Chapter 3

The nosy old man struck again.

I had gotten myself invited by a kindly Una Meredith...incidentally the sister of Faith Meredith...to stay overnight at Walter's house together with Faith Jr. who would be leaving the next day.

Una had, according to Walter, come to 'keep house' for him after his wife Faith died and Una's parents passed away, leaving no one for her to fuss over. She couldn't be much younger than either of us, and was a sweet, good lady who was unfailingly helpful. She adored Faith Jr. – I guess it had to be so, for no one could help liking Faith. She was such a generous, good-hearted young woman. To be sure, I have often thought that she needed a little more passion and heart as she seemed very calm and collected about everything, but then...she was twenty-eight and an independent woman who worked for herself. I guess it wouldn't do to be too passionate.

From the very first I could tell that Una Meredith was in love with Walter. It was nothing much – just a few tender looks, a different tone of voice that she used whenever she was with him. And it was clear that Walter was extremely unaware of it.

Well! Here was a complicated state of affairs, indeed. Walter's wife had taken up with his brother; the same wife's sister was in love with Walter himself. Interesting. I hadn't expected to find such a soap opera in a small quiet village like the Glen. Not that the soap opera was in progress now, though. The two of them were free from all scandal and rumour, Faith Jr. had told me that night. None of the Glen folks ever thought of making rumours about Walter and Una. They were a 'squeaky clean' pair of people, she said with a laugh, and 'Aunt Una' did her father a great deal of good.

"Daddy forgets to come to meals sometimes," she said, "he's so abstracted when he's working on a poem. Aunt Una comes and hauls him to his meals – she told me once that she loved doing it, because it reminded her of my grandpapa – her father. She's been like a mother to me for as far as I can recall. She's very nice."

I was sure she was very nice, but at present she was not in my thoughts at all.

The next morning, after going to the station to see Faith off with Walter, the old boy and I parted ways – he to his poems, me to the café we had gone the previous day. I would be leaving that night for Charlottetown, where my son lived – and summoned all the nosiness in my nature to find out what exactly had been the love story between Walter, Faith Meredith and James Blythe before I left. Surely everyone in the Glen should know about it...it seemed like no small matter and besides, I guessed that in towns like this, news flew around like the plague.

I felt quite like Hercule Poirot as I walked into the café. The only thing missing was the good ole' mustache, and that assistant of his – what was his name? Captain Hawkins? And of course, the obvious fact that I didn't know a word of French.

"Coffee or tea, sir?" said the waiter, a young man with sticky out ears. I can't stand ears like those. I wanted to jump up and help flatten them, but I didn't. Now I regret it. But it bears no part in the story.

"Coffee and some toast, if you please. And take a coffee too – it's on me." I was determined to get him to talk to me.

As there was no one else in the place other than myself and him, I soon persuaded him to sit down and have a nice chat with me.

"I haven't seen you before, sir," said the young man. "A visitor, are you?"

"Yes. An old buddy of Walter Blythe. Know him?"

"Of course. I know everyone in this town sir, and all the stories that have been around for the past five decades," said the young man proudly.

Just the opening that I wanted. Call me a busybody if you will – I don't get indignant over the truth. "Which is the most interesting story you know, then?"

The young man brightened up. He evidently loved talking about his 'stories'. "That will definitely have to be the greatest love story that has ever been known to the Glen, sir. By the way, what's your name? Mine is Gregory Houston."

"Partridge Simmons," I said reluctantly.

He didn't let me down. Throwing back his head, he guffawed loudly. "I don't think your mother liked you, sir. With all respect, sir."

"Tell me the love story," I said, ignoring his respect.

"Certainly. Well, it has to do with your buddy, Mr. Simmons – Mr. Walter Blythe."

"His wife," said I, getting excited.

"Yes. Faith Meredith as she was then – before my time, of course. But I've heard that she was one of the most beautiful women the Glen folks had ever seen. Another is Leslie Moore, sir. I'll have to tell you about her some time. People said that Leslie Moore and Faith Meredith were quite the handsomest women the Glen has ever produced – not that Leslie Moore was of the Glen, of course. She's in Toronto now; an old woman, but still charming. I've seen her. Let's see – she was the friend of Mr. Walter Blythe's mother. Was. Is. They're both still alive."

I had no interest in Leslie Moore. Friend she might be, but then who wasn't the friend of everyone in this town? "Walter had a brother?" I prodded.

"Two brothers, to be exact. Only one is living. Colonel Shirley Blythe. I suspect he'd be wanting to change his name soon – Shirley is fast becoming popular as a girl's name. He works in the Air Force – one of the best commanders, I hear. Did quite a few heroic things in the second War and was given a cross for bravery. The other is Jem Blythe – James, actually, but no one called him James. Before my time, of course – he died quite some years ago, way back in 1926. A nice tombstone. He fought in the first War – got the status of a lieutenant."

I wasn't impressed. I had fought in the first War, too, and gotten a permanent leg injury. Ah, the differences in luck. And besides, a man who snatched his brother's wife away didn't deserve to be a lieutenant.

"He used to be Faith Meredith's beau. Before he went away, she gave him a rose. It was found later."

"Found?" Now I was beginning to be confused. Who had actually snatched Faith? If she had been Jem Blythe's beau, why had she married Walter?

I could have screamed when I saw a customer coming in. The waiter forgot all about me and hurried to serve him. Sighing, I paid my bill and left the café. That hadn't told me much.