Many thanks for the reviews. I never expected anyone to read this when I sent it out into the world, never mind like it. Do keep at me if I revert to imbedded quotations. It's a combination of the kind of books I read and being brought up with a mother who wrote journalism columns that didn't allow for line breaks.
Rilla, sitting at her window and looking out, told herself she did not mind about her brother walking over towards the Manse. She had once had an idea…but no, 'keeping faith' had meant living, really living, and she couldn't find it in herself to hold a grudge against her friend for trying to do so. Beside her on the sill was a jar of the Rosehip preserve Susan had been making all week. Rilla had mixed feeling about rosehip preserve but had promised all the same to take some round to the Manse. It occurred to her that if she went now, as she had meant to, she would almost certainly end up talking with Rosemary Meredith, who was nice enough, certainly one of the Race that Knew Joseph, but Rilla had always found her hard to talk to. No, it would be better to put off the errand until tomorrow, when Una would be in and they could talk.
Una had accepted the preserve graciously, running mentally through that week's meat from the butcher, seeing if any of it went with Rosehip and Cooking Apple preserve, before telling herself firmly that the whole point of preserve was that it could live in the pantry until you wanted it. So she had been able to thank Rilla as manners dictated, not mechanically, and to offer her a cup of tea with all the good nature that Rilla was used too.
Rilla had insisted on hovering in the kitchen while they waited on the kettle. Una was pouring milk into the creamer when Rilla said 'Can I ask you something?'
'It depends what,' Una had said warily.
Rilla had begun, concentrating very hard on the wood floor of the kitchen 'are you- '
Una had said, 'please not you too Rilla. I've had Bruce, and Susan and…feelings are such messy things. Please don't you start too.
'They are messy, aren't they?' said Rilla now. 'I'll leave it I promise.'
'Thank you,' Una had said, sounding far more grateful than Rilla thought was really necessary.
They had talked instead of the lawn Una had brought round, how well it suited what Rilla was hoping to do with her dress. Una asked dutifully after going-away clothes and Susan's baking, preparations for the 'house of dreams.' Rilla had confessed to not having put by terribly much by way of linen.
'Come on then,' Una had said, standing up, 'we'll see if we can't find something that suits.'
Rilla had protested, for form's sake, but Una would none of it ad they had gone up into the attic of the Manse.
'You're sure you won't miss anything?' Rilla had said, trying to tread softly.
'I couldn't possibly Rilla. I'm up to my eyes in things I'm unlikely to ever need.'
And Una had knelt like a communicant and undone the lid to her 'box in the attic,' the thing that all her life Rosemary had called a hope chest. It was filled with pillowcases, table linen, towels, quilts, and she took them out now for Rilla.
'Is this…?' Rilla had asked nervously.
'My wartime project. It really was you know, whatever Susan tells you,' Una had said. They were looking at a tablecloth done all in whitework.
'There's another like it somewhere, here you are,' and she set it in Rilla's lap.
'When did you do all of this?' Rilla was asking now.
'Years ago, it must be at least ten years accumulation of sewing.' She laughed.
'Goodness knows why. I suppose I was pleased to have something that was mine. Something I could do.'
'You had music too,' Rilla found herself saying.
'It's not quite the same though, is it? You have to go out of your way for people to see you're good at music. And I was surrounded by Faith, Nan, Di, you, such pretty girls. I remember thinking, oh it seems silly now, but I remember thinking that even if I wasn't so pretty as Faith or clever as Jerry, I could at least keep a house that looked well.' Una smiled at the memory and Rilla wondered what would happen if she pointed out the house could still be a reality. Instead they sifted through the pillowcases, dresser scarves, sheets, surely no one could ever need so many as Una has made?
'Did- Did you send Faith away with some of this?' Rilla hears herself asking.
'Not for want of trying. She hasn't our love of such things Rilla.'
'Mm,' says Rilla vaguely.
'I like it but I haven't the patience for this sort of thing. It takes so long, and I get sick of floral patterns after a while.'
'So do I,' said Una.
'There are some in here that have a religious turn, the dove-cross pillowcases, prayer-card cushion covers, things like that. But somehow,' she smiled, 'somehow I thought you'd rather the floral patterns.'
'However did you guess?' said Rilla.
The first time it happened they were walking though Rainbow Valley in the last of the light, each wrapped up in partially formed thoughts. Hers tended to the conversation she would not have with Rilla and his to the way the light has caught her hair, how glossy it looks in the dying light. Without thinking he reached across and tucks a loose strand behind her ear. She flushed and looked away, but did not take her arm from his, had curiously leaned more decidedly on him, and he had been glad.
This time she did say, 'what are you thinking?'
Shirley closed his eyes and tried to work out how to answer. When he could not, he pulled her nearer and kissed her fleetingly on the mouth.
Una thought of Bruce saying, 'tell me when it is four o'clock.'
She wondered that time should go so quickly, and more pressingly, how she ever would tell Bruce.
The second time would be later that evening, just before they arrived back at the Manse, and it would be slightly too long to count with Una as something fleeting. She would say, as she had so often, 'Goodnight God Bless' as if it were all one word, before going quietly into the house. He would meet Rosemary returning from Ingleside and they would exchange quiet greetings.
She said 'tell your mum…'
He said 'tell Una…'
In spite of the fact they have both just left the same people and could not possibly have any new news. Rosemary for her part, would come back to find Una kneeling at her window, ostensibly saying evening prayers to the garden, and looking for all the world as if Easter had come early and the resurrection with it, and decided that 'goodnight' could wait until tomorrow.
That tomorrow had brought Shirley with a kitten for Bruce. He came cautiously into the drawing room, where Una and Rosemary had been sitting, the curious multicoloured thing tucked under one arm.
'I hope it's all right,' he said.
'I ought to have asked you first,' this to Rosemary.
But Rosemary's eyes shone and she said, 'Bruce will be so happy. I'll go fetch him down.'
She was out of the room before Una could offer to go for her.
'Can I give you tea? We were about to put the kettle on.'
'If it isn't any trouble,' he said and wondered how often they had this conversation.
'None whatever,' she said and she disappeared into the kitchen to get the tea things.
Bruce was down long before the kettle boiled. He took the stairs two at a time and tumbled into the drawing room. Rosemary came into the kitchen and said, 'wherever did people get the notion he is quiet from?'
From the drawing room can be heard little yelps of delight and a good deal of laughing. When they reentered with the tea-tray, Bruce ran to Una, arms full of kitten and said, 'I've called her Moggie, do you think it will suit her?'
'More than suit, with colours like that,' said Rosemary, because Una was still organising her thoughts.
'She's not a bit like Stripey, but there never could be another cat like him,' said Bruce, and he cuddled the kitten close. It nestled against him and Una only has to look to see his cup has run over with its portion of happiness.
'Thank you,' she said later as she sees Shirley to the door.
'I've not seen his eyes glow like that in months. He loved Stripey so much.'
Shirley cannot help but be reminded of that long-ago conversation on the walk back from town with Bruce.
'You've made him so happy,' she said now, and again, he thought of an afternoon more recently and how alike brother and sister were. It was then, while he reached for something to say in return, that she leaned up and kisses him goodbye, saying, take care and wouldn't he come back soon. She stood a moment at the door, after he had gone out, in an effort to restore some feeling of normalacy. It was all for nothing though because when she came back into the drawing room, Bruce comes and joins her on the sofa saying,
'It's four o'clock now isn't it, or else very nearly?'
Without thinking or even meaning to Una said, 'I'm sure it is.'
Rosemary looked from one to the other and wondered what it was they are talking about when it was five and a quarter by the clock, and not without a pang, wondered too, what it was that had preoccupied her almost-child into not trying to take over the washing up for once.
