Laughter always seemed to shimmer in Ingelside, in various forms, and guises bright and merry like strands of sunlight. Ingelside had always been house to all seasons, in the glimmering strand of twelve months of the year; a shimmering, bright winter, a gentle, sparkling spring with blooms, a sincere, hectic summer, but that August brought hazy glow and splendor that Walter hadn't experienced before, or at least he felt like it after the barn dance, as if something had opened, some sweet and hidden thing, deep in him.
One hot bright, pure blue afternoon, at the near end of August Walter was walking towards the Four Winds when he heard a violin from a nearby road, and a soft flush of red flowed to his cheeks, as he looked around, waiting and hoping for a small glimpse of that violinist. And there he was, bare headed, tanned, and improvising some strand of melody or another, his shirt was careless, knotted, colorful spot, and he still had the same vivid silken scarf around his neck, waving in the wind.
The violinist looked up, and saw Walter higher down the road, and with the lightest steps he walked towards him. A light, playful sea breeze paced his dark curls, and in silence Walter looked at the violinist, now properly, in the light of day.
He was shorter than Walter had remembered, and he looked a little Italian, his hands were small and surprisingly slender, and in his large dark eyes there was a glow of far away places, and an imp of mischief, a flicker like that was very familiar to Walter.
The violinist nodded, and took from his shoulder an old striped sailor's bag from which he dug a packet of food. Then he sat on the green grass, and said, "Do you want to eat, there is plenty to go around, schoolmaster of Lowbrigde, or the poet, as you are called, there, did you know that, Walter of Ingelside?" and he smiled with a mischievous smile, and Walter just nodded, as he was suddenly stripped of words, how strange, that was. The violinist looked at him after eating his thick country bread, and finally after some moments he said," I will call you Merlo, and you will have to do some work, to find out what that means."There was silence, soft and companioble, as Walter, and the violinist looked at the shimmering, vivid sky and then with a gentel motion, the violinist, began to play once more. The music flowed, delicate and hauntingly beautiful, but there was a dark edge to it, now. The music seemed to whisper hidden, unmentionable secrets, in Walter´s ear. After the violinist had stopped playing, he grinned, as he stood up, and said,"Unfortunately I will have to leave, soon to catch the potato-laden streamer to Charlottetown, so farewell for now, mon amie Merlo. No not worry, as you will see me again in harvest time, as there is another dance then and I have been requested to play there, and the fee is very generous."
At the words of violinist came clear to Walter, sudden, swift pain, seemed pierce his heart and momentary panic seemed to solidify Walter's essence. The violinist couldn't leave, not now as he had so much to ask, and he did not even know his name, but the violinist had already disappeared behind a bend in the road. There seemed to be at least two millennia before harvest-time.
Few hours passed, as Walter had roamed restlessly in his favorite haunts, in Four Winds, in vague effort to find some inner peace.
It was useless.
Anne had always vowed to her children that the bends in the road were romantic and exciting, places, but at the moment Walter found himself hating every bend in the road in the area.
And in the most dissatisfied, reluctant steps, Walter walked toward Ingelside.
In the afternoon glow, Ingelside's veranda was gloomy and shady.
There sat Anne Blythe, and Ms. Cornelia, and Susan. Noticing them, Walter waved his hand and quickly changed direction, towards the lush spruce, and the Rainbow Valley. Anne's gray-green eyes narrowed as she noticed Walter walking toward the spruce, and Susan remarked, "Ms. Doctor dear, he's going to either Rainbow Valley, or the Manse." Ms. Cornelia intervened, "My dear Anne, what exactly happened at the dance? Mary Vance said that almost all the girls revolved around new violinist as if he was a fresh honey cake. Admittedly, I always think that too handsome men are unreliable, and especially foreign-looking ones. And this one seemed to be both, if Marys words are truth, and she does not lie anymore."
Anne laughed in her silvery laughter, and remarked, "I heard that Di mentioned Nan about the violinist boy, but she didn't know anything about him, she just only noted that he was very dreamy-looking, all dark and suave. What was really remarkable was that Walter danced. He almost never does, as you know."
Ms. Cornelia, quickly woved a couple of new lines, on her knitting, and pointed out " the place was close to Lowbridge, so maybe Walter danced with Alice Parker. Over the years, Alice has become really beautiful if one likes such a golden and narrow style in girls, and she's also a clever, and she is going to Redmond in a year or so, is she? "
At this point, Susan intervened, "My cousin Sophia, said Alice reportedly is walking out, with somebody, totally unsuitable, she had seen them, together, but I personally wouldn't put much weight on my cousin's words, she's an evil bird that always spreads the wrong kind of gossip." Ms. Cornelia, snorted, and said emphatically, "If Walter and Alice end up together, that would be a really good thing, to increase the influence of both doctors, in both Glen and Lowbridge, and their future house could be, that old and beautiful, delicate gray one that is exactly halfway, between here and Lowbridge. With that garden that has wild wines and the lilac trees, you know? " Anne said softly, "Alice is nice, but if I could choose, I would prefer Una, but the secrets of young hearts are not in our power, even if we would sometimes wish it so, it would make everything so much simpler. But then again I promised that I would stop to set young people up, after that thing with Stella and Aidan. They have been blissfully happy, some people are made for happiness. " At this juncture Susan carried fresh tea to the porch table and said in a satisfied tone, "Ms. Marshall Elliot, I've heard that Marshall Douglas is circling around Mary." At Susans words, pale red spots rose on Ms. Cornelia's cheeks and that decent lady lifted her chin and said calmly, "Mary knows quite well what I think of Marshall Douglas' family. He is nowhere near good enough for Mary, but Marshall thinks I need to ease my opposition, for Mary is simply wild for him. And now I'm going to the Carter Flagg´s store to buy new lace. Is Ladies Aid's next gathering with Rosemary? "
Anne nodded.
Soon Ms Cornelia's energetic form walked along the Harbor Road and disappeared from view.
Walter had indeed headed toward Manse as Susan had guessed. He leaned against the large grayish resinous spruce, looked out the large windows flickering in the sun. The Methodist cemetery glowed with peace, and everything seemed idyllic. Suddenly, Manse's front door opened and Una stepped out. She was dressed in a light dress with light blue embroidered details and had a large straw hat on her head, shielding her complexion from the sun. She was humming lightly, and had dreamy look on her features, and she walked past the spruce Walter was standing in the shade of, but she did not see him at all.
The melody that Una hummed sliced Walter's heart, for it was the same, softly sliding melody that the violinist had played, before his sudden farewell, a few hours, before. But then irish music was very popular in the area, and it seemed to him that everyone were humming some song or another in the days, after that dance, even Mum, and she was not even there that night! With a soft sigh Walter, shrugged his shoulders and walked homewards as the shadows slowly lengthened in the grass.
Ingelside's living room was an oasis of peace, and Walter sat in his favorite armchair, glancing at the small bronze statue depicting Artemis.
The statue had been acquired by Little Elizabeth, who had visited Ingelside years ago, when Walter had been little. He distantly remembered the slender and enchanting young woman with a gentel shimmering laugh and light hair and eyes that seemed to have gold spots in them. Anne put the freshly cut roses in a vase, and looked curiously at Walter, saying, "Well, my son, what are you dreaming of?"
Walter glanced at Anne in passing and asked, "Do you know where Little Elizabeth is right now, I looked at this statue, and I remembered her." "Little Elizabeth is in Paris, she's been there for years, but what she's doing there other than taking care of her father, if he's still alive, I don't know." "In Paris, well then, the city of light and love of all kinds." Walter whispered in a dreamy tone in his voice, and Anne glanced her son, full of concern, and deep almost overwhelming love, in her heart.
Then Susan stepped into the room carrying a small basket, and said, "Someone left this covered basket just now, on our porch, and it has a note that says, Madeleines for Walter, but I don't know the handwriting. So I opened it and there are some kind of pastries, very skillfully made, even. There is only one person in Glen who masters recipes so well, and that is Una Meredith. "
Anne glanced curiously at Walter, and her child, just said calmly, "I read one book, that I borrowed from Ken and it mentioned those pastries, so I asked Una to make them for me, as I didn't want to bother you Susan. And Una was happy to bake something new. "
The women exchanged a quick glance at each other, and after a moment of recharged silence, Anne said, "What if you did something nice in return for Una?" Walter nodded, and left whistling to his room.
Alone in the living room Susan, said emphatically, "Well now it's clear. They're courting each other." Anne glanced at the bronze statue that glowed in the extinguishing light of the evening and said in slight thread of doubt in her voice,
"perhaps."
A few days later, Walter reunited with Una in the Rainbow Valley. The evening dew glistened in the grass.
A little out of breath, Walter wiped his wind-swept hair off his face, as he had run from Ingelside to here, as Shirley who had, reported seeing Una walk towards Rainbow Valley. In a soft voice he said " Una thank you very much, for those pastries, they were excellent, I hope you didn't spend a lot of time on them. As a thank you, I wrote you a sonnet, it's here. "
Una glanced the small, folded paper that lay on the moss between them, and soft, sure fingers, she placed it in her basket, and with a flowing, grace she stood said
"Walter, it was no trouble, at all. I will have to go now, as Bruce is eager for his bedtime story. I will see you in Sunday, in church as usual, before you leave to Lowbridge. Good night!"
Very amazed, Walter was left to watch Una's busy soundless steps as she hurried towards Manse. She didn't even glance at the sonnet, but why? Walter thought.
For it was really good, one of the best he had written. It was born slowly this summer, inspired by joint musical moments and literary discussions, and was finished just a couple of days ago. Surprisingly, Anne's hint, of some nice counter-gift, was the last step missing from the verses. "
A slightly autumnal wind shook the bells, and the scent of lilies was haunting in the air. Walter smiled and looked at the glorious, moonlit sky, soon it was autumn, and he would meet the violinist again, the world seemed, to be full of possibilities.
Una fell to her knees and crossed her fingers over the crocheted lace bedspread, in the Presbyterian Manse. With trembling hands Una opened Walter's sonnet, the sonnet that had been adressed to her, Una Meredith, not Juliet, Guinevere, Isolde, or Rosamond.
The verses glowed.
The scorching hot red flush on her cheeks Una read on, and suddenly, the wishes of her hearts desire seemed to be achievable. And what a look had been in Walter's bright gray eyes when he had spoken of the sonnet he had written. There had been a pure, genuine, and deep feeling in their bright depths, but was it just a feeling of friendship or love? Why hadn't Walter said anything during the jointly playing hours? All the while Una waited, and waited. And as she baked those pastries, dreamy, almond-flavored, sponge-cake-variations, just for him, because he asked for them. Lightly humming, a heart full of hope and a step light, Una secreted the sonnet in her Bible, and descended downstairs and went to the piano and began to play, Mozart.
A caressingly gentle, intricate melody hovered from the open window, toward Rainbow Valley.