Ingelside's garden glowed with late autumn colors, as Anne Blythe cut flowers, Walter's beloved Goodbye Summers. The tinkling of a bicycle bell could be heard from the direction of Upper Glen, hearing it, Anne suppressed a slight shiver, for that light sound clearly brought to mind the anticipation that the whole home front was in for when there would be new news. The headlines of the past few weeks had been full of battles, it was only that the CEF forces had not been mentioned, only strategic victories and advances had been talked about, in the Third Battle of Ypres, in Belgium, the whole of September had been like a tattered patchwork, first the Battle of Menin Road, then the Battle of Polygon Wood, which still continued. There had been second battle of Ramadi, which had raged in Mesopotamia, as part of the Mesopotamian campaign, where the British forces, led by Harry Brooking, fought against the Ottoman Empire.
Many a time over tea, Susan would spread a large old and tattered Atlas on the table and they would all discuss possible future twists and turns. Susan glowed with enthusiasm, and dear, dear Gilbert sometimes threw in his sharp remarks, as Gertrude Olivier quoted Kipling´s poem If in a low voice, her dark eyes flashing with emotion. News, here and there, and gnawing anticipation, as letters from the front arrived, but rarely. A couple of days ago Shirley had written, Susan had baked treats for him ever since muttering under her breath that " Mrs. Doctor Dear knows it is not right that the Royal Air Force, where our dear beloved little brown boy serves, with others, I think they don't even have a proper dessert at the mess-lounge, just some canned stuff, or some mess with tinned fruit in it! I'll do what I can according to the latest regulations."
The atmosphere in Glen was intense, political rifts had opened again, the girts and conservatives, were almost at each other's throats, as the upcoming elections in December would be extremely important. Mr. Pryor had spoken publicly for Wilfred Laurier, at Carter Flagg's store, and Norman Douglas, who happened to hear the speech, had roared, "You immoral pacifist mollusk, how dare you, if you don't stop now I'll shake you again!" Mr. Pryor was rumored to have balked, and quickly hurried out of the store, and afterwards he had sent Miranda to get supplies for him.
Rilla had remarked one afternoon, while Jims was sleeping, "It's amazing how Miranda Pryor Milgrave has taken on a character, she used to be like blue porcelain, the slightest unkind glance would have made her look down, but now she openly defies her father's politics, with a wim, too, and she's very helpful at Junior Reds, unlike some others, I might add, if only she'd stop offering those eels almost every time when there is discussions about eats at the meetings".
Anne Blythe folded her gardening gloves into a small basket, there where the cuttings of Goodbye Summers, all ready to be put in front of Walter´s photograpf, she sat on the veranda, which had a beautiful panoramic view of the garden. Robin sang brightly, in the apple tree, and with a weary smile, Anne glanced at the little pile of letters that was on the verandah table, under the collection of Tennyson's poems, there were beloved handwriting of Di, from Avonlea, and dearest Leslie´s sweepingly curlicued cursive, along with Nan´s careful script.
Susan arrived carrying a tea tray, a light, soft apple scent flooded with her, while in the kitchen Susan was cooking apple jam, Rilla helped whenever she could. Susan glanced thoughtfully at Anne and lightly Anne said, "Well, Susan, tell me what's going on in the village?" Susan straightened her striped apron, and said in her snappy style, "My dear Mrs. Doctor Dear, I happened to meet my Cousin Sophia and she declared suggestively, as she is wont to complain, that "I don't see why, light, entertaining books are published in these god-forsaken times when people need to be serious and think about their own sins and to our futures destruction, as the Huns are licking our soliders in droves!" and to that I said, "No one married you for your interest in books, Sophia. I don't believe in books, they're usually a pack of lies, that is true also period magazine follow-ups, which are entertaining, but if you referred to Diana's book, I'm going to read it, just on principle, luckily it's not poetry after all! You can believe that my cousin went on her way indignantly. Armageddon is coming, that day when I can no longer tame my cousin, let's hope that day is still far away."
A slight smile had lit up Anne Blythe's eyes as she remarked warmly, "Your loyalty does you credit, dear Susan." Susan snorted lightly and muttered, "Well, it's Di, I know there shouldn't be favorites, but, as she has always been so efficient in all household-chores, the same way our Rilla is starting to be now!" With that Susan bustled away to be with her jampots, and kettles.
Light scent of fragrant Assam lingered, as Anne read her dear friends' letters, of gentle and sweet gossip of Avonlea, Di´s worries of her serving sons, a worry that Anne wholeheartedly shared, with her devoted bosomfriend of olden golden epochs, and hectic Torontoan news, of various committees that Leslie was embroiled on and antics of Persis, before delving into Nan´s missive.
Dear Mumsy, I know you're probably impatient to hear how things are going here, since it's been a while since I last wrote. It takes a while to get used to the rhythm of Redmond's lectures and Red Cross volunteer work, Matron keeps us all under strict control, with her half-quarterly demands. I am happy to report that I have taken two of Professor Milne's courses this term, and he has liked my way of constructing arguments. Lately I've been reading Alice Meynell for Milne's course, although Di is more enthusiastic about her than I am, and so is Alice, but despite this, I find that she has several poems and bits of prose that describe my own feelings of the past few weeks, as you know there is utter delight to be found in verses, a certain chord, that speaks to the inner soul, it resonates, pulsates, and in the midst of the hopelessness and disbelief that comes from the news headlines, there is sometimes a couple of verses that help, here is poem fragment named Autum, by aforementioned Maynell.
The leaves are many under my feet,
And drift one way.
Their scent of death is weary and sweet.
A flight of them is in the grey
Where sky and forest meet.
The low winds moan for sad sweet years;
The birds sing all for pain,
Of a common thing, to weary ears,-
Only a summer's fate of rain,
And a woman's fate of tears.
Do you think this is how Walter experienced poetry? Like a door to somewhere where everything would be clearer? Sorry for the vagueness of my arguments, this week has been varyingly heavy, but as always writing clears up my thoughts, but I know you will catch what I am trying to say, because you have raised us, with love.Garden of Primrose Hollow at the moment is like some old Walter´s poem full of autumny serse enchantment.
Di's novel is now in the hands of readers, the official launch party was relatively modest, although naturally Dorian complained, as he quite often does, he can be such a Gardiner sometimes, that I would like to shake him, but of course I won't, as that would not be ladylike. The evening continued in a charming cafe, the food on offer, pies and different teas and lemonade qualities, were dazzlingly good, I was also attracted by the varied interior design, the place resembled a comfortable if quiotic living room rather than a business space, and during the evening, various customers performed, one of them naturally was Alice, she did some patriotic number, and Di naturally played piano, like an angel.
I'm sure Di will also write to you when she has time, but whatever you wrote her I think it helped her, although she took several days to draft her own response, which was peculiar, as usually she is so quick on these things. When we've been walking to lectures, and in the Kingsport area doing our various errands, I've noticed that they both, Di and Alice, walk quickly, especially through park areas, although before they used to walk hand in hand, as other co-eds does too. Do you remember that romantic glazebo in the park, over the years it has become overgrown with reddish and intense green wild vines. When I walked past it yesterday I noticed that someone had torn out the leaves of the wild vines from the back wall, vandalism perhaps, with the result that it now looks unfinished and dare I say it, a bit wild, as before it looked only very romantic.
An acquaintance of Di gave us all free tickets to the theater, and we, Di and I, went to see a show two days ago, it was an afternoon matinee for War Effort, a jumbled mix of comedy bits, dance performances, full of humour, and more serious content too, patriotic numbers, the dialogue was witty, and the musical numbers impressive, especially one of them. Di has been humming it ever since, as there were innate musical mosquito-like quality in it, as well as arresting a fragility that really appealed to the audience's emotions, probably in the hall, there was not a single dry handkerchief. Only thing I thought while sitting there next to my beloved twin, with the music and sublime, touching verses glowing, in the dusty row of pews, one of many was this, with so little to be sure of, I trust Jerry. I know that my several letters mean a lot to him, perhaps the world, an escape, and the strength to believe in a time when this would someday be over.
My beloved greetings to everyone at Ingelside,
Nan
Anne Blythe, carefully folded Nan's letter back into its envelope, and she heard Jims' gurgling laugh ring out in the drawing-room, " Willa, Willa," then Anne smelled light scent of ether, and Gilbert's aftershave, as she turned to look at her husband, who was leaning against the doorway, in his rumpled shirtsleeves looking so very handsome, in his attentive in a present way. Gilbert's eyes twinkled as he inquired, "Well, Queen of my Heart, I dare hope that those letters contained good news?" Anne, nodded lightly, and held out both hands to Gilbert. In a flash, he was at her side, as she had known that he would be. And together they looked at the ripe landscape, as the wind howled, carefully Gilbert crowned Anne's rich vibrant hair with a single autumn aster flower, and he softly whispered, "Our boy loved these flowers on you."
Glen's choir practice was over, and the members of the choir were basking in the crisp autumn weather, which was a pleasant contrast to the mugginess of the church. Una Meredith's dark head was barely visible between the trees in their bright autumn glory, as she had hurried out of her Father´s church as if there were ghosts or ghoulies nipping at her sensible heels. Satisfied, Olive Kirk glanced at Betty Meade and said audibly, "I think it's wrong that Rilla Blythe isn't a choir member here. Everyone knows she can perform well when she wants to, but maybe she wants to save her energy. On the other hand, none of the lasses of Ingelside has ever been active in the choir."
Betty, glanced irritably at Olive and said sharply, "I can't stand that you're always taking snipes towards Rilla." Irene Howard's honeyed and resonant voice echoed softly, "Darlings, I think the reason little Rilla isn't here with us is simple. She's afraid she would lisp in public, for she can be so vain, and too lofty. For you all know how she has treated me, completely cold, when I returned to the activities of the Red Cross. Sometimes I lie in my bed at night with terrible insomnia, thinking about all the insults I have had to experience here, but fortunately I am able to rise above them, others are not able to do that so easily."
Betty rolled her eyes, and turned her back to Irene. Olive said in her persuasive style, "Irene, Rosemary Meredith had to start all over because of you today, for you were late, for the entrance of one hymn, by a hair, but in your solo you sounded as if you were on the verge of tears, how did you do it?"
Irene looked coolly into Olive's brown eyes, and said cheekily, with a slight edge, "Oh, it's not hard to find inspiration these days, you know!" Olive chuckled and said in a gossipy tone, "So it wasn't about your disappointment, after all. Your charming brother, promised to take me to the upcoming prayer meeting."
Lazily Irene crossed her fingers, and the bracelet on her wrist glimmered in the dim light, as Irene laughed sharply and said "It is true that I have met with a tragic loss that gnaws at my soul, so very dreadfully! Clive is quite popular in his own way, which is natural, for he toils so hard, but so far no local girl has caught my brother's full interest, but perhaps you are that one, dearest, Olive."
Betty noticed how Olive's face got in a faintly pinched look, at Irene´s words. And then with a smile and a wave Irene floated away to Upper Glen, to run errands for fussy Mrs. Howard.
Betty murmured under her breath, "The Howards are the wormwood of Glen, that's for sure!"
Alice Clow, shrugged her shoulders and said apologetically, "But, somehow we manage, these times one have to think positively, even if it's difficult. I've bought a new woolen thread, it suits my hair, I can't always sew just socks on the front, and I think that a new wool sweater brightens up my wardrobe, because practicality is above all else. Although I wonder how Rilla Blythe can still wear white as she does, even in Autum time, as her colors are so seasonal. She would look devastating in burnt umbra, for instance, but that's our luck that she hasn't noticed it, she wears her everlastingly green hat, that is so quant."
Irene's social smile slowly faded from her face, at the moment she walked towards the Upper Glen road, as her thoughts were bleak, for a couple of days before she had received a letter from her aunt, who had politely announced that this winter Irene could not come for her usual visit to Charlottetown, for she had taken tenants, there was not enough space.
Mrs. Howard, hearing the news, had frowned, and said "Oh my love, I know how much you've been looking forward to this visit. You've been so down all fall, I've been afraid you've inherited my melancholy, but in the last few weeks you've seemed to brighten up, which has been nice to see, there are roses blooming on your cheeks."
Lounging on the sofa with slender legs crossed, Clive had glanced at Irene, cautiously, and said with forced mirth, "Listen Sissy, how about you play us something, in that way, the hours of the evening would pass more quickly?" Irene had walked reluctantly to the piano, and after a few chords, she had sung fragments from The Hearse Song, in a somewhat casual voice, which glowed with exhaustion of severe loss and grief.
You don't know whether to laugh or cry;
For you know some day it'll get you too,
And the hearse's next load may consist of—you.
They'll take you out and they'll lower you down,
While men with shovels stand all a-round;
They'll throw in dirt and they'll throw in rocks,
And they won't give a damn if they break the box.
The Worms crawl in and the Worms crawl out.
Hearing those startling lyrics Mrs. Howard had exclaimed, "But Irene, don't be obscene!" Clive's look had been almost too sympathetic, and in the grip of a sudden exhausting mix of rage and grief, intertwined, Irene had run from the drawing-room. And after that scene, the atmosphere had been strained at the House of Howard.
Irene carefully opened the door of her home, and slipped inside. Clive's hats were in a jumbled pile on the hat rack, and his spare uniform, with red arm band, shone brightly. In the peace of her own room, Irene opened her wardrobe, and looked at her dresses, and blouses, and right behind them was a black crepe dress, with a cape collar, it smelled lightly of lavender, carefully Irene brought it out, and pressed her powdered face into the soft fabric, and a thought went around circle, as always, " Did he really love me at all, or was I only an amusement, a distrcation to him? Why is fate, this loathsome war, is so cruel as to deprive me of the chance to get out of here? He is now food for worms. I have nothing, not even the right to wear black!"
Unseasonal sudden indian summer´s last gasp had come, the previous rains had receded and the sticky, humidity rested over Kingsport, it was Sunday morning and Alice Parker hesitated in front of the doors of the Episcopal Church, the congregation flowed in through the large oaken doors in a steady stream. Alice took her place, as slowly service began, the text of the day was Jeremiah 9. While listening, litany of general intercession, after readings, Alice hummed under her breath J.C. Bach's, Ach, dass ich Wassers g'nug hätte, afterwards, as the service had run its course, Mrs Prickett, one of the pillars of the congregation, turned to look at Alice, quickly, and said softly, "My dear child, in Christ, we live in dark times, but I have found that confession cleanses the soul, if the divine Bach is not always enough, although that was thematically quite appropriate for this morning, though I must remark that I myself prefer a proper Episcopalian hymn. I understand you don't come to morning services very often, preferring Compline instead? But clearly something has driven you here, this morning, I hope it's nothing unpleasant, as the news has not been very encouraging in recent weeks. We always need new young members to organizie tea-rota. You have a beautiful cross, albeit a little decorative, remember that too much worldliness and decadence is not appropriate, we must focus on what is most important, that is, our Lord, so that he will help our soldiers that they are fighting in his name, in the horrors of Flanders."
Alice, listened politely, to that curious discourse, of Mrs. Prickett, in which instructions alternated, and curiosity, and when that venerable lady had at last finished, she remarked, in a suitably mild tone of voice, " I try to be here on Sundays, too, so often when I can, this cross was a gift, and everyone sometimes needs brightness and clarity to their thoughts, which service can provide, it is true that the situation on the front is serious, and that prayers can help. I'll keep in mind, that tea-rota offer, good morning to you, unfortunately I have to go now." Alice slipped into the middle aisle, as she did so, she felt the sharp gaze of Mrs. Prickett's bright eyes on her neck, before, fragments of the conversation of the other members of the congregation, glowed around her, "Already a year and a bit more since Courcelette, as the day was few weeks back, can you believe? After that several memorial services for the fallen have been in this church, and even now a committee is arguing about future orders, because some want the names of the fallen to be gilded, while others don't. I think, this morning's text did not at all suit my mood, stuff and nonsense, Evangeline, did you notice that old besom Mrs. Prickett had cornered some poor soul, that golden haired girl seemed a bit strained, as she listened her, I would not have done that, the choir was a bit flat today. Sometimes it's so challenging to plan the menu for the week, with the ration cards, but our culinary sufferances are nothing compared to the trials of our beloved soliders. "
Alice leaned against the cool pillar, the coolness of the stone was soothing, even though she found herself wishing for the light scent of incense, which was now absent, as closed her eyes as the words she had heard a moment ago during the service glowed with sting, as if those words had been directed at her. From all impurity, whether in thought, word, or deed, from luxurious living; from the undue indulgence of appetite; from all undue gratification of the flesh; and from vanity of dress and bodily display, from untruth, injustice, and unfaithfulness in promises and contracts; and from false pretences, fraud, and theft, from scornfulness and disparagement; from exaggeration and slander; from deceit,' hypocrisy, and all untruthfulness.
For a moment Alice felt again, the soft silk on her wrists, the slight feeling of hanging in infinity, nervously, impatiently burning, between two breaths, and then the feeling passed away. Alice stepped out of the church, she felt restless, for contrary to what she had claimed to Mrs. Prickett, attending the services did not bring peace or clarity at least to the extent that it had done before. Dry rustling leaves crunched under Alice's steps, there was a lingering scent of weary death, of decay and mulch.
After walk of fifteen minutes or so, Alice saw Nan and Di, they were standing by the gate of the Presbyterian Church, that church reminded a little in its pale graceful splendor, St. Matthew's United Church, to hear Nan tell the tale from Jerrys letters from Before, so it had been natural that Nan liked to attend services there at the church Jerry had liked when he had been enrolled at Redmond. Alice waved her hand, and Di, glancing cautiously in her direction, nodded barely perceptibly.
Twenty minutes later, with Sunday's peace spreading to every corner of Primrose Hollow, Alice and Di were sitting in the garden, on a blanket that was Rachel Lynde's heirloom, the bright sun rays made Di's hair glisten, Di glanced in Alice's direction intently, as she said, "Shall we?" Alice, was twirling her rosary in her skirt pocket, but even that gesture did not bring comfort, for the precipice rose in front of her, and she could no longer avoid it. So Alice took a deep breath, looked seriously at Di and said, a low intent voice, "I haven't been honest with you, even when you asked me not to do evasions, anymore."
A slightly amused look appeared in Di's eyes as she said, briefly, in a fond tone, "Let me guess, you have been in singing lesson with Mrs. Dawson, after all. Nan told me earlier that she had seen you go to the Redmond Music Association librarys premises few days ago in afternoon hours after lectures." But the little nod that Di had been waiting for, it didn't, didn't come.
The silence was so deep that Di could hear the cawing of distant ravens, and suddenly, a gust of wind blew leaves around them, and one leaf, a pale golden oak leaf, landed in Alice's hair, and Di hardly stopped the innate impulse, to take it and treasure it, instead she waited .Alice's eyes looked translucently dim in this bright, powerful light, as she gently shook her head and said in an almost inaudible voice, "No, it's related to what happened while I was gone. I haven't told you much about it. I didn't want to distract you with the release of your book so close, but now it's time to tell you what I've been avoiding. The days were varied, and long, and surprisingly intimate, of various ways, full of exercises, books, and cocoa that wasn't too sweet."
Di, tilted her head, and said, in joking half sarcastic way, "Well, I'm sure all kinds of things could have happened during your stay, that does not sound very sinful, at all. Tell me one thing, I've been curious about your bruises, is this perhaps related to them? You probably didn't wake up from your teacher's bed one morning, because it would be, like, something from bawdy cheap short story."
There was no ringing laughter, and no playful thrashing of the grass, as Di had supposed, instead, Alice only raised her chin, in the same manner as when faced with insurmountable challenges, and seeing that Di snapped with virtol unsurpassed, "Is this your silence perhaps a sign of acquiescence. What could she possibly offer? Or rather, I don't even want to know the answer."
The silence stretched, and then Alice said, "It, wasn't what you think."
Di, rose suddenly and she walked two steps away, then she pounced, as she said quietly, " In a way I have been waiting for this, your confession, namely, for you may not know this, you can, lie by omissions, but your body does not lie, and always since that one fleeting moment, at the glazebo. Tell me one thing, was it worth it, was it worth us, or do you not know? Have you risked it all for some perverted game of hers."
Alice, found that her fingers were clenched together as she whispered, " Di, if only you could listen, sometimes certain things happen, life is messy, it is not an excuse, I know that, and I´m not hardly a saint, that is for others. You have always had more flattering picture of me. I do not mean that you have placed me in a pedestal, but still, there is trust between us, still, is there not, even if it has been damaged of this revelation."
At those words, she noted that Di´s eyes flashed, their color resembled a stormy sea, as with a quick, sudden movement, Di tore the cross from Alice's neck, as that sliver of burning tempestous Shirley temper bubbled into surface, of this burning, slicing betrayal, as she threw it with violent force in a high glittering arc, and in a low, coolly cold tone of voice, she said, " Now I can say that the crossroads has come, all is ashes, without the miracle of the resurrection. Right now, I loathe the very sight of your prescence. How strange that love and loathing are the sides of a same coin. Go, if you do not I will do something that I regret" Alice, threw one agonized glance at Di, and vawered. Her neck was feeling bare and vunerable without light sharp weight of worked rosecross, and fierce burning tickled all over her skin, like static.
Nan looked up, at the window, by chance, she noticed Di standing close to Alice, it seemed that they were having fierce words, and then the blond girl turned and ran away, gate creaked, in high plaintive manner. Nan saw Di stand straight and then slowly she fell to her knees, and a piercing scream came from the garden, causing Nan to rush out in the utmost haste. The wind rose in the garden as the heat broke into an autumn thunderstorm, as the rain violated the humid earth.
In the bloody muddy chaos of the Western Front, soldiers and horses wearing gas masks drowned in the mud as ungodly artillery fire seemed to tear the heavens to asunder. It would soon be October, and the CEF troops under Currie would be moved towards the Passchendaele front-block in efforts to revive British and Anzack I Corps. Captain Ford was reading, his red-rimmed gray eyes were tired, but brilliantly bright, from the tears that he could no longer shed, for all his tears had run out long ago.