Capitain K. Ford had the reputation of having eyes on his back, as his underlings said, so. He seemed to know every man under his command. There was a simple reason for this, Ken didn't sleep, often. When he did, he slept, with sudden fits and strats, as the battles, of past spring, Mount Sorrel, and this autum haunted him; Morval, Thiepval Ridge, Transloy Ridge, they echoed in his dreams. The air was stuffy, even here, in the company officers' quarters, they were completely identical to the soldiers' quarters. Ken stood up as he looked around with tired eyes. A card game was going on on a nearby plank, a sort of equivalent of poker. And the pens were rustling, a few men were writing home, in one corner, there was a folded trench newspaper, curiously Ken looked at it, the content was terrible quality.
From that one newspaper, his thoughts shifted, restless, as they usually did, creeping like the spiders that one blue eyed, golden blond Meredith lad, who had, loved to observe, in the annals of careless high tide summers of Four Winds, and Glen, when Walter had with careless grace sat on the dewy grass, and discussed literature, and fairy tales, his large gray eyes were then, already full of dreams, and ideals. Ken had leaned against his shoulder half-asleep, as he had half-heard Anne and Leslie's laughter as it intertwined, with the fae bells of Rainbow Valley, in a sparkling symphony.
Ken grimaced, and rubbed his temple. Low headache throbbed, even though the front was silent, for now. Tired and numb, Ken opened folded slip of paper, from between the pages of his small dark green German dictionary. Picture featured the entire Blythe family and had been taken the same week the war started. For a long time Ken looked at Rilla's bright blossoming face, and in his mind he renewed the promise he had made to himself, in the fragrant August night, with the wild mint had been flourishing, and the moonlight casting its shadows over Rilla, most alluringly.
Thoughtfully, he fingered the scar on his cheek, and Ken felt a twinge of long buried vanity. He was now a far cry from the smooth, elegant, dark-eyed youth who had mesmerized girls in the glittering halls of Toronto, and carved out a career in university, and in the debating halls. His sharp wit and charm were still there, but all outward arrogance had been polished away, molded into a steel-melting command, according to army rules, and sometimes, in fleeting moments of the night, Ken thought that if he could get out of here. If somehow he could get back to Canada, and find his way back to Rilla, would she still wait, for him, would that fleeting, wonderful spellbound magic of the Lighthouse, and that August night, still hold, after all this? Years had passed, since..
Ken quickly glanced at Walter´s frozen form. There he stood, slender in his summer clothes. Perhaps due to an optical illusion, or a cloud, a shadow fell over Walter, so that it almost looked like there was another figure behind him. And in a low voice Ken said, "Yes, we saw a bit of old England, but not the joys of Paris, old chum, but somehow I think you were happy, all the same. Your last letters were liberating, and the Aftermath is genius. You succeeded beyond my expectations."
Carefully, Ken folded the picture back between the dictionary, and took a clean sheet of paper and began to outline letters to Ingelside, and to Persis, who, according to Leslie's most recent letter, from last month, was in a frighteningly efficient mood, like a golden whirlwind, full of fund-raising plans, and various schedules.
Dorian impatiently knocked again on the shiny oak door, whose bronze knocker was shaped like a ornamental griffin.
In the summertime large well-kept rose bushes lined shady path which had gray stone tiling with small clear glass panes, imbedded in the stonework, in patterns, like variable mosaic, but now the cold wind swayed the skeleton-like branches.
The town house was narrow reddish brick, pure Victorian, with large windows. For about twenty minutes, already Dorian had been standing here and waiting, and the wind were to starting to hurt his legs, a light creeping ache. Petrol was newly restricted substance, and it was no longer possible to drive as carelessly as before.
At last the front door creaked open, and Dorian looked inquiringly at the graceful figure standing in the dim doorway.
A familiar clear voice said, "Even though the world is in pieces, right now, I have the right to take one afternoon to myself, without everything falling apart. Now what do you want me to participate, or canvass in?"
Dorian laughed, and said "Dear Aunt Dorothy, do all your guests always get the same warm welcome?"
Dorothy Gardiner, straightened her posture, and said playfully, but with some constraint in her voice, "Dorian, Dorian, I'm a bit busy right now. I can't offer tea unfortunately, even though you could need it. The wind must be agony to your legs. Where is Thompson? My brother pays him a lot that you would be safe and cosily warm, and not here, out in this cold breeze."
"I can make my own decisions, I sent Thompson on his way, and my legs don't hurt." Dorian tried to say this in a steady, imposing tone, but the only response was a perceptive shake of his aunt's dark head, and a sharp remark, "Perhaps, you do, at that, but if you get bedridden you've only got yourself to blame, dearest Dorian. Normally I'd give you the world, but not today, but please do sit down, on this hallway chair, and not mind the endless shoe-clutter, before you fall down on your handsome nose"
Dorian raised his eyebrows silently, as he did what was requested of him, and sat down, bliss, was instant. Slowly, and carefully, he studied his aunt, "Aunt Dorothy, why, you are in a state of utter deshabille, in the middle of the afternoon? It is somewhat peculiar, but not immoral, probably."
Dorothy said briskly, with a light careless tone, as she leaned into wall, "Dorian, you sound just like Adeline now. I can't stand that arrogance from anybody, least of all you.I have every right to be at home in what I like. Grey-blue silk shift isn't even very outre, afternoon or not. And as I said, this is a bad time for a social visit. I have just been a bit tied up, with one thing or another."
The apartment was not very large, although the ceiling height was considerable. A ray of light glinted in a Venetian mirror, large and oval, and it showed a distorted image, of corridor; small ornate table, with pile of papers, and stack of books, and her aunt's favorite hat, and some gloves, and silk scarves, cufflinks, pins, and lace ribbons.
Dorian glanced at his aunt, interested and a little startled, as he heard the unfamiliar voice, from where bedrooms and guest rooms were located. "Dorothy, do send those at the door on their way already. Write a check, for that's what you Gardiners are quite good at. If they are canvassing for money. We had plans, and while I'm waiting here I've got a few ideas, looking at the light of the candles sparking and wax melting."
Dorothy was as if frozen, and her dark long lashed Gardiner eyes were wide, and with a quick, slightly nervous movement, she rubbed her wrist, pale gray embroidered kimono sleeve fell down. Dorian frowned, and said "Clearly I interfered with your friend's and your letter writing. I know how important it is to write right kind of letters, and inspiration doesn't wait."
At his words Dorothy started, with slight shiver, and she looked at him, in her particular, warmly-winsome-way, that was shaded, with something tonight. Then Dorian smelled his aunt's soft perfume, it was mixed with something else, another note of something, as Dorothy embraced him.
At that moment, Thompson drove to the front of the house, and opened the door as Dorothy brought a thick woolen shawl, which she wrapped around Dorian's shoulders, and she stood on the stoop, and watched Ford slowly roll, away. Then she closed the door, very briskly, the click of the lock, was like a light echo of relief that seemed to echo in the gray afternoon, like a whisper.
Dorothy Gardiner walked barefoot on the parquet floor. The interior of the residence was selective, without the airy, elegant style of Hall. Biedermeier embraced art nouveau, and old antique Victorian, the colors were bright and distinctly earthy, mixed with acidified copper and the patina of time.
Dorothy stopped at the threshold of one room she said in a slightly pointed soft tone, "My nephew was at the door, instead, and what you said, it was no help at all. I could hardly keep my composure, so he must have noticed something."
Lavender candles burned in a tall candelabra and the scent of a perfumed cigarette, mingled with their light scent. A shadow fluttered on the wall, and a low, amused voice said " Don't you get tired to coddle him, in your way, as you still do. Let him make his own mistakes, and conclusions. You can't always be picking him up. I know that you love him, but he's well grown up now. Besides, I think it's high time I came with you to the Hall the next time there's an occasion."
Dorothy sighed, and nodded almost imperceptibly, as sweet tension flared as familiar, soft fingers rubbed her wrists, gently soothing, as red depressions slowly disappeared. Dorothy said in a light, warm voice, "You said you had a few thoughts, I would like to hear more." A dark figure suddenly moved across the room, as lacy window curtains were drawn closed.
Then, dewy darkly sweet notes from Gogound's O ma lyrie immortalle, filled the apartment with its sea-like roar, as gramophone needle rattled, slowly.
At Gardiner Hall, corridors were empty, and dim, only the Hortia staircase was the only airy, ephemeral thing.
There was tea served in the living room, for those who were in residence. Teapan, it was embossed with silver roses glinted, in the light, and milk and honey were offered from small handpainted dishes. Dorian thought of his aunt's startling, blushing, behavior hour, or so earlier. He cautiously tasted steaming hot tea that had just been brought before him, his cup was bone-thin gilded cup, with peacock-image.
On the other side of the epolently cosy room, with embroidered throw pillows, and silken slips, in lingering regal manner Adeline stacked written invitation cards, to All Hallows Eve Soiree, in a small pile, as she checked names from large list. Dorian raised his voice and inquired, "Adeline, when was the last time you visited Dorothy?"
Adeline looked up, and she said "I haven't been to Dorothy's for years, as we see here, at the Hall often enough, as she stays here too, some days. She's always very particular about her privacy. And she often has all sorts of vague bohemian crowds, and suffragettes staying with her. Often the whole apartment smells of incense, and candles, and there is mixed music, which is more noise than music, something new modern. Dorothy walks among them in mismatched clothes, all flowing lines, and fabrics, quite unbecoming of her age and stature, as a Gardiner, but she has always been willfull in her way, despite her causes, as is dear Roy too, and he is late again, for tea. He is probably in his club. Dearest Dorian, I have often wondered why you never go there even though you have a permanent membership. You will never make the right contacts if you live your life constantly in different libraries. I know your studies are still in progress, but it's never too early to think about the future. I know you're not interested in cognac cabinets, but there are other options. If you want to invite someone, put your invitations in a pile, because soon these will have to be sent. I thought that this year there would be no masquerade theme, but everyone could dress up if they wanted. That way there would be a touch of informality, because in these times social norms have to be relaxed a little, but only a little, mind you."
Dorian barely stifled a sigh as Adeline rambled onwards, full of her usual spiel of the family honour, and its upkeep. Dorian felt frustrated, so he took out a stack of cards, and he wrote few invitations with his neat hand. There was small frown on Adelines forehead, as she saw the addresses. Dorian took the invitations he had just written in a fan-like formation, slipped them into handful of pure white envelopes.
Adeline gave him an appraising glance, and said deceptively calmly, "I guess you don't trust the Kingsport Post Office. Or do you want to experience a bit of shabby elegance? "Dorian didn't bother to answer. He grabbed his bright dark plum colored scarf from the back of his chair and slowly walked out of the living room. In the echoing splendor of the Hall, the only sound was flowing inkpen, as slender, and bit bony fingers, continued to write, slowly and carefully..
Living room of Primrose Hollow was full of domestic chaos. Several stacks of books were swaying on the tables, and balls of yarn were wandering in colorful piles, between the books, and a fountain pen had been thrown carelessly onto one of Perennial's proofs. Alice's craft basket was full of mixed scraps, and the silk threads were a mess, a letter from Walter was folded into the pincushion, as if as a reminder.
Di hummed under her breath as she glanced at Nan who was just getting out the tea set. Nan remarked, "We're out of milk, and we're running out of sugar too. Well, we'll be fine, I hope no one stops by, it's a bit messy in here. Luckily, Alice baked a sugar-free plum pie in the morning in case there's a culinary emergency. Is Faith still rooted in the library?"
Di nodded, and stole a spoonful of raspberry jam, under Nan's reproachful gaze, as she set the tea tray ready, on the semi-circular table. The hot teapot whistled on the stove, shrillly, and at the same time, there was a hesitant knock on the door.
Di, who was just cutting the bread, as she said to Alice, who was sitting in the armchair, "I think it's just Faith. She might have forgotten her key, sometimes that happens as you know."
Alice, nodded, in a loose, and a bit bleak way, of hers, that was the new normal, after this september, and quickly she swept her hair that had come out of her messy braid behind her ears, as she stepped to the door where the knock was heard, already a little more demanding.
Curious, Di listened intently as soft conversation came from the doorway, and then, to her surprise, Dorian Gardiner walked cautiously into their living room. Dorian leaned on his canes and bowed gracefully and handed Nan envelope, saying in his most charming way, "I am personally inviting you to an All Hallows Eve Occasion, at Gardiner Hall, in a couple of weeks. You may dress up if you like, but it is not necessary under the circumstances." The cottage of Primrose Hollow seemed to breathe, a lively life that was completely different from anything Dorian had experienced before. The stamp of home weaving and light wear was visible in the furniture, a sign of countless generations of students.
Nan turned invitation in her hand for a moment, shen then handed it to Alice, as she dashed into the kitchen. Without looking at it, Alice placed it on a small table nearby, on top of Byron's red-bound collected poems. Soon Nan and Dorian were exchanging references to Victorian and Gothic literature. Alice, sat in silence, next to Di, who excited both Nan and Dorian with her interjections. Nan, Di, Dorian, and Alice were soon sitting at the semi-circular table.
Fragrant tea was poured from a slightly bumpy teapot into mugs, which were all different pairs, a mixture of green, bluish, and pale lilac, landscape imagery, and hunting subjects. There was no silver to be seen anywhere, not even paw-shaped sugar scoops, let alone sugar, or milk. Dorian drank his bitter tea in silence, but thankfully there were some strange plum-cobbler to be offered with the tea.
Dressed in a rose red cotton dress Nan smiled at him, companiably, with dimples in her cheeks, and said quietly, "I'm going to write to Jerry, as I got a long letter from him, a couple of days ago. It was nice to see you Dorian. Are you coming up too Di, didn't you have packet of letters to write to Ingelside?" Di, who had been watching the crackling fire dreamily, started, and with a quick glance at Nan, and then at Alice, as she rose gracefully and said "You're right, Nan, I've neglected my correspondence in Glen's direction completely.
The steps of the Ingelside twins echoed on the stairs, and silence fell into the living room.
Finally Alice let out a light sigh and Dorian straightened up. Alice glanced at him, in her careful, cat-like delicate way, and finally, after knitting a few rows of gray army sock, she said, "Dorian, be honest now. Did you press Redmond trustees to publish that scholarship bearing Walter's name? Your speech was very moving, as was your Perennial work. You've often told me you don't know how to play political games, but your performance was a model example of one, maybe that's the Gardiner in you. Thank you for trying to get his last poem published. I appreciate it very much."
Dorian crossed his arms and said sincerely, " You're right, I did and I'm not ashamed of it. I wanted to honor Walter in a little more permanent way. His loss hit me too, and there are days when I can't believe it's true, and then I remember, all over again. Remember, you don't have to mourn him alone, and neither does Di. Somehow, I feel like we're far apart now, part of that could be his passing. It comes to mind that if I've inadvertently offended you, in some way Alice, tell me, so I can make amends if I can?"
Alice crossed her arms nervously, and collected her thoughts, and finally she said, faint steely voice. "At the beginning of September, I happened to see you, in your favorite cafe, with a certain person, and I don't know at all how to feel about this matter. But there are other reasons, too."
Dorian, listened attentively, and after a moment's silence he said gently "My aunt Dorothy often remarks to me that sometimes I am too Gardiner, that is, I presume too much. I suppose you are angry because I did not read your letter which you wrote to me in August? As for that café, I do almost all of my studying in different cafes, so I can't connect this particular case to any particular Redmond co-ed, but you have nothing to worry about, sweet Alice. There's one thing I'd like to ask, but I realize it might be too soon. I sincerely hope you will come to Gardiner Hall, but only if you can."
Alice, looked inquisitively at Dorian, and said "Thank you for your honesty. I can say that I´m not angry about that, at all, but I suggest that you could read it, I know that you said that you would not, but that could make things, a little less opaque."
Silence fell. A twig snapped in the fireplace.
There was footsteps, they echoed on the stairs. Di came downstairs, beaming with satisfaction, waving a stack of letters. Di remarked calmly "Dorian, strange thing, by the way. My mother's last letter asked if we knew any Gardiners? So naturally I wrote to her about you, I hope you don't mind?" Dorian looked at Di for a long time and he smiled openly with bright eyes, and slowly stood up.
There was a knock at the door, and Dorian smiled cynically as he said "I'm twenty-three years old, and I'm still picked up, like I'm ten, still. Thank you, for the tea and the refreshing conversations. I hope to see both of you soon, and naturally also Nan and Miss Meredith."
Deep silence fell when Dorian was gone, and the hum of the Ford's engine had ceased to be heard from the road.
The clock ticked on the mantelpiece and Di looked warily at Alice, with quick glances, and finally she remarked in a light, playful tone, "Well, at least Dorian's stopped bringing flowers, anyway. At one time it felt like we were living in a greenhouse, as we almost ran out of vases." Alice, jumped to her feet, dark skirts fluttering, and said softly, "Would you come upstairs?"
Late in the evening, past midnight, Nan walked past Alice's room, and peeked through the crack of half-open door. The flickering light of the oil lamp cast shadows on Di's hair, which mingled with Alice's, for both girls seemed to be asleep. A ray of light glistened on the perfume bottle that was on the window sill, the slightest wrong move would drop it to the floor, Nan frowned. Then she noticed her brother's handwriting on several letters. They were scattered like, torn, and tattered, whispy, autumn leaves all over in Alice's room. Carefully, Nan closed the door, and crept away.
She felt quite pensive, as Di seemed to be watching Alice too much at times. Now it turned out that all the times Nan had woken up to her twin's empty bed, Di had apparently snuck over to Alice, waking her up. So it was no wonder that Alice had seemed strained lately.
Days passed, and slowly cream-colored envelopes traveled around Kingsport.
In Glen, in a house with cornices on the eaves, and large-paned windows, a pleased voice exclaimed, "Look what the mail brought you, my dear, looks like it came from a long way."