Private Gerald Meredith of CEF, stationed somewhere in France, as Nan´s letters to him went, he touched Nan's latest letter in the pocket of his military jacket, as he did so, he remembered his darling girl's witty, insightful words that he already knew by heart.
Dear Jerry!
In recent months I have noticed that I have adjusted my thinking, you know that legality and moral issues have always been important to me, as they are to you. In past golden, austere summers, we have argued and discussed almost everything between earth and sky, and we will also do so in the future when you return to me. But in these extraordinary times, I've noticed that things aren't necessarily as straight as I've imagined before, and even though it's been extremely difficult, I feel that now I also see shades of gray more closely than before, and thus life and its colors are even more dear to me, and more valuable.
I'm writing this little missive of mine, at Primrose Hollow, still. The house is quiet, it's bright in the early morning, and I'm wearing that thin muslin you've always liked, and Mumsy's old bright-colored fringed scarf. My head is aching a little because last night I tasted some soft depravity, - nothing immoral at all, don't worry, just French champagne, my memories are a little hazy. As it happened there were sizzling bacchanals of Kingsport's Bluenose, all spread at my feet, classical music, lofty speeches, and soft scheming, along with secret deals in the cabinets. I could only think of one thing, and that was this. What a waste! You may not know, but there has been a massive wave of recruitment here since the end of last year. The general requirement is that all men between the ages of 18 and 41, except for men of cloth, industrial or business men of some renown, or those unfit for medical reasons, should register for service. And they go, they follow Piper's tempting call, but the gold dust has settled, and though Warbonds are sold, and money is raised, and the mood is high, yet, standing yesterday in a place that might be little Rilla's dream, I found myself just bored, and irritable, and I could clearly see, that the life they live, including Walter's friend Dorian, whom you would also like if you met, is basically empty, like a blown big shiny soap bubble that reflects beautiful colors, but where is the soul and substance? Maybe this is the Islander in me, I don't know, but I know you understand because you share the same vision, there's supposed to be something deeper in life.
In a couple of days I'll be back in the Glen, maybe just for a week or maybe two, not more than that, but I'm looking forward to it. Would you like me to do something for you while I'm there, if so let me know! When Persis Ford was here on a visit, she told us, in her jubilant, flamboyant way about the package she was designing for her brother. I know you haven't particularly liked Kenneth, perhaps you find his Toronto airs a little exaggerated, but I will say now, that I was inspired by Persis' suggestions, so if I can somehow manage to get things sorted out, your next package will have something of a special quality that I hope you like, and not just a basic dose of chocolate.
I think of you every moment you're over there somewhere in France, promise me you'll try to stay as safe as you can. For when the news of Vimy Ridge got here, I was quite beside myself until I got your lovely, dear letter. I was absolutely horrible to everyone, and I was hard to live with during those weeks, because my world, was turned upside down, because you are the center of my world and my universe, you Gerald Meredith, no one else in this world, or the next.
All my love, Nan.
Visibility was poor because it was raining, cold summer drizzle. The surrounding nature, broken and modified, seemed to be waiting for the deafening noise that seemed almost to tear the heavens apart to start again. Jerry, touched the rim of his helmet, and nodded to his comrades-in-arms as they passed by. They were planning another trench raid operation, as large-scale trench raids were almost like a competition between the various Canadian units, with several divisions vying for superiority. In general, unlucky raids were not talked about, although they did happen. Jerry shuddered to think that Jem must have been excited to join in the planning, and maybe even lead, with his own unit. Jerry hoped that Jem was alright, they had not seen each other, quite some time now. As usual his thoughts turned to Nan, undying love, and hope reared in his heart, had Nan already visited the Manse?
Then Jerry's thoughts were interrupted when he heard, beside him, a hoarse voice say, "Meredith, you're Reverend´s son, aren't you? So you can tell me, has God forgotten us here in the nethermost part of hell? I used to strongly believe, but this mud around us, and there is so much blood, in our hands, along this wicked tumult, which is like an orchestra, as our comrades say, has blown my faith to pieces, as the whizz-bangs will whistle."
Jerry glanced gravely at the shivering youth beside him, about the same height as himself, but with blue eyes, and he said in a low, serious voice, as his father might have replied, "Donnell, trust that He suffered too, and wept, so He knows. But I know how you feel, for there are times here when I, do doubt, so I ask, do you have a girl or a sister waiting for your return? If so, put your faith in them, at least momentarily in His stead."
Donnel's narrow, freckled face brightened, and he said, "Meredith, I have a girl, and a sister, they both send me packages." Donnel nodded, and started walking along the muddy planks humming, Fred Karno's Army. Jerry smiled, for the air of that trech song was Aurelia, that tune that was often sung in the church of the Glen, it almost convulsively created Glen in his mind, he could almost see the atmosphere of the home church, and Nan's twinkling hazel eyes, as the girl had sometimes glanced in his direction from Blythe's pew.
The rain had finally stopped when Jerry, with wet and cold fingers, went inside the bunker, where the air was damp and stuffy. The soldiers in his section, his comrades, spent their time as they knew how, the section had been reduced after Vimy Ridge. With a small grimace Jerry blew into his palms. Under the flickering oil lamp, a few soldiers stood in a line, waiting their turn, Donnell was one of them, Jerry noticed, as MacAllister, gravely examined the skin of the soldiers standing before him, there were jagged wounds, of old scars, and faint inky lines. Jerry didn't wonder why, because he knew that before arriving in Salisbury, that group had visited a famous local tattoo artist, they had queued there for a relatively long time, as soldiers from several companies had been under his needle.
Hoarse laughter and cutting melancholy alternated, and the smoke of many cigarettes stung Jerry's eyes as he cautiously walked towards his own bunk. He hung his socks to dry on a string, which were zigzagging everywhere, and took the warm woolen socks woven by Una from the latest Manse package, their shell-stich was impeccable, and the color uniform grey, as was customary, and Jerry found himself suddenly yearning wool socks that were as colorful as possible. And with a sigh, he grabbed one of Una's bisquits from a small tin, and began to read the pile of letters that came with the package. They were motley mix, slips written in John's strong handwriting, it seemed illuminated by his faith, and love for his son's conviction and sense of justice, and for the cause for which he was in the depths of the battle trenches, also included, as was typical for him, a sermon ideas, and Bible verse recommendations. Rosemary and Una's letters were full of Manse and Glen's everyday life, there was also adorable slip of a letter from Bruce.
Jerry! You must be feeling better now, because your handwriting looks like it should again. Stripey almost died, but didn't, a real Easter miracle, even though that time had already passed. I happened to hear that Father and Mother were talking in the kitchen, that they would soon invite Nan to tea here. When the war finally ends, in Glen, there may be several weddings, or so Mrs. Elliot told Mother at church the last time. Why? Una bakes bisquits, for you, they are perfect because I tasted their dough, even though I might not have. As you certainly won't get any jam there, I'll send you one jar, it is plum, that is your favorite, still?
Stripey sends purr greetings.
BM
Jerry wiped his eyes, for Bruce's innocent child's faith in life, and of Una´s bisquits were suddenly very moving. Thoughtfully Jerry pondered that his half-brother was still innocent for his age, despite the deep shadow of war, for Bruce, had not experienced loss, yet, only everyday small sorrows. For a time Jerry rested quietly in his small cot as he dreamed. Then slowly, small opaque glass bottles full of opium derivative and bicarbonate, were handed out, again, row by row. When the bottle came to Jerry, he shook his head and passed it on. A quiet whisper in the muggy stillness echoed, "St Meredith." Jerry turned his back in firm manner, and stroked Nan's image with his fingertips. Then there was only coughing of his fellow soldiers disturbed the unbroken silence of evening hours, as the evening turned to night, the men murmured, some complained, and shouted, or lay awake waiting for the shrill whistle of morning call, in the grey inbetween hours. On the surface of the torn earth, a thin mist rose from the cold ground, flickering between the lines like an eerie promise, and the soldiers on guard duty looked intently at the eerily silent front line, over No Man's Land.
Di walked the streets of Lowbridge, she found herself in a nostalgic mood, for so many corners of this town had been an integral part of her brother's letters for a couple of years. There was the gate before which Walter had sketched his poems, and from it led the path where he had often walked, after his teaching days, and there had been his boardinghouse, that last, fatal autumn of typhoid.
Di walked straight-backed towards Dr. Parker's house on the hill, and as she did so, she noticed to her astonishment that several recidents of Lowbridge had muttered something, as she had passed them by. When Di knocked on the door of the Parkers' house, she looked at the yard curiously, everything seemed neat, but the flower beds still weren't as beautiful as they could be, and there were almost like broken eggshells among verdant grass, and some flowers were torn, they drooped in forlorn way. Moments passed, and no one came to the door, it was almost unheard of in Doctors household, so Di knocked harder, until her palms were smarting. Then finally the front door opened, by sliver, Alice opened it cautiously, her tense expression brightened as she looked at Di.
Alice looked exhausted, there were deep shadows under her eyes, and then a small smile brightened her face. And feeling worried, Di said, "Has there been any bad news? Glen's News haven't said anything new, but." Alice shook her head in silence, and then from behind her came Mrs Parker's recognizable voice, with a strained tone, "Lizzy, have they done anything to our stairs again, or our flowers, or is there a Laides Aid collection to be gathered, that I have forgotten?"
Alice half-turned from the front door, and Di said in a conciliatory tone, "Mrs Parker, greetings from Ingelside! I was thinking of asking Alice out for a little walk, now that the weather is so nice, if she doesn't have any chores to do?"
Mrs Parker, was nervously stroking the hem of her practical dress, she nodded curtly in Di's direction, saying in her aloof way, that was so familiar to Di, as that was sometimes Alice´s tone too when she was harried, or worried or both, "There's fresh tea, Lizzy has just made a cake from an old family recipe, take a few pieces of it if you like, to Ingelside?" And smiling her friendly, soothing smile, Di stepped over the threshold of the Parkers' home, a furious curiosity writhing in her soul, for the atmosphere was very peculiar and tense. Soon Alice in her modest embroidered blouse and dark skirt, and Di, in her old geenish summer frock, were sitting in the living room, there was a tea tray in front of them, along with a utterly wonderful layered cake, there seemed to be cherries in it. Mrs Parker cast a soft and loving look in Alice's direction, as the girl poured more tea into the blue tinted delicate cups, with a golden rim.
Di found herself looking more closely at the furniture and details of the living room, but everything seemed ordinary bourgeois, and a bit old-fashioned, lots of decorative pillows, and hand-crocheted lace, Biedermeier furniture, a piano, and a row of photographs, of Alice and her older siblings, that Di faintly remembered from Walter´s tales, of olden years, and three others unknown faces, two darkhaired young men, with vivid features, and one blond serene looking girl, all smiling happily, although the background of the photographs seemed to be unusually some kind of foreing city, with handsome castle and bridges, along with sweeping mountain backgrounds.
Di glanced at the notes on the pianodek, there was some Strauss, and mixed set of some notes, of a Czech composer who was not Dvorak, along with a set of songs by Wolff and Mörike, and Di fingered the notes, carefully, the titles read, Im Frühling, Zitronenfalter im April, Schlafendes Jesuskind, Karwoche. And seeing what had captured Di's attention, Alice said softly, "They are some of my aunt's old sheet music, and I found them in the attic a couple of days ago, and as a result I have copied some of them for Una."
Di grinned at Alice, and said a little mischievously, "You should visit the Manse more often while we're still here, because Bruce is devoted to you, or so I understand." Alice stirred her tea, and looked around the familiar slightly cramped but tall room with daylight shining through the lace curtains, and remarked lightly, "Bruce is quite sweet, with his fancies, he is very much Rosemary Meredith´s child, with that same love of music, it is joy to see him develop his skills, for someone so youg, still."
Di sighed and said, "Alice, seriously what's the matter, have you received any more letters from your relatives perhaps? Is that the reason you are so pale and wan." Alice nervously fingered her cake spoon, as phone rang loudly in the hallway, three long, piercing rings. Di noticed Dr. Parker walking gray-faced to the phone, the chains of his little pocket watch glinting in the light. And then Dr. Parker wrote something quickly, on a piece of paper, and ran into his study, and the front door slammed shut, so that the window panes rattled.
Alice gulped, and glanced in Di's direction, and took a deep breath, and said, "Rumors are going around, all around Lowbridge, and the front situation in the Balkans and the Italian Front are not going to make it any easier, that's part of the reason why I haven't visited Ingelside yet. I have indeed had duties here, as I am sure you understand." Di frowned, as she did not quite understand, there naturally were chores and errands to do, but, it was almost as if Alice was talking around some severe, horrendous thing. Di remembered the look in Mumsy's eyes and Gertrude Olivier's wary expression, today at the breakfast table, when Di announced her intention to visit the Parkers. Susan had been banging the tea set on table harder than usual, but she hadn't said anything, Nan had bitten her lip, Rilla had been feeding Jims, humming softly, some dance song, in her usual careless way.
At last Alice sighed, and said in a low voice, "I haven't been much around in Lowbridge since I got back, so a walk will do me good, and I have a place in mind where we can go if you like." Alice cut four pieces of cake into a small box, and tied it with a braided string, put it in a small wicker basket, and handed it to Di.
Therese Parker observed from the drawing-room door, as her daughter chatted very briskly and animatedly in the hall with Dr. Blythe's girl, and just before Alice was about to slip out of the door, Therese raised her voice, and uttered softly, and emphatically, " Lizzy, meine lieben, halte dich von den slums fern und denk daran, worüber wir gesprochen haben!"
Therese Parker noticed that Di Blythe startled a little, hearing the surprising flow of German, then Alice turned, and looked directly at Therese, her violet eyes, seemed almost translucent in the light, as Alice nodded, barely perceptible, and Di's bright, curious voice rose inquiringly as the door closed, "Where did that come from, was that perhaps a warning, or just a wish for a good afternoon?"
And Alice's voice sounded patient as she replied, "Mum just said we shouldn't go to the slums because there's been trouble there, I wouldn't have taken you there, so don't worry."
After the door closed, Therese Parker sat down in the soft armchair, and began to weave her bedspread again, the clock ticked on the wall, sleepy afternoon peace had taken over the Parker house, on the small table was a folded newspaper, the headlines of which proclaimed in bold print: Charles I of Austria-Hungary, visiting the fronts, there is now May Declaration of Southern Slav Kingdom in Austria, political unrest within Ruthene region in Galicia, and on the Italian Front the bloody Battles of the Isonzo still continue.
Gertrude Olivier walked calmly, and attentively, down the high street of Lowbridge, people nodding to her, kindly, at one corner, stood a man in a wrinkled hat, and in a stained dusty waistcoat, who declared in a loud voice, " They must be driven out of this town, there they are, on the hill, and scorning us, and surely they'll give information to the wrong side. Listen, no more going to his office, let's take care of our troubles at home, or go to the Glen, there's a patriotic crowd, if I see that girl of theirs again somewhere, there's no need for such around here." Small applause rained down, and the unknown man, looking satisfied, slipped into the crowd and disappeared from view.
Gertrude frowned and quickened her steps, towards the green and beautiful road leading to the Glen. The fields and ruddy ditches bloomed with hay and spring flowers, and soon Gertrude found herself halfway between the Glen and the Lowbridge road, and before her was a pretty little fence painted green, and a garden very shady, with apple trees and huge lilac bushes, and squinting Gertrude noticed that a pale embroidered scarf seemed to be hanging from the branch of a tree, and carefully raising her skirts, Gertrude stepped into the garden, and, reaching on her toes, untied the scarf from the branch, and folded it into her little basket, which already contained two books for Rilla, and one for herself.
And then a familiar voice, said from quite close, "I don't understand at all why you've been so cool during this walk, even though we've had a wonderful time here in this verdant peceful oasis." Then there were soft footsteps, and an irritated and slightly resigned sigh, and small low shout, and gentle murmurs. Gertrude started as if stung by a wasp, feeling quite morbid and depraved flash of curiosity, as she peered through the branches and saw a white-painted bench where Di and Alice Parker were resting side by side.
Slowly Alice sat up, and shook grass from her narrow skirts, saying in a half-playfully reproachful tone, "Idyll this is indeed, peace of nature has its charms, as I'm sure you intended, but you're not the one who got bitten by at least three different bugs, and it wouldn't have happened, if I hadn't lost my scarf somewhere in this garden, as you were in such a hurry to get here, dear Di, so I have a right to complain a little."
Gertrude swallowed, and looked at the beautiful cotton scarf in her basket with elaborate orange embroidery, and then she carefully crept out of the garden, leaping over the fence, and with quick steps walked towards Ingelside.
On the verandah was a tray of the famous rose china, the inheritance of Marilla Cuthbert. Anne Blythe hummingly poured tea into the cups, while Gertrude sank breathlessly into the upholstered wicker chair, and set her basket on the floor. Anne glanced curiously at Gertrude and remarked, "How's it going at Lowbridge? What's the atmosphere there, Gil said he's had some new patients from the Lowbridge direction, which is a bit unusual, but I'm not complaining, except that his workload is already too extensive, though in the summer months there is no great trouble, except at hay-making time. Did you happen to see Di? She is so devoted to Alice that it warms my heart, how wonderful that she has got a bosom friend at last, after all the vague friendships since her girlhood, and dear Walter liked Alice a lot too, as you probably remember?"
Gertrude, nodded, and she, shuddering with aversion, recollecting both Walter and his sister, and the recent scene of which she had been a silent witness, as she drank her tea with trembling hands, and said in a somewhat hoarse voice, "The atmosphere at Lowbridge is electric, and I propose that Di, would not go there in the future. Those newspaper headlines only make it worse. Remember what happened to Mr. Pryor's windows? You don't want Di to find herself in a similar situation, or perhaps worse, if she spends time at the Parkers' house, or with Alice around Lowbridge?" Anne's cheeks paled, and she silently nodded.
A silvery laugh shone from the road, and soon Di walked, red-cheeked and wind-tangled, to Ingelside's yard, as she cheerfully said, "Greetings from Alice, she had baked a cake, and here it is, so eat it!" And carefully Di placed the small basket on the verandah table, and opened the lid of the box, and soon everyone in Ingelside was sitting on the verandah eating cake, and Rilla declaired, "Walter would have loved this cake, as it has cherry preserves, do you think so too, Mumsy?" Finally Susan remarked, "A very light and rich composition, although this is certainly not made according to the prevailing rules."
A couple of days later, as Di sat alone with her note-book and manusricpt by her side, on the verandah in the soft twilight of the evening, Gertrude sat down beside her, and looked silently at the red-haired girl, and she said in her mysterious, slightly cynical way, "I happened to walk few days ago, by a garden half way up the Glen and Lowbridge, and this scarf was hanging on the branch of a tree, it must have been an apple tree, do you know the owner of the scarf, do you, Di?" Gertrude dropped the folded scarf on the vacant chair, its orange embroidery almost shadowy in the greenish gloom.
Di, felt her fingers tremble, and she looked up into Gertrude's dark, forebodingly slanted eyes, which showed a stiff disapproval that chilled Di's spine, like a cold wind. Gertrude said in a cool voice." I understand very well that you are interested in different ways of living, and literature may have widened your world perhaps too soon, there are also morals to consider, you don't want to dishonor your family in any way?"
Di found her cheeks burning, and a sharp reply was ready on her tongue, but with difficulty she lowered her head, and nodded, when Gertrude said in a gentler voice, "Dear Di, don't make life too difficult for yourself if there are other options. I was supposed to write to you at Redmond, but then I thought that talking about this subject would be better done face to face, that way there would be less evidence."
The moths danced their enchanted dance around Di, as she sat frozen, stunned, on the verandah, listening to Gertrude's light steps climbing the stairs upstairs, and quietly hot tears ran down her cheeks, and Di found herself longing for Kingsport with a burning passion, for that was where her circle was, and for the first time, Di found herself looking forward to the coming Sunday with a little dread, the diverse currents of Glen's congregation, and the varied, sometimes very malicious gossip.
Nan Blythe, looked around curiously, for the Sunday service had just ended, as usual Reverend Meredith had preached with insight, and feeling, and the parishioners were talking among themselves in small groups. Beside her, Di sat looking pale and strained, as she sketched out some text in her small notebook, and hummed a tune, that had also played in the Manse, when Nan had visited there a couple of days before.
Rosemary Meredith had given Nan a warm welcome, and they had drunk tea from West's heirloom china, and made light conversation, but still Nan had felt a little shy, standing in the Manse's living room, amid Una's handiwork and stacks of sheet music, when her eyes had fallen on Carl and Jerry's photographs, which had taken pride of place on the table. Rosemary had smiled understandingly, and nodded her golden head in the direction of the hall, saying, "Go, Nan John is already waiting for you." And standing in John Knox Meredith's study, amid the books, the light streaming in from the large windows, and the light dust, Nan had said in her clever way, "Reverend Meredith, Jerry wrote that you might have something for me, and I've been wondering what it might be?"
John Meredith, glanced at the dark-haired and dark-eyed girl, who stood with blushing cheeks on his worn carpet. He smiled openly, his dark eyes twinkling, and said very gently, with a slight catch in his smooth baritone, "We decided years ago, Cecilia and I, that the chosen one of Jerry's heart would get this, and when Jerry wrote to me, I knew the time had come." John took a small worn box from his pocket and handed it to Nan. And with trembling hands Nan opened it, it was not a ring, but a ruby pendant set in a delicate rose gold frame, with a glittering chain, and with trembling fingers Nan stroked polished stone. John smiled, and said, "It suits you, as Jerry knew it would. Cecilia's jewelry collection was not extensive, but each of our children will have something of their own."
Then there was a silence, a loving one, it was broken by shimmering cascade of notes, twined in by Una's soft voice, as it echoed from the living room, and Nan saw John Meredith's face light up, and he said clearly delighted, "Poetry by Eduard Mörike, to compositions by Wolff, how delightful! He was Lutheran, man of cloth Mörike was, as well as a poet, and a literature professor, after ending his pastor career did you know that, Nan?"
Feeling amused, Nan had only shook her head, as smoothly John Meredith turned to his bookshelves, muttering "I've got translations here somewhere, but if only I could find them." Little bit later, burdened with books, concerning Lutheran and Presbyterian comparative theology, smiling happily, Nan had floated into the living room, where Bruce's cat, Stripey, had been sleeping in the sun.
Una had looked up from her knitting, as she had said, in her serious, sweet way, with a only a touch of wistfulness, in place, "Nan, how lovely that you're visiting, we'll probably see you on Sunday at the latest, send greetings to everyone in Ingelside!" Misty soft piano notes accompanied Nan to the sunny yard, as Una had begun to play with a renewed focus.
Nan was startled out of her memories when she heard Mrs Howard's carrying creamy voice announce, "Our dear Irene is so very popular and busy these days, she's even been asked to perform as far away as Kingsport! Clive too is doing his part, with war-work, here in the home-front, isn't that a cause for celebration, even if times are so severe!"
Nan, fingered the warm light ruby pendant resting under her collar, and remarked to Di, " Did you get that song from Alice, if so, she must have given the notes to Una too, as she had visited Manse lately, Rosemary said so. Do you see how Irene preens, luckily she didn't come to church in a red dress, that would have been too much, but that yellow dress isn't an improvement either, it looks like a performance outfit, not a day dress, but what exactly is her brother talking to Una about, how strange that is!"
Across the hallway, Irene Howard straightened her posture, and tilted her hat at proper angle, as she coolly glanced at her brother, who for some reason had exchanged a few words with the demure Una Meredith, whose dark almond-shaped sapphire blue eyes twinkled softly. With a honeyed smile, Irene stepped up to Una, and said in her most sublime style, "Dear Una, you must not have known that dear Walter Blythe was very devoted to me, I was the first to whom that dear and brilliantly talented young man told of his enlistment, when we happened to be on the same train In Charlottetown. But you hardly ever think of such worldly things as beaus, or do you? My dear big brother is quite the wrong sort for you." Satisfied, Irene noticed how a light red rose on Una's porcelain pale glowing skin, that skin whose tone Irene had always envied.
Una's posture straightened and she said in her quiet calm tone with a steely quiver, "Irene, thank you for your observation, but I can assure you that your brother was nothing but a perfect gentleman, a couple of weeks ago he was helping Bruce with something, and he was inquiring about my brother's well-being."
Shrugging her shoulders, Irene nodded coolly, in Nan's direction as she passed Blythe's pew, and received an equally cold nod in return, and to her own delight, Irene observed that Di Blythe's fingers seemed to have plenty of ink stains, the impression was extremely untidy, and the green silk bow on the collar of little Rilla's white dress was not not at all the latest fashion.
With the soft morning sun shining from a cloudless sky, whistling in his church clothes, extremely elegant, his blond curls tidy for once, Clive strode along beside Irene and remarked, "My dear sister, pull your claws in, if you were a cat, you'd be purring."
Irene, shooting her brother an irritated look, remarked, "What game were you playing with the modest Meredith girl?" Clive, just smiled, his triumphantly confident smile that always made Irene's nerves tense, and he said calmly, "Don't pry into my own business, and I'll stay out of yours. I happen to know that you seem to be waiting for letters from Kingsport more eagerly than usual, why is that? And soon there will be an afternoon mail, which may have good news for you."
Irene cast a suspicious glance in Clive's direction, but remained silent, and flicked at the beautiful bracelet on her arm. Mrs. Howard, again exhausted by church and gossip, retired to rest, insisting that Irene soak muslin cloths in a soothing herbal broth for her, for she believed that soon her migraine would attack her, like the insidious Germans did to the Canadians on the Western Front.
The Sunday afternoon went on calmly, and Irene had just finished her daily piano playing when there was a knock at the door, curious Irene went to the door, and through the curtains, Irene saw Alice Parker standing in the doorway. Irene opened the door, and said with a sugary smile, "Dear Alice, what are you without?" Alice glanced at Irene, and said in the same calm tone that always made Irene want to scratch the other girl's face, "Since our cooperation had gone so well, in Kingsport, I suggest we do some cooperation here as well, if you'd like?"
Irene glanced slyly at Alice, and after thinking for a moment said, "Fine, but I want more solos for myself, and we need to choose the best and happiest songs that people will enjoy listening to?" Alice nodded, and with a slight wave of her hand, she started to walk away towards Lowbridge.
Extremely satisfied, Irene literally danced on the bookshelf, and started making a list of songs that would highlight the best aspects of her voice and performance skills, as she was humming hymns previously heard in Glen's church in a low voice.
Monday came, Irene strolled down Glen's main street contentedly, her purchases from Carter Flagg's store in her basket, and on arriving, at the post office, she would ask out of habit rather than actual need, "Any mail for the Howards?" And to her astonishment, one letter was handed over the worn wooden counter. Irene nodded gracefully to old and gray-haired postal clerk, and with serene steps walked towards her home. And a little later, in the peace of her own little kingdom, she read again those short, concise lines.
Dear Irene! I hope you will feel proud when you learn that I am being sent to the front in France, because the situation there is tight. Don't worry, I have received excellent military training over the years, and I already hold the rank of lieutenant. I was supposed to talk about this back in Kingsport, but I didn't want to spoil your happiness on that magical evening, with this news.
So now you can walk with your head held high, because I know that my own lack of uniform has bothered you, even though you haven't said anything about it. I am attaching to this letter the address of my agent, who has been authorized to send you some papers, should the worst happen. I am extremely happy to have met you, and I hope that we can spend time together in the future, if we are allowed to. As I write this I hum Roses of Picardy, I think of you, the blue of your eyes, and the gold of your hair, are there any poplars in the Glen by any chance?
With the most respectful and loving greetings, Robert
Glancing at her mirror, Irene noticed that her mascara was running down her lightly powdered cheeks, so with a quick gesture, she fixed her makeup. Closing her eyes, Irene remembered the cheering of the crowd, the cheerful look on his face, while he was talking with some men in uniform, in a corner, before he took Irene into the swirls of the charming light waltz again. Sighing quietly, Irene deposited Robert's letter in the box, among his other letters, and carefully she removed the bracelet from her arm and slipped it into its velvet box.
Teapot whistled, as Mrs Howard enquired, "Irene my dear, was there any mail for you from Kingsport perhaps? You have been so quiet all morning, as you look so pale, and you have not eaten, a bite. I hope you got good news." Irene stirred her tea in silence, and then with a half-choked cry, she ran from the breakfast room. And Mrs Howard remarked, "My lovely darling does too much work, it is clear that she needs lot of rest and fresh camomille on her skin."
The wrought-iron gates of Gardiner Hall were open, there were acres of emerald green grass fields, almost as beautiful as that graceful house. Adeline Gardiner frowned, and stopped writing her petitions, and lists, for there were a clatter from the great staircase, as if something were being carried down from the attic. Smoothing her hems, she hastened to see, the golden afternoon light gleamed on the staircase, setting the lines designed by Victor Hortia in their full rights, and indeed, in the middle of the staircase, two servants, and Thompson with them, were carrying some veiled object.
Adeline stopped at the door of the library, and inquired commandingly, "Thompson, what exactly does this mean?" Thompson, brushing his hair, and turning, remarked, in his only half-deferential way, "Mr. Dorian asked that the late lady's painting be brought from the attic into the bluish salon, he's there having tea, with a guest again." Adeline gritted her teeth, and remarked bitingly, "Well, very well then." As Adeline returned to her correspondence, she could not no longer concentrate on the affairs of the outside world, who could be her nephew's guest?
In the bluish salong, there was elaborate tea-set, with a rose pattern, it made an interesting contrast to the elegant narrow sofa. There were also several bound packages of letters open on the table, the ink of which was still dark, or pale purple. Dorian Gardiner, brushed aside the hair that had fallen from his forehead, and glanced at Madeline Dobson sitting opposite, who was sipping her warm tea.
At that moment the door creaked open, and carefully, Thompson and two other servants placed the painting on the chair, and after reciving a nod from Dorian, unveiled it. And glancing at the painting, where the afternoon light cast its shadows, Dorian said wistfully, "I see no resemblance between me and her, for paintings, photographs, and epitaphs always lie, don't they?"
Madeline glanced at the large painting, where a lithe reddish-golden blonde haired green-eyed woman posed in a mangolian white ball gown, curiously, and after a moment of silence she remarked, "As I've said, I didn't know your mother well, but I distinctly remember how often she came to sit in the peace of the library, and to have tea with me, because the process of this painting was tough for her, all that standing for hours, in a draughty rooms, because in those days this building had not yet been repaired. She was quite often like sudden warm sunbeam, so utterly joyful, in all things, playful and serene in turns, she had such changeable moods."
And wetting his lips in the teacup, Dorian remarked, "I still don't really understand, we've been talking about all kinds of things, for the last couple of days, mostly old memories, about my mother, I'm certainly grateful for them, because now I have a clearer picture of her, as my father categorically refuses from answering my questions. He just looks towards me, as if in pain, I simply do not understand it. Anyway, seems like you're talking about aroud something, if that's possible?"
Madeline shuddered, and took a letter from her blue handbag, and said, "A couple of weeks ago, while cleaning, I noticed that this letter had been left in the main lobby of the library, and I thought it was only fair and reasonable, that this will be returned to Gardiner Hall." Curiously Dorian eyed the yellowed letter that Madeleine handed him, and with delight, he exclaimed, "I have wondered where it went. I have, after much searching, found Cousin Claire's present address, and I have planned to write to her, but I don't quite know what to say!"
A thin porcelain teacup fell from Madeline's fingers onto the table, and it shattered with a crash, and golden-brown fragrant tea spilled across the table. Dorian glanced at the librarian, who had an introverted expression on her features, and then she shook her head, as if waking from a trance, and she said in a trembling, but suddenly firm voice, "Dear Dorian, what I am about to tell you may come as a surprise, but years ago I knew her, quite well, though we haven't been in touch for many years. So I would appreciate it if you could give me her address?"
A light smile on his lips, Dorian nodded, and with a linen cloth wiped off the spilled tea on the table, and took a notebook from his pocket, from which he tore out a page with an address written in neat, graceful handwriting. And with a curious tone in his voice, he asked, "No one is willing to answer my questions about her, and the family archives aren't exactly helpful, which is pretty strange, I've found out a lot about my grandparents, on both sides too, but there is almost nothing about her there!" Madeleine broke the molasses bisquit in half, it crumbled in her cold tea.
Royal Gardiner raised an eyebrow when a quick knock sounded at the door of his study, and Adeline burst in, and with some amusement, Royal glanced at his sister, who seemed to be in a rather heated state of mind. Adeline, standing in the middle of the variegated Persian rug, declared in a breathless tone, "Roy, excuse me for interrupting, your writing, but I think some immoral female reporter is here to dig up the scandals of our family. I heard that servants were talking among themselves, and Dorian gave the order that Valentine's painting was carried to the bluish salon, I myself saw it being carried there and it's been a couple of hours. This is certainly utterly unberable thing to Dorian to do, so reckless!"
Royal sighed, and closed his eyes, for Adeline's quick steps, and the scent of her perfume, gave him a headache, and in faint way he remembered that delightful time when he and Valentine had planned the repairs to the Hall, and ran hand in hand through the corridors, and how Valentine's laughter had shone in these rooms, as warm as the summer sunshine, before melancholy had come upon her, and she had retired to herself, as Dorian often did.
She had sat for hours in the pink wing, upon her bed, and written box after box of letters, only some of which were sent. In those days Royal had been too busy establishing his international reputation to notice Valentine's mood swings until Dorian was born, but by then, melancholy had already set in too deeply, there were treatments, but they were no use. Often in dark and gloomy August nights Valentine had walked in the garden, in her colorful silken wraps, but she had returned to Royal's side, until one day she had not. After the alarm had been raised in the Hall, and the grounds, some of the servants had found her, in the misty pond, floating like some Ophelia.
And on hearing of the incident, Adeline had immediately, on her return from the Riviera, dismissed all the servants, and ordered the pond to be filled, and so it had been. Nothing grew in that place, no flowers, or any shrubs. Dorian had been was less than two years old at the time, he seemed to have almost no memories of Valentine. No one outside the family knew how Valentine had passed, the general assumption was that a virulent strain of influenza had taken her to her grave too early. For years, Royal had watched his son, from afar, wary, waiting for signs, but none had appeared, not even after Dorian's accident, which might have been a blessing.
Adeline's sharp voice echoed in the study cutting, like a shard of crystal, "Royal, are you coming with me, or do I have to handle this myself?" Stifling a sigh, Royal followed his sister down the corridors and eventually they arrived at the door of the bluish salon and opened it. And a surprising tableau spread before their eyes, because there was no reporter sitting with Dorian. Concealing his amusement, Royal, noticing how Adeline, said in an extremely strained voice, "Miss Dobson, you have no right to sit here, so leave please!"
Dorian raised his chin, and said, in a calm and imperial tone, slight temper flashing in his eyes, "Aunt Adeline, she is my guest, and I say she may stay. We have had quite delightful, and interesting conversations, among other things, about my mother."
All color drained from Adeline's face, as she glanced towards her brother in mute horror. Royal, was leaning against the doorframe, fingering the cigar box in his pocket.
The early evening light fell perfectly on Valentine's painting. Royal bowed lightly, to Miss Dobson, and said, in a polite tone, " "I guess you came to get Claire's address, didn't you?" Surprise flashed in Madeleine's dark eyes, and then she nodded once. Dorian's agitated voice said, "How do you know that, Papa?" And walking to the whiskey decanter, Royal poured out four glasses, and handed them first to the women, and then to Dorian, and finally himself.
Then Royal sat down on the bluish sofa, and said quietly, "Miss Dobson, if I remember correctly over the years my late wife held you in high esteem, did she not?" Madeleine tasted the whiskey cautiously, and nodded.
With a deep sigh, Royal closed his eyes and said "The time has come for certain truths and apologies to be told openly, but first a little of Verdi's Desdemona, if you would, Adeline. " Her neck stiff, Adeline went to the gramophone, and soon Othello's Salce, Salce, echoed dramatically, wistfully in the silent room, as Valentine's painting smiled from the gathering gloom. At the end of that long evening, whiskey decanter was empty, Dorian's face was pale, and tearful, Madeline had turned away to the large windows. There was light smoke from Royal's cigar, it swirled in the room like a soft haze, only sound in the room was the crackle of the gramophone needle.