Feeling tired Nan opened thick window curtains, snow-covered trees in the garden of Primrose Hollow looked like vaguely shaped modern sculptures. Nan sat down on the couch and knitted a few rows of sock gathering her thoughts. The silent veil of sorrow had once more spread over the house. Dorian's bouquets of roses had dried in their vases until roses had lost their glow, their color and their fragrance turned into wrinkled grimaces of themselves, and Di, after glancing once in Alice's direction, had taken them away. Nan knew very well that there were different stages of grief and that each person grieved in their own way. Grief had made Di sharp, and Rilla was numbed by it, and as for herself, she did not quite know, perhaps half and half compared to her sisters. Nan remembered that she had been amazed to see Alice's calmness which in September after that telegram, had been like balm in gilead when it was set against, frantic storms of weeping and sudden rages that had tormented Di. Alice's calm had been then, like the surface of a lake, impenetrable until some strong emotion broke it. There had been that metalbox and Alice´s manner had been then jagged, but not wounding.

Day or so after Valentine´s day, Nan had in her own opinion, kindly pointed out the crumpled strips of papers that littered the dining room table. Alice had laid aside her ink-pen, her suddenly dark violet gaze had turned on Nan's face, as she had remarked with the utmost politeness, in a voice that was chilling. It reminded her of Irene´s flouncing freezes, it was quite not proper comparison as Alice´s tone of voice made Nan feel itchy and unsettled as Irene´s had only made her grit her teeth in irritation.

"Dear Nan, I am trying to draft a letter to my aunt, who has lost her favorite child, my cousin, in this war which is catastrophically awful regardless of border lines, or nationalities. So excuse me, Miss Blythe, if right now I can't concentrate on tidiness that Susan Baker taught you about what a dining room should be. Furthermore, this letter must be such that if it is opened more than once the information it contains must not cause harm to anyone." Alice had snorted, and gathered up her papers with dignity, as Nan had caught a glimpse of some language that at least was not english, before Alice had put the hem of her dark skirt on her arm and run straight upstairs, Alice who had never in before in Nan´s sight run anywhere. Soon there had been a loud slamming of the door, so that windowpanes were rattled in the living room. Faith had pointed out from the kitchen, in her humorous way "Is it safe to come out of the shelter yet, or is there still a freezing hurricane here?" Nan had chuckled in relief.

Di had frowned at Nan as she had grabbed two teacups and a teapot and a little sugar bowl on the tray. After a while Di's voice carried in a soft murmur to downstairs, and then the door had opened and closed again, softly.

Alice glanced at Di, and the tea-tray, and slowly she took the slightly crumpled papers from her pocket, and laid them in a neat pile on the table, which was a little messy; some loose papers, hairpins, and silk ribbons in piles, two notebooks, and a few dictionaries, and the box that housed Walter's letters. And sympathetically Di remarked "You don't usually flash at Nan or anyone, at least I'm not aware of, but grief affects us in different ways, as I know. Your equanimity helped me a lot, at the time, and if there's any way I can help, just say?"

Alice, nodded weakly, and she tried to smile, but found she couldn't, as Di placed the tea tray on the small chair. A soft rustle filled the room as Alice's pen seemed to almost dance on the paper, and the smell of sweet tea that had cooled filled the room. Di glanced over the Leaves of Grass volume at Alice, who had finished writing and was folding a thick sheets of paper into an envelope that already seemed to have an address ready.

Di moved her book aside and said in offhand way "Your shoulders look stiff, maybe I can do something about it?" To Di's not so secret, or hidden delight, a small smile lit up Alice's eyes, as she said, "Please, do darling Di." Little later, as Di ran her fingers along Alice's shoulders, and pressed a light kiss to her neck, Di hoped with all her heart that the coming months, as winter turned slowly towards to spring, would bring only good news and triumphs, and no more unspeakable suffering.

In the livingroom Nan remarked to Faith in slightly defensive way " I didn't criticize the content of her letter, I just asked her to put away loose papers, after all, this is a dining table, not a writing desk. " "Now it seems that Di has Alice all handled, so it is once again peace if not outright harmony here," Faith pointed out mischievously. Nan could only sigh. After a while Faith continued, in slight stern tone, that was most unusual for her sunny way. " Nan, your voice did have a bit of that proud 'I'm Ingelside's Blythe' tone to it that also irritated me in the first few days before I got to know you better in our ditto-years." Feeling molliflied, Nan laughed lightly.

The days went on, as they ever do, perhaps greatest change that had occurred in the inner harmony of Primrose Hollow was absence of music. Di had played the last time on Valentine's night, as Alice had recited some fragments, which Faith had later pointed out to Nan were fragments of various psalms of the King James version of the Bible, she had not sung not a single note after that, or scale. Sometimes in the evenings Nan had seen Alice and Faith sitting together at the tea-table, among the stacks of books, Faith seemed to be taking copious notes, that was not unusal as Faith was passionately interested in all languages, for she was daughter of John Meredith, there was bound to be some inheritance, Nan pondered in her sharp way.

Nan had noticed that Di's hair also smelled like incense, and one evening Nan had gathered her courage and inquired about it. Di had glanced in Nan's direction with a veiled calm and said "Don't start questioning me, Nanlet. It's true that sometimes I go with Alice to some services, but not to Compline. It is soothing, when the world around you seems to be breaking it's pleasant to think that there is even something permanent, even if only something as small as the light of the beeswax candles reflected in the colored windows illustrated with pictures of saints."

Rattling footsteps echoed in the kitchen and Nan was startled, realizing that she had knitted too much. Faith's good-natured voice said "Will you have some tea? I've just got time to drink mine, before I go to the Red Cross for the whole afternoon." Nan smiled at Faith and inquired, "Have you written to Jem yet about your VAD plan?" Faith laughed heartily and said in her sincere boisterous hearty way, "Jem thinks my idea is extremely good, although he made fun of the hard training and poor food."

Nan glanced at Faith curiously, for she had quieted down, and in one movement, Faith handed something small and shiny on a chain to Nan's hand. Nan smiled openly as she recognized Mumsy's engagement ring at a glance.

Without saying a word, Nan embraced Faith, so that they almost fell to the floor. Afterwards Faith handed Nan a pleasantly warm cup of tea, and Nan nodded appreciatively in her direction, as Faith waved her hand nonchalantly and went off again, full of cheerfulness and genuine energy, as only Faith Meredith could.

Her teecup had cooled. Nan started reading Anne's recent letter from Ingelside. Apparently Cornelia Elliot was serious about organizing some sort of cooperation between the Lowbridge and Glen Women's Sewing Societies.

Dear Nan,

you can imagine Cornelia's idea has caused stiff opposition from almost everyone, and I'm sure I'm not wrong if similar feelings exist in Lowbridge. Glen and Lowbridge have always had a bit of a rivalry. The Glen is a village, and Lowbrigde considers itself a town, in a proper way. Well, at least there is a slum area, which Glen doesn't have, because Harbour Mouth is its own area, a kind of intermediate space where doctor's writ extends. Your father is usually always gray in the face, on the rare occasions he has to go there.

But now to a slightly different matter, my dear child, I can well understand that you feel uncomfortable in Primrose Hollow right now. The way you described Alice, her way of being, reminded me strongly of my first meeting with dear Leslie, and how in the early days we partly talked past each other, because I didn't really have the capacity to understand Leslie, until. Well, never mind. I advise you not to take it to yourself, if Alice lashes out, again. Let Di take care of her, as she seems to have quite a knack for it. Dorian Gardiner sounds like very charming companion, and it is nice that you two are studying together I must say, dearest Nan, be careful, and offer him only your friendship, nothing else. Men in that family can be quite intense in their regard, I knew his father Royal in our time at Redmond. Pihl sent old newspaper clippings years ago. I understand that he is quite successful these days, as your and Di´s the descriptions of his estate show. It is wonderful that the girls of Primrose Hollow can have such fun times, even in the midst of war, a chance to be young, and laugh, and maybe capture a heart or two. I know very well that your heart has Jerry, in its centre, but a mother can hope equal happiness to all her children.

With love

Mumsy.

The cuckoo clock on the wall ticked and Nan grabbed her bag from the back of the chair, as she folded Anne´s letter into its evelope, and put it inside Byron´s poems.

Not before too long, red brick campus area of Redmond shone like a blood stain in the middle of the snow, and the courtyard was full of icy paths and the laughter of the students floated in the clear calm air, where only a few snowflakes were flying, even in the winter blue sky was tinted with a shade of palest purple, as it was four in the afternoon.

As usual, the lecture hall was full, and finally Nan found a free seat for herself. Nan looked to her side and was startled, for Dorian Gardiner had never attended Milne's lectures before, but there Dorian now sat, extremely stylish in his dove gray jumper, the collars of his white shirt peeking out, in his dark trousers, with a mint-green silk scarf around his neck, his dark curls in a mess, and his face pale, a black hardback notebook open before him. Nan kindly inquired, "If you're looking for Alice she's not in this class, but Di is, somewhere around here." The corner of Dorian's mouth had twitched into a slight smile and he had glanced in Nani's direction in passing, as if just realizing where he was sitting, and said wearily " I was tired of aesthetics, and as you know I love reading, so there was no contest."

The lecture hall fell silent as Milne took the podium, and he began his lecture, with an audible voice as setting bloody colored sun glinted his silvery-brown hair. "The purpose of the last two lectures of this course was to look at Victorian and Edwardian literature, a subject area that despite its readership can be interpreted as too close." After two hours, Milne wiped the blackboard and turned and said "Well, does anyone have any questions, or arguments? Mr. Gardiner, let's hear it."

Dorian cleared his throat and inquired in a resonant voice, "While reading Howards End, I noticed two things in particular, how narrator shaped readers' opinions about Wilcox family almost immediately, and how Schegel siblings treated their brother abnormally, as if Tibby was not entitled to respect even though he studied with certain Oxford set, and loved tea and all kinds of dainties." Nan noticed that Dorian's fingers were clenched tightly around his silver-tipped cane.

Nan saw Milne's brows furrow and after a moment's silence he said "Tibby did his duty to his sisters, as narrative required it, and all the extra interpretation is needless, Mr. Gardiner, but it must be said that perhaps Tibby is something of a parody of a certain kind of student that we don't have here at Redmond. And then to other topics, your essays were quite insightful, and some had highlighted the course materials in an intriguing way, and had chosen texts that were not obvious. Thank you everyone for this course, as you know your grades will be posted on the notice board in due course. Have a good evening everyone!"

A quiet hum rose in the hall as Milne collected his things and exchanged a few words with various students. Slowly the rows of pews cleared, and a red-cheeked Di appeared next to Nan and Dorian and pointedly pointed out "Dorian, perhaps you wrote about Howards End too, or did you want to bring those things up to annoy Milne? He is very traditional in his interpretations, though not malicious I think."

Dorian sighed, and brushed some hair from his forehead and said "You're wrong, I wrote about Pygmalion, and especially Higgins' selfishness. I did enjoy both of E M Forster's novels, and felt a certain kindred spirit-ness towards Tibby, even though Redmond is not Oxford, and even though my family isn't quite horrible, as Wilcoxes, or are they? Nan, what did you write about?"

Nan gave Dorian an inquisitive glance and said lightly "Well I went in the exact opposite direction to you two, which was to cover few mystery novels " Nan raised her collar against the cold winter wind and remarked "Hopefully Faith has already arrived back at Primrose Hollow from her Red Cross errands, and is waiting with a ready pot of tea, because I knitted Jerry another sweater last night, and I truly need more tea." Nan inquired in an airy light tone, "Di, do you happen to know where Alice is? I have not seen her all day, she's not even in Redmond Music Society library, and that's quite special, because that's where Alice can usually be found."

Di, glanced at Nan quietly and shook her head, and pointed out, "Dear Nan I won't guard her every step, she might have something important to do, or she has found new reading nook. I don't think there is anything to worry about."

A small shiver crossed Dorian's face and he pulled his scarf tighter, hearing Di's carefree words, because thought of Alice walking alone, in busy Kingsportian streets, in the fading plumtinted evening was surprisingly painful.

Then there was Thompson, on time as ever. He waited calmly as Nan impulsively embraced Dorian and exclaimed, "Dear friend, thank you very much for the roses on Valentine's Day, they were beautiful, and brightened the atmosphere very much. There is something comfortingly romantic, and ancient, about receiving flowers in the middle of winter." Di waved and smiled at Dorian, and cautiously he got into the shiny black car, and soon it was curving down slushy and icy road, and disappeared around the corner.

It was quiet in the Kingsport Gentlemen's Club, bluish afternoon light shimmered in the crystals, air smelled faintly of food, brandy and cigar smoke. Billiard balls clattered softly in another room. At a mahogany desk sat Royal Gardiner, a folder covered in black leather with bronze edges in front of him. His signet ring glinted in the light, Gardiner hurriedly signed a bunch of papers. Shadow flickered as Royal Gardiner glanced irritably around, as a familiar slightly mischievous voice stated "old chap, I have some news for you that you might be interested in." Royal glanced up to see Robert standing in front of him with his curly hair in a mess, cheerful as usual. Royal raised an eyebrow and Robert glanced around, but the room was quiet, and he said in a low voice, "Or rather two pieces of news, the first is about your son. Some of my contacts saw him visiting an establishment known for its, well, for its wide selection."

Royal closed his eyes and slowly counted to ten, and finally said a little irritated "I really can't believe that my son would visit the kind of places you yourself used to hang out in previous years, so I assume it was some place that sells alcohol. Well it's already high time for him to learn. Although I think it's pointless to spend money on it, because the Hall has perfectly decent cellars and selections, but on the other hand, maybe visiting helped him somehow. Lately he has seemed more lost than usual. Nevertheless it might explain Dorian's behavior a week or so ago, he was as pale as a corpse and didn't eat anything at dinner. Did you have anything else, if not I suggest you go on your errands, as I still have some work, that I came here to do, for the Hall is again full of members of Adeline's sewing club, and their chatter gave me a migraine."

Robert grinned and stroked his blond mustache and said cheerfully "It's not a migraine that bothers you, it's the slight anxiety you get when you look at the latest import reports flooding in from Europe, your stocks are in a tailspin my friend. And as for my news, I can guarantee you'll be interested. When I was a guest at the February Ball, I happened to witness a rather delicate scene in one of the alcoves."

Roy turned the page of his paper, and said blankly, "if that's your way of telling about your own adventures with maids or some businessmen's wives who are bored with their everyday lives, frankly I'm not interested in hearing it."

Robert gave a cat-like grin and said carelessly "dear friend, my carousing years are over, I think, and for once this doesn't relate to my own brilliant personality. There in the alcove was that blond girl you were so attracted to, and she was by no means alone, she had a very a charming companion by her side. Besides, I've heard rumors that delightful Christine has taken an interest in this girl. Perhaps soon they may have lunch together, and Christine will turn Cinderella into a semi-Bluenose, if she wants it so, for she has golden touch."

Royal cast a censorious glance in Robert's direction and calmly remarked "There are a thousand different reasons why young women might be in a quiet alcove with each other, especially when it's the Ball. It doesn't always have to be erotic, although you often want it to be. Christine loves music, and apparently this girl is quite talented, so naturally she wants to be helpful."

Robert had an ironic expression on his face as he said "Your decades long friendship with Christine has clouded your perspective as she never does anything for one and only obvious reason. Now I must go, tour the shops in Kingsport, as delightful Irene's birthday is coming up soon and I must find a fitting gift for her."

Roy pointedly quipped, "Why don't you give Irene some jewelry, because aren't all women like her obsessed with diamonds?"

After Robert left, Royal straightened his tie, the sapphire blue accentuating his eyes, and closing his eyes he remembered his previous chance encounter with Alice Parker in the Hall's library, months ago, during All Hallows Eve´s Soiree. Royal remembered grabbing Alice Parker's gloved hands with a graceful waltz grip, as Strauss waltz echoed down the corridors. He had spun, girl lightly around, the silk hem of her light bluish dress had fluttered, and for just a moment, girl's slim body had been bent towards him, as in the grip of a dance, its in rigid formality was natural. Royal had pressed a greedy, passionate kiss to her neck, which had been so conveniently close. Alice had stiffened, and with one sliding step had stepped away, and poured a glass of brandy.

And after a moment of silence, Alice had walked closer, and thrown the contents of her glass over Royal, and walked out of the room. And then in February, as the ruddy rising sun touched the treetops, Christine had sat in Royal apartments wrapped in some ravishing garment, sipping blood-red claret, she had lightly remarked "A very successful evening, it was. It must be pointed out that Dorian's girlfriends from old Redmond were all quite spectacular yesterday, especially, young Di Blythe, don't you think?" Royal had frowned in Christine's direction in surprise, as her voice, which was often, so controlled, was a little bitter. Royal had glanced out the window, as black Ford had sped down the road, frantically gassing.

And with a light sigh, Royal straightened his posture, pushing the memories of alluring blondes, and scheming childhood friends from his mind and focusing on the numbers that demanded his attention, once more.

February changed to March. A package tied with strings arrived on the desk of the manager of one of Kingsport's best publishing houses. And with a snort, Director Sherwood opened the letter, and a curious look spread over his jolly and tired face, for it's not every day that Redmond's literary Professor Milne personally recommends a novel for publication. The author's name, Diana Blythe, sounded familiar, so Sherwood opened a stack of magazines, and took out the latest issue of Perennial, and waved his hands in satisfaction, as he noted that there was essay by none other than the very same Miss Blythe.

Cimmerian days

We here on the home front are far from the battlefields, of torn Europe.

Here is daily grind, of errands, collections, and knitting for the Cause. I and many others have blisters in their fingers, but still we knit onwards. The one thing that is above all is gnawing, freezing fear. It convulses in my heart when I read newspapers in the morning, the paleness of my sister's face, again after one night awake, wan and tired features of my friends, their golden and tawny hilarity has now ebbed slowly away, and free, unselfconcious laughter is more precous than gold, nowdays. There are telephone wires swaying in the cold wind and Red Cross collections, VAD posters.

However, there is a state for which nothing prepares, a telegram with news or a letter, after receiving which known life has to be put back together, piece by piece. There is a time before and after, and everything seems to have been shaped the wrong way, but the dead don't come back, and miracles don't happen.

When there is no major news in the papers for weeks, hope rises, and then it shrinks again. We speculate, and make quesses, and plan, but the officers in the front line care not the opinions for civilians, even if we are safely nestled in bosom of Redmond´s brick walls.

Some days I walk to nearest church and lit a candle, and look at its shadowy reflection on the wall, and as I do, so I thought of my brother, who once said to me " Don't think sad thoughts, think rather of the violets, how they raise their faces to the sun, when springime eventually arrives, as it always does." My brother, fell at Courcelette. He is now in the land of shadows, but I know he will fight for us there too. Bach's organ music, Cantata No.30 "Freue dich, erlöste Schar" sparkles around me, as honey tinted voice of my dearest friend shimmers, towards high vaults of church and I think of the resurrection, I find myself believing faintly that this war will end, someday, hopefully soon, it must."