Well, look who's poking her head out from under her rock! I'm back - and for those of you who were here in...September, I think, I sincerely apologize for the long wait. You are very deserving of another chapter - and here it is. I cannot guarantee a chapter very soon, but life ceases to be crazy in a couple of weeks...we'll see then.
8 May, 1915
Walter looked at the newspaper in front of him, willing the letters to rearrange themselves into a less horrifying headline. But no, there it was in the black-and-white:
LUSITANIA SUNK BY A SUBMARINE, PROBABLY 1260 DEAD; TWICE TORPEDOED OFF IRISH COAST; SINKS IN 15 MINUTES.
Dimly, over the buzzing - or was it the droning of a bagpipe? - in his ears, he heard Susan in the dining room, talking to Mother as she collected the breakfast dishes.
"I am very much afraid, Mrs. Dr. dear, that something terrible has happened. Whiskers-on-the-moon came off the train from Charlottetown and he was looking pleased. I do not remember that I ever saw him with a smile on in public before. Of course he may have just been getting the better of somebody in a cattle deal but I have an awful presentiment that the Huns have broken through somewhere."*
"They have."
Mother looked at him, standing in the doorway. "Yes, dear?"
"They've sunk the Lusitania."
Susan narrowly escaped dropping a stack of plates. "I told you those Germans had done something terrible, Mrs. Dr. dear. Whiskers-on-the-moon was simply looking too pleased for it to have been anything else." She disappeared into her realm of the kitchen, presumably to take her anger about the Kaiser out on tonight's pie crust.
Mother's face, meanwhile, was stark white, her eyes flat grey without a trace of green in them. "I simply cannot believe that they would do something like this. Attack civilians…" she shook her head, one hand unconsciously stealing up to touch the pearls that he knew were fastened around her neck and tucked into her dress. Jem had bought her those pearls all those years ago, and she hadn't taken them off since he had enlisted.**
"I would tell you to go find your father, but he's out on a call - and the news will likely reach him before he comes home." Mother sighed, smoothing out her skirt. "Well, I suppose I ought to go into town and see whether there's anything to be done."
Walter wrapped his arms around her. He had not embraced his mother since before his teaching days; then, he had been shorter than her, able to come to her for his world to be put back to rights. Now, the world was too large, and far too broken, for Mother to fix.
Mother stepped back, looking up at him. Smiling rather damply, she put a hand to his cheek. "My darling boy…" she said quietly. Seeming about to say something else, she shook her head slightly and turned away, some of the spunk he knew she always had coming back to the surface. "I think I'll go visit Mrs. Eliot - Cornelia will certainly have something to say about this."
Walter walked his mother to the gate before going the opposite way. His head continued to buzz until he swore it was about to split. He could see the faces of the dead women and children floating about in that pitiless, ice-cold water* - floating before they succumbed to the cold and wet and slowly sank to the bottom of the sea. How they must have suffered, feared - suddenly, Walter's gift for empathy didn't feel like such a gift anymore. He could practically feel the water closing over him before it robbed him of breath and life.
How could they? How could they? How could a man coldly aim a torpedo at a civilian craft and fire it, knowing what the end result would be - and still live with himself?
The buzzing in his ears, the wail of the Piper, the faces of the dead, and the churning in his stomach - it all became too much, and he found himself retching into the ditch, trying to purge himself of the disgust he felt with the world.
And how, he thought when he had heaved until there was nothing left, could a man stand by and let this happen? How could he watch his fellow man be slaughtered? How could he not feel it in himself to step up and do something?
The realisation swept over him, chilling in its uncompromising bleakness. He was going to have to join up.
He wouldn't be able to live with himself otherwise.
Una heard the knock at the door and stood to answer it, taking a break from the headline whose letters screamed their sickening news at her.
"Mrs. Blythe," she opened the door, "good morning."
Mrs. Blythe stepped over the threshold, her warm smile slightly dimmer than usual. "Good morning, Una. Is Rosemary in?"
"I thought I heard - hello, Anne," Mother Rosemary came around the corner, tucking a stray curl away. "Terrible news, isn't it?"
"Simply awful," Mrs. Blythe shook her head. "I visited Mrs. Marshal Eliot earlier, and goodness, Cornelia has things to say about the Kaiser, the Germans, and men in general."
"Well, come in, please," Mother Rosemary waved towards the kitchen. "I was about to set on some water for tea - and Una baked something with cinnamon yesterday - I'm not entirely sure what it is, but it's heavenly. It's a miracle Carl hasn't eaten it all."
A short time later, Mother Rosemary and Mrs. Blythe were seated at the kitchen table with tea and "cinnamon something", as it would become known among the Meredith clan. Mrs. Blythe sat in a patch of sunlight, her hair gleaming copper. Una remembered how entranced she had been with that hair as a girl - red hair had seemed so much prettier compared to her crow's black.
Whisking away the thought, she busied herself around the kitchen while the mothers talked, listening - not entirely unintentionally - to their words.
"What will this do to the war?" Mrs. Blythe slowly stirred some milk into her tea. "Do you think it can be resolved peacefully, now?"
Mother Rosemary gave a hollow laugh. "Remember when they said the war would be over by Christmas?"
"Christmas of what year? 1917, perhaps?"
"We can only pray for good to win, Anne - no matter how long it takes."
Mrs. Blythe's laugh held no mirth. "I already pray for my boy, for yours, for my family, for your family, for Glen St. Mary, PEI, and Canada - and then I pray for the world. God must be tired of my prayers by now."
"Can we do anything else?" Mother Rosemary's smile was sad. "We stay home while the men go away. We wait and pray - and keep things running while they're gone."
"It's selfish of me, I know, but I can't help but be thankful Gilbert's too old to go rushing off at the drop of a hat. I know he would, otherwise."
"His job at home is just as important as any overseas, and you know it."
"But does he?"
Mother Rosemary's rings flashed as she covered Mrs. Blythe's hand with her own. "Maybe someone needs to tell him. Now, what can we do here at home, other than read the papers and knit socks?"
Mrs. Blythe pulled her omnipresent notebook and pen out of her handbag. "Well, we have the Red Cross, and the Junior Reds. The Church sends a package when it can. We need something everyone can get behind."
"We have prayer meetings, although I don't think that's what you had in Junior Reds do have that concert coming up. But there's some sort of kerfuffle regarding performers; I don't even know if they have enough numbers to warrant a show. You would know better, I think." Mother Rosemary poured some more tea into her cup, offering some to Mrs. Blythe, who shook her head.
Una took a deep breath. "I can perform. If they need me to." The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. Because never, not once in her life, had Una Meredith volunteered to perform publicly.
Mrs. Blythe looked at her, brightening. "That would be wonderful, Una. Rilla will be thrilled to have another act. And I cannot wait to hear you - you play so wonderfully."
Una felt her face warm at the praise. Mrs. Blythe had occasionally come by the church while Una was practicing, and had been treated to an unintentional concert. If only she knew that when faced with an actual audience, Una trembled like a leaf, breaking into a cold sweat.
She mustered up a shaky smile, the buzzing in her ears continuing undiminished. "Well, it's all for the war effort. It's a small contribution to help the Belgians."
"Yes, it is." Mrs. Blythe's expression became more serious. "We cannot imagine what those poor people have to bear. We can try to help, of course, but…" she shook her head, her fork turning her "cinnamon something" to crumbs.
"We do our best," Mother Rosemary said. "Really, that's all we can do. And now, we have this concert, Anne. It's bound to raise something for them."
"And it will raise spirits here," Mrs. Blythe stood, smiling at both of them. "Don't worry about me - I can see myself out."
"I'm surprised you volunteered to perform, Una," Mother Rosemary said once Mrs. Blythe was gone. "After all, you aren't too fond of it. However," she raised a finger at Una's protests, "I think it's an excellent idea. And I do hope to hear you play at it."
Una felt her stomach turn to jelly, quivering a little with every heartbeat. What had she gotten herself into, she wondered? The reality of performing had not quite set it - there was still a slight hum in her ears.
"Una?" Mother Rosemary looked at her curiously. "Are you all right? You've gone white."
Una nodded mutely, tamping down any nausea at the thought of playing the piano - in front of people.
Dear God - performing in front of people. She loved playing for herself - and yes, it was a selfish pleasure, she supposed. She didn't mind playing for others, as long as she didn't know they were there. So what was she going to do - play blindfolded?
Mozart had done it, after all.
But then again, she was no Mozart.
"Excuse me." She pushed away from the table, feeling lightheaded. She wasn't entirely certain where she was going until she was on the back stairs, headed towards the back garden. This time of year, it was usually full of Mother Rosemary's peonies, the bushes heavy with blooms. A cooler winter had set them back a little, but the peonies were already there, their fists of petals ready to burst any day. Una's knees gave out nearer the back of the garden, where the flowers grew thickly.
Taking deep breaths, Una tried to understand why she, of all people, had volunteered to perform. She, painfully shy Una, who grew nervous at the thought of speaking to people, let alone playing the piano in front of them.
What had she gotten herself into? She could not go back on her word, not after having given it to Mrs. Blythe. Still feeling like a fish gasping for air, she wrapped her arms around her knees, rocking back and forth. There were no two ways about it - she was going to have to play for at least half of Glen St. Mary.
Well, if Jem and Jerry could go fight Germans, and Walter could shore up the courage to enlist, she could play a short piece with an audience.
A flash of color caught her eye, and she looked up to notice one of the first peonies poking out of the green leaves. It was a delicate blush pink, so pale that it almost tipped into white. Reaching out, Una carefully touched its petals, feeling a bit calmer. If Mother Rosemary's peonies were blooming, then something was still right with the world.
But to have it happen after such an awful day in history...Una sighed, pushing herself off the ground and back towards the house, realizing only once she was inside that the flower was clutched in her hand.
Anne Blythe took a moment on her way home to step into Rainbow Valley. The town had been absolutely filled with people, all talking about the atrocity of it all, how the Germans could coolly torpedo a civilian ship that had absolutely no purpose in the war. She had expected to see Gilbert somewhere in there, but he was probably out on a call and wouldn't be back until later. For Anne, it had been a day of speaking to some people, consoling others - as a doctor's wife, she was rather good at that, after all. But sometimes, couldn't people see that she needed some consoling, as well?
Anne looked around, remembering the days when all - almost all - of her children had been in Rainbow Valley, hearing their giggles, mutterings, and occasional shrieks of laughter through the veil of time. And now...now they weren't here anymore. Jem - dear Jem, whose pearls were just as precious, if not more so, than the ones Matthew had given her all those years ago - in goodness-knows-where, Europe; Shirley was likely counting the minutes until he could join up; the twins were at Redmond, or teaching school, and occasionally at home; Rilla was taking care of an infant, for heaven's sakes. And Walter...he would be next to go. She had seen it that morning, truly seen it. She had known it would be coming, of course, but until today she had been able to ignore it, pretend that Walter would be going back to college in September.
Would he even be alive in September?
A sob rose in her throat, and Anne leaned against an old pine for support. Gone were the days when she could simply climb a tree and escape her troubles. Her troubles were far too large for a tree to solve her problems. It was her job to prop others up now, and she couldn't do that when she was halfway up a tree.
But if she just stayed here, just for another five minutes...was she even allowed five minutes? She had children to take care of, as long as they were there to be taken care of. Truly, she thought, you didn't realize how fleeting life was until your children left you.
How ironic, she realized, that the only child she would always have was the one that had been taken from her first.
There was a rustling, and Anne realized she was no longer alone. Turning around to see what hapless creature had decided to intrude upon her, she caught sight of a grey suit and black medical bag before the identity of her companion dawned on her through the blur of tears.
"Gil?" She hadn't called him that in years. Hastily swiping at her eyes, she hitched up a smile that was only a little forced. "I didn't think I'd see you until supper, if not later."
"Neither did I." Dr. Gilbert Blythe wasn't fooled for a minute by his wife's smile. Her eyes were competing with the grass in terms of greenness, and there was still a tear clinging to her chin where her hasty swipe hadn't caught it.
"I was on my way back," he offered by way of explanation, "and...it's been a rather long day. I thought I might take a moment to commune with the trees, the way you used to."
"Great minds think alike." Anne took his hand, weaving her fingers through his. "How was your day?"
"Everyone is angry. More shocked than angry, I think. They can't believe that something like this would happen."
"I know I can't."
"It's an entirely different world than the one we grew up in, Anne-girl." Gilbert gathered her closer to his side. "Who would have thought…"
He didn't complete the sentence. They both knew how it would have ended. Who would have thought we would be sending our children to a war?
"Now," he said, "why were you crying when I found you?"
"I wasn't...oh, very well, I was," Anne sighed. "You see, I started thinking about Rainbow Valley. And then I thought about Jem...and then Shirley...and the twins...and Rilla...and Jims...and Walter."
"Has he said anything yet?"
Silently, Anne shook her head. "Nothing. But it's in his eyes now - and there's no use fighting it." She turned into his shoulder. "What is he going to do, Gilbert? It will destroy him, if it doesn't kill him outright. He can't bear ugliness, and…" at this, Anne's voice caught, and felt Gilbert's hand come up to stroke her head, dislodging her hat.
"We want to keep them all safe, sweetheart. But we can't." Gilbert's voice was suspiciously damp. "We never could. Not with all your mothering, nor I with my doctoring. We can try, of course, only to fail and crash like one of those aeroplanes I suspect Shirley dreams of flying."
"Oh, have mercy on us all," Anne mumbled against the wool of his suit. "I can't worry about that, too. One child at a time, please." She pulled back far enough to look up at him. "At least I can rest easy knowing you aren't going to be rushing off to some corner of the earth."
A far-off look came into Gilbert's eyes. "That you can." The boy in him dreamt of glory on the battlefields, but the man in him knew that for every ounce of glory, there was a tonne of pain. Besides, someone had to patch up the boys when - if - they came home. Gilbert knew where he was needed.
Anne leaned against him, enjoying the simple, comforting sensation of being held. "Good. I don't think I could bear it if you left me, too." So many had left her already…
They stood there until Anne's breathing had evened out, before Gilbert wrapped his arm around her waist and steered them back towards the road, where the buggy was still waiting, the horse happily mowing the grass beside it.
"Let's head home, Anne-girl. I'll make us some tea and toast."
She smiled up at him, at the memory of the teas and toasts of their early marriage. "Whither thou goest, there go I."***
*Rilla of Ingleside
** A slight reference to Precious Pearls by mavors4986
*** Ruth 1:16
This chapter's title is taken from the song "Good-bye Dolly Gray" (Lyrics by Will D. Cobb, music by Paul Barnes, 1897 or 1900. Here, the internet and a 1910 printing of this piece are at odds with one another. The internet says 1897, my sheet music says 1900. Who do I go with? Either way, there are some lovely renditions out there that you should definitely go listen to.)
On the use of "kerfuffle": I had to look this up. But yes, it existed, instead of being some modern word I imagined it to be. It would appear to be descended from the Scots Gaelic word for "to dishevel", sometime in the 16th century. With time, it went through variations of "carfuffle" and "curfuffle", before being standardized in the 20th century as "kerfuffle." Other theories include that it was an entirely made-up word, with "ker-" added for emphasis. But I prefer theory No. 1.
And so concludes our English lesson for today :)
Wyth wynne,
Anne
