The afternoon sun caressed Ingelside's garden, where shadows and light dappled the lawn, as Nan glanced at Di sitting on a striped blanket a couple of steps away, she seemed to be writing eagerly, and around her was a light pile of letters and notebooks. Looking up, Di smiled happily and declared, "Nanlet, sometimes writing is like dancing, with an invisible partner. I've achieved my goals and more besides during these few days." Nan observed that Di quickly gathered her things, folded the blanket, and ran inside, past Rilla and Betty Meade, who were sewing on the verandah. Nan sighed quietly, recalling the events at Glen's soiree for the war effort, where Irene had once again gained new admirers. After Irene and Alice's performance, and what an shimmering elaborate, wistful, and companioable moment in time, it had been, Nan had happened to be standing near Irene, and Irene's blonde brother, Clive, had eyed Nan, completely shamelessly. The young man's behavior had been the kind of thing Ken Ford had done when he visited the Glen, in those days when he had been full of Toronto swagger and vain peacock-airs as Susan had remarked to Mumsy in her off-hand way. So, Nan had only cast a proud, look in Clive Howard's direction, which had always worked for Ken, but the blond youth in his dark suit, had only smiled wider, and whispered something in a low voice into Irene's ear. And then Rilla, red-cheeked, had come to Nan, with Jims in tow, and Nan suddenly wanted to get away from the Howards, as the blonde siblings seemed to be engrossed in a serious conversation, but on the other hand, what serious thing could any Howard have in mind, Nan thought a little mockingly. Glancing once more at Irene, in the flickering lights, the once flourishing, almost artful, coy girl suddenly seemed worn and tired, as the shadows danced over her, Nan reflected. Nan had observed that Gertrude Oliver and Alice had walked a little apart from others through the streets of the Glen, and it seemed as if they had been conversing in low, anxious tones, that had been most peculiar. During that blissful walk Di had quite often glanced towards Gertrude´s dark head, as if worried somehow, but why Di should be worried about Gertrude of all people!

Then, as the days passed in their serene way in Ingelside, Di, had carried a notebook around in her pocket and had written something in it even during Susan's dinner, which was completely unheard of. And two days ago, Nan had noticed that Mumsy had given Di a thick envelope, with French postmarks, which her twin had studied with great interest. Now Di's distant behavior finally had an explanation, and Nan felt relieved, but still, why did her twin's dream, writing, feel like such an exclusionary activity? Shaking her head, Nan glanced at the shimmering clouds, and Jerry's ruby flickered in the light, like a beating heart, Nan dreamed, building cloud castles as tall as the towers of the Alhambra.

Gertrude Oliver looked up from her teacup as Di ran up the Ingelside staircase, and Anne playfully shouted at her daughter's back, "Di, where's the fire, be more careful, as if you turn your ankel, it can severly limit your summer, I know it for my own experience, when I as a dare walked Barry´s ridgepole, and fell, and broke my right ankle several years ago." Di turned around, and said, in her most bubblingly happy way, "I thought I'd go to a small ramble, because the weather is so beautiful today, nowhere are there such beautiful nooks and crannies as on this island of ours!" Anne Blythe, laughed in her free-spirited way, and said "I always loved a good ramble in the holidays myself, what delightful surprises I found alongside my dear Diana in Avonlea epochs!." Di nodded and not before too long the front door closed behind her lithe steps. Silence fell, as Gertrude said in her cautious way, "Is it wise to let Di wander alone around Glen and Four Winds, and perhaps even towards Lowbridge in these days?" Anne cast a pointed look at Gertrude and said briefly, "I happened to overhear yesterday that Di told to Una at Carter Flagg's shop that she was going to the Bluebell-woods, and why not, that place is a piece of Eden, especially now." Gertrude, nodded, and with quick steps she rushed from her seat, to help Jims, who was leaning on the piano-leg, as he asked, half-demandingly, "Gee, I want Willa!" Anne softly raised her voice, "Rilla, and Betty, there is tea to be had, and Jims wants you my darling!"

Soon Rilla and Betty Meade were sitting inside in the shadowy coolness of the living room, drinking tea. Jims actually glowed with the kind of contentment that is characteristic only of happy children whose happiness is sudden and all the more precious, Gertrude pondered as she glanced towards that small boy, who had in his own way brought so many joyful moments to Ingelside, kept its inner routines going, despite war-torn reality all around them.


Gertrude drunk her now tepid cup of tea, as she reflected, after that Glen soiree, she had by sudden impulse walked back to Lowbridge with Alice Parker, that night had been cloudless and the stars twinkled, and then to her surprise Gertrude heard Alice say, "Thank you for not telling Di about that incident earlier, as she would propably wanted to make a scene of some sort, it would not have helped at all." Gertrude glanced sideways at Alice's cool shadowy features and said briefly, with a dark flash of her peculiar humour, " Glen is such a small place in many ways, and the people who live there don't always necessarily understand or grasp the motley variety that is to be found in the people of Lowbridge, and why should they, for the Laidies Aid of Lowbridge, there are a few with no exception full of the same venerable ladies as at the Glen, and the Episcopalians and Presbyterians often do not co-operate, though the Reverend Meredith, and the Methodist Arnold try to change the situation, and the war-time of late months has only increased the tension, for years there have been elements which have have been unhappy with the high status of your family, without any calumnies. You may not care much for Lowbride, for if I remember the old talk that Mrs Cornelia once told aright, you have seen more of the world than the lasses of Blythe, yet Lowbridge is your home, and mine too, even though I spend much of my time at Blythe's in charming Ingelside."

A blackbird flew past them with a dark wings, and caught a worm from the wet ground in its bright beak. The houses of Lowbridge were dark, and everything seemed peaceful, and idyllic. On the top of the hill, the lights shone from the windows of Parker's house, and the flowers were fragrant in the garden, and carefully large double doors opened, as Alice and Gertrude came near verandah, as Therese Parker's voice floated into the yard, whisper-soft, "Wahrscheinlich wird unsere geliebte Nachtigall bald ankommen, da sie nur einen kurzen Spaziergang vom Glen entfernt ist. Ich hoffe, dass während des Abends alles gut gelaufen ist." Suddenly hearing the German, Gertrude stiffened, realizing that the rumors had indeed been true, of strange not Canadian heritage of Therese Parker.

Alice merely glanced tremblingly at Gertrude, and said quietly, "My brothers are fighting on the Western Front even now, among the Allies, and not in the German army, that should be enough assurance for everyone. A walk from the Glen until now you spoke highly of the versatility of Lowbridge, are you now eating your words, just because my mother wondered aloud when I happen to come back from the Glen?"

A shadow swayed behind the lace window, and Dick Parker's voice could be heard clearly from the veranda, "Alice, Alice, will you cease your loverling, and whispering, with your friend, at our garden, as it is late already!" Gertrude was startled, at the slight cockney tinted words, but Alice had already turned, and had raised her voice " Papa, its Miss Oliver, and not darling Di, who is with me, she was our pianist tonight, and she most kindly escorted me from the Glen. The concert and the whole evening was a success." Dick Parker's pipe glowed, and he said with sincere politeness, "Thank you for your trouble, Miss Oliver, for in these times one can never be too careful. So, please come to have tea, as a thank you." Gertrude glanced at the dark and quiet garden, and said after a little silence, "Thank you for the invitation, but I must go homewards now. Thank you for the evening and our conversations Alice." Alice nodded, gracefully, soon she was walking towards the veranda, it was large and rambling, and bit shabby, the paintwork had been peeling away, soon the sound of the door being locked almost echoed in the silent night.

In a thoughtful mood, Gertrude walked into her own little rented house, near schoolhouse of Lowbridge, which was neat, but quiet, there was a scent of lavender and fresh night air flowed through the open small-paned windows. A storm lantern cast its light on the wall, and on the table was an enamel milk jug with dried, blackened roses. There was framed picture of her Robert in brass-frames, and cross stitch work, on a wall, shadows danced in that room, as Gertrude kept vigil with her ponderngs. She had noticed that Di had made several long and searching glances in her direction, after their little talk. Gertrude, however, did not regret having spoken to the girl, for it had to be done, and she always did her duty, however unpleasant it might be! The expression in Di's eyes had been like broken sea glass. Gertrude had seen how her words had cut her, swift, sudden, and deep, but it was nessicary evil, a small hurt, to counter something unseemly, and deporable, and not real.


With a small sigh, Gertrude surfaced from her rememberances, and as she did so she, heard Rilla declaire, " You know Mumsy, Irene Howard was almost tolerable, the last time I saw her. Did you notice the same Betty?" Betty Meade, dark-haired and vivacious in her light summer dress, carefully placed a vintage Marilla Cuthbert rosebud teacup on the saucer and remarked, pointedly, "Of course she was, performing always puts Irene in a great mood. I've often thought that if she would just move out of here, for example to Kingsport, we who stay here would be much happier, but that is unlikely to happen, for Mrs. Howard has a tight grip on her children."

Susan poured hot tea for everyone in the living room and said in a low voice, "If the Howards left, I at least think Glen's harmony would improve, the Douglas family is quarrelsome, although Norman Douglas keeps his relatives in check, for the most part, and Ellen keeps Norman in check, and MacAllisters also on their own in a way, and the Bakers are hard workers, as you know, but the Howards, they are philandering and fanciful. I'm sure that Miss Irene wants to dig her nails into your beloved boys, Mrs. Doctor Dear, and on the rare occasions that she visited here I counted the silver spoons." Gertrude said in her mischievous way, "But Susan, there's always Shirley." Susan cast a grim look at Gertrude, and said in her most dignified manner, "My little brown boy, I'm sure he won't bear to look at Irene, he didn't before he left to the war, and now that he's flying, protecting the skies, he won't spare a thought for that girl, I'm sure of it. "

Rilla, whispered to Betty, with a light laughter in her voice, and mien, twining her red-brown curls in her silm fingers. "My brother Shirley is an enigma, but he writes fun and dependable letters, as ever. How nice it is that all my brothers are now in service, that is a fact that a girl like me can be proud of, along with my creamy skin naturally!" Betty Meade, glanced at Walter's photograph, in which that handsome and pure-featured dark-haired youth was frozen in an eternal moment, and her heart ached, for she had been one of those girls who often on Sundays during the hymns in church stood from her own pew facing Dr. Blythe's pew, when Rilla's handsome brothers had been in Ingelside during the holidays. Blythe brothers had all been completely under the spell of the Meredith siblings, or at least it had seemed so, to her and coutless other girls of Glen, and when that dish Kenneth Ford, had visited at Ingelside, several of girls had been in titters.


The organist of Glen's Presbyterian Church, wiping his glasses, looking at Carter Flagg's offers, everything had gone up in price, and he heard the country women around him complaining, and then suddenly he strained his hearing when an unfamiliar gruff voice remarked, "A couple of days ago in your town hall, there was quite a high-level program, two golden girls, performing patriotic songs, it was very atmospheric. Just goes to show that even rural villages know how to appreciate the current situation, surely the performers are local popular girls?"

There was a deep silence after the man's words, and then a woman who married into the many branches of the Douglas family said firmly, "The performers were Irene Howard, she is a local, and Alice Parker, from Lowbridge way, if you want to know, but why do you come here to ask, especially in these times, naturally, this information was visible in the evening's program leaflet." A vehement murmur arose, and in the midst of the lively conversation, a few separate sentences were carried to the organist's ears, "there were no program leaflets, I heard that girl from Lowbridge sometimes goes to our church too, I saw her, and you know, the music of the enemy was played there, I heard it distinctly as the organ roared! My sister is married to a Lowbridge man, and she has told me several things, confidentially, of course. And they say in Lowbridge that Blythe's dead son, that the poet was more than a little odd, but you can't talk bad about the dead. Dr. Parker's practice is going badly, well, that's what you get when you marry a woman like that. I think the Howards are a decent family, and I've always said that the Blythe family's children are spoiled, those twins go round the Glen at all hours, with high airs! Only the youngest is sensible, for she helps Mrs. Dr. Blythe, though that girl need hardly work, when old Susan Baker, that old maid, self-declared one, does everything there, or so the gossip says. And it's strange how connected our Doctor's family is to Revered's family, but that's how it always is, the rich and the well-to-do go together, and the rest of us just lick our fingers. I heard that Arnold's son was interested in Rilla Blythe, but the girl rejected him coldly, probably because of religion. And now the boy is at war." Frowning the organist paid his purchases and nearly ran towards Presbyterian Manse.

With careful fingers Una Meredith dusted John Meredith's study, and with a light smile on her lips Una lifted aside a few pieces of hard priest's collars, they had been used, as bookmarks, and between the fragile pages of books, Una slipped colored silk ribbons, and stacked the books again in the same messy formation as before, so that everything looked untouched. And curiously, she was about to close the half-open drawer of desk, when something glimmered there, and with careful fingers Una lifted to the light a medium-sized box with a chrysanthemum flower worked on the lid. Holding her breath, Una closed her eyes, for she remembered the box as it was Cecilia's, and with slightly trembling knees, Una sat down in her father's office chair, its curved armrests, surrounding her like a surprising embrace. The piano was clearly being played in the living room, Rosemary was playing a haunting Elgar, and half humming, Was it some Golden Star? Una opened the box and was dazzled, because Cecilia's jewelry rested on the midnight blue velvet, like some forgotten treasure of the Thousand And One Nights. The shimmer of cream pearls, the weight of oval brooches and pink cameos, the flash of translucent aquamarine, the sparkle of emerald, and of garnet, butterscotch-colored amber.

Then John Meredith's voice came very gently from the doorway, "Una, Jerry's already had his share, as does Faith. Now it's your turn, I say think only of yourself. " Carefully Una glanced at the jewels, as she smiled at her Father´s words, but one object had directly called to her, so with careful fingers, Una brought forth, a brooch of rose-gold, it was cut in the form of a clover, and in into the leaves were set small opals, they glinted. And there was a hint of nostalgia in John's smile as he said with a wry nod, "Why that, why not a ring, or a necklace?" Una shook her head in silence, and as she said quietly, "I don't really know, this just felt right." And in a slightly choked voice, John said, "Oh, Una, sometimes you sound just like Cecilia, because she trusted her intuition too." With careful hand John, attached a brooch in diagonal line, to the collar of Una's scilla blue dress.

Rushing footsteps echoed down the hall, and Rosemary said, "John, I'm sorry to disturb you, but you've got a visitor." And with swift movements Una closed the jewelry box, and slipped out of the room with light, airy steps, and glanced half-curiously at the organist of Glen's church, who stood, hat in hand, in the hall, about three paces behind Rosemary. Then Bruce's slightly impatient voice came from the kitchen, "Una-moon, the bisquits given by the fair Fairy, can we give them to the organist if he stays for tea, as he could be an honorable guest, and can I finally start practicing the Erlkönig?" Una glanced at Rosemary, the same suppressed mirth glimmering in her eyes as Rosemary replied to Bruce, "That piano piece is still too hard for you my love, but if you want Empire Bisquits I can give you some soon, as I do not think that organist will be staying for tea." And lightly fingering the brooch, whose light weight felt strange, Una went into the living room and began to play the first notes that fell into her hand, it happened to be Händel again.

Left alone, when the organist had gone with hasty steps, but with a relieved heart, John Meredith, glanced at the crucifix on the wall, and said in a low voice, "You, too, fell into disfavor, and yet spoke of pardon, and grace, among other things. Well, at least next Sunday's sermon. My subject seems to be clear, it just needs to be clarified a little, because it might cause resentment if I take too strong a position on Lowbridge's internal affairs." And rubbing his dark silvery striped hair, glancing at his children's photographs, John Meredith opened three works from his desk, and everything vanished execpt the books in front of him, not noticing that blue silk ribbons fluttered to the floor, as Händel's bright, divine tones glowed sweepingly.


Bluebell Wood, was a magical place, a small hollow, not a dell like so precious Rainbow Valley. It was lined with shady leafy trees, and the ground was thick with bluebells. Sun cast its quivering glow on the bluish flowers, whose fragrance was unearthly beautiful, somewhere the nightingale was singing, that guardian of the hallowed evening moments. Di carefully walked through the flowers to a small mossy clearing where Alice was already waiting for her, a triftle impatiently, perhaps.

As the shadow fell before her, Alice looked up from her sewing, and glancing round cautiously, Alice said softly, "I do not at all wonder why you wished to meet here, for I almost fancy I see Lang and Shakespeare's Fairies appearing before me, instead of you, dearest Di." Di sat down on Alice's blanket, and leaned carelessly on her elbow, Di, smiled at Alice, and with quick fingers crowned her glistening hair with a fragrant bluebell-wearth, and said, "Well, will you tell me now why you were so quiet after your brilliant performance, and why Gertrude talked so lively with you? Did you talk about music, as Nan predicted when we sat on the train when we left Redmond, to come here?"

A shadow flickered across Alice's face, and after a moment's silence she said, "There was a little altercation that evening with a member of the audience, which Miss Oliver noticed, that's all, for you know some people are never satisfied." Di, frowned, and, shaking her head, said in a voice barely above a whisper, "I think Gertrude knows about us, for she had your pale scarf, the one with the orange embroidery, which you lost when we were in the garden. She's always been clever, she just said some general warnings, in her indirect, mysterious style, which nevertheless hurt, as there was sting in her careful words. In non-verbal reply, Alice only caressed quickly, Di's hand, as the light breeze fluttered the flowers.


The blackbird's song echoed brightly, in the twilight, as Anne Blythe stood on the porch, and watched as Di strode into Ingelside's garden, and lightly Anne inquired, "You forgot dinner, but Susan made you a plate, it's in the kitchen, covered with a warm towel." And a little later, Nan glanced in Di's direction inquisitively, as she picked up the bluebell flower tangled in her twin's hair, and seeing it, Rilla sighed dreamily, and later that very same night, she wrote in her diary.

I have only one dream, if the end of the war is not taken into account, and that is what everyone hopes and prays for. And I just made a decision, If I ever get to dance with HIM again, on the most important night of my life, then my corsage will have both lily of the valleys and bluebells. It's been nice to have Nan and Di here even for this short time, somehow I feel like I understand them a little better now, although they still have their own secrets, as always, but so do I. I do think that Alice Parker, for all her regal ways, and graces, evens out Irene Howard, she's somehow less obnoxious, now, or maybe it is I who have grown in spirit. I'll never forgive her, that awful rumor she told about Walter, lucky it didn't reach to Mumsy or Susan! It was strange thing to see Irene collaborating with someone, even if that someone was Alice. The arrangements went well, though I had to command the MacAllister sisters, as usual. They are involved in the activities of the Red Cross Youth Department, just the status it brings, and for eats, at the meetings, or so I imagine, and strangely Mary Vance agrees with me! Mary also used her sharp orphanage vocabulary, in a few places, and yes it got the girls going, as did Una Meredith's quiet patience as she picked out the floral arrangements by the side of the stage, and put the sheet music in place, and also played us some music, before Gertrude came into the hall.

Rilla closed her diary and looked at the small photograph of Ken that he had attached in his lastest letter. In it Ken looked almost alien, in the black and white picture, somehow so serious, and the clear lines of his face were clearly visible, and his large gray eyes had an expression that was hard to decipher, but he looked very handsome in his uniform. And as she closed her eyes, Rilla once again, felt the softness of the August evening and the smell of mint, and Ken's hoarse whisper, "I'll come back to you, Rilla, my Rilla, I swear it!."


In the House of Howards in Upper Glen, Clive Howard watched his sister thoughtfully, as Irene seemed to be waiting for the mail to arrive, with a strange fervor previously reserved only for the latest Godeys Laides Book catalogues. The peace of Sunday morning was everywhere, and the clock on the wall was ticking. There was a lingering scent of preserved marmalade, it rivaled the toasted bread, and the weak tea. Clive grimaced, thinking of the excellent serving of tea he had received when he visited the Manse, for Irene really did not know how to make tea properly, though she perhaps fancied she could, as it was, weak tea was a direct crime against humanity.

Seeing her brother's stormy expression, Irene said quietly, "Clive, drink your cup, or do you want to go to church perhaps, without the spurt of energy that tea can bring in the mornings?" Then Mrs. Howard's voice came from the kitchen, demanding, "Irene dear, can you tell me why our tea can is open on the kitchen table, and the tea spoon has dripped precious tea leaves all over the kitchen!" Clive grinned at his sister, and said, "If the post comes, and there are letters for you, I'll leave them in the usual place. Hurry, or you'll be late for church, or did you think of going there, dressed in striped muslin, and a shawl, quite a stir that would be!" Irene glanced at her brother, and said somewhat reproachfully, "Why did you play truant with Nan Blythe after my Glen concert?" Clive smiled and said, "For the simple reason that you can't stand her!."

About an hour later the church at the Glen was full, and when the last hymns had finished, Clive threaded his way past the gossiping parishioners until he stood a few paces from Una Meredith, and said softly, "Miss Meredith, that's quite a pretty brooch, a clover, it means faithful, love? I thought I might play your piano some afternoon, for my sister usually uses ours, and I can't play nearly as often as I'd like, though I'm not very good." Una Meredith, brushing her hair from her face, arranging the Bibles in a pile, and half glanced into Clive's blue eyes, they were, so different a shade from Walter's translucent gray. Bruce ran to Una's side, and he nodded cheerfully to Clive, saying, in a low confiding voice, "I know a place where Bluebells grow wildly, and sometimes even fairies frolick there in the evenings, with a wreaths of flowers in their hair, or they should do that!" Una smiled openly at Bruce's fancifully imagnitive words.

Clive Howard, smiled and said softly, looking at Una, "If those fairies of yours are half as beautiful as your sister here, then..." Una lowered her gaze, for no one, not even Walter, had ever called her beautiful, that epithet had always been Faith's, and a light blush rose to her cheeks, and to conceal it, Una turned, and said, "Mr. Howard, come to the Manse when it suits you, some afternoon might be the best time, well Bruce, come and help me take this pile of Bibles, and hymnals to the sacristy."

At home, Cilve noticed that Irene seemed very relieved, as she sang with great, genuine emotion, while washing the breakfast dishes, If You Were the Only Girl (In the World), which had been an encore song at Glen's concert, so Clive said in his gentle way, "Let me guess, overseas mail had arrived?" Irene turned, and wiping her long-fingered hands, the knuckles of which were reddened, she merely nodded, and as warm, and quiet happiness glowed from her eyes.


Golden, warm silence prevailed in the Redmond Library of Musical Association, there were hardly any customers. And about an hour or so, before closing time, Madeline Dobson was alerted to a cautious knock, and she called softly, "Come in, the door's open!"

Dorothy Gardiner swept in, in her cream cut suit, and declared with dimples on her cheeks, "I don't quite know why you've visited at dear old Hall lately, but in doing so, you've performed a little miracle, which, perhaps, isn't on a scale of turning water into wine, but near it. Namely, my dear brother and Dorian, whose relationship has always been difficult for various reasons, they have been talking lately, and today Roy took Dorian with him both to his office, to various meetings, and to his club, where Dorian has been for years categorically refused to go. Adeline is extremely pleased with the turn of events, although she always finds something to complain about in almost everything, bitter as she can be. So, when you visited our library, because that's where you were bound to be, did you happen to find some long-buried treasure, or what caused this complete change, which would hopefully last at least a little while?"

Madeline, smiling cautiously at Dorothy, her heart beating wildly, she said, seriously considering her words, "I only happened to return a document belonging to Gardiner Hall, when it had been left here by Dorian. We had tea for a few afternoons, and talked, for he wanted to know of his mother, and I told what I remembered of her, she was sweetness itself."

Dorothy stilled, and pulling the gloves from her hand, she carefully sat down in the vacant chair, crossing her ankles, and said thoughtfully, "Yes, Valentine, her loss touched us all, but my brother especially, and he has not been the same since. Valentine sometimes visited me, and we had such happy and joyous larks, when I still tried toe with the Family line. Valentine was very impulsive, in almost excessive way, and warm in her generosity, which could go to extremes. There was a mercurial brightness about her, and a quivering sensibility that was enchanting. Sometimes I got the impression that she wanted to go anywhere else, away from the Hall, namely. I don't blame her at all, because before the renovation, the place was almost like something out of a nightmare, all dark paneling, and gloomy drooping drapes, and stern family potraits on the walls. She often had to deal with our mother, who was by no means an easy person, if you imagine that Adeline is difficult, she is like a light spring breeze compared to our dear mother, and our uncle who ruled the family at the time of Roy and Valentine's union. As I recall, Valentine wrote diaries, they must be somewhere in the depths of the Hall, it is possible that Dorian may have read them, and that may have created this bridge between Roy and him."

The teapot whistled shrillly, and fragrant, strong tea perfumed Madeline's office, and then Dorothy stretched, and said lazily, "It's been several years since you first came to my little soirées, and did you know it was Valentine who suggested them. We had danced through night, Valentine's features were pale, as she stood in her old-time ballgown, for she was famous for generally only wearing dresses of the 1890s, at parties, and occasions, she stood in the library of Gardiner Hall, for it was one of her favorite rooms, as she fingered her ring, looking through the windows at the grounds covered in light mist, from which the frame of the greenhouse loomed, like some half-finished wreck. She turned to me with her green eyes, and said quietly but emphatically "If you ever can, arrange a space where the guests who come can be free, without prejudice, or gossip, because such spaces are so rare." And a few years after I met Ernestine at a demonstration, opportunities opened up, and here we are now."

Madeline inquired cautiously, "By the way, did Ernestine ever meet Valentine anywhere?" Dorothy, shook her head in silence, and said quietly, "No, because in those days, Valentine and Royal were traveling in Switzerland, Valentine was for a while, in some sanatorium in the Pyrenees as well, Roy once very evasively said that because of nerves, but there could have been many reasons."

Dorothy smiled at Madeline, and said thoughtfully, "Dear friend, has something happened, you seem kind of tensely expectant!" Madeline, startled, and fixed a steady look on Dorothy, and said quietly, "Don't talk nonsense. It's getting late. So, go do whatever it is you're doing when you're not a nuisance so I can clear my calendar for the day!" Dorothy's warm laugh echoed through the corridors of the library, and then there was silence.


Venice breathed, a quiet hum of history that sometimes seemed eternal, especially during the Carnivals, which, admittedly, had not been held for the last three years due to the war. The water in the canals was sometimes clear, and sometimes cloudy, especially when the torrential floods ravished the most beautiful of the cities. The shadowy arched bridges, the silence of the churches and palaces, and the desolate gloom of the Lido, for all the tourists had left, only the locals remained. The atmosphere was gloomy in the streets and in the markets, because the battles on the Italian front were fresh, and in the churches masses were held for the fallen, and black-clad mothers and loved ones flowered the altars.

In an apartment a few steps from an arched bridge, a dark-haired, fine-featured woman named Claire, with a gift for irony, owing to the unexpectedness of life, as her neighbors sometimes whispered among themselves, was restlessly going through the mail that had just arrived. June heat sizzled outside, but the thick stone walls were almost too cold. There was a letter with several international stamps, and feeling slightly curious, Claire turned it over, and froze, realizing it was from Canada, but the handwriting was not from her Gardiner cousins. With trembling hands, Claire poured herself a small glass of amaro, as she cut open envelope. The clear, slightly crooked handwriting, brought up countless memories.

C

Due to some unexpected coincidences, I have come into posession of your address, my darling, and for weeks I wondered if I should write, but I realized that I had to. It may be that you have forgotten me, but somehow I hope that is not the case, even though the years have passed. And so, these are the flowing words from my heart. I don't know if you know this, but your cousin kept his promise, and for years I've been quietly working in a beautiful library, which, ironically enough, was funded in part by your family's money. Sometimes in my lonely nights, which have been many over the years, I think about this and I laugh, if only because I can't cry all the time, I know you wouldn't want that. For years I have waited for your letters but they never came, maybe you wrote but they were destroyed. I still don't know who betrayed us and it doesn't matter anymore. I remember your light, ironic hilarity, and your sense of worth and loving warmth. Sometimes I still go to sit in the spring greenery in the gazebo where we said our goodbyes, and I have often imagined that if only I could have spent this time with you, happily in my small, modest rented rooms, I would have done so, with fierce gladness. I hope that someday, perhaps when this cursed war is over, I can gaze at you, as you are now, with your probably strained features, and touch of grey in your dark hair, as I have frozen your youthful image in my heart, like an insect sealed in amber.

With all my love

M

And with the taste of spicy herbal liqueur in her mouth and tears burning in her eyes, Claire, walked to the large windows, and opened them. Seagulls screeched, scent of roses and stagnant canal water hung in the air. There was a elaborate mirror, and the first time in years, Claire smiled, her dreamy, slightly ironic smile, at her own reflection, as it was so as Madeleine´s letter had stated, there were varagies of time on her features, that were still quite youthful. She dreamed about luxuriant library, on a small Canadian island, and a little room where another dark-haired woman did her tireless work, amid folders and catalogues, as she waited, for this war to end. And suddenly the soft elegance of the surrounding room was even more stifling than usual, and Claire, caressing the letter in the pocket of her narrow skirt, as if it would help her keep her balance. Down on the street, a newspaper boy shouted loudly, "Battle of Mount Ortigara, has begun, in our beloved Asiago Plateau!"