After bloody sacrifice at Vimy Ridge, the atmosphere in the village of Glen was electric as moods fluctuated from side to side. And some of Reverend Meredith's critics noticed that about a week after Easter, one Sunday, he spoke powerfully, and movingly, clasping, his graceful hands in open manner, and in his dark eyes the shadow of past suffering lingered. Those sitting in the front seats whispered to each other that "You wouldn't believe that his son might be lying wounded or in a hospital right now". And some glanced significantly at the Blythe family pew, where Susan Baker's gray neat head was visible, beside efficient Rilla Blythe, that girl who gave herself as much airs as her sister Nan once did, or so Irene Howard was often saying.
Anne Blythe leaned a little heavily on Gilbert's arm, and she thought of the morning when her last child had left the safety of Ingelside for the training camp in Kingsport, and then enventually to the Front, above it, floating in some airplane with control-panels in hand, amid terrible destruction. Shirley's attitude, he had gone on the journey purposefully unlike her other sons, Jem had glowed with adventure and his easy charm, and Walter, dear Walter, had struggled with himself. Then there was Di, she hadn't written not a word in response to Anne's previous letter. Painful letters had flooded from Primrose Hollow into Ingelside when the news of Jerry's wounding had reached Nan. Anne glanced up at the bluebell-blue sky, where a few clouds hovered, as she thought of her own Book of Revelations, which she had once read at dawn, as Pacifque Boute's whistle had split the sultry dawn. In these extraordinary times, so many were waiting for information of their loved ones without certainty about anything. And the arriving of post truly were one of the highlight of a day, even little Jims knew it by now. Rilla's smile no longer reached her eyes, illuminating them with their brilliance, as they had done before 1914. Anne often heard Rilla walking in her room, sometimes even at midnight.
The grip of Gilbert's hand was firm and reassuring, and trying to get hold of her wandering thoughts, Anne met Cornelia Elliot's searching gaze. Standing firmly by Cornelia's side was Mary Vance, and her caring gestures touched Anne's heart, and she suddenly found herself missing Marilla immensely. Cornelia snorted in her usual style, "Of course Vimy Ridge has boosted Glen-Lowbridge-Laidies Aid cooperation for our dear boys, but I'll tell you straight now Anne dearie, these arrangements are like swimming in tar. Often Marshall has to make his own tea unless our Mary does it for him, because the meetings just drag on. Sophia Crawford glows with her own pessimism, and absolutely everything completely insignificant is argued about. It's moments like these that I realize again how well we handle certain things. Anyway, final date has not been decided, as soon as I know I will let you know. For, of course, your presence as our doctor's wife is desirable, if not obligatory, and so is Mrs. Parker's, but she is there anyway. Her style is a little too conciliatory for my taste, as I love arguments and challenges. If we can get Rosemary involved in the arrangements, that would also be a win for us, even if she could still be leaning towards her old way of thinking. Once an episcopalian always one my grandmother always said, but then again she truly was one. " Anne nodded, and gave Cornelia a faint smile as she and Mary turned towards the Four Winds crossroads.
There was a smell of new grass everywhere, and daffodils fluttered in the wind, as Gilbert escorted Anne across the threshold of their home. There was a stack of knitted socks on the hall table, as well as Anne's volume of Tennyson, and Rilla's white scarf was on the rocking chair. In front of Walter's framed picture were white and yellow daffodils in a vase, and a few thin honey-scented candles. The light from the high windows splashed on the carpet, as Jims laugh echoed brightly. Susan brought a tray of tea into the living room, and at the same moment Ingelside's phone rang, three bright, shrill notes, as Susan answered it, it was a sudden incident at Harbor Head. Gilbert noticed a hint of bitterness in Anne's eyes, as she remarked briefly " "Go, your work does not wait, you are needed somewhere." Anne buried her face in fresh daffodils, and Susan nodded almost imperceptibly to Gilbert. With a heavy heart he went to his study, took his leather briefcase, and left. His darling Anne´s moods had fluctuated a lot in the last few weeks, although she tried to be brave and plucky in Susan´s parlance for Rilla and Jims sake. Especially this spring, seemed an insult, to her Gilbert sometimes reflected.
After the front door closed, Susan poured some sweet tea into a rosebud cup, handed it to Anne Blythe, and said, "Mrs. Doctor Dear, I can tell you, I'm quite tired of cooking under strict regulations, but I'll do it when Doctor and my country require me to. Last week, according to the newspapers, Ottawa came recent laws that have now been implemented across Canada. And you know, when I went to Carter Flagg's store, I saw Norman Douglas's red dog waiting outside, he really brings it everywhere, with him, probably would have brought it to church if Ellen hadn't spoken her mind, that loud rascal, that he is. How fitting that the dog is as red as he is!" Anne glanced at Susan, and sighed, drinking her tea in silence. Susan carefully spread the colorful wool blanket over Anne's legs and went back to the kitchen.
The daffodils smelled, and suddenly Ingelside felt so very empty, because almost all her children were gone. Then there was a light laugh, steps were heard on the stairs, Rilla and Jims, boy's cheeks were dimpled, and Getrtude Oliver looked at Jims with a soft, gentle expression, on her stricking features. The clinking of the tea-spoons made a light jingle, Jims was drinking milk, and the light was shining in his curly hair, and Jekyll was asleep in the great arm-chair. Rilla knitted, with Blythe's family's old ivory knitting needles, carefully, and every now and then Susan gave some guiding comment to her. Fragrant tea perfumes Ingelside's living room, Rilla smiles triumphantly, almost like a maiden still, after finishing her knitting. The light shimmers on her creamy cheeks, and in her hair, making it glisten with a reddish brown tint. Suddenly Anne noticed that even her youngest was more of a woman than a carefree lass of olden years, sufferings of the last year have tried Rilla hard. Anne pursed her lips, thinking of the promise that Leslie's son asked Rilla, a romantic vow, but surely, young Kenneth meant what he said. And with a light sigh, Anne, looking in the direction of Walter's picture, uttered softly
I wandered Lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er Vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils.
Gertrude glanced placidly at Anne, and said, "Wordsworth belongs to such a bright day as now, when the light is bright and transparent, if only there was no war, but it is. There is no use to moan about it. I used to love spring, but now, all this light, it makes me almost sick, it is too much. "
In Kingsport, Primrose Hollow a freshly dyed dark dress hung in the bathroom, and raising her eyebrows, Faith Meredith turned and inquired of Nan, "Why have you dyed one of your favorite dresses?" Nan's fingers brushed the dried hem and she fixed her red rimmed, dark eyes on Faith, saying half defiantly a slight tremor in her voice. "That's Di's dress, she still stubbornly dyes her dresses. I stick to my colors, even now because Jerry loves me in them." Faith, smiled as she embranced Nan, thinking of the day that Father's telegram had arrived in the Hollow, shattering its harmony like a sudden shot.
Faith had answered the door that morning, and the boy standing behind the door had said, "Here's a message for Faith Meredith, apparently from Glen St Mary, a telegram." Faith had just looked at the boy, not saying a word, and Di had said later that her face had been as colorless as spoiled buttermilk. Alice had finally acknowledged the message, and with the utmost care she had carried the thin paper to the kitchen table.
There it had languished until Nan had returned from her errands, for no one had the strength to step up to the table and cut open that thin shell, but the sight of Nan standing at the table had ended Faith's paralysis, and she had cut the shell open in one motion. The message had been short. Jerry wounded at Verdun. We'll let you know as soon as I know more, or if he writes J.M
The paper had fallen from Faith's numb fingers, and she had momentarily entered the same state of mind she had been in as a child when she had learned that Cecilia had been gravely, suddenly, ill. It was as if a shimmering and slightly hazy veil surrounded everything, and her heart was beating wildly, and it was difficult to breathe. Then Faith closed her eyes, and opened them, just in time to see Nan swaying like a willow in the wind, but she didn't faint, all the color just drained from her features, so that she resembled a pale sculpture, and stiff-legged she sat down on the chair and just re-read again, telegram smearing her lace cuffs in ink. Di had twined her arms over Nan, in vain attempt of protect her from further harm. Alice had quickly brought strong tea for everyone, and then she had sat down in sofa to knit outwardly calmly, but next morning Faith had noticed that Alice had unraveled everything she had knitted.
The whistle of the teapot recollected Faith to the present, as it echoed from the kitchen, and Di´s slivery voice joined it, "There is tea and cake to be had!" Di glanced at Faith and Nan as they arrived downstairs. Faith went straight to drink tea, but Nan leaned on the stairs, and glanced coolly in the direction of Alice, who was bringing an unfrosted, still warm carrot cake to the table, and quietly Nan remarked, "How can anyone bake at a time like this, when the person I love might be fighting for his life against infections? "
Hearing Nan's words, Alice stiffened a little, Di noticed it, and then she wiped her hand on her apron, and said quietly, and persuasively "I'm sorry if you feel that cake is an insult, it wasn't meant to be. I thought I was being economical, because we had carrots, and I thought I would make something nice for us all to accompany tea, because we have no milk this week either, all the orders are late, there was a little article about it in the newspapers. I know that in these challenging and difficult times, everything seems insurmountable, when we all just live from one mail arrival to another, and interim is just nothingness, everyday life that has to be lived. Perhaps as early as next week, a letter might come?" Nan, took a step forward, and she half slumped into a flowered armchair, the gaudy flowers contrasting with Nan's delicate pink dress, and quietly the tears began to flow down her cheeks. Quietly girls of Primrose Hollow gathered around Nan.
The tea cooled in the cups, and the cake on the plates, finally, after some indeterminate time, Nan looked up and saw the small crowd gathered around her, Di's pale and worried expression, Faith's blazing efficiency muted, by sorrow and worry for her elder brother, and the dark rings under her eyes, and Alice, whose eyes also seemed translucent, a hue that in this light resembled exactly Campanula rotundifolia flower, that inhabitant of meadows, fields, and forest slopes, as a child Nan imagined that the Fairies lived in them.
Alice had got up and brought her craft basket and began to arrange her things, slowly fine muslin, and hand-crocheted lace began to pour out of the basket, amid knitting needles, and embroidery scissors.
Somewhat reluctantly curious Nan asked, "Alice, what is your current project?"
Alice smiled softly, and said playfully, "Here is a selection of buttons, which one do you like best?" Nan fingered small, sweet buttons, cloth-covered, and pearlescent, finally she separated the pearl buttons from the rest.
Faith giggled, and said "Of course you choose pearl buttons, but they fit you like a glove, you dress more romantically than any of us." Di, smiled at Alice, who was sewing pieces of lace-trimmed muslin together with small, almost invisible stitches.
Stretching, Di walked over to the piano, and selected the notes. Shimmeringly bright and light, Ravel's Jeux d'eau conquered the room, like sunlight. The still bare branches of the apple trees swayed in the wind, slowly, and for few moments all sorrow and hurt were lifted away.
A few days later in the evening, Nan raised her head curiously when there was a light knock on the door, three times. Raising her voice, Nan said "The door is open, there's no reason to stand to ceremony." Alice slipped into the room from the dim hallway and soon the twins' room smelled faintly of honey and incense, Nan cast a critical glance at the blonde girl who was about a year older than her or Di and she said "Did you just come from Compline Alice?"
Nodding, Alice sat up straight on Di's bed, Nan noticed, and crossed her arms over her knees. The clock ticked on the wall, and in addition to honey, the room smelled of dried lavender, which Nan kept in her wardrobe.
Nan turned and began to write again, she had written one paragraph of her letter to Jerry when Alice's voice broke the silence, "Nan, I find you don't really like me. Perhaps we are too alike in some ways to get along, especially when we have to live so close together. I know very well that I am not always an easy living partner. That said, I want to tell you that I share with all my heart your pain, because I lost a loved one in an accident some years ago now. I do not wish that kind of pain and uncertainty on anyone. I know that you may experience something similar in these very weeks, although no one really knows what feelings are in the hearts of others."
Nan turned around, so violently that the clean letter paper was smeared with ink, and quietly she whispered, looking intently at Alice's features, " You talk about heartache, and pain, but I'm not sure you can feel them, not in proper way. Namely, it seems to me that you play with people. There was my gallant, dreamy rainbow loving brother, now that he is gone you have turned your charm towards my twin, and then there was also Dorian. I think you might be missing something, some connection that would allow you to create real and loving relationships. So, no you have no idea what Jerry means to me." After Nan's words, the silence in the room seemed almost deafening, and with satisfaction Nan noted that Alice looked very pale. And quietly she whispered in a trembling voice, "Nan, your brother was my dearest friend, as is Dorian in his particular way. In related to your sister, we've become close, closer than before. I belive that love, and its many hues, are never wrong, or sinful."
Nan waved her slender fingers and looked coolly at Alice, saying "Even steamy mirrors tell more sometimes, and so do ajar doors. I can say I can never touch cherry jam again, though I never liked it."
Alice shuddered, and closed her eyes momentarily, for the thought of the door being open that afternoon was at once incredible, but possible, and more than probable, for she and Di had been so absorbed in each other that caution had been entirely forgotten. Now Nan knew, and her attitude was not quite what Alice had imagined. Nan's voice was cool, and cautious, there was a hint of disgust in it, but that was to be expected. So with a submissive sigh Alice opened her eyes and looking steadily at Nan, as she said "I would never hurt your sister, not on purpose. I understand well that you want to protect her. In these times, isn't it better that if happiness can be found, we grab it with both hands, because life is uncertain? The reason I came here is this. I can only hope that you like it."
There was light sound of door closing.
Nan looked at the package wrapped in pale paper, tied with lavender ribbons, to which was attached a card that read in Alice's neat handwriting, "To Nan, for better times to come." It lingered abandoned on Di´s bed.
With decisive movements Nan opened the windows, as fresh evening air were flowing in, taking a new clean sheet of paper, Nan took out her favorite pen and began to write to Jerry again. The sentences intertwined, as if by themselves, and Nan wrote about her hopes, her future plans, and her secret dreams, with veiled turns of phrase, because a dark-eyed youth in a worn Canadian uniform, who was perhaps resting in some field hospital, was at the heart of them.
Di frowned, there was something unusually poignant about Nan's demeanor, tonight, she had been writing, there was a stack of finished letters next to her favorite pen. Di was startled as slight gust of wind fluttered the window curtains. On Di's bed there was a soft package, which Di carefully lifted onto Nan's table and said "Usually you love all kinds of surprise gifts, why haven't you opened that one yet?"
And with a nonchalant gesture, Nan undid the laces, and the package revealed to be an extremely elaborate high-collared Edwardian-style shirt, with precise detailing, pearl buttons, and lace at the collar. Alice's handwork was visible in every careful stitch, and Di happily exclaimed, "It's quite perfect. It goes with all your skirts, even with the coloful ones, you can try it on dear Nanlet!"
Nan glanced coldly at the delicate creation. The room was empty, Di was gone, to be with her. Nan looked at Jerry's photograph, and a little sliver of regret pierced her heart, for now she regretted her sudden, hurtful words to Alice, as her temper had cooled.
Two weeks later, a dirty and tattered letter fell onto the hallway carpet of Primrose Hollow. Faith glanced at the handwriting once, and raising her voice she called "Nan, come down, here's a letter from Jerry." A stifled scream came from the twins' room, and soon Nan and Di were in the living room, and impatiently, with trembling hands, Nan tore open the envelope, and spread the thin, fragile letter on her knees. The handwriting was almost alien because it was so faint, but it was Jerry's and that was all that mattered.
Dear Nan, I have recovered sufficiently, and soon I will be transferred back to the front, because every one of us is needed there. A similar letter goes to the Manse, but I know you will not rest till you have some message from me. I think of you, every moment, and you know, when I lay wounded, the thought of you kept me from giving up, you and some mystical thing, for I could swear I heard your brother's voice, but it might as well have been an opium-induced hallucination. Write, to me, never stop writing, I will write to you, whenever I can. Think of the moment when we shall meet again, in this world, not in the next.
With all love
GM
Nan's tears wet the thin paper, and carefully she folded it into her envelope. And that evening Nan appeared at the dinner table at Primrose Hollow in a rose colored skirt, a black belt, and her fancy new high-collared shirt. After the meal in the kitchen, Nan took out a drying rag and began to dry the dishes while Alice did the dishes. There was a chilling silence, and then Nan said, "I don't usually apologize, but now I will, for my quick and cruel words, they were a touch too severe Alice. And this shirt is adorable, thank you for making it for me." Alice glanced at Nan, then she nodded once briefly.
A reddish sunset blazed behind the window, and a blackbird sang brightly.
Adeline Gardiner sat in the library of Gardiner Hall, surrounded by bundles of yellowish letters, tied with faded ribbons. A vermillion colored photo album with brass clasps was heavy on her lap as she carefully turned the pages with her gloved hands. The silhouettes of Florence, Rome, and Sicily glided past, stiff poses, great hats, and the ghosts of past glorious and shadowy years and merry seasons were around Adeline. An oval-shaped photograph was under her fingers, and grimacing, she turned the page, quickly but in vain, for she remembered too well the blaze of an old scandal.
Dorian's voice came from behind her, "Aunt Adeline, who was that woman whose picture you didn't look at just now?" Adeline turned and glanced at Dorian, the young man was pale, and his mauve tie was stained with ink, and he was leaning with one hand on heavy stacks of books.
Hurriedly Adeline closed the album and said in as carefree a voice as possible, "A cousin who has lived abroad for years, I don't know if she's even alive anymore. And as the years have passed, Dorothy sometimes in certain moods resembles our cousin a lot. Your parents went to see her for a short visit on their honeymoon, Venice in the Carneval time, if I remember correctly. Your mother liked her, but on the other hand, Valentine had a peculiar way of getting attached to strange people."
There was a look in Dorian's eyes so reminiscent of Valentine's that Adeline trembled, as the youth calmly said, "Well, if that was the case, could you give me her name, and address, for I believe you have it, hidden away somewhere. I would like to write to her, out of politeness." Adeline almost wanted to wring her hands, but such a gesture would be too revealing, so she said curtly, "I'll see what I can do, but I can't promise anything. A lot can happen in twenty-four years."
Dorian nodded, and took careful steps to his favorite desk, which had large stacks of books and sheets of paper, and a notebook. Dorian's low hum filled the silent library. Adeline rubbed her temples, for she loathed Händel. And as the hours went by, the aunt and nephew went about their separate business.
Dorian glanced at different painters' interpretations of Ophelia, and wrote down his observations, as two paintings caught his eye. The first was And He Will Not Come Back Again, by British artist Arthur Hughes. And the other was Ophelia by William Quiller Orchardson. And what was really amazing was that the Ophelias in both paintings bore a striking resemblance to Alice, it was not a complete likeness, but rather a delicacy of gesture and posture. With a deep sigh Dorian closed the art book. All the enthusiasm from his enthusiastic planning for an art history essay with its intermedial theme was gone.
Feeling morose, Dorian looked at the blooming, shimmering nature that seemed to be mocking him behind the window. Perhaps he might meet Alice in the corridors of Redmond, or the delightful Nan, who was indeed spoken for. Dorian recalled a time they had studied together, during which Nan, looking over Dorian's notes, had remarked critically, "You know, your argument is as good as Jerry's in places, and I really can't give a higher compliment than that. I think you'd get along very well if you met after the war . He would love Hall's library, for books are important to him, as they are to me." Nan had taken a photograph out of her pocket, and Dorian had seen the picture of a serious, dark-haired, dark-eyed youth with a cap on his head, and somewhat plain but neat clothes. The young man had stood on the large stone steps, handsome ivy-covered house had been behind him. Dorian could almost imagine the fields full of wild flowers, shimmering rippling sea, and the white lighthouse that Nan had told about, as well as the little dell that was named Rainbow Valley, where bright bells rang from dawn to dusk. And with renewed strength, Dorian took out his notebook and began to outline a possible editorial for Perennial's next meeting.
One Friday noon, in mid April, a dark, expensive-looking rental car was parked at the gate of Primrose Hollow. Dorian had just come from Perennial meeting, where Di had been exceptionally absent. Feeling curious, Dorian knocked on the door. A merry commotion came from the half-open window, and Dorian heard Alice's voice rise to a radiant laugh, accompanied by the light voices of Nan and Di. So annoyed, Dorian knocked again, harder. And then the door opened. Standing in the doorway was an unknown, gorgeous-looking, slender blonde woman with dark sapphire blue eyes. She was wearing an extremely stylish blue-striped walking suit, and she handed Dorian a cake plate, saying cheerfully dimples on her cheeks, " Oh, you're the cavalier who, according to my dear Di, would perhaps last more than one social season by my side? Why don't you come in. Don't you know that standing on thresholds breaks all kinds of etiquette rules. Come and eat this amazing cake, there's still little left, for Alice, that golden girl bakes splendidly, in spite of her fairy-like appearance, but of course you know Miss Parker, Nan said so."
Uncertainly Dorian strode into Primrose Hollow, and Di said in a cheerful tone, "How was the Perennial meeting, Dorian? Dorian found himself nodding weakly, and somewhat foolishly he drank his tea and listened to the rapid talk of the flock of girls at the table, in which childhood and youthful golden memories seemed to blend into a soft cloud. Persis chatted cheerfully to everyone, her manner was curious and energetic. Dorian strained his hearing, because several familiar places, such as the Muskoka region, as well as London, and Paris, and her time in slpendor of Japan, were twined in her rapid speech. Every now and then the slightly cool look in Persis' eyes fell on Dorian, as he hoped desperately that there were no stains on his tie.
On the other side of the table, Nan and Di exchanged eloquent glances. Nan shook her head, for Dorian's expression, controlled as it was, was exactly identical with that of any youth in the Glen who had chanced to meet Persis Ford, for the first time.
Alice glanced at Dorian, suppressing her smile, for Dorian had never had such an expression even at their first meeting, and shaking her head amusedly, Alice beckoned to Di. Together they went to the piano, and with a mischievous smile on her lips Di began to play, as Alice turned the notes. Wistful and romantic, lingering, oriental Puccini echoed. Persis listened to the music with a dreamy look in her eyes, and Nan guessed she was somewhere far away, in her old memories, in a time that would never return.
Then almost, before Dorian had turned twice the afternoon shadows colored the grass of the garden of Primrose Hollow, Dorian encouraged his mind and politely inquired, "Miss Ford, would you like to come with me to the Perennial office before you go back to Toronto, that could be arranged." Persis, glanced at the dark-haired youth, who had been quite fun company, for he was not at all a narcissist like the salon lions were most of the time, and glancing at her little calendar, she shook her head and regretfully said "Unfortunately, I won't have time. I have to go back to my duties soon. I had to pull a lot of strings before this short trip was arranged. And when I get back I have to work at Red Cross almost non-stop to make up for my absence."
Next morning, after breakfast, Persis stood in the living room, of Primrose Hollw a small suitcase by her side, in a smart slightly loose outfit, which included black boots and long gloves, and a cherry red scarf. Her thick golden hair was braided into a bun at the nape of her neck. And she strode along, to the car, and Dorian cried, "Wait, but the driver is nowhere to be seen, you can't go on alone." Charming bubbling laughter rang out in the yard of Primrose Hollow, and Persis leaned against the shiny black car, saying, "Mr. Gardiner, I always drive myself. I don't believe in servants or chauffeurs, or I do, but they should be paid considerably more. I suggest that if you have servants in your family, look into inequality of wages. Goodbye, for now, if we happen to meet again, lets hope that this darned war has been won then! "And putting driving goggels on her eyes, Persis started the car with a sure grip and throttled off.
Week later, Dorian sat in the Hall's library, studying equal pay, and works about socialism, and with one hand he was spinning the card that Persis Ford had given him, it smelled faintly of lilies.