In another age, so far away from current worries of the world there were a certain conferece. It happened to be located in Edinburgh, and the year was 1910 and the month was July. It was The Third World Missionary Conference. A vibrant cascade of well known names were included, with the conference, such as Oldham, who was one of the main organizers, along with John . John Meredith with his collagues had followed reports of the conference with great interest, and well as the papers developed by the various members of the commissions were fascinating, with intriguing titles like Co-Operation and the Promotion of Unity and The Church in the Mission Field. Naturally in time book was published on the speeches and main presentations of the conference. Reading it, John Meredith felt a strong enthusiasm, and the first seeds of an idea of ecumenical co-operation between congregations of Glen and Lowbridge began to take shape slowly.
Years passed, and the need of ecumenical co-operation, grew.
For the past year or so, John Meredith had used most of his persuasion skills to get evening organized, oddly enough, the state of war in Europe, seemed to help. The greatest opposition had not come from the methodists, or the episcopalians, but from the elders, of John Meredith´s own church. Especially elder Baxter had been virulent in his vehement opposition of "foreing influences, to the natural and right order of services, or prayer meetings."Also Ms. Marshall Elliot, who had exercised her considerable influence within Glen's Laidies Aid.
John Meredith had often talked with Mr Arnold, about the working structure of the prayermeeting. In the end, extremely frustrated, Mr. Arnold had said, "Ecumenism is not about competition, but about being together, despite the dogmatic differences. You can be sure, John that there will be people who are not happy because of the lack of incense, or the wrong kind of windows, or candles. And if music is a problem, then ask the episcopals to take care of the music, but so that the methodists get their share, if they want it. As singing and communion is a big deal for them. Didn't your children attend their devotional evenings years ago because the music was happier and faster-paced, I seem to remember something about it. And you have Rosemary, who as a episcopalian can give some hints, if there is need. Mr. Arnold had smiled, and said calmly, to him, "Don't worry, I think everything is going to go well, for our local pacifist Mr. Pryor, is in Charlottetown, so he won't be there. Otherwise things might be a little tense, as he has been asking me that I would give him a platform to air his wiews of current issues. I have declined, as of yet. The most important thing is mercy, especially in these extremely challenging times, and the common unity, and the will to do good works, and the fact that in the planning of the evening all the parties involved have been listened to, and all the issues have been ironed out, I think."
John Meredith glanced with his dark eyes, toward Mr Arnold, for his voice had trembled slightly. Fred Arnold, his only son, had declaried his intention to enlist, as soon as it was suitable. Mr Arnold looked pale, and drawn, as his beloved wife, was going to have an operation in Charlottetown in Autum.
The evening of the prayer meeting came, that particular August evening glowed with beauty, and the making of hay had not yet begun.
Slightly nervous, John Meredith stood in front of the pulpit, next to him was Mr Arnold. The doors opened and episcopals, with Father Simmons, leading them came, in orderly row. John Meredith saw a glimpse of a pale golden haired girl, who reminded him a little of Rosemary, there was same sense of serenity, and economy of motion, but he did not have time to reflect on the girl's identity, for the church was slowly beginning to be filled from parishioners, all over Glen, there were familiar faces, like Anne and Gilbert Blythe, with Susan, and Norman and Ellen, and also curiously Elliott. Soon most of benches and also a gallery were full, with episcopals and various methodists. The Glen Church Choir went to its own bench, leaving two benches empty in the possiblily for the Episcopal Choir, and Methodist Choir, and the organist went to his place, carrying slightly more sheet music than usual.
Alice felt a little nervous as she stepped into Presbyterian Church in Glen. Alice's gaze caught on to the two women, who were walking calmly down the middle aisle, Rosemary Meredith and Una Meredith.
Alice had heard a lot about Rosemary over the years, rumours and old gossip, but nothing had prepared her to face the gaze of those large sympathetic, open blue eyes. Their shade, was as blue as the scilla flowers, in the spring. A kinship of souls, arose between Alice and Rosemary, during this one wordless exchange of gazes. And Una Meredith, was for once in a light dress. She had a delicate subtle presence, almost unassuming, but not quite. Her dark, straight hair was on a low braid-crown, and the hairstyle was held together by a beautiful shimmering hair comb that appeared to be silver, and it had a beautiful blue stone implanted in it. Probably family heirloom Alice thought.
John Meredith raised his hand, and in an instant, came a silence that was marred by only a few coughs. A radiant, joyful smile shone through his narrow face, and Alice thought that in this light Reverend was somewhat reminiscent of Walter, as he in a soft, harmonious voice uttered, "Dear friends, we have gathered here today, for love, unity, and mercy, and faith in Him, is our guiding star, so I will now open the first ecumenical prayer meeting."
For years, Alice had heard talk about of John Meredith's supernaturally high-flying and impressive sermons, and now she was able to witness that phenomenon, there was no, competition. Reverend Meredith preached excellently, and prayers, and the texts, and readings, chosen were naturally related to the prevailing war, as it was ubiquitous.
Between readings, was music.
Alice stood, and looked at Father Simmons, who smiled and nodded to the Lowbrige Choir. The strains of O light, whose beams illumine all, were floating delicately among the varied congregation, and for an encore Rossini's flamboyant, O salutaris Hostia glowed. Feeling amused, Alice noticed that a few people of Glen, mainly Susan seemed shocked to hear the Latin being sung in their church.
Una Meredith glanced at Rosemary as the incredibly beautiful singing of Lowbridge choir glowed in the church, and to her amazement, Una noticed that a small glittering tear, it shone on Rosemary's cheek. After choir had finished singing, Rosemary glanced at Una and whispered "I've always loved this song, and it is a real blessing to hear it after these years." Una gently squeezed Rosemary's hand and thought that in all kinds of music, there was a touch of divinity entwined in.
Alice sat on the worn wide bench, the windows flooded with a honey-yellow light that highlighted the small dust particles that were in the air. There was a peaceful atmosphere everywhere. The evening had been successful, and flowing. Soft speech echoed in the church as neighbors greeted each other. Father Simmons and Mr Arnold talked in one corner, John Meredith was with them, and Rosemary Meredith walked in her hazy way to them. Alice watched filled with amusement as Father Simmons, seemed to greet Rosemary very warmly. Alice observed as some matronly darkhaired woman, with rose-patterns in her aparon, chatted in the doorway with Anne Blythe and Ellen Douglas. Ellen's deep dark blue eyes, flashed in the direction of the red-bearded giant Norman, who waved his hand in the direction of John Meredith, saying in his rumbling voice " Why does everyone seem to forget that there is war in the Bible as well, and often, especially on the Old Testament side, not to mention the apocryphal books. No Hellfire or Damnation to be had even in ecumenical evening, well it is good to live in hope, there is always the next time." Ellen grabbed a tight grip on her husband's arm and said in a low voice, " Times are tough and challenging, and as such people need hope from ministers and not pictures of doom. We all also do what we can on the home front, so do not always yearn for the brimstone content, dear."
Suddenly, a quiet shy voice broke Alice's concentration of people watching. "Is it too gloomy here, compared to your own church?"
Una Meredith stood before her.
The dark-haired girl spoke quietly, almost muttering, pointing her words to Alice as much as to her shoes.
With a light laugh Alice replied, " Not at all. Admittedly, I miss the smell of incense, and the pillows, as well as the stained glass windows. You have a very beautiful organ here. I happen to love Elgar's songs, especially Sea Pictures. Do you like him?"
Una looked up, properly, and in her large almond-shaped eyes was a look that was very intricate, and it dissipated almost immediately, as Una whispered, "Yes." Together in wordless unison the two girls walked along the middle aisle, as Una cleaned out the hymn books, on one side, and Alice took care of the other. At the door flowing light from the upper windows it circled Una, so it looked like that she was encircled in beam of light, and in silence Alice and Una went their separate ways, Una in the direction of the Manse, and Alice towards Lowbridge.
Week or so after the ecumenical prayer meeting, shading her eyes from the sun, Alice looked at the beautiful clear-lined Manse, its walls wild and rich in wild wine and ivy, the stained glass windows sparkling. Alice stepped inside, the door was open, as it was suitable in countryside and for Manse.
The hall was dim and cool.
Curious, Alice looked around, there were a graceful coat rack, a few paintings on the walls, and a small drawing table with beautiful embroidery on top.
Suddenly there were soft steps, and a dark-haired little boy, with a striped kitten in his arms, walked past her. The boy glanced calmly at Alice, his eyes were large and deep, dark blue, and a small shy smile lit up on his face and he whispered "Are you a fairy? You have purple eyes like forest pansies, or blue bells." The boy turned and exclaimed "Una, Una there is a Fairy standing in our hallway!" A door opened, and Una's slender figure slid out of it, and soon a familiar bright voice uttered softly, "I knew reading the fairy tales last week was a mistake. Dearie, you've seen earthlings, or trolls, behind the windows all the time, and now fairies." Una looked up and saw Alice standing in the hall.
"Ah, welcome Alice, I should have guessed that it was you here, when Bruce was talking about Fairies."
The little boy's disappointed voice was heard quietly, "Una, isn't she a fairy after all?" The soft laughter of both Alice and Una shimmered in the hallway and Alice said, "Dear, unfortunately I am not, it would be far too ambitious to claim to be one of the fae-folk, and I have no wings, see." A soft spin, on the carpet, and the hem of her cream-colored cotton dress , nodded once and scampered out of the front door, Una called after him,
"Bruce, remember your hat, and do not wander too far."
Alice found herself enjoying the stillness, and the silence, the slight ticking of the clock, the green shadows of creeping ivy. The furniture was old-fashioned, and embossed, but it didn't matter. The atmosphere was warm and inviting, like a sweet whisper. The porcelain cups were slender, and lightly gilded, with a teapot and sconces on a tray. It had already become clear that this visit was not going to be the usual social dance to dodge, either gossip or rumors, or both. A fact for which Alice was extremely grateful to Una Meredith.
Alice sighed lightly, and Una's soft voice penetrated her consciousness, "Alice, do you want more tea?" Alice demurred with an nod, so the teacups were filled. Alice's gaze stopped at the stylized cross on the wall, a beam of light, from a open window were playing in it. Softly, Alice dropped the teacup from her hands and said "I have recently often pondered the essence of love. How love, can be more essential than faith. Doubts, and unbelief, can torture a person, and in these times when newspaper headlines are grim, it's sometimes hard to find trust. But love is a lasting force, a platonic love, a romantic love, several different shades, and meanings. What do you think?" Una pondered question in silence for some time and finally said, "love, it is one of the divine mysteries, is it not so?"
Alice noticed that Una was wearing the brilliant hair comb, up close it was truly remarkable, artefact. Alice remarked "That's a beautiful, hair comb, is it a family heirloom?" To Alice's surprise, a light red tint, rose on Una's face, she shook her head and murmured in a whisper, "No, it was just a gift."
And in a smooth motion, Una got up and soon returned from the kitchen, carrying a tray of grated sandwiches cut into squares.
The morning changed into the afternoon, and the loaves on the tray dwindled.
The conversation was fluid, and calm, of gossiping villagers, and in the end some anecdotes were exchanged and Alice listened with interest as Una spoke about the early days in Glen. "Whole village talked about the raptures of my siblings. We were wild, tearaway bunch, then, with poor nurition, and ragged clothes, as Great Aunt Martha was very poor housekeeper, half-blind and irratable as she was. Once my sister and I, we did housecleaning on a Sunday, as we had mixed the days of the week up. There was no one here to correct us, as my brother Carl was sick, with fever at the time, and my another brother, Jerry was with Father in Nova Scotia."
Una fingered her dark blue hem, falling silent as she glanced at the blond girl sitting behind a small walnut table.
Alice, seemed anxious.
It was as if some unspeakable concern was pressing on Alice Parker's shoulders. Admittedly, in these times, there were many things to be worried about. With a small nod, Una got up and walked over to the piano, browsing the notes for a moment, and soon Elgar's Sea Pictures played in the room.
Alice closed her eyes, and smiled, as familiar, and the intoxicatingly wonderful melody shone, and she started to sing, soothingly. A slight gust of wind waved the lace curtain in the window.
In his study, John Meredith, who toiled with the Corinthian letters, heard the tinkling waves of music, and an unknown singer, and thought, "waves, wind, and waves." and that reflection was a great metaphor for the coming Sunday sermon, so inspired John began to write.
Afterwards as Alice walked through Glen, she happened to remember the package Walter had left for her, to be collected at her leisure. Pale skirts flying Alice turned at the corner, and familiar road leading to Ingelside was in front of her.
Anne Blythe was walking in the garden of Ingelside, in restelss circles.
Alice glanced at Anne, all the color, sparkle, and liveliness that had previously been such an integral part of Walter and Di's mother, was somehow dimmed, the shadows of war are truly far reatching, Alice pondered as they can dim, even the charming Anne Blythe.
Anne looked up, and saw Alice standing few feet away.
The gray-green eyes widened, and Anne nodded, as if to herself. A light gust of wind puffed Anne's hair, and Alice noticed that there were a few strands silver in the red mass. Anne said in her gentel, light voice, "Alice, how nice, that you are here. Do you want something special?" Walter said he left me a package. "
Hearing Alice's words, said in a low tone, Anne stiffened a little, but to cover it up, she smiled more widely and said mechanically, "Naturally he did. Always so thoughtful, my son is. If you wait a minute I'll get it. It is in his room somewhere. Have some tea or lemonade in the meantime, there on the veranda." Intrigued Alice peeked over the railing. Basket chairs, and a low table, and a few pillows, and above all a little shade. There was a beautiful bonechina teaservice on the low table and fresh lemonade in a bottle, with a glasses on a tray.
It so happened that, only few days after Ken had visited Rilla, Alice sat down in the same chair that Ken had sat, in that enchanted moonlight evening, of shimmering splendor, when a certain promise were made, but the wild mint, and the wawering, creeping, shady ivy does not tell those small human secret´s it might overhear. Alice looked at the lush landscape that opened up in front of her. Flower beds with mussels, honeysuckle and a few birches, and a clean green lawn, as well as a cat, the famous Jekyll-Hyde, resting in the sun.
This landscape, Walter has seen it countless times, in all its seasonal colors. How peaceful and harmonious Ingelside is, a perfect childhood home for both Walter and Di. Completely different from the state of Parker's residence, and the silence, and demands Alice sighed internally as she looked at the verdant garden, of its August bloom and shadows.
Anne returned, carrying a paper-wrapped package, with a lavender ribbon. Anne said reflectively "Alice you, weren't at the station that morning when he left, why not? Everyone else were there."
Anne looked intently at the blond girl. She looked pale like a ivory tinted Midsummer rose. Those eyes, large and pure violet in shade, were exactly the same as she had dreamed of, and in years past, had written about in Story Club era, along with the rose-leaf coloring and golden hair. Walter loves golden rainbows, and dreams, and his ideals of a beautiful world, and Alice fits perfectly to those dreams, as if she had been ordered by post-catalogue. Under Anne's intent regard Alice carefully lowered her glass and straightened her back, saying softly, "I asked Walter, if he wanted me to come to Ingelside on the last night before he left, but he forbade me to come. He said he wanted to remember me, elsewhere, we were in fact at my church, as we said our farewells, as I had choir practice. "
There was a moment of silence, and stilless and then Anne said " I want to tell you, Alice that you are always welcome to Ingelside."
Alice nodded gracefully, and a slight amazement seemed to shine from her being for a moment, and then she smiled. There was distant charm in her smile, that utterly disarming regal sweetness, which was extremely powerful and effective, even unwittingly Anne had to admit.
"There's always a use for handkerchiefs, and I thought Tennyson's quote would work best for you, and Walter has told me how you love this particular poem. This was as his idea, in fact, that I would sew something for you, to remember him by, as he is away."Surprised, and pleased, Anne glanced at the folded fabric, which Alice had dropped on the table. It was fine, pure cotton, and had pink silk thread embroidered in a few verses from Lady of Shalott.
Overcome with sudden emotion Anne embraced Alice. Anne noted how Alice froze in place, like a startled hare, and sat in place with her eyes closed. A feeling were glowing around her, like a sudden incisive grief, but what reason would Alice have to be sad on such a radiantly beautiful August afternoon, Anne wondered in a whimsical way. After a few moments, Alice opened her eyes, and smiled and nodded, took Walters gift, and left. Anne watched, until Alice was lost behind a bend in the road, and then she uttered
Laying, robed in snowy white
Thro´to the Noises of night
She floated down to Camelot.
In Lowbridge, in her old fashioned room, Alice cut the strips of the packet of Walters. It was worn pale purple cloth folder. She opened it. There was ornate fracture-writing, on the front page Kindertotenlieder von Gustave Mahler, Gedichte von Rükert. And as Alice browsed through the sheet music and five song series. Alice understood why Walter had emphasized keeping it safe.
Everything referring to Germanism, even if only classical music like this work, composed in the early 1900s was dubious in the current circumstances. It could interpreted as treachery if someone unsuitable saw them, but the music, twined in with the poems. It was glorious, yhe sades of haunting sorrow and utter bevereament. The polarity of death and life through the imagery of darkness and light. The alterning of minor and major modes, the notes, either piano or orchestra revealed inner feeling beyond what the poetry and vocal line can convay.
It was quiet. Downstairs the cuckoo clock was ringing.
Few days, after the discovery of Walter´s notes Alice visited at the dry goods shop at Lowbridge. Alice found that the usual chattering of customers had ceased, and an expectant silence fell, as she came in and procured her purchases. They were the usual stuff, some eggs, and flour, for bread.
Suddenly a muttered whisper was heard, clearly "The Doctor's daughter has no reason to be so proud, for she was a couple of years ago, like harbor-mouth girls who would lift their skirts, just for a passing glance, and a tuppence, or a slug of traders rum." Hearing the harsh, and insinuating words, Alice stiffened, and walked out with her head held high, with her basket in tow.
One morning, in late August, her mother remarked, "Alice, eat your breakfast, properly. If you just nibble on bread, someone else might think you're in the fix, and we do not want that, do we." Hearing her mother's words, a faint and ghostly smile rose to Alice's lips, and Alice thought of the morning when it had really been so, and no one in this house had noticed a thing. Sometimes tinkling of instruments echoed in her sleep.
Early September on Beacon Hill, in Salisbyry Plain, 1915.
There was a certain compay of soldiers, an infantry unit, they were waiting, killing time, in practice trenches. The panting, grunts, and acrid scent of sweat of men were all around, as everyone were carrying sandbags to line practice trench with.
Some smoked, or played cards, few men were drawing cartoons, as humour was, as ever a small glint of hope, amid gloomy reports, that filtered out of Western Front.
The watchful, atmosphere electrified when there was a shout.
"The mailbags are here!"
Private W. , looked at the small pile in front of him. Package tied with strings, and stamps, and stained stamps, like burner marks on brown-yellow paper. One package and a few letters. He recognized his mother's careful, clear handwriting, Rilla's italics. With a smile on his ethereal face, with a delicate hand, he took a knife from his belt, and cut one envelope open.
The light scent of pansy flooded out, and eagerly Walter read the lines written in graceful handwriting.
Lowbridge
In August-time.
I went to Ingelside.
Everyone are so very plucky there, full of vim and vibrancy. Especially Anne, but she is shadowed somehow. She was a full of joy as she saw the handkerchief, especially when I said you had helped choose the verse, which you did.
That package it's more impressive than you probably knew, all light and shade, and storms of feeling, and the promise of utterly blissfull music, with a touch of Divinity in it. The ecumenical prayer meeting went relatively well, I think. So there is hope for more union approach, in the future. The talks and the readings were interesting, as were different reactions to non-presbyterian music.
I was sitting in our favorite place the day before yesterday, and a little starling flew next to me. The lilac leaves trembled, and created soft shadows, and I read poems, there, as you hoped I would do.
Stay safe, and remember to change your socks regulary.
Love, as ever, pour toi, mon cherie amie!
A.P.
Walter folded the letter in his pocket, and opened his backpack, and put the package and the unopened letters there. Walter glimpsed a cloudy sky, the air smelled of rain.
Walter recalled Hardy's verses, as he walked, up and down in the trench.
That things are all as they best may be, save a few to be right ere long.
Till I think I am one born out of time,
Who feels that delight is a delicate growth cramped by crookedness, custom, and fear,
Get him up, and be gone as one shaped awry; he disturbs the order here.