At Ingelside, there was no respite from front-speculation, as Susan volubly offered her sarcastic remarks to Cousin Sophia, and vice versa. Cornelia Elliot, knitting in hand was holding court in living room, Rilla and Nan as her audience. Cornelia carefully placed her teacup on the table and declared, " I heard that Lewisons are doing Hogmanay gathering at their house. They have not, once again spared no expense, despite the shadow of war. Mrs. Lewison necessarily wanted to re-paper salon this fall, with some new wallpaper pattern that is the latest fashion. Just as if there was no war. Now when everything extra should be cut and budgeted for the war effort and maintaining the home front. There is talk on the streets of Glen and Lowbridge that bagpipes and violins would play rousing tunes, and vibrant carols. Mary Vance said to me only yesterday that is it's very likely that Hazel Lewison will be circling Clive Howard all evening. Remember Nan and Rilla that you won't dance with him even if he asks, for young a man not in uniform these days is something deeply untrustworthy. His grandfather cheated others in the cattle trade. Abbie Flagg told me that she saw some fancy car pull up at the Howards' door the other day, and Irene, in her reds, as usual, got in it. The Howards have always reached too high, in my opinion. Surely I can trust that you all will behave honorably in these exceptional circumstances, no frivolous flirting, or casting saucy looks."
Nan and Rilla glanced at each other, suppressed hilarity glimmering in the two pairs of hazel eyes. And the flood of Cornelia's speech was interrupted by the silvery voice of Anne Blythe, who said kindly, "Dear friend, don't be so harsh, young people can be young, as long as possible. I remember myself how New Year's vigils and dances were one of the highlights of my Avonlea epochs. Warm togetherness, and the frenzy of group dances, which gave me energy for the challenges of January and the beginning of the year in my own Redmond times."
Cornelia looked sharply over her knitting needles in Anne's direction, for despite the gentle tone, Anne's face had a slight shadow, and in her light voice there was a thoughtfully sad tone, as always after September. Cornelia sighed, and said vigorously, "This has been delightful, but now I have to go see that Marshall doesn't just try any of his old tricks, for Mary Vance sometimes lets him smoke his pipe inside, even though I forbid it."
Gilbert leaned against back of Anne's chair, and gently tickled the back of her neck, where a few red hairs curled from her rich hairdo. Flickering driftwood flames of the fireplace cast soft shadows into drawing-room, and Gilbert distantly remembered Redmond years which Anne's words had evoked. For him they had been constant, industrious toil, of two dreams. Anne's lily-white hand, and her evasive love, and Cooper Price, that prize for which he almost had killed himself over, with work, and studying, after that one spring conversation in the garden of Patty's Place, when he thought, that Anne had been lost to him, when smooth, velvety Roy walked by Anne's side at all the important events in Redmond, but he had had Christine after all, and peace of the halls of the library of the Redmond Music Society, where he had studied for hours, while Christine had played her piano, practiced different repertoires, level exams, and musical performances, photographs, and bouquets of roses in the spring, there had been champagne flutes, and silver trays. Christine's spiky irony, towards everything, which was completely opposite to Anne's world-embracing enthusiasm, that in the beginning Gilbert had been satisfied, because the contrast was welcome.
Irritated, Gilbert brushed his slightly graying hazel curls, and remembered what Anne had said a couple of days ago. Apparently, Christine had moved back to Kingsport, and she was distantly influential in his own children's social sphere. The thought was not at all pleasant, for Gilbert remembered too well the glistening smoothness of the Bluenose circles when Christine had walked beside him across the gleaming oak floors in her imperial blue velvet, and for all his personal charm, Gilbert had always felt like an outsider, even when the mustachioed men and silk-clad women looked upon him approvingly. That closed circle, where pastries, candles, and crystals glittered, could sometimes open its doors, but only sometimes. Sighing lightly, Gilbert thought of the twins, they would both find their own path, and happiness as he had done, by Anne at his side. Nan possibly by Jerry's side, and Di might write her way into the wider world of publishing, for very often in the last few weeks before going to bed, Anne had read aloud fragments of some of Di's essays, and Gilbert had noticed how incredibly proud and happy Anne was with Di's literary talent, and skill. Dreamy, brooding Walter was gone. He lived now only in memories. Di could bring her brother back to life, for a few moments if she would write about him, Gilbert was sure of it. Gilbert softly stroked Anne's shiny hair, and she said amusedly, "Should I start carrying a comb in my pocket?" Gilbert smiled at the love of his life, and enjoyed how familiar, spark lit up those eyes, so dear and clear, when Anne smiled at his husband.
Feeling restless, Di sat in Walter's room, for she had fled from Cornelia's prying eyes. And taking a deep breath, Di looked out into the sparkling foggy evening. Snow-heavy branches were almost touching Walter's window, and tiredly, Di pressed her forehead against cold windowpane. Everywhere Di could hear echo of Walter's satiny smooth voice, and the memories of their shared secrets and childhood seemed to shimmer in every nook and cranny of Ingelside.
A shadow flickered on the floor, and Di turned to meet Anne's gaze. Anne lightly sat down next to Di and said quietly. "On Christmas day Rosemary Meredith complimented your piano playing. If I understand correctly Schumann can be tricky, but it sounds so romantic, all those tinkling waves of music. Your playing might bring your brother's memory closer, or am I wrong?" Di let her eyes roam dim room, stacks of books, piles of paper, and a thin gilded fountain pen, that were all in neat stacks on his desk. There were pair of his ties, the colors of Redmond, hanging from the doorknob, and slowly she nodded and said. "In his last letter, he asked that when I came here for Christmas vacation, I would play as much music as possible, and so I have done, so do were not wrong, not at all. "
Anne glanced at Di, and then at the room bathed in dim moonbeams, whose owner would no longer return, and she said in a low voice, "When the news came I entrenched myself here. As days of that brittle, vivid September wore onwards, I was shrouded in my bottomless numbness. One day Gilbert read me his letter, and his words broke small pieces of my pain, so I was able to grieve, but every day is an uphill battle against gloom, of course Rilla's presence and Jim's makes it easier. I still sometimes imagine hearing his voice in the wind on certain days. You were his dearest sister. I remember when you wrote a very long letter to him, only last summer, and Nan and Rilla teased you about it, and I´m sure that he tresured your letters."
Di turned, gazing into Anne's eyes, which were almost twin to her own, and said, seeking lightness, "I think my brother was a dreamer, a seeker of golden treasures of rainbows. He gatered likeminded people around him, in the offices of Perennial. A kind of Peter Pan, in that his imagination gave him wings, and the ability to see further than the rest of us. Despite the fact that he was just as human and capricious as anyone. Do you remember how he liked to brood sometimes. I think we need to remember him as a whole, not just the parts we liked best."
Tired, bright laughter rang out in the room as Anne suddenly embraced Di, and said "Although you had your differences at times, you usually worked them out quickly, or so Nan said. Surely you must remember that he usually bared his soul in his poems. I like to believe that he was joyful, for his letters, both from Redmond and from the front, were moving to read. A sliver of moonlight captured in a envelope, with a pinch of fairydust."
There was silence, and outside the frost was pounding, and a quiet wind shook the snow-filled branches. And then Anne said with the utmost care, taking Di's face in her hands, very softly. " If Nan wants to talk to you in the coming weeks, I suggest you give her your time, despite how busy you are. She might feel a little lonely, I think, even if she doesn't want to admit it, for pride is one of the dominant traits of your dear twin, along with her innate sense justice and fair play. And I'll tell you now the same thing I told her, adulthood and growing up is a continuous journey, and sometimes it feels like new influences and maybe, sometimes even emotions can take over your thoughts, and it can take quite a lot of sorting through. But now, enough serious talk for tonight. Go pick out your dress for Lewison's Hogmanay soiree for tomorrow, my dear."
Anne felt Di stiffen a little, and her long eyelashes trembled, and after a little while, Anne rather felt Di nod, barely perceptibly, and then she slipped out of embrace, and the slight sound of footsteps echoed. There was a slam of the door of Nan and Di´s room. Left alone, Anne touched the books on Walter's desk, softly, before she closed the door behind her and descended into the soft nightly chaos of Ingelside.
Alone in her and Nan´s room, Di opened her wardrobe in resolute expression in her vivid eyes, as she glanced at the rows, of old dressed that were there. Nan's sweetly delicate, frocks, all the sweet old breaths of summer, and her side of more practical dresses, in various shades of green and grey, and white muslin dresses, and a hat rack full of ribboned, straw hats. Di sat on her bed and thought of her wardrobe and Primrose Hollow, where there was a dove gray suit, made on Dorothy Gardiner's recommendation, and a sparkling white collared shirt with cufflinks. Disgruntled, Di grabbed the sky blue dress she had last worn at the Lowbridge barn dance, mirrored it in the flickering mirror. The color accentuated her eyes very dressily, and her creamy skin, and with a sigh, Di laid the dress on the bed.
Di remembered a few too fleeting moments alone with Alice. The frost had crunched beneath their steps, and carefully, quietly, they had crept into Glen Presbyterian Church, where the snowy gloom and silence had reigned. Alice's braid had lightly tickled Di's cheek, with feather light caress, as they had taken their seats on the back benches hidden by shadows. The commemorative standard looked like a vague black smudge, this far away. A light scent of frankincense, violet, honey wafted from Alice's clothes, and from her hair as Di carefully embraced her. Di rather felt tension leave Alice's body as she laid her head on Di´s shoulder. And then the door had creaked open, and with a start, Di and Alice had slipped into central isle.
The gloom had been replaced by the flickering candlelight as John Meredith had come to meet them, saying warmly, "Ah, Di Blythe, you must be introducing our church to a friend, a rather strange time to do it, as there are no services here today. I only came to get my notes for my forthcoming sermon. Surely this candlelight brings a homely atmosphere, Miss Parker, though there's no incense here, or knee pillows?" Alice had replied with appropriate seriousness, "The benches are very comfortable, and the atmosphere here is very homely, but I do miss the smell of incense." with a small, almost imperceptible smile on the corner of her mouth.
Reverend Meredith nodded gravely, and then the light of his candle flickered on the walls of the sacristy, and there was only a light murmur of his resonant voice, "I was quite sure I left my notes here, yesterday, when Mrs Davies shared her concerns with me after the prayer meeting, but they don't seem to be here. Perhaps Rosemary or Una took them with them after all. Hmm."
Hand in hand, Di and Alice had walked down the corridor as organist had begun his practice, lush notes of Händel had escorted them out. And halfway to the decerted snowy road towards Lowbridge, Alice had turned lightly and she had said in a weary tone. "Di, a couple of days ago, my mother was rummaging through my things, and we had a sharp conversation. I don't know what to say to her. We all have been living in a bubble of silence, and knitting, but that is the normal way in my childhood home. It gets so wearingsome."
Di glanced at Alice and she said in her calm and reasonable style, "Alice, if sharp words were exchanged, the best course of action is to apologize, it always pays off. I know your relationship with your parents is challenging, but give it a try, as holding grudges is useless, in these times." Alice had looked at Di seriously, and for a time. Then she had risen to her toes, and planted a light kiss on Di´s lips, as she had said in light saucy way. "I've wanted to do that for days, but there have been slim opportunities to do so, as people are always all around. Thank you for your words, I'll try to do so, even though it's not easy at all. I can't wait until the holidays are over and we can get back to Redmond, and to Primrose Hollow. Lowbridge and Glen are lovely places, but sometimes I feel like a butterfly under a magnifying glass, even though I know that feeling is nonsense, it eats at my soul." Di had nodded and for a moment, Alice's slender shadowy figure was reflected against the snow.
Di shook her head resolutely, as Nan's voice slowly entered her consciousness, "Di, you've been frowning at that dress for at least ten minutes. If you're thinking of putting it on for the Lewisons, please do it. Since it won't clash with my own dress." Nan sat at her desk, a fully written slip of paper in front of her, and crossing her hands under her chin, she said, "Tomorrow will be nice, weather forecast promises a clear evening, although it will be very cold." Di nodded, and quietly she hummed Auld Lang Syne, and the notes of that ancient ballad of friendship rang for a moment in the room, mingling with the slight rasp of Nan's pen.
At the Parkers' house, Alice was sitting in the living room. Her mother had just come from the kitchen. She was wiping her hands on an embroidered dish towel, Alice said in a soft conciliatory tone. "The last time we spoke, I might have been a little too harsh, because of course I know you both only want the best for me." Surprised, Mrs. Parker looked at Alice, and she asked calmly "I heard some young people from Lowbridge are going to the Lewisons for New Year's Eve, have you thought of going there? I think it would do you good, to be social, and maybe dance a little ." Alice gazed dreamily at the bluish evening, and nodded once. Mrs. Parker laid a cold hand on her daughter's shoulder, saying, " Have enjoyable evening my dear."
Then it was time for the celebration at Lewisons. Their large blue-painted two story house was full of people from all over neigbourhood. The living room was decorated with spruce branches, and all polished furniture had been moved aside. The new wallpaper, its blue striped pattern, sparkled in the warm electric light. Norman Douglas's red-bearded figure was towering above the rest as he danced with Mary Vance. Mary's laugh rang out were pairs of girls spinning on the floor, Rilla and Betty Meade among them, Howards were nowhere to be seen, neither Irene's honeyed voice, nor Clive's superiority, the shrill notes of the bagpipes mingled with tingle of glasses, as laughing crowd rushed to the dance floor, as lines and rows formed.
Nan raised her half-full glass of Lewisons trademark punch. Feeling irritated Nan smoothed her gold colored frock. Nan had chosen this dress because Jerry had loved it. His dark eyes had twinkled with unspoken admiration, whenever Nan had put it on to Glen's various occasions. Emotional, traditional, songs played in the living room, they grew muted, as Nan walked from room to room dodging variable and cheerful crowd, as she was peering into one of the rooms, Nan saw several members of Glen's choir mingling with each other.
The stairs leading upstairs were decorated with silk ribbons, and carefully Nan stood precariously on the bottom step. There was no sight of Di or Alice, it was as the girls had vanished into thin air. Glancing around, Nan noticed a door that was ajar a little further down the hall. Then a bustling crowd of people flooded narrow corridor. In the living room, music only got louder and some girl from Lowbrige, whom Nan only half knew, was exclaiming that the year would change in ten minutes.
And brushing aside some strands of her hair that had come out of her braid, Nan walked with her head held high towards living room, hoping that Di would be there, but one glance from the doorway proved that hope had been in vain. It was quite crowded, but nowhere, not even in the corners, did Nan see Di's figure dressed in blue, or Alice's pale silk dress. Then she chanced to glance at the half-open window, and on the great verandah, she saw two figures, who seemed to be entwined in each other, among buried in bluish-black shadows. Nan squinted, the flickering flame, from the blazing outdoor fire, glowed in the cold night.
And the soft fiddle began to echo, Auld Lang Syne's notes drifted and Nan heard, as if in a dream, Di's amused voice ask, "Nanlet, did you think to start January and 1917 by catching a cold while you here are standing before open window." Startlet Nan turned to see Di and Alice standing behind her. Both girls' cheeks glowed, and carefully Alice handed Nan a glass of champagne, saying, "Well, will you come. There is soon final reel, you and Di can dance it. I dislike reels, but I like watching." And with a smile Nan took her twin's outstretched hand, with a light glimmering strand of a laugh Nan joined tumultuous crowd. A large circle had formed in the living room, and all residents, of Glen, and Lowbridge, neighbors, acquaintances, and semi-acquaintances, and old enemies, old lovers, sweethearts, or friends danced wildly as the year, 1916, turned into 1917.
The snow was sparkling, and all the windows in Gardiner Hall were lit up. Dorothy Gardiner listened to the ticking of the wall clock as she leaned wearily against the soft silk divan in the verdant opal room of Gardiner Hall. New Year's celebrations were in full swing. Earlier in the evening there had been a bit of a ruckus when it turned out that Robert Livingston had brought his latest side piece to the party, as his companion. The honey-blond, tall, blue eyed girl in bright red, formfitting silk had seemed a little familiar to Dorothy, but she couldn't quite say why. She had noticed that Dorian had been in gloomy mood all evening. Actually, the only thing she would have wanted to do this evening was to sit with Ernestine by their fireplace, and wait for the year to change while lavender candles were burning, but unfortunately that was not possible this year either. Ernestine was out with their friends, and she did her duty, maintaining the social unity of the Gardiner family, though it was the greatest illusion of all, for there were cracks everywhere. In Adeline's cutting determination, in Roy's smugness and possessiveness. Dorian, who was their hope for the future. It seemed that his melancholy had returned.
On the other side of the room, Dorian let out an irritated sigh. Irene's presence had been a surprise, they had exchanged a few stiff words before Robert had swept Irene with him onto the dance floor. And tired of watching the others dance, he had wondered if he should have invited Alice and Di to the Hall for the New Year after all. Dorian's wandering thoughts were interrupted by Aunt Dorothy's voice as she said in her warm, kind, manner, "Don't imagine that I didn't notice how you guarded me at the Christmas party. It was extremely sweet, but a little pointless. I can play this game, and I don't need your protection, sweetheart, but to be serious, there's something I've wanted to talk to you about for a while. And there never seems to be a good opportunity. So I suggest that when Redmond's new term starts, come visit me when you can, but if you can let me know in advance of your arrival, so that way, I can make sure my schedule is clear." Dorian smiled with quivering lips at his Aunt, and at that moment, the mahogany cabinet clock struck, the year had changed.
With long steps Royal Gardiner walked in the wide halls of his home, and podered. For some reason the words of Christine's last letter were etched in his subconscious.
Dear Roy!
I'm spending New Year in my beloved Paris, if I wasn't here I'd be at Gardiner Hall, enjoying first class champagne and the admiration of the masses. Remember what I wrote last time. Loneliness is gnawing. Next time I'm in Kingsport, maybe we can go to lunch, to reminisce about the old days when you pulled my pigtails when we were about ten and neither of us could focus at all on what we were expected to do, but then childhood ended and we both found our own paths. Paris is like paradise, even in winter, but you know that. I'm going shopping, as styles change so fast, but luckily I look stunning, even in these new Chanel women's clothes.
C.
Suddenly Roy faced Robert, who was straightening his tailcoat, his bow was slightly askew. In a low voice, Roy inquired, " Did champagne and roses for the beautiful Irene work, I presume, as she is with you here?" Robert smiled, almost raucously, and declared "At Christmas my wife wanted a divorce, which I agreed to. Apparently she met someone else while she was on the Riviera. Of course I agreed, so I'll be free soon. Irene is enchantingly lovely in her own right, and she's very musical, so I can say that the coming year looks very promising for me, for personal reasons and for business, too." Roy nodded mechanically and said a little pointedly, "Old chap, my house is no hotel, though, so behave yourself." Grinning, Robert raised his brandy glass, in his mocking style, and with a shrug he and Robert plunged back into the glorious din that was the New Year's party at Gardiner Hall.
At the Manse, grey dimness of a new dawn came slowly, but surely and laying in her bed Una wondered what upcoming year 1917 might bring. Perhaps during this year, the great push would arrive, Susan Baker woved that it would be so. And smiling lightly, Una slipped into the living room and glanced at the sheet music that Alice had copied for her. And humming lightly, Una looked at the hanging cross, on the wall as rising sun was hitting it beautifully through the lace curtains. All the soliders, all someones Jerry´s or Walters that were waiting in the trenches, at the front, or hospitals. On the home front people all over would hear that the soldiers' moment had finally ended, like Alice had written that Walter had used a term like that. Maybe peace could be declared. Then there would be hope, that there would be no more need to wake up to black headlines of newspapers, or shivering telegram wires would bring joyful news, instead of tragedy.
At Glen's station Monday stretched, with sleepy eyes he watched frosty rails. Perhaps new train would come soon.