The shimmering blue sky of July was the the same shade as Una´s eyes. The sea in the harbour of Four Winds, echoed them, in different, shades depending on the hour, sometimes pale misty blue, other times, shapphire-shaded, with white topped, foam peaks, as Walter had found out, as he was spending quite a lot time with her, as the weeks flowed by and July turned towards August.
They sat, two dark, heads in close conferece, but still with decorous distance in the living room of the Manse, with the piano, and notes, Rosemary popped in and out, as she went to run errands, or around Glen, as Reverend´s wife´s lot was never ending, constant good works, in various ways.
In that room there was delicate green ivy shaded gloom, and calm silence, which at times was broken by the sparkling pearly music. Walter noticed that Una was watching him, in her deep, almond shaped eyes, somehow expectantly, but she never said anything, just corrected her posture, replaced one floating inky black strand of hair, back to its heavy braid, and changed sides with him, and began to play the closest note that was stacked in front of her, as if her thoughts were somewhere completely elsewhere, for a first bar, and then the sweeping music captured her, and she played with consumate skill and frevor, tenderly radiant, like opened pale calla lily in the sunlight. The music they played together in those afternoons were electic mix; of hymns, motets, and naturally Schubert, Brahms, Mozart, Elgar, and Chopin.
Afterwards Una offered fresh tea, and, bisquits, or hot crossed buns. Sometimes whistling Carl who was tanned and joyful also wandered in to the homely kitchen of Manse, and told the latest news, from incect world, while eating, with great pleasure, and at times Una remarked a little reproachfully to her brother, "do you always have to have to do that." To which Carl smiled openly, in his golden shimmering way, as he replied to his sister after a moment of silence, " From his poetry Walter, knows that every blade of grass, has their own place, in the world, and so should every animal, in Cristendom have too, and besides ants are extremely efficient, they have an incredible internal hierarchy and order, it should interest you, dear sister." Carl's remark, of the poems caused Walter to quote Wordsworth, or Keats aloud, all hymns to the universe, delicate and pastoral.
After tea Una followed him to the Rainbow Valley, where a quiet wind hissed in the tree of the lovers, as she sat in the shade of the birches, their leaves casting delicate play of shadows to her calm, and serene features, as he wrote and qouted some verses, aloud to her, and then they walked to Ingelside, for she had a dress pattern for Rilla.
At the gate, Una often turned to look at him and a light red flush crept to her cheek, as she whispered in her soft voice, "Walter thank you for these moments of your time." Then she turned, and walked away in the twilight of the evening, like a half-shadow. And Walter stayed to look after her, wondering what exactly had happened, for weren't these hours of mutual music pleasing to Una as they were to him? What more could he give to her, then?
Shaking his head, Walter took the dress-pattern to Rilla, who glanced past his brother and remarked, "Was it the Una I saw at the gate, just now? Why didn't she come in?" Walter said, gently " Rilla my Rilla, Una did not seem to want to, and I think that she has some errands to do with Bruce, after all it is evening now."
There was a small commonition as Susan banged some cutlery in place and pointed out in a fond tone"Little Una Meredith, she has really grown into the most sweetest, most kindest, blossom of pure womanhood, in all of the Glen, her appearance is certainly not as showy as that of her sister, it was obvious from childhood, but she has still, something enchanting, a way about her. She definitely not going to be an old maid, like me. "
Hearing Susan's words, as he walked to his own room, Walter wondered what Una's appearance, and the future marriage in some far away time, mattered to him, as recently, both Susan and Mum had often raised the matter after his visits to Manse, as if in passing. Una was Una, one of the many parts and parcel of life in the Glen, as sure as sunrise, from the east, but the idea of marrying anyone was completely foreign to Walter. The thought, indeed, loomed in his consciousness, like a gloomy cloud, or the nightmarish horrors of his childhood, from which it took only one scent of Mother´s light floral perfume, and everything around him would return to normal, but Anne could not fix this, no one could. In the deepest moments in the middle of the night, when writing didn't give peace either, Walter looked at the shady ceiling and wondered if maybe God had made him broken, on purpose. For he seemed detached from everything, he was not at all interested in the things that held his sibling so vividly to life, its small surprising joys, and sorrows.
Startled, Walter returned from his thoughts and sat down on his bed. Humming, he stepped to his desk and began writing, outlining lesson plans for Lowbridge, as autumn would be soon here.
There was few letters on the table, few of them were from Ken. He had read them, so often that they were almost translucent, though their content was by no means special; the usual literary minded conversation that sometimes had a more serious, deeper tone. Sighing lightly, Walter delved into the compiled French grammar, and after about an hour, of study, he rewarded himself by writing reply to Ken's latest letter.
27.7.1913, Glen , Ingelside.
Oberon of Toronto!
I finally read that loaned Proust of yours, and I have to say it was really good. I happened to mention the pastries to Una, who promised to make them for me. Of course, I could have asked Susan or my sisters too, maybe Di, because she's the best baker of them, but I didn't want to explain Proust, so Una was a natural candidate, and because she loves baking and new recipes, along with music, naturally. Wonderful that your football team won, and the festivities and gatherings around Toronto sound fascinating, as does your description of the Rosedale area. Did Persis almost get caught trying to return Owen's car to the garage, or not? From your account of the incident that part was a little bit hazy. Apropos, Persis she seems to be such a la mode that she drives herself, or at least tries. Nothing like that here, not yet, or if ever.
Rainbow Valley glows with incredible beauty, as always at this time of year, and soon there will be annual dance. It would be fun, if someday you would come here to experience it. It is nothing compared to your Toronto amusements, but, it is a big social event, for us. Thank for your comments regarding my poems, I made the suggested corrections, and I'll see how things go.
Cordially,
LP
August sky curved over Glen.
Soon it would be time for traditional dance, whose venue always varied, sometimes at the Lighthouse of the Four Winds, sometimes elsewhere, where ever, it was possible. Rilla had been begging for weeks to come along with others, but Anne and Susan were inflexible, she was too young, not until she was a little older, even though Rilla in this past year had grew so tall that she seemed older than she really was.
The Meredith's were not naturally dancing, for as a local Reverend´s children they could not, it was the tradition, old arhaic one, as Faith had argued loudly against it several times, in the kitchen of Ingelside, when she had come to meet Nan, or borrow dresspatterns, from Di, as the girls often sewed together under Susans eagle eye, in the living room of Ingelside.
The evening glowed with a mysterious purple, and a rustling chorus of birds sang in a bush, on a soft, peaceful evening, full of the sweet scents of August.
It was a time for dancing, and elaborate fun.
Young fry from all over area in ones and twos, came to the old barn, which was halfway between Glen and Lowbrigde, a table with refreshments outside, lemonade and taffy and fresh cookies and ginger ale, nothing stronger. There was sounds of wild dancing, laughter, and gentle, violin tones rushing through the satin-soft, dark night.
Walter stood at the barn door and watched his sibling dance, Di went here, red hair glowing, and there Nan, her bright laughter, and her self-conscious sweet being drew admiring glances.
Una was behind the refresment table, next to Mary Vance, and Faith as always on such occasions. Jem and Jerry leaned on the nearby bales of hay, and they chatted in a quiet voice and watched the colorful figures dance, sometimes casting glances, towards the dance floor, or in Jems case to the table, and soon Jem stood on his long legs, and went to Faith, and they vanished for a walk, in winding country lane, and Jerry shouted after them " Come, back before this evening ends!" Faith's shimmering golden laughter rang, in response to her brother, it was carefree, and extremely light, and Jem replied, in a fondly loving tone "Don't worry, Jerry, Faith is with me, nothing bad will happen."
Jerry, glanced at Walter in passing, and pointed out, "and they're not even engaged, but they will be, so no harm done. " Jerry's tone was certain. If any covenants had been made, no one yet knew about them except the two lovers who had disappeared to the bend of a country lane under the shining stars, Walter mused.
Jerrys attention was instantly diverted when Nan arrived in the yard, dressed in a light golden dress, her rosy cheeks shone with a light color that deepened a hint as Jerry stepped toward her, with a mug of fresh lemonade in his hand, and one biscuit, folded in a napkin. Soon they too disappeared from view, into a nearby spruce. Somewhere the nightingale sang, brightly, once a second, and a third time.
The violinist changed as the old MacAllister lowered the bow from his tired hand and signaled someone else to replace him.
It was time for the reels.
Walter turned, and went for a walk. The bright evening seemed to invite him, he didn't want to dance, not today, as his sisters were all taken, and he did not want to dance with anyone else, not tonight.
The hay smelled, of old forgotten summers, and half secret hidden dreams, and the evening seemed full of silent enchantment. There were running steps, and the two forms seemed to be walking deeper from the road into the shadows, hand in hand, something pale, perhaps a dress, was glowing in the bright evening, and fleetingly Walter thought of Alice Parker, as if for one moment he had heard her golden laughter shimmering in the air. There were people from Lowbridge here, but he had not yet seen Alice, anywhere.
Walter leaned against the door frame, a glass of warm lemonade, in his hand, listening with his eyes closed. A wild, glamorous tone shone. The song changed, the waltzes started, and the barn became even more crowded than before.
Suddenly, a voice asked" Can you hold my violin for one moment?" Walter turned, and in front of him stood a violinist.
He was a slender, young dark-haired and dark-eyed boy, of his own age, with a poppy's red cheeks, a bright red scraf that shone like a drop of blood, and pure white shirt, with sleeves rolled to the elbows. He smiled kindly, openly, and said, "You are Walter Blythe, aren't you? There are quite a few of you here, from Ingelside, today, but why don't you dance?" The violinist was a bit like Pat Brewster, in his open kindness, Walter pondered.
So he held out his hand, and carefully took the violin, looking at it, admiring its details, it was a beautiful instrument, though worn out. The violinist smiled, and dried his face, into a wide striped handkerchief, and with one hand drank Ginger Ale, and after a moment, he remarked, "Listen, I'm going to take it as a personal insult if you're not going to dance, for my second set will begin soon, I hope to see you there". Whistling, the violinist left, and gentle evening breeze ruffled his curls for one endless moment.
Walter just stood in place, as his feet felt like they were filled with lead. Blood hummed in his veins, and suddenly he felt very alive.
Moments flowed.
Suddenly the noise from inside petered to silence there was a soft sliding trill of a melancholic violin, as well as the familiar silver bright laughter, Di.
Walter stepped forward and gently slid past the people dancing or standing, aiming to reach to his sister.
Di stood right near the stage. Dancing had raised a soft red on her cheeks, and her eyes shone, bright as the evening stars. Because Nan was in a golden dress Di was pale in blue, the color was glorious, she looked like the fairy of dawn, from the court of Titania.
Di looked up when she noticed Walter coming towards her, and a little curiously she pointed out. "You don't usually dance, at all."Walter smiled at her and replied quietly "one person really hoped I would dance this song." An emotional, incredibly beautiful melody shone in the room as the rows organized, and the reel began, and the music grew faster and louder. But as the beats dropped, Walter noticed that the song was not a pure Irish reel, but rather a variation of the Quebec and Acadian regions, therefore, quite suitable for dancing on here Prince Edward Island. At the end of the song, applause seemed to shake the barn. Leaning against the wall Di remarked, "I don't remember the last time, when I danced that much even though I've been dancing all evening. That violinist is really talented, isn't he, and really handsome, at least I think so. Did you like the music, Walter?"
The violinist turned on stage, seemingly, looking quickly in his direction, and a light delighted smile spread across his face, and with the lightest fingers he lifted the violin bow across the string again, and a new song began to flow, gentle like a stream in the Rainbow Valley.
As from somewhere far away Walter noticed that Di was waiting for an answer, so he said a little distantly
"Yes, my dear sister, the evening has been a success, and the music was like a dream."