They had walked more often after that. It was lovely to walk in the fresh air, the smell of the sea blended with the end-of-summer flowers and sometimes the fresh smell that comes after the rain.
One evening he had said 'there's a memory at the corner of your mouth.'
'Is there?'
'It might be a song.'
She thought that entirely more plausible; 'the Church is One Foundation' had been going round her head ever since they'd walked past the church with the choir rehearsing.
He had said 'we had that last week, no?'
She said, 'I think we're fated to get it again. But it's a good hymn and singable.' But she had gone on all the same to tell him of a memory from very long ago, of her mother and white lilacs and the garden at Maywater.
Tea was pushed to one side because her hands were full, as were Rosemary's and all the women at Ingleside. Sometimes he came into the drawing room and chatted with them while they negotiated plans for flower arrangements and dress patterns.
A different afternoon, finding her with pins tucked into the corner of her mouth and yards of white lawn over her lap and Bruce climbing all over anything worth climbing on, he had said, 'shall we go to Carter Flagg's shop, Bruce? I think I saw an aeroplane model with your name on it, and some penny-sweets.'
Bruce had leapt at the chance and Una had waved them out of the room gratefully, saying around the pins, 'you mustn't spoil your dinner love.'
It had been then, although she was never to know it, that he promised Bruce. They ambled leisurely along the shore road and Bruce told him about school, which classes he liked, which he didn't, how dreadfully he missed Stripey.
'Father says we mustn't bargain with God, and Una says it too, but it did work, didn't it? Jem came back and that made it all right. Although,' and this wistfully, 'it would be lovely to have a kitten again.'
'They are nice, aren't they,' Shirely had said. 'They keep to themselves unless they want you.'
"Mm,' said Bruce, unaware how like his sister he sounded when he said this. 'But they do let you fuss. Oh, I know Rilla's ginger cat had an awful temper, but it was ginger and Miss Cornelia says all ginger cats are like that. Do you suppose they are?'
He was not prepared to contend with Miss Cornelia. Not if Bruce was prepared to relay everything anyone ever said to all and sundry. 'Tell you what,' he had said instead, 'I'll keep my eyes open for another kitten. Only not straight away or your family will tell me off for spoiling you.'
Then Bruce had gone solemn and said, 'Mother wouldn't mind terribly. You're thinking of Una. You know, you never did-' and before he could finish, Shirley had said, 'I owe you a promise don't I?' and he had put his arm about the boy's shoulders and promised.
Bruce had beamed and hugged him fiercely, had said, 'I knew you would.'
They had not spoken much after that. Bruce thought it had been a terribly grown-up conversation to have, and he thought perhaps people who had terribly grown up conversations did not ramble quite so much as he did, so he had gone quiet. It was a lovely, adult quiet and he felt much older for it. They had gone into Carter Flagg's for the plane and the penny-sweets, and it was only then that they began to talk again, about planes and how they worked, all the way to Rainbow Valley, where they had constructed the miniature aeroplane and Bruce had remembered that while ten was very old, it was not too old to enjoy manipulating a toy plane. He had wanted to run up to the Manse with it, but had been gently talked out of this. And his mother and sisters did seem to be terribly busy.
Consequently, it was Una that came up to Ingleside that evening, ostensibly to say thank-you for relieving them of Bruce. She had brought some of the excess lawn for Rilla, in case she wanted it, and so Rilla had sat with them out on the veranda, talking ceaselessly of her own impending wedding until Shirley felt sure he should go mad and had receded into the house.
Their conversation came up to his room in snatches, and that was pleasant enough.
'Wouldn't you rather wait…'
'Rainbow Valley is lovely in autumn…'
'…have always preferred spring…'
'Do you never think about…' that had been Rilla, and he had stopped listening and gone to find Mother Susan, as ever in her kitchen. He gave her a kiss so she would know all was well, and she understood.
Later, as they walked together back to the Manse, he felt he ought to go too as the light had gone save for the moon, she had said, 'your sister can talk for Canada, can't she?'
Then Bruce had come tearing down the hill, 'look, look what we built Una! We made it in the afternoon while you were sewing.'
She had looked, had swallowed the urge to explain the difference between 'making up' and 'sewing' a dress, little boys didn't need to know such things, had laughed fondly when he raced back up the hill, aeroplane swooping up and down as he went.
It was Shirley that said, 'what are you thinking?'
She had said, 'every time I think he's nearly grown up he does something like that and I am reminded how young he is. And yet he's too big to have his mother sit by his bed while he falls asleep, or so I'm told.'
At the Manse she had said, 'do come in and have tea. I feel I owe you, and it has been such a long time.'
It was not all that long, but her days had become so full that it felt longer than it might have otherwise. Besides, it was good to sit in a drawing room restored to order and have tea and nearly-savoury Osbornes.
He had said, 'I've missed this.'
Una had said, 'whatever will we do when we have to bake in earnest? We can't possibly give these,' here motioning to the platter of biscuits, 'to anyone else. The Glen would never hear the end of it.'
Somehow they managed. Una resolutely left the baking to Rosemary and Susan, feeling they could battle for charge of the cake quite competently without her. She and Faith took charge of what sewing hadn't been done, Faith venturing to say, 'you know I could have been just as happy with less fuss.'
Una, sewing four-stitches-and-pull and without a thimble at that, 'you might have said sooner, it's rather late in the day now,' but she had said it lovingly and her sister knew this.
Once, Faith had said, 'where is it you disappear to in the evenings?' and Una had said, 'out walking. Nowhere very interesting.'
Faith, seeing she would make no headway, had switched tacks and said, 'I never could sew like that. Although I think mother could do four-stitches-together.'
Una said, 'it does terrible things to your hands,' then in response to 'do you mind very much?'
'No, of course not. Anything for you dear.'
It had been worth it too, Una had thought, standing beside Faith that day in the church. She had been glowing with happiness, and she had waited so long to be happy. It more than made up for her own chapped hands and the hours of sewing. There were no lilacs, they were not a flower that meant anything to Faith, but there had been the first of the Michaelmas daisies and those suited her sister. The cake had been just as a good cake should be, rich, full of fruit, and sweet. She privately suspected it would not be just the Manse that omitted pudding for a week or two, but that did not matter either.
Bruce, full of the excitement of the day, had tried to coax her into dancing, but she had said no, they mustn't, wouldn't he sit and talk with her? So Bruce had climbed onto the chair next to her, for he could hardly sit on her lap with so many people about, cuddled against her side, and talked to her. It was nothing very memorable, most of it the kind of everyday chatter she took for granted when talking to Bruce. It was only when he said, 'I'll miss you, you know, when you've gone away too,' that she was startled into attentiveness.
She had pulled him closer, kissed his head and said, Bruce thought far to lightly, 'whatever put that into your head, love?'
She did not really need to ask, and some part of her, some corner of her mind, filled with anticipation when she tried to work it out. Bruce murmured happily and neither of them really believed her when she said, 'I shouldn't think anything would come of that, love.'
Bruce had looked up at her, eyes full of light and contentment and said over the strains of 'Valse Frontenac,' 'I know it will,' with such conviction that she could not think how to answer. She kissed his head again and he burrowed into her, so that his head rested just under her breast, the way he had done as a very young boy.
He turned his head to look at her and said, 'you do love him don't you?'
And she had to tell him something, his eyes were so earnest. *'If love is four o'clock,' she had said, 'I should think I'm at half-past three*. I'm not going away yet, dear.'
'Half-past three,' said Bruce. 'I like that. You will tell me when it gets to be four o'clock? Just so I know?'
She squeezed him and said, 'I think you may know before I do. I ought to have you tell me.' But he was half-way to fairy-land and did not answer.
* This is lifted out of Dodie Smith's autobiography, Look Back with Astonishment. It was something her husband really did say to her when they were still courting, and I have always loved the sentiment.
