Alice found that the sweet smell of cocoa was suddenly overflowing, for she had inadvertently knocked her own cocoa cup upside down, as Christine had sung, second verse from sweeping aria, Mon cœur s'ouvre à ta voix, that gentle alluring seduction of an aria, from Saint-Saens renowned opera Samson et Dahlia.
Ainsi qu'on voit les bles
Les epis onduler
Sous la brise legere
Ainsi fremit mon coeur
Pret a se consoler
A ta voix qui m'est chere!
There was a glistening pool of chocolate on the small table occasion table. Quickly, with a blush of embarrassment on her cheeks, Alice wiped the table-top clean with her handkerchief, so that all traces disappeared. Looking at the brown chocolate stains on her handkerchief, it was embroidered with forest-green silk thread, the following quotation, caught her eye, "She was at that modulating point between indifference and love, at the stage called having a fancy for. It occurs once in the history of the most gigantic passions, and it is a period when they are in the hands of the weakest will." It was from Hardy's novel, The Return of the Native, with a half-choked cry, Alice threw the now soiled, lace-edged handkerchief far away, it rolled over patterned persian carpet, to the door of the guest suite.
Christine's melodious voice said a little sharply, yet understandingly, "Long day?" Alice, half glanced at Christine from under her eyelashes, and nodded, faintly. The little table clock played a tinkling rising melody, as Christine stretched, the dark blue silk rustled softly as she glanced at the framed photograph of three dogs, with a soft warm expression in her eyes, and that same expression lingered, as she met Alice´s eyes as Christine said, " There is also tea here, with various jams, if you don't want more cocoa. I can listen if you want to share your concerns. Many have said that I am an excellent listener."
In one corner was a small patinated brass samovar, steaming quietly. Seeing Alice's surprised expression, Christine lightly remarked, "The clientele of this hotel is sometimes variable, so the hotel management is prepared for anything." Soon, scent of strong dark tea mixed with the smell of sweet cocoa, and over everything was the slightly sweet scent of raspberry jam.
Alice closed her eyes, and took a deep breath, as she thanked God that the faint scent of lingering jam was not cherry, for the intimate associations it brought up were ones Alice wished to avoid, right now. She remembered vividly, Di's distant, cold look, in the garden of Primrose Hollow, which, more than anything than Nan had said in her fit of passion, had driven Alice from under the roof of Primrose Hollow. For a while Alice had stood in the garden until the dew had fallen, as she had tip-toed inside, Alice had heard Nan and Di's quiet conversation from the kitchen, it had been only a distant hum, as Alice, had climbed the stairs to her room and quickly packed her small, worn bag, her hands shaking. For Alice knew Di. The best thing she could do now was to give her space and time, as she had asked, and if Alice was out of Hollow, temporarily, there would be no more cold, frozen situations like earlier in the morning, in the kitchen.
As she folded her clothes, Alice reflected that over the years she had caught glimpses of Di's cool, bubbly temperament, and her unflinching directness, but from a distance and never before directed towards her, until yesterday. Alice remembered how Di had flashed at Walter, their first fall in Redmond, and how Walter had said, a little overdramatically in Alice's opinion, at the time, "Di is angry with me, in her cold pale way, which hurts." But now, Alice had to admit that Walter had been right. That cold cool, ignoring, and exclusion, cut deeper than outright hostility, or arguing would have. Alice was used to silence and passive aggressiveness, but not here, not in Primrose Hollow, and it felt like the world had been derailed for a moment.
Carefully, Alice crept down the stairs, and in the doorway of the living room, Alice saw Di's back, she wrote something in her black notebook, light of the lamp shone strongly on Di's red hair, and her face had a concentrated, intense expression, and a small soft smile shone on her lips, which were pale. Nan, in her rose-red cotton, carried the tea-tray to the table, and looked up as she saw Alice's bag, a glimmer of satisfaction flashed in Nan's dark hazel eyes, and she nodded with a barely perceptible, self-conscious pride that seemed to convey with utmost clarity, "Go, you're not needed here. "
Alice had wandered, criss-crossing the streets of Kingsport, she passed several churches, and shelters for the underprivileged, and with a start, she realized that she didn't know where Madeleine lived at all. So Alice turned around and walked towards a light-colored hotel that dominated one streetcorner of Kingsport. And as she stepped through the semi-circular doors, Alice entered an atmosphere of influence and money that was as soft and as insidious as the rising tide. The hotel's liveried bell-boy, merely nodded when Alice, inquired about Mrs. Stuart Dawson, he remarked, in a slightly, gossipy tone, with a little wink, "Here you are again, Miss. Mrs. Stuart Dawson sometimes has visitors, but none this evening, so just go up, if you need anything that isn't already in the room, just ring the bell!"
Alice, had climbed into the creaking net elevator, where Alice always felt like she was hanging above the abyss, nervousness fluttered in her stomach like the light wings of a butterfly. The ornate corridors were silent and her footsteps sank into the dark plush carpet, soundless, Alice raised her gloved hand and knocked audibly on the door of the suite, which bore the ornate copper-etched series of numbers, 2222, and Alice, somewhat amused, thought that, naturally, Christine's suite would be the numerologically master- number.
Tasting her already slightly cooled tea, Alice swept aside the hair that had fallen on her forehead, and met Christine's gaze, with a wan smile. Bit later, in that now familiar guest suite, Alice looked at the sandalwood-smelling shelves of the dark wooden wardrobe, which still had the same shifts, and pairs of delicate chemises. Sighing quietly, she emptied the contents of her bag into that wardrobe.
The needle of the Victrola tinkled softly, and then soft music, flooded the rooms, once more, gentle waltz-like tones. Intrigued, Alice straightened her posture, and slipped towards the music, the thin cotton rustling against her ankles. Christine was sitting on a narrow divan, and she seemed completely absorbed in writing a letter, as Alice inquired, "What is this music?" Christine folded the letter into the envelope, and humming softly, to a tune, she replied, "Verdi, Don Carlos, Eboli's aria, Aux Palais de Fees, it happens to be one of my favourites, and it suits the moment very well, I find, for I thought you might well like it."
Alice lowered her gaze, as Christine said, in her soft way, "I must say, that cotton shift, really suits you, but something is still missing, come here, as you seem a bit unfinished, yet." In Christine's hand sparkled, silvery gleaming hairbrush, it glittered in light as Christine with a delicate touch, brushed Alice´s plait open, those heavy golden blond, thick curls glimmered, in Christine´s hands. Alice felt Christine's slender ringed cool fingers on her neck, softly caressing, as she twined her hair into plait again. Alice had stilled, like a hare, as bird of prey flies over. Christine smiled, with a flash of painted lips, as she pressed a light, fleeting, kiss to Alice's lips. And in that moment, Christine noted in a faint way, once again that Alice's pulse rose, it seemed to gallop, as she said, "It is exceedingly pleasant to have company, as nights can be so lonely, and long."
Feeling midly stunned, and very flushed, her pulse trobbing, Alice watched as Christine floated in a flash of sinously soft silken blue silk, across the room to another room, the interior of which seemed to be intensely blue and cream, shades shrouded in darkness, that was only lit by small glimmering light. She noticed that the door was not locked, a narrow pale ray of light shone through the crack in the door onto the bluish carpet. She pondered, was that perhaps some kind of invitation, surely not, the mere thought was completely impossible, or was it?
In the silence of the guest suite, Alice leaned against the pillows. Sheets smelled of rosemary and lemon, which were too soft. Alice tried to sleep, but it was impossible. Warmth of Di was no longer beside her, no one was snoring softly, no light scent of Lily of the Valley perfume, eager questions, on every possible topic, from the differences between Presbyterian and Episcopal church services, to lecture notes, or evening prayers, or requests to hum something gentle and dreamy that had been their mutual shorthand for Dvorak. Restless Alice tossed and turned in the soft sheets, her senses sharp, her whole body burning, and tingling with a throbbinly wet longing, that was sharp, sudden and mellow at the same time, it came and went like a tide.
The days went by, full of intensive work, lectures, twined with Red Cross work, and sometimes Alice saw Di's slim figure in the crowded corridors of Redmond, but Alice wasn't at all sure if Di saw her, there was no indication of that. Often Alice listened to Christine's anecdotes about her dogs, it seemed that they, Turandot, Renata and Eboli, were a tearaway bunch of eager paws and gentle tails, full of uncomplicated love, they all loved running wildly across hills and gales, and roadsides, while Alice, wove small lace coasters from fisherman's thread for glasses, they were like snowflakes, as she read her stack of lecture texts, and listened Christines sonorous voice, as she read De Laclos, aloud.
One morning golden Autum light, illuminated the rooms of the suite with its bright radiance, as the smell of warm crisp toast filled the rooms. Alice watched Christine, she was writing something intensely in a small notebook. Hearing Alice's footsteps, of the doorway, she said gently, mischievously commandingly, "Here is fresh tea, it is bergamont and ceylon blend, and also toast. Do you prefer cherry jam, peach jam, or maybe fig jam to your toast?" And raising her gaze to Alice's face, which was strained, Christine, waved her hand carelessly, "If you don't like bread, or jam, there's porridge, too and selection of various fruits. "
Christine glanced at the headlines of the newspapers, and exclaimed, "Looks like there's a stir in Russia. On September 14th, a declaration has been drawn up that defines the former Russian Empire as a Republic. Well, as long as that country is fighting on the side of the Western Allies against Germany, everything will fall under its own weight."
Alice, silently stirred her tea, and said, forcing a sentence from her dry throat, "If there is more imbalance in Russia, it will be reflected on the frontlines, in different sections of Eastern Front, summer attacks have not gone well, and it affects the morale of the Allies and increases the pressure on other front blocks as well."
Christine, glancing amusedly over her newspaper to Alice, as she said, softly, "Perhaps, yes, but we can't do anything about that. It's in the hands of the generals and high command. If you want, we can practice later, either Dahlia or Eboli, the choice is yours?" Alice almost spilled the teacup on the table cloth, which luckily was already empty, as she nodded eagerly.
Christine took a soft fluffy peach from a crystal bowl, and split it in two, the clear fruit juice, ran down her fingers, onto a small plate, as in idle way, Christine split the peach into chunks, and in light musing tone of voice, she remarked, "Would you like one, I think, that you might enjoy this very much?"
A slight nerve-racking tension seemed to ripple through the suite, and Alice got the distinct feeling that Christine was talking about something completely different than peaches. With a slight murmur, of assent, Alice, took one chunk of peach, it was lusciously sweet. Satisfaction flashed in Christine's eyes, as she said, "Excellent."
Christine Stuart Dawson's clear voice said softly but somewhat commandingly, "Again, remember what we practiced before, in my rooms, take over the space, it's no use if you wander across the stage, like a lost soul! This is not Donizetti, or Bellini, leave such mannerisms to the sopranos!" Alice said wearily, "Sometimes, like now, I feel like there's no point in this, maybe I'm aiming too high, maybe my part is to stay on the choir level."
Christine's said sharply, "Utter nonsense. Well, first of all participate, follow my lead. Pianist, Verdi, please!" The powerful, passionate, Verismo notes shimmered, as Christine´s trained, supple dark toned voice shimmered in the hall clearly. Then a highly amused chuckle echoed in supreme approval, as flowing music stopped momentarily, before it begun again. Someone had brought an elegant dark blue empire sofa to the center of the stage of Redmond´s Music Association´ s concert hall, with two small tufted cushions at either end, and in the middle of the sofa Christine Stuart Dawson and Alice were lounging, all twined in together, and Verdi's music was glowing around them, like a whirlwind. Christine rose from the divan, walked round it once, and sat down again, and with one hand softly caressed Alice, in a passing, almost half-careless manner.
Afterwards, in Christine's suite, Alice stood hesitantly by the sliding double doors that opened into Christine's rooms, and she said in a low, trembling voice, "What was that earlier, it didn't seem like practice?" Christine glanced over her shoulder at Alice, she was leaning on the doorframe looking exhausted, but at the same time energetic, and hiding her smile, Christine said in a half-playful voice, "That was Eboli, I told you the choice was yours."
Alice, quietly inquired, "What if I had chosen the other one?" Christine got up slowly, cat-like, and said, "Well, of course you know your Bible, there aren't any kinks in Dahlia, or at least not very many." And that evening, as Christine brushed her hair, she hummed Mon cœur s'ouvre à ta voix, as she quite often did, Alice did arrive at the door of her room, with ruddy cheeks that were clearly reflected in the bright dressing-mirror, and Christine looked up into eyes of the same hue, like her own, and as she nodded, lightly.
The landscape was very autumnal, breathtakingly beautiful. Today had been a year since Walter's fall, at Courcelette, as it was this day that the notice had of his passing come. Remembering that, Di had found it extremely difficult to get out of bed in the morning, Nan´s features too, had pallor of glum sadness. Sitting room of Primrose Hollow was in mild chaos. On the table there were about half the works on the Gaskell shelf loaned from the Redmond Library, A Dark Night's Work, Wives and Daughters, Ruth, and of course, Cranford, as Nan, had left half-written slips between different novels. Marilla's plum pudding smelled in the kitchen, as Nan were rustling there.
Di rested her hand on her chin, as she stirred her now very tepid tea. Nervousness, glimmering sadness, and indecision fluttered through Di's mind like a gentle breeze as she wasn't at all sure what to say to Alice. Di had only seen Alice from a distance in the corridors of Redmond, Alice had occasionally cast a light, weighing sparkling bright look in Di's direction, but she hadn't said anything. Di suspected that Alice, on purpose, woke up early and came in late, but since it was Saturday, Alice might still be sleeping. Di, walked into the kitchen, and set out a small tray with tea and a small bowl of cherry jam.
Nan's voice said, gently, "You're going to Alice with that tray, aren't you?" Di, glanced at her twin, and said calmly, "Two weeks of silence and ignoring is enough, because I'm not going to do to anyone what Mumsy did to Dads in the Avonlea epochs, as she snubbed him for years, not today of all days." Nan, lightly touched Di's arm with her hand, and she said quietly, in most solemn way. "Di, wait a minute before you go. Alice, isn't here." Di, shrugged her shoulders, and said lightly, "Well, of course she's in the morning service, on Saturdays they're always early, when she comes, she notices the tray."
Nan's fingers tightened a little, a slight note of urgency flickering in her voice as she said, "You misunderstood, I meant that Alice hasn't lived here for the past two weeks." Di, looked up, and said in a chillingly calm voice, "What do you mean, Nanlet? She would not leave me alone, not today of all days, she will come here, she must. Where is she then? "
Nan wrung the dish-towel in her hands, as she lifted the pot full of plum pudding, to cool, to a window-ledge. The silence hummed, and then Nan said quietly, "I do not know, somewhere in Redmond, does it really matter so? You were so upset that you didn't say anything to me, and it was because of her secretiveness and unnaturalness."
Di, frowned, and said a little pointedly, "Nan, I didn't get involved with any arguments that you were having with your friends or Jerry either, so please, keep your shapely Shirley nose out of my affairs, please, if I need your help, I'll ask for it." Nan, flinched, as the front door of Primrose Hollow slammed shut after Di´s hurried steps.
The peace of Saturday afternoon glowed in Helene's cafe, as Di sat at her regular table, and looked around contentedly, there were only a few customers, among them Isabelle, who seemed to be filling out an extremely long and complicated form. And smiling a little, Di cut open the smudged letter with stamps, and spreading out the thin sheets. Persis's cursive was the same careless mess as always.
Dear Di
Congratulations, just now Dad is walking between his study and the kitchen reading your book, no he simply devours it, because apparently your publisher, Sherwood Publishers, has sent him an advance copy. Dad just asked me if he could write a cover blurb for it, and as you may know that's almost completely unheard of for him, but it shows how excited he is about your craft. Of course, I will also read it myself, in due course.
Here I'm almost drowning in Red Cross work, and other errands, because as you remember, my set is active on different fronts, war-speak, now spoils my correspondence too, but that's just one sing of these times, I think. My acquaintances in Quebec write that the atmosphere there is tense, and I can confess to you that I fear possible disturbances which may spread, for as you know the next general election is in December, and in August the Military Service Act passed, and Borden and his Union Government has a broad support base, except among the French Canadian minority.
Well, enough of my own worries, if you haven't had a launch party for your book yet, I suggest you choose a place where you feel comfortable and I can swear that readers will find your novel, sooner or later. He, would be so proud, of you, but perhaps you do know that, in your heart of hearts. Ken eagerly wants his own copy, that he can read " something of real quality," those were his own words.
Loving greetings
PRF
Di, glanced in Helene's direction, and inquired, "Would it be possible to organize a small-scale book release party here?" Helene, swept the blond hair behind her ear, and glanced at the calendar hanging on the wall, and said thoughtfully, "Perhaps, new customers are always good. Ask the author to come here and we will discuss the terms."
Di, laughed merrily, in slight wan cast in her vivid eyes, as she said, "There is no need, because it's me. My first novel is coming out soon. I'd love it if it could be celebrated here." Helene, smiled, and said, "You play the piano, you bake excellently, that plum cake was heavenly, by the way, and you write, is there anything you can't do?" Di, laughed, as she said, "I can't draw." Helene's gaze softened, and she said, "Well then, it's agreed, in any day that suits you or in this case of your publishers."
A cool wind shook the reddish maple leaves from the trees, and acorns crunched under Alice's feet as she walked toward Primrose Hollow, it was early evening, little after five. Alice, hesitantly, stopped at the front door of Primrose Hollow, and carefully she opened it, there was a slight scent of plum in the air, and dense sense of old still vivid loss, that had been re-opened. There was a framed picture of Walter in prime place, with a small vase of autum flowers and leaves, next to it. Alice went into the kitchen and saw a tea tray and a small jar of cherry jam, on the shiny worktop, and covered bowl full of Queen Pudding.
Then footsteps were heard, on the stairs, as Alice turned with a start. She saw Di, whose cheeks were wan, her vivid eyes were wary, as she exclaimed, "Alice, it's time for us to talk, first of a many conversations, I hope, but first, lets us remember him as he would want us to do, not a martyred saint but ordinary young man, full of high ideals, and impish streak and deep love for everything beautiful!"
A gust of wind shook the lace window curtains, and the dark wine-red wild wine shook its leaves against the windows, while in the living room, the two girls looked at each other in deep silence, it was not an easy thing to take the first step, towards a conversation, after weeks of silence and separation. On the doormat, envelopes clattered, and a slightly heavier thump, that small sound, broke the concentrated molasses thick atmosphere, as Di, relieved, slipped into the hall. Di, picked up the newspaper, it was the Sunday afternoon edition, and the dark headline seemed to scream, "Torpedo attacks in the North Sea, Royal Navy ship, HSM G9, sunk, in Enemy Fire, almost all 31 crew killed."
Di, held out her hand towards Alice, and as she said with a determined glint in her eyes, "Come, let's go for a walk." And side by side, Alice and Di walked, and walked, and talked, talked, and their words were, slicing, tender, by turns fierce, and trembling, were drowned in the wind that washed foam-headed gray-green waves against the shores of Kingsport.
Rainbow Valley was in autumnal splendor, each birch, and maple was like a maiden waiting for her first dance. Anne Blythe gazed at the dusky sky, illumined by the bloody gleam, of a sunset. She listened to the soft tinkling of the bells, and slowly she sank into the thick, long grass, and wept. All day everyone in Ingelside had been looking at her worriedly, especially Gilbert, and at last she had slipped under Susan's watchful eye.
Out of breath, Anne leaned against the thick trunk of the white birch, and spoke in a low voice, "Walter, blood-red, flamingly beautiful autumn glows, and in the spring the yellow daffodils still bloom here, and the shy forest violets that you loved so much. I have now read your sister's book. It is elaborate, and I think she wrote it partly in your memory. Your poem is still quoted everywhere. Here, all of us, still are keeping faith, as you wished. Rilla is flourishing, and she too carries your words in her heart, and they help her to endure when difficulties come. And, now, good night, my love!"