That particular night was dark, there were a slight brisk wind, with it living scent of freshly dug earth, and scent of machine oil and slight wiff of gunpowder. CEF forces were dotted in place in all over Lens-Arras-line holding it, in Northern France. There were minimal action, or so the dispatches said, all cranking up the Allied propaganda machine. Lt. Blythe, stretched slowly, in place, as he found that his broad blythian shoulders were stiff. The town of Bethune was somewhere nearby, in a faint way Jem recollected Walter´s melodious voice reading Dumas, under maiden birch, enthusiastically as Milady's plots were bearing fruit in certain Carmelite Convent. A faint smile on his lips, Jem pondered, Walter's eagerness, in their old golden idyll Rainbow Valley days, which in those days had been remote, even then.

Jem shook his curly reddish closecropped head, all sheared in military shortness, letting his olden memory of his beloved, lost brother to the griding slaughterhouse that had been Courcelette, to fall wayside, as another more recent memory took its place. Jem had last seen Faith, standing on the steps of her hospital, in the cold morning wind, as she had whispered in her warm, golden way, "Jem, try not to be too heroic, if that's even possible." Jem remembered that he had smiled, as he had taken Faith´s gloved hand in his own, for final caress, under the stern gaze of Head Matron, glaring at him, in most beady manner, as he had impishly saluted at her.

Then later as he traveled back to the front, his thoughts had gone round and round, for it had been extremely difficult to leave, to leave her. How warm, and willing, Faith had been, in those too short moments, in that so, shabby hotel room, and later, on the dance floor with the tunes of Auld lang syne glowing, and other soldiers also looking for a moment of oblivion, waiting, orders, subpar rations, sometimes battalion theatricals, and rats, twined with lice, - those are the viceral realities of trench-life, as were wading in blood, and mud, sometimes even up to the elbows as the drums of War still beat onwards. How, the light of the candles was reflected in Faith´s glinting caramel toned eyes, the dark red dress, it had clung to every slight curve of her form, which Jem now finally, finally knew all of them, mapping them intimately. His fellow comrades nodded, as Jem passed, with amusement Jem noticed that Edwards was once again falling for the same old trick, the youth didn't know how to play cards, at all, and most men of his Battalion fleeced him dry with great pleasure.

Then, somewhere nearby, there was a snap, as if a barbed wire fence had snapped. Immediately tensing, Jem glanced towards No Man's Land there were dark figures. They leapt, crawled, nimbly on the ground, on this side. And breathing deeply, Jem seized the bell-string, as he pulled it, the customary shrill alarm-bell did not ring. Alarmed, with his blood boiling, Jem turned, he pivoted, as he yelled, " Men, there is enemy coming down on us!" But Private Daniels that should have been in place, guarding, was lying face down, bloodless features wan, allready struck down by insidious huns. Then as in slow-motion, Jem noted that three men were bearing down on him. The sound of scuffle, was severe, but slight, steel upon steel, with surgical precision, in close quarters Jem fought, he cut, and bled, them, but then, as he staggered to the trampled earth, as he heard in faint, ecoing way few fragments of guttural german. There was a sharp crack of a gun, and everything turned white as pain blazed crimson.

Edwards, feeling alarmed, he glanced at not shaking singal-bell, in the upper-wall of a dug-out. It was still. Frowning, he went to find the ever so friendly and charismatic Lt. Blythe, who just a short time ago had walked past him, his hazel eyes shadowed, reddish stubble on his lean cheeks. Edwards noticed that an object flew in front of him, with an unerring aim, it was a German bomb. Edwards faltered, had time to take two steps before a deafening explosion was heard. It was determinated afterwards, in milky-grey light of dawn, after sharp headcount all done with top brass in place, that after quite some time enemy had returned to clever, underhanded trench raid, as the circumstaces had been optimal, weatherwise. Snipers bullet had killed Privet Daniels. There had been sings of struggle, and blood, Lt. Blythe was missing, Private Edwards, who could only be identified with difficulty as was bodies of few other Privates, they had been caught in the blast, and killed, instantly. All in all quite minimal damages for a trench raid, in grande scale of things, but still the telegrams were sent, eventually.

One sparkling green afternoon in the Glen, it was rumored that Ingelside had received a telegram. There was no uncertainty about the contents of the telegram. It was about the brilliant firstborn, adventurous, Jem, who was, as the stained, formal telegram, said " Lt. Blythe is reported to be wounded and missing in accordance to a trench raid, done by enemy."

Whispers ran through the streets of the Glen, and some of the villagers looked in the church on the first Sunday when the news had arrived, curious to Blythe's pew, where pale, wan features of Anne Blythe were briefly seen, she leaned hevily on her doting husbands arm, as they walked towards Manse.

Irene Howard, said in her honey-sweet voice, "Rilla-dearest, Jem must have died of his wounds by now, for of course you know how our enemy treats, especially Canadian soldiers, they want to pay for everything our soldiers have done to them by neglecting even the basic tenets of pow-treatment, I´m sure of it."

Rilla glanced at Irene, she turned and walked away, her back was very straight.

Betty Meade, exclaimed fiercely, "Irene, how can you say such a horrible thing to anyone, let alone a member of the Blythe family, in these most trying times that they are living now?"

Irene, glancing at her wrist where the bracelet sparkled in the sun, as she replied, rather more snappish way, than normal, " I'm absolutely sick of the fact that whenever something happens in this war that affects the Blythe family, the automatic default is sympathy for them. I want to say that other families, also in Glen, and elsewhere have suffered unspeakable pains, because of news headlines, and letters and telegrams."

Olive Kirk, looked at Irene in astonishment, and carefully remarked, "The Blythe family is important to our village community, they are one of the pillars, as are the Merediths. There is no use to be had sour grapes over it, dearest Irene." With a careful flounce Olive, nodded to Betty, as she slipped into the mingling crowd of Junior Reds, soon they were all scapered into different cornes of Glen, as there were Sunday errands to be done.

All, alone, Irene slowly walked to Glen's town hall. The large space was clean and bright. There were spring flowers in a vase on the table, and a spot of light sparkled on the cover of the reddish-brown concert grand piano. Carefully, Irene opened it, and swept the cold Ivory keys, gentle, wistful strand of melody sprang forth, it was Roses of Picardy.

Worried, a couple of days later, Clive Howard, glanced into Irene's room, as exceptionally the door was open. Her room was clean, but somehow its atmosphere felt careless. There was no longer a bottle of perfume on the table, or her carefully hoarded cosmetics, few open issues of EveryWoman was on the floor, along with a slip of crumbled letterpaper, on a soft rug. Clive put them on Irene´s table, without glancing at them, even though he fought with his curiosity. There were colorful ads in the magazines, of Canadian canned milk, and morale-boosting stories, of love all enduring, as well as practical advice on buying low-heeled shoes along with smattering of prose and poetry, with illustrations.

Clive heard the fussy voice of harried Mrs. Howard, called demandingly from the hall, "Dearest Clive, do come to attend me, the wind makes my head turn, and our stores of chamomile tea has run low."

At Carter Flagg, Clive met Una Meredith, she seemed wan and strained, as Cornelia Elliot, exclaimed, " Una, this news is absolutely terrible, my sympathies are with you, tell Rosemary that I will come to tea later this week, if she can spare the time. Has Faith written yet?"

Clive, did not hear what Una replied, to formidable Cornelia, as at that moment, Carter Flagg, said " Clive, here is your mother's tea. I saw your sister a couple of hours ago, she seemed to go very purposefully towards town hall."

Clive, put on quite a show, as he said, nonchalantly, "Well, sissy has been saying for years that our piano is inferior, so probably, she is loverling that Wyatt-creation, as she did last week, and ever since it came here."

At Ingelside, Gertrude Oliver looked at the print of the Mona Lisa painting hanging on the wall of Rilla's room, as she shivered with pain, and felt a cutting, suffocating hatred for the painting's eternal, inscrutable smile, as Rilla murmured, "I always used to think of hope as a positive thing, but now like this in the last few days, I've noticed how sly it really is. It may be weeks, or even months, before we get any definite information of Jem. The papers are full of horror stories, of treatment of pow-camps. Earlier today after church Mumsy took to her bed, Susan clatters in the kitchen, in a defiant way, still."

Soft sunlight dappled the daffodil-blooming gardens of Ingelside as Anne Blyhe glanced at Leslie's latest letter, but even the sight of that dear handwriting did not lift her spirits. Nothing did, nor Susan´s treats, or Gilbert´s loving care. Anne was once again in the depths of despair, as she had given herself this, one moment to wallow, as oblivion of dreamlessness was better than excruciating cutting pain of uncertainty.

Anne, glanced at her desk, where there was a dainty sharp paper knife with which she had cut open Leslie's letter. With her thumb, she tried the blade, for one agonizing instant, she wavered, but then a light gurgle of Jims laughter, so like Jems when he had been adored baby of House of Dreams punctured her mood. She recollected how Leslie and her had lingered over floor side by side, as little Jem had rolled over slowly as light had been sparkling like living flame over Leslies refined profile, as she had glanced with a touch of yearning in her eyes, toward Jem´s white clad form.

Slowly, Anne started to read.

Darling Anne.

The package you sent me at Christmas hangs on the wall of a room, a small shard of my past. What a wonderful intuition led you to send whatever it was, I am grateful for it. Persis has used those hair combs, a few times, with devastating effect, in our occasions here. But now for the real purpose of this missive of mine, and it is not usual social platitudes.

All of our thoughts are with all Ingelsidians, as I heard from Owen what had occurred, as Gilbert had written to him, almost at once. It may be that you are lying in hopelessness and darkness right now, feeling like you can't get up. Perhaps macabre, even twisted thoughts are running around in your mind. I feel that state with intimate fierceness, still. For there are days, even now, as vermillion tinted news flood, all the deep shadows of my past swarm around me, all those slights, innuendos and arrows that both of us, have left behind as we rose from the gray-shaded years to the light.

Please, I implore you, remember the light. You have always been creature tinted with as much as light as shadows, in your caring nature. Your friendship means has always meant me hope. Hope, in the midst of the suffocating blackness in which I was, also twined with most generous love.

And now, when you're experiencing a stabbing fear of perilous uncertainty, I want to extend my helping hand to you, as you did to me, back in the day, as I have too known that, even if my circumstances were quite different. Do not close your heart, as I almost did.

Lean on Gilbert. Don't forget each other. Pain shared is halved.

With all my love,

Leslie.

And that evening, Anne opened her arms to Gilbert as he rubbed her shoulders, and afterwards in the stillness of the bluish May night, Anne whispered, "I can't stand it. I'm trying for Rilla and Susan, but I'm afraid, our first son, in the bloody claws of Germans, Gilbert!"

Gilbert, pressed a soft kiss to Anne's forehead, and whispered, "Dog Monday, has been perfectly calm the whole time. Trust him, as Susan might say." At that Anne let out light wavering watery-kind of laugh, as she was finally, lulled to sleep to the beating of Gilbert's heart.

The smell of plum pudding was pervasive in Primrose Hollow, it invariably signaled, comfort, but none of the residents ate it. It congealed into a lump that Sue scraped out of the pot after the twins had received an extremely short letter.

And in the evenings, in the frozen days after the letter arrived, Sue noticed that Alice, occasionally glancing in Diana's direction with the utmost care, as the red-haired girl, sat tightly by Nan's side, as if waiting for more bad news in the mail, which never came.

The German spring offensive progressed, fiercely, as the villages of northern France were fought over. In the middle of all this, it was almost impossible to focus on revising for final exams, the whole of Redmond had fallen in an exam revision related hush, pale co-eds in the libraries, were walking with stacks of books, and it was rumored that Professor Milne was walking out with some librarian, or other. More than a few Cooper Prize hopefuls had been seen in a state of nervous collapse.

One morning, about two weeks after the news of Jem had arrived, Nan said sharply to Di, " Will you stop your hovering. We've had letters from home, from Rilla, Susan, Mumsy, Apart from that one of Dads, that told the news. They're trying to get through this, as are we. If there's any word, we'll hear about it."

With a slight wan smile, Di, embraced Nan tightly and went for a stroll. The verdant splendor of spring was everywhere, but as it was her custom, she avoided the park where glazebo was, all deced in verdant ivy, once more. Colorfully dressed Kingsportians were having a picnic, the swans had returned to their pond. They floated silently on the surface of the clear water.

Helene's cafe was quiet, almost empty as Di entered. Only Winnie and Helene were there, and they were talking in low voices over the counter. The scent of the apricot tea was soft, and it was combined with the with a slight scent of floury scones. Helene looked up, and inquired softly "Is there any news?" Di, put her bag down in its usual place, and lightly remarked, "There is quite persistent rumor that Milne and Isabelle are courting, because they happened to be there when one Cooper Prize hopeful was very frazzled."

Winnie, laughed in her raspy way, as she reposted, "Oh, dearest lamb of mine, the everlasting joys of college gossip, it truly is sometimes likened to a crock of gold." Di, looked seriously at Winnie, she was dressed in sleek violet dress, very modest, with a quater sleeves, and modern cut, and a sweetheart collar, there was thin dark beads around her neck, her hair was done up, in cascade of curls.

In fond way, Di asked, ""New role or not? This is not your usual look, is it."

Helene laughed softly, as Winnie replied, a little dryly, "You can blame yourself for this, for you wanted to see me in pale lavender, it was out of stock, so lilac it is. I have some sheet music with me, by the way, if you like, we can look at them if you have have time?"

Di, stirred the apricot tea in her cup, and shifted uneasily in her chair, for she remembered in a vivid way, the last time she had accompanied Winnie. At that time, the headlines of the newspapers had been full of Trebizond Peace Conference, as it had been held in place called Trebizond, somewere in the Black Sea region, between the Ottoman Empire, and a delegation of the Transcaucasian Diet.

Nameless shabby apartment had been full of shadowy figures, as the watery April sun had barely glimmered in the sky, as fragmented music had sparkled, Di had barely been able to accompany, because her tears had blurred the notes almost completely - it had been memorial for Colin.

Helene, threw an amused, but at the same time soft look in Winnie's direction as she said, somewhat archly, " Be nice, and do not run her all ragged." Winnie, only shrugged, as she replied, "I won't, much."

As Di, took her spot on the worn, hard piano bench as the song progressed Di noticed that particular brand of sultry and coy creamyness, in Winnie´s voice, had never before been so crushingly effective, as Winnie lingered upon the piano. The demure cut of her frock was somehow worse as it was undercut, the strained, fierce, throbbing challenge, of a breakdown meltingly presented. Di, found that it was a completely different thing to follow Winnie's piano performances from a distance than trying to accompany them, so close, as Winnie's hair lightly touched the musicscore, the notes of her lily perfume were clear, and too, too close, as was her nearness. Di, noticed that she was shivering, as an electric jolt, coiled in her, light strands of arousal bloomed, as the song wound into close, for a second time.

Her cheeks tinged with pink, Helene stepped forward, from the shadows, and said hoarsely, "If you do this here, in the presence of an audience, the result will be a riot, possibly, not just a lot of tips, as it is customary." Winne, stretched lazily, as she said, "I thought that Di might need something else to think about, music always helps." Di, flicked her hair behind her reddened ears, and said, "One more time, then?"

Winnie, glanced at her little wristwatch, and jumped down from the piano deck, with an impish smile she embraced Di, as she remarked, with a regretful frown, " There is no time, as I have to run along soon, but you did excellently, no one, not even Colin could have done it better."

That same evening, in the well worn cozyness of Primrose Hollow, Nan noticed that Di, looked at the piano thoughtfully, almost challengingly, with a strange sort of frevor in her greygreen gaze, as Di passed Nan, in her way to kitchen, Nan inquired gently, " Di dearest, have you by any chance changed your lily perfume to another one?" Although the question was completely innocent, Sue noticed Alice's gaze sharpen slightly as Di replied, quietly a little stiffly, "I have not."

In the blue-grey dimness of their room, Nan noticed that Di, was restlessly, turning, or was still, in an almost frozen way, and no matter how Nan listened, it didn't seem like Di was crying in the muggy stillness of their quarters. But there was light sound of light rustling, as if she was looking for something, notebook perhaps. Finally fed up, Nan whispered, "For Gods sake, if you want to write, you can. I can sleep even with your candle burning." There was a shuddering sigh, as Di replied with a peculiar wry tone in her husky voice, "All is well, go to sleep."

Two days later, Alice noticed that a familiar, dented rosecross had appeared on the table in her room, its small stones shimmering in the bright light. Softly Alice, touched the cross, but did not put it on her neck, even if she was tempted to do so.

Soft, evocative vaudeville music, mixed with the song of a woodpecker bird, from the half-open window, as Dorian Gardier, knocked on Hollow's door. Nan, opened it, and her hazel eyes widened, as she exclaimed," Dorian, you look quite like a stricken haystack." A little embarrassed, Dorian, brushed his newly shorn curls, as he muttered, "You should have heard what my Aunt Adeline said, I think a few bricks fell from the roof of the east wing of the Hall."

Nan, giggled lightly as she said, "Did you come to pick Di and Sue up for the Perennial meeting?" As Hollow fell silent, Nan went into the garden, and leaned against the trunk of the apple tree, and looked up at the spring sky, and said steadfastly, "You will let no harm happen to my brother."

In the following weeks, newspaper headlines announced the Allied battles, in Persia, and continued Jordan-Valley attacks.