July came, full of lingering scents of high summer. In the harbor of the Four Winds, the boats were in the waves. The heat seemed to radiate from every corner, and the inhabitants of Glen walked, in the shade if they could.
Ingelside's living room was in the shade. From the open window there was the laughter of the seagulls, and further afield the red road shone in the golden light of the afternoon. Anne Blythe smiled, at the lovely view opening in front of her. Then she sighed, as she put down a sock, that she was kintting. Gilbert glanced at her a little worried. Anne-girl, was so listless and pale and she worked too much with the Red Cross, but there was no use to forbide her from working, Gilbert knew that, from experience. Susan spoke in a sarcastic tone as she read the newspaper."Cousin Sophia is sure Grand Duke Nicholas is not the kind of man she imagined the man to be. And I told her, Ms. Doctor Dear. Sophia, you have married twice, but still the Grand Dukes are a bit out of your league. My own geographical understanding is not very solid, but all those new front-lines, and the decicion not to defend the salient of Galicia and Poland, it does not sound good at all, but then I´m not a military commander."
Gilbert nodded at her and remarked, "Susan, the Eastern Front will last, hopefully, though I was expecting you to say something sharp about the way the Western Front is heading." Susan got up calmly, and rumbled into the kitchen to fetch tea. Anne's voice was calm, "Oh, Gilbert. Why are you teasing Susan."
A soft redness, of suppressed hilarity, had risen on Anne's face, and Gilbert smiled with a wiry way, his hazel eyes gleaming with mirth.
Jims, looked like a mischievous red-cheeked golden-haired cherub as he was resting on his playpen. Rilla was washing his spoon in the kitchen, as Morgan did not give directions of teatime. Only last week Jims had messed up the pillow with the syrup in one of the armchairs, and scraped the icing from Susan's chocolate cake, while the cake was on the low shelf of the kitchen cabinet. It had been meant for Glen's Red Cross women's meeting. Rilla had been mortified, of Jims antics, but Susan had only said " Little Kitcherner, did no harm, but in the future, I have to remember to raise the cakes, a little higher, to prevent this happening again."
In the train station of Glen a slender young man with a heavy backpack on his back jumped off the train. The station manager tiredly lifted his hat, in surprise, for the little multicolored dog eagerly rushed him to the dark-haired soldier. In vague way, he recalled that the young man must be one of the doctor's children.
Just a few miles, along the reddish curved road, there was Ingelside. Extensive shady veranda. Light curtains on the windows, and a white-painted garden swing. Ingelside looked like haven of tranquility, after the Kingsport training camp. Gracefully, Walter jumped over the fence, lifting the strap of his military-issued backpack gear. The pack weighed about 30kg, and sighing, Walter straightened his back and stepped over the cool emerald green grass, toward the veranda. The door opened, and on the threshold stood Mother, whose eyes shone like the morning stars, as she opened her arms. Walter lightly stepped into that familiar embrace, and the light scent of Lily of the Valley.
It was wonderful to be home, for a time, still.
Walter was now dressed in kahki, and he was a more present, as if, his dreaming days were over Anne mused. But still, it was her dear child, even under all that uniform, and strong industrial soap, and in his eyes, in their pale diamond gray shade, there was a glow of contentment, that could only came from inner peace. Smoothly Walter had detached from her embrace, slipped upstairs, and as he came back, his hair was brushed, with military precision. He was dressed in pale creamy cotton and and he had, red silk scarf twined loosely around his neck. The red scarf was perfect for Walter, its color elevated and emphasized Walter's features, and it matched his clothes, in a sleek way. Anne noted that Walter no longer wore his old favorite, pale blue striped shirt, with billowing sleeves.
A small smile flashed in Walter's eyes as he looked at the beloved and familiar Ingeside and the lush garden. Susan had prepared Walter's favorite dishes, in honor of his homecoming, from the camp, and the dessert was, of course, Queen Pudding.
One afternoon, Walter saw his sister sitting on a porch swing, sewing something for Jims. Rilla was the only one home, as Nan and Di along with Faith had been for some weeks now in Kingsport.
Walter had spent few of his free evening hours off training in Primrose Hollow, with the delightful company of his darling Doss, who had showed him her latest work. After reading the pages, Walter had said softly," Doss, your new work is wonderful, and you should take my place as one of the writers in Perennial, when I´m over Europe."Di had just shaken her red tresses and had replied "Dear brother. I would like to, but in all probability in Perennial all my efforts would be making tea, or writing about social issues, as university newspapers are very much an old boys clubs, with cigars."There had been warm sunshine shimmering in the lush garden of Primrose Hollow, there had been no need for talking, as their souls still spoke same dialect, even with all the hidden fractures, now on both sides.
As Walter lifted his gaze, from his notebook, his fingers spotted with ink, he saw that in Di´s eyes was very intent look, full of warm and deep love, and a sliver of fear as she glaced at him. That look of mute sisterly concern, and a flash of warning, in her jewel bright eyes, had haunted him gently, as later Walter tried to sleep in the humid air of dormitory, full of rustlings of others, his possible war-companions, their soft sleepy murmurs, of sweethearts, or wifes names.
Now, in the embrace of a blossoming nature, of Glen Walter thought the past month and half, Ken's letter had been right. It had been difficult, but at the same time he had experienced great satisfaction in being part of the crowd for once. His bunk hall comrades, all knew something of him, only the outer shell. It was better that way. Safer. The broken socks, and sore heels and feet, of the early days had been a small inconvenience, luckily he had packed the goose fat with the mint that Miller Douglas had recommended. The commotion, and the constant roaring play, and endless smutty jokes, of others had merged into a background noise towards the end.
Alice was waiting for him at Tadzio's grave, as she had promised in her latest letter, that had been delivered into his his hands, just a day before his training had ended. A small breeze shook the leaves of lilac tenderly caressing them. Hovering brances, filled with vibrant flowers, and in lilac season, the flowers were dark purple, and the scent of them was as close as heaven than it was earthly possible to be.
Walter sat quietly, in the middle of the flowery nature, and Alice touched Walter's shoulder with her cool hand, and he heard Alice's skirts whisper as the girl walked away. Walter sighed and said softly to the mossy and lichen-embroidered stone, "You know, sometimes I hear your violin in the wind, the strains of it, so clear and vivid. The book and, your scarf come with me, there. But surely you know it, you must." And quietly Walter opened the worn red-covered book and the verses glowed in the afternoon light as he recited.
Often rebuked, yet always back returning
To those first feelings that were born with me,
And leaving the busy chase of weath and learning
For idle dreams of things which cannot be:
To-day, I will seek not the shadowy region;
It´s unsustaining vastness vaxes dear:
Bring the unreal world too strangely near.
Walter bent down and touched the stone with his fingertips, the moss was soft. Soon Alice's footsteps were heard from the path. She had made a beautiful wildflower wreath. Alice whispered softly, "I'll visit here often when you're away, when I can, as you are there, somewhere."
And then in the bright honey-toned light of the early evening, Walter escorted Alice to the Episcopal Church. Its colorful glass windows gleamed. Alice walked down main aisle, as she straightened out a few crooked Common Prayer Books.
Walter sat on the bench, breathing deeply, light incense smelled everywhere, and a few members of the choir came to church and nodded to Alice. Then Alice came to sit close by, and said, "Do you want me to come to Ingelside before you leave?" Walter looked at Alice, her slight and golden form, in worn blue and white striped calico, and slowly he shook his head. "I'd rather remember you here, at your own place, in peace, and tranquility, and not with others out in the train station. The ecumenical prayer meeting is slowly becoming a reality, despite opposition from Ms. Marshall Elliott, so if you are going there, write to me all about it, a really roaring account, if you manage it. I'll leave you a package in Ingelside, take good care of it. "
Alice hummed, one soothing low note. There was the same old, playfully regal smile on her pale features, and her large eyes, were calm deep pools of violet light. Alice turned lightly, touched Walter's face with delicate minnow light fingers, as she whispered, "Be well, and write!"The scent of pansy, mixed with insence, fluttered in the air, near Walter as Alice walked away to join her choir, her golden hair glimmering, as the light from colored glass windows created hauntingly evocative prisms acrosss the floor.
Walter got up as the organist started playing, and something that might have been Rossini glowed in the church. And as he walked away, Walter heard Alice's voice, dark, caressing soft, and so familiar filling the space he now left behind, and for one instant he felt cold ivory under his fingers, but then the sensation passed, as Walter turned on the doorstep, the choir were singing now Ave Maria, the soulful strains were gleaming delicately like a web of brilliance. The music mixed seamlessly with a song of birds, as Walter opened door and slipped out into the bright evening, of gathering dusk.
Una looked out of her window, into Rainbow Valley.
There was a sound of fairybells, Walter´s bells ringing. Walter would leave soon, this was his last night at home. Soon Rosemary and Father would walk toward Ingelside, but she wouldn't be with them, because she couldn't. The emotional pain was too great, mixed in with paralysing shyness, that came and went like waves. Una went downstairs to play piano with Little Bruce. With deft hands she selected the notes that Bruce had wanted, "will you Una play the flower-song, for me, please?"and soon soothing Elgar, shimmered in the room, and Una´s soft and high trebel ecoed in the living room of Manse.
Speaks in thy blue leaves
Forget me not.
Then gather a wreath from
The garden bowers.
And tell the wish of thy heart in flowers.
"Can I give Walter some cherry jam, for to remember me, by? There is surely not cherry jam in the army, or is there?"came the soft question of Bruce, after the music had ended and the siblings sat on the floor, with fluffy pillows, as Bruce had wanted to build a fort. Una lifted Bruce up to pianobench to inspect the notes, on the stand, as she played one tinkling scale. Bruce wondered why Una did not reply, but then she did, her voice was low and someway strange, not as light and effortless as before,
"Darling, of course you can. Let´s go right now to the pantry, to hunt one small jar"Hand in hand Una and Bruce Meredith went to the kitchen, and they were inspecting all of cherry jam jars, as Rosemary Meredith came home, few hours later from Ingelside. Rosemary smiled at Una, who lifted the sleepy Bruce into her arms, and took him upstairs.
Alone in her kitchen, holding a warm teacup, Rosemary thought lightly about the past evening. Full of interesting conversations, and never ending politics of Glen. Anne Blythe had observed Walter, she had tracked him, with her eyes constantly. The way he drunk his tea, with no sugar, or wrote some letters, to his one particular friend at Redmond, he said with a light laughter in his voice. Letters were sealed with flowing grace, the ink were red, almost blood colored, and Rosemary had shivered as she saw it, dripping. The scent of mint had been strong, as almost all windows were open, and the shadows of Susans flowers were gently hovering in the evening wind. There had been faint salty breeze, a whisper of a sea as John had argued with Miss Oliver, over theological matters, and there had been hymns, and music, as Miss Oliver had played, with delicate skill. Walter had sat near Gog and Magog, and he had nodded in his graceful fluid way to Miss Oliver, as she had played. Rosemary had wondered why Walter himself did not play, but then it all came clear, as little Rilla stood, and nodded to her brother, and the siblings slipped out.
Rainbow Valley shone in the half-twilight. There was never such a sunset, and no such shadows, cold, cool, and mysterious.
A shady spruce, a shimmering, happy creek, and Rilla's pale delicate figure. His sister's reddish-brown hair curled, and her white dress glowed, it seemed to capture the glow of the evening in itself.
Walter looked at the bright nature's familiar vista, the richness of nature. Suddenly, like half-shady form, his childhood days seemed to be in front of him, like Piper once was, only few steps from here. There they were. The children of the past, his siblings, blooming Nan, vivid Di, fun loving Jem, and him, as he then was, reading chivalrous stories under the tree of lovers, black hair shedding on a narrow face, or standing and reciting poems, to his small audience, large gray eyes full of sparkle, of distant lands, and romance of literature. Manse's siblings, argumentative Jerry, fierce goldeny Faith, the dark braids, of sweet and shy young Una, tanned and intent Carl, who was looking some insect or other, and the bragging, but loyal Mary Vance, still pale and twig-thin, in those days. Those children, they seemed to say, to him, "Walter, go for us, ensure the safety of the world, for the children of the future."
Rilla said, "Walter dear, where did you go?" There was a glowing laughter in his sisters' eyes, which erupted into the air, bright. Walter said, "You've meant a lot to me, in this, past year, Rilla my Rilla. I know you have the strength to endure anything, even the worst. For when I am there, the battlefields, former grassy hills, and nooks, turned into trenches, hand dug, jagged, circling cuts in the land and crossed with sharp wire, and sandbags. In some earthly hell created by the people who cursed God and those who have forsaken Him. Promise me, that you take care of Mother when I am gone. It is rotten thing to be mother, or a sweetheart, in these current times."
"We can never be as happy as before" Rilla whispered, there was a striken look in her hazel eyes, as Walter glanced at her. "Rilla my Rilla, our happiness was shimmering, we were blessed. We got all the love, for what else we could have with the kind of parent´s and family we have. And Ingelside. The safe, golden childhood, the sheer sunshine, no clouds, at all. But that kind of happiness is like a shimmering dream image, it is not free, it is only on loan, from Gods. "Walter said in a whisper. "But now for happier things. Think of the moment the war is over, and we are all gathering here, like we did, when you were still in rompers." There was a rustle, as a blackbird flew on the branch. It looked at the siblings for a moment, with dark eyes, it sung a shimmering flute note, and flew away. Walter smiled, and Rilla marveled at his brother's smile, it was sparkling and it reached to his eyes. Walter's marvelous eyes, they shone with glorious splendor. Some bird sung meandering in the twilight, like some kind of blessing. Rilla heard that Walter hummed a waltz-tune in undertone, why did he do that, she wondered. Rilla, then turned and looked over the Rainbow Valley.
There on the hill, was Manse, and there was a light in one of the windows. Rilla looked at her brother´s dreamy features in shadow, as the moon rose, in the sky.
With a smile, Walter took her hand, in his own. His fingers were callused, a new development, Rilla noted, and slowly and in silence Rilla and Walter walked across the satiny grass and spongy moss, all blue-black in the moonlight towards the lighted veranda of Ingelside, there was shadowy form, sitting outside.
Low, well-known voice, said "A moon spree then? It is a glorious night for it, my dears. "Miss Oliver was dressed in a cream long sleeved shirt, with lace details, and dark skirt, as it was her usual custom. Walter nodded, to Miss Oliver, and slipped inside. Calmly, Walter looked at Ingelside's beloved living room. The moonlight shone, from the window, and Miss Oliver chatted to Rilla on the veranda, their conversation was just a distant murmur.
In the softest steps, Walter walked over to his bag, picked up the notes, and began to play. The music shone, light, and quietly powerful, like the flowing and inevitable current that took him, as he went, and the notes fell, like prayers, into the room embroidered with moonlight, and suddenly the music paused, for it was not appropriate to awaken Jims. There was a slight sound of, Rilla's footsteps creeping up the stairs as his sister went to check on Jims' well-being. Rilla did not come down again.
Walter was startled when he heard Miss Oliver's voice, "That was beautiful, thank you Walter. What exactly was that?" Walter said "Oh, just some notes that I found in Kingsport."
Miss Oliver's subtle face was always pale, but under Walter's attentive gaze, it paled a little more and she said slowly. "I have dreams, as you know, and this music, gives me similar tremors in my soul as some of my dreams." Walter nodded, and with delicate grace, he wrapped the sheet music in a small package tied with a lavender-colored ribbon. Miss Oliver sat in a small swinging chair, close to Walter, as she asks in a calm tone"For a friend, or a sweetheart."Something like irritation seemed to flash momentarily in Walter's eyes, and after a moment of silence, Walter said, "To a friend." Gertrude looked at Walter whose features were embroidered in the bright rays of the moonlight, and a slight smile that, hovered on his lips. For a moment, Gertrude thinks of the blonde girl in a blue dress. The playful ease, and the distance between them, of Walter and Alice Parker, and the mutual gift of music they had shared in the New Year´s Day.
Slowly the light increased, as the morning dawned, and Ingelside awoke.
There were no crowds at Glen station.
There were only the people of Ingelside, of Manse and Mary Vance, and as always Monday, who came and greeted Walter. And then came the turn of the individual goodbyes. No one cried, but Anne Blythe noticed that she could only seriously look at Walter, to drink him in, she tried to smile, as bravely as Jem left, but found she couldn't. When Susan heard Shirley's words, her face turned completely gray, and John Meredith vibrated when he heard Carl's happy proclamation, and once again he thought that, his youngest son had the appearance of his beloved Cecilia.
Then there was Una in front of Walter.
She was in blue as always, her black hair neatly braided, and there was the comb in her hair. It glittered in the morning light, as she held out her slender cool hand and looked at him with large, hauntingly wistful dark-blue eyes.
Feeling pleased that she was wearing his gift, Walter bent down and pressed fleeting brother's kiss to the girl's alabaster cheek. Walter felt Una's lashes tremble, under his touch, and a little red flush rose on her cheeks. It made truly her look like a delicate white rose, and few tremors shook her, perhaps she was feeling cold, as she was standing on the pier early in the morning, he mused. And as Una looked up to him, one fast, sweep of a glance, there was something haunting in her eyes, in their depths, like if some veil had been parted from his touch, that could not be regained, ever again. And then little Bruce came forward with a small jar, between small hands, and Walter took it, with one swift look to Una, who had nodded. Bruce declaired "it´s jam, your favorite kind, too."
Walter ruffled Bruce´s dark head, and he smiled at him, and whispered, "Take care of all the Manse cats for me." Bruce nodded solemly, and he whispered "When you get back, I´ll too will be learning to play, so we can play together. Mother says that right now I´m too young."Walter smiled to his family, and he nodded at Rosemary. Everyone were trying to look cheerfull, as the train conductor called "All abroad!"
Walter stood at the rear platform of train, and waved.
He saw Rilla and Una standing on the pier, hand in hand, both of them slender, and sweet blossoms of womanhood. So different in personality, but in this moment strangely similar too. Then train turned, and familiar stations flowed past him. The poem attacked, as the train curved. Eyes almost in tears Walter opened his notebook, grabbed the worn pencil from his pocket and began to write with feverish enthusiasm. The pages just filled up. He had not experienced such enthusiasm since the night he and Ken sat on a night outing at the Four Winds Lighthouse. An evening that was extremely fascinating for many reasons. Walter smiled lightly, and for a little while smelled of Ken's sandalwood scent, but it was just a memory that faded, as fast as it had come. The impressions just pulsated, and glowed and the verses came as if from the air, it was a total fascination of creation, finally. Above the noise of the train glowed Piper's fluttering call, like a flame glowing in the wind.
The Manse was a haven of peace, as Una looked out the window, in the direction of Ingelside, but that certain window was dark. Suddenly her door opened, and Rosemary stood on the doorstep. Una noticed that Rosemary's gaze was extremely sympathetic and a shadow glowed on her face, like a memory. Slowly Rosemary sat down next to Una, and took a comb from the dressing table, and began brushing Una's hair with soft hands, and tender care. Then Rosemary said, "Years, years ago, when I was young, almost a child still, I was in love, and he left Glen, to perform his duty, not to war, as now, so many our brave young men do, but to the sea. How I would have liked that none of you, John's children, to know or to experience the pain of saying goodbye, not even for a short while."
Alone once more, Una closed her eyes and prayed, that he would be safe, and would return. Slowly almost unconciously Una hummed in half-voice
Keep the Home Fires Burning,
While your hearts are yearning.
They dream of home.
There's a silver lining.