And, as Miss Eppie had promised, the world righted itself after that. Everyone found themselves sad at times, of course, but it was a very productive series of months for all the friends on Forget-Me-Not Lane. Miss Eppie, remembering her own lost little babies, spent more time trying to make amends with her indifferent step-children, and learned that they were really quite dears, in their own secretive ways. Mona surprised them all by going back to school at the City College.
"I was always good at art," she said, flushed and triumphant. "It will take me years to get my degree--if I ever do finish--but I'm going to try." Juliet helped her along this new path by giving her old books on painting that Father sent. The time when Mona wasn't studying or under the tree, drawing, she spent making up for lost time with Juliet. Nearly every morning there was a small parcel on the front steps of Forget-Me-Not cottage. Most of the time it was something very small, like a pressed flower, or a bouquet of pretty leaves, or some homemade blueberry cobbler, but Juliet treasured each little gift as if it were a string of pearls from the Queen of Sheba.
When Allan felt himself getting down, instead of moping or losing hope, he threw himself into his work. He got two promotions in as many months!
"He's making heaps of extra money," Juliet wrote to Bea in one of their long, frequent letters to each other. "Only-- we have no real use for it. It would have been--different--if we had a baby"
"So find a use for it," wrote back the ever-practical Bea.
Juliet did--she remembered what Mona had said about the home where she and Melanie had spent so many months, and every week wrote a tidy check to one of the Girls' Homes near the harbor.
There was money spent on visits--Juliet paid for Bella to come and visit for a few days--though thankfully she left Embeth--and she and Douggie's newest baby, called Julie, at home. Juliet did not think she could stand being around a small, new life when her own arms were so bereft. Alice and Greta visited, too, a week apart.
Juliet had finished her third book in the series about Mother, Emily's Quest, and could not find the heart to begin another. Instead she took long walks down in Ghirardelli Square where she had spent so much time in her first few months in town. She spent hours chatting with Anoushka, the girl who worked in the Italian café, and Elena, the daughter of the Greeks who ran the import shop. Most of the conversations were spent pointing and laughing, since Juliet spoke no other languages besides a smattering of French, and the foreign girls' grasp on English was less than good.
Which gave her an idea. Juliet had managed to communicate to Anoushka that she wrote stories. "I love to read them," Anoushka responded haltingly. "In my language, I do all--always. But I no able to read yours--" She spread her arms wide in a gesture of helplessness.
"You should go to school, Anoushka," Juliet told her.
"Where is time, for that?" Anoushka shook her glossy head again. "I work, in daytime; in nighttime, school is closed."
The wheels in Juliet's pretty head began to whirl. Suppose she were to give lessons once a week--maybe twice--in the evenings, to teach these bright girls to read, and write and speak in English? Anoushka was brilliant--she could even go to college! And with the extra money Allan was bringing in, Juliet would have enough to cover books and paper and the like--the girls wouldn't even have to pay!
She invited Anoushka to come, and Elena, and put up a small notice in a few of the groceries. By the end of the week she had her class--a group of immigrant girls who were smart as tacks and eager to learn. Miep, born in Bavaria, was a big girl with an easy smile and the most wondrous shining ropes of hair wound around her head. Soo-Yin, a Korean girl who worked in one of the fish markets, was quiet and sleek and had the most gorgeous black eyes. And then there was Colette, who was Flemish, and tiny and delicate, and Nwama, an older woman from Botswana, who had skin the color of coffee beans and was as eager to learn as the younger students.
The girls made wonderful progress, and at the end of every lesson Juliet would sit on the porch with a shining face, planning out what she would teach the next week and thinking of the roads of possibilities that were opening up for her new friends as she watched.
"Doing things like this," she told Allan, gesturing at the open books left on the table, "Is the same as having children, really. Both are wonderful things to do--and both make such glorious things possible."
Though Juliet was adamant that the girls save their money for books of their own instead of paying a few, those good, generous souls never came to the little house empty-handed. Each brought something. In just a few short weeks, Juliet had amassed a whole pantry of fresh tomato sauce; trays upon trays of baklava; buckets of fresh cream and Bavarian cheeses; yards of Belgian lace; wonderfully pungent Korean herbs to use for cooking; and a collection of small, strange idols carved out of the wood of a rubber tree. But more importantly, she gained a purpose. And, of course, new friends.
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The only one of them who didn't seem to flourish as weeks went by, was Maggie. She was paler and thinner than ever. Juliet worried about her and consulted daily with Miss Eppie about her health. She read magazines on medicine and wrote long letters to Dr. Jem Blythe, who was doing wonderful things on the treatment of cancer and who was Trudy's uncle. She bought tea from the Chinese druggist, made from the bark of some foreign tree, which was supposed to boost energy. She cooked delicious, yet healthy meals, to try to tempt Maggie to eat. When that failed, she cooked heaps of pies and cookies to try to do the same thing.
Nothing seemed to work.
As a last resort, Juliet visited all of the churches in town--not just the Presbyrtarian one that she and Allan went to. All of them, even the synagogue and the Buddhist shrine. In each one she said a little prayer.
"Oh please, God," she lisped like a child. "Help her to get better."
Fearing that was asking too much, Juliet amended herself. "I mean, help me to know what to do to make her feel better--happier. Please, God."
No answer came for quite a while. Maggie did not perk up. Juliet began to fear that the end would come very much sooner than they all had expected. She went over to the War-Widows every night that she did not have a lesson to teach, and told funny stories about her students--her "girls"--or else read anecdotes from her letters from PEI.
It was during a reading of one of those letters that the answer to her prayer finally came.
Juliet was engrossed in a description of a freak early snowfall on Lofty John's bush--somehow, even though Mother owned it--the earlier name had stuck. The letter was written by Mother of course. No one else could write so thrillingly--as if one were seeing it instead of reading about it. Juliet was so engrossed in the words that she almost missed Maggie's small sigh.
"Oh, how lovely!"
Juliet paused and looked up.
"How lucky--you are!" Maggie said. "To come from such a place! Dear New Moon--I feel like I know it--I wish I could see it-- just once."
An idea started way down in Juliet's toes and flashed toward her head. "Maggie!" she cried. "Would you like to take a trip--with me--to New Moon?"
"Oh, I couldn't!" Maggie said.
"Why not?" Juliet clapped her hands in delight. "Mother's been on me to visit for ever so long--and I still haven't seen my little namesake--her christening is in November and I'm supposed to be there, since I'm to be Godmother. And, oh Maggie, this is perfect! Allan has to work that week and I do so hate to go alone. Please, say you'll come. Do!"
"But who will watch Denny?"
"Mona will--Miss Eppie will take him when Mona's in class. I know she will. She already watches Melanie those nights."
"Oh, I couldn't, Juliet. He'll get too lonesome. I've never left him alone before."
"He won't be alone, Maggie!" Juliet stamped her foot--her old impatience showing through. "And it will only be for a week. It will be good for him--character-building."
"But I haven't any good clothes--"
"What do you need them for, at New Moon? But," said Juliet hastily when she saw Maggie's face fall, "You and Bella are the same size, just about--I'm sure she'll have a nice dress to lend you if we go to a dance."
"A dance!" Maggie breathed, reverently. "I haven't been to a dance in so long--!"
And Juliet knew she was hooked.
"I'd better call Bea and make sure someone's having a dance, around that time," she thought. "It won't be much fun for me, without Allan. But if Maggie wants a dance--then a dance she shall get!"
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Maggie wasn't as afraid of the plane as Juliet feared she would be. As it began to taxi down the runway, Juliet, who fancied herself very brave indeed, clutched her armrests. This was the worst part! But Maggie clapped her hands like a delighted child.
"I always thought I'd be the kind of person who traveled," she confided to Juliet. "But I never got the chance before--Dennis and I went to Salinas for a night after we were married--that was our honeymoon. But I've never been anywhere but that and San Diego! Oh, look at those clouds! How fun this is!"
She said the same thing on the ferry from the mainland, and when Uncle Perry picked them up at the station, Maggie insisted on driving with the top of the coupe down--so she would be sure not to miss a thing. Instead of complaining about the cold, Uncle Perry did as she asked and then turned the heater on full blast. He seemed to know without knowing that there was something about Maggie--or perhaps he was just charmed by her.
Juliet hadn't told anyone about--about Maggie. And the cancer. Maggie had begged her not to. "I want them to treat me like me," she said. "Instead of an invalid."
"They won't," Juliet said.
"They will," Maggie said staunchly. "Anyway, I don't want anyone to know!"
Perhaps Maggie had been right. Uncle Perry definitely wasn't treating her like an invalid now! He and she were laughing and bantering in the front seat as Maggie asked him about all the upcoming events that week.
"Well the christening is on Sunday, before you girls leave," Uncle Perry said. "Aunt Ilse wants to have a dinner for you tonight--I told her it was too soon, better to let you get settled in--and so it's tomorrow. There's to be a 1920s theme--she's done up the dining room as a speakeasy and there's a password to get in. Bea wants to take you shopping in Charlottetown--oh and there's a dance day after tomorrow!"
"A dance!"
"You bet. The Ladies Aid is putting it on. Bea joined up with them last year, did I tell you? Anyway, we don't usually have many dances this time of year--usually save them for the Christmas season. It was a very last minute job--but Bea convinced them all that we simply had to have a dance this week. Something about keeping up morale. It's very strange, I tell you."
Maggie squealed--yes, actually squealed--and started asking Uncle Perry what dances on the Island were like. Were there many people? Did they all wear fancy dresses?
Juliet leaned back in the seat and listened to her prattle. Good old Bea! She always came through.
