rich and warm, and made the telling even nicer.

We had such a nice conversation, learning about each other, and I was glad to know that someone had already told Eric about my mother and my father. I knew the story well, of course, having heard it all from Mother before she died, and Aunt Janet of course had spoken to me about it after Mother died, to make sure I understood it all. I know Aunt felt guilty for her part in it, but I never held it against her. I do think that Mother understood that she made a mistake in being so hasty to judge my father, but people do make mistakes. I also told Eric that I missed Mother so much, that I couldn't read her books for some time, but when I did, I found them beautiful. They were all poetry, and I could see the similarities between that and my music.

"I will bring you some books to read, if you will like them," he offered generously. I snapped my eyes to him, and couldn't help the bright smile as excitement leaped into my chest. New books! I would love to read new books. Mine I knew practically by heart. It would be wonderful to read something new.

I gladly wrote, "I like to read and hear of the big world so far away and the people who live there and the things that are done. It must be a very wonderful place."

Eric turned to me with a smile of amusement and a question, "Wouldn't you like to go out in it and see its wonders and meet those people yourself?"

No! He did not understand! I couldn't do that. I wouldn't do that. I can't! Not like this! I should hate it so if people looked at me… I would be a monster among them! No, no, no. I must make him understand that I would never do that! I grabbed my pencil and marked with broad strokes, not caring if I broke my pencil or not, "No, no, no! I do not want to go anywhere from home. I do not want ever to see strangers or have them see me. I could not bear it."

I could see at once that he was disappointed, and still didn't understand. But he gracefully accepted what I said, and for that, I was thankful. We talked a little while longer, then he stood up and pointed at the shadows that were lengthening. It was time for him to go back to where ever he came from.

Pleasantly and reluctantly, Eric reminded me, "You won't forget to come tomorrow evening and play for me?"

I smiled and shook my head. As if I would forget to entertain my friend! That would not do. My evenings were always free for me to do as I pleased. I would be here. I wanted to see him again. And to think, I had been afraid of him! I went back home, thinking over it all. How silly I had been to act so when I first saw him. He was a friend, a very good friend. And I was looking forward to seeing Eric again.