Irene Howard looked at herself critically in the mirror, already for an hour she had tried several new hairstyles. Spring had arrived, and now was the perfect time to present an artfully combed styles under light hats. Glen's main street glowed reddish, and curiously Irene glanced out of her window, to see sturdy black haired, now quite tall Bruce Meredith walking down the street, probably on the errands of his mother Rosemary, that fair and serene woman who had honed diplomacy to sterling sheen, standing between the village women and the dreaming Reverend Meredith, a kind of mediator. A little further along among dells and ditches, and fields spring primroses and scillas were already blooming, but Irene hardly ever thought of flowers, except if they came in a corsage, or in a bouquet of roses from admirers. A small light wrinkle appeared on her forehead, but Irene quickly smoothed it away. She glanced at her calendar, where last week there had been no less than two solo concerts, all for war-effort. And today would be the third, occasion that had been talked about in the Glen for weeks.

Irene took a light straw hat with a pink silk ribbon from the hat box and tried it on. Then she glanced at her wardrobe, it was certain, though, that she had the most elegant wardrobe in the whole Glen, the cuffs of her dresses and blouses were always spotless, unlike Nan Blythes had been.. Then she remembered what strikingly elegant Christine Stuart Dawson had said in her light-hearted way, at breakfast at Gardiner Hall, to Adeline Gardiner, after All Hallows Soiree, "It is incredible that some people imagine that here, in Kingsport, you get real Parisian fashion, in these days when fashion houses in Paris are struggling with material shortages caused by the war as much as everyone else. This fashion here is local, and reworked from the pages of fashion magazines, but it's not quite what you see on the streets of Paris. In these times you have to make sacrifices. I can walk around very well in clothes that are not the latest fashion. Besides, patterns have changed quite a bit, become straighter in silhouette, well that trend was already in 1912 but now it has become even more obvious, and the hems are, well. And then in Paris whispers there are in the streets about woman desinger named Chanel, who uses a new, scandalously light and thin material, a jersey, I think it name was! " Irene clearly remembered her own dismay and embarrassment, she had hidden her face behind a beautiful teacup, it had hand painted roses, and gold paint on the rim.

Then Mrs Howard's recognizable voice echoed from downstairs, "Irene my dear, you've got a package to collect from the post office, would you like your brother Clive to do it? You need to rest for the evening." With a start, Irene closed her wardrobe door. Quickly, Irene descended the stairs into the living room, and met her brother's gaze. Clive sat in his striped sailor shirt, slim and self-conscious on the sofa and said "Irene, don't look so suspicious. Have some tea, or fresh juice!" Irene sat gracefully, and at the same time she carefully stretched out her ankles, in proper position, better to show off her shapely calves as Mrs Howard chatted about the rumors and gossip of Glen and Lowbridge, her voice quivering with barely hidden eagerness. Finally she said, "Promise, Irene dear to tell me later, all about the events of the evening, for I think I'm going to have another headache. A noisy house, or hall is not an ideal setting, but I'm sure you're brilliant. Don't let that catty Cornelia Elliot bully you with her opinions. I think you'd better wear yellow, red isn't quite right in these circumstances, or maybe a pale lavender?"

Clive Howard, set his teacup on the table, and put his cap on his fair curls, as he left his ornate childhood home, lace-and-tea-scented salon, into the bright spring afternoon. With long steps he walked to the post office, and received Irene's package. The handwriting was unknown, but the postmark appeared to be from Kingsport, and he flashed his best smile at the postmistress, who laughed softly and said " Clive Howard, gallant and suave as usual, there is nothing else here for your family now. Give my best regards to dear Irene." Whistling, Clive Howard passed Manse, and he nodded to Bruce Meredith, who balanced on a low fence, a small bunch of primroses in one hand.

Bruce looked up, and he said in his serious way, "I would have liked scilla flowers, those brilliant blue ones, for Una and Mother, but I couldn't cross the stream without getting my feet wet." And after looking where Bruce pointed, a small clearing with shady spots, deciduous trees, Clive, smiling at the boy, he leaped with one leap over a deep ditch and a small stream, and carefully gathered two bunches of strong blue, honey-scented, narrow-leaved flowers. The hill carried heavily down, and somewhere there was a sound like the ringing of bells, but surely it was imagination. Clive shook his head, and shook a blade of grass from his trousers, and handed the flowers to Bruce, who's little face brightened, and he said "Oh, will you come to Manse!" And extending his little hand confidently to Clive, Bruce began to pull, surprisingly strongly, for such a young child, of soon to be ten.

Soon they were standing in a shadowy hall of the Presbyterian Manse of Glen, and Clive was rubbing his collar as he felt extremely uncomfortable as he had never been here. There was a breathless, almost sacred silence, and at Clive's feet a striped cat was purring, as it was being petted by Bruce. Clive felt his nose begin to itch as he was desperately allergic. In desperation, he glanced at Bruce, who calmly said, "Una's in the kitchen because it smells like vanilla." And before Clive could stop, Bruce called out, "Una-moon, there are guest here, perhaps for tea!"

Una Meredith, frowned as Bruce's voice invaded her consciousness. It was challenging to bake anything decent when there were so many restrictions, economy of war-times, glancing calmly at the vanilla-flavored scones that were in the oven, Una thought that perhaps the visitor might be Mary Vance, bringing a new recipe to try, as she had last week, when they had sat a long time at the kitchen table, and Mary had quietly told of the letters she had received from Miller, before he was wounded. And taking off her apron and sweeping back the hair that had come out of her slippery plait, Una straightened her collar, and slipped into the corridor. But the figure standing in the dim hallway wasn't Mary Vance at all, but a blond youth who looked vaguely familiar.

He was dressed elegantly, in shades of blue and black. His face had a tense expression and his dark blue long-lashed eyes were red-rimmed. Perhaps he too had lost someone close to him in the war. And then Una noticed the bouquet of scillas in his hand, and in Bruce's hands, there were primroses, and the young man bowed and said softly, and in a choked voice, "Miss Meredith, can you put these flowers in water. Can we have tea, perhaps on the verandah, for I am unfortunately allergic to cats, although this cat of yours seems very charming."

Bruce flinched, and said in a conciliatory tone, "No one is ever allergic to cats, at least none of the Blythe family, they've always had cats, although now they only have Jekyll, and of course Monday too. Clive, can you play the piano by the way?"

There was a look in Una's eyes that told Bruce that maybe saying that last sentence might have been a mistake, so he was quick to say, "I can play, too, right Una?" His sister nodded and said in her soft way, "Bruce honey, put some food in Stripey's cup, then go practice your scales, I'll be back soon to hear how you've been progressing."

Clive caught a hazy glimpse of a living room full of mahogany furniture with cross-stitched cushions, and a grand piano that Bruce climbed in front of, careful scales cutting through the air. Clive Howard soon found himself sitting on the cushioned wicker chairs on the verandah, drinking tea, the flowers in the vase, white and blue, casting their shadows on the white hand-embroidered tablecloth. Una Meredith stood in the doorway holding a covered plate that was overflowing with the aroma of vanilla, and Clive glanced appraisingly at her blue-grey-clad figure, and said "in answer to your little brother's question, I play a bit, but my sister, Irene is more of a musician in our family, perhaps you know her?" Una nodded, barely perceptible, as she placed the plate on the table.

Little later, after her most surprising tea companion had left, sitting in the living room, automatically correcting Bruce's fingering, Una combed her hair into a better style, and slipped Walter's hair-comb into her coiffure. Then she took her basket, and set off, towards the house between the Glen and Lowbridge, that house which had been so long deserted, and dusty, with its garden full of lilac trees, in summer, which was based on lengthy arguments, chosen as the venue for this evening's event, in the name of fairness.

Mrs Parker nodded politely to Cornelia Bryant, who carefully supervised the unwrapping and display of the large cross-stitch work with patriotic themes. Chatter and arguments echoed in the high room, as Laidies Aid of Lowbridge and Glen were putting finishing touches together. In the corner, the piano was tinkling as Lowbridge's Gertrude Olivier practiced there, unfortunately Una Meredith had categorically refused to perform with Irene Howard. There were Anne Blythe and Rosemary Meredith arranging the VAD leaflets, in position. Mary Vance was tending the catering table with a red-cheeked Una Meredith by her side. Ellen Douglas's dark voice rose audibly over the hum, "If you need puppies, come to us, and just choose."

Then Mrs. Parker smelled the familiar smell of pipe tobacco and ether and turned to meet her husband's loving and slightly weary gaze. He was wearing his slightly worn suit and a dark red bow tie, and he took a small package from his pocket, and handed it to his wife, saying, "Happy wedding day my love." Glancing quickly around, Mrs. Parker motioned her husband to the side and a little scoldingly said, "You're incurable!" Dick Parker glanced at his wife, who had nearly exhausted herself with work, after the news of Plamen had arrived, and he said curtly, "Perhaps, yes, but that one arrived today, open it."

With slightly trembling fingers, Therese Parker opened package, and a light box was revealed. The lid hinged open, and on crimson velvet was an oval medallion with hinges. Cautiously, Therese opened it, and with tears in her eyes, she saw the up-to-date photos of all her children, and on the other side, Lotte's children, all of them. And gently Therese Parker turned, and Dick put a medalion around her neck, and Therese heard Dick whisper, "Our children helped with this. Alice wrote to Lotte, I don't know how her letter managed to get to Brünn, and the boys sent their own greetings from the front, already last week, as you know. This medallion is the same style that Lotte has, I guess it was your grandmother's?" Therese Parker nodded quietly, and squeezed her husband's hand tightly, then stepped back, into the varied crowd.

On the other side of the room residents of the Glen and Lowbrige, and even some out-of-towners began to arrive, until every downstairs room in the little house was nearly full. Treats, and raffle tickets, and embroidery did their part, as did the fresh faces of the country girls behind the tables. Clive Howard leaned against the doorframe and looked at his sister, Irene was in her element, in her soft yellow dress, Butterworth's notes twinkling in the air, like a starbeam, and just as brightly glittered an ornate bracelet, on her dainty wrist, its floral design glittering, a diamond sparkle.

There was a gasps in the audience as Doctor Blythe's wife walked onto the stage, and in a sonorous voice she said, "Thank you to all of you who are here today. We have all been through a lot in these almost four years, and there are many families that will never be made whole again. I can swear that the proceeds of this evening will be used for the good of our sons and soldiers abroad, who are at the front, maybe even now fighting for our freedom." An impenetrable silence fell as Anne's voice recited in trembling tones the verses written by herself and then by her fallen son. Flaming applause broke the silence, as slowly crowd began to stream out of that house, which had been a veritable scene of patriotism, on that delicately beautiful spring evening.

Ingelside was bathed by the spring moonlight, Rilla Blythe was sitting in the livingroom as she said thoughtfully to Gertrude Olivier, "Mumsy was wildly good, wasn't she. It's a shame you had to perform with Irene, but though she's got faults, she really can perform, though she was too elaborate again, that bracelet was completely too much, for this occasion. You know, I missed Alice Parker, isn't it strange. If Nan or Di had been here, the evening might have been even more memorable." Gertrude glanced at Rilla's slim figure and she said "You can believe that in Kingsport your sisters are doing their part, just like we are here."

Anne Blythe stood by the open window, looking out towards Rainbow Valley, and Gilbert's light touch roused her from her thoughts, softly Gilbert inquired, "Anne-girl, you surprised me today, but you were brilliant, even more captivating, than the White Sands times." Anne sighed lightly, and gently swept her hand through Gilbert's hair as she said, "I felt like I had to do something, and I think he would have liked it too."

At the Manse, there were delicate cut crystal vase, old West-heiroom brimfull of scilla flowers, situated at living room and as Una touched tender, quviering petal, she remembered Alice's words, of that letter that had been like sudden blessing in the midst of that horrible Autum, " He is living in the first flowers of spring, and in his poems that never die." And as she closed her eyes, Una remembered how delighted Walter always was when both anemones and scillas arrived, how his eyes had sparkled.

It had been surprisingly painful to see Anne Blythe standing a couple of feet away reciting Walter's verses. The look in Anne's eyes this evening, had been startlingly similar to Walter's lofty but determined gaze as he stood in front of the train that July morning. And almost automatically, Una fingered stack of notes, but in this bluish moonlight-colored moment, they were just piles of paper, even his Mahler. Una wondered why everyone seemed to be walking away from her, toward duty, or new challenges, but she just stayed where she was, rooted, always, always waiting. And with a sad little sigh, Una took out some notes of which Alice had once gravely told her, "My own voice is too dark for this, but since the theme of this song is waiting, I think it might work for you." Feeling haunted, Una glanced at the sheet music and slowly, reluctantly, as the scent of scilla flowers filled the room, she began to study piano score.

The library of the Redmond Music Society was quiet, but then a sharp shout in a familiar voice came from the hall ""Help, is there anyone here, does anyone have smelling salts?" it broke the silence, Alice Parker, curious, crept forward, dropping her folders sheet of music on the vacant chair. Alice saw Dorian Gardiner, dressed in navy with a stack of photo albums, and next to him, concretely on the floor, was Madeline, her face was very pale, she seemed to have fainted, but why would the extremely efficient Madeleine faint. Alice furrowed her brows and carefully stepped up to the dark-haired, plain, slightly graying woman whose dark skirts had spread across the shiny floor like an ink stain.

Dorian wringed his hands and said helplessly, "I came here to do a little genealogy, I would have been in the Hall otherwise, but Adeline's Laidies Aid is meeting there today, and I was feeling very underfoot there, with all that kinitting, and lace-things, you know, dear Alice. Mrs Dobson was kind enough to help me, when one of the albums opened in the middle, and then she just glanced at a photograph, and fell to the ground, I don't know what happened. Apparently that picture is some Gardiner cousin, or so Adeline told me."

Alice said, in her serene way, "Well that explains your presence here, I thought you didn't even know about this place, but of course I was wrong, as your family's money partly supports this place as well. I'll be back soon, and don't let her follow me even if she insists." Dorian just sighed, looking extremely lost in the shadowy hall.

Raising her skirt on her arm, Alice ran into Madeleine's study, and fortunately the door was ajar, and not locked. Carefully, Alice walked in the dim room, and before she could turn back, carrying a damp cloth and a water jug, a familiar slightly hoarse voice said from the doorway, "Well, you see I'm perfectly fine, I just haven't eaten all day, and my blood sugar got too low. Tea and crackers and I'm quite the same again. I think, young sir, that I can't help you today. The shelves in your house will give more information than the dusty corners of this building."

Alice, glanced at Madeleine's face, which was still very pale, and she said sharply to Dorian, "I gave clear instructions, why didn't you follow them?" Dorian grinned weakly, and said "You clearly haven't spent enough time with my Aunt Dorothy, her temperament is easier even when irritated than Mrs. Dobson's, so it was simpler to give in."

Madeleine, had sat down in her familiar high-backed chair, and a flickering table lamp with a green shade had been lit. Alice was making tea, the jade green teapot was glinting in the dim light as the water boiled. Soon enough, Madeleine's cup was full of heavily sugared tea. She said sharply, glancing at Alice, "Thank you for your concern my dear, but go now, I happen to know that some notes are waiting for you, which you have waited a long time for as leisure moments are precious. And young Mr. Gardiner, it was pleasant to meet you, you really have your mother's eyes. She came here sometimes, to escape the greatness of the Hall, I think, and sat for hours in the concert-room, for in those days the Hall did not had acquired a piano." Alice glanced at Dorian, and he seemed almost shy, nodding to Madeleine with the utmost politeness, and then his muffled, slow steps faded away. And Alice embraced Madeleine, humming Schumann, left librarian alone, in the quiet dim room, as per her frevent request.

A trembling tear-filled whisper echoed through the room, "Oh, Claire, seeing your picture was a complete, unexpected shock, after all these years."

Perennial offices was in chaos, as usual and in vain effort to focus, Di closed her eyes and saw the living room of Primrose Hollow about a week ago, where fashionable, efficient Persis had held her court, for a couple of very short but memorable days. There had been golden laughter, Aunt Leslie's wonderful recipes, Alice´s cakes, memories of past summers and larks. In one of the quieter moments when Alice had been at Compline, Persis had pulled Di beside her on the couch, and said softly, "look." In her hand was a small pink shell with a thin chain strung on it, Di had smiled with quivering lips, and Persis had said quietly, "I only made a trinket of this a fortnight ago, and I promise to be careful with it, for it is quite charming. Well, tell me more about Dorian Gardiner, for Nan speaks of him so often, and with flattering words, that if I didn't know Nan's heart was firmly in Jerry's keeping, I might get the wrong idea." Di had shaken her head and given a light description of Dorian's character, as balanced as possible, and Persis had brushed her sleeves without replying, but that kind of slight reserve was familiar, so Di had just poured them more tea.

A day later when Dorian had actually arrived, for a surprise visit, Di had felt a little conflicted, because his open and obvious interest had felt somehow wrong, towards Alice, but Alice had seemed only amused, and as Puccini's music had shimmered, in the room, Di had found herself to be focused on the warmth of Alice beside her, and on Persis's dreamy expression, which had awakened in her the memory of a past bittersweet feeling, that had shaken her so terribly once.

Arrival of Jerry's letters seemed to lift Nan's spirits, as Nan's awkwardness towards Alice had dissipated considerably, but it was still there. Although no one was in Hollow in a cheerful mood, because Faith's graduation and joining to VAD was looming like large wave in the distance. Di brushed messy hair out of her eyes and refocused on the text in front of her, she had only made a few corrections and a lot of cross-outs, when Editor Simmons gruff voice said from beside her, "Blythe, a word in my office, please."

The front door of Primrose Hollow opened, and white-faced Di swayed in the doorway. Alarmed, Nan left custard boiling in the pot on the stove, as she ran towards her twin exclaiming, "News from the front?" Di shook her head and silently handed thick paper to her twin, it was not newspaper. Nan read it twice, once, and then three times, and then she blinked. Di sighed, then slowly the tears started to fall from her eyes as she mumbled something in a faint voice that Nan couldn't make out at all.

Then Faith and Alice's voices said in chorus, "Nan, why is our dessert burning in the kitchen?" Di raised her voice over the light commotion that had followed, and almost shouted, "Because I got a publishing deal, with Sherwood Publishing!" An unbroken silence spread over Primrose Hollow, then it shattered into a ringing and tearful, laughter like the harps of a lost Elysium.