Chapter Twenty-two—Dean Priest Again
"Una, can you run over to Shrewsbury for some pink thread?" Nan called from the upstairs landing of the Blair Water parsonage. "I was hoping to get Dianne's new dress done in time for Amy Mitchell's party on Saturday, but I'm out of thread."
Una sighed. This was going to involve The Car—Una always referred to it in capitals—which had speedily become the bane of her existence in the three weeks she had been at Nan and Jerry's. Jem had taught her to drive two years previously, but Una preferred to avoid being at the wheel of an automobile whenever possible—especially Jerry's, which seemed to have a mind of its own.
"Doesn't Blair's store carry pink thread?" she asked hopefully.
"I looked there when I started the dress," Nan told her. "They don't have the right shade, and the quality's bad anyway. Honestly, I'd go myself if I could—I know you aren't much for driving—but Blythe and John have been sick all day, and there's the Ladies' Aid meeting here tonight, and I promised Dianne she'd have the dress for Saturday…" Nan's voice trailed off.
Una was filled with compassion. The lot of a minister's wife wasn't an easy one, but Nan was, as Jerry called her out of his parishioners' hearing, a true brick. Her Martha-esque tendencies meant that she gave unstintingly of herself to everyone. There was simply no money at the Blair Water manse for a hired girl, so Nan had run herself ragged until Una came. "And you have a headache, don't you?" she asked Nan.
"I'm afraid so," Nan groaned. "It's like a million little dwarves all pounding away with hammers at my skull." She gave a weak smile.
"You go lie down for a while," Una told her. "I'll start a batch of biscuits for the Aids and keep an ear out for Blythe and John. When Dianne gets home from school, she can help you and I'll go into Shrewsbury."
"Bless you, Una," Nan smiled. "I'll drag my weary bones to bed for a bit. Whatever did I do without you?"
"Glad I can help," Una said sincerely. As she mixed the biscuit dough, she was struck by how pleased she was to be useful once again. Gallivanting all over Europe had been enjoyable, but it was good to be among her own people again.
Dianne came in excitedly, mindless of her normal nine-year-old dignity. "Guess what, Aunt Una? Mark Strang picked me for Clap-In and Clap-Out today!" She giggled.
"That sounds like an important occurrence."
"I know. Bessie Tapley wanted him to pick her, but he said that I was the prettiest girl in Blair Water school, even if I'm only nine and he's eleven." Dianne smiled so broadly her face threatened to split in half.
"Well, the prettiest girl in Blair Water school, can you help your mother out? I'm supposed to drive into Shrewsbury to get some thread for your new dress."
"Oh, Aunt Una!" Dianne engulfed her aunt in an enormous embrace. "You're…you're absolutely spiffy!"
"Spiffy, is it?" Una asked. "Is this new phrase courtesy of Mark?"
Dianne blushed. "I suppose. Oh, I picked up the mail on the way home…there's three letters for you. One from Aunt Persis, one from Uncle Shirley, and one from Uncle Walter." She tossed the letters to Una as she headed up the stairs. "You know, it's odd to have a live Uncle Walter. He was always just a name, but now he's real."
************
Before heading to Shrewsbury, Una read her letters in the privacy of Jerry's car. Which one should I read first? The one from Persis? But then, should I read Walter's or Shirley's next? I can't believe I'm debating with myself over which letter I should read second. Shirley's, of course—he's my fiancé. But since he's my fiancé, shouldn't I save his for last? I can't believe it's taking me so much time to decide what order to read my mail in. I'll just have to do what Di says her mother-in-law always did, and jab them with a hat pin.
Persis's letter was full of news of the Toronto family, written in her characteristic rambling style—how Rilla, expecting her sixth child, was faring; a description of the new curtains she had bought for the sitting-room; and the good grades that Cecilia had earned at St. Agatha's during the last term. But what was this last bit of news? "You used to know an Irene Howard, didn't you? Carl says he remembers her slightly, although they were never more than nodding acquaintances. Well, she was married to some man by the name of North who died a few years ago—after he died, she subsequently moved to Toronto. She runs with the elites around Toronto, so of course I'd never met her, since they don't seem to find famous naturalists quite in their league. But I'm digressing. What I keep attempting to get to is that she and Walter have renewed their old friendship, and he's been escorting her to various events around Toronto. Rilla isn't impressed in the slightest—she said that she 'got her craw full' of Irene back during the War and can't see why on earth Walter would pay her the slightest attention…" The letter continued on, but Una dropped it as if it were a hot coal. So Walter was squiring Irene around Toronto! She thought that he would have had more sense than that, but apparently his brain had been addled more than she had realized.
Delaying the inevitable, she opened Shirley's letter. It was a typical letter from Shirley—interesting, humorous, with an occasional tender line snuck in unobtrusively. Una felt regretful that she didn't have time to give it all the attention it deserved, but reminded herself that, fortunately, letters could be read and reread.
Walter's letter was opened with trembling fingers. Would he mention Irene? He did, but Una's fears were relieved. "I've seen a bit of Irene Howard—Mrs. Geoff North, I suppose—since arriving in Toronto. Una, she is the most malicious woman I have ever met. I went with her to two parties—the first for old times' sake, the second because she told me she needed an escort. She has nothing nice to say about anyone—when I mentioned you, all she said was that the two of you had barely spoken since you'd been unkind to her at some Sunday School concert years ago. What nonsense! Thank goodness you aren't like that." The letter continued on, describing his life in Toronto and some of the struggles he had gone through attempting to put his life back together. It concluded, "Una, what is it about you that makes me able to tell you what troubles me? And I am troubled. My life has changed so drastically that I hardly know how to stand up straight. But I can tell you about it and know you'll understand, and I thank you for that."
**********
The seven-mile drive to Shrewsbury gave Una ample time for reflection, but she didn't like what she was seeing. If a woman was engaged, her fiancé's letter should be the one that she was most anxious to read. Yet she had merely given Shirley's letter a cursory glance. I'm not in love with him. He knows that. I'm not even sure to what extent he's in love with me…more so than I am with him, though, I fear. I love him, but that's different than being in love with him.
What sort of feelings do I have for Walter? she continued to herself on the drive home. I thought I loved him once, but I was only a girl then. Besides, he was almost a different person then. Almost. I put all that behind me before I knew he was alive. He's just my brother-in-law to be. So why am I smitten with jealousy over Faith and Irene? I don't think I want to try and answer that question…I'm afraid of what the answer would be. Oh, there are days that I wish I could just not have any feelings at all! Frustrated, Una turned a curve too sharply, sending The Car into a shallow ditch.
"Blast!" she muttered, immediately feeling shocked at herself for using such unladylike language. The automobile was stuck—very much so, in fact. It was late afternoon in the autumn, and few people used this lonely back road that she had taken as a shortcut. Una settled in for a long wait.
After about twenty minutes, however, she was surprised to see a buggy coming down the road. It stopped when it saw her.
"Can I help you?" the driver asked. He was around sixty, with silver-flecked dark hair.
"Only if you can pull the car out," Una told him wryly. "It appears to be good and stuck."
"Well, I don't think that Beatrice here can do that, but I can give you a ride home. Where do you live?"
"I'm staying at the Blair Water manse with the Rev. Meredith. He's my brother."
The man leaned forward in his seat to get a better look at her in the fading daylight. "Have I met you before? I remember someone telling me once that they were related to the Rev. Meredith…"
Una gasped. "I think we have met…in Venice!"
The man looked at her strangely. "If it isn't the woman from the café! I remember our conversation, but I'm afraid I don't remember your name."
"Una Meredith. And you would be Dean Priest," she said slowly. "This is odd."
"I'm inclined to agree," Dean said, helping her up into the buggy. "Your brother or someone can come for the car tomorrow, I suppose?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued on. "What did we talk about anyway? I remember the conversation as being rather peculiar, but I fear I've forgotten the details."
"We discovered that we were both Islanders, and you asked me about…about my engagement ring."
"I do remember now. And I broke all rules of etiquette and told you about my hopeless passion for the love of my life." He laughed. Una was struck by how much his laugh was reminiscent of Walter's—there was no humor in it. Dean looked at her hand. "You aren't wearing the ring now," he observed.
"My…my father…he died this past spring. The family isn't sure if it's…appropriate right now," Una stammered.
"It seems that since it was all right to wear the ring in Europe, it would be all right here as well."
Una, having no answer, kept silent. Dean was also silent for the remainder of the drive until they reached the manse. "It's been a pleasure meeting you again, Miss Meredith. I'll stop by and visit occasionally, if that's all right with you. I'm staying with my sister in Shrewsbury, and there is only so much of her undiluted company that I can take at a time."
"That would be fine."
Dean helped her down from the buggy and drove off. As Una walked towards the door, her fingers stroked the letters in her pocket. How does he do that…unwittingly touch on my sorest points? I'm not sure that this will be a comfortable friendship.