Rilla observed, as Jims laughed softly at the snowflakes, as they fell, in gentle stream down from lavender-tinted sky. Jims was now a very picture of blooming health, with vivid color on his kissable cheeks. Ten days before there had been a fierce snowstorm, worst in decades on Prince Edward Island. Nan and Di had not yet returned from Redmond at that time, and Gertrude had been snowed in Lowbridge. Dear little Jims had a severe attack of croup, his choking wheezing had echoed throughout Ingelside, or at least it had felt like it, and at times his little, tearstained face had been almost blue. Rilla had an uncomfortable association with the victims of the gas attack. And nothing Susan tried helped. Jims, couldn't cough up the choking phlegm. Nearest doctor, Dick Parker, had been at Lowbridge, for Gilbert had taken Anne to Avonlea for a couple of days to see Diana, before Christmas rush began. Then blessed Mary Vance had arrived, as she had boastfully saved Jims.
In the morning haze, with the smell of fried breakfast, and clinking teacups, Rilla had looked seriously at Mary Vance, her practical, sturdy hands, and her efficient nature. And the resentment from years ago melted from her heart at that moment. And almost shyly, Rilla had planted a grateful kiss on Mary's cheek. And Mary had raised her eyebrows and said in her unsparing style. "It's true that if I hadn't had enough of Kitty Flagg yesterday, and decided to try and walk here, almost drowning in the snow, you'd be planning a funeral for that child now. It's lucky that I happened to see years ago at Mrs. Wylie's the way I saved Jims. Oh, yes, boy was squirming like a convulsive kitten that I once saw. But why Susan and Rilla don't eat that breakfast I made? Mrs. Cornelia always praises my fry-ups, and with good reason, for I've got a little bit of them everywhere. After all, I've lived a colorful life, before I settled in Glen, and that was thanks to Una. I think the roads will be passable soon. So we´ll see each other at Christmas service on the 25th if not before." In brisk manner Mary Vance had drained her coffee, and pulled her blue velvet coat around her. She started wading down snowy path towards Cornelia's green house, near the Four Winds.
When upon his retun to Ingelside Gilbert heard what had happened, after Rilla's and Susan's breathless accounts, he calmly said. "Oh, well. Mary Vance may be consulted on my challenging cases from this day forward. Perhaps herbal lore and oral tradition have a place, for they indeed saved Jims Anderson to life, from the fearful embrace of death."
Glen's Christmas church was full, everyone who could were there, Mary Vance, Cornelia, and Marshall Elliott, the Howards, the Douglas family, the MacAllisters, and also some people from the Lowbridge side, naturally not episcopalians, pews almost creaked. And in the front pew sat the Merediths, in dimished numbers, Faith's golden brown curls glistened in the candlelight, and Una's smooth braid was pulled up into a crown, something sparkled in it, Rosemary´s golden loveliness, and little Bruce all tidy and proper in his church clothes. Revered Meredith preached enthusiastically about the search for light in the darkness, how the birth of the Savior gives hope, lights the fire of faith in people's souls, and how the search for peace and everlasting love can be one manifestation of grace, in these troubled times, but Rilla could not concentrate, as all her attention was partially focused on keeping Jims in place. And out of the corner of her eye, Rilla saw a dark flash, it was the commemorative standard that had been raised over their pew a couple of days before. " Dedicated to the memory of Walter Cuthbert Blythe." Sorrow's cold hand squeezed around her heart, and instinctively Rilla glanced in Anne's direction. Anne sat wide-eyed, her eyes were almost colorless in their translucency. Rilla found Gilbert squeezing Anne's hands tightly but gently in his own. Nan and Di were sitting across from Rilla, and both twins looked serious, their sparkle and hilarity having been swept away.
After service, families of Glen slowly began to make their way to the doors in small groups. Rilla grimaced when she heard Irene's honeyed voice over the light hum of various seasons greetings, that neighbours greeted each other. "Olive, I've had such lovely letters from Kingsport that I almost feel faint just thinking about them." And then Rilla noticed that Di stopped and spoke to Irene, what her elder sister said to Irene Rilla didn't hear, but the impact of Di's words was clear. Red spots were glowing on Irene's cheeks. Irene swept proudly past Ingelside lasses as she whispered something in Di's ear. Rilla shuddered, as in her despair, she had only discovered that her winter hat, the extremely expensive velvet green one, was identical to Irene's hat, it was truly unbearable!
Ingelside's living room was full of light, quiet conversation, which was only occasionally emphasized by the gentle crackle of the fireplace. John Meredith cautiously put his teacup on the side table, as he curiously glanced at Ingelside's famous porcelain dogs Gog and Magog were sitting gallantly, they were guarding their own people. The sparkling piano music was glowing, red-haired Di had already been glued to the piano for a couple of hours, and with a light smile, John noticed that Una was sitting next to Di. She seemed quiet and serious, in her midnight-dark dress with a lace collar. Gentle touch of Rosemary's hand restored John's concentration, to the discussion at hand, as he plunged earnestly into the argument with Gertrude Oliver.
Mozart's pure, classical notes seemed almost to vibrate in the air as Una straightened her posture, and with difficulty she avoided looking at the bookshelves, for beside themwas a small table that looked almost like an altar, for it was crowned with flowers, and with narrow, honey-colored, scented candles whose flames trembled. A bluish vase filled with white, fragrant Christmas hyacinths, and two framed frames, a photograph of Walter, and Piper poem, clipped from Spectator were in a clear line, leaning against the flower vase. Di's choice of Mozart was almost too fitting, Una reflected, as the delicate notes of Abendempfindung created a bright atmosphere. The mood of the song in question was very much like Walter's, for it was a meditation with all its shades of sadness, perfectly fitting for this evening, the celebration of Christmas, in his childhood home, which he would never set foot in again. Una felt like everything was suddenly too much.
This quiet, attempt at normalcy, of building the magic circle of Christmas. Faith's merry laugh, when she sat with Nan, in one of the Ingelnooks, Rilla's strained gaiety, the observant way that she glanced at Jims, in intervals, , Anne's brittle queenliness, and her gentleness, where there were cracks. Dr Blythe, Gilbert sat at his wife's feet, telling funny anecdotes, in his irresistibly charismatic way, which the years could not dim. Susan's snappiness, the way she set the large table. A kitchen that overflowed with delicious smells that seemed almost wasteful, when at the front, formerly laughing youths, Glen's sons, now soldiers were perhaps eating their own Christmas meal, and were momentarily safe from the cold, and from danger.
And curiously, Una glanced at the notes, and suddenly, her pulse rose, because there was a familiar, beloved handwriting on one of the notes. Di inquired softly, "Una, I don't know if you knew, but when he was in Redmond, my brother often studied various Schumann scores, and one particular set of songs in particular, and I think you and your time playing together at the Manse over the years may have been the reason."
A little startled, Una lowered her gaze, and wrung her hands, and in a voice barely above a whisper she murmured. " Schumann has many beautiful pieces, at different levels of difficulty. And Rosemary's sheet music has many Schumann pieces, and I myself play what I can find." Di, didn't say anything. She improved the notes on the stand, with slender fingers, and soon Schumann's richly romantic Dichterlieb had replaced Mozart's pure baroque classicism.
Anne looked attentively at Di. She had already neglected the usual Christmas preparations for several days, and instead had sat for hours at the piano, sometimes alone, but mostly with Alice, and now Una sat beside her, like a shadow. Rosemary's voice broke Anne's concentration as she was caressing Bruce´s dark hair, with her another hand, "As a child, Di was a diligent practitioner, and that promise has paid off. She is not as innovative as Walter was in his own playing, but there is a certain similarity, a charm. Throughout Advent, seasonal music has been glowing almost without a break, so it's nice to sink into my old favorites in courtesy of Di on this Christmas Day." Anne glanced quickly at Walter's picture, the flames of the honey candles, the Episcopal ones, shimmering in the glass, and behind them her dearest child was smiling, calm and dreamy, as he had been when the picture was taken. Susan brought a tray of hot mince pies into the living room, and Bruce rushed over to them, his eyes twinkling with happiness. Spices, fir needles, and mulled wine and cider and tea smelled sweetly, and the silent evening grew dark, the lights of Ingelside twinkled.
It was Saint Stephens Day. Air echoed full of joyful laughter children of Lowbridge, as they skated and build snow-forts in rolling snowy hills. Dr. Parker's house was eerily quiet, compared to the warmth of Ingelside.
Carefully Alice arranged the many embroidered cushions in the drawing-room. The dust had been wiped off the piano and the modest sheet music folders were in a neat stack. Alice softly touched Elgar's compiled sheet music, and carefully she put new candles in the candle holders. A faint smile lit up Alice's eyes as she glanced her own Christmas stocking, its embroidery was already worn, the stitches were uncertain, like a child's first attempts, (which they had been) and a little frayed. The candles burned softly, and light deepened the starkness of the room, and sighing quietly, Alice hummed Christmas choir hymns, that she had sung in midnight Mass, the shimmering decants, had been as always, heavenly. She straightened her posture, as she swept hems of her green dress as she passed, the shade was for evergreen, a symbol of survival, which was also liturgically and seasonally appropriate at this time.
Alice tip-toed into kitchen, a spice cake was baking in the oven, the air smelled of ginger, cinnamon, nutmeg, and orange peel. Greenish yew sprigs were in decorative vases around the house, and feeling restless Alice sat watching the cake, as she half-carelessly read a few Christmas cards, and greetings that were piled up. The front door opened, and Alice recognized her mother's steps, and in a low voice she said, "In about an hour I'll go and visit Ingelside, and take that cake, and some presents, and before you deny it, I'll point out that I've been invited there to-day." Mrs. Parker, sat a little heavily on the kitchen chair, and crossed her arms. The silence hummed as Alice carefully took, cake out of the oven to cool. Finally said in a weary tone, "Darling, you happened to sing very beautifully at Mass, as did the rest of the choir. So all that practice hasn't gone to waste. Somehow it seems like music can open all kinds of doors for you if you want it to, in certain social circles musicality is a virtue, not a vice. Alice, I happened to be in your room, and I noticed that you had received expensive gifts, from someone. Perhaps they were from that young man who wrote you those long letters, that were filled with light scent of jasmine? I know very well that you hate me meddling in your affairs, and think of me as old-fashioned, which perhaps I am, but I sincerely only want the best for you, in everything. We are not wealthy and I want your future to be secured. Is it so wrong that a mother wants the best for her daughter, her only one?"
Alice turned to look at her mother. And gently, but with unflinching calm she uttered " We have never been able to communicate with each other, and this house has not been my home for years, my life is in Redmond, now. Even if I do not marry, some suitable man, as you have wished for years. I have to say that your Austenian airs are sometimes so comical. Mother, I can to promise you that I will do what I want with my life, on my own terms, as outlandish as that can sound, and that includes top grades from Redmond."
The only response was a resigned sigh as Mrs Parker got up to slice the cake onto the serving plates, and then she said coolly, "It seems you have powerful and wealthy contacts or admirers though, and that's always a good thing, that necklace is utterly wonderful and so is the perfume, it is captivating, you really should use it." Hearing her mother's cutting words, Alice stiffened, and she coldly said "What right do you have to go through my things?" Mrs Parker shrugged her shoulders and said "They were in plain sight, and not under lock or key, and surely I can know what sort of company you spend your leisure time with amid lectures. Your letters have been so scarce. Do not sulk, so darling, it is so unbecoming. Come now, do take your cake, and enjoy your Ingelsidean revelry, and give my warmest greetings to delightful Anne Blythe, and sweet Rosemary Meredith, if Merediths are there, too."
After Alice had left, in a high dungeon, that fleeting icy way of hers. Alone in the living room, Mrs Parker took up her everlasting embroidery hoop, and a light scent of rosewater hung in the air, it mixed with furniture polish, and slight scent of pipe tobacco from Dick´s office, and feeling pleased Mrs Parker embroidered, her needle flashed, like shard of ice in the clear light.
Gertrude Olivier was drinking tea in Ingelside's living room. Alice Parker, dressed in green, had just arrived, carrying a cake box filled with the scent of steaming spice cake. Susan had singlehandedly taken the box from Alice, opened it curiously, and declared, "Spice cake, are there strange spices in it?" Gertrude heard that Alice replied to Susan in her regal, sweet way, that was strained. "Susan, a perfectly ordinary recipe, nothing remarkable about it, no strangeness, I can swear to it." Susan only sinffed in doubtfull way as she went to kitchen.
Ingelside's girls and Alice had gathered under the fir tree to exchange small gifts. The room echoed with happy exclamations. Rilla got dress patterns from Alice, Nan stationery and candies, and Di, a notebook with gilded pages. On the small table was a stack of books that had been stripped of their papers the day before. Late romantic poetry, and novels and gothic mysteries that had been lacking from the collections. Suddenly the momentary silence was broken by Alice's slightly trembling voice, "How did you know, Di, this goes perfectly with another piece." Di's answer, warm humor in her voice, was like a caress. "You know, someone else said the same thing. Fortunately, I happened to visit a place that seems to be outside of time." Gertrude glanced towards rug where Alice and Di sat with their skirts around them, and they were glancing at some folder that seemed to contain sheet music.
Nan sat down in the armchair beside Gertrude and she sighed and said lightly "Well, luckily it's not French, though it's more music, as if Primrose Hollow didn't have quite enough of it already." Gertrude glanced sharply at Nan, and remarked in careful friendly tone "Nan, I remember that last summer in Rainbow Valley Di showed me some French poems, she hardly reads them anymore, or does she?"
The shadow of candles fluttered across Nan's delicate features, and she said slowly, "All this term Di has been beating me in French, and she reads several French novels and poems in her spare time, but I'm sure I don't know exactly what you're referring to. So it's only fair and square, that she will get higher marks. I am still ahead in literature generally, except in a few courses, for the Perennial takes up so much of her time, as does our Red Cross work." Gertrude nodded, remaining silent and drinking her tea, for Nan's voice had a tone that seemed vague, as if she were trying to convince herself of something.
Musing silence was broken by the sparkling piano. Music shimmered, like waves, like her mystical dreams, and shivering when the music stopped, Gertrude walked to the piano, and inquired of Alice and Di, "Excuse me, I'd be very interested to know what that recent piano piece was?" A faint smile shone in Di's eyes as she glanced towards Alice, as Alice beheld the sheet music as she said seriously "It was Mahler. Di completely surprised me with this gift. I have been wanting to get a closer look at this for months, and all library copies of this work have been on loan. I happen to have active interest in German music, and I do realise that in current circumstances that is less than ideal." Frowning, Gertrude glanced at the tattered sheet music, in a worn burgundy folder, it was piece called Rükert-Lieder.
And glancing sharply at Alice with her dark eyes, Gertrude remarked, "Well, quite. Patriotism is extremely important these days, and that's not at all appropriate, but I don't think music can be blamed for the present state of the world." Di glanced reproachfully at Gertrude, and she offered softly, "As it is quite late, I will walk with you to Lowbridge, Alice. Fresh air flew into Ingelside's warm living room after Di and Alice. For a brief moment their shadows danced on the snowy road, then they dwindled, as girls had turned on the fir-shaded corner.
Gertrude said to Anne thoughtfully, "In a couple of days it will be the turn of the year, I hope 1917 will be luckier than 1916 was." Susan gathered the dishes on the tray and announced in her winsome way. "Lloyd George is premier, fortunately, and I believe that the 'Big Push' is coming, I feel it in my bones, so don't worry, dear Miss Olivier." In front of the fireplace, where embers shined warmly, Rilla touched Kenneth's letter in her pocket, and a small seed of happiness began to flow in her soul, instead of the cold sadness that had prevailed in every corner of her being since receiving the telegram. And sadly, Rilla glanced at Walter's photo, and thought about what she could possibly write about the past weeks in her diary.
Gardiner Hall's windows were covered with decorative ice crystals, like small, enchantingly beautiful flowers. Dorian looked at the yard, which was full of car tire tracks. Social laughter emanated from the salon, the shimmer of it seemed like faint, pale echo of Irene´s or Alice´s laughter. Grimacing he tasted now cold mulled wine. Not long ago, Dorothy had kissed him on both cheeks, in the library, his Aunt had smiled lightly, and whispered in his ear "See you in the New Year, we can talk then, I promise." The last couple of days had been intense, frenetic, social whirling, even to the point that Hortia's staircase had sometimes felt like it was creaking.
Dorian had felt more alone than ever before, not even Hardy had helped. And every now and then, as Dorian sat in the too-soft chairs, watching the Christmas tree decorations twinkle in the crystals, he'd fantasized that he'd get into the car and just drive to Ingelside, or the Glen, or maybe that enchanted place in called Rainbow Valley, not caring at all about the canes or his frostbitten feet, but that the dream had always been shattered by Adeline's polite voice, "Dorian come keep company, don't cower in the corner like a six-year-old. I swear your job at Perennial, as great as it has been, has only made you more anti-social. " And Dorian had twisted a social smile upon his face, and he had been discussing war-efforts, politics, art, and his own studies with Adeline's acquaintances and Royal´s associates with their wives, or mistresses, and all the while he had been quite aware that Dorothy sat in her gray silk dress, surrounded by a silent, expectant circle, as if invisible jackals were ready to pounce on his Aunt, but there were no jackals, just the usual Bluenose social circle Christmas party.