The pure honey-colored light of August shone brightly through pale curtains as Madeline Dobson, of Redmond Musical Society, was doing her weekly review, when the door of her office door was was flung open and a graceful blonde girl in an embroidered rose-red dress stood in the doorway. Ms. Dobson looked at the girl more closely, and it seemed that she was in the grip of some strong emotion, for the slender hands trembled a little, as light from large windows fell on her face, her dark eyelashes trembled on the rosy cheeks. "Is it a musical emergency? If so sheet music is to be found in the cabinets in library alphabetized according to the composers, and for everything else strong tea will help. Here is teakettle, and tin of tea to be had, if there is need."
The girl looked up, and Ms. Dobson was taken aback. Her eyes were the color of an antique Victorian paperweight, and she said gravely, and with a little frivolous aloofness, "Thank you for your offer, but I don't want tea just now. I wanted a space where I could think, and make a noise, if I wanted to, so I thought, the concert hall of this library, can I get a key there. Maybe later I will hunt down some Mahler lieder." Ms. Dobson smiled as she said "Dear, here's the key, the lock is stiff, so press the handle firmly. There's nothing marked on the almanac for today, so unless something special happens, the room is completely at your disposal."
Relieved, Alice walked out of Ms. Dobson's office, the key cold and hard in her clammy hands, its edges smoothing the humming, quiet anxiety in her mind. Earnest words of Dorian´s plea, moving, sweet, clear and well-reasoned, but oddly rushed, almost feverish words, ran around in her mind, as they had been for some days, now, as did the stunned look of concern and disbelive in his face, as Alice had in a flash of pure surprise reverted to her coldest, and most formal way, not light, bright, and sparkling, that Dorian was more used to. Dorian's whole being had been tense, and expectant, and Alice had seen how her sudden departure had cut Dorian, but in that sudden outburst of emotion, Alice could not restrain her first impulse, which had been to flee, and resort to convention, asking for time to consider. Alice reflected in hindsight that perhaps Walter's letter in April possibly hinted at this, in his vaque and misty way. As Alice well knew, Walter still thought partly in the manner of chivalric romances and fairy tales, and the bleeding passions of real life were invariably almost entirely ignored by him, except, as and when they concerned those near and dear to him.
Alone in that wide, beautiful room, Alice clenched her hands into fists, and rose and played one shimmering scale, dark, oozing notes dripped like drops of blood into hushed silence of the room. It had been disconcerting to hear that glimmering, half-shrouded image of her, seen through Dorian's eyes.
The hours passed, in a languid, sparkling peace, as Alice walked the cool corridors of the library, and inhaling the faint scent of old ink and dust, and she took from a corner a pink note-card on which she tried to outline her feelings, for Alice knew, that she should give Dorian at least some answer, as quickly as possible, for September and the new Redmond term was almost around the corner, but as so often before, the words did not come. And in frustration Alice threw a piece of paper, it was one of many that decorated the shiny parquet floor, like pink flowers.
Alice took a deep breath and hummed a few notes of one of Walter's favorites, Wesendonck's Träume. And then, almost automatically, Alice´s back straightened as she began to sing properly, slowly caressingly soft, warm voice, glowed in the concert hall, as music as ever, soothed her tangled and jagged feelings.
Dorian Gardiner sat in the library of Gardiner Hall, and brooded, as he had done for days. Aunt Dorothy had pleaded in springtime more than once that Dorian would let time and warm friendship, to melt and shatter that alluring calmness and reserve of Alice´s, but Dorian had been wildly impatient, so he had acted, after he had listened Royal´s advice, and Alice, golden and shining in her rose-red dress, white-faced, had flown from his reach. And Dorian thought once more, that he could send flowers to Primrose Hollow, some elaborate and romantic arrangement, which would express without words, his patient and chivalrous waiting.
The drawing-room of Gardiner Hall was fragrant with cakes and tea, and rustling women in motley dresses were talking in low voices when Dorian came in. Dorian shook his head and gently brushed the dark, slightly curly hair away from his temples, it was the bi-weekly meeting of Adeline´s Ladies Aid. Dorothy helped him to his favorite chair, and said lightly, "Be social for a couple of hours, and drink tea. That way you get a perspective on women's lives, as still there are women whose whole lives revolve around organizing tea parties, and maybe you can learn something in the process, and after that you can brood the rest of this day, if it suits you."And then with that injunction made with her humorous way, Dorothy had disappeared into the silken and rustling crowd.
In time delicacies dwindled, and hems rustled, and needles clinked, as Adeline's Laidies Aid sipped offerings to the full, and summer's Somme battles were spoken of in hushed tones, Albert, Bazentin Ridge, and recent developments in Eastern Front.
A stout woman in dark mourning declared loudly "But how can you criticize Haight, and the military leadership, we don't know anything about strategy. We give our boys without question, and in return we get a telegram with cheap ink, and posthumous medals, if any, and in the churches throughout the land there are mourning wreaths, and on the walls the names of those who fell in battles, engraved on marble slabs."
Dorian listened to the conversation going on around him, and a cutting sense of inadequacy arose in him. And in that moment Dorian remembered a July conversation in the garden of Primrose Hollow with Alice. Alice had glanced at him, in a severely pointed manner, and her voice had been quiet but sharp as she had said, "Why do you men always imagine that if you were 'over there' everything would always be better? I would think that living in the middle of war-zone is not a romantic pastoral picture, or neither is large-scale attack, as romantic 19th-century poetry might have given such an impression, or like war-tides of Hardy´s various verses, that you and Walter so have adored. Dorian, there's a lot to do, here on the homefront, it's not always a fund-raiser, either. I have noticed that you happen to have unfortunate habit to throw money at everything, and it is really irritating. Generally most people are not as wealthy as yourself, or your family, so instead of donations take advantage of your talents, and do something that really helps. As long as you truly start doing it."
Laboriously Dorian got up, leaving women to their own devices, as he called Thompson to drove him to Perennial's office, there was new resoluteness in his expression.
Di glanced at the door as it slammed open and Dorian swept in, cheeks burning, and he went straight to the editor-in-chief's room. Soon a loud conversation echoed in the room, and through the frosted glass, Di saw editor walking and waving his arms, and finally it was quiet. And Dorian walked out of the room with a satisfied, if slightly tired smile on his face.
And Di said, "Well?"
Dorian said "Perennial is starting to do more war-related texts."
Di's eyebrows rose and she said matter-of-factly, "Marvelous idea, but how, because the censorship of all international information also applies to us, being a local university-affiliated paper."
"We will publish more war poetry in the future, because you know how enthusiastically both Walter's Piper and other similar poems have been received. Also, I promised to use my father's international contacts. Although Redmond is only one university, the way local students and co-eds here think, it will shape the future. This is already the second year of the war, and we must be more active, and raise public opinion. We must take better account of the atmosphere on the home front, and the role of local women's organizations in raising morale, of course the Red Cross, but others as well. Because I cannot be solider, like your brother and other men of my age, I need my own war years to mean something deeper than just university studies and being the heir of a another rich man." Dorian brushed messy hair from his forehead and as he said haltingly, "I sat at my aunt's sewing club today, at Gardiner Hall, it is almost bi-weekly occasion, and I rushed out of in the middle of tea-service, because I realized, like a flash, that this is my only chance to make an impact."
Di smiled lightly and said "So, in other words, you wanted to escape too much femininity and the endless tea parade to an environment that you feel is more your own." Slowly Dorian blushed and then he nodded. Then there was nothing else in Perennial's office but the rustling of papers, and the ringing of the telephone, now and then Dorian glanced at Walter's sister, who was smiling dreamily, as if her thoughts were particularly pleasant ones.
One afternoon in late August, a large haul of letters had arrived from the front. Alice noticed in passing how a slight blush had risen to Di´s cheeks as she read what seemed to be a very long letter, from Walter. On top of little chest of drawers was an envelope stained with army stamps, with her name written in Walter's flowing hand. With eager hands, Alice opened the missve, and sat at her favorite reading nook, hoping that perhaps Walter's letter would give her much needed clarity.
Golden Alice!
Sometimes I think it's strange that there is still the glowing ripeness of August, moonlit satin-soft evenings, and lovable secrets and confidential whispers. I do think that the Age of Innocence has truly ended, in these bloody and torn trenches. As youths are turned into killing machines, for the sake of the king's shilling, a licence to kill it was, for the sake of honor, for empire. Do you remember what Blake, so dear to us both, wrote, in his Auguries of Innocence? Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand / And Eternity in an hour? A soldier's moment is just that, endlessly.
I have in recent weeks received several letters from Dorian. I will say that Dorian, like myself, belongs to the tribe of dreamers and rainbow-seekers, so one consequence is that he loves his dreams, and reality, with all its wilder less sublime feelings, is a foreign, unknown country to him. So treat him with care, and with patience, and love as you have done with me, but be honest with him, if you can, in your own way. In recent years, you have regained your lightness, but I believe that your soul is still filled with the gray web of sadness in some places.
I have encolsed a little present for you, I hope you like it. I have been thinking about past Augusts lately. August has always been a season of joy for me. Although I remember that you always seemed so sad, as if you were listening something that had vanished suddenly.
With loving regards,
Walter
Alice shook a tender shriveled poppy from envelope into her palm. Its petals were withered but still strong in their glowing red color. Carefully Alice placed it between nearest volume in hand, that happened to be a golden-green covered Shelley. Alice noticed that poppy had been wrapped in a separate piece of paper, with a short verse on it, and reading it, she felt her heart clench.
Here red rain falls steadily
in all seasons everlastingly
poppies bloom
their color
a surprising kiss,
memory of olden times,
when life was
not measured in moments,
but in heartbeats,
of yours, and mine.
And in twilight time that evening Alice wandered restlessly, in the garden of Primrose Hollow, among mint, and late birar-rose-bushes. The light scent of crushed mint, verdant parsley mingeld together, and in shady corner rue, winked it´s golden head. Alice thought of Walter's letter, his delicate, artful words that seemed to ease her soul, as always.
There were sound of footsteps in the rustling grass, Alice looked up and, Di said with gray-green eyes smiling, "Was my brother's letter helpful? You've been sitting here for hours, so I thought I'd come to say that there is tea." Alice looked at Di gravely, and said "Di, I have to tell you something, that I´ve been keeping from you. Dorian wants to court me."
Di's eyes widened.