After Ypres salient everything changed in Redmond.
After lectures, Nan and Di and Faith stayed often tightly in either the libraries or Primrose Hollow, where they held a sewing club, and stitched sheets, for the Red Cross, and Alice was often there too, kintting, or cross stich in her hand. Sometimes Walter sat near Alice, and held a skein of wool to Di or Nan, or he read aloud to them, elextic mix of this and that, flowing goldeny verses of poetry and prose. Tonight the turn was for Wuthering Heights, but it was useless, as Nan and Di began to argue about the deep themes of the novel, the omnipotent violent passions, and the Gothic structure, and the interrelationships of the Earnshaw family, and the otherness of Heathcliff, and all the while knitting ardently, without dropping a stich. Soft laughter glowed in Alice's eyes, and she said, "I've sometimes wondered how Walter can talk about literature, everywhere, but now that I've spent more time with you, Di and Nan, I realize it's a family trait."
Di glanced at Alice and laughed lightly as she said "Our mother weaned all six of us with a diet of poetry and prose, and often in the evenings we gathered in the living room and she read us classics, and fairy tales. So it's no wonder, then, that few of us, after getting to Redmond, chose literature to be one part of our studies."
A soft, airy conversation in a comfortable, room shone on a dark November evening, like a soothing half-forgotten tune.
Walter felt restless and irritated. It was so that the girls, all of them, were so active that being in the same room with them was almost painful, as it added to his own anxiety, and general feeling of discontent. So Walter smiled and softly touched Di's hair, and declared, "Now it's time for me to leave, wander towards Perennial's offices. If I'm going to get there before they close."
The girls glanced at each other, and a smile flashed through Alice's lips that reminded Walter of Mona Lisa. The teapot whistled in the kitchen, and Marilla's plum puffs baked in the oven, as Nan had kept a few jars of plum jam for the gloomy autumn evenings. Walter left behind a homely, safe idyll, and stepped straight into a completely different environment that spoke to his soul, in a powerful way.
The offices of Perennial were located in handsome mid-Victorian building, right off the street of main campus. It was red brick, with tall arched windows, and narrow, winding corridors.
The entire floor, was dedicated to Redmond's literary magazine, Perennial. Shiny brass door handles, opened to a wide, and elaborate floor, with cabinet-rooms, as well as large tables full of sheets of paper, and the smell of ink hovered in the air. Behind was a backroom with a printing press. The paneled walls had old magazine issues, and a cork board with inspiration quotes, and prints by Shelley, Tennyson, and Byron in stylish frames. But women were also represented, The Brontës, Austen, Dickinson, Fanny Burney, George Sand, and, surprisingly, F. H. Burnett, and L. M. Alcott.
Suddenly, a soft familiar voice said, "Walter, how wonderful that you came here." Walter turned, noticing that he was standing next to an armchair, and Dorian Gardiner was sitting there. He was stylishly dressed as always, in black, but he had vibrant waist-coat, with vermillion stripes, and he had a narrow dotted tie, and a tie pin with a cameo. Walking sticks with herons were near his hands, as was customary.
Dorian smiled and said, "If you came to see Perennial's editor, I'll suggest you wait a bit. Mr. Sanuders is at his best like an annoyed bear, and today, it turned out that one poem that was supposed to be in the middle of the upcoming issue is gone. Saunders has been shouting at an unfortunate messenger in his office for a time." "The vanished poem, what was it supposed to be like?" Walter inquired, as he was feeling somewhat curious.
Dorian shrugged, and said "Well, pretty similar to one, which lovely Alice sang, but that was yours, wasn't it? It could be the solution to this Saunders dilemma, and if you save him, he will have to repay you." Dorian's eyes glowed, and Walter shook his head, saying, "That poem in question is too personal. It suited the fundraiser." In the softest steps, Walter took his red notebook from his bag and leafed it for a moment before handing one page to Dorian. The young man read a few lines, and enthusiasm illuminated his face, and he nodded.
At this point, the glass door slammed open, and a red-faced light-brown-haired man, with an old-fashioned mustache, stepped out of the room, and he walked down the hall, waving his hands that the rings were just flickering in the light. Dorian raised her voice, "Mr. Saunders, my friend, is the solution to your problem, or our problem, rahter." Mr. Saunders turned in his shoes like a bull and not a bear, and said, "Mr. Gardiner, I don't care if your father is a Redmond trustee, and you work here. If your friend is a completely useless sophist who can't write anything decent, I don't care if he turned out to be Lolyd George. "
Dorian waved in the air, a piece of paper that Walter had written in his best handwriting, few moments ago, and the young man's voice was calm, with a steel tinge, "Not Lolyd George, but he's from Perennial's point of view, something much better. Read that!"
Saunders took a long step, and grabbed the paper. The silence descended. It was broken only by the slow rumble of the printing press, and shrill ringing of the phone, to which no one answered.
Finally, Saunders looked at Walter for a long time, and said, "Well, my lord, who you are and why you haven't come here before." Walter said sincerely, "I sent some of my poems here at the beginning of the fall semester, but they were rejected, reportedly pastoral dreams and rainbows are inappropriate for the current situation." Saunders' eyes flashed, and he said, "Sorry, I wasn't there in early September. I was in New York, gathering contacts at a book fair, and the person I left in charge for my trip made several mistakes, and this was just the last one. And I would like to offer you the opportunity to work here, as Mr. Gardiner does, suited to your studies naturally. " Hearing Saunders' words, Walter almost didn't comprehend them, then a wild, almost painful feeling took over his body, and he sank to sit in another armchair, its velvet was soft, like moss in the Rainbow Valley.
Walter looked up at Saunders' face and noticed the man looking at him sympathetically, a small smile on his face, and in a trembling voice Walter whispered, "Thank you for this opportunity, and I am very pleased to receive it. "
Saunders tapped his hands together, and from the back room came a young man with ink-gardened hands, and Saunders handed him Walter's poem, and then he proclaimed in a slightly hoarse voice, "To Walter and Perennial, let the collaboration be fruitful." Dorian smiled and handed across small table a silver flask that glistened, to Walter, and Walter tilted it and drank. The soft, slightly burning spicy taste, glowed, and suddenly, heat spread to his limbs. Saunders also took a drink, and a surprised look spread across his face and he said "Decent stuff, Gardiner, really, decent stuff, capital!" Puzzled, Walter looked at Dorian, who said slight merriment gleaming on his visage as he replied unasked question "the flask has Caribbean rum."
Immediately Walter began to think of Stevenson's adventure novel, which Jem had read with enthusiasm, in the Garden of Ingelside, during the golden timeless summers of childhood, as he built cloud castles glowing with thousands of different shades of Rainbows. That little difference, between them. Jem did what he felt was right, as he waited, ever on, and suffered. Walter nodded to Dorian and Saunders and said softly, "Thank you, I have to leave now." The wave of melancholy had struck suddenly, for the memories evoked by the drink, the rum, were too sore, and Walter found himself longing for peace, and silence, if it was available anywhere.
Perennial's offices were silent.
Saunders snorted at Dorian, "Gifted, and beautiful as an angel carved in stone, your acquaintance was Dorian, but utterly unfamiliar with the ways of the city and the social circles." Dorian looked at the glowing lamps on the ceiling, and recalled the charity evening, and the girl he met there, a friend of Walter´s she had been. Shimmering, dodging, playful, and regal Alice, with a most tempting voice, that recalled Saint-Saens Delila. The girl had looked as if all his dreams of yore had suddenly gained flesh, before him. Then a little icy shard of worry struck Dorian. For he had seen his Papa go after Alice, to a dark paneled room. Papa had many good qualities, but a bad way to offer money, for everything, as Alice was really beautiful, and the ways of high society were slippery, full of allowances and turning the blind eye of certain things...
Weeks went by, and then one day the latest issue of Perennial was released, and it was distributed to each subscriber's home.
Primrose Hollow's morning peace was broken when Di declared, in shining jubiliant tone, "Nan, Faith and everyone else, come for breakfast right away. Perennial is here, and there's something glorious and wonderful there." Curious the girls of Primrose Hollow, dainty Nan, glimmering, Faith, efficent, dark haired, Millicent, who read languages with Alice, and vivid, temperamental blond Laura, who was in the same year as Faith gathered with their morning robes on in the kitchen. Faith's hair was a toffee-colored mess, Nan was the only one who had combed her hair and braided it with a pink ribbon that matched her robe.
Millicent said in her soft voice, "Di what's so important is that you wake us up on Saturday, so early. That magazine can also be read in the afternoon, and Laura said calmly, 'If there's anything related to Alice, save me. She's golden, but so episcopal that whenever she's here sometimes I can smell incense for hours afterwards, even if she hasn't been to church. " Millicent laughed, little scornfully, and Nan poured tea into cups, and said, "I think Di's news is related to Walter." Laura smiled at Di and said "If so, good luck. I'll go back to sleep, as I sewed and did wrote letters to my brothers, and my fiancé until early hours of morning. Millicent, got up lightly too and said," I have to wash my hair, and as the bathroom is vacant for once, so I'll leave you three alone."
The kitchen was quiet, it wasn't even seven in the morning, and the dark December gloom was everywhere.
Finally, Faith sighed.
"Why didn't we have kindred spirits as our roommates. Millicent and Laura are nice, of course, but not those who know Joseph, as Ms. Marshall Elliot says, and for once I have to agee with that splendid woman, irritating as she often is."
Di read her brother's poem. It reflected love of the homeland, all its corners, it was full of mysterious charm, and rousing frenzy..
Walter noticed that in the weeks leading to Christmas, Professor Milne's attitude toward him had changed. Now he ignored Walter´s presence in class and tutorials completely as if he were invisible. Alice told him in her light style, which always made even bad news seem like a dance, but the painful flicker in her eyes belied the severity of her words, "Walter, have you been quite asleep, when you didn't know that one of Professor Milne's sons fell in Ypres and the other is now in kahki, and training?"
Occasionally, Walter collided with Dorian in Perennial's office. The place had become a kind of getaway for him alongside, the music library, as often now Walter did find several anonymous, derogatory letters with several feathers in his bag. And then, as ever there seemed to be feathers in front of Walter and the other boys now almost daily. Dorian and Walter, did not talk about feathers, at all, and Walter wondered more than once, if his Papa´s influence protected him, or his accident, was severe enough that the Bridage of White Feather did not bother someone like Dorian in the first place? But what about Ken, and his ankle? Did the folks in Toronto hunt him too? Some of the boys approached the matter with humor and turned them into dust whips, which they distributed to their landladies. Walter, however, could not treat the feathers as lightly. The contempt, and mockery hurt, it struck deep in him. Sometimes even his very soul, felt now to be shrouded with guilt, and shame.
So he turned once more towards Tadzio´s faded volume of verse, and let the voice of Yorkshire´s elemental poetess to calm his turbulent mind.
If my spirit´s sky was full of flashes warm
I knew not whence they came, from sun or thunderstrom.
A hush of peace - a soundless calm descends;
The struggle of distress and fierce impatience ends.
And Piper's music, it shone now, more and more fiercely, in his subconscious, even playing the piano no longer drowned him under it as it had done, few months ago.
Walter had written few letters to Rilla in which he recounted some of his own experiences, of this varied fall. But as he wrote to Una, the words flowed to the page, delicate, gentle and a little impish, full of sincerety, that was the heart of him.
Few days before the end of the semester, Walter was walking down the main street, as he was on a hunt for a Christmas present, for Una. The task had proved very difficult, for what to buy for a girl who was so modest, and dodging, but still as visible as a bright tune. Una's letters to him, their joint correspondence was one of the brightest moments of this varied fall, and Walter wanted to find a gift worthy of Una.
Frustrated and tired, Walter turned a corner and found himself on the outskirts of Kingsport, and in front of him was a shop, its worn sign was swaying in the wind, Mahler's antiques.
The wind rose, as Walter stepped inside the store, somewhere a hoarse throaty bell rang.
The store was small but very tidy, and slowly behind the counter, an old man got up. He had white curly hair, and translucent blue eyes, and narrow glasses on his narrow, crooked nose, and he just looked at Walter. Suddenly striped cat jumped in front of the man, and with curved fingers, the man stroked it, then the cat jumped in front of Walter, waved its tail, and lay down, and fell asleep, or so it seemed. But cats were like ancient deities, full of surprises, Jekyll/Hyde of Ingelside, was one example of that. With a little hesitation, Walter asked, "Can I see what your store has to offer. See, I'm looking for a Christmas present for my childhood friend." The man growled, "Tell me, what he's like."
Walter, pondered. How to describe Una, the girl was a vital part of Glen. Finally, Walter said, "She resembles a tea rose, and loves music, and her eyes in certain moments seem to ask me something, but I never know exactly what."
The old man crossed his bumpy hands, and pointed out, in gruffy tone " At the back of the room, on that chest of drawers, are hair combs, and jewelry, and on arcoss that isle is everything else, including music, books, and all kinds of notes. " Walter stepped in the direction indicated by the man, and an unknown world opened up to him.
A low display case with a red velvet cloth was placed on top of the chest of drawers. Red velvet shone with beautiful silver and gold jewelry, stylized, from different eras, inlaid with precious stones, rings, pendants, earrings, and hair combs. Walter touched one comb, and then another, he saw one that fit Alice perfectly, and also some that would crown his sisters, but nothing suitable for Una. Until a ray of light hit a box in a corner, and something glistened there.
There was also a hair comb, it was delicate, and clear, and in the center of the floral pattern was a stone of the same shade as Una's eyes, it shone in the light, the same dark, sapphire blue, as the waves that struck the shore in the harbor. With a light smile, Walter picked up different combs, one with flowers and pearls, Nan, the butterfly, with blue-green wings, for Di, and one for Rilla, reddish, striped, tortoishell, with a small delicate flower decoration, and one for Alice. It had a floral pattern reminiscent of Queen Anne´ lace, and humming with satisfaction Walter went to look at books and sheet music.
A slight dust tickled his nose, and the cat jumped lightly next to him and playfully touched a thin folder with purple-colored cloth covers with a paw. Walter opened the folder carefully, and his eyes widened. There were sheet music, and what kind of sheet music they were.
Almost feverishly, Walter walked over to the old man, and his eyes flashed when he saw the folder, and slowly he said, "Son, it's clear that those notes belong to you if you found them. But keep them safe, and if you ever leave them behind, promise me to pass them on, but choose that person carefully." Walter nodded, and paid a relatively expensive sum for the whole, as he was stepping out of the store the old man said quietly, "Gruss Gott, young man, beware of the French countryside, if you ever go there, be very careful!" Astonishment flashed in Walter's gaze, and he raised his eyebrows, as the door closed softly. Old man was stroking a cat. It spun, and yawned, and fell asleep at the top of Mann´s novel Death in Venice, and in the silence of the shop, man whispered, "Around this beautiful young man shines the shadow of death, and just those notes, why did he find just those notes Behemont, did you help him? "
The cat did not answer.
Walter walked in feverish steps, along wide, circular streets of Kinsport. The notes were echoing on his head, and he almost ran to the music library. But the door was locked, and there was a notice in the door.
The library is closed. The Redmond Music Society whishes peaceful Christmas and a Happy New Year!
Walter was taken over by hollow powerlessness, and he stopped in confusion. Why he had been in such a hurry, there were also pianos in Glen, and in just few days he would be among the homely comforts of Ingelside.
And with a light whistle, he walked towards his boardinhouse and suddenly he noticed two familiar persons in a nearby café.
They happened to be Dorian and Alice, in the middle of conversation. Dorian's hands waved in the air, and Alice's face was as calm and expressionless as that one fall night at Ms. Collings, and for a moment Walter smelled of stewed parsley and mint, but then the scent memory moment passed. Alice, behind the glass, got up in all flowing grace, and nodded, politely to Dorian, and walked out of the cafe.
Walter waited a few moments, and then he said, "Golden Alice, was the cocoa tasty over there?" Alice turned, and a distracted smile lit up her face, and she said, "I don't like too much sweetness, and the cocoa over there is too sweet. Mr. Gardiner has appeared next to me in recent weeks, as if he simply knew my timetable, somehow.
Walter smiled softly, saying, " I happen to have your Christmas present here, but you'll only get it on the train." A surprised flash sparkled in Alice's eyes. "So let's exchange gifts on the train." In the softest steps that golden girl slid through the snow, and when she was only small dot, at the end of a street Walter walked to the café.
Dorian sat in a booth looking depressed, stirring his cocoa. Walter sat down next to him, and asked, "Dorian, why do you look so miserable?" Dorian glanced quickly, at Walter, appreciatively, and said coolly, "you'd be in a bad mood too, if the girl of your dreams didn't want to be seen with you. She's like a golden cloud shining in front of me, and I'm trying to catch her, but in vain." Walter sighed, "Sometimes when I talk to you, you're like Colin Craven, Dorian."Dorian laughed grimly and pointed out,
"She, my golden cloud, is not at all like Mary."Walter smiled, and said"Have a quiet vacation, Dorian." Some emotion flashed, in Dorian's eyes, as he glanced at Walter, and he said, "There will be no peace, endless glittering celebrations, and hob-knobbing, but thank you. See you next year, Walt!"
And then the Christmas break began.
The crossing of the strait had been hard, blustery freezing wind, and the train had been late. The train compartment was quiet, only Alice's knitting gleamed softly as she knitted something light and airy. Nan was pale, like a cut flower, and Di had blue shadows under her eyes, and her skin was pale like peeled cream, even her red hair seemed lifeless. Walter felt just as powerless, and exhausted, as he was browsing through Longfellow's compiled works. All those victorious descriptions of past battles that had previously aroused him now only caused drepessive mood upon him.
Di nodded lightly at Alice and the two girls exchanged quick glances at each other, and Di stood up, and with gentel hands, corrected Alice´s hair ribbon. The meandering friendship between the two girls, was something he would never parce, all hidden feminine codes, and swift half-glances and knitting patterns. But Di had always been attached to different girls, strongly, since childhood, and Alice's seriousness, emphasized the pulsating playfulness of Di's personality.
And with a light gesture, Alice gave Walter a small package, and he, placed his own package into Alice´s hand. Alice smiled lightly at Walter, and nodded at Nan and Di as she got off at Lowbridge station.
Ingelside, was waiting for them all, for Nan, Di Shirley and him.
Sighing, Walter put his hand in the pocket of his jacket, and noticed that there was a folded paper, with the fastest movements he opened it. A flickering light hit the words
W
If mood is too low for you at Ingelside and snow too cold in Rainbow Valley, you know where to find me.
A.