Afternoon twilight, hint of plum and satiny smooth wavering blue-tinted shadows had fallen. There was thick snow everywhere, the branches of the handsome Douglas fir trees bent under the weight of the snow. There were mounds of glittering snow, like spun of casting sugar. Landscape was like an idyllic Christmas card. Madeline Dobson, librarian of the Redmond Musical Society, was not in holiday mood, she never was. Despite this, she dutifully attached sprigs of mistletoe and holly to the wreath that decorated the front door, with its profusion of deep red silk ribbons and carefully placed the traditional note, "Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to our customers" and a list with reduced opening hours. And treading carefully on the slippery steps, she shook the verdant evergreen needles from her dark skirt, and slipped behind the great doors, which closed stiffly, as always in the frost.
The hesitant echoing piano music coming from the hall, reminded Madeline of Di Blythe's first visit. At that time, slender red-haired girl had explored every corner of the library, all the while asking several questions about her late brother. Finally, a little irritated, Madeline had dug out from her fine archives Walter Blythe's membership records, and the loans list, which had been quite a pile of titles, and Di's slender fingers, the pianist's fingers, had touched her brother's handwriting, and Di had inquired carefully, "that last title, that Schumann, why did he study it, you know? "
Madeline had shrugged, but at that moment Alice had glanced at the list and a faint smile had lighted her face, and Madeline had heard the fair-haired girl say in a low voice, " I do think that Schumann may be one of Rosemary Meredith's favorite composers, for all moods, and not just hers alone." Madeline had glanced in Di's direction, and a sudden understanding seemed to flash in her large greenish-gray eyes. Madeline didn't know what it was, but she could guess that it might have been some romantic entanglement that had been destroyed by the war, for surely many a girl's heart had been beating for Walter Blythe. Madeline noted that Alice had studied the list, then she sighed, a low little despairing sound, and took a letter from her pocket, the handwriting on the cover was extremely neat, though a little on the regency style, as she started to read, sharp, bright notes glowed, as Di had played scales. As days rolled forward onwards there had been the slight way in which first Parker's girl, and then Di Blythe, had half-carefully looked at each other, clearly taking turns, not too long, or too fixedly, as they'd been going through the sheet music folders, that haunting dance of hope, of shyness and silent longing, twined with bubbling anxiety was so familiar, to Madeline, that her heart ached. Hesitant, glances slowly turned into quivering smiles as Di laced their fingers together, defiantly Madeline noted. That gesture, so small but so significant, was almost like a declaration, like a shout, for others it was only sing of warm friendship. And with a light heart, Madeline took out the Schumann folder for them from the storage, where it had been waiting for many months, and with a thoughtful smile Madeline also added a few other folders besides, some very dusty, and carefully she dusted them off, and the colors were revealed, sky blue, warm yellow, red, pulsing green, and caramel twined with cream.
And with a start, Madeline snapped out of her memories as a cascade of papers fell from her desk onto the floor with a soft wooshing sound. Muttering irritably, Madeline rubbed her knee, which she had bumped into the leg of the chair while picking up the stack of papers. A shadow flickered at the door, and a familiar resonant voice inquired cheerfully "Can I have a key to the hall, if it is free? I happen to need your opinion on something, if you have time to give it, amid your other duties." Nodding, Madeline brushed the streaks of dust from her skirt, unsuccessfully, and held out the key.
Wearily Royal Gardiner walked up the icy steps to the library of the Redmond Musical Society, there was a ragged looking wearth on the front door, with vivid ribbons. Royal bemoaned that Adeline was busy with Laidies Aid, again and Dorothy was tied up with something, so it was left to him to bring a traditional Christmas basket, even he did not really have time to do that. Cautiously, Royal walked across the shiny floor of the hall, glancing at photos as he passed by. There was young and monocromatic Christine, in her velvet dress. She looked at him proudly, chin up, forever frozen at the tender age of twentyone. She had sent him a few letters since All Hallows Eve Soiree. One of the letters had been full of exquisitely precise sniping, that reminded him of fatally creeping deadly baroque music.
Dear Roy!
I believe that you need to enter social life again, when it is possible someday afterwards. Do you find that Loneliness is ever so gnawing? Though you seemed to have amusements at hand, when we last saw each other, but that kind of predation is somehow so tiring, or perhaps you do not find it so? Did you know that your son gave some kind of family heiroom to that blond girl. I happened to witness that delicate tete a tete on the front steps of Gardiner Hall, quite open it was. On the other hand, you were always attracted to country girls during our time in Redmond, luckily you didn't marry one of them. After all, Valentine was from our circles even if she was so French in her peculiar old world ways. Another piece of news is that my dogs placed quite well in the latest competitions.
C.
The door to the music hall was ajar and a muffled piano playing could be heard from there. Straightening his back, he walked into librarians office, but the librarian, Miss Dobson was not there. So Royal left the basket and his new card on the side table, where there was a neat row of teacups, tin boxes with tea leaves, a small gas ring, and a beautiful pale green porcelain teapot, which was the only truly aesthetic object in this otherwise cluttered office. On the corner of the table was a almost swaying stack of papers. With long steps, Royal turned to the left side corridor, and decided to investigate collections a little, because it was only right and reasonable that someone Gardiner checked what was really acquired here with their donations over the years.
There were rows and rows of spotless dark shelves filled with thick sheet music and scores, by country and composer. By chance, he walked into a one corner that appeared to be some customer's workstation. The scores and piles of books were in neat stacks, and Royal glanced at them curiously the selection were not very varied, the top of the pile was Schumann's Süsser Freund, du blickest, and a black notebook with a green silk ribbon peeking out between the pages. There were also Thomas Hardy's novels The Woodlanders, and The Return of the Native, and The Hand of Ethelbertha on the table, which upon noticing that small stack, Royal thought of Dorian, who seemed to appreciate Hardy, as he had been reading his works quite a lot this semester.
At Gardiner Hall Dorian had been thoughtful, and a little withdrawn, but there was nothing special about it, as he had been like that for years. The new fervor that had been in him before the autumn had slowly drained away. And now he seemed distant and polite, but hollow, as if a ghost was walking in the figure of his son.
Only once had Royal tried to talk to Dorian, it hadn't gone well at all. There had been a fire in the fireplace of the library, and Dorian had been sitting in an armchair and looking into the flames, everlasting poems of Hardy by his side. Royal had taken a box of redgold mozartkugels from his pocket, and he had handed the box to the table. Dorian had glanced at the box once and said coldly, "When I was a child I loved them, but now, just the thought of seeing them makes me sick. German chocolate, paid for with blood money? You don't seem to care at all that there's a war? Sometimes I wonder how you can live with yourselves, you and Adeline. How can you be so cold towards Dorothy. She's the only one who cares about me in this stone colossus you call a house, but really it's just a monument to your Gardiner pride." Royal had given his son a sharp glance, as his words echoed the memory of Valentine's voice, for his wife had once said something similar. Feeling haunted by memories, Royal had fled the scene, to his club, and returned to Gardiner Hall only in the morning, his face furrowed. Dorian had glanced at him coolly, an unspoken reproach clear in those eyes, his mothers eyes. So Royal had written to Dorothy, the note had been curt. Royal had politely requested her presence as usual at Christmas Day, at Gardiner Hall.
At the entrance hall, music still echoed from the concert hall, and feeling curious Royal stood in the doorway where the shadows hid him from view, he slowly sat down to nearest bench. To his surprise he found that Miss Dobson was sitting in the stands. In her hand was a fine handkerchief, with which she wiped her eyes. By the shiny black grand piano sat some colorless pianist, shaking his hands, and a few steps away stood Alice in a high necked burgundy-colored dress, she stood out like a bloodstain. Then caressingly soft Schumann shimmered. Over the years, Royal had heard several versions of Schumann´s Frauenlieben und lieben, now he found that he was frozen in place as Alice's heartbreakingly intense rendition of Süsser Freund, du blickest held him captive.
Süsser Freund, du blickest
Mich verwundert an,
Kannst es nicht begreifen,
Wie ich weinen kann;
Lass der feuchten Perlen
Ungewohnte Zier
Freudig hell erzittern
In dem Auge mir!
Wie so bang mein Busen,
Wie so wonnevoll!
Wüsst ich nur mit Worten,
Wie ich's sagen soll;
Komm und birg dein Antlitz
Hier an meiner Brust,
Will in's Ohr dir flüstern
Alle meine Lust.
Weisst du nun die Tränen,
Die ich weinen kann,
Sollst du nicht sie sehen,
Du geliebter Mann?
Bleib an meinem Herzen,
Fühle dessen Schlag,
Dass ich fest und fester
Nur dich drücken mag.
Hier an meinem Bette
Hat die Wiege Raum,
Wo sie still verberge
Meinen holden Traum;
Kommen wird der Morgen,
Wo der Traum erwacht,
Und daraus dein Bildnis
Mir entgegen lacht.
Alice's voice shone, her presence was sincere, as it was unassuming, for once. Romantic chords trickled down, like a soft snowfall. Afterwards, Royal overheard Miss Dobson say in peculiarly warm way,"Do you know that you brought me to tears with that Schumann." In the semi-darkness of the hall, Madeline suddenly noticed that a figure rose from a bench near the door. At that moment, the overhead lights flashed on, and Madeline found herself standing a couple of steps away from Royal Gardiner, who glanced at her coldly, and said stiffly. "Apparently the job description of librarian is to be an occasional audience to all kinds of romantic nonsense. It was your luck, Miss Dobson, that I'm in a magnanimous and giving mood as I left the traditional Christmas basket in your study, which my sister Adeline had most single-handedly supervised the making of."
Before Madeline could manage reply, to that sarcastic stab. Gardiner had turned gracefully and bowed and said in a caressing voice with and smooth edge. "Miss Parker, we meet again, how delightful. If you'll allow me to say that Schumann was really enchanting, all vivid yearning and sweet grace, especially in the second and third stanzas, the emotions and your interpretation was intimately wistfull. An extremely pleasant experience it was although not very seasonal. It would be lovely to stay here and exchange opinions about innate romance of German lieds, but my time is money. So instead I will wish all seasons greetings to you."
Madeline found that she didn't care for that slight familiarity, in Gardiners voice and manner towards Alice. Madeline noticed that Alice seemed tense, she stroked her hems with slightly nervous twitching movements. Then Alice coolly said "Season's greetings to all in Gardiner Hall." Light amusement flashed in Gardiner's dark eyes then, with an ironic smile, Gardiner swept out of the concert hall, leaving behind him a light scent reminiscent of orange blossom.
Little later in her office, Madeline pondered that darling Dorothy's brother was the ultimate example of arrogance and calculating charm, as unfortunately, he too had the Gardiner charm, but with a sharper edge than his sisters.
Madeline glanced at Alice as they drank tea. Alice still looked a little pale, so Madeline picked up the jar of honey on her side on the table, and said in firm way. " No objections, you put honey in your tea, now. I would have expected Di to have been playing the piano. Instead, I noticed that there was a pianist from the music department. "
Alice sighed, lightly, as she said quietly "Di had something to do with Perennial, apparently today is the last meeting before Christmas break. Besides, an acquaintance from back home suggested I try this. And she was right, as always."
Alice drank her tea in silence, and then a goldeny slightly bitter laugh rang out. Madeline was not sure whether that laugh had been in response to her recent words, or perhaps to something else. On the wall clock ticked, as behind the windows snow continued to fall slowly. Then, Alice gracefully embraced Madeline, as she slipped out, for a moment her steps echoed on the corridors, then all was silent.
Perennial's meeting was finally over. And with satisfaction, Di glanced at Dorian sitting in the opposite armchair. He was dressed in a dark green suit and a silktie with purple spots. Di thought that color combination looked exactly like Rilla's first attempt at Christmas decorations, and struggling to suppress her hilarity, she cautiously inquired, "Dorian, how do you usually spend Christmas holidays?"
Dorian glanced in Di's direction lazily, and he said wearily, "much the same as you've seen at various parties, except there are more Christmas decorations, and less crowds. There is no idyll in my family, only cracks that widen and shrink, or crumble." And with a deep sigh, Dorian picked up his canes. There was apologetic look on his face. "I'm sorry Di, I was acting like a rude curmudgeon, lately. See you next year then!"
Di smiled lightly, as she nodded to Dorian, but a slight anxiety weighed down her heart, for in her own newly ignited sensual intoxication, Di realized, now that she had completely forgotten Dorian's presence in Alice's life. Exhausted, Di brushed her hair from her forehead, and thought of Nan. Her twin had been remarkably quiet and twitchy for the past few days, but soon they would all be in Ingelside, and there would be time for conversations even through the night if need be. Nan was probably just worried about Jerry's well-being.
And with a little smile, Di walked through Kingsport, following the instructions Walter had given her on his last day off before going to boot camp. A creaky sign, Mahler's antiques, swayed in the snowy wind. The shop was dusty, but bigger than it seemed at first glance. A hoarse-throated clock tinkled above the door, and Di found herself looking directly into large green eyes with slitted pupils. A large black-furred cat yawned, and purred loudly, and somewhere a rough, hoarse voice muttered, "Either customers have arrived, or Behemoth needs attention."
And Di noticed to her surprise that soon before her stood a short goblin-like man with big ears and gnarled hands. This apparition raised one eyebrow, and cautiously sat down on a chair barely visible from behind the piles of books, and said in a hoarse voice, "Customer, red-haired customer. Well, Behemont, you've been working your magic again, haven't you?" The black-furred cat circled Di's ankles, then the cat leapt onto a large pile of books, which may or may not have been magazines. Amused, Di glanced at the old man, but the owner, seemed completely unconcerned. He wrote, something in a large book, in a handwriting that was hard to make out.
Finally Di said decisively, " I came here because my late brother found some great Christmas presents here a year ago, so.." The old man glanced sharply in Di's direction, his eyes were large and blue-gray, and they seemed impenetrable through slightly dirty glasses. He crossed his gnarled fingers, and said with a slight accent in his gruff voice. "Was your brother dark-haired, and gray-eyed? If so, I remember him quite well, as does Behemoth. There was a shadow over him, but there is no such shadow around you. In my shop there is books, also jewelry, and sheet music, of all sorts, and old curios, so plunder at your pleasure, but be careful of what you will find, as there are story in every item here. "
Unsettled Di stepped forward through the narrow corridors. If Nan were here, she would have already developed at least a thousand theories about the store owner, and searched for the most romantic items, full of mysterious enchantment. Here was some unruly logic, no ryme or reason. There were vases, paintings in their frames, ivory objects. The shimmer of a half-cut opal, and victorian mirrors draped with cloth.
Passing by, Di glanced at the jewelry. It was in a glass case lined with red burnt velvet, but none of them spoke to her, though they were all exceedingly beautiful. A little nervously, she touched the dragonfly pin in her hair, as she walked forward towards sagging bookshelves. Finally Di stopped in front of the sheet music section, cautiously she glanced at the swaying shelf in front of her. This was not at all the same as the library where the notes were loved, this was a graveyard, oblivion. And with determination, Di carefully flipped through the fragile folders.
And after what seemed like an endless time, with her nose stinging from the dust, and stains on her skirt, Di had a small pile of books in front of her. Then the cat Behemont, purred, and with a start, Di nudged a wobbly stack with her elbow, from which one folder fell to the floor in front of her. It was burgundy in color and carefully Di teased it open. Sudden smile spread over her face, and rising cautiously, Di walked over to the old man, saying half-diffidently."I'd take these, please."
The old man glanced over at the books, dusted them off, and said "Wonderful selection. And that sheet music, well, well. It goes perfectly with the one your brother bought, but I'm sure you know that."
Di shook her head, dumbfounded, and the old man looked into Di's eyes once more. Di felt like, he was reading the secrets of her soul with that one long look. Finally the man shook his gray shaggy head, and whispered softly, "Apparently I was wrong, Mädchen." And nodding grimly, the old man waved his hand, and Behemoth, leaped to the man's side.
Door slowly closed.
Outside, there was a snow flurry and with difficulty Di waded towards Primrose Hollow. Soon Di was sitting in the living room in the middle of domestic chaos. Alice was baking a spice cake, its soft aroma mingling with the cider that Nan had made, and Faith was hustling like a breeze, gathering her things in her traveling trunk, for tomorrow the girls of Primrose Hollow would be returning to the Glen, and to Lowbridge.
That evening, Di inquired softly, "Nan, is something wrong. Is Jerry all right, did you send his Christmas package on time?" Nan, sat down on her trunk, and said evasively, "Jerry's all right. This isn't about him, it's about you. I've now read that book you've been hiding. I did it because I've been feeling as an outsider, for some time now. That, is no explanation, but, I'm not used to you hiding things from me, and I understand if you're mad at me. The book had extremely beautiful prose. It was descriptive, shimmering, shiny, like rose petals at dawn. The style was confessional and experimental, and an almost too hedonistic, in places. There are thousands of other books in French if you want to improve your language skills, they don't have to be exactly like that, so why, Di?" Di sighed, and crossed her arms, and with difficulty she thought of the lines that had brought a soft blush to her and Alice's cheeks, but apparently Nan could only see the faults produced by critical reading, the unnecessary, intoxicating exuberance, the abundance of verbs, and the power of description, the aesthetic extravagance, and no other side at all, how almost every word was like heart's blood, like a flood that had been given its own separate stream, just as some of Walter's poems had been in their cutting honesty, and in their painful charm, the twin she had found in these pages. So Di glanced at Nan and embraced her quietly, whispering in her ear, "You'll just have to trust me, that this book speaks to me, as Austen's work speaks to you, or Tennyson's poetry to Mumsy."
Nan turned her head, and silently the Ingelside twins looked at each other. Finally Nan's demeanor relaxed and she said, "No one in Redmond's Department of French Language and Literature is willing to discuss this novel, or its author at all. There is absolutely nothing about her in the collections of the Redmond Libraries, yet you have this novel on loan, you didn't say who gave it to you, by the way? " Nan pointedly pointed out. Di, sighed and said shortly, "I got that from Dorian Aunt Dorothy, if you must know. It's quite possible that she got it directly from the author, or perhaps someone close to her, as it has an autograph on it, if you've noticed." Di shuddered when she noticed Nan's graceful fingers carelessly caressing the front pages of the novel, stopping at the messy autograph written in purple ink. Nan looked up, and said calmly, "Well, that's fine, the literary mystery is partially solved. I do think that it was quite immoral in places, not classic and fine literature by any means."
In her own room, Alice dug out Mahler notes, and packed them carefully, and then she closed her trunk. There was a modest set of clothes on the chair, for tomorrow. And there was a dark blue velvet box. It bathed in a spot of light on her desk. Alice opened it, and closed it with a click, for the sight had not changed at all, the necklace was still utterly divine as before, but somehow too much, here.
The door creaked open, and Alice turned with a smile as there Di stood in her nightgown, a covered tray in her hands, and cautiously Di placed it on the other free chair. She sat gracefully on Alice's bed, and looked at Alice very seriously for a moment, glancing in passing at the velvet box resting on the table. The scent of brewed tea perfumed the room, and slowly, carefully, the two shadows became one.
Ingelside, there was a lingering scent of fresh spiced minced pies and fresh needles. A handsome fir tree stood in the living room, and Jims toys were in a basket. Gog and Magog were guarding the living room. Susan was rattling pans in the kitchen. Anne glanced expectantly at the verandah. On the snowy road, three, figures seemed to be walking towards Ingelside, and at the intersection, the third figure disappeared into the road. Soon Anne looked into the faces of her beloved children, the twins both seemed pale, and tired, especially Nan, whose dark eyes had deep shadows under them. Di smiled to herself, like a girl with a secret in her heart. Anne said warmly in her bright silvery voice, "My dears, welcome home, have some tea if you like." Nan nodded, and soon she was sitting in the armchair, looking at the moon with a dreamy look on her expressive face. Di shook her head, and said, "Can I go upstairs, there's something I need to do first."
And soon as Di's footsteps stopped echoing on the stairs, and Nan remarked, "She must have gone to Walter's room. She was whispering about it with Alice, as they sat together in huddle of flowing skirts, and knitted almost whole journey from Kingsport, with only small breaks. There were a lot of finished socks, a small basket of them."
Anne glanced sharply at Nan, and said understandingly. " So be patient, and generous. Di is your twin, and there is no closer bond, and she loved your brother so, as we all did. Maybe Di is lonely, as she does not have sweetheart at the front as you and Faith have. There is no need to look so alarmed, Nan dearest. Rosemary and I, we have known for years. You and Jerry courted each other with arguments, even if nothing were finalised before he went to do his duty, following Jem, but also his own convictions. So try to be joyful dearest Nan, if you can, there has been too much loss, and think that in a few days Jerry will open your Christmas greetings." Nan glanced at her mother properly, and to her astonishment she found that the exemplary and inspiring Anne Blythe, mumsy, seemed somewhat frail. Although she sat in her favorite chair in her green dress with her back straight. Slight shadows played on her finely-featured face, and brought out a few streaks of gray from her rich red braid that was wound around her head, in a style that her Aunt Leslie had favored sometimes. So Nan raised her teacup, as she said. " You are right, as ever, but there are things to talk about and mull over, in days to come, just you and I. Ingelside is a lovely place, of course Primrose Hollow is too, but it's different. This is home, here the golden memories of our childhood live, still, and no war can destroy them."
Upstairs Di was sitting on Walter's bed. She touched, slowly, the spine of the blue book, it was Proust, from Ken Ford, and opened it indiscriminately, a folded note fell out, which slowly unfolded.
Una Meredith glanced from the window of her room in the direction of a certain window there was a light, it twinkled like a little star. And pressing her hand to her heart, Una thought. The twins have arrived home, for otherwise there would be no light in that window, his window..
In Lowbridge, at Dr. Dick Parker's house, the atmosphere was tense. Alice Parker sat with her head bowed in a pew at Lowbridge Episcopal Church. Around her neck was a shimmering green silk scarf. As the candlelight shone on the colored windows, and the comforting smell of incense enveloped Alice, she remembered Walter standing here, as Alice had turned and unknowingly looked into the face of her dreamy friend for the last time, how clean and strained that face had been, full of nameless strain, barely hidden in that clear, deep gaze. Alice remembered the words of that surprising letter, which had come with a metal box. The letter had been short, and the handwriting was neat, efficent.
Miss Parker of Primrose Hollow, a person you knew asked me to deliver this message and certain items to you. I do not know you at all, but that certain person, sometimes read your letters aloud to me, your patient musical and sometimes episcopal letters, full of another world. They offered an escape from hell, momentarily. I don't believe what he did, but lately I've been imagining almost seeing him, and a violinist, that I saw only once, so it maybe that my own time is close. He said that when you get this you will know what to do, but if you have forgotten, when spring comes, bury certain objects in a certain place where the lilac tree grows.
Respectfully yours,
Private C Desjardin
Lowbridge Episcopal Cemetery was a snowy heap, and slowly Alice walked, her skirts were wet up to her knees. The stars twinkled coldly, and the pale reflection of the moon hit the snow, making it sparkle like thousands of diamonds. Quietly Alice, whispered, "You both, are together now, somewhere I believe it. His Piper is still playing somewhere, with its fatal, echoing pure dazzling music, that reminds me of Mahler's notes of grace, of sorrow, I could imagine so." Slowly Alice turned and walked up the Lowbridge road, towards the Glen, till she saw, the lights of the Manse, on the hill, and the snowy Rainbow Valley, and the inviting twinkling lights of Ingelside.