"You poor dear!" Trudy said, the next morning, when Juliet had told her everything. "Poor Allan! What happened next?"
"In the morning we found a gallon of gasoline under the sofa," Juliet explained, drying her tear-stained cheeks. "It had been there the whole time. We took it and started the car and drove back to town. But Trudy--Allan didn't say a word to me the whole way back. Have you ever heard of anything like this? I thought--when he came back from the war--we'd pick up right where we left off. I knew the war would leave a mark on him--I just didn't know how bad it would be! No wonder Allan is so jumpy--so worried all the time. I've been noticing little gray threads in his hair since I saw him again."
Trudy was silent for a moment. "My uncle Jack was like that, after the first war," she said thoughtfully. "He still jumps when he hears loud noises--we had fireworks at the Glen harbor once, for Confederation Day, and he had to go back up to the house. Uncle Shirley's like that, too, and Uncle Jem doesn't like to talk about the war. When Father gets worried, he runs his hand over his scar, that small one on his face."
"I'm so worried about him." Juliet leaned her head against the cool windowpane in the tower room, ignoring the bustling view below. "Before the war there was nothing Allan and I did not know about each other. Now there are so many things."
"Has he gone back to the Island?" Greta asked, running her hands through Juliet's long, tangled hair.
"No." Juliet laughed briefly--a bitter, halting laugh. She was too shook up to cry anymore. "He still wants to go to the dance tonight."
"Well, are you going?"
"I don't know." From her perch on the window-seat Juliet could see her lovely dress, hanging in wait. "I suppose we will."
"That's a good, sensible idea," Trudy said, resuming the arduous task of putting her hair in pin-curls. "Act as if nothing had happened. He'll get better, in time, Juliet. Things will be back to normal before you know it."
Juliet voiced her agreement, but that was not why she wanted to go to the dance. She had a fleeting, unsettled feeling in her heart that it might be the last chance they had to have a happy evening--and she wanted to take advantage of it.
* * *
He was late picking her up. Trudy and Greta had both gone by the time Juliet heard Allan's heavy tread on the stairs. How different from his jaunty footfalls of the day before--was it just the day before that she had been so happy to see him? Juliet took Allan's arm and let him lead her outside. They walked in silence to the hall where the dance was being held. The windows were lit up and inside, dark silhouettes whirled past gaily. Oh, she didn't want to go in! If only it was possible to turn back the clock! Juliet wished she didn't know what she knew about Allan. He would not let her help! He didn't want to talk about it. All she could do was worry.
They danced a few dances and then Allan excused himself for a moment--but he didn't come back. Juliet pushed her way furiously through the other couples, looking for him. She found him on the porch, staring up at the night sky.
"Look at the moon," he said. "Have you ever seen such a big moon? It looks so clean--so close--so new. Juliet, tell me you wouldn't fly up there right now if you could."
"I would," she said honestly. "Allan, darling, please talk to me. Tell me what you're thinking, really!"
"Only that I don't deserve you," Allan said, still staring up at the night sky. "I'm--not--the right person for you anymore, Juliet. I'm not the same. I'm not happy. You're right--the war has done things to me that nothing can undo. I didn't want to admit it to myself, but now I have to. I've seen death all around me. I've held a man in my arms while he died, so I've touched death, too. I've seen it, heard it, and smelled it. If that wasn't bad enough, now I dream about it every night. Juliet, I--I want to ask for my ring back. I can't marry you, after all."
Juliet felt something very cold wash over her. Allan wanted his ring back. Allan did not want to marry her. She let her mind roam backwards, combing every day, every month, every year of her life. She could not think of one time when Allan had not been the person closest to her, the one she cared the most about. And now he was saying he did not want her anymore!
"Why?" she asked dully, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth. It was cold--it was suddenly so much colder than she had thought. "Don't--you--love me, Allan?"
"Yes! Yes," he whispered fiercely. "How could I not love you?"
"Then--why?"
"Because I don't want to ruin you," Allan said, looking very lost and forlorn and taking her in his arms. "Do you remember when we had that terrible storm so long ago? You must have been ten years old--I was nine. And we were home alone at Burnley Barrens--and the wind shook the house so terribly--and you kept saying, 'What's to become of us? Oh, Allan, what's to become of us!' Over and over again--Juliet, I don't know what's to become of me. I only know that there's no happiness in me anymore--no joy. Yes, there is love, there must be, because when I think of you I think of love. But there is only that--and darkness, and fear. Nothing more."
When he let her go Juliet said, "I put my ring in your pocket, while you were talking. So--there it is."
Allan reached into his pocket and found it there, just as she said. It glittered on his palm between them.
"So this is what it feels like?" Juliet asked. "Oh, Allan, do you remember? That night you first asked to marry me? And I said no, because I wasn't in love with you. I knew I couldn't know then how much I'd hurt you. But I know now. Oh, it's terrible--it's terrible, what you're doing to us! I love you--I love you even when your soul is war-torn. Doesn't that count for anything?"
"Yes," Allan said simply. "It counts for something--something."
"But not enough," Juliet finished.
"No, not enough."
Juliet sank down to the cold wood floor of the porch. It was impossible that there were people inside who were happy--who were dancing--who were happily in love.
"You haven't said you hated me, Juliet," said Allan, sitting next to her. "You're allowed to, if you want."
"I could never hate you," she said in a monotone. "We will always be the best of friends, won't we, even if we can't be husband and wife? I don't want to lose you, Allan! And perhaps--one day--you'll change your mind--?"
"No. Juliet."
"Fine, then. But we will stay friends, always. And oh, Allan--you've got to tell your Mother and Father about these demons you're fighting. You can't do it all alone. Promise me--you'll tell them. You need--someone--to help you."
"No!" Allan shook his head vehemently. "I can't. And you can't either. Promise me you won't--if you do, I won't speak to you again. It's my business--that's why I can't marry you. I don't want this--wickedness--to touch anyone else."
"I won't tell them, then," Juliet said, closing her eyes. "You really should leave, Allan--I need to be by myself for a while."
"In the cold?"
"I'll be all right."
* * *
She did not know how long she sat there. The dance went on and on. The music never stopped, and no one came outside at all. They were all having too good a time inside. Juliet had no idea where Allan had gone. Perhaps back to his boarding-house--perhaps he would leave without saying goodbye to her! Why should he? They were nothing to each other anymore. Juliet wished that she had kissed him one last time. She would never get the chance to again.
She buried her face in the skirt of her lace dress and cried so long and so hard that she did not notice when another person stepped out on to the porch and began to watch her.
Blair King had come out for a smoke--Trudy Ford was a nice girl, much nicer than he ever would have thought before he started writing to her sister. So funny, with such an electric energy inside of her. Such a coincidence that she--and Juliet Kent--
But here was Juliet Kent--at least Blair thought it was her. All he could really see was the top of her head. He'd always thought her hair looked just like obsidian. His mother had a piece she'd picked up in Japan when she was young. Juliet's hair looked just like that.
"What's wrong that you should be crying?" Blair said, sitting next to her, and stretching his long legs out in front of him. "Allan Miller throw you over or something?"
She raised her face and looked at him with such intensity that he said, "I'm sorry. Juliet--I honestly had no idea. Poor girlie--when did it happen? Just now? Don't want to talk about it? I understand. Oh, honey--here's a handkerchief, let's wipe your tears away."
Blair dabbed at her face and then put one arm around her protectively.
"So what was his excuse?" Blair asked. "Another woman? Was he messing around on you, Juliet? Do you want me to go beat him up?"
"No!" Juliet cried. "Allan would--never--do that! And I bet you're just itching for a chance to beat him up--you've never like d him at all."
"Easy, easy!" Blair said. "You're right, I was just looking for an excuse. I have never liked Miller but now I have a reason not to--he's made one of my friends cry. You don't have to tell me what happened, Juliet--but it might help. And I can keep a secret. Have I ever told anyone any of the things you told me while you were my girl?"
"No, you haven't," Juliet admitted. "Blair--do you ever think about the war?"
She felt him stiffen and he said, "Do you want the response I give my sisters or the real response?"
"Real, please."
"Yes. Often. But not all the time."
"What do you tell your sisters?"
"That I never think about it."
"Allan dreams about it every night," Juliet cried. "He says he doesn't want--to ruin me with it."
Blair was silent for a long while. "I just flew during the raids," he said. "It was different in the trenches. Poor Miller. Poor all of us who went. And you still love him? Well, he'll most likely come to his senses."
"Blair, will you kiss me?" Juliet asked suddenly. "I would very much like to be kissed right now."
"By me--or by Allan Miller?" Blair asked in surprise.
"By Allan Miller, of course," Juliet said. "But you'll do--if I tilt my head and squint I can pretend you're him. AndI still can remember a time when I thought of you and love in the same sentence. I know you still think about me, sometimes, Blair. Kiss me quick, before I come to my senses."
He did--Juliet closed her eyes. But it was hopeless. She couldn't pretend he was someone he wasn't. He was Blair King. That was all. But he was a good kisser. For a few seconds she forgot all about Allan--about the thin white line of her ring finger that marked where her diamond had been. She was transported to a simpler time--when she was just a teenage girl in the throws of her first love--when the war had not touched her or anyone she loved yet.
Blair King, however, kept his eyes open--at least, he opened them in time to see Allan Miller at the door of the hall, watching them. He looked like he was having one of his nightmares, only this time, he was wide awake. The two men stared at each other as Juliet nestled against Blair, her tears falling down his collar onto his neck. Then Allan turned and walked back inside.
Blair looked at Juliet's tired, tortured face, and decided not to tell her what he'd seen. Poor thing--she had more than enough to worry about already.