52

Una Meredith twigged pretty quickly once news of the concert reached her ears. Everybody was talking about Teddy - and everybody wanted to perform with him. John Meredith took it all with good grace, the crowds at church weren't there to see him. But if they were coming to watch Teddy sing, then he would see to it that he sent them away with a good moral lesson.

The concert itself had ballooned into something bigger than even Rilla imagined. Government sorts were tiring of all the stories in the papers about overbearing quarantine measures: the shortages in goods and in morale. A gala for returned veterans gave their constituents something positive to talk about. All they had to do was turn up and make a few speeches; the doughty Island folk could do the organising.

Over the next two weeks Lowbridge became the centre of the Island. The school yard and playing field had been booked out, and more than one farmer reaped their harvests early, because the rent they could get from stall holders outstripped the money they would get for their oats. Exhibitions of bright, shiny cars and new fangled farm equipment were being arranged, as well as smaller stalls about exciting opportunities in the trawling, shearing and door-to-door sales. Get our returned boys back into the swing of civvy life, that was the ticket. And Teddy Willoughby was a handsome, humble yet talented chap, and the perfect poster boy for the cause.

That poster boy didn't appear to be in, even though Rilla was full of assurance that he would be, because Una had been knocking on the cottage door for a full minute and no one had answered. It would have been perfectly acceptable if she had given up her knocking - perfectly acceptable to anyone but Rilla Blythe that is. Una decided she would much prefer what amounted to trespassing and enter the house than deal with one of Rilla's disappointed and reproving pouts.

She followed the smell of cigarette smoke and found Teddy sitting on the backdoor step. This time she was very careful when she opened the door.

"Oh good," he said as he got to his feet, "it's only you."

She had her sheet music clutched to her chest, an echo of the washboard from previous days, and she had abandoned the stylings of Betty Meade for her usual knot and headscarf. She wasn't trying to charm him like the other aspiring accompanists who'd come knocking on his door this week. Rilla had been right to insist on Una. Though she wasn't right about everything.

"I don't think either of us are wanting to do what must be done," Una said, "but as we're both fairly practised at that then it should go off pretty well."

Teddy knew now why Una had annoyed him so much, she was a wallflower just like him.

"Right you are," he said, and led her inside and made the tea while she watched. She was offered a chair in the sitting room next, while he cleaned up the piano.

It was very unnerving being the one who sat while Teddy did all the work, wiping down the piano keys and brushing down the bench. Una began talking. Idle hands are the devil's workshop, idle lips are his mouthpiece, and whether it was devilishness or not, Ken's name soon came up.

She was dying to talk about him with someone - and dying was the word - because having such a secret was eating away at her little by little like worms. She had written, Ken had written back directly. His letter was stashed in the atlas, hidden away with Walter's. But the irony could not be escaped.

Walter's letter had been written with Rilla in mind, and Ken's letter had been written for Una. Admittedly Ken gave every impression that he expected Rilla to read his words (just as Walter had expected Una to read his) but it was obvious Ken meant this letter for her. Una could not say how she knew this precisely, except that, in her own small way, she knew him.

If Walter was her king (his crown of thorns woven around her pale pink heart) then Ken was her jester. Pointing, laughing, mocking herself and him, before hightailing off again on some fool's errand.

"Poor Ken," she was saying, her tea cold in her hand, "there he was thinking he would be leading the charge, and instead he's up to his eyes in meetings. He's already applied for a transfer, he says he cannot stand the French way of doing things - the high-ups all take a three hour lunch! He misses our ways, dour and proper though they are, and believes he might do more at home."

"He's coming back?"

"If it was up to him, he would. He seems to have forgotten that being in the Armed Services means serving, not doing whatever pleases you."

"Speaking of which," said Teddy, noting how low the sun had fallen. The lombardies were casting long shadows through the windows, he would have to light the lamps soon. "We should get on and practice, don't you think?"

"You mean I don't have to audition?"

"'course not," said Teddy. "And we're not going to play any of that dour, proper music you've brought with you either. I want to sing the sort of songs our boys will like, not the school board. Why don't we start with one of Walter's favourites - but only if you can bear it, Una."

"Sorry?"

"You probably don't want to hear this, but I do know how hard it is to - care - for someone and they didn't, they couldn't… What I mean is, I should never have said what I did about Walter and Faith. It was dumb of me and I'm sorry."

If Teddy had said this to her a year or even a month ago, Una's chin would have sunk to her chest before declaring she had no idea what he was talking about. But of course Teddy knew. He had heard what Rilla said that day on the veranda. Oh, he knew, alright. All too well, going from his hang dog expression.

Teddy loved Rilla, Rilla loved Ken, and Ken loved… himself, obviously.

"It's funny, isn't it," she said, "how one always thinks the hard thing is the best thing. We've got so used to fighting for something we don't know how to give it up. We've got to pack up our troubles and keep those home fires burning-"

"Yes," he cut in, "except I was never yearning for home."

"Your mother lives out west, doesn't she? I read it in the Charlottetown Bugle. What does she do?"

"I couldn't tell you - I haven't heard. I thought I might since she gave a quote to the paper… I guess she's busy."

Lots of people seemed to be too busy to write to the people that ought to. But not a mother, surely, not to her only son.

"Right," said Una, in that dependable and determined way that signalled she was girding her loins; she practically strutted up to the piano and prodded Teddy aside. "We'd better get busy too if you plan to shock the hats off the Lowbridge school board and show our boys a good time."

"Sure," said Teddy, "I can do that, but you've gotta do something too."

"Oh yes, and what's that?"

"Lose the cardigan and headscarf, Una, and let Rilla style your hair. If I have to strut in the spotlight, then you're gonna do it with me."

...

more tomorrow, love k