"Jewel! Darling!" Aunt Ilse greeted Juliet at the door. "Come in, sweetums, your cheeks are all reddened from the cold. It does give you marvelous color though. Perry! Juliet's here--and doesn't she have marvelous color in her face?"
"Marvelous," Uncle Perry agreed. "She's just a picture of Emily at that age. Tell me, Jewel, are they listening to this over at home?" Uncle Perry gestured at the radio.
"Of course--it's all we listen to--we haven't heard the Big Band programme since nineteen thirty-nine," Juliet snapped.
Aunt Ilse laughed. "I know, it's hard to keep current with this--radio embargo. I feel dreadfully behind the times. I remember the Lindy Hop--but from there it's all a big blank." Aunt Ilse did a very poor rendition of the Charleston.
Juliet smiled in spite of herself. "That's not how it goes."
"Show me!" Aunt Ilse crowed and grabbed Juliet's hand. The two of the Lindy-hopped across the room, laughing. How fun Aunt Ilse was--how stylish. Her hair was still golden--although she'd confided to Juliet once that she had it dyed once a month at the hairdresser in Charlottetown. She wouldn't have it done over at the Shrewsbury Clip and Curl, where everyone would spread it around that Ilse Miller was going to seed! She was always so happy and laughing--though Juliet had heard Mother and Father talking once about the little girl that she and Uncle Perry lost. How could Aunt Ilse find it in her to laugh after that? Juliet leaned over and gave her a kiss, and the two met eyes and laughed--over nothing. That was the best kind of laugh.
"Hey now! We can't hear the news! Cut it out."
The voice came from Allan Miller, who was sitting by the fire with Uncle Perry. Juliet hadn't seen him there. She let go of Aunt Ilse's hand and sidled over to him now.
Hello, Allan," she said.
Allan looked up at her with his liquid eyes and Juliet's heart gave a thump- -of what? It did not feel like love, although she knew she was supposed to love Allan--or at least, like him very much. She was his girl--secretly, of course. She was not really old enough to have a true love. Not that anyone would really disapprove. Mother and Father and Aunt Ilse and Uncle Perry always joked that there would be a match one day between the two. They'd been joking about it for years--must have been ever since Allan, who was six months younger than Juliet and Douglas, was born. Juliet had blushed and her heart had fluttered in years past when they said this. True, Allan was very handsome. He was a ruddy, handsome lad of seventeen, with golden hair and blue, blue eyes and an honest, freckled face. But now--Juliet wasn't so sure. She couldn't marry Allan--could she? At least, not any time soon. Not when she hadn't kissed a dark-haired boy yet!
"Juliet, if you're just going to stand there and stare at me, I do wish you'd go up to Bea," Allan said grumpily. "You're distracting me, and I'm trying to listen to the report."
Juliet felt her eyes smart suddenly with tears. Allan kept on listening and took no notice of her. She turned and started up the stairs to Bea's bedroom.
"Darling!" Aunt Ilse appeared beside her in a whirl of color. "Oh, Jewel, forgive him his trespasses--he knows not how rude he is, really! He's got Burnley blood in him--the Burnleys all think of themselves and nothing more. But we grow out of it by the time we're twenty-one--mostly. When the time comes, he'll make you a good husband. He's wild for you already--but stubborn--pig-headed."
Juliet gave a weak grin. When the time comesoh, she did not want it to come. But--at the same time--she did. Badly. How could one feel both dread and love--at the same time?
* * *
Bea had her own radio in her room. Not even Bella had her own radio, and Uncle Dean and Aunt Elizabeth were the richest people Juliet knew--the richest people in Shrewsbury. Priest Pond, their winter home, was so splendid that it made Juliet's heart want to burst with loveliness--though it was not as lovely as New Moon.
Bea was sitting on her bed with the music turned down low. She was bobbing one penny-loafer clad foot to the beat. In the slots on her shoes she'd inserted American pennies.
"Oh! Juliet!" she said, looking up. "Come here, let me show you this dee-vine picture I found in this magazine." Bea rummaged around in a folder and withdrew the clipping she was looking for. "Clark Gable--mmm! What a face! How Scarlett O'Hara could ever have been so mean to him I'll never know. Even if I had to act, in a movie, I could never be mean to him! I'd be like--putty in his hands." At this Bea winked suggestively, and raised an eyebrow.
Juliet giggled again. Beatrice Miller was a sweet girl--she fooled no one with her attempts at mischief. She had the same open, honest face as Allan and Uncle Perry, freckles that dotted over her cheeks, and shoulder-length curls that looked like spun sugar. Juliet thought what a pity it was that Bea had inherited none of Aunt Ilse's exotic loveliness. She was a beautiful girl, but in a safe, familiar way.
"Is Doug downstairs? I didn't hear him come in."
"No, he's home with Father and Mother, listening to the news programme." Juliet flopped down on the bed and wrinkled her nose.
"I understand that," said Bea, cutting another picture from her film magazine. "I think if Father or Allan are away from the radio for one second their heads will explode and their bodies turn to dust."
Juliet laughed at the thought, and then sobered. "Bea--you don't think--that it will touch us here? Do you? The war--I mean, what has it got to do with us. We've sent some troops--the Irish brigade went long ago--back in '39. It will be over soon. And it won't come here?"
"I don't know," said Bea thoughtfully. "If it keeps up much longer our boys will be eighteen and start to think of enlisting. Allan already talks about it night and day. He'll be eighteen next year. It drivers Mother mad when he says it. She gets this hunted look on her face."
"Doug's never mentioned it," said Juliet. "But oh--I don't think he would go. Can you imagine Douglas fighting a war?"
She laughed, but it was hollow. She had never thought about Douggie fighting in the war before--but now--she did. She thought about him huddled in muddy trenches "somewhere in France," with the glare of bombs bursting weirdly in the night sky, like hundred of mini-suns. She shivered.
"I can't imagine it," said Bea, "But then, I can't imagine Allan fighting in one, either. This is boring. Can't we talk about film stars? Who's handsomer--Clark Gable or Tyrone Power. You choose."
But Juliet had flown downstairs. She heard Aunt Ilse and Uncle Perry talking in low voices in the kitchen. Allan was still sitting in front of the fire, staring into it moodily. Juliet glanced around stealthily and then kissed him. When she pulled away, she and Allan looked directly into each other's eyes.
"What was that for?" he asked.
"It's just that--I don't want--to lose you," Juliet said. "I had this nightmare--only I was awake--of you--and Douggie--enlisting." She tried to laugh. "Ridiculous, isn't it? You would never--do--that."
Allan started to respond but Auntie Ilse bustled back in the room with tea and scones--"Made without sugar, but dee-licious all the same!" Allan just pressed Juliet's hand and tried to convey what he meant that way.
As she walked home in the crisp, starry night, Juliet had a tight, fluttery feeling in her chest. She told herself it was natural. She was young, and in love. What else could it possibly be?