February's dodging slightly watery sun shone through the window curtains into the living room of Ingelside. In the kitchen, Susan, gray-haired and solidly practical, taught Rilla how to make delicious offerings, with reduced ingredients, because since January, even on the home front, new regulations had come into force, ration cards, which precisely defined each portion of coffee, bag of grain, and portion of sugar, even in more severe form than usual.
Anne Blythe was going through the afternoon mail which had only just arrived. The letters rustled lightly, and they spread out like large playing cards on a small table. Patient bills for Gilbert, the latest issue of the Lancet, a letter from Leslie, and another from Avonlea, from Di. There was a letter to Rilla, Kenneth´s hand was sure and swift in the envelope marked with pockmarks of military stamps.
There was one from Kingsport, Anne opened Nan´s letter, and looking at her childs clear curlicued copperplate handwriting, there was a faint watermark of Redmond Collage in the upper corner of the letter, and the letter smelled faintly of rosewater, Nan´s fragrance of choise as it was, had been for years. The rustling pages of the letter opened with a crunch, and slowly, subconsciously, Anne's eyebrows rose.
February, 1917 Primrose Hollow
My time here in Redmond is spent working with the various collections of the Redmond libraries, which you yourself remember well, fondly, and with my courses. That is natural as my medium is literature in my Arts degree, as yours also had been. I'm progressing well, and I might even say I'll get a First this term, if nothing goes wrong. Mumsy, you have hardly ever told us about your life before Green Gables, I only know a little, and so perhaps you wanted to raise us all in light and joy, without grayness, but now world has thrown before us a destruction that has shaken the foundations of the world. This grim, bloody war is everywhere, there's no escaping it, not even here. There are collection points and advertisements and encouragement for Red Cross fundraisings on every corner.
VAD flyers are being distributed at a furious pace, nowadays they are even in library lobbies, that was not the case in Autum. The propaganda machine grinds on, and my brother's poem still appears occasionally, but not as often as before. The people of Kingsport are busy going about their business, and sometimes black mourning clothes are seen on the streets, more as well as black armbands.
And we here at Primrose Hollow still wear mourning clothes, especially Di is very particular about this. She and Alice dyed a new set again. Using the shared bathroom was challenging, at that time, because there were wet, hanging, dripping skirts and dresses everywhere.In the last month I have been accompanied Dorian Gardiner in various coffee shops - I know Di may have written to you about him before, so you are familiar with his name. We argue and discuss the materials of our courses, and we sometimes even help each other with difficult assignments. I have been able to talk about my brother with him, it helps. I find myself missing Walter. I know very well that Di and Rilla were his favourites. He was kind to me, of course, but a little irritable, for unlike my sisters I did not always have patience for his brooding airs. Sometimes I was blithe at his expense, never maliciously. Literature was for us common ground, and I´m glad of it.
Dorian´s perspective as his heartfriend - my brothers little pun for him – by the way is interesting. He took Walter to see Bizet's Carmen, that somewhat scandalous classic full of tragedy and passion. After he had told me of his and Walter´s larks, he looked at me with nostalgic, shimmer in his features and for some reason he hummed a snatch of a song that I believe is from the work in question, but the music is and always was more Di and Walter's thing than mine. Dorian said mischievously "One day I may well come to Prince Edward´s Island and Glen perhaps in the summer when the tea roses may be blooming in the gardens." And then, naturally, I started describing all of Glen's summer wonders to him. Dorian is very personable and charming, in his own special way, and I think if you ever meet him you'll like him.
I got a front post from Jerry. His letter was both lovely and touching, and I find myself missing him so much. Every morning, when I open the ink-stained newspaper and glance at the headlines, a small cold spot hits my soul, the fear that his name or the name of his company will appear somewhere, but so far I have been spared this. He seems to be safe. And I pray that it will continue, that he will remain unharmed, and that he will return to the Glen, and to me. Faith fears the same thing, and she writes to Jem almost constantly, and sometimes at night I sit in Faith's room and listen to her stories about the time before Glen. I can say that we are closer now than in our childhood, when I found her glowing rose-like originality, despite poor clothes, a little threatening, childish as it was.
Tell Spider she can use Grandmama Blythe's ivory crochet needles in my room. They're in the second drawer of my desk, in the cinnamon colored hand carved box I got from Jerry, if she ever wants to make something new for Jims, herself without Susan or Betty Mead's help or Mary Vance's tips.
With loving regards, to all at home.
Nan.
Anne slowly folded the pages of the letter into hems of her grey-green skirt, as Gilbert glanced up from fascinating articles in the Lancet in slight surprise. Nowadays it seemed like innovations were being developed daily. Doctor-soldiers, youths and volunteers who were at the front experienced and saw horrors, bloody fabrics of hospital tents, and the insufficiency of supplies, they sterilized what they could, bone saws, speculums, cloths dipped in ether, if that precious substance was available, flickering light of lanterns amid a flurry of attacks.
Slowly, Gilbert closed his eyes and thought that if he were younger he would have been the first to help, but that was his eldest son's job, not his, for the people of the Glen needed him, as did Anne. Jem's letters had been full of front-line medicine, and how that way differed so much from what he had had time to learn and absorb in Redmond, before he followed the call.
Dads, this is beyond words. I could draw the tents there are frantic desire to keep the spark of life, burning but sometimes it goes out, because the damage and infections are too deep. We do our duty, because the enemy must be stopped, and I belive that with all my heart, as I did when in 1914 the news came. Tell me if the winter's reddish sun is still slanting through the living room windows of Ingelside, and if Spider is still laughing in her bright way, if she does, not all things have been changed irrivisibly.
My love for all of you there.
JMB.
Ps. Tell Susan that I yearn for her bisquits.
Gilbert brushed curls from his forehead and said softly and playfully, "Well, Anne-girl, you seem to be in the spheres of Elysium, so come back to Ingelside my love, down to earth, instead of reams of air vistas."
Anne glanced at Gilbert, and said quietly, "When I read my children's letters from Redmond, I think that their world is quite different from my own years there, in those paths of knowledge and the peace of the library, and the wide halls and glimmering dances, and homely atmosphere of Patty's Place." Silently, Gilbert watched the slanting light of the slowly setting sun through the windows.
It glittered on Anne's red hair, making it glow. And in a whisper he said "You know, house is empty this evening. Susan is going to her cousin's to sew, and Rilla is taking Jims to Betty Meade's."
With light smile that lightened her features, Anne nodded and answered with a nonverbal way. Gilbert's solid, warm and above all safe arm around her was a promise, as all their children had been, each in their own unique way. The promise of belonging, the chilling, clinging loneliness, the tearing away of that foggy gray veil through which love had broken years ago. Trembling inwardly, Anne felt Gilbert's strong heartbeat under her hands, that sound soothed her.
The clinking of the tea set could be heard faintly from the kitchen, and Gilbert pressed a quiet, possessive kiss to Anne's forehead, as Rilla entered the living room and with reddened cheeks grabbed one of the letters from the table and ran with quick steps upstairs.
Susan appeared with tea, and she declared "Little Kitchener is as a decent little boy should be. I never thought it would be like that when dear Rilla brought him here in that over-decorated english soup bowl. Whenever Jekyll lurks in the kitchen, I fear the hideous animal will have a fit and jump on the bowl, so today I moved it to safety, out of sight. And you know, Jekyll left too. Perhaps the animal has wanted a bowl for itself all this time, for some inexplicable reason? Even if I live to be a hundred years old, I will never understand that creature, it is full of original sin." Anne laughed her silvery laugh, and Gilbert enjoyed looking at her.
A couple of hours later, out of breath, Gilbert swept Anne's heavy braid off her shoulder. Gilbert's shoulders tingled as Anne's nails had been passionately clawing at his shoulders. Gilbert knew very well that sometimes Anne got into certain moods, the results of which they both enjoyed very much. Tonight there had been something burningly sparkling in Anne, as if she wanted to chase away some old memory, or shadow, with her greedy touch. Silently Gilbert gazed upon the clear even features of his dear sleeping wife, and cautiously pressed a voracious kiss upon her lace and linen covered shoulder.
The front door creaked open, and Gilbert heard Susan and Rilla talking quietly downstairs. And then everything went quiet. Denizens of Ingelside slumbered, only Jekyll-Hyde was awake, with a handsome leap he leaped onto Susan's kitchen table and sat on it, purring contentedly, his greenish eyes glinted.
Doctor Parkers' house that large, and rambling affair, in Lowbrige had been quiet for years. Far away were those golden years when Dr. Parker's two sons, rascally Andrew, and wild, William, who had most horrible nickname, by young fry of Glen, had fought in the yard, as darling Cora, Mrs Parker´s favorite had sat in the shady corner and done her embroidery of Golden Verses. Sometimes Gilbert and Dick had locked themselves in Dicks office as Mrs Parker had tried to entertain that strange and redheaded Anne Blythe, who had seemed so pale and strained.
Rumor had it that a lady related to Dr Blythe controlled everything in that once harmonious household named Ingelside. And so, to help had agreed to take on peculiar little lad, Walter for a short visit. Alice had been in those days only a child, all rose and gold, and strange aloofness. Even now after all these years had gone Mrs Parker still remembered that she had looked out of the window, when the deafening tumult had died down that evening, and seen Alice, in .her pale dress, and Walter, in his neat clothes, with an Ingelside linen stamp on them, courtesy of Susan Baker, sitting quietly side by side under the apple tree. And she had thought that perhaps now her most difficult child would perhaps find someone who understood her - and so it had been.
Namely, truth was that substance of her life had been her children. And now they were all gone, from her reach and sphere of influence, in one way or other and that reality was painful. Cora had years ago been married to a priest, of proper faith, and she was now content in Ontario, there were no children, not yet, despite all prayers. And her sons were at the front. Alice was content amid academic grades, music, knittigs, and toil in hallowed halls of Redmond, or so she had assured Mrs. Parker in her most recent letter. Unlike her, Anne Blythe still had her youngest at home, and that so charming little orphan boy, that Rilla had found somewhere in most dire straits. And now he brought light and joy in everywhere that he went!
Restlessly, Mrs. Parker fingered letters that had just arrived. There was another smudged slip of a letter. Its postmark showed foreign stamps, not military post. Trembling, Mrs Parker closed her eyes. A hummingly busy Dick Parker entered the living room and he inquired in his gruff way, "Any letters from your sister?"
Mrs Parker gave a half-nod, and biting her lip, Mrs Parker thought of her younger sister Charlotte, who had abandoned her country, and the faith of their fathers all for love. Blonde, light-hearted Lotte, with her pack and passel of darkhaired charming children, three boys and one girl, now all captured in this turbulence of War, on the other side of that gaping divide.
Dick wiped his spectacles with a small chamois cloth and said " Looks like our boys are doing well, although that is relative in these times. There's a whooping cough epidemic in Lowbridge, so do not wait up. It hasn't spread to Glen, yet. My dear, weren't you supposed to go to the sewing club meeting of the Lowbridge Ladies' Association? Doesn't it start soon?"
Mrs. Parker looked at the clock. Startled, she ironed her dark skirt, and carefully selected an oval brooch made of her children's hair, which she attached to her high-collared blouse, and after pinching a little color on her pale cheeks, Mrs Parker took her basket, and her sewing, dutifully kissed her husband's bearded cheek, and buttoned up her thick coat, as she started walking through the snowy streets, towards yellowish house where the regular meetings were held.
Dick Parker glanced framed photos on top of the dresser, two rougish looking lads in allied uniforms, and a tawny-haired woman, with clear grey eyes, in modest dress, flanked by a serious-looking man with a priest's collar, and the last picture, Alice few years younger, looking calmly into the camera, with a dignified mischievousness, in her light day dress, in the background was a beautiful dark forest, painted on a cardboard wall. Dick lit his pipe, its smoke enveloping photographs in its curtain, and with hasty steps he almost ran from the room when telephone rang, loudly. It´s sound broke silence.
Soon children of Lowbridge, coming down the hill, saw Dr. Parker running out of his house, his coat hems fluttering busily and his tie askew.
In Primrose Hollow, Alice slowly closed the stack of sheet music folders, and dug out a lacquered box from her desk drawer, slowly its hinges opened. There was a neat stack of colorful, bright postcards, they depicted bridges, city skylines, boulevards, and forested mountains, and stacks, and stacks of yellowed letters.
Nervously, Alice spread them out on the crocheted bedspread, and it was as if the years had slipped away, and she was once more a fair, dreamy child, roaming the streets of Karlovy Vary. Town was renown for its famous springs, nature and climate, it had bloomed under tourism, had done so for centuries.
There had been period of few years that that Parker family had resided there, as Mrs Parker had been feeling poorly. Dick Parker had relocated his family to Karolvy Vary, for he had thought that perhaps the famous hot sulphurous springs and a change of scenery would do his wife good, as would the company and social support of her younger sister and her family, who, as locals, could help.
Parkers had been living in rented rooms only a street away from her sisters home. Alice´s cousins, and their old and stern governess had taught her Czech during that time, as she had been eager to learn. There had been incredibly beautiful nature that spread before her eyes as she was carefully lifted to peer over the handsome stone bridges. Not to mention the local food and pastries, which had been something completely new when compared to the Glen's or Lowbridge´s offerings.
As the years had passed, Alice had sometimes traveled with her father, all over Austria-Hungary, Bohemia, Moravia and Silesia, for his skills as a doctor were in demand, always, in inns and mountain villages, and in crowded houses in cities. From his years in Karlovy Vary, Dick Parker developed a wide network of contacts that had been boon to him. The last trip had been in 1911.
Alice had been sitting in the cafe, with the July-August sun breaking from the cloudless sky. She had looked around and felt the almost palpable dissatisfaction in the air. Balkans were seething, and local liberal politics and nationalistic ideas rose more and more strongly from the shadows to the light. Here in Vienna, old Franz Josef had been surrounded by his great-grandchildren, and officials and the accelerating modernizing world slowly trickled past the closed gates and wide elaborate barqoue grounds of Schönbrunn. While walking in green park area Alice had seen the statue of the assassinated empress and leaning against pillar, Alice had looked at the beautiful but sad features immortalized in the marble. Press enjoyed reporting the scandals of the Habsburg grandchildren shamelessly with the most selling headlines possible.
Feeling tired from heat, Alice had stopped by a photograf studio and taken a photo of herself, which she paid with local currency. The photo could be still standing in the living room of the Lowbridge house, next to the photos of her siblings. When news arrived in July 1914 of the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand, Alice recalled thinking that the boiling pot had finally boiled over. Nothing had prepared her for the slaughter and chaos and gripping uncertainty and shivering fear that these years had been, and still were.
There had been unsuccesful demand in the headlines of Kingsportian newspapers in December regarding minority languages and the rights of ethnic minorities. Alice had followed it with keen interest. Before the war her cousins had sent her articles from the local papers when they could. Now there was only deep humming void.
Alice was shaken out of her thoughts as familiar footsteps crept across the room, and without turning, Alice said in a slightly playful yet stern tone. " creeping, won't do, my dearest Di, because, Johnstons of Montreal, my cousins on my father's side, always did that when I was a child. They also teased your brother, with wormy apples, among other things."
Di turned and sat down in a simple, straight-backed chair and looked at Alice in silence for a moment. And finally she said " I remember that in our childhood suddenly your family were not in Lowbrigde, and your house was rented. When you finally returned, I vaguely remember that there was a foreign note in your speech that took time to dissipate. Often Walter sat in the Ingelside´s living room and read Lang´s Fairy Books stories almost non-stop."
Alice laughed, and said gently, "Well, my Czech cousins' nanny used to tell us most beautiful and horrible fairy tales, and other folklore and one she often told was a variation of Rusalka. So when I returned I shared it with Walter because I thought he might like it. And now it seemed that it made quite an impact." Di chuckled lightly, and said playfully, "Well, now at least one mystery is solved. I never quite found out why sometimes Walter bent over the creek in Rainbow Valley, on nights when there was moonlight. Apparently mermaids, or rusalki, excited his his romantic imagination, in a way that other fairy creatures or fairies no longer could. Once he had fallen into the water, and Susan scolded him, and Walter had only said to him "If I had waited a little longer, it would have come."
Alice shook her head, and smiled sadly, for Di's words had conjured before her tender memory of Walter, who had at stood at Lowbridge crossroads, as he had declared to her with a flourish and gallant bow, with a smiling twinkle in his deep dark gray eyes, "When I grow up and we're grown up, I'll dance with you, though I don't like dancing. It is too close, somehow." And so it had happened, as years flew by they had quite number of dances, some were formal and some not.
Di stretched and caressed Alice's wrist lightly, saying, "Nan almost tore our wardrobe to pieces, trying to find a dress elegant enough for the February Ball at Gardiner Hall, until I told her about the attic, and the chests of clothes, hanging lavender clothes-bags. And the relief that came over Nan's features was remarkable. I must warn you, she is currently envisioning a clothing theme common to all of us, depending on what's there. I tried to make a strong argument for mourning clothes, but I don't know if I succeeded."
Alice smiled gently and said "Nan loves pretty things, and clothes, the older they are the better. She's a real esthete in her own way, a romantic sort, no wonder she loves Waverly novels and social comedy of Austen. I could almost swear that Nan's dreams might come true the day after tomorrow, at least when it comes to clothes, because we didn't go through them all."
Alice, are you going to wear that perfume for the Ball? You don't have to if you don't want to, but I have to admit I've been curious about that scent for a while as you never seem to wear it, where is it? " Di inquired quite innocently, but her words had the opposite effect.
Alice stiffened and she gestured towards her chest of drawers, as she said coolly "Actually I've been thinking of selling it, money is always needed, especially in these uncertain times." Di frowned, and opened the chest of drawers in question. In the light, the teardrop-shaped bottle with a crystal cap shimmered, and the pinkish perfume swayed quietly. Suddenly Di made a quick decision, as she smiled at Alice, and said in her appealing way. "It seems a bit too much in our environment, but can you put on for my amusement, before you sell it?"
Alice looked at Di for a long time, as silence deepened, color changing on her delicate features, finally she nodded barely perceptibly. And in a playful tone, Di remarked, "Czech cousins, huh? You've never mentioned it before, but under the circumstances, it's quite understandable.
Alice turned to look at Di, and she just sighed. Di nodded, as she triumphantly, dripped two drops of parfume onto Alice's wrists. An intoxicatingly soft scent filled the room, as Alice leaned slowly and carefully on Di's shoulder on the bed as she closed her eyes, and Di grabbed green-backed Shelley from the table and leafed through it for a moment, then she began to recite:
Best and brightest, come away,
Fairer far than this fair day,
Which, like thee, to those in sorrow
Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow
To the rough year just awake
In its cradle on the brake.
The brightest hour of unborn Spring
Through the Winter wandering,
Found, it seems, the halcyon morn
To hoar February born.
Faith raised her eyebrows as she heard the clatter of pots and a little irritated muttering coming from Primrose Hollow kitchen, curious she flew to the door and saw Nan unelegantly crouched in the pantry. A little amused, Faith inquired "What's missing?"
Nan's reply sounded a little choked " I know there are a few jars of preserved plums here. I was thinking of making plum soup as there is potato flour. I have a recipe from Rachel Lynde that is perfect for February evenings."
A triumphant squeal was heard, and soon Nan appeared with two jars in her hands. And pretty soon aromaticly fragrant plum soup shimmered in the pot, first thick and then a clear dark damson color.
The soft scent of plums slowly spread throughout the house, and the direct result was that soon there were two footsteps on the stairs, as Faith laid a tea set and four bowls on the embroidered rose-themed tablecloth on the table. Di glanced happily towards Nan, as she remarked "You know, no one knows how to do this particular dish as well as you Nan o mine." Nan was flushed with pleasure, with her twins effortless praise. The candles were flowing and the atmosphere in the Primrose Hollow living room was extremely cozy, Di was playing the piano - old Presbyterian hymns, flowing, and peaceful as Alice was embroidering, yet another flower-motive. Faith was reading Dickens's A Tale of Two Cities aloud to all.
" It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only."
Nan twirled pen in her fingers and pointed out in her witty way, "That's partly true of our circumstances, in a way, isn't it? I've always liked this novel perhaps the best. It's not as darkly gothic as Bleak House, or moralistic as Oliver Twist , or his many Christmas stories, not to mention the leftover papers of the Pickwick Club, but in his own way, Dickens knew how to carry the plot." Di laughed and reposted, "I've always liked Henry James myself. I re-read Golden Bowl a week ago and it was better than I remembered." "What about Bostonians, Di?" Nan remarked in a light airy style. Di took a pillow from the couch and threw it towards her twin. It flew in careless arch, and Nan dogded it laughingly.
Faith glanced at Alice, and remarked, "This is why reading aloud almost never succeeds, very often it becomes a debate, one way or another." Alice put her sewing aside and raised her voice over light uproar. "And what about women writers? After all, there have been them in the United States like Edith Warthon, or Willa Cather, and Kate Chopin, if I leave British Austen and Brontë sisters off this list."
Nan laughed mirthfully, and remarked "Dear Alice, those names you exhorted wrote primarily social commentary and satire, twined in their productions, each from their own perspective. You know, sometimes Royal Gardiner reminds me of James' Gilbert Osmond, for he has a similar coldness and calculation, despite his charm, and Gardiner Hall, is a bit like that manor in Burnett´s children´s story, without the Yorkshire moors of course, atmosphere in the house, not the house itself. It would be interesting to know what the place was like before it was renovated, with enourmous personal cost, if I understood Dorian correctly."
Di glanced at Nan and remarked in a low voice. "If you want to know talk to Dorian's Aunt Dorothy if she comes to the February Ball." Nan brushed her nut-brown braid off her shoulder and remarked lightly "Of course she's there, I don't see any reason why Dorothy wouldn't be." Di and Alice exchanged a look that spoke volumes, and Di slowly said "Well, we'll see soon."
Outside, the wind blew snowflakes into the air.
Dorian Gardiner was Aunt Dorothy´s living room, and he was feeling flustered, for when he got beyond the vestibule into the cozy apartment it seemed that Adeline had been right. Objects and colors were in harmony, according to some aesthetics that was not entirely clear to him. And his aunt poured tea from a Chinese-style teapot into ornate and extremely ugly teacups.
Seeing his reproachful look, Dorothy smiled and said in her saucy nonchalant style, "It's been a bit busy the past few weeks and these were the only clean teacups." Dorian nodded in a faint way and continued to carefully observe the interior of the apartment. The divan he was sitting on was immersingly soft, and its color was soft rococo pink, the silk gleamed in the light carelessly.
And on the table in front of him was a crooked sandalwood box that could hold anything from tarot cards to photographs or old dance cards if Dorothy had bothered to keep them. The bookshelf was full of titles, and the leaves of the potted palm cast shadows on the walls. On the small round table was a sensual lamp, which Dorian avoided looking at, so he examined his aunt. Dorothy was wearing an oddly loose dress that was calf-length, with a square neckline, and the material appeared to be cotton, with orange silk thread embroidered geometric patterns on the hem. Over the dress she wore her familiar gray silk kimono, the sleeves of which fluttered as she moved.
Dorothy crossed her arms and remarked kindly, but a little impatiently, "Well Dorian, of course it's always lovely to see you, but somehow I imagine you had reason for coming here?" Dorian sighed, and finally after a little silence he said "Are you coming to Gardiner Hall the day after tomorrow?"
Dorothy glanced at her nephew, and with a resigned sigh she said, "I haven't decided yet."
Door slammed open, and Ernestine's dark voice called sincerely from the hall "Do-Do, I made a breakthrough so that means we can party tonight, it's about time, because I can't remember the last time we were..." high heels clattered to the floor, and soon Ernestine´s a handsome figure dressed in red and black was at the threshold of the living room.
A mysteriously ironic smile flashed across Ernestine's flushed lips and her dark eyes twinkled mischievously as she remarked "Apparently I interrupted the family meeting, I'm sorry, it's nice to see you Dorian, without the atmosphere of Gardiner Hall. I'm sure you frequent all sorts of gentlemen's clubs where the air is bluish with cigar smoke , and only wins and losses are discussed there, either personal or not. Those cabinets that are banned from us. They so reek of male privlige, that is norm of our society all over."
Dorian tasted his tea, and said in a sharp tone, "Actually, I haven't been to one, yet. I don't like those places, and I don't like what they stand for." Hilarity sparkled in Ernestine's eyes, and she pointed out to Dorothy over Dorian's head, "Look, you have achieved a miracle, your nephew can think, he can hardly be a socialist or a liberal, but the fact that he understands the pitfalls of the toxic business world, that's something ."
Annoyed, Dorian slowly got up and said in a soft conciliatory tone, "I resent your way of dissecting my personality, for you hardly know me, although you are obviously close with my aunt. We Gardiners sometimes happen to be generous, with our affections, if it suits us. "
Hearing Dorian's words, Dorothy had paled, and Ernestine said in a caressing soft but slightly sharp voice, "Oh, yes, I happen to be intimate with all kinds of Gardiner ways and means, you know, dear Dorian. "
Dorian glanced at his favorite Aunt, and her companion, and with a lazy gesture he reached out of his pocket for a jasmine-scented invitation, which he gave to Ernestine, saying warmly, "Welcome the day after tomorrow, if you can. You can complain about the price of champagne again."
When Thompson's car was out of sight Ernestine turned to Dorothy and said thoughtfully "I really didn't expect that, shall we go there?" Dorothy slipped to Ernestine's side and said in her poignant way, "I can't think about it now, I'd rather focus on you." A warm laugh that flirted lightly in alto's vocal register, shimmered and then there was silence.
The girls of Primrose Hollow were standing in the wide pitched attic of Gardiner Hall, which wasn't really an attic, as a rule, harried Adeline had only moments before directed them to the right staircase that led up here. An electric lamp had been brought up, and it cast long shadows, among the leather trunks and clothing bags. The place smelled of dust and dried lavender and rosemary.
Faith glanced around curiously and said "Do you have any idea what kind of dresses or other things we're looking for here? You have to take into account that most of the clothes are definitely atelier production, or custom work." Di smiled and said "The chests have lists I noticed when I visited here last winter with Alice. And the servants routinely go through everything, and remove any items of clothing that are too shabby." Faith opened a dress bag, and the light fell on the embroidery, and glancing at Nan she said "This is too frilly for me. Regardless of what I might find here, I've already decided to be in my own dress, because it's comfortable, and cozy. And if the bluenoses are judging, I simply do not care."
Nan eagerly opened the bags and rummaged through the chests, exclamations of echoed through the room. And pretty soon Nan had brought out two dresses. A shimmering yellow silk dress with gold thread butterfly embroidery on the neckline and hemline there was floral design, and one other, in palest pink silk. Frowning, Nan remarked, "there are a lot of pale pastel silk dresses here, with many floral or grain designs, in hems, or across bodices. And the style is generally 1890s."
Alice pulled a pale amber dress from one of the bags and Nan remarked, "Alice that would suit you perfectly, unless you want to wear pink, or maybe some other shade?" Di laughed, and said "Dear Nan, Alice wore that a year ago, so she's unlikely to wear it again, is she?" Alice nodded silently. Suddenly Di stiffened and said quietly, "Alice come see, is this the dress?" One of the bags still held a white silk dress of shimmering mangolia tint, with a rich hem, and Alice nodded, slowly.
Nan peeked over Alice's shoulder and remarked "Very pretty, if Rilla was here it would be perfect for her. Actually, in a strange way, it might suit you too Alice if you want to try. I found a chest with several corsets in perfect condition so that's fine now too ." Alice shook her head violently, for she saw in her mind a horrible picture of herself in that dress, styled like a painting of Valentine—it would be too, too much. Then Di pointed to two dresses, and Alice found herself smiling with relief.
The voices of the servants could be heard faintly and Adeline's crystal clear voice wa saying something commandingly about the flower formations that were at the wrong angle. In a hour or so, Ball would begin, and the guests had already begun to arrive.
Christine Stuart Dawson carried her skirts through the crowd, there were small serious parties everywhere, and no one was dancing. Businessmen talked in low voices in a corner of the library, and their wives sat in the ballroom.
On the podium, the orchestra played Strauss's seductive waltz. Suddenly a yellow flash in the corner of her eye stopped Christine, it turned out to be the other of Ingelside's twin, the dark-haired one. She looked very fresh, and lovely, in a yellow silk dress that Christine recognized as Dorothy's, it was a genuine Worth. And beside her stood a red-haired twin wearing a forthly pale jade mist-like gown, of s-siluette. There was japoniserie-style iris patterns embroidered all over the thin silk-chiffon. The sleeves of the dress were hazy and light, and the hem of gown, was flowing and sleek. Next to the twins, Alice Parker leaned against the frame of the chair. The girl was dressed in a narrow, simple dress of pale lilac, and misty gray silk, with butterfly sleeves, the silhouette reminded Christine of the time before the war. Next to the girls in a chair was Dorian Gardiner. Royal´s only son and heir was dressed in a navy blue and cream white form fitting frock coat, with a gray narrow tie, and straight black trousers. Christine smiled and raised her champagne glass in greeting to Alice Parker, who nodded back. A quiet buzz rose in the hall as Royal walked across the hall to the podium, and the musicians broke off the waltz mid-beat. Christine grimaced from behind her fan.
"Dear friends, colleagues, and others. I thought for a long time with my sister Adeline whether we should keep this tradition alive at all this year, but then we decided to do so. You have noticed that the arrangements are smaller and more intimate than before, and that the tone of the conversations is grim. We all know what is going on at the front, some here a little better than others. Once my dear son and heir Dorian accused me of indifference to the state of war, and now I answer him and all others who doubt it. It is not at all true. I have just tied the knot a major international agreement, and on top of that, the funds I have donated through various routes will go directly to Allied soliders, to improve their conditions, and to obtain supplies that are in short supply even at this time. There is a collection point in the lobby. Finally, I would like to say that please try to enjoy this evening and Gardiner Hall the ambience, and everything that is available here."
Resounding applause glowed in the great hall as Royal Gardiner left the dais in a satisfied mood, and the waltz tune continued, and slowly the Ballroom began to fill with people dancing slowly.
A couple of hours later, Di and Alice and Faith ran into Dorian's Aunt Dorothy in the library, she greeted the girls very cheerfully. Nan was sitting next to her, writing something in a small black notebook. Nan looked up and remarked to the other girls of Primrose Hollow in a delighted voice, "Did you know our mother knew Dorian's father, in Redmond? Perhaps it was near misses in romance, how thrilling! Apparently that white silk dress you were looking at earlier today Di, it had belonged to Dorian's mother, or at least that's what Dorothy just told me."
Dorothy glanced in the direction of Di and Alice and said quietly, in a somewhat emphatic voice, "There are certain dresses that should not be worn again." Alice closed her eyes in relief, as Di softly squeezed her hand in the shields of the skirts. Dorothy gave them an amused look and she said in a quiet voice, "Nan, that's enough questioning, if you want we can have tea sometime, there are things that belong only to family, I'm sure you understand." Nan nodded, and slipping her notebook into her little embroidered handbag, as she declared, "Faith, come on a tour with me, you haven't been here before. I have so much to show you." Laughing and chatting animatedly, Nan and Faith disappeared into the shadows of the corridor.
There was silence, and Dorothy looked gravely at Alice and Di, finally saying, "My dears, I know these are not easy times for anyone. Now I have to go find where Ernie has gone." And after giving Di and Alice a soft, serene embrce, Dorothy Gardiner rustled out of library in her coral red dress embroidery, glinting faintly in the light.
Quietly, Di and Alice dodged the partying guests. The corridors hummed with laughter, and singing, turning a corner, they ended up in a small alcove on the second floor, very dimly lighted, and pleasant. Di sat down softly on the peony-colored couch, and rubbed her toes, and Alice sat down beside her. Di rested her head on Alice's shoulder, and her fingers stroked the embroidery on Alice's skirt. And cautiously, Alice lifted Di's chin, and saw a familiar glint light up in her gray-green eyes. Only shadows moved on the walls as moments seemed to stretch into a small eternity, slowly Alice's pulse calmed down.
Then a raucous laugh was heard very close by, and quickly Alice and Di straightened their skirts, and Di slipped her shoes back on. Soon a line of men in tailcoats passed the alcove swaying a little, they were singing a very rough if not lewd drinking song, and Alice felt her cheeks heat up. One of them, a man with blond curly hair, declared in a sarcastic, mischievous tone, "Royal Gardiner has virtues and vices, like everybody else, but at least there's nothing wrong with his parties, except that they're rather old-fashioned, only the dance cards are missing, and certain kinds of amusements. At least no need to think about stocks tonight, although some of you do that anyway, don't you." The blond man turned theatrically, and by chance, he glanced in the direction of the alcove, and his smile widened, noticing the shadowy figures, and said, in a slightly louder voice than before,"Well, let's go back to the delights of the Hall, before all fresh champange has been drunk."
The wildly romantic rose aria, from Carmen, was played by the orchestra, as Alice and Di returned to the Ballroom. Di noticed that Nan and Dorian were talking to each other and Faith seemed to be chatting enthusiastically, with some women dressed in mourning dresses. Alice had a slightly melancholic look on her face as the fateful music played, so Di decided to get her a glass of lemonade, which was on offer in the other room, when Di returned, with two glasses, Alice was nowhere to be seen. And then a culturally amused voice said beside her, "Well, you must be Anne Shirley's daughter, for you look just like your mother in that dress. You are a little taller, perhaps, but by no means identical, to her. How is dear Anne?"
Di furrowed her brows and she said calmly, "I guess maybe you knew my mother back from her Redmond days?" The dark haired woman dressed in dark blue velvet gave a slightly mocking laugh, and said "You could say we ran in some of the same circles for a while. I didn't know your mother very well, except by reputation, and of course I heard all kinds of things, and the same is probably true of her about my dignified person. We met again later, you must have been a little under ten then."
Suddenly velvety voice of Royal Gardiner said "my dear Christine I promised you at least one dance. Shall we go now?" Christine chuckled and said sharply "Oh, Roy, you don't have to save Miss Blythe from me."
Di watched as Christine Stuart Dawson and Royal Gardiner slipped into crowd of dancing couples. As Nan came to her side, she inquired "What was that?" Di looked at her twin and remarked, "That dark haired couple dancing with each other on the dance floor were firmly connected to our parents' history when they were all together in Redmond, or so I think. Nan, where is Alice?." Nan giggled and gestured towards the library, "I saw Dorian and Alice walking over there, they must be discussing various things." Di clamped her hand around the cold glass of lemonade, tightly. Bathed in her own rosy love, Di had quite forgotten Dorian's tender desires for Alice, which might still be strong. A couple of weeks ago, Alice had received a long letter from Dorian, but Di hadn't asked what it said.
Dorian carefully opened the door of the opal green room, and beckoned Alice to go further. But the blonde girl stood like a statue in the doorway and said in a choked voice. "Dorian, can we go to your room, or somewhere else, as long as it's not the library or here." Dorian agreed, and soon they were sitting in a small reddish drawing room. The walls of the room glowed purple, and the furniture was clean-lined, and graceful, but not uncomfortable.
The flowery lamps cast a milky light on the walls, and after a moment of silence, Dorian said in a trembling voice of sincere pent-up emotion. " In the past months I have been thinking about a lot of different things, and as I said in my letter to you, I am still willing to wait, but not if there is no hope. It is clear that you feel only warm friendship for me, and I would be lying if I said that it does not hurt, for I would like more. So I release you from my request which I made you last August. Notwithstanding this, I desire to be your friend, and that you keep my mother's pearls to yourself, for I know no one to whom they are better suited."
Alice slowly opened her hands, and she said quietly, "Dorian, thank you for your understanding, and for your kind words. I think you will meet another woman to whom you will give those pearls with all your heart, though it won't be me, and hopefully not Irene Howard either. " Dorian chuckled a little sadly and he said quietly, "No, I don't think it's Irene either, she seems to be already taken for." Dorian sighed quietly, and with quivering lips he kissed Alice most politely on the cheek, and then he walked slowly out of the room, leaning on his canes.
Tchaikovsky's supremely romantic tune ecoed in wide mirror-bright corridors, they floated from the Ballroom. Alice recognized the compelling notes of Tatiana's letter aria, and for the first time since August, she felt relieved. Dorian's intense regard had been a burden to her, and not a happy glowing rose dream, as Walter had perhaps imagined it to be. Feeling joyful, Alice took a few waltz steps. Then there was suddenly pervaisive scent of tuberoses, so she looked into open doorway. In the doorway stood two dark figures, shrouded in shadows, both of whom stared intently at Alice, or so it seemed, before turning and walking out of sight. Feeling unsetteld Alice retuned to the Ballroom, very nearly running. There was half-melted candles, they fluttered in the candelabra, and the dance floor was empty, or nearly so. Nan and Faith were sitting on the chairs, and looked up when Alice, arrived. Alice sighed, and sat down next to Di, she could almost feel the nervousness emanating from red haired girl's being as Alice stroked her fingers. Di faintly slumped, as she caressed Alice´s hand, with trembling fingers. Nan gave Di a pointed look and said "Thompson is ready to drive us all back to Primrose Hollow if we want, shall we?" About an hour later, the borrowed dresses were neatly on the bed of the pink Suite.
Dorian watched from his window as the Ford turned around the snowy yard. Sighing, Dorian opened his beloved Hardy, but almost every verse reminded him of Alice. Frustrated, Dorian threw the poetry book at the wall, it bounced most satisfyingly. And completely exhausted, he dozed in his chair until the rising sun reddened the treetops.
And in the morning, all over British Commonwealth, black headlines of the various newspapers declared that "the technical terminology has been refined, there is now theaters of War, they are: Western Front comprises the Franco-German-Belgian front and any military action in Great Britain, Switzerland, Scandinavia and Holland. Eastern Front comprises the German-Russian, Austro-Russian and Austro-Romanian fronts. Southern Front comprises the Austro-Italian and Balkan (including Bulgaro-Romanian) fronts, and Dardanelles. Asiatic and Egyptian Theaters comprises Egypt, Tripoli, the Sudan, Asia Minor (including Transcaucasia), Arabia, Mesopotamia, Syria, Persia, Afghanistan, Turkestan, China, India, etc. Naval and Overseas Operations comprises operations on the Seas (except where carried out in combination with troops on land) and in Colonial and Overseas Theaters.