Autumn, had come, sparkling flaming, fiery red maples and yellow oaks, and a lightly frosted lawn. Everywhere it seemed that the autumn fairies had brushed their wings during the night, and had left gentle frost on the surface of the leaves, it glistened in the light like a delicate embroidery, that dissolved in a instant as sun rose.

He had been teaching students at a nearby Lowbridge school for over a year or so, teaching was the best way to share wisdom with young minds, as mother had often said, before going to Redmond. But quietly in his heart, Walter, after correcting an entire evening of Latin exercises, or spelling, wondered if Redmond was the right place for him, even though the idea of a university, lectures, and access to literature from around the world was dizzying, but that too, would mean other people, flowing river of different contacts, and competition, it was harrowing, but there must be kindred spirits too, somewhere.

The scales were also weighed down by his own writing, notebooks, that now seemed to fill at an ever-increasing pace, no longer pale imitations of his boyhood idols, but of his own verse, Rosamund was just one example of them, the only one that his sisters had been allowed to read, even Di, who was close to him, like a twin of his own soul.

Then there was that sonnet that he had written for Una. She had praised it after the sermon of Reverend Meredith, the subject had been love for your neighbor, and the evil of gossip. In the eyes of Una, in the depths of their sapphire shaded tint, there had been a look that had somehow been left to haunt Walter. In much the same way as in June, in the time of the Lilacs, it's delicate, almost too secret scent, shimmering, from almost every corner of the Glen. There had been something strange about the whole essence of Una that Sunday, and the color on her cheeks had varied, almost constantly. It was weird, as Una wasn't one of those girls who blushed, like Ethel Reese for instance.

Mother and Susan had been glancing at each other, very often that Sunday, and after church Susan had invited Walter to the kitchen and had brought to the table a thick book with recipes, and she had said calm and in a satisfied tone. "Listen dear laddie, you know I haven't always accepted your writing, but now I've decided that when you come back to Ingelside on Christmas break, I'll teach you a few dishes, because it's not right that only we women cook, no matter how we love it. Balance must be."

Walter had looked in amazement at Susan's great recipe book, and he just nodded in agreement, for there was a tone in Susan's voice that couldn't be disputed, or Jem might have, but he couldn't.

Lowbridge belonged to the same congregation of villages and small towns which Glen St Mary was part of. The distance between the two was about eight miles, but by bike it folded quickly, in any weather.

Alice Parker was still as golden and sweet, as she had been in their common childhood, but as she had grown up she had become regal. That regalness did not undercut her sweetness, it enhanced it. In her looks Alice resembled Ken's sister, Persis Ford, for they were both pale as the wind-blown wheatfield in August, and blue-violet-eyed, and slender like a stalk of grass, but Persis always saw something amusing in the world, as in contrast Alice treated her environment softly, and gracefully.

Alice and he often waved together, delicate rainbow of fancies of Autum nights, after Walter´s daily work had been done. One evening Alice asked, lingering in front of a flaming crackling fireplace, with a kintted lace, in her hand, "Walter, what exactly do you want from the world? You never really seem satisfied, what others have, you seem to be looking for something."

The flickering bluish-red flames of the driftwood created mysterious shadows on the walls of Dr. Parker's living room, the contrast between the shadows and the Biedermeier furniture was considerable, fairy tale flames, and fashion fads in the furniture. Walter held out his cold hands toward flames, as his profile was reflected in the mirror on the wall, a flash of, ivory, and black. After a moment of silence, he said, " It's as if I'm waiting for some hidden door to open, in some enchanted garden, and that there would be all my heartfelt secret dreams and longings. In August-time, I got a small glimpse of it one flashing light, dim moment, and it is wonderful."

Alice sighed lightly, sewed a couple of stitches, quickly and gracefully, and pointed out, "Your problem, dear friend, is that you always expect everything to be as romantic, or exciting, as possible when in reality everyday life and responsibilities are extremely boring, or just severe. We just do our best, with those cards, which fate, have distributed to us, and it is useless for you to look at me so reproachfully. The point I'm trying to say is that when your illusions about the world collapse, at some point, and that's going to happen, sooner or later, for you, that drop is going to be severe. So if you want to go to Redmond earlier, and stop teaching here, it will work, you have given your all, to this local school, and the children love you, escpecially, the little girls. Besides, I heard today as I was in the shops that there are rumors about a typhoid on a ship that just came into port last week. Typhoid is a dangerous thing, even now, as both of our fathers will attest."

Walter leaned back in his chair lazily, and fingered, lightly on his scarf, and stretched out his long fingers and declared cheerfully, "Alice, don't your family have a piano? I feel like, that this evening yearns for music, as all this talk of fate, dreams and gloomy rumors on the streets is too depressing, and music, it cheers up the soul. "

Alice got up, slowly and picked up the dusty piles of books on top of the piano, and wiped the dust off the top, saying in a gentle tone " here are the notes."Alice lifted the worn booklet to the rack and lit the gas lamps attached to the top corners of the piano.

Curious, Walter walked over to the instrument, it was made of graceful walnut and despite its wear and tear, it was clear that someone had loved it. Walter opened the folder with graceful, careful fingers, and looked at the opening notes, in a flickering light. The music seemed to invite him, inevitably, and as if enchanted, he picked up a note from the stack and began to play, the bright, sparkling romantic tone seemingly whispering in the room, like the summer sunshine.

Walter stopped playing after the song ended, and there was a sound of clapping hands at the door, and a loud, voice said, "You play very well, Walter, That piece it reminded me of my engagement time with Alice's mother. " Walter glanced with a smile on his face at Dr Parker, as he said, "The song was Elgar's composition for his future wife, its name is Salut d ´amour. " Greeting of love, well what do you say to that, Alice. Hah! It's already late so Walter you have to leave. Come here for dinner on some Sunday, few weeks from now, as it´s the least that I can do for my fellow doctors son. "

Walter glanced at Alice, who was calmly sewing her lace, outwardly reacting not at all to her father's words, but he noticed a light vein, throbbing in Alice's pale neck, and that the sewing hand that was delicately putting the stitches seemed, somehow angry. So Walter nodded to Dr. Parker and replied " Good evening, to you all, Dr. Parker, and Alice."

The evening was cool, and full of that particular scent that was characteristic only of Autum, a mixture of old half-rotten leaves and the smoke of campfires, a pale new moon was shining in the sky.

Walter stepped along the main streets of Lowbridge, his mind still caught up in recent music, and the feeling that had been evoked in him was similar to the ecstasy he felt as he wrote. Then suddenly, as if by itself a new poem was slowly beginning to take shape, before his eyes. Drunk with the wine of creation, Walter walked on until the street ended and he was in the harbor, the moonlight shining with black waves in front of him, and there he sat until he had composed his verse. Exhausted, he walked back to his boardinghouse, and fell asleep, into a deep, happy sleep ...

The next few weeks were full of work, from dawn to dusk as both exam season and fall harvest was approaching, and the flu season too, half his students were on the fields and the other half at home, sick.

One Friday, after school he had done his regular constitutional walk around the Lowbridge, there were few spots that were utterly his own, or so he liked to think. All calm and vivid nature, flowing in harmony of flaming colours, in the gathering gloom. His boardinghouse was extremely comfortable. The house was large and old, of pale gray shade, and next to it grew a lush leafy oak that shaded the stone front stairs.

Walter found that Alice was waiting for him. She was sitting in a front steps, in her light blue dress and modish little hat. After few moments, Alice said " Walter I´am glad that I saw you, as I have not waited here long. The point is that the planned dinner on Saturday has been cancelled. Father is completely exhausted, he's been caring for patients all week, and has not slept more than few hours on his own bed, well you know how that is, sometimes. "

Walter nodded, as he was remembering vividly few incidents of Ingelside annals, and after few moments he inquired, "Alice, is everything, as it should?" Now and then a small shudder, would go through her frame, and she twisted her right hand, almost constantly into a fist, small almost unnotisable movement, but recurring one. Alice glanced at him, and then said, "everything is just fine, now, no need to, worry. "Then she took one shaky step forward, before swaying against the door, her dark lashes black, against her pale cheeks. Walter quickly supported her, and he felt the pulsating pulse, on her wrist, it was fast but uneven, and there was something metallic and sticky around her, a smell that was familiar, blood.

Raising his eyebrows, Walter gently supported Alice, her weight, in his arms somehow felt too soft, and her thick shimmering bound hair smelled of pansy.

Quickly, Walter opened the front door, and helped Alice to living room, leaving the door open in the hallway, to avoid misunderstandings.

The landlady was called Ms. Collins. She was a curious and kind-hearted soul, with a lot of knownledge of the various ways of the world. She came in the room at this precice moment, carrying fresh table cloth, to the table, and seeing Alice's pale figure, in her light blue sofa she stated in a knowing tone "either the curse of women, or the consequences of the curse of women, poor lamb."

Looking at Walter she commanded calmly, " this is not a man's business, be a dear and go to the kitchen and boil hot water, and make tea, lots of it, and then you can go for a walk, if there is need for that, but first bring the tea here. There is the blue jar, on the second self, put that on the pan, and do not stir."

Walter obeyed, as if in an autopilot, and only half-understood images of the landlady's words shone in his mind. For even though he was a doctor's child, there were certain things that were not talked about at all.

All those evenings when Anne stood at the window in the gray hours of the morning, waiting for Gilbert to return, from some visit from the harbor. The scent of smoke, liniment, and camphor and blood, that lingered on his fathers clothes after those semi annual visits. Then there were those rumors and tales that have always circulated in the village. The jilted fiances, of children that were born a litte too early, of adultery, suicides, the haunting spectre of Kens grandfather, Frank West, various fights, and sudden accidents. The time that Grace Allister, repeatedly claimed to have fallen down the stairs, or when Maggie Sills, could not even look the kntting needels in the meeting of Ladies Aid, and Susan had in gentle hands made her strong and sweet tea, and she had taken the needels away, from that meeting. And it wasn't until this fall that Alice's deep passion for botany emerged, and that particular shadow of a memory, in her face when Walter had mentioned August a couple of weeks ago? What exactly had happened to Alice? Why was she unwell?

Quickly, Walter assembled the tea tray and carried it in its bone china and roses splendor to the living room. He carefully knocked on the door frame, and turned his back and said, " Ms. Collings here's some tea, drink it if Alice can, and the hot water, is on the stowetop, searing hot."

Ms Collins said in her brisk no nonsese voice, "Thank you, dear lad. She has come around already, and no harm was done, but she must stay here for a time. If you will keep her company, I will rustle up some fresh sheets, to that unoccupied room, in the first floor. And remember no questions, not yet. Give her tea, for now, and I will soon make a beef broth to perk her up for a bit."

Walter looked at Alice, it was hard to know if she was sleeping. Suddenly her large violet-colored eyes were open and they looked at Walter, somehow expectantly, and perhaps, fearfully. So he just handed out a cup of tea to his old childhood friend and said, "Are you taking sugar for your tea, Alice?" A light, distant voice replied from the immersive soft couch, "Sugar, for shock, very amusing, Walter. Thousands of other boys in this situation would demand explanations, fists on their hips, but on the other hand, you've never been the same as others. "

The tea in Alice's cup smelled strongly of parsley, mint, and some other plant near Rainbow Valley, which was weird. But Alice seemed pleased as she inhaled the herbal fumes, and as the cups of tea emptied the color began to slowly return to her features, and she once more resembled procelaine rose.

Ms. Collins came to the room humming anthem, that was sung last Sunday at the church, and noticing Alice was awake, she gave the girl a quick look. As the women looked at each other, something unspoken but extremely important hovered between them, as Ms. Collings nodded quickly to Alice, and the tension in the girl's body suddenly subsided. In a soft voice, Ms. Collins told Walter, "Listen boy, go to the store to buy fresh apples, because I thought I'd make an apple pie for both of you, but the apples are missing." Walter glanced at Alice, and she nodded, saying, "Take those little reds, if there are any, they are wonderful for pies, all that tang, and sweetness in them. "

Walter closed the door behind him, but before he took a step he heard Ms. Collins' voice say in a soft motherly scolding tone "Well, my girl, why, you didn't come to me weeks ago, but you went somewhere else and they just messed everything up. Don't worry everything's fine, just drink more tea and no one will know anything.

The only answer was a soft, silent complaint, and Walter realized that Alice was crying.

Hours passed, trickling sofly like sand from dusty broth simmered and the juicy apple pie slowly baked in the oven. Ms. Collins hummed in the kitchen.

Alice had been moved to the free room. It was clean, and tidy. A striped rug on the floor, an iron bed with embroidered, pure white sheets that smelled a little, not of lavender as usual but of rosemary, and wild clover, that mix was one of Ms Collings 'specialties. Alice was supported on soft pillows, and Ms. Collings had lent a pajama left by a guest to Alice, it was too big, and Alice looked a little amusing in it when Walter had protested against it, Ms. Collins had stated in a voice with a metallic tone, "No that dear lamb, wont be able to be in her own clothes, just now, and she will need to sleep."Alice requested in a soft tone from him" Walter, could you recite something. Right now I need something to believe in, and as poetry is for you, your port in a storm, and tonight it can be that for me too."The candlelight shone in Alice's hair and she looked tired and pale so Walter smiled at her and thought for a moment and started in a soft gentel tone to qoute Shelley

Broad water-lilies lay tremoulsly

And starry river-buds glimmered by

And around them the soft river did gilde and dance

With a motion of sweet sound and radiance.

Alice smiled at him wearily, and lightly and fell asleep. Her hair shone in the light, golden hair, with a thick, flowing braid that Di had so envied as a child, because like Anne once did, Di didn't like her own reddish braids, until Walter had written a poem about them to comfort his sister, now aeons ago.

In his own room, upstairs in his sublime solitude, Walter walked along the steps between the bed and the closet and thought. He picked up fresh paper, and ink, and thought about writing, but he found out that he could not. He did not have words, for this evenings situation at all. It was not for his eyes, but he was mixed with it all the same. Alice was Alice, she was part of Lowbridge, just as Una was part of Glen.

Walter sighed lightly, and tip toed downstairs, opening the door, and glancing quickly at Alice's pale, restless figure, just to assure himself that she was still here, in the light of the moon she resembled a a white daffodil.

The next morning when Walter got up, Alice had already left, Ms. Collings pointed out, as she was pouring him his morning tea, "That golden girl, left at dawn, towards her home, and said she'll see you, next weekend, at the Harvest Dance, and she said that you would know what kind of flowers she loved, for her corsage. She assured me that you were not to blame for this, and I belive her, as you do not seem the type at all. "

Walter ate his toast feeling pensive. Ms. Collins' words didn't make sense at all. Alice had only been a little unwell, as had his sisters at times, but they didn't drink that kind of tea, when they took to bed. Maybe things were done differently in Lowbridge than in Glen? The bigger problem was where he would find Alice's favorite flowers in September, because the time for lilacs was long gone.

And he had to by new shirt, it would be expence, but it was worth it. Walter had dreamed for weeks, of enchanting music, silk scarves, and peaceful silence, as well as the name he would find out what it was. A soft, bright, crisp, autumn wind waved lace curtains, and Walter smiled.