Chapter 27.

At sunset the crimson light weaves across the lake.

Jesenin

The rising sun reflected its rays on the glowing red roses, the dew beads glistening in the beautiful well-kept garden. One upstairs room had a bed, the bed had two heads side by side, dark and light, soft sheets hemmed with lace, the morning light gleamed through lace curtains translucent.

Virginie opened her eyes. There was no traffic noise, nor church bells, the smell of incense, or thick smell of freshly baked soft dark bread, no suspicious gazes from neighbors, or complaints when the piano echoed too often on the street from open window. Glen was not in Russia, but the sense of village community is same everywere the sense of nature and timeless echo of a livelihood taken from black or reddish land, with one's own hard work, and sweat, the eternal cycle of the seasons.

Virginie pondered the past the long years of bone wearing loneliness, without any companionship, except music and its tenderness, aching desire to embrace music, in every way, as if music was filling a gap in the soul that would not otherwise be filled.

Katherine had brought the opportunity for change, Katherine that sharp-tongued and sarcastic, colorfully dressed, and fast-moving woman who grabbed life with such passion as if fearing it would run away. The world had opened up and with Katherine by her side Virginie experienced wider musical universe across the borders of Tver, Moscow and then Paris, all glowing like a celestial palace in the clouds filled with different verdant parks in the rain, churches and flowing French literature and poetry, sweeping captivating music, and cultural richness spread in front of Virginie like a colorful rug, or a fruit plate full of delicacies. Until the first wintertime, in Paris. Several different sanatorium visits and mountain trips to Switzerland, and the Pyrenees. Katherine following along like a dark serious dark shadow grimly knowing and fierce with it.

Virginie stretched and watched the rays of light play on the sloping pale ceiling, she reclined her elbows and looked to her left, there was slumbering Elizabeth, her very own Betty, her honey and gold-colored hair with in a tangled braid, very soon Betty would open her eyes, only moments, and that certain gaze would light up her big hazel eyes with golden flecs, the gaze that reflected total confidence, love, and at the same time a strong fear of the shortness of time. The fear that Betty was constantly trying to cover up, but it always was there like a silent shade molded to those delicate floral-like features.

Virginie closed her eyes and recalled, as she often had their first encounter in Paris, the evening had been memorable. She had immediately noticed a delicate girly fae-like creature standing in the parlor with the rest of the Nathalies guests somehow totally separate from everyone around her. The girl had an enchanting presence and her voice, well that first joint performance, it was like some wonderful dream, a perfect harmony from the first chord.

Over the years, Virginie had often heard Betty describe her own personal mythology, the constant search of Tomorrow and the Islands of Happiness, very apt metaphor for artist, that was always on a look out of new challenges and artistic expericences. Virginie had already decided during the first visit in Tver with Katherine, that she had found her own Islands of Happiness with Betty, perhaps already for that first night at the Nathalies on the terrace, in the moonlight..

Downstairs in the Ingelsides kitchen there was succulent scent of fresh bread, it was evidence of Susan, and with Susan there was surely fresh tea. Quickly, Virginie threw on her light dress and braided her hair into a loose braid, and tumbled swiftly and shadowlike downstairs. In the kitchen grimly content but steadfast Susan made a tasty tray and helped carry it back into the room.

Soon smell of strong tea and breakfast flooded the room, growing light and bird song echoed through the window, as Betty reclined sleepily into pillows and inquired in a slightly hoarse voice: "Dearest, you haven't bothered Susan very much because of me, I should be the one that brings you trays and wild flowers, no otherway around?

Then a gentle soft smile lit up Betty's face as she drank her first cup of hot tea, Virginie smiled feeling utterly content, and pressed a light kiss to Bettys forehead, and began to comb her plentiful hair open, that was a chore, it was so tangled, soon her concentration broke, as slim fingers caressed her cheek momentarily.

With a deep breath Virgine pondered aloud,"I have noticed that Walter has been giving you looks for past few days, so I think that you and him will have to talk about something important later." Betty smiled at me sweetly and lingerly and dressed herself into that comfortable iceblue cotton dress that fitted like a glove. With a gentle hum, Betty opened her voice calmly, the scales, runs and high trills flooding room life-giving as the sunshine.

Slowly Betty and Virginie descended into Ingelside's homely morning stilness, Gilbert wrote a few recipes in his study, Anne read the newspaper, Rilla was still asleep, Nan and Di were on a morning walk, Shirley had risen at dawn and went fishing again, Jem was with Faith somewhere and Walter was reading some thick greenish poetry book the living room. After breakfast we walked with Anne's daughters to Glen's to visit at Carter Flaggs store, the place were one could find those succulent caramel sticks. Betty chatted to Nan in a quiet voice, something about literature, and as we passed Ms. Cornelia on the street, she looked at us lingerlingly, Virginie took a deep breath, and with fingertips quickly touched Betty's arm, to indicate potential threat. Soon Ms. Cornelia came our way, with purposeful steps, and inquired in a pleasant and audible voice. "If you go shopping ponder exactly what you buy, the selection is plentiful, these small local shops are not what both of you have been used to, is it not? Oh how beautiful the rings, those, must have cost a lot. Ms Cornelias dark eyes seemed to gleam with a wordless nonverbal challenge. Virginie felt her face stiffen and her smile becoming tremolous as Ms. Cornelia continued, are they an engagement rings from an admirer perhaps?"

Virginie felt Betty's back straighten, but Virginie didn't look at her but focused on the road in front of her, and that little roadside spruce, it had very interesting sort of needels very sharp and dark vivid green. In a calm cold voice, Betty replied to Ms. Cornelia, "No grooms, or suitors, either of us, these rings are heirlooms, you know the emotional value." Ms. Cornelia nodded seemingly content, and marched forward towards her home, a basket in her arm full of different packages and parcels.

Nan, and Di glanced at each other significantly, and said softly and comfortingly

"Ms. Cornelia has been haunted by curiosity about those rings for some time, usually she is more than tactful. How odd."Betty breathed deeply and smiled calmly at Anne's girls. Virginie pondered musigly that Glen reminded her of Tver though smaller, everyone knew or thought they knew each other's business and rumors were great entertainment, as always.

As Anne´s daughters continued to Ingelside, Betty and Virginie continued walk towards Manse, it truly was beautiful building in its all ramshackle Victorian glory. The rest of that day was full with talks, and music, and some jammaking too, as Una had some recepe from Rosemary that she wanted to make. Virginie observed as Una made succulent blueberry compot in the Manse kitchen, and fresh bisquits too. Afterwards Rosemary, Betty, Una and Virginie drank assam with milk, and enjoyed the bisquits. There was naturally music, some more Elgar, and also few presbyterian hymns Rosemary and Una they both sang with silver bright sopranos, and Betty interpreted for Virginie quickly, whispering the words, her pulse quick and alive. Virginie played intricate Chopin, to calm and devoted audience, the music felt living and careless full of love and darkly romantic impulsive tendencies, like a sudden embrace, or soft kiss.

Soon after Betty and Virginie had retuned from Manse, Walter came outside looking troubled, and with a gentel embrace at Virginie Betty went with him towards Rainbow Valley way.

It was twilight.

Feeling suddenly winded Virginie sat down, in the porch swing. Suddenly a strange hovering state overcame Virginie, it seemed like as if she was being carried, so she opened her eyes and found herself in the embrace of Gilbert. Smiling Gilbert replied "Virginie no need to look so alarmed, you had fallen asleep in the porch swing the night air is good, but in moderation, so it is better for you to sleep in bed, soon I bring you a glass of hot milk. Elizabeth seems to be with Walter on some moonlight ramble or another.

Virginie was pale and tired, and was sitting on the swing as I walked next to Walter, in the verdant greenery. He had taken me to deep shadowy corners of Rainbow Valley. Everywhere was lingering scent of flowers as I encouraged my mind and there I asked him who the other was. Walter had turned, walked few steps away and looked at me long and seriously, and spoken softly in a whisper and russian in a light calm tone, "no one particularly important", but then, suddenly all the studied, control and lightness broke to sharp shrads, that were jagged, deep, and wounding.

I got up quickly, and approached him cautiously, as if he were a light dragonfly that had flown into my hand. I embraced him, softly, and made a sudden decision, I begun to hum softly, in a half-voice Tatjana´s leitmotif from Onegin, and I offered him my arm, we then danced on the dewy grass.

All was still and quiet, the crickets squeaked around us, slowly Walter got up, offered his hand to me and we walked, not in the direction of the Ingelside but away from Glen towards the Four Winds, we walked in silence, for a time, then we turned suddenly into a woodland.

There amid all the dark ferns and clump of spruces was a beautiful pond reflecting the stars, surrounded by mossy rocks. Walter leaned against one stone, and closed his eyes.

A memory flooded me then, the bright morning light of Rue de Jacob one spring morning, the smell of toast and jam, and the warmth of the Nathalie beside me, and fragmentary emotional memories, of quick, playful kisses, and light anise, but I knew I couldn't help, everyone had to find their own path, so I smiled at him, sweetly and lovingly and shared his silence, and trust, for it was the only gift I was able to give.

Then Walter sighed, and said quietly, still speaking russian, although there were no people in the vicinity, and only nature breathed around us:

"I know I'm not like others, I have no interest in football, sports or fishing, I'm good at school and soon I go to Queens, and then to Redmond, I practice teaching in Lowbridge every summer, but it doesn't work properly, as I don't seem to get in touch with the children or other young people around me, my siblings are the exeption, or some of them are, and the only time I tried to do something heroic, in Jem-style, was when I fought Dan Reese, this was few years ago, it was because he insulted Mother, and Faith, too, named them, names. In the end, I could not stand it, the harassing and the mocking shouts, so I fought, and it was so disgusting, all the blood and cries, but I'm glad I did it, mainly because after that others left me alone, with my books. Susan gives me cod liver oil if she notices that I'm writing "poem rubbish," like she says, that's why I'm so grateful to you Elizabeth that you sent me that Pushkin, because now I can write in cyrillic whatever I want and no one here can read it.

I've taught Una, a little bit, because I feel safe with her, even though she often says nothing, she just looks and listens and observes, we talk sometimes, and it is a comfort. And she loves the russian-lessons mainly of the music and poetry too, or so I think at least, as she has not said that she would not like to do them anymore".

I listened quietly to Walter's words, and thought that by sharing his own knowledge he might have also helped Una rise a little out of her own sister's shadow, though Una liked the shadows, and being useful and out of sight. Faith was, as I had already noticed, one of those people that had some sort of living charisma that was eminently captivating to behold.

Walter and I had strayed into incredibly beautiful cliffs, the sea was raging wildly, the foam heads glimmering, there was a moonlight, a light reddish circle around the moon that predicted a change in the weather, a salty wind was ripping through my hair. I was wearing my shoes in my hand as I had waded a little on the beach. As the sunrise came, it was almost a surprise, there in the shore road Walter looked supernatural, like some sort of saint, filled with light.

The last days of July were stormy and cloudy. I met Anne in garden and we did some gardening in silence, suddenly Anne stated, " your presence has helped Walter, as he is no longer so gloomy, has he showed you his poems? They are excellent, I hope that he would try to publish, them at some point. He desperately needs joy in his life, the turmoil in Russia in 1905 and the Japan-Russian war affected Walter so much, he was worried about Fords because they were in Japan at the time, but luckily got back to Toronto. Kenneth and Walter are close, or at least were a few years ago. Walter sees the world in so many different shades, and all the conflicts in the world affect him very much, as he is most sensitive. Thank you so much for this summer visit, Betty your presence has been a real reward, with all that wonderful music and conversations, sometimes it's good to remember that the world is wider than our sleepy village here in the Island."

Then soon after our time in Ingelside were at end, everyone came to take us on the train, Rosemary, Reverend, and all the Merediths, the various Blythes farewell was long and emotional.

There was a little cloud, casting its shadow over Walter, as I watched him standing on the platform, I wished with all my heart that he could find his happiness as I had found mine with Virginie.

The train was moving, slow and then faster, and faster..

A/N: My interpretation of Walter has been much inspired by LMM scholarBenjamin Lefebre's still groudbreaking essay "Walters Closet." In it Lefebre describes brilliantly Walter 's character development through the series, and the final sacrifice and develops well argumented interpretation of the possible queer coding of Walter, and in particular the importance of Rainbow Valley as a place.