In the weeks following, Sylvia and Marigold became fast friends. Not a day went by that one was at the other's house, talking, helping, and growing. They called each other "Sylvie" and "Mari" and learned all there was to know about the other. Marigold discovered Sylvia's sense of inadequacy next to her talented and popular older siblings, her passionate love for beauty and hatred of ugliness, her refusal to face harsh reality, and her fertile imagination. Sylvia learned of Marigold's half-formed dreams and plans, her stifled dreams, her admiration for any strong character, and her journey from independence to being unable to stand up for herself. They talked about ideas and deeper truths, and each helped the other to grow and expand.
Marigold also met Sylvia's family: Mrs. Kent, an older version of Sylvia who was gracious and charming, Mr. Kent, who was reserved and dreamy and very distinguished, Sophia, who was tall and fair and very beautiful and very ambitious, and Murray, who was quiet and thoughtful and reserved. She met Aunt Elizabeth, Aunt Laura, and Cousin Jimmy briefly, when Sylvia took her to New Moon to show her the famous farmhouse where E. B. Starr had grown up.
For her part, Sylvia became well acquainted with Aunt Edna and Cousin Mira, both of whom approved of this friendship very much. She met Mickey and was charmed by him, but he seemed very cool and aloof toward her, to Marigold's puzzlement. He played his fiddle once for them, and then refused to do so ever again, pleaded she never so wisely.
And so things moved along smoothly for a time, until one morning in early December. Marigold and Sylvia were planning on scouring Lofty John's bush for greenery to decorate their houses with in honor of the advent season. As Marigold dressed herself warmly in a pretty red wool skirt and white sweater that morning, she sang under her breath. She had been dreading spending Christmas away from Cloud of Spruce, but somehow she didn't mind it now. Christmas morning would be spent with Aunt Edna, Cousin Mira, and Mickey, and then she was to go over to the Kents for dinner, and then she, Sophie, Murray, and Sylvia were all to go into town for a dance.
"Mari!" called a silvery voice up the stairs. Marigold smiled. She and Sylvia were so comfortable at each other's houses now that they rarely bothered to knock anymore.
"I'm up here!" she called back, quickly running a brush through her hair. "Come on up!"
Light footsteps pattered up the stairs, and then Sylvia's face, flushed with some excitement, appeared in her doorway. "Oh Mari, I'm so excited!" she said breathlessly. "Last night just as we were getting ready for bed we heard voices outside, and who should it be but the Millers! They weren't sure if they'd be able to make it out for Christmas this year, but Uncle Perry just found out last week that he could, and so they just came, without saying anything to anybody. Mother and Aunt Ilse have been talking steadily ever since six-o-clock this morning! Rosy wants to come with us to collect decorations, do you mind?"
Marigold assented readily. Sylvia had talked so much about the Millers that she really felt as though she knew them already. Rosy Miller was fifteen years old, full of city sophistication and lots of fun, the inheritor of her mother's wild spirits and irreverent behavior, as well as her peculiar beauty and temper. Charlie Miller was seventeen, friendly and fun, with no fear or tact. They had been friends with Kents forever, and it was a standing joke in the families that Charlie was to marry Sylvia or Sophie, and Rosy would marry Murray.
Marigold clipped her soft waves back with two little red barrettes and turned to Sylvia. "Let's go!"
They clattered down the stairs and out the door, unmindful of the piercing dark eyes that followed them from where Mickey was shoveling a path to the shed.
As they approached Hope Fulfilled, the tiny grey home the Kents called home, a short, round figure flew out the front door, her uncovered golden hair glittering in the sunlight.
"Sylvia darling!" she gushed, reaching them breathlessly. "I thought you'd never get back." She cast one cool look out of her odd, light brown eyes at Marigold. "You must be Miss Lesley."
Marigold instantly felt provincial and impossibly young in her simple skirt and sweater, with her hair pulled childishly back and her face free of any kind of makeup. This girl was wearing a very chic black dress with a shocking pink jacket, and silk stockings. Her brilliant golden hair was permanently waved with that indefinable air of being "done" professionally, and her amber-colored eyes were surrounded by unnaturally black lashes, contrasting sharply with her pale face and lips that matched her jacket. To top it all off, her nails were long and painted pink. All around her hung an aura of sophistication and glamour. The little mocking smile on her face showed clearly her opinion of Marigold.
For a moment, Marigold felt like running away. Then, as the mocking glint in the other girl's face became more pronounced, she pulled herself together. After all, even if this Miss Miller was from Montreal and the daughter of a Supreme Court Justice, she, Marigold, was a Lesley. Maybe family didn't count for anything in Montreal but it meant something in P.E.I. She drew herself up, looking for all the world as Old Grandmother had looked in her younger days when confronted by something she deemed beneath her notice.
"I am Marigold Lesley," she said, sweetly and clearly. "You must be Rose Miller. It is a pleasure to meet any friend of Sylvie's."
Rosy's smile shrank at the corners. "Oh please, call me Rosy," she said. "Rose sounds so old-fashioned and simple. It's always that way with flower names, don't you think?"
Marigold smiled. "I've always thought there was something magical about them, myself."
"Oh, of course," said Rosy, with a false little laugh. "How stupid of me. I forgot that you were named after a flower, too."
"As a matter of fact," said Marigold, not giving an inch, "I was named after my aunt, a world famous doctor who saved my life when I was a baby. She was named after two flowers, and my family picked Marigold for me." She shuddered to think what would have happened had Aunt Marigold been named simply Woodruff.
Apparently Rosy couldn't think of anything to say to that, for she turned to Sylvia. "Anyway darling, I'm glad you're back. You aren't really thinking of going out into the woods today, are you? It's frightfully cold, and I can feel my lips turning blue even as we speak."
Sylvia, being used to Rosy's airs and pretensions, simply laughed. "Rosy, you goose, if you dressed properly you wouldn't be so cold."
"This is proper dress in Montreal," protested Rosy, hugging her arms around herself. "Dad got me this for my fifteenth birthday. Don't you like it?"
"It wouldn't suit me at all," said Sylvia frankly. "But I think you look darling in it. Come along, dearest. You can borrow something of mine to wear out in the woods, and in return, Mari and I will go into town with you and watch one of your darling cinema idols tonight. Will that suit?"
Rosy brightened. "Very well. Come along then, and dress me in your cast-off rags!" she concluded in a theatrical voice.
Sylvia laughed and led the way into the house. Marigold brought up the rear, thinking that this was going to be a long afternoon, and wishing that the Millers had just stayed in Montreal.
Once inside, she got to meet the rest of the family: Mrs. Miller, who had a very cultured and elegant voice, but whose garish dress somewhat offset the impression; Mr. Justice Miller, who, despite his fine suit and polished manners still looked comfortable and fun; and their son Charlie.
Marigold took to Charlie right away. He was very handsome, with deep grey eyes and light brown hair, strong, decided features, a firm mouth, and a handsome nose. His chin was slightly weak and his eyes set a mite too close together, but Marigold didn't notice either of those features! Unlike his sister, however, there was no sense of snobbery or pride about him. He grinned cheerfully at Marigold as she entered and walked right over to meet her, not even waiting for Sylvia's introduction.
"So this is the prettiest girl in Blair Water I've been hearing so much about!" His voice, like his mother's, was polished and smooth. "Sylvia's been singing your praises ever since we got here. It's a very great pleasure to meet you, Miss Marigold Lesley."
Marigold blushed slightly, then even more when Charlie turned to Murray, who had just come into the kitchen.
"Murray, why didn't you tell me just how beautiful Marigold was? I can't believe you didn't notice it. Were you trying to keep her for yourself, old boy?"
Privately, Marigold thought that Murray didn't like her. He rarely spoke to her, acting most of the time as though she didn't exist. Charlie's outspoken and obvious admiration was much more pleasant. Not to mention, of course, that Charlie's strong, determined appearance was much more appealing to her than Murray's dreamy eyes and sensitive features.
Murray shrugged and murmured something inaudible.
"Oh Charlie, don't tease," said Mrs. Miller impatiently. "Honestly, you'd think neither of you two children had ever had any bringing up whatsoever. Charlie says whatever comes into his head, and Rosy just goes on and on about her precious movie stars."
"Of course, that could not have been inherited from either of their parents," said Mrs. Kent slyly.
Mrs. Miller went off into a loud shriek of laughter. "Oh, Emily B., you're just as sarcastic as ever! Lord, how I've missed you. Why won't you come back to Montreal, you dear thing?"
"We belong on the Island," replied Mrs. Kent calmly. "It's home to us."
Sylvia nudged Marigold. "They'll be going on like this forever. Once Aunt Ilse gets really frustrated with Mother, she'll get mad and yell out all kinds of horrible epithets at her, while Mother will just laugh them off and get very mocking. It's hysterical to watch them; one would think they were still about twelve years old. Come on, Rosy's done changing, so we can head out."
"What! Leaving so soon?" asked Charlie. His large grey eyes grew mournful. "But I've barely had time to get acquainted with the lovely Marigold. You can't leave now."
"Don't worry, we'll be back later this afternoon, Charlie, although you are not to flirt with my friend," said Sylvia sternly. "However, if you really want to get to know her, you and Murray and Sophie can come to the movies with us tonight."
"It's a date," said Charlie, winking at Marigold, who felt her cheeks grow warm again before Sylvia, clicking her tongue in annoyance, hurried them outdoors.
"Charlie's an awful flirt," she warned Marigold as they headed for the bush. "As soon as he sees a pretty girl, he must make her fall in love with him. Don't be taken in by his compliments and smooth talk."
"I won't," promised Marigold. Indeed, she could see that Charlie Miller was far too used to having girls fawn all over him. She remembered Hip Price with disgust.
"Oh yes," chimed in Rosy, looking rather out-of-character in a too-long brown skirt of Sylvia's and a bulky sweater. "He'll likely play you for a fool, and then toss you aside. I've seen it a hundred times before."
Marigold tossed her head. "Nobody plays with a Lesley with impunity," she said haughtily.
Rosy snickered slightly. Sylvia shook her head, a cloud of worry upon her high brow. She sensed the tension between her two closest friends, but didn't know how to go about fixing it. With a faint sigh, she resigned herself to enduring a few days of discomfort before they finally worked things out.
