There was a sharp cold, scent of snow in the air, as the Redmond campus glistened like a fairytale castle, the light frost had frosted the reddish bricks all over. The corridors, often so noisy, were now quiet and peaceful, as in an upstairs cabinet room, Redmond Broad of Trustees were having a semi-annual meeting. Dean of Redmond, wiped his mustache and said in his dry voice, "Anyone else have anything to add?"

Professor Milne, raised his hand, and glancing at the slightly crumpled papers in front of him, straightened his tattered bow tie, and began, "I feel that it would be most appropriate to organize smooth and fast fund-raising event in our premises."

Dean of Redmond, looking steadily at Milne over his glasses, said stiffly, "There were complaints about the Bohemian performance last December, so nothing this time that even hints at being German, even a little, but otherwise, yes, you have point, Milne as usual. Headlines of the recent Halifax Explosition have been most shocking. We need to show unity, especially under these straining times, that we are living now." The silence was broken by a distinct humming, and Milne recogized Lehar's light romantic waltz tune, from The Merry Widow, as Royal Gardiner tapped his fingers on the table, and said, lightly, "Operetta tunes, then, are they acceptable?"

Dean of Redmond, frowned, and said extremely dryly, "Mr. Gardiner, in answer to your question, no music of enemy nations, as it should be perfectly obvious under the circumstances."

Gardiner nodded once, mildly mockingly, at least it seemed to Milne, and for a moment, the atmosphere seemed to tighten in the room, as a member of the Board, Mr. Ormond Stanhope, said scornfully, "Say, Gardiner, perhaps this very attitude is the reason why you're in trouble, financially. I've heard talk that imply that you weren't allowed into the Kingsport Gentlemen's Club a couple of weeks ago? Your family has been a supporter of Redmond University for many years, in the form of various donations, maybe now is the time to think of alternatives, even here, for the presence of young Mr. Gardiner on the campus, in these times, has been questioned, for every young man must do his part for the country, to the best of his ability."

Milne noticed how Royal Gardiner's features had sharpened as he replied, coolly "My business and my son are not on the agenda today, but the running affairs of Redmond University, good sir, which I have attended as a member of this board, as is my duty."

Dean of Redmond, clapped his hands together once and said not so appeasingly as was his wont, "Well, gentlemen, please, no bloodshed here, not even verbally. I hereby declare the meeting closed."

One by one, the members of the committee walked out of the meeting-room, and Mr. Stanhope, as he passed Mr. Gardiner, said something in a low voice to Gardiner, as Stanhope's round and self-satisfied figure, in his gold- and lime green striped waistcoat, walked away ponderously.

In the high foyer, Milne, gently touched sleeve of Royal Gardiner's suit, very expensive suit, that was as unlike as his own tattered tweed two-piece, as possible, and said kindly, "Mr. Gardiner, I don't usually say this, but I can honestly say that your son is extremely well liked. He has performed extremely well in his studies this fall, despite a few unfortunate incidents, on campus. Dorian seems to be very resilient." Royal Gardiner, nodded and said quietly, with a fierce pride in his voice, " So he is, very much so."

Milne smiled and said quietly, the lingering emotion glowing in his smile, "Well then, tell him, now that there's still a chance to do so. I'd give anything to talk to my boys again, even about everyday things. I often think back now, how Timmy always forgot his collar, and his cravat, in the library, how Paul's whistling sometimes tore my wife's nerves to shreds, but that's impossible now, for they're gone."

Royal Gardiner, sighed and said quietly, "I remember hearing about it. My deepest condolences, Milne, and your wife too. For the last twenty-three years I have been in almost constant one-sided monologue with my late wife."

Milne, nodded thoughtfully and remembered the large painting on the dais, in a pale tent, in the ripe glow of August. Gardiner nodded, to Milne, and strode off into the streets of Kingsport.

It was a moment of bluish twilight, snow was falling, there were Red Cross collection containers everywhere, with vivid plaquets that declaired, " Please, help the victims of the Halifax explosion by doing a generous donation!" As if the talk of his lost boys, who had flown into the storm of war, had been an invitation, Milne, pulled up his collar and started walking towards one of Timmy's places of interest.

Not before too long, Milne shook the freshly fallen snow off his striped neckerchief as he walked through a section of the Redmond library, towards an open desk in the corner, but the archivist was not there. There was almost hushed silence, which seemed almost holy there were rows and rows of books, the subjects of which varied from side to side, statistics, natural science, higher mathematics, serious was the section that was always filled usually Cooper Prize - hopefuls, as scholars chased that elusive prize, as his Timmy had been one of them.

A light, polite, slightly coolly mischievous voice inquired behind Milne, "Professor, you must have gotten lost now, because the literature shelves are in another department, completely." Milne, turned and looked at the archivist, as it was for her sake, Timmy had always forgotten his tie and collar here, in a study table under greenish lamps.

She was a slender woman with reddish-brown hair, dressed in an elegant green dress, the cut of which seemed atypical, on her shoulders was a burgundy cardigan carelessly thrown. She carried a heavy book in one hand, the spine of which read, "Fibonacci Numbers - Gateway to Eternity."

The woman nodded, lightly, inscrutably, and continued, with a flash of pale green eyes, "I seems that some visitor has once again messed up my new filing system. I noticed it when I just shelved a section, from higher mathematics. How difficult it is to use idex, especially when the index drawer is in a fully visible place, over there, I ask?"

Milne, found himself smiling openly, as he replied, "Isabelle, you're in full swing, as usual, but please, be kind to the students if they ask for your help." A slight smile appeared on Isabelle's cool, distant features as she replied dryly, "Of course, that's part of my job description."

Milne, nodded as he did so, he remembered Timmy's frustrated voice from years ago, "I swear I'll get her to smile at me sometime, even if I have to sit near her desk for the rest of my studies." And to this, Paul had replied lightly, "Little brother, don't you know that the particular archivist is famous for being cool, at least at work. Namely, one of my fellow students once claimed to have seen her somewhere, off-duty hours, she seemed quite transformed, then."

The light patter of Isabelle's low-heeled, shoes was the only sound, in place, there was light alluring scent of orchids, in the musty air, as she passed Milne. He remembered the rumors that had circulated, of Redmond's teachers and other staff - because something always leaked out, which over time became part of legend, such as the fact that in his study there was a secret locker full of first editions of Dickens, even if there were not.

Milne, took a stack of papers from his leather briefcase, and perused them, with intent, taking the seat that had been Timmy's. Milne touched his amber-handled pipe in his pocket as he glanced at the plans before him, simple but ambitious as time was of essence, if all went well, without challenges, or last-minute cancellations, or that always had to be considered. Outside the windows, it was still snowing.

The hours passed, slowly, and then, hurried footsteps broke the silence as an unassuming looking woman, dressed in a thick blue winter coat with a cherry red hat, called out lowly, with urgency in her tones, "Isabelle, can we go to tea, isn't your working hours almost over for today?" At those words, Isabelle dashed out of her study, with an alarming haste, the scent of orchids around her had only intensified.

Intrigued, Milne half watched the situation unfold, but nothing seemed to happen. The women merely glanced at each other, and Isabelle, turned on her heel, and locked the door of her study, with an old-fashioned key, and then two figures flitted through the silent space.

Shuffling footsteps came forward, and Oliver's raspy, pipe-clouded voice said questioningly, "Shift change as they say in the troops. Good evening, Professor, shall we go again next week, to play checkers?"

Milne, nodded to Oliver, and that withered camel-like statistician smiled, with yellowed teeth, and said in musing tones, " And perhaps a cup or two of warm cider, or mulled wine. Do I have pleasure to see you and missus Milne at the church later, as there are choir and carols to be enjoyed. It is exceedingly unfortunate how that Cambrain, promise now seems to have failed, as those beastly huns have done a successful counterattack. Then of course there is this recent news of the Halifax tragedy, which is terrible in its own right, that collision of two ships, Norwegian, SS Imo and French cargo ship, SS Mont-Blanc, which was full of extremely sensitive explosive, TNT, as well as picric acid, the highly flammable fuel benzol and guncotton, as reported by the press, also internationally. All those dead, and blasted buildings, rebuilding is going to take a long time, I think. This is truly a national tragedy, on a large scale, and help has been received across provincial borders. My nephew, who is a doctor, he works at the site, amid the ruin, and rubble. His most recent, letter, and not to mention the newspaper headlines and photographs, of that huge explosion cloud that darkened the sky, make shocking reading, truly it does. It almost overshadows the announcement that on the same day the United States declared war on Austria -Hungary, and that speech by Woodruff Wilson, it was absolutely capital!"

Intrigued, Isabelle glanced at Madeleine as they sat at their usual table in Helene's cafe, a pot of tea in front of them filled with the soft scent of a slightly honeyed dark tea with a slight hint of cinnamon. Teasingly, Isabelle remarked in a low voice, "Where's the fire? You've also been invited to Dorothy's next do, I assume? The world won't come crashing down if you have to buy a new gown, I think the moths may have eaten the one you've been wearing for the last few winters, at least I hope so!"

But that little hearty, light laugh that Isabelle was angling at didn't come, as Madeleine glanced at Isabelle, gravely, thoughtfully, as she said, " You're right, I really need a vacation, because I really think I'm seeing delusions. I must be overworked, because before I came to you I fancied I saw Claire walking down the street of Kingsport, but when I turned to look behind me she was no longer there, of course, there is no reason for her to be here, for it would be quite inconceivable."

Isabelle, thoughtfully fingering the edges of the narrow rose-trimmed silver spoon, as she stifled the slight sting in her heart that arose from Madeleine's words, as she replied, with calculated lightness, "Well, if for some reason she were here, then it would be a real Advent miracle, but more likely you only saw Dorothy, in quick passing, for I gather they look very much alike?"

Madeleine's silence was eloquent, and it was broken by a heated argument between two customers of the cafe, " I'm not saying at all that Jeannette Ranking's words were not in place, and Rankin has done a lot for the Women's Movement, but how dare she claim that, pacifism is for women the only and only form of influence?" Poppycok, dearest! Emma Goldman is in prison, and the influencers of our movement are doing everything they can, at different levels of society, and so is Rankin, at her first Congress term, although I don't like her Republican Party, it is said that she argues strongly, and this is Rankin's quote, which my friend sent me, with a telegram; " he vote we are now to cast is not a vote on a declaration of war. If it were, I should vote against it. This is a vote on a mere technicality in the prosecution of a war already declared"

Isabelle, grinned and said, "Well, at least now we know what might be the topic of conversation at Dorothy's at the New Years, too." Madeleine, looked up from her tea and said gently, with her usual brisk way, "You may very well be right."

Isabelle noted, "I think you have quite a backlog of unused vacation days if you want to go on vacation at some point. If necessary, I can handle your shift at the Music library, because luckily our archive systems are similar." Madeline's face brightened as she nodded, once.

A light, the color of pale watery honey, seemed to surround the Redmond Music Society´s Library one December morning, very uncharacteristically, as Claire carefully walked up the narrow snow-cleaned and salted stairs. On the large doors hung a rich wreath of colorful silk ribbons and holly-ivy twined, the door jamb was very cold under Claire's glove, as with an effort she flung the door open, and stepped into a high, beautiful, space, which the money of her Gardiner cousins had supported.

It was extremely strange to be in Kingsport again, as everything was so staid and small and dark, in comparasion to seemingly endless hubbub of Venice. Life in the splendid Gardiner Hall was quiet, but it was clear that that splendor was decaying, because quietly, there were empty places of paintings on the walls where there had been paintings before, rooms were being closed. Adeline avoided her as she was busy with her errands, Dorian was eager but cautious, as he asked his questions, about her time in Venice, with an innate flair, and with a thoughtfulness that had a distinct Valentine tinge, Roy was buried in his account books, but the youngest sister, Dorothy, had been a pleasant surprise, as they had walked along the snowy paths of the garden of Gardiner Hall under a plum-hued sky.

Dorothy, had glanced at Claire out of the corner of her eye, and said, "At New Years, I'm having a little party in my humble home, only friends, you're most welcome to attend there and otherwise, for I think, and I know, that temporary lodging at the dear, Hall may not suit you."

Claire, had smiled, remembering Madeleine's letters, and had replied, warmly, "Thank you for the invitation, little cousin, I would be more than happy to attend." At those words, impish flare had kindled in Dorothy´s eyes as she had only smiled in response.

Shaking herself out of her thoughts, Claire cautiously looked at the hall dividing the large black-and-white checkered floor, the rows of photographs, and the ajar door, from which seemed to be heard, oddly enough, the strains of Italian baroque music, Vivaldi, if she wasn't completely mistaken, hearing that pure music here was like being in the midst of vertigo, and then Vivaldi died down, and the unknown singer, started again, as she sang, in low and soothing golden-caramel tones, in clipped maritime accent, following ballad like lyrics, as the tinkiling of ivories were faintly heard

Kiss my lips, and Softly say:

"Joy, sea-swept, may fade to-day;

Love alone will stay."

Claire found herself gaining courage from those words as she cautiously walked forward. The greenish door was half open as Claire stopped in the doorway. Madeleine was there, only a few feet away, her hair in a messy bun, and a few gray strands glinting in the light, and she had an ink stain on her cheek, and she was wearing a bluish dress, the same one that was in the little photo that was still in Claire's nightstand drawer at smallish crimson suite at Gardiner Hall.

Madeleine wrote, unhurriedly, a veritable forest of forms seemed to have grown on her desk, and it had almost buried the row of ink bottles under it. And in the corner, there was a greenish flash, Claire was surprised to recognize her old heirloom mirror, and the teapot from which they had always drunk tea together after their walks. Controlling the trembling of her hands, Claire knocked cautiously on the door, and without looking up from her notebook, Madeleine replied in an amused tone that was almost motherly, "Alice, someone still hasn't returned those Dvořák Biblical Songs sheet music you were looking for last week, but I'm sure they'll show up before long."

Claire carefully stepped over the creaking threshold, closing the door behind her, as she said, quietly, "I'm not Alice."

Claire, noticed Madeleine look up. In the flickering light, Madeleine's face was the color of old ivory as she quietly whispered, " Then, it was you."

And then, almost timidly, Madeline walked up to Claire and looked at her for a long time, almost searchingly, and then, with the utmost care, touched an ink-stained fingertip to Claire's equally trembling fingers, as tears streamed down her cheeks, in small glistening rivulets, in that moment, there were no words, only longing, unspoken questions and the echo of lost years seemed to echo around them, like silent shadows.

Ingelside's living room smelled of warm cider and pancakes, as well as Christmas cake, as a couple of hours earlier Rilla had with Susans approval baked for her brothers and the Junior Reds' next meeting. In front of blazing hearth, Anne Blythe read Di's latest letter, which had arrived two days before, with great interest.

Dear Mumsy!

Thank you very much for your kind words, but I don't want to discuss the topic any further. Life here at Primrose Hollow is very busy, the predominant scent being fresh potato pancakes, (which I made earlier using Alice's recipe that she gave me some time ago), the letter varnish that Nan has melted on Jerry and Faith's letters, and warm apple cider with a dose of nutmeg.

Although it's a bit amusing to think that Aunty Pihl would ever argue with anyone, it's certain that Auntie Jimsie had a lot of trouble with you, if not with you, at least with all three strong willed and opinionated cats. It's extremely busy here, you know the reason as that Halifax indicent is every topic of conversation. It has drown under it even current war-news, and that itself is almost impossible feat to achive. I was in the library, studying, for Milne's upcoming exam, when it happened. I later heard that somewhere in Redmond, as a result of the pressure wave, windows had been broken.

Professor Milne is enthusiastically organizing a charity concert, and he has asked me to join the committee. As a result, the times when I'm not in class, I'm scouting performers, all over Kingsport, even from the theater, (don't tell Susan, because she would be appalled) and playing the piano in various rehearsals. This looks like it's going to be quite a promising, albeit small-scale spectacle. All of us lasses here at Hollow are doing our part. The special thing is that Nan has promised to recite something in public, I've been teasing her that she could do " Maidens vow," as you did, in your performance at White Sands, but Nan just mumbled something indistinct and went off to rummage through the extensive poetry shelves of Redmond's library.

And now for other news, I received an extremely interesting letter from Persis, apparently she has an acquaintance who sends detailed information about the situation in Quebec, because Quebec is the heartland of Laurier's party, and here too opinions are flying about the upcoming elections around December 17th, conveniently just before Christmas.

If this is my last letter to you before we meet again, as always,

I remain your loving daughter,

Di.

Ps. Tell Rilla that Irene Howard is allergic to prunes.

Anne raised her voice over Jims cheerful, bubbly, laughter and Gertrude Oliver's seasonal piano playing, and said, "My dear Rilla, Di wants to tell you that apparently Irene Howard is allergic to prunes, even in dried form."

Suppressed hilarity flashed in Rilla's eyes as she replied, "I know, as Irene is infuriating at times making sure every, every time there are no plums in any of the offerings, it almost always drives us all into rages, except Una, as she has the patience of a saint."

Susan, carried the tea-tray into the drawing-room, and at the same time drove Jekyll out, saying in a grim way, " Howards, truly. Do you know, Mrs. Doctor Dear, that I strongly doubt Howards would support Laurier over Borden, for I saw Clive Howard pasting Laurier's campaign poster against the wall of a town hall, seeing that utter abomination I let the young man hear a fiery sermon about the right kind of politics, Borden all the way, in a style that would surely have suited Norman Douglas better than I. Clive Howard claimed it was work related to his VTC service, but I doubt it, because of course he would say that, wouldn't he?"

Gertrude, Oliver said gravely, "All autumn the atmosphere has been very tense, and God knows how the next election in the Union will turn out. Laurier and Borden supporters are almost at each other's throats, even here, at Glen and Lowbridge. In Quebec the French-Canadian minority is seething, or at least it is rumored. But are rumours to be counted in these times, at all."

Susan said briskly, "It's no use counting chickens before they're hatched. I trust every patriotic member of the Empire will do the right thing, but in the meantime, let's have a taste of the cake that Rilla did bake with such an ease. Little Kitchener will have a piece too, for he recovered so nicely from his last attack of croup. I hope, that he doesn't have pro-Greman blood in his veins, for we don't know very much about Jim Anderson's family."

Rilla glanced at Susan, and said with severe italics, "Susan!"

Anne laughed heartily, and for a moment Ingleside again glowed with homely bustle, as light local gossip and Junioir Red antics were recounted once more, with relish, in a style not seen for weeks.

A delightful cacophony surrounded Gilbert as he arrived from a consulting visit from Lowbridge, where he had collaborated with Dick Parker. Theresa Parker had played the piano, in the parlor with fleeting grace, there had been an unhealthy pallor on her features. Thoughtful, but at the same time relieved by the healthy, lively color of Anne's face and the starry brightness of her eyes, Gilbert pressed a small kiss to Anne's rich, fragrant hair, that scent was lily of the valley, as it ever had been so, and it still meant home to him surely, as the homey warmth of Ingelside. There was lingering scent of hyacinths as they were in formation in silver vase, in front of Walter's photo. Rilla's laughter rang out clearly as Jims embraced Rilla with fiercness, as he said, " Little moons were so pretty, almost as pretty as you, Willa. Are they still there, haven't they just disappeared?" Hearing Jims words, Anne picked Jims up in her arms and said gently, "Jims, tomorrows always come again, just like the stars and the moonlight too." Jims frowned and said in a stubborn tone, "But what if not?"