Ford residence smelled of light Madeleine pastries, that recipe that some years ago Kenneth had nabbed from Walter Blythe, by circular way from Una Meredith, that withdrawn, dark-haired girl for whom the old saying of virtuous but modest Reverend daughters with white slim hands and no wealth, brought to mind. Leslie had always made sure that Owen had these pastries with his tea, even under these strained circumstances. Owen Ford, with a small frown on his forehead, cut open a pile of envelopes, - the contents of the letters were almost always the same - requests to write for various publications, or to help with a certain donation amount, those fighting in the war, as if Owen could forget, for his only son was in the depths of the trenches, or from his publisher, who wanted to know what stage his latest manuscript was at. Wearily, Owen glanced at the letter in front of him, and then his attention suddenly sharpened, and the silver letter-knife fell clattering onto the oriental-style desk, and he carefully picked up the letter and rushed into the kitchen, the hems of his dark blue smoking jacket fluttering with his long strides.

In the kitchen, Leslie had just taken a hot sheet of fresh bread loaves out of the oven, and the smell of baking reminded Owen of the bluish evenings in Paris when the children had been small, and they had traveled widely after Japan in different countries and private residences. Leaning against doorway, Owen enjoyed watching Leslie, the grace and efficiency of her movements, in a low voice he remarked, "My dear, my treasure, have you had any letters from Anne lately? And did Persis, when she was in Kingsport, mention anything special to you, about Di perhaps, as they have always been close to each other. Our dear Whirlwind has been so busy since her return, that I sometimes I'm a little worried."

Leslie Ford swept golden hair from her brow, and taking off her modest, linen apron, remarked, "Persis only wants to do her part, we must not chain her, but encourage her. And you forget that I once did much harder work, and you too, maybe that's why we've always wanted to give them the world, within certain limits of course. They've learned that success doesn't come for free. But in answer to your question, I haven't had any letters from Anne lately. Persis just said, and this is direct qoute ""those few days were relaxing and pleasant as I sat in the drawing-room of charming Primrose Hollow, as if the old days had returned for a moment, though of course the war was everywhere, in Nan's pallor and Faith's nervous efficiency, and dear Di was the same as ever, in turn dreamy and sharply clever in her remarks, and observations, Lowbridge's Alice Parker, was regal and saucy, her cakes were utter revelation." I inquired no further, for Persis can be secretive, like a churning sea, that is my legacy to her, as you well know."

At the premises of Red Cross, branch office in Toronto, Persis Ford glanced around the large room, where there was a light commotion as workers hurried from room to room, folding sheets. Hall was full of narrow tables and shelves, overflowing with folders and papers, and lists, and collection items. A shadow landed on her work station, and a low, cautious voice said, "Excuse me, Miss, where can I put a few dollars, for the soldiers?" Persis looked up from her list and saw before her a pale woman dressed in a modest black worn coat with two small children by her side. The older child, was dressed in worn knee breeches and a sailor shirt. He had a runny nose. Smiling, Persis took a handful of maple candies from the box, and a clean handkerchief, and handed the candies in the cloth, to the young mother, and said kindly, her eyes twinkling, "Just keep going down this corridor, the collection container is big and red." The woman nodded uncertainly, as the older child said quietly, "Mom, does this mean we'll be eating soup all week again?"

Hearing the child's words, Persis stood up and calmly said, "Sorry, madam, I misremembered, the collection is already over for this week. And every other Saturday, Knox Church organizes all kinds of little events that are very child-friendly, there's warm milk and tea available if you ever want to visit there." The woman, nodded, lightly, and pulled her worn hat, deeper on her head, and with a quick gesture wiped her child's face, and said quietly, "Thank you, Miss, Thomas, and Susan, let's go, there is still much to do."

Sighing quietly, Persis watched the little family advance, and then they were gone from her sight. The sharp voice of the Head Matron said from behind her, "Miss Ford, your kindness and gentleness is a credit to you, but remember that every dollar is needed by the soldiers. Youth today, have no idea what and hard work and unfortunate circumstances can do to people. Yes, I've seen many families like that over the years."

Persis, took a deep breath and thought of the Japanese countryside, the rice fields, and dusty roads. Then there had been Leslie's shadowy eyes, as the golden light of the setting sun had shone through the windows of graying Moore house, which split between the dense trees, like glazed, unseen eyes, as Persis had sat on the lawn House of Dreams, and the way how Susan and Aunt Anne suddenly were quiet, as Leslie had been cutting pale linen with a slightly unsteady hands, and bloodless lip, as the pungent scent of pipe tobacco had wafted from the open road. There had been that old white jagged burn-mark, it had been clearly visible on Leslie´s arm in the wavering light. The cause of it Persis and Ken had never been able to find out, they only knew that Leslie had several such marks, always carefully hidden. Shaking her head, Persis, pointed out in solemn way, "Matron, you might be surprised. I'll put the missing dollars in the collection container myself, don't worry."

A few hours later, after her shift was finally done, Persis parked bumpy Ford in its place, and stepped over the threshold of her childhood home. A large arrangement of white lilies was on the hall table, in a bluish vase, their smell was almost too sweet. She found her parents in the living room, drinking tea. There were piles of letters around Owen, and his fingers were dark with ink. Worried, Persis put her hat on the table and said, " I can only hope that front has not been broken? Or is there any telegrams?" In response, Owen smiled and said, " There is nothing, war-related, so be at ease."

Persis laid down her gloves beside her hat, and sat down at the tea-table, and in her lively manner she broke off a piece of Madeleine pastry, saying, "I must send Ken a care-parcel, in his last letter dear brother complained that his sandalwood cologne was all gone, and he also wished for something to read, something small but concise that restores his faith in the world in the midst of horror. I asked about this when I visited Redmond and all I got was a long list of both prose and poetry, but somehow I think if I send Shelley, Byron, or Whitman to Ken, I'll get in the return mail of a somewhat sarcastic letter, for though my brother loves poetry, he is not Walter in his reading habits. Proust is too thick, though it would be a very good choice, for he has new volumes that Ken has not read."

Leslie said, in her particular way " Oh, by the way darling, earlier today a bouquet of lilies, with a card and a letter was brought here. The flowers are on the hall table. I remember the times when the table in the hall was full of scented cards and dance invitations, and now there are only circulars. " Leslie handed her daughter an envelope and a penknife. Persis tapped her spoon into the teacup, and said nonchalantly, "I noticed them when I came in, but usually if there are store flowers here they are generally roses. For all the usual suspects, Ken's old buddies are up front, as well as most of the Toronto´s youth." After glancing curiously at the neat but strange handwriting, Persis cut open the envelope, and two beautiful orchid flowers fell on the tablecloth, and smoothing the letter Persis, glancing at the pages, as she folded the letter into her pocket, and stirred her tea humming Puccini. Owen remarked, "Do you miss Japan?" Persis giggled in her golden, catchy way and said cheerfully, "Not really, anymore, Di just happened to play this when I was visiting Primrose Hollow, and it stuck in my mind rather."

The afternoon sun hit large windows of Gardiner Hall, making them glisten, and the heavy dark and colorful velvet curtains had been removed from the windows, and folded, hand-woven lace, by the yard, was in their place. The birds were chirping in their nests, the honeysuckle was fragrant, the ivy was glowing green and the grass fields were a shimmering green. The Hall rose on its little hill, like a lonely enchanting cloud dominating its surroundings with its beauty, the well-kept sandy paths were neat, and two black cars were in the yard. Two servants carried fresh flower arrangements from the greenhouse towards the main house.

Royal Gardiner sighed, and frowning, he folded new reams of bills into a different pile, and said sternly, "Adeline, is there any reason why Dorian sits in the Hall library in his spare time surrounded by works on socialism, and our familys photo albums, and varied correspondence among other things? I happened to glance at the albums, and one page in particular was folded open, it's great that he's finally interested in our background, but the timing is very peculiar, I have to say." Adeline looked up from the cloth she was embroidering with colored silk threads, for the Laidies Aid had collectively decided to embroider, and after a moment's silence she said pointedly, "Unfortunately, those photo albums and letters are my fault, for I happened to mention something, unfortunately Dorian took an interest. Adeline nervously fingered the silk thread that glowed the color of burnt orange, and she continued, "Do you remember Royal when you had been trying for weeks and weeks to get our mother interested in selling our family´s stock-shares for profit, mother had resisted, but then she suddenly agreed, this was about two years before she passed, Dorothy had been sent to finishing school in France, like me, years before."

Royal, tapped his fingers together, and tried to remember, as Adeline's words, had awakened a faint memory in him. There had been many family meetings in the Gardiners' bleak townhouse, a deep, hushed, tormented silence, and conversations that were always broken by angry, bitter whispers, as the far-flung Gardiner clan had come to roost together. And one rainy afternoon, he ran into his cousin Claire in the dark paneled hallway. She had been modestly dressed, not at all as Gardiner should have been, in the latest creations of the atelier-fashion, but in a dark brown dress, it was fortunately made of sussurating, rustling silk. And her graceful face was pale, and she had dark rings under her eyes. Royal had wrinkled his nose, as the light perfume did not hide the fact that his cousin's dress was very wrinkled, as if she had not brought a change of clothes, with her. And her dark curly hair had been tucked into unfanshionable hair net.. She had raised her dark, slightly slanted eyes to him, and said lightly, the charm of the family in her voice and gestures, "The tribunal will meet soon. Unfortunately imagination is not the best part of our family, everything is so predictable. I'll probably be thrown somewhere in the corner of the Continent, in the best case, in the worst case, a quick marriage, with someone the family thinks is suitable, or both. I was only caught, if only I knew by who, for money can buy silence if need be."

The pouring rain drummed on the roof, and silence fell, and Royal, unable to think of anything to say, dug ginger lozenges out of his pocket and handed a small box to his cousin. Claire's frozen being came to life at the sight of the lozenges, and her eyes twinkled, and she said in her witty, light-hearted manner, "Oh, Roy, one day you may wake up, if you don't, you surely find yourself treading the same paths as members of our clan before you. Here a little piece of advice, remember that life is surprising and so is love, you can't really chain it, even if some try. A certain person ate these too, and it seems very appropriate that today I take one." The heavy mahogany door creaked open emphatically, and Royal shuddered to see a crowd standing at the door—a tribunal indeed. Roy straightened his posture and looked at his uncle's reddened face and said in his most endearing way, "But uncle, wouldn't it be best if cousin Claire got house arrest, since surely she hasn't done anything too reprehensible?" His uncle, waved his hand only once, and glanced at Royal with his dark eyes and said briefly, "You are my dear late brother's only son, and that's why I let you speak your mind even though you know nothing about anything, and it's better that way." Royal bowed stiffly at the rebuke. And his uncle's attention was already fixed on his daughter, and in a very cold voice he said, "Come in, or do you want the same treatment as fortnight ago?" Royal saw his cousin straighten her shoulders and shudderingly straightened her hem. The rain fell behind the windows, and the thick door slammed shut silently.

And two weeks later, walking past Glazebo in the park where, on that memorable night, in his Redmond time he had met his Titian Goddess, Royal frowned, for it was as if there were people sitting in the greenish shadows. Royal took a step forward, and said in a loud sonorous voice, "Is there anyone, if so please come out!" It was quiet, and then to Royal's surprise, two figures did come out into the light, and Royal recognized his cousin Claire, but the woman of about the same age next to her was a complete stranger, dark haired, very unassuming and extremely ordinary looking. She was dressed in a neat bluebell blue dress, the woman's hands were in blue gloves. Claire turned towards Royal, she touched the hand of the woman beside her, quickly, quietly, as she said briskly but emphatically, "Cousin, here is Miss Dobson, if ever you could help her get a job, even in a library, for she loves books, and music, I would appreciate it." Royal glanced searchingly at Claire, her words were everyday and perfectly polite, but her eyes were red-rimmed, and her face was even paler than before, feeling suddenly moved, but not knowing why, Royal nodded, and raised his hat, as the spring wind softly ruffled slender leaves of the white daffodils, and with quick steps he began to walk away. At a bend in the road, he turned and looked back, but his cousin and her companion were nowhere to be seen.

Adeline cleared her throat impatiently, sounding like she had been doing it for some time, and with a start, Royal giving her sister a pointed look, Royal said, "Actually, I think now I will want to take a look at that certain album." Royal turned the flimsy pages, and an oval-shaped photograph was revealed beneath the translucent paper. A dark-haired woman, the expression of her large eyes was amused, and self-deprecating, and her brown satiny day dress was modest, but extremely elegant. And seeing what picture Royal was looking at Adeline wringed her hands and she fumed irritably, "Week or two ago Dorian arrived from Redmond Musical Society´s Library in a completely peculiar state of mind, he only muttered that "I accidentally caused the librarian to faint, it was extremely unpleasant, " and to that I remarked that " Yes, there are librarians in the world, but you are only one, my dear. By the way, I've never asked why you recommended that Miss Dobson for that position years and years ago, she's certainly qualified, but so modest and boring, as if on purpose, although a librarian shouldn't be visible."

Royal, looked at his cousin's picture, and softly replied to Adeline, "I made that recommendation because I wanted to keep my word." And seeing the direction of Royal's gaze, Adeline grimaced and said bitterly, " She wrote here at the beginning, but our uncle confiscated and burned all her letters, or so the heresay said. Dorian is desperate to find cousin Claire's current address, so he's going through our archives, but so far he hasn't found it. I don't have it anywhere, though Dorian thinks so, do you have it, somewhere, because the last time you saw her though it's been years?"

Royal closed his eyes, and for the second time that afternoon he succumbed to the onslaught of old memories.

There had been translucent light of Venice, rows and rows of gondolas, and Valentine, dressed in her light travel dress of the latest fashion, curiously taking in the sights, and Claire's red parasol and shadowy closed features, coming to suddenly life when Valentine, in her innocent French-accented dialectal English, casually mentioned, " Miss Dobson is so helpful, in a quiet, efficient way, when I go to the Redmond Musical Society´s Library, sometimes we have tea, as the light falls on the pretty mirror on the wall." There was cool rooms in a house that was more like a small palazzo, filled with antique furniture, bright carpets, colorful fabrics, and art, art everywhere, and account books. Lido was full of tourists, Americans and Englishmen on a pleasure trip, and all those magnificent churches, with their paintings and services. Valentine had glowed there with a quiet, powerful happiness, in the smell of incense and candles, in the smell of the old cool stone.

Days passed there had been colorful glow of baroque music, with period instruments, and dress-up orchestras playing Händel and Monteverdi and Vivaldi. Vivid reflection of the stars in the rippling water of calnals, and the shadowy figure of Claire before them, up the narrow and deep stairs, candlelight on the stone walls, and the eternal hum of Venice. Royal had drew up plans to order a little chapel for his wife, money would not be an obstacle, and neither would family opinions. Claire was resting on a divan upholstered in dark green velvet, and she was looking at the notes her cousin had written, and after a deep silence she said, " When the telegram of your nuptials had arrived, as I knew it would, one day, I knew that perhaps you had taken my advice. Your wife is utterly lovely. Are the family stocks going up? For that is a very ambitious plan, but a beautiful one if it comes to fruition." Royal had looked up, and glanced at his cousin, Claire had nervously fingered the thin beads around her neck when the doors in the hallway had opened, and heavy footsteps had been heard, but they did not come to that room, instead they turned to different corner. Her dark hair had been as black as the night around them, and the smell of fresh coffee had flooded the room, it had mixed with perfume that reminded Royal of a rainy spring evening.

Then it was time to continue their journey back to Canada. The gray fog had dissipated, and the horizon had been stunningly clear. Claire had been standing by the gondola in the light, like a red stain in her rust colored cloak. Valentine had planted two airy kisses on Claire's cheeks, in the French way, as she said, laughing softly, "Let's write to each other, it's been quite lovely to visit here, I get so tired of hotels, we're relatives now, and we must keep in touch!" Claire had said in a nearly inaudible voice that had been hard to hear over lapping waves, "My cousin, be happy promise!" And holding Valentine's gloved hand in his, Royal had nodded, gravely.

And with a light sigh, Royal opened his eyes, and took a silver embossed flask from his pocket, and drank a long sip, Adeline glancing reproachfully at her brother out of the corner of her eye. Royal softly closed the photo album, and took it to the table that Dorian preferred to use. And then he walked over to rosewood dresser and opened a drawer, took out a honey-colored box decorated with inlaid pearls and carried it to the table and opened it. Adeline peered over her brother's shoulder and remarked in a low voice, "Valentine's correspondence, I imagined those would have been in the attic somewhere, but then again, no one ever opens the drawers of that dresser." Royal nodded curtly, and almost threw the letters and the box on Dorian's desk and said "My son will probably find everything he needs there."

Turning his back on his sister and old and bittersweet memories, Royal Gardiner strode with resolute steps out of Gardiner Hall, and drove hastily to his Club, for a large carafe of first-class brandy awaited him there, and perhaps in the dark hours of the night he might stray into a certain side-street, the apartment of which Robert had told him. Tapping his gloves on the steering wheel, Royal grimaced, remembering Christine's whimsical words, "That Parker girl can be quite charming, you just don't know how to handle her right, my dearest Roy. Men are so used to the chase, one way or another, even the most gentlemanly of you." And on Christine's reddened lips had flickered the same smile that had brought her a certain reputation in Bluenose circles.

Dorian Gardiner sat in his room in the stillness of Gardiner Hall in the bluish haze of evening, and read voraciously letters that smelled of spices and dried lavender. It was surprisingly painful to look at his late mother's handwriting, she suddenly seemed so very much alive, no longer just the pale, sweet woman in the photographs and the painting, the artifacts she left behind still dotted the Hall's rooms. And for the thousandth time Dorian wondered what had really gone wrong with his parents marriage, and why was Valentine not mentioned, was it just a loss that had been uncommonly painful, even twenty-two years later? Cautiously Dorian scanned the fragile pages, and at last he found what he was looking for, a small stack of letters bound with a dark brown silk ribbon.

Primrose Hollow was bathed in a glorious soft light, all the windows in the house were open, and a whimsical breeze brought the smell of fresh grass, Alice could hear Di´s humming as she wrote across the hall. Nan was talking to Faith on the stairs, it had been laundry day, and the garden was full of white linen, skirts and blouses, they were blowing in the wind, like victorious flags, of some far-flung and not war-torn nation. Alice sat at her desk, as she glanced at the sheet music that was in a jumbled pile on her desk, she sighed as she remembered that March afternoon when she had been sitting in a elaborate hotel in Kingsport, and across from her was Christine Stuart Dawson, she had been dressed in a blue flimsy dress. The lunch had been delicious, Alice had been carefully watching serene features of the older woman sitting across from her. Christine Stuart Dawson had crossed her arms, she had said, with an intense expression on her face, "You are quite lovely my dear, but that kind of peeking through the eyelashes is a bit comical, it is suitable for operetta stages. I am not going to devour, you in any way, so you can fold away those understated tragic airs without worry."

And almost against her will, Alice had smiled, and then they had talked seriously about music, and performing. Christine Stuart Dawson had given a few repertoire suggestions, that actually had been quite brilliant, in a understated way. Little later, as they had sat in the handsome rental car, Christine Stuart Dawson had remarked, "This was very pleasant, wasn't it, come to visit my place sometime, I can only hope that you like dogs." The car had come to a screeching halt as Alice had climbed out of the car without reply, for she suddenly felt that Christine Stuart Dawson's honey-sweet kindness was more deceiving, than Royal Gardiner's long glances and discussions, or unwelcome gifts had been. And she suddenly had remembered Dorothy Gardiner's hushed words over a year ago, "These circles are like sticky spider webs, my dear, tread carefully and on the edges, or you may find yourself entangled in something that will be challenging to extricate yourself without difficulty. I have some influence, but not so wide or varied as I would like."

And that afternoon upon arriving at Primrose Hollow, Di had glanced at her with concern and remarked, "you seem a little stressed, a massage might help?" And then she had softly, rubbed Alice's shoulders, saying reproachfully, as teapan had boiled on the kitchen, "You've been sitting too much again, it is those hard benches at the Redmod Musical Society´s Library, your muscles are quite stiff."

Weeks had flown, there had been quietly happy moments, behind tightly locked doors, after that little scene with Nan, in the twins' room. Carelessly Alice had leaned back on the cushions and glanced in Di's direction and said in a cautiously airy tone, "I never understood before why Walter sometimes compared me and Persis Ford, but now after spending a few days with her I understand the comparison, even though Miss Ford is a warmer in her manner than I am." Di had looked steadily at Alice and said quietly and very warmly, "I wouldn't say quite that much. Persis is Persis and she has her quirks and her moods can be variable. And you, you know very well what you mean to me, or do you want assurances perhaps?"

One bright verdant day in early May, usual set of letters and circulars was brought to Ingelside, and feeling tired from her day's toil, Anne Blythe fingered Di's letter. The varnish crumbled and slowly rustling pages opened with a small crackle.

Darling Mumsy,

Nature comes to life again, and every blade of grass and clover leaf contains its own little poem. Soon beautiful apple blossoms will arrive, and so will the lilacs, those flowers that my brother loved with such a passion. He's been on my mind a lot these past few weeks, and no wonder, because he loved spring, its sparkling fresh promise, dewy mornings, and the sun casting its shadow and light on every corner. He asked in his last letter that I should write, and perhaps he saw something of the future, in those last dark and gray days before Courcelette, I don't know, or he just believed in his own gifts more steadfastly than I did—which is very likely. I've gone through his leftover work that he left at the Perennial´s offices, and I can tell you that he was more talented than we imagined, and his vision was powerful and unique. I have respected his last request as best I can, with the surprising result that Sherwood Publishing House, the same one that Uncle Owen has always spoken highly of, wants to publish my first novel in their catalog for the next fall, if everyting will run smoothly. I feel like I've achieved something precious and as you can imagine everyone here at the Hollow were overjoyed when the news arrived, but I know it won't feel real until I've shared this good news with you Mumsy. It almost feels like a sin to feel this kind of happiness when the war is still raging on the front, but I can't help myself. I know that this is where the real work begins, as Perennial's Editor Saunders has reminded me. At any rate, I'm coming to Ingelside for a while when Redmond's term is over, but I can't stay long, as the Red Cross needs my help too, as I'm sure you can understand.

With loving regards Di.

Gertrude Oliver was playing the piano, strains of Elgar´s gently rousing Fingers of the Fleet, shimmered softly in the drawing-room, and in a daze Anne pressed her child's letter to her breast, and an intoxicating wave of happiness seemed to come over her, and with a trembling voice Anne exclaimed, "Gil, I have some wonderful, incredible news!"