Cornelia Elliot was worried, she had heard rumors that were alarming, and with hasty steps she walked in the radiant afternoon toward Ingelside. There was a worn pair of skis against the wall on the porch, it meant young Shirley was visiting from Queens for the weekend.
The air in Ingelside's living room was full of the most delicious scents as Anne Blythe greeted Cornelia cheerfully, and Rilla's reddish brown hair glowed in the light as she crawled after Jims, boy laughed heartily as he saw Rilla reach out her arms to him as she scooped him to her arms, and went upstairs. Out of breath, Cornelia sank into a soft armchair and with a small nod accepted the full cup of tea Susan held out.
After tasting the tea, Cornelia burst into speech "Anne dear, I heard that letter was delivered to Dr. Parker's house in Lowbridge with foreign, ailen stamps on it. On my way here I met Sophia Crawford who had heard it, form her old neigbour, who is working at the local post office. Never mind that utter nonsense that your dear Gilberts relative Mary Maria Blythe was saying years, and years ago, about Dick Parker´s wife being either Winter or Campbell, she only has the tawny coloration of those families."
Susan clattered her knitting needles, in restless manner and after small, but pointed silence, Cornelia continued her tale. " You probably don't know, Anne, that after graduating from medical school, young Dick Parker, as he was then, proud of his grades, his Episcopalian faith, and his reddish-golden hair, and his bearded cheek, traveled for several years away somewhere in the Habsburg Empire, if I remember correctly. Eventually Dick Parker returned with a wife he brought as a bride to the rambling house his dead parents had left him in their will. And since then, Parkers have lived in that house, except for the few rented years when they were in Europe, including their children. Afterwards all the family had slight accent in their speech, as if they hadn't spoken any English for weeks but completely different languages, it was very strange, even then, but I let it be, but now it might be time to find out from the right side of it."
Anne held back a small smile and said calmly " Cornelia, maybe letter is from their sons from the front, it's so unpleasant how suspicious and unfeeling people can be sometimes. And as a former abandoned orphan, I'm well used to people's quiet suspicion, recognizing it, dear Cornelia. Those glances they cut to the soul , years ago Gilbert and I used to visit Parkers sometimes, when Alice and Walter were playing together, and the older three children were doing their own errands. The living room was sensibly decorated, although I think there were a little too many decorative pillows, but the overall impression was pleasant, maybe a little cramped. Madame Parker was friendly, maybe a little reserved, but not everyone is as talkative as I am, still. We had marvelous time, there was both tea and dark roast coffee, as well as an amazing cake covered in dark chocolate, with several layers of light jam inside. I tried to get the recipe for the cake in question, but to no avail, because apparently it was some kind of family recipe. Well, that's understandable, because I wouldn't want Nan or Di to share Marilla's plum puffs recipe just like that either. Gilbert is almost drowning under his own patient load. I hope he soon will come to have tea with us, he is in his office writing load of casenotes, again. Last week he only slept a few hours next to me."
Susan Baker carried a sliced fruitcake in front of Cornelia and said sharply " My cousin is always borrowing trouble, and one of her joys in life is to bring bad news, or tragedies great or small, but she is my cousin, so it is my humble cross to bear. I have heard that for years Mrs. Dick Parker has run Lowbridge Women's Sewing Society almost single-handedly, of course there is a committee, but we all know how that goes, there are fractions and sides for every knitted row, and planned circular appeal. Alice can bake and sew as a proper girl should, if I may say so, Mrs. Doctor Dear, although she uses too much cherry and spices in her cakes. It's not the old way of doing things, not here in the area. And the stories and fairy tales and legends that girl filled Walter's head, so that darling boy sat outside and dropped into stream, luckily he didn't catch a fever." Cornelia gave Susan a eloquent glance, and a slight nod, of approval, so rattled Susan said with slight asperity, " Will you have some cake, Mrs Marshall Elliott."
Gilbert leaned against the doorframe and watched his lovely wife, Anne had seemed pale, but then a slender long-fingered hand lifted the teapot and poured steaming hot tea into four porcelain cups. Gilbert walked up to Anne, and face brightening, Anne cheerfully inquired, ""Gil, do take some more cake, there is plenty." Susan rubbed her fingers over her practical apron as she remarked "Geography has never been my forte, although that has been rectified these days, with the papers full of information on various fronts across Europe, as our sweet lads are there fighting the good fight, still."
Dick Parker politely raised his hat, as he passed the Lowbridge Episcopal Church, there was a group of women wrapped in scarves outside the church doors, they looked at him suspiciously, and an audible whisper echoed " He charges too much, I could have treated my child's disease with my grandmother's art, but, there was no time left, so a doctor had to be procured, did you hear about the letter with the strange stamps?"
In the misty air, an almost milky mist clouded reddish country roads of Lowbridge. Dick Parker slowly shook his head and started walking towards his home, in the past few days several customers had paid their bills, hurriedly, rumors and whispers were flying through the streets like wildfire, and Dick Parker knew that his wife hated the fact that talk about their family was floating around. People took what they read in the newspapers, geography of battlefields of Europe, those places where he had passed years ago, which had been full of small almost forgotten villages where centuries of time had stopped, local dialects, bartering for favors, and then what a contrast to the splendor of Vienna, and the color and diversity of the regions of Bohemia and Moravia and Silesia.
Putting his hat on the hatstand, Dick Parker entered his home, and found his wife sitting by her dresser, not as efficient as usual. In front of her was a creamy white sheet of paper. And with her arms crossed, Mrs. Parker rose from her place in the same, swaying graceful way that had attracted his attention years ago in a Apocathery, after getting his own purchases, Dick had followed tawny haired girl, dressed in a greenish-checked walking dress, a couple of street corners to a park where chestnut trees had blossomed, soft shadows had been reflected in the sand and the wrought iron benches had been full of locals enjoying their weekend, with parasols, and picnic baskets. That was where it had started.
Mrs Parker, now looked up and she nodded, to her husband who said "Do you regret choosing to follow me here?" A slow shake of the head, and Mrs. Parker said a little dryly "No, because I had to get married anyway, and being a doctor's wife is a matter of status, even here. And I was interested in seeing this place, you had told about it in such a captivating style and the nature is very captivating here, even after all these years." Dick Parker emptied his amber pipe into the fireplace, and remarked in his somewhat clumsy way " Mein Schatz, wirst du vielleicht an deine schwester schreiben oder vielleicht an Alice, wenn der prozess schwieriger erscheint als sonst."
Mrs. Parker smiled in a wan way and said playfully "All these years and your German still sounds like you've learned it mostly by reading. But in answer to your question, Alice, for I had recived news a couple of days ago that she should know of them." Dick frowned, as his wife showed black-edged letter that had been under the letter paper. The silence seemed to hum, and then slowly, Dick Parker embraced his wife, and her tears shimmered in his bluish-striped cravat like dew drops.
Shiny corridors of Redmond College were full of students, Professor Milne nodded to them as he walked towards his office. It was Valentine's day, and usually the students could never concentrate on the lectures on this day, regardless of what was on the syllabus.
A light knock rang out and soon door opened, and Di Blythe's red-haired and curly head peeped through the gap, a thick folder in her hands, and a little shyly, she stepped straight into the room. A teapot whistled in the corner of the room, and gesturing in the direction of an empty chair, Milne somewhat clumsily dug out the tea accessories and two mugs from the shelf. Milne curiously glanced at the folder and remarked somewhat playfully "I hope Miss Blythe that contains something other than your essay on E M Foster's novel Howard's End for if so I must be severe, for word count means something in the academic world , as well as in creative writing." A light radiant smile flashed across the girl's bright face for a moment, and she replied, "You expressed interest in my writing and encouraged me, so I took the liberty of selecting a few of my work. I hope you like it."
And with soft steps, and humming something that might have been Händel, Miss Blythe left, leaving behind her a light, tantalizing scent of perfume, mingled with honey. Sighing lightly, Milne poured himself more tea, and went to sit in a soft armchair, and carefully he opened the folder, beginning to read. Out of breath and with tears in his eyes, Milne closed the folder and buried his head in his hands. Artfully drawn scenes, flickered in his consciousness, still and impatient he looked over certain passages again.
A bluish twilight had settled over Redmond, and silvery laughter of a woman or girl echoed in the yard.
When Di arrived at Primrose Hollow, she found four beautiful and brilliant bouquets of roses arranged in vases in the living room, Nan read a small note that had apparently been attached to the roses. Raising an eyebrow, Di simply stated "Dorian huh?" Nan nodded, and calmly said, "read it yourself" and whirled around to touch the glowing petals of the nearest bouquet of roses. Sighing inwardly, Di opened a small note that read in Dorian's neat handwriting, "To the lovely lasses of Primrose Hollow, on this Valentine's Day. Yours truly DG" Afternoon mail had arrived, and Di noticed that there was a letter for Alice, and also one for Faith, Jem´s hand was clear and firm. Di raised her voice and inquired, "Nan, does Alice happen to be at home right now?"
Nan looked up from Byron's poems and remarked a little pointedly " Nay, she went out a couple of hours ago, almost as soon as she saw that letter, she swept out as if the hounds of Hades were after her. What would there be to fear in a letter coming from home, I ask ?" Di sighed, and smiled faintly at her twin, and remarked "Dear Nan, not everyone's mothers are the same as ours." Nan sighed and smiled and said "Well, that's quite true. Mumsy is always so naturally perceptive and understanding, do you also think so? Have you written that essay for Milne's course yet, I've almost finished it myself." Di chuckled and said " I have been tied down to Perennial, so I´m going to write it now. Have fun with Lord Byron." Nan waved her hand absently, as Di climbed upstairs. With a satisfied smile, Di stroked the reddish brown thick hardcover book, and opened her folder with diagrams of the characters, their motives, and shaking her wrists, Di began to write in her precise handwriting, and soon she was completely immersed in that world of symbolic interpretation, of greed, of philosophy, of nostalgia, and love that Foster had created. A couple of hours later, cold hands touched her wrist, and almost immediately Di came back to reality, and put her ink pen down on an essay about human passions tearing people to pieces in that wonderful house called Howard´s End.
Alice's slightly muffled watery voice said "Di, it seems my cousin has fallen, on the southern front. My aunt Lotte had written to my mother about it."Di turned and looked at Alice quietly, and then she opened her arms, and slowly, almost stiffly, Alice slipped into her embrace, and barely Di heard Alice muttering into her collar, "I haven't heard from them for a long time, but I had hoped that no news were good news." Wiping her eyes and sitting straight-backed on Di's bed Alice took a letter from her pocket, as she folded it open, Di noted that copperplate was neat, and a bit rushed, a few ink blots stained the neat paper, as Alice in fragmentary voice began to read aloud.
Meine liebe Nachtigall,
I have sad news. I received a letter from Lotte a couple of days ago, and in it she informed me that your cousin Plamen has perished in the line of duty on the southern front. Plamen lived like a flame, after which he was named, he was so lively and inventive, of all the children he really had inherited his father's politics and agitational tendencies. You know very well the tensions that divide the region and this war does not help at all. I'm not usually prone to nostalgia, but now as I write this I find myself reminiscing about the past. Sunlight on the cobblestones, and the bright laughter of your cousins when you and your siblings climbed that big oak tree and tore your dress completely unusable. And those nights when Dick and Tomas argued about politics and administrative infrastructure.I clearly remember when you and Plamen ran hand in hand through the streets of Brno. Lotte and I tried to keep you away from the barracks of Špilberk Castle, although the view from the castle walls was extremely impressive, colorful houses, parks, Gothic towers of St. Peter and Paul's Church caressing the heavens. You definitely wanted to explore the underground stalactite caves of Moravian Karst, and sometimes you sat on the banks of Svaratka on hot days, and he showed you the construction site where the magnificent functionalist Art Noveau Jurkovič House was later built. Naturally Lotte is devastated, as Plamen was her first born, luckily Viktor, Theo and Magdalena are unharmed, for now. Madgalena is now a teacher at a nearby school, and Lotte took a look at her lesson plan. Apparently she told children about Czech revival, that era when Czech art and poster art and music began to gain attention in Europe at the end of the last century. The Czech revival had done a lot of good, worldwide, especially Mucha's art, and Dvorak's compositions, and Smetana and others, too but the situation now is not the same as it was in 1900 and everyone is really concious about it there.
If you want to write a reply to Lotte, I will attach it as part of my own letter, so perhaps fewer questions will arise.
Your father's patients have diminished. I had a visitor from Glen, certain Mrs. Marshall Elliott came to visit yesterday afternoon. She came to propose meeting of the Glen and Lowbridge Ladies' Sewing Societies, and a fund-raising, but in reality she was snooping. We'll see what comes of that plan, if anything.
Study well, remember to go to church.
T. P.
There was silence in the room, and then Di inquired "Thank you for reading your letter, but you shouldn't have done it, as correspondence is always a private matter, especially between parents and children. Do you want to go to church, isn't it soon compline time? If you want I can to come with you if you think it would help?" Alice stretched wearily and said haltingly, "Even though my mother pointed out about going to church that doesn't mean I have to run there right away, whether it's evening service or not. I would like if you could play something for me, if Nan won't throw toward the bouquet of roses that Dorian delivered here? Because I know that silence is very important to Nan."
Di glanced at the clock and said "I baked biscuits in the morning so there's something to offer, unless Faith has eaten them all like last week when you made the cinnamon biscuits, if you hadn't brought the plate over here I would have been completely left without, because as you remember I was late at night in Perennial's office at the time." In the livingroom there was a scent of brewed tea, and Nan said briskly and perceptively "Alice, you look pale, I hope there was no bad news in the letter?" Di felt Alice shiver like reed in a wind, and then she replied in faint voice. "Nan, unfortunately it was."
Nan dropped the hand towel on the floor as she hurried into the kitchen and brought a large cup of tea in front of Alice and said kindly "Put your feet up and drink that and then go to lay down. Di and I and Faith will do the chores this evening." Surprised, Di glanced at her twin and Nan looked in Di's direction, as if to say "Look, I'm trying." Di smiled at Nan, and walked to piano corner, and after rattling the notes, she began to play fifth movement of Dvorak's Biblické písne. Nan frowned as she heard Alice recite a psalm 145 in a low voice, apparently in Czech. Music shimmered light as fog on the streets of Kingsport, as Dorian's roses spread their fragrance in the room. The light flickered in the mirror, and the reflection showed an inverted image of three young women, red-haired one at the piano, wearing a dark dress, fair-haired girl sat on the sofa wrapped in a shawl, her dark skirt sloping to the ground, third dark-haired girl sat in armchair her berry-colored dress proudly holding a red novel in her lap, spots of in on her slender fingers.
A couple of hours later, Nan stood at the door of Alice's room, and a familiar sight spread before her eyes. Alice and Di were resting, together in a jumbled heap, as usual, but Nan could clearly see traces of tears on Alice's cheeks, and Di's features were strained. And the light scent of incense, honey, and precious perfume that had filled the room and Di's hair for the past few days was gone.
Dorian Gardiner sat in a cognac-colored armchair, resting his chin on his hands. There was light commotion around him, typewriters were rattling and Dorian tried to concentrate on his text, but in vain. Earlier today he had sent a shipment of roses to Primrose Hollow, and Royal's eyes had flashed sharply when he noticed the bill for flowers on the breakfast table, but he had only said "Don't make the mistake of proposing to anyone, especially on Valentine's Day, just a kind word of advice dear Dorian." Adeline had chuckled lightly, glancing at Cristine Stuart Dawson, who had been at breakfast, either Adeline's or Royal's guest, as she often was lately, ever since the February Ball. Dorian had purposely spent several days in the Perennial offices because there, unlike in Gardiner Hall, no one questioned his disheveled appearance, as everyone else on the staff looked as if they had been dragged through a hedge with their clothes on for days. Tiredly, Dorian opened drawer of his desk, there at the bottom, under the papers, was a velvet box that Alice had personally delivered to Perennial a couple of days earlier. In a petuliant, moody manner, Dorian opened it, llight flickered and sparkled in pearls, and with a jerk Dorian stuffed the box into his pocket and took his canes, and folded proofs of his article into his pocket and started walking through the misty streets of Kingsport, he was going to a place he knew but had never been.
Cacophonous music vibrated in the air, and Dorian, exhausted, sank into the free padded chair. And suddenly a cheerful, somewhat arrogant voice inquired of him, "What is your poison?" Languidly Dorian looked up, in front of him was a blond man with tousled curls and a colorful tie askew, and he handed Dorian a drink list. The hours flew by, at one point Dorian found himself speaking to his neighbor with a slight stutter, which he hadn't done since childhood. "And then he went to France and Courcelette happened, and everything has been all wrong since then. There was a girl, and now she's out of my reach too."
When Dorian next woke up he was in Aunt Dorothy's living room and Dorothy didn't look at all amused and she said in a cutting voice that reminded Dorian of Adeline's cool style " Next time, I suggest you leave heirlooms like your late mother's pearls out of your pocket if you decide to seek solace from the bottom of the glass. How did you get there? Or really, I don't even want to know. I have called Thompson, he will pick you up here, and take you to Gardiner Hall, you better avoid Adeline, she has a dim view in these matters. The bottom of the bottle won't solve any of your problems dear child, it will only add to them." Dorian looked at his aunt, and slowly tears began to fall from his eyes, and gently, Dorothy stroked his messy hair, and said in her birsk, but loving way "Now try to pull yourself together, no one usually dies of a hangover."
In one of Kingsport's finest hotels, Christine Stuart Dawson sat and gazed at the landscape unfolding before her, and contentedly she closed her eyes and remembered moment she followed Royal through winding corridors of Gardiner Hall, and saw him standing in the doorway of a room, and slowly, almost silently, Christine had crept up on Royal´s side. Their shadows had loomed large across the room, and the air was scented with beeswax candles and tuberose perfume, Christine's own personal scent.
Swayed to hazy Tchaikovsky tunes Alice Parker had stiffened in her place, and a slight look of fear, had spread over her sensitive face, as Royal had taken a step forward, before Christine had pinched his wrist, the look on her features had been more delicious than Anne Shirley's jealousy of old, which had been like the most expensive liquor, when she had first witnessed Gilbert Blythe by Christine's side at Redmond's Valentine's Day Ball. Satisfied, Cristine glanced at her perfectly polished nails, after a moment to collect her thoughts, she began to write.
Mail and letters traveled in parcels from cities to villages, and across oceans to the front. In a trench, sheltered from the cold wind, a dark-haired and dark-eyed soldier, smiled as he tore open the rose-scented letter, Nan's clear handwriting spread out before him. The package also contained new gloves and cookies. A bitingly cold wind cut his cheeks, but Private G Meredith, also known as Jerry, was in good spirits, despite challenging situation in his front block, after battles of Ancerre. Carefully folding the letter into his breast pocket, Jerry took out his small Bible and read a few psalms, for it was Sunday.
A/N: In addition to the trio Dvorak, Smetana and Janáček, who are often mentioned in Czech classical music, I would recommend the following composers, Martinu, and Suk, and of course Novak, if you are interested, because all of their works are amazing, but in their own way.