Golden Alice, it was the nickname Walter, had given her, for in a certain light Alice resembled a slender autumnal birch. Despite her delicate appearance, Alice had a goal, and that was to get herself a college education, her mother was easy to convince because she wanted to get Alice well married, and just a hint from all the medical students would take care of it.
Her Father was more awkward case because he didn't believe women needed college education, as it only belonged to men, especially studying medicine. But Alice didn't want to be the doctor's wife, all those late nights, constant workload on all hours, and the endless tea and cake parades.
She thirsted for information. The university was the key to knowledge, and knowledge of all knowledge was power. For the Blythe´s college education was a matter of course for all six children, except perhaps for the youngest, Walter's pet, Rilla, who just wanted to have fun, happy as a lark in summertime, shining and gracefull.
Alice trembled, and tried to banish the sudden memories, but that was useless. Now they flooded her mind like a tidal wave.
There was a reason why Alice could not watch anymore the licking, bubbling water the shores of the Island, for the water, the sea, had deprived her of her love, and left only painful, shameful consequences.
April 1913 was forever drawn in her mind.
One evening after Compline, Alice was just about to leave the church for her home, the evening was sparkling, full of sweet lurking enchantment as an unknown voice inquired, "Miss Parker, can I take you home, not worth walking alone, especially so late." Alice had turned and seen a slender figure who seemed to shine supernatural light as the illuminated rose windows reflected colors over him.
The figure took one flowing step forward, and a strong warm hand slid into her hand, gesture was sure, and intimate. A light red rose on Alice's face as she looked up, and saw a kind, laughing face flickering somewhere above her. Sapphire blue eyes, and light brown hair with light waves, as well as sailor clothing, a striped shirt, and straight pants.
The man felt remotely familiar, to Alice and he had been sitting on the bench of the Crawfords during the service and had sung a pure clear tenor to the motet Ave Maria Stella, the anthem to the sea."Don't you remember me, little Alice?" There was something familiar in the caressing soft voice, but why should it be so? The man sighed and said lightly,
"I went to the sea in search of my happiness, and when I return to the beautiful shores of Glen, and Lowbridge, for a short leave, no one remembers or knows me It's best that I introduce myself then, as I don't want you to think that I'm a villain. So I´m Philippe Crawford, and I remember you well, because you were the most beautiful creature as a child, but now, well. Roses don't compare to you either."
And that's where it started.
Enchanted walks, all over Lowbridge, and sometimes even to the Four Winds, for Philippe loved the sea, its turmoil, and he often told and sang sailor stories, nothing rough, just light and beautiful, ones like the golden-edged cloud, blue, like the standard of the king of fables, blue-green, like the Mediterranean, and light grey dolphins frolicing in the spray.
Suddenly, almost unnoticed, love took over Alice, and the walks became longer and longer, and as hours took wings, small endless moments. When her mother wondered, why she was so often late coming home, she blamed the affairs of the church and the preparation for the services, and it was partly that, as especially Compline had special meaning for her and Philippe, now.
One afternoon, Alice waited impatiently for Philippe, and soon he arrived at the crossroads, whistling and looked around saying, his laughing manner "Let's get out of here because my Aunt Sophia Craword lives nearby and she won't get along with my family at all because, they think I'm from the wrong branch of the family. " Amused, Alice looked at the quiet road of the village, everything looked the same as before, but then curtains moved in the window of a house, and Alice pressed her hand softly into Philippe's hand and they ran away laughing, towards the cliffs, and the green smelling grass, and clover..
Then came August, soft, copious, and fragrant and Pilippe's shore leave ended. He returned to his duties on a merchant steamer, as an officer, and with a smile he waved his cap, in the port of Four Winds, and said,"I will write when I have time, take good care of yourself, you have been too pale recently, dear, sweet Alice."
And then the steamer, Querencia set sail.
And Alice stood on the warf watching for it disappear into the horizon, as so many young women in love had done since Odysseus' Penelope, or Rosemary Meredith. Alice remotely remembered that young Rosemary had once in ancient times had an unfortunate love affair that had ended badly. Biting her lip, Alice wondered, as the weeks went by, should she talk to Rosemary, for people said she was always understanding. But before she could, she woke one morning in late August, and she was feeling whoozy.
There were sudden headaches that lasted for several hours, and she found herself wanting to eat, something pungent, she who usually hated, all things vinegary and lemony, now eagerly sniffed the lemon cleanser, and found herself wanting to eat all the lemons with their peels on.
Alice sat on her bed and thought, and counted down the dates, took out her calendar, the reason for her unwellness and sudden urges were clear, now. Vaquely she heard her mothers request, that she would to come down for breakfast.
Steeling herself, Alice walked slowly to the breakfast room. The smell of the fried food was horrible, and Father's cigar hovered over it, utterly repugnant.
Alice took a piece of toast, dry, and moistened it with a weak tea. Slowly she ate, and at the same time thought hard about what she could do. She could not send a word, for Phillippe for there was no way to do it, as he was sailing somewhere totally out of reach. Smiling softly and humming a little, Alice's mind leveled off, as nothing very horrible had happened, no one knew anything, and everything was fine. She should just be very careful for the next few months, or so.
Alice's peace of mind shattered suddenly when she heard what her father was talking loudly on the phone.
"A horrible accident. A ship, exploded. In the crew and officers a few local lads from here. Querencia, no survivors. It is now scrap iron, at the bottom of the Mediterranean.."
Feeling completely numb, Alice got up and went out. She walked aimlessly until she found herself near the Episcopal Church of Lowbridge.
Alice opened the door, and sat on her own bench. The mid-morning sun lit up the familiar building, and in the gallery the choir rehearsed as the first notes, of the sea motet began to echo, Alice's numbness dissipated, and tears just flowed, silent, and painful. The stinging sorrow and equally stinging shame of her condition burned her, hot as a burning iron. Everything had suddenly turned completely on its head, and there was no way out except one, and Alice's soul was afraid of the means, but what other means didn't seem to be, or were they? There was botany, endless, possibilities, and alternatives for women in the fix, like her, now. Determined, Alice raised her chin and looked up at rose window, it sparkled brightly.
September arrived, and Alice's despair was a deep endless blackness. The problem was that she couldn't turn to anyone for help because she was Dick Parker's daughter, so the whisperings in the Lowbridge alleys were useless to her. So one morning she went to Charlottetown, and the dear Ms. Collings fixed the rest, with Walter´s poetry, knitted some of her soul back, to her that evening in September.
From that evening on, Alice had only lived as there was an impenetrable veil between her and the rest of the world. All that sparkling joy that had been her birth gift had flowed away, and what was left was a graceful shell, and dignity.
The presence of Walter, beloved Walter, had helped a little, the blackness didn't bother Alice so much then.
All those lovely November evenings, with Tadzio and Walter, the boys, looked at each other with the stars in their eyes, and Alice modestly read aloud poems and short stories that neither of them was sure to listen to. Love glowed in the air, soft, and forbidden, but how love could ever be wrong, it could not.
Alice barely shook off her memories, as she was braiding her hair in front of her mirror. She had been summoned to Igelside today, as there was reportedly a guest there who would like to meet her. Alice had heard many of tall tales from Ken Ford, from Walter parts from his sisters. He was reportedly an incurable lady killer, and a charming, prankster, but he was also a friend of Walter´s heart, and for that reason Alice would give him a benefit of a doubt.
June had been full of golden frolics, and capers, and fun of all sorts, as Ken had travelled down from Toronto to Over Harbour, to a long promised visit to some Over Harbour Wests, with his trunk and Gramophone in tow.
And today he had plunged into Ingelside like a tail star, and whispered to him "Walt, I want to meet it with your Lowbridge friend, so go to the phone and call her here." Walter had shaken his head and called Parkers.
Ken had said in his usual charming way "If one person will ask about my foot, I will draw up a placard and hung it out on my chest. It will spoil my satatorial elegance, rather, but I simply cannot bear even one inquiary anymore. Walt, you know how that feels, do you dear chap? All those endless, irritating well-meaning gestures of comfort and curiosity. "
And Walter had nodded, as Di had made some mock placards for Ken and his sisters had sparkeld with laughter, as Ken had exaggerating his limping, hobbled around the living room.
Walter had not joined their merriment, he just had looked at Ken, one strand of dark hair, had flown to his forehead, and Walter´s fingers had itched from desire to put it, behind Ken´s ear, there had been tight feeling in his chest, when Di had, said " Ken, can I correct your hair for you."
Ken had smiled and nodded his assent at Di, when his sisters white fingers, had placed the strand, back, Walter had closed his eyes and breathed, in and out, but that had been useless, as everything had smelled of sandalwood, the air in the living room, or it had felt like it, so Walter had escaped outside as it was too much, suddenly.
Ken had of course joined him there, as he would known that he would. He had smoked, and for a moment Walter had remembered Tadzio, and the smoke of the tobacco that had been wrapped around them, in the shade of the trees, when they had first kissed.
The memory was so strong, and the bittersweet Walter closed his eyes, but the scent of Ken's sandalwood colonge shattered the memory as the sea breeze breaks the surface of the sea in the mornings.
So Walter opened his eyes and saw Ken's dark gray eyes look at him with intense attention, that look was very effective, as it raised Walter´s heartbeat for few moments. Ken grinned at him his suave, flowing cat-like way and and said, "It is so nice to see you, here amid the freshness of Ingelside, there is a sylvan breeze in the wind tonight, dreaming of shimmering sunsets, and balmy fragrant evenings, full of starshine."
Ken had suddenly straightened his posture and said hoarsely, "Walt, who is that?" Walter stared into the twilight, and after a moment he saw two delicate girlish forms, coming up from the Shore Road. Both were as familiar to Walter as his own poems, so he said calmly. "They are Alice, and Rilla, who is probably coming from Irene Howard, or maybe it was Betty Meade."
Walter smiled as he faced Alice's gaze, she was wearing a light dress, and she had a red ribbon in her hair. Rilla was also wearing white, but there was nothing strange about it, because usually in the summer heat, his sisters always dressed in light colors, but the color highlighted the girl's reddish-abundant hair, and in the twilight her skin shone pale like cream, and her long eyelashes cast enchanting shadows on her cheeks. Bright silver laughter echoed in the evening as Rilla laughed at something Alice had said. Walter thought, both girls looked like the incarnations of the summer breath, or the light spirits of roses that only came to dance in the evenings for a few moments. Ken's silence was very strange, he felt just as if he had solidified.
As the girls, arrived on the porch and Ken stood up and said lightly, "Well Spider you've grown up, well done. And you must be Alice of Lowbridge, it is so nice to finally meet you."
Walter noticed that the hot shimmering red flashed on Rilla's face as she heard Ken's words. The words were quite ordinary, the same ones Ken had always greeted, Rilla for years true, but there was still something new about it, Walter wondered, as if Ken were playing some part, but why, and he noticed that Ken´s eyes traced Rillas petuliant exit, before he shook his head and turned on the charm towards Alice, who looked at Ken in her cool style. There was a slightly amused look in her eyes. And then she smiled and said, in her sweetly regal manner "Mr. Ford, you seem charming, but I can assure you that I am not at all interested in being conquered by you, that is, if you have nothing else to talk about, I suggest that this evening ends for me."
Very amused, Walter noticed how Ken blushed, and he a little awkwardly, wiped his hair back and said, "Miss Parker, feel free to choose the subject of the conversation, I promise to behave sacredly." "You don't have to be a saint, it would be too much, ordinary courtesy is enough. What do you think of the prevailing news this morning?" "The situation in the Balkans is extremely serious and I believe that Archduke Franz Ferdinand's trip to Sarajevo may help to ease the pressure, as local reforms are under way, at least I have understood this from various sources. Are you going to Redmond in the fall, like Walter here? "
"The Austro-Hungarian dual monarchy is a huge massive country, a real melting pot of people, with many different independent nationalities, and the same can be said of the Balkans, it has been called a powder keg for years, isn't it? I haven't decided if I to go to Redmond yet, because it's not an easy thing for me." Alice said in a calm tone, but Walter noticed that her left hand twisted into a fist and opened, in a small movement in the shadows of her skirts.
Alice was clearly nervous, but why talking about Redmond would be reason for nerves, the situation in the corners of Europe was unpleasant. So it was better to focus on thinking about fragrant roses, Walter pondered.
An hour passed, and Susan brought them hot tea, cream, and milk. She smiled contentedly at seeing Ken and said "Walter's you should be in soon, this rising humidity isn't doing you any good. And Ken, Wests phoned few moments ago, they'll pick you up soon. And Alice, . just got an emergency call from near Lowbridge, so he can get you close to home."
Alice got up, and with a light smile, and she said to Walter, "I'll probably see you in a couple of weeks at the Harbor Light dance, at the latest, and maybe you too, Ken, if you get there? Will you both give me a dance?"
Ken bowed gracefully, and Walter squeezed Alice's hand warmly, and a bright light golden but slightly forced laughter rang in the evening as Alice floated away.
After a moment of silence, Ken said, "Walt, that girl is absolutely brilliant. Beauty, spirituality, and character, but I don't think you love her?"
Walter said, "Alice is my best friend in this world if I don't count Di or you." "Well love, comes to you, some time and when that lightning strikes, you know it's all-consuming, and everything before is just dust," Ken's voice was very quiet, and his face was in the shadows.
Walter sighed lightly, thinking of the already lightly grassy grave, and the red scarf upstairs, and the poems he had written in manic Schiller-like enthusiasm, and in pain.
There was a sound of horses hoofs in the road, and Ken slowly got to his feet and walked carefully across the yard, sitting on top of the sacks of potatoes in the wagon. His smile shone, and he waved his hand lightly, saying
"See you soon Lord Poet!"
Walter stood in the empty yard for a moment, inhailing the gentle smells of June everywhere, as he turned and headed for the Rainbow Valley, even in the dark the dell was comforting, like a sudden unexpected hug.
Ingelside glowed with peace, and the smells of food. The young fry had been in the living room earlier in the afternoon and early evening. Their laughter had gleamed brightly as Ken had described his sister's adventures. He was still here on the porch with Walter.
A moment ago, Rilla had come from outside with red cheeks and avoidant eyes. Her youngest child was so tall, and slender, and seemed much older than her age, but she was a bit too vain, we had pampered her perhaps a little too much Anne reflected. Maybe Irene had said something prickly, to Rilla, Anne wondered, for Irene Howard was often to be found holding her court over the younger girls, at least if Di´s and Nan's stories were to be believed, and why not.
In light steps, Anne climbed the stairs, carrying a few clean Walter shirts in her arms.
Anne opened the door, stepping softly into her son's room. Everything was in order, there were a few papers on the table, and books on the shelf, familiar, beloved titles, and for some reason French and Italian dictionaries.
The large mirror refracted light, and the frame of the mirror had two scarves, a familiar silver gray, and a new one completely unknown, pulsating silky red, its color like a blood stain, or roses in the garden of the House of Dreams, powerful, inviting, and completely unforgettable.
Anne pursed her mouth, wondering from who, Walter might have gotten that from, as the scarf seemed to glow of the hauting scent of foreign lands, and adventures, perhaps that too was another souvenir from Ken, that dear boy, so like dear Owen in looks, but he had Leslies kind heart.
Sighing lightly, Anne opened the window, down the porch there there were Walter, Ken, and Alice Parker sitting in wicker chairs, drinking the tea Susan had just taken for them. Anne put a few books on the papers on the table to keep them from flying in the wind, and placed the shirts inside the tall wardrobe, and with fairy feet she, tip toed away.
A couple of days were spent in glowing peace, and sweet heat.
The sky was pure blue and Gulf's foam-headed waves seemed to be competing with each other.
Then one afternoon news headlines blazed everywhere, from the Daily Enterprise, to the Glen Globe glowed with just one piece of news. Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife had been shot dead in Sarajevo, in 28.6.1914, at 11.30 am. The man arrested for the assassination had links to Serb nationalists, a member of the dreaded organization Black Hand.
The atmosphere was tense, only Rilla seemed to be completely carefree as she anointed her bread. Gertrude Oliver, who was visiting Ingelside, looked pale and rubbed her temples as she drank strong tea. Nan and Di looked worried and talked in a quiet voice, and Jem whistled, sweeping a few red curls from his forehead. Anne's eyes were large, and, all the color had drained from them, and there were jerky little lines the corners of Gilbert's mouth.
Walter looked at the big black headline, and it felt like the surrounding home-based reality had suddenly broken, and somewhere there was a distant intoxicating flute playing that seemed to intensify moment by moment.
Suddenly, Rilla's voice broke Walter's thoughts, "Can I go to the upcoming dance at Harbour Light, like everyone else, I'm old enough, as I´m almost fifteen, Dads, Mums?"
Anne got up from the table with her face pale, and walked to the garden. Walter followed, and he saw his mother touching every flower, as if to gather strength from them.
In a soft voice, he said, "Maybe now would be the time to let Rilla my Rilla go to the spree, because we're all there and looking after her. And unless I'm completely wrong, she already has a dress ready for the evening."
Anne sighed, saying, "You're right, but let´s wait a couple of days before we tell her the news, let's see how the situation in Europe develops."
Walter walked into the Rainbow Valley, a familiar idyllic dell, glowing with the peace of the morning. Walter loved it every, flower, leaf and root with all his heart. He looked up at the clear clear sky and closed his eyes, and somewhere in the distance seemed to echo, haunting sound of the flute, the familiar and beloved violin was twined in with it. And he pondered his old childhood vision of the Piper, that he had seen here on this same grassy and mossy hill, and he shivered with sudden cold.
The wind rose and it shook the leaves in the trees, the hum and the whispers seemed to rise.
And pressing his hands to his ears, Walter ran away from Rainbow Valley.