The soft May sunlight played in the windows of Gardiner Hall, it sparkled, almost too brightly. Dorian thought about Walter's letters. Their tone was full of a strange inner brightness, as if the raw conditions and unspeakable violence he was in the midst of didn't quite touch him, as if he had some talisman against it. Dorian sighed, and looked down at his canes, which were resting within his reach, as always. Sometimes in the quiet, peaceful hours at Perennial's office, when Walter got annoyed with him, he had gently called him Colin Craven. Dorian had laughed at the nickname, at the time, but later, he had realized that perhaps Walter had been right. He had a surprising amount of resemblance to that lonely, and forsaken, spoiled boy, but his troubles were not lost in the bitter wind of the Yorkshire moors, or in the ivy-covered garden, where the robin flew, and the flowers and roses grew, as if by themselves, every time spring and summer came, Gardiner Hall was almost as labyrinthine as Misseltwaithe. Dorian felt as if he had accidentally broken an hourglass, and its sand was slowly, and inexorably, pouring out between his fingers. At times, his skin almost seemed to spark with inner urgency. Lately Dorian had been having nightmares, of eternal solitude and seclusion at Gardiner Hall, only corridors full of gilded paintings that glared at him, until he awoke with a pounding heart and clammy hands, and desperate need to be away from Gardiner Hall, even for few hours. For this reason, towards the end of the spring semester, Thompson had driven him more often than usual to different libraries and coffee shops, where he had been immersed in his books for hours. And sometimes in the evenings, when he had returned wearily to Gardiner Hall, he had sat in the greenhouses to breathe the heavy tropical air, and only occasionally sent flowers to Alice, at Primrose Hall.
Dorian rose with difficulty, and threw his peacock blue scarf over one shoulder, and adjusted his oval tie-pin, and calmly began to walk into the drawing-room, his steps, echoed, slowly in the carpet-strewn corridors. The view shining through the large windows was beautiful, fields of grass bathed in pale light, and clusters of white clouds moving across the sky. The living room was a mix of styles, chairs, and a empire sofa, and a small light chest of drawers in one corner. A graceful bookcase, was filled with old art books, and literary histories, and sheet music. There was a small table, with a few newspapers on it, and circular-letters for War effort, a half-open volume of Wilde's collected poems. Curious, Dorian glanced at what page the book was open on, but the poem in question, Roses and Rue, told him nothing, except that it seemed to describe an unhappy love affair. For some reason it conjured Alice in her silken finery, in his mind, that half-evaisve, burning look of her, like cream and roses in the Feburary chill, after she had come to sit beside him, on the small dias, after her tour of Hall´s rooms at Dorothy´s suggestion, as tune of shimmering polonaise had echoed through the ballroom.
The little table clock rang its sweet tune. Dorian remembered how last summer he had written thick, elaborate letters, for hours, to her, partly out of loneliness, but Alice was not the heroine of Hardy's novels, though sometimes, outwardly, she looked like Tess, in a certain light. So, with a light smile, he took out one fountain pens and a piece of cream-colored paper, collected his thoughts for a moment, and began to write, excitedly.
Glen St Mary train station was empty. Slowly, the local train pulled onto the tracks, accompanied by a billowing cloud of coal. Slowly, a few passengers got off the train, and the busy residents of Glen smiled happily to find that the doctors' daughters were back. Irene Howard stood in the shade of the railway platform, swinging her plaited basket on her arm, surveying, in her coolly self-conscious manner, the scene before her.
Anne Blythe, red-haired, with a ringing laugh, and handsome, curly-haired charming Gilbert, and gray-haired Susan, who did not know her place, embraced first Nan, and Di, and finally Alice Parker, who was dressed in a cream-colored dress, which might be beautiful if the fabric of it was something other than cotton.
Irene straightened, in her straw hat, to a dressier posture, and stepped out of the shadows, and said in her bright, hearty voice, "Darlings, you're back. Nan and Di you look sweet, and bright, like flowers, and Alice, you look a little tired, does studying take too much of your strength, so that you completely neglect your appearance?"
Nan's hazel eyes flashed and she said calmly "Irene, you never change, always, so charming, are you not. Try traveling for a long time yourself, and then you'll know what sitting does to clothes, but I forgot you never go further than Charlottetown." Susan said seriously " Dear, I think it's about time we started back in the direction of Ingelside, as girls are sure to want their tea after travelling. I note that dear doctor has left to see his patients, already." At the junction of Glen and Lowbridge, Alice, with grave face and resolute steps, walked homewards, the laughter and jests of Ingelsideans shining in her ears.
One glimmering verdant evening Alice met Di in Rainbow Valley. Di threw herself onto the soft grass and said in a dramatic tone, "It's been a wild couple of days, here. Gertrude Olivier was informed that her fiance had fallen in battle, but then a couple of days later it turned out that it had been a mistake. A soldier of same name, had fallen, and her Rob, was safe in the hospital, slightly wounded, but for a time being out of danger.
Rilla, thoughtlessly, called out the news to Gertrude as she came across her in Rainbow Valley, and Rilla swore that for a little moment she fancied she had killed Gertrude, for she fell, into this a little golden spruce, as if shot, pale, and unmoving as a sheet. It was terribly difficult for Rilla to get her to come around, again, but luckily stream was nearby. Eventually Gertrude recovered, and since then she's been walking around with a glowing, vibrant countenance, and shining eyes, looking like that as all her heart's wishes have come true. She is, as you know, a bit sarcastic and cynical and prickly, usually but now there is no trace of any of that."
Gertrude Olivier looked at the radiantly beautiful, glowing landscape around her, and smiled happily. On evenings like these, it was easy to believe in God's infinite mercy. A flash of red caught her attention, and she noticed a little way off, in small nook, among the birches, a blanket on which two girlish figures were sitting, and with light steps Gertrude came up to them. Steadily, Gertrude looked at them, the young, glowing maidens, the red-haired, sparkling Di, and the fair, sly hazy Alice, who straightened her neck, with the most sweet gesture, and said, "What do you think of Walter's poem?"
It was quiet, the light evening wind hummed in the trees, and the bells tinkled, and at last Gertrude said in a thoughtful tone, "Yes. He has always been gifted, but I don't know. I shuddered as I read those lines. They do not glow with victimhood, as you might imagine, but with affirmation, observation, and silent pain. The poem in question is enchanting all the same, although not at the level of Milton or Tennyson, of course."
Di glanced at Alice, who was smiling, her slow flowery smile, and Di chuckled softly and said "I think my brother has found his own voice, maybe a little dark and sharp, but his own. The winds of war have blown the idealism away from him. But we, here, can't imagine what it's like for them there, for in their letters they're careful, partly because of the censorship laws, but still. Do you think Dorian misses Walter, Alice?"
Alice giggled with a light gentleness, and in a caressingly soft voice said "Most certainly, for as you know I have no patience for certain things." Gertrude, stiffened, and listened with burning ears to the conversation of the girls, which bubbled around her, as lightly as nearby stream. And for a moment she imagined a shadowy room full of faceless people, shimmering, decadent curtains, and mirrors, and smoke, like something out of Wilde's sinful tale. She took a deep breath, and tried to regain her recent peace of mind by thinking of homely and pure things. Then Di's voice broke her concentration, "Gertrude, may I introduce you to a book of poetry that was sent to me from Paris, by my brother, he found it quite by chance, or so he said."
Gertrude nodded and held out her hand, soon she was engrossed in flipping through volume, it was the color of pale old parchment Poemes by Renee Vivien, it was called. As pure Alexandrian verses slid before her eyes, the blush that had been in her ears, now blazed across her cheeks, especially after she read certain, sweepingly succulent verses in the volume. And only with difficulty Gertrude said to Di, "Continental, and French."
Alice said softly, "Dearest Di, dew is beginning to fall, so it's time for me to go, towards Lowbridge." Di smiled and nodded slightly, her gaze following as Alice Parker walked away with soft, silent steps, lifting her dew-stained hems. Gertrude shook her dark hair, which for once was open at the shoulders, and not properly braided into a bun. She looked curiously at Walter's sister, who was dreamily looking at the leaves of a nearby apple tree. Then Di sighed, as if to herself, and said "Let's us, go too, dear Miss Oliver, let's leave the bright nature, and go back to Ingelside, to the world of drooping tea-trays, and newspapers, and gloomy news, and mischievous Jims, where Gog and Magog rule the mantelpiece, like little porcelain Gods."
Gertrude said in her soft voice,"If may advise, you. Do not show that collection to anyone in Ingelside, for its contents are immoral. " At her words, Gertrude noticed that Di turned pale, and her slender pianist's hands seemed to be shaking, but why that be so? Surely the book was only simple literary curiosity, nothing more was utterly unthinkable. Deep silence fell, in Rainbow Valley, and starlings and blackbirds chirped. And the leaves of the apple-trees swayed in the gentle breeze, and the pale tender flowers smelled like a promise of Eden.
The days were unhurried, and shimmering, full of the sparkle of spring and early summer. Ingelside seemed to sparkle, during these so short weeks, as her girls were home again, for a time. Light laughter and singing rang out, in the yard Rilla sat on the swing with Jims in her arms, and often Alice Parker came in the mornings and sat in the drawing-room, near Walter's photograph, and sewed, or knitted socs or she sat on the verandah drinking cold lemonade in Di's company, just like now, Anne noticed to her delight. Anne watched Di's glowing eyes, full of vibrancy of youth, but then her eyes ponderingly stopped at Alice´s features, dappled in the shadows.
Suddenly Anne, like a flash, knew that Alice had access to a part of Walter that she had no hope of getting into, for there were corners in the hearts of the children that were closed from parents, even from the most devoted ones. With a soft smile Anne glanced at Walter's framed photograph of her son smiling in his uniform, leaning against porch rail, July sun behind him.
Ms. Cornelia, who was knitting in her efficent way, met Anne's gaze, and uttered in her friendly way, " Do you think she and Walter were walking out, with each other, before he went, to war? I know you're worried about Parker girl's episcopalianism, Anne- dearie, but I will tell you one thing in confidence now. My own grandmother was an episcopalian, so they are not all bad lot."
In Dick Parker´s house, in upper-Lowbridge, everything was the same as before, only more embroidered pillows had been added to living room. Standing at the kitchen doorway, Alice watched her mother in silence. She was in the process of cutting rhubarbs. The wall clock struck hour, as shadows flickered and Alice met her mother's tired gaze. Those large blue eyes, were almost same shade as hers. They were cool, and little anxious, and there were few silver threads blooming, in her tawny hair. The rhubarb cruble smelled intoxicating, as it mixed with the sharp smell of furniture polish.
The soft greenish-golden light had dissipated, turning into the molten honey of early evening. Alice lit a few candles as softly around her, whispers of Latin echoed as the choir rehearsed.
Lucis Creator optimal, lucem die rum proferens,
primordiis Lucis novae, mundi parans originem.
Qui mane junctum vesperi, diem vocari praecipis,
illabitur tetrum chaos, audi preces cum fletibus.
Alice calmly walked through the church, nodding occasionally to her acquaintances. After the service, with light, fairy-like steps, Alice crept to cemetery, and sat down under a blossoming, fragrant lilac bush. She gently glanced at Tadzio´s grave, which was now strongly woven with moss and lichen and softly she said, "I promised to him that I would come here, in his stead, and here I am. You may know that he is now somewhere in France." Alice smiled mildly, sadly, and softly she uttered gentel lyric of Brontë.
I don't know how it falls on me
This summer evening, hushed and lonely;
Yet the faint wind comes soothingly
With something of an old tone.
A small starling flew close to her and it looked at Alice with bright knife-like eyes, and twittered in gentle, tone, one flowing note, before flying away. Alice grimaced, as she softly, brushed blades of grass, and shamrocks from her skirt, as she slowly made her way through the creeping twilight, towards ruddy harbor road, as she pondered that Primrose Hollow was her home, now and Lowbridge's house was just an uncomfortable temporary space.
Alice felt her mother's sharp watchful gaze between her shoulder blades, in that moment that Alice arrived. And then she said "Alice, there's a letter waiting for you, over there on the drawing table. Who is Dorian Gardiner? And why the letter is perfumed?"
Alice glanced at the letter, turned the thick envelope in her fingers, which still smelled faintly of jasmine. Sighing lightly, Alice gathered her thoughts for a moment as she walked into the living room. She sat down in the only comfortable chair in the room, which happened to be in the corner, and crossing her hands on her knees, took Dorian's letter from pocket, and touching its tight edges, in a low voice Alice said "Dorian Gardiner is fellow student, at Redmond, all his letters are always scented, it is his little quirk."
There was creeping, subtle anticipation woven into her mother's swift glances, when she glanced at the letter, and then at Alice's face, as she digested the few morsels of information that Alice had given her, and a little flicker of satisfaction shone on her pale face, and then she said, in tremulous tone, "Oh, how fascinating, though a little decadent, and vain. I seem to remember that you have received letters from him, last year also, and often. It's not polite to keep gentlemen waiting for an answer, Alice."
Alice said in a slightly bitter voice, "I know that, but I spent most of this spring semester with the writer of the letter, and he won't grow impatient if he doesn't get my answer right away." "Dear, you know what they say, of absences, they make the heart grow fonder, and maybe this couple of weeks apart will do you both good." Alice noticed that her mother were turning her wedding ring, as if in passing, with quick little jerks.
About a week later, on a hot afternoon Alice and Di were walking down a winding path, and Di chuckled "Where's the surprise that you used to lure me into this weather? Usually on afternoons like this I'd be sitting in the shadiest corner of Rainbow Valley, or maybe on the reddish cliffs of Harbor Light, with a large straw hat on my head, but because you are you, dear Alice, I let you drag me down this reddened road, there is nay shade to be had."
At the bend of the glowing road, there was a gentle curve, and there was a shady oasis, garden full of lilac bushes, and in the middle of them was the sweetest little gray house, almost totally covered with wild vines, of ivy. With quick steps, Alice walked forward along the narrow path, opened the rickety gate, and stepped into the shadowy peace, Di behind her. The grass was pure green and cool, and above them the different colored bunches of lilacs hovered mysteriously. The girls spread blanket, and took lunch packages from the basket. Di gazed admiringly at the view before her and she whispered "Whose house is this?"
Alice was silent, and the light wind blew loose strands of hair from her plait. There was a hidden edge in Alice´s voice as she said "This house is deserted. I have long wanted to bring you here, dear Di. Poetry is not really my forte, as you know, but I am reminded of a few lines of Hardy which I have always associated with this place. Twixt sunset and moonrise it was, I can mind/Ah, tis´easy to lose what we nevermore find!"
A faint understanding flashed across Di's face, and she said nothing, just gently brushed the tangled hair out of Alice's face. The light glimmered golden nimbus on Alice´s hair, and swallows flew, in the blue sky. Di held out her hand, to Alice and laughing they spun in a ring, skirts tangled, with bare feet, among the thick grass, where sleepy fluffy bumblebees flew. Time was meaningless, here in this place, of lilacs, and subtle, shimmering grlish laughter shone, in the wind, like happy echoes of a time long gone by, and old shadow of former love and loss were lingering, still.
The Presbyterian Manse was quiet and empty, because today was the union prayer evening, which was held in the Methodist Church. Una had heard from Mary Vance, that even was going to be there, as she had one evening said in her firm manner "I've always said that nothing in the world would make me go to Methodist events, but, in these times, we all have to make sacrifices." Slowly Una selected notes, and soon sparkling, bright Chopin's Nocturne glowed.
Hearing flowing music Bruce came with jambread in hand to watch his sister play, and Una smiled at him her soft, hazy smile. After much deliberation, in this past year Rosemary had relented and taught Bruce to play. The natural consequence of this was that Una found herself sitting for hours at the piano in the living room, rehearsing scales, and teaching Bruce how to read notes, as she and Rosemary took turns teaching him.
Silence of Manse's early evening was broken by uncertain, and faltering pianoplaying, it was Onward Christian Soliders. Una glanced at Bruce, boy's dark brows were slightly furrowed, and he said with a deep pride in his voice, "It went better this time, though I still made mistakes. Why don't Mom and you, or Walter, make them when you play?" Una bent down and reached out and brushed messy dark hair from Bruce's face and gently said "Practice, just keep practicing, but remember to play too. Darling, I think your cat has missed you, go and pet Moggie, before going to bed." Bruce nodded at at her, solemn, as ever as he vanished upstairs.
Few hours later, Rosemary and John Meredith arrived to a softly lit kitchen with the scent of tea and fresh, rolls. In the flickering light, Rosemary thought that Una seemed more cheerful as the she put the teapot on the table. Una smiled, and hummed something, which brought to Rosemary's mind the moonlight, and the sea, as she started washing dishes, which had accumulated from her baking.
Una heard soft conversation between her Father and Rosemary, and the slight clinking of teacups. "I think this union-prayer meeting will go down in annals of the area, even more than usual. Mr. Arnold, made mistake of asking known pacifist to lead prayer in a kahki-prayer-meeting. Admittedly, hardly anyone would have imagined what would follow, probably everyone thought that he would refuse. Norman Douglas is extremely patriotic, and for once he was allowed to rant in public and in church, even if it was Methodist one, to his heart's content. Filling space with those lurid assortment of abusive epithets. Well, I and Ellen also tried to calm him down, but he was in a berserk rage, shaking in the middle of the church." Rosemary said, in her soft calm way, "I think your words may have saved Mr. Pryor's windows. You spoke very powerfully and evocatively, and above all honestly." John Meredith, sighed, and then he said slowly "I thought only of my sons' letters, and Walter's poem, and the newspaper headlines, and conversations we had at Ingelside."
Sometimes, often at night when Una could not sleep, she remembered the pattern of shadows on the almost silvery sand, and light of the lanterns, and the notes of the violin of Ned Burr, now deceased, fallen in Flanders, as Walter danced with her a second time. There had been half dreamy sparkle in Walter's eyes. After that evening, in Harbour Light the world and the known order plunged into the howl of the winds of war. As always Una touched her hair comb on her bedside table, right next to her Bible, and as she did so, she thought of slender, dark-haired soldier, standing perhaps in a trench, somewhere in France, his bright gray eyes fixed on the brilliant horizon, he might write in a little note-book a few verses, while summer wind caressed flowers of the red poppies.
Moments of excitement, dread and despair were experienced in Ingelside, and all over Glen, in swift succession, in the days after the union kahki-meeting. The Austrians almost seemed to overrun Italy, and then the newspapers were full of news and speculation about the success of the naval battle of Skaagerak, in the North Sea, in Danish territorial waters. And then came the news of Kitchener's death, after the cruise ship HMS Hampshire hit a sea mine. A couple of days passed, with unsalted soup in courtesy of Susan, and Cousin Sophia came to visit, to Ingelside, as were her wont, and Susan regained her poise, and withering sarcasm.
One day Gertrude Oliver said in her somewhat bitter way, " Sometimes it seems that the specter of Verdun still looms over the Western Front, where are the British?"Susan brought sizzling hot pancakes to the table and said briskly, "Dear, Miss Oliver. It's summer and you're thin and tired as a reed. There's been too much excitement these past few weeks. Please eat properly. I know nothing about military strategy, but I trust Daily Enterprise headlines. The Great Push is surely coming, sooner or later."