"Late spring is almost too beautiful," mused Bertha, as she and Dorothy walked arm in arm down 'The Avenue.' It was as close to summer as spring can get and still remain spring, and the trees overhead were as white and delightful as that long ago day when one red-headed orphan had beheld them for the first time.
Dorothy remained mum; the bowers of snowy white blossoms overhead held little beauty for her that day. Her eyes were suspiciously red-ringed. The hard fighting overseas combined with the lack of news from Georgie led to many sleepless nights, and tears cried into that little damsel's pillow. Just that morning Diana Wright had watched the two set off from Green Gables with their canvassing materials in hand and was suddenly reminded of her own troubled youth during the years of the Great War – of a velvety, black-browed lad that had laid down his life by taking up arms – and her own eyes had gotten misty and far away. She had wanted so much happiness for her daughter – and son – were their happy youths to be taken away from them, too? What sacrifices would they be called to make?
They had all been so happy when the British Navy sank the Bismarck – the terror of the seas – but the Germans had been steadily moving forward on the Eastern Front. Russia was in peril. The Nazis crossed the River Dneiper in Ukraine. Tobruk, whose capture by the Allies they had reveled over at Christmas, fell to the Axis. It was, as Bertha put it, as if "everything was coming apart at the seams, all at once."
Yugoslavia and Greece surrendered to the Nazis and the horrible swastika flew over Athens and Belgrade. German bombs were still falling on English cities, and weird, ghastly tales of atrocities against the Chosen People were beginning to be circulated. Gruesome tales that left them with a bad taste in their mouths and fear branded on their hearts.
And in the middle of this, spring came, ripened into summer, and was beautiful. How could it be?
Bertha and Dorothy – and the other Avonlea youth – had undertaken a massive project to collect war-bond subscriptions. That farming community was overrun with young fry going door to door to sign up contributors. There was a prize for the person who collected the most names – a maple pin – and a Victory Bond flag, plus a letter of commendation from Lord Tweedsmuir and the honor of appearing at the head of the district collection lists in the newspaper.
Bertha would have loved to win the pin and the flag and have her name in the paper, but that wasn't the reason she strapped on her sash and took up her pamphlets every day after school, and on the weekends when her chores were done. She went out because she wanted to help – and because the Avonlea city council had taken to displaying a certain poster that made her blood run cold. It pictured a young mother and her baby, with the icy hands of the Germans reaching out to grab her. KEEP THESE HANDS OFF! It ordered. BUY WAR BONDS.
The only thing was that no one seemed willing to buy them. The people who wanted them bought during the First Victory Loan Campaign. Everyone else couldn't afford them or couldn't be bothered to buy them at all. The girls were turned away at almost every house – kindly at some, and positively run off the place at others.
"I believe the Pyes are the worst folk in the world," said Bertha disagreeably, after Mrs. Roger Pye had shut the door in their expectant, patriotic faces. "I was counting on the Pyes to put up a nominal subscription at least. No one else has had the nerve to ask them yet, so we were to be the first. I thought old Rose Pye would rather die that appear unpatriotic, but I guess she doesn't care how she looks to us. She can always deny that we asked her if anyone brings it up and it will be her word against ours and she will come out on top, because she is an adult and we are young people. I don't think that's fair."
"Rose Pye has four sons and none of them have any thought of joining up," said Dorothy, with the entitlement of one who has already dispatched someone she loves. "We've been to at least ten houses today – most of them Pyes – and how many subscriptions do we have, Birdie?"
"Two." Bertha was dejected. "One from Mr. Lorenzo White, Jr. for fifty dollars – he's a terribly cheap – and one from Master Giacomo for one-hundred dollars – which he won't be able to pay. He barely has enough to get by as it is, but it was nice of him to make the offer. I won't mention it to him again – I couldn't bear to think of him not being able to eat because we embarrassed him into taking a subscription. But I thought it would embarrass him more not to be asked at all. Oh, Doss, do we have to go to any more houses? The next one on this road is Mr. Howard Blair's – and their son was just killed, you know. I should think that they more than anyone else would want to subscribe but I can't face their grief right now. I know it is selfish, Doss, but can't we just go home? Having doors shut in your face is the worst feeling under the sun."
"Not having to say goodbye to Cal Inglis?" asked Dorothy with a roguish smile. "I thought that was the worst."
Bertha felt very silly and tossed her head. Over the past few months the flame of ardor in her breast for cousin Cal had dimmed in his absence – and then was entirely snuffed out. Every day doings had pushed him from her mind for a time, and when she remembered to think of him again she felt curiously blank where once she had burned with admiration. Of course she wished him well, but she was beginning to think her declarations of love. But, as she confided in Jordan Gray,
"I do believe this whole experience has prepared me for 'r'omance – with a small 'r' – whenever it actually comes."
"Thank heaven for that," wrote Jordan Gray back.
"We aren't going home," Dorothy continued. "I've just had the best idea, Bird. Hear me out. It's 'tourist season,' as Uncle Jack says, and the White Sands hotel is simply filled with rich visitors. There is one Mr. Algernon McTavish visiting from Alberta – he made his money in the mines there – and no one has asked him yet. You saw him in church last week – the fat, pompous little man! I heard him say that patriotic feeling was the result of 'government indoctrination' and nothing else and he won't be indoctrinated – so he hasn't given a cent to the war effort and he can certainly spare it! I mean to march up there and ask him to – and if he won't, I mean to shame him into doing it. He should be ashamed of himself. And you are coming with me, Birdie, because if you didn't I should die of fright to go alone – and I mean to do this!"
This was quite a speech from the frail, shy Dorothy and Bertha was cowed into submission. The girls set off for White Sands.
It was a long walk over unpaved roads, and when they arrived the girls were hot and dusty. A steward showed them into the sitting room after they asked to speak with Mr. McTavish and they waited there, both stricken, both with failing courage. Presently Mr. McTavish burst in, the very caricature of a millionaire, with a vest that strained over his fat stomach and a cigar, unlit, clenched between his teeth. He looked none too pleased.
"What the divvil?" he said. "Steward told me there was someone to see me and now that I've let my curiosity run away with me and pulled myself from my dinner to see who it was and what they wanted – I find two little whippets! What means this?"
Whippets! It was like a slap to their pride. Both girls recoiled, Bertha with indignation and Doss with fright. But then pale Dorothy gathered herself up with some vestiges of spirit and said, very clearly,
"We are certainly very sorry to interrupt your dinner, Mr. McTavish," – oh, how poor Dorothy trembled to behold his fiery countenance – "We really didn't mean to and we would have waited for you to be done if we had known…"
"Get to the point," McTavish said tersely.
All of Doss's courage had gone. "We have come to ask you to buy a subscription for war bonds if you can," she murmured, beginning to flush in her cheeks and looking down at her dusty slippers.
Mr. McTavish stared at her as if she had grown another head. "No, thank you," he said bluntly and as he turned to leave, Bertha heard her own voice come, quite unbidden, out of the hidden depths of her spirit.
"At least you remembered to say thank you," she said sarcastically. Bertha had inherited Aunt Cordy's talent for speaking sarcastically. It was very effective. Mr. McTavish stopped in his tracks, and slowly turned round to face her.
"What the divvil did the redheaded one say?" he asked no one in particular.
"I said, 'at least you remembered to say thank you.'" Bertha was shaking now with righteous indignation. "What I should have said was, 'You should be ashamed of yourself!' A rich man like you – you should buy war bonds, as many as you can. Poorer ones than you have taken them, even though they can scarce afford them."
"How do you know how rich I am?"
"One only has to look at you to see." Bertha tossed her head and her red hair – so besmirched – flew out behind her. Dorothy trembled but held her ground.
"And why should I buy war bonds? Even if I am rich, it's my money, isn't it? To do with as I please?"
"Yes – but you should please to spend it this way. Our boys need every cent we can muster if they're going to win the fight. How would you like it if Canada loses the war? Canada will be a German colony then – and I don't think even you would like that very much."
The sarcasm Bertha infused into that you was really scathing. But Mr. McTavish was not so easily persuaded.
"What's wrong with the Germans except that we don't believe the same things they do?" he asked. "Aren't they the same as you and me, but with different thoughts and feelings?"
"The Germans are a bloodthirsty nation of power-hungry, cruel-hearted people," said Bertha forthrightly. "They –"
"Oh, stop." Mr. McTavish waved his fat, beringed hand. "What a load of claptrap. Who told you that? Your mother? Your schoolteacher? Did you read it on a piece of government propaganda? I see the indoctrination has spread to Canada's children. You're just like all the other narrow-minded, small-brained folks in this little backwater village. I'll tell you what," he addressed this remark to Bertha and Dorothy. "If either of you can convince me that you're not just like all the other base folks in this godforsaken hick place, I'll take a thousand dollar bond. Tell me something interesting. Do something. Stand on your head. Surprise me. You can do it. And if you can't I'm going to box both sets of ears and send you packing. You've got ten seconds. Now, go."
Mr. McTavish sat down on the sofa with the amused air of one who knows that he can't be bested. Dorothy racked her brain trying to think of something that would sway him. But Bertha took a step forward, clasped her hands, and began to sing.
She sang for five minutes, a whole aria, her voice as clear and pure as it had ever been, her presence poised, her chin tilted up and determined. Even Doss forgot to be afraid while it lasted. When Bertha had finished, after the last, sweet, ringing note had died away, she folded her hands and dropped to the ground in a grand curtsy, dipping her head gracefully, a serene smile on her face. When she rose, however, she was defiant. Her flashing gray eyes were a challenge.
Mr. McTavish still had the amused look on his face, but his eyes were kindly, now. That is how Bertha knew she had won. He tapped his chin with one fat finger and said,
"I suppose you'd better give me those subscription materials, girl. You were right – I don't think anyone else in these parts could sing like that. You've certainly distinguished yourself. Agrippina's Se giunge un dispetto – trying to be cute or something, eh? Denouncing me for my 'treachery,' eh? Well, I'll take a subscription for five hundred dollars. Just as I promised."
"A thousand," said Bertha staunchly. "That's what you promised."
"Did I? Well, there you go. I'll take one for a thousand."
The transaction was duly conducted. Mr. McTavish handed over his cheque and looked at the girls with frank admiration.
"The little pale, dark-haired one is the prettier of the two of you – don't deny it, Beauty, I dare say you both know it. But there's pretty girls a dime a dozen like you and I've never heard a voice like hers. You'll be on the stage one day, Russet, if these good Christian folks don't quash your will to do it. You won't sing anything else for me? It's been a while since I've heard such pretty singing. One more piece, to make and old man happy?"
"I will – if you take another subscription," laughed Bertha. She was having one of her wonder-moments.
"No thank you," said Mr. McTavish. "I've parted with enough of my hard-earned cash for one day. Well, be off with you. And resist any and all government indoctrination. The Germans are a cruel race of folks, but think that for yourselves. And – keep singing, Russet. You're bound to do it anyway, whether I tell you to or not."
"For once," smiled Bertha, pink-cheeked, the troubles of the morning lifted temporarily from her shoulders, "I think I've given a performance that would not make Master Giacomo want to drown me in the gulf."