It was mid-May.

The evenings were bright and sparkling. The windows of Manse gleamed through the crevice of the spruce as Una was making tea in the kitchen. The front door opened, and she heard Rosemary´s soft voice say "Oh, Walter, how nice to see you. John is in his office, just come straight inside, and remember to knock loudly. He is immersed in his books again, and our world often disappears from him then, as you know. And now is such a quiet day. On windy, stormy days, he is more present."

Una sharpened her hearing, and pressed her hand over her throbbing heartbeat, as the teapot whistled, but the foot-steps did not come to kitchen. Walter walked past the living room and piano, everything was in order and fragrant. There were a few daffodils on the table, and another bouquet of blue bells. And in front of the piano was a pile of sheet music, neatly, and a skillfully woven lace cloth made by Una, Walter was almost certain of that. The ivy overshadowed the large windows, and as he stood on the doorstep of that room where he had spent so many peaceful hours over the years, peace descended on his heart, and he calmly walked down the hallway, knocking on the door of Reverend's study.

After few moments John Meredith came to open it. He seemed strained as if several sleepless nights were behind him, but his subtle face brightened into a boyish smile as he said gently, "Walter, how wonderful to see you. Did you come to visit, or do you want to borrow a book, or is it a pastoral thing?"

Walter looked around in that large room with books everywhere and the most beautiful stained glass in the windows. He sat in a soft, slightly bumpy leather armchair, crossed his arms to his knees, and said, "John, you have been since my childhood, one of those persons who has been able to look into the depths of my soul, from the moment I showed you the spring under the maples of Rainbow Valley, that spring, with cold, crystal clear, fresh water. " Reverend Meredith, looked at the narrow, and slender young man sitting in front of him, and he waited quietly.

In the end, Walter continued, " War it is not glorious, it is bloody, and it is terrible. Beauty is destroyed everywhere, and I want to stop it if I can. So I am leaving for training in early June."

John Meredith's dark eyes were sympathetic, and he thought of Jerry's letters to him, from earthly hell, and he thought that Ingelside's dreamy Walter had perhaps the most realistic picture of where he was going, so he just said, "Walter, do what you have to, your reason for doing it is yours. Do you have anything else, something that might weigh you down? " Reverend Meredith almost always had the ability to ease away the worries of his flock, it was a talent, of his, of any man of the cloth. The sacrament of confession, or just some pure advice on life. But then again, there were things shrouded in his soul, that Walter never told any living soul, not anymore. "You once suggested I could go play the organ, in church if I wanted to? Can I do it now."

A little surprised, John Meredith glanced at the church service calendar, on his desk, and said, "Naturally." A light, gentle smile lit up Walter's face, and the young man hummed, something that Una sometimes played in the evenings, John Meredith pondered as young Blythe was closing the door behind him.

Walter stopped at the doorstep of the kitchen and saw Una toiling away in a aparon, she was washing dishes. He said lightly, "I'm going to play the organ, do you want to come with me?" The darkhaired, girlish form of Una turned away from the sink, and she nodded, swiftly putting her aparon away.

Soon two dark shadows crossed the road from Manse to church. The church was dim and quiet, and completely empty. The soft, appealingly beautiful music glowed in the church, the songs changed, and Walter played.

And Una knew them all, almost by heart, how could she not, as it was Elgar. When Walter started to play one of her favorites Una sang softly the verses of Twilight as the avalanche of emotions almost overwhelmed her.

Adieu! and the years are a broken song,

The right grows weak in the strife with wrong,

The lilies of love have a crimson stain,

And the old days never will come again.

Adieu! Some time shall the veil between

The things that are, and that might have been,

Be folded back for our eyes to see,

And the meaning of all be clear to me.

It was too much, the misty stillness of her Father´s church, the nearness of Walter, and the caressing skill that he captured the longing notes that sparkled in the air. Walter got up from the bench, shook his hands, and smiled lightly, mischievously, and said somewhat jubilantly "I knew Elgar might succeed where I myself, had previously failed. Una you truly do have marvelous voice, so clear and sweet."

Una did not say anything, she only looked at him, in her earnest circular way, but there was a small whisper of smile in her features, like a strand of starlight, Walter mused.

Soon they were at Manse's gate, and Walter remarked, " Una please, wear sometimes my Christmas present. Jewellery, even a hair-piece is mean to be worn, or so Ken Ford always says, as he is epitome of cityfied elegance, and class."

Una was feeling a little dizzy as Walter's recent words glowed in her heart, the sudden and unlooked for compliments. She watched Walter's fading figure until he had disappeared into a bend in the road, under the maples from which Rainbow Valley began.

Walter pondered Ken's latest letter, as he was looking at the lush landscape. It was a blue moment, hazy, and bright.

Lord Poet!

It came to my mind to write you a few lines because I remembered you were never on any sports team, so the first days of training might be a shock to you. Team spirit is everything. The exercises can be monotonous and your feet will hurt a lot. You can find out the rest yourself. The other lads form all over can be cruel, but I think somehow you know it. Don't let them offend you, rise above them if you can. How wonderful that my old scarf gets to see the world.

KF.

Rainbow Valley was glistening with the glory of May around him, there was a haunting scent of apple blossoms. The beloved view which would soon change into Kingsport CEF halls, training, barracks, commands and marching.

A few days after the Elgar-moment, with Walter, Una was bying butter and milk at Carter Flagg. Mary Vance came next to her and she said " Una dear, did you happen to hear the news about Ingelside. I heard from Susan yesterday that Walter too has joined up like Miller, who is now at Kingsport, in training." Mary´s words did not register in Una's consciousness for a moment, then everything seemed to be covered in gray mist. And only barely did Una mutter some of the accustomed courtesy, in a very faint voice, paid for her purchases, and walked calmly, a storm in her soul toward her home. The road between Carter Flagg's and Manse had never felt so long. Suddenly the clear sky was covered with dark clouds, and light raindrops began to fall on the reddish, dusty road.

Mary Vance looked after her childhoodfriend´s slender departing form, now only a whisper of black tidy tresses and flash of blue, at the corner of a widing road. There was a gleam in her pale blue eyes, a sense of queer ache, of phantom pain. As if Una had received a sudden blow, a strap of a whip in her soul, or some such, but wasn't it a good thing that the boys went to do their duty, to stop the war. Mary shook her lavish braids, and tried to put her mind into more mundaine matters, of shopping. Soon there were canning season for strawberries, if regulation and a tightening food situation would allow it. Maybe she'd make time for toffee candies for Miller, the hard ones he liked so much, if she could wrestle kitchen from Cornelia, wonderful spiky Cornelia.

At the church Mary had seen a glimmer of proud tears in Cornelias warm brown eyes, as Mary walked with Miller, along the corridor. So with a small smile, Mary brought a skien of fine thread of vivid red, Cornelia so loved vivid colors. She had taken Mary in with open arms to her home and her heart. The pale, thng, jagged, bragging half-wild creature that she had been, then, and now she was dressed in well sewn fresh cotton with lace-edges, in her aparon. So with a jaunty step Mary walked towards Four Winds, and Cornelias well-kept house, and groaning pantry, and outbuldings, of Marshalls handwork, humming in strong voice latest hymn from last Sunday.

In her room Una knelt down in front of open window, and looked at the gray, rainy sky, the same shade as in his eyes. In that moment Una recalled what Anne Blythe had said to Rosemary a couple of days ago, as she visited at the Manse. "It is our duty to let them go. We give up part of our heart with them. Our boys, they follow a higher calling than the faint voice of our love." Rosemary's face had been calm and she had hummed quietly, something of a melancholy tone, and a sense of sea in it, and her only reply to Ms. Blythe, to Anne, had been small sigh. Una had been sitting in living room, a whitework in her lap and she had overheard the one small snatch of the murmured discussion.

With a trembling hand, Una opened a box, there glowed Walter's Christmas present.

Una remembered the moment she had opened Walter's package in the privacy of her own room. Everywhere in the Manse had smelled of fresh gingerbread, and Rosemary's turkey, and the light of the candle had hit the haircomb, making it shine vividly. As then, and now Una gently lifted the comb, and put it in her hair, its weight was overwhelmingly heavy to be such a small object. The hand-worked flowers on it, and the embedded stone was cool, almost cold under her fingers, until the silver, warmed from her touch.

Quite exactly halfway between Glen and Lowbridge was a small house, it was gray in color, and its garden had many lilac shrubs, they fluttered in the wind, tall, jungle of Lilactrees with bumpy, slender branches bearing, fragrant bouquets, flowers, white, pale lilac, or purple, with satiny smooth, vibrant over-grown grass with clover and wild mint.

No one in Lowbridge remembered who had built the house, but everyone knew the lilac bushes, in fact, most of the shrubs in the Glen area had been grown from the shrubs of that particular garden. A small paved path led to a worn door, and it´s windows were shaded by creeping ivy, that was blood-red in Autum-time.

Alice sat on the lawn, under a white lilac bush, trying to write a friendly, and not too encouraging letter, to Dorian. It did not go at all smoothly, as there was a small cloud of worry in her mind.

Since Alice had arrived from Redmond, conditions at home had been troubled. One evening Alice noticed that her mother was bothered, for some reason, her behavior was alternately proud and listless, she often watched Alice, without saying anything. Father was drowning under his workload, as always, but he was visibly pleased with Alice´s grades, saying in his grumpy manner "You're smarter than I thought, but darling, why German in these circumstances?"

Alice had only answered "All kinds of language skills are power, and we won't always be at war, hopefully. And also for musical reasons like lieds.""Hmph, lieds, utter romantic nonsense, like that Elgar that Blythe boy, who survived the typhoid, barely, he played it here. You are good girl Alice, and honest one, and you have some common sense. Welcome home, but now I have to run, as it is rude to keep patients waiting. "Alice had watched her father's clumsy and sudden departure, and a moment later the door slammed open again as came to pick up his forgotten hat, and his brown bag from his study, all shiny and worn.

So when Di suggested that they take walks and lunch trips around Glen and Lowbridge, Alice had grabbed the offer with great enthusiasm. There had been few moments in the spring, when the light had vavered, and the evenings had wore onwards like gentle soothing song, full of shimmering togetherness, discussions of books, and crafts, of Alice´s faith, and Di´s own ambitions, after Redmond, naturally current affairs of the world would creep in. They always did.

Di was as prone to literary charms as her brother, but Di's character was a more straightforward, clear, and practical, it was appealing to Alice, as the two girls, were kindred spirits to one another, or so had Di claimed, burning frevent tone in her voice.

Cool and vivid greenish shadows were casting looms of shadow-lace into hard packed dusty roads, grassy banks, with pale shimmering bluebells, and delicate glumps of ferns, large and wavering in the breeze as the girls sat down on a mossy hill, circled with aspens and slender young black and white birches.

There among the birdsong Di looked at Alice, closely, and with a careful hand braided a bluebell crown into her head, and she said fondly"Faerie flowers, but they suit you, some strange way." Alice crossed her ankles and laid her glossy blond head, to Di´s lap. For there are some things that are too deep and private to be said aloud, even amid glimmering blooming nature.

Alice looked at the blue sky above her, and the soft shadows of the white lilac flowers, on the grass. Deep pain sliced Alice's heart, and with tear-filled eyes she turned and looked at the house behind her. Namely, she and him, had often spent their time in this garden, and Philippe had considered changing his profession, as he first saw that house, even though he loved the sea, that had claimed him in it´s final embrace.

For a few unforgettable weeks Alice had built cloud castles, and shimmering dreams of a life with Philippe, in this house, to host musical and peaceful above all safe nights, other like-minded people, walking other paths, like Walter and dear doomed Tadzio, and others, and she would watch the lilacs wear flowers every spring. Gracefully, Alice folded unwritten letter in her pocket, and reached out to her toes and folded one bouquet of lilacflowers, and fastened it to her belt. Maybe someday she could bring Di here, to the house of her buried hopes, but not yet. It hurt still too much, to give this place up for frivolity, and fun. Nodding resolute manner Alice lifted her chin and casted one last glance towards the house, half invisible, grey flash amid the green.

In moments, Alice had walked towards Glen, as she passed by a handsome, slightly arrogant house in Upper Glen, a half-familiar voice exclaimed, "Alice, Alice Parker, will you please, come out of the heat, and drink lemonade. "

Shading her eyes with her hand, Alice took a step forward, saw from of another blond girl. She rose from the garden swing. It was Irene Howard, she was dressed stylishly, maybe a little too stylishly on a warm May day. Irene walked few steps to open gate, and said, "It would be so wonderful if you would. I have something for you, it will surely interest you."

Feeling slightly amused, of the overflowing style of Miss Howard, Alice walked behind Irene, onto a shady porch that did, in fact have a large decanter of cold lemonade, and on a plate, freshly baked biscuits under hood. Irene crossed her ankles, looking casually at the girl sitting opposite. "I had to tell you earlier that our collaboration worked flawlessly. The audience loved the performances and it's absolutely incredible that we got more than $ 100 raised during the evening. Admittedly, nothing is as important as helping those in need, isn't it, Alice?"

To Irene's annoyance, Alice didn't answer, she just raised her eyebrows, looking questioning, and tasted the lemonade.

A soft, slightly sly smile on her lips Irene said, "What do you think that one branch of the Crawfords has often become just sailors who have been devastated and wrecked? Oh dear, rumors are running in Lowbridge, and especially now that Sophia Crawford of Glen, told last sewing circle meeting, few tales of old family lore, as she was in Lowbridge, to lend a helping hand. I happened to heard quite recently, from my contacts, that you were seen walking out with Philippe Crawford, oh few years back, now. But I have to admit that all kinds of uniforms are just plain delicious, but still us, girls have to have standards, would´t you agree?"

Alice lowered her glass to the table, and fixed her cool gaze on Irene's face, saying, in a quelling even tone, of voice, " It's true that I knew Philippe Crawford, he brought me home a few times from church, at dusk. Compline, the service is always in evening time, if episcopalian practices are unfamilliar to you. His passing was a great loss, for many."

Irene's eyes flashed, and she said in a low, honey sweet voice, " Oh, I´m sure it was, you know. Sailors, are so romantic, all the mystery and romance of the sea and far off travels, and Philippe Craword was very good looking, I´m told, all golden and vibrant, like a sunshine, if one´s tastes run that way, there are all kinds of tastes. One other thing, you could even try to be more fashion-conscious, your dresses are so, well old-fashioned now, plain homespun. "

Alice smiled superficially, her smile seemed frozen into her features, as she politely, said goodbye to Irene, "Thank you, for the lemonade, but right now there are more important things to worry in world than, clothes, but I´ll keep your advice in mind. Have a pleasant evening."

Alice walked calmly back toward Lowbridge, unfinished hurtful thoughts bubbling, the sting of Irene´s words, they hurt, for few moments the other girl had conjured shade of Pilippe in front of her, and the honey sweet cattines, of her remarks. People were truly talking then. Feeling haunted Alice shook her head, as suddenly her mother's peculiar behavior was reasonable, if rumors had fallen into her ears. In a small locality like Lowbridge, or Glen there were impossible to keep secrets, all would eventually emerge, either from toxic rumors, or hearsay or queer mixture of both.

In borgeouise living room of Doctor Parker, all dark wood, and lot´s of embroidered cushions, observed in keen gaze, her only daughter as she said, "I want to emphasize that it is the duty of a woman to be a sophisticated, and distant, not light-footed creature rotating in haystacks. So surely I do not have to remind you the proper way of doing certain things, or do I?"

Alice sat in another chair, as she grabbed knitting-needles from basket, nearby and began to knit sock furiously and as she did that Alice pondered her Mother´s words, circular as they had been, there had been unforgiving tone in her voice, a silent accusation.

It was quiet.

Alice's gaze wandered around familiar living room that, despite its size, suddenly felt so small, and cramped. She sighed lightly, and soon a calm, but icy remark was heard, opposite her "Alice, fine women don't sigh, and sit up straighter." Automaticly Alice corrected her posture and the only sound in that house for hours afterwards was the ticking of a clock, as the Parkers sat shrouded in silence, in their living room, as one sock after another were completed, and put away.

Then it was time for Compline.

So with wistful smile Alice took her blue summer jacket and slipped out, feeling utterly relifed to be out of her mother´s scunity, for a time. The sky was pale purple as Alice walked homewards, the strains and cadences of Compline service ringing in her ears. Alice sighed, and she remembered her recent talk with Di before she had went to Kingsport, for Red Cross work.

Di had looked with that innate sympahty in her eyes at Alice and had said "You said few weeks back at the end of Redmond term, that your mother expects you to find someone. You can't get any better in all Redmond than Dorian, I know that his legs don't bother you. He has read almost as much as Walter, but he is not so moody or temperamental as my dear brother, but you somehow can manage Walter´s moods in exellent way, better even than Mumsy. There is still time, few Redmond years ahead for both of us, no reason to hurry."

The press of Di´s hand had been very warm and there had been greenish-golden haze around them, in the dell of Rainbow Valley, and the vibrant rue had winked from the grassy bank, and there had been slight subtle scent of crushed wild mint, in the air.

Alice had noticed that haunting mixture of scents a faint tinge of pink had come into her ivory features, as the scents conjured with them a fleeting aching memory, of coppery sticky tang of blood, and dark anxiety, mixed with a hint of lavender, and Walter´s voice in distance. In that very moment, Di had said with a solem nod towards plants "some herbal knownledge is useful, for all kinds of situations." Alice had crossed her hands tightly together and she had shivered, and concerned Di had looked towards Alice, her frozen stance, and had observed in her quick-silver way"Oh, my poor darling." Di had embraced Alice, warmly, and very softly, and the dragonfly pin in Di´s hair glinted in the light, as she remarked,

"Now I understand why my brothers Christmas present for you, was a pin with Queen Anne´s lace, in it. So Walter knows something, does he, then?" Mutely Alice nodded, and whispered,"He does not know, not totally, as he is sometimes so oblivious of things, that are too real. And all little feminine codes, bybass him totally, as you know, but that is one part of his charm. The way of looking at life like it is a fairytale, filled with miracles, and not creeping gloomy shadows. Eventually even the most golden fairytales must end. For your brother, well maybe one of the greatest losses for him has been the way that he is forced to see world as it is, and not as he wanted it to be, no longer a shimmering golden dream."Di had nodded and after for a moment she said " You can challenge him, without making him mope or brood, that is his usual way of reacting things or people not doing things the way he wants them to to. He yearns for acceptance, without fail, and he dislikes when his views are challenged, but with you, well he just is different, a more free and not so strained. What is your secret?"Alice had smiled and said "I´ll just point out how funny his Romantic ways and moods are, and he is very open to suggestions, if they are put in a right way, and I have been always honest with him, with certain limits naturally as Walter does like his distance of things too earthy." Di had laughed in her silvery way and then she had stood up and recited, with a flair her hands outstreached towards leafy canopy of Rainbow Valley

Two friends at ease alone

Talk out their hearts – yet still

Between the grace notes of

The voice of love

Trembles a rarer speech

In her room, after service with a slight scent of candles and inciense upon her, Alice resolutely opened one drawer in her writing table. It was beautiful piece of woodwork, with full of small drawers, of pale amber colored wood. There tied with silken thread, were all Dorian´s letters, to her. The stack was not very high, but the volume of them, it was considerable.

The flowing sentences of Dorian´s correspondence, earnest, and full of irony and wim. The crumbling ivy, shades epolence of Gardiner Hall, from Dorian´s epistoles were shimmering under her eyes, all vivid carpets, long corridors, and staircases, and crystal glasses, in dining room, and gardeners taking care of hothouse flowers on every season, and the keen and stingng remarks of Dorian´s aunts, his fathers only sisters, proud and stern Adeline and vivacious, merry Dorothy, who travelled often and had in Christmases past brought books for him.

All that Dorian wanted to show her, wanted that she too, would fell in love with the place. And behind his son, loomed Royal Gardiner´s form, and commanding, arrogant manner. Alice shivered as she remembered the scene at the mossy wall under the bird cherry and lilacs.

Feeling restless Alice walked across her bedroom and glanced at the sky, only few clouds were lingering in satiny darkness. Alice sat on her bed, still as a frozen statue as the dawn came, and light shimmered, and dew drops glistened on the leaves, and grass of the garden. Alice glanced at the small mirror hanging on the wall, it silvery surface, showed her pale, drawn features, she nodded at her image, and slipped out in her room in fairy feet.

Outside nature bloomed, verdant and full, all around her. Shafts of sunlight, glimmered in moss covered stones, and soft reddish road, that curved in front of Alice, as she walked towards Four Winds, there nestled in between the two large pale pink boulders were a sheltered and grassy hill.

Alice could almost heard Philippe´s laughing voice, humming a seashanty, like he had done that final evening, here, and his voice had trembled with emotion, "Alice o mine, my golden, girl, I´ll promise that I will come back to you." Alice looked the simmering greenish-bule waves, as they broke down the shore below, and then she whispered, with a slight grimace on her features," Darling. If you had lived, my life would be quite different, and I would love the sea, but now I loath it, the roar of it, still. You did not even know that I carried a promise under my heart, promise of a new life. Now rumours are circling on the streets, of us, of our golden time together, in courtesy of your Aunt Sophia. Sometimes, I dream that you did came back, but then I woke up, and the loss of you is crushing, in its severity. I will remember you always, but I have to try to find my own way, a way to funcion in this war-torn reality, of that you know nothing, at all. "

The salty seawind, playfully caressed her hair, and Alice closed her eyes and a soft and hauntingly sad smile illumined her features. The wind was a kind of benediction, from him, or so she pondered and with a murmur Alice recited a stanza from poem that Walter was in extacies over, often.

Joy and Woe are woven fine

A Clothing for the soul divine.

Under every grief and pine

Runs a joy with silken twine.

And a calm decended in her heart, the miracle of Blake, as Alice walked away from the spot, that had been engraved in her heart for all these years, but no longer as she must move onwards.