"Come in, come in. So good to see you, both," Rachel greeted Marilla and after a beat Josephine too. Rachel was still, it appeared, coming to terms with Marilla's motherhood. "Sit yourselves down. I'll just fetch the tea tray."

Marilla carried Josephine into the parlour and looked around. As usual the room was very neat, Rachel prided herself on her housekeeping skills. Now that she had a baby Marilla had a new appreciation for the work behind it. Raising her eyebrows she wondered just how Rachel kept up. All those children and the house was always perfect. "You know," she remarked as she took her cup from Rachel. "I'm just looking around the room and marvelling."

"At what?" Rachel looked around quizzically.

"Its neatness, and the rest of the house. Can't be easy."

Rachel looked around critically. "Has anything changed?"

Marilla laughed, "only me. The house is the same as it ever was, it's me that has altered," she glanced down at Josephine.

"Oh yes, of course, of course."

"I suppose I took it for granted, but it's a big job keeping a house full of children neat and tidy."

Rachel let out short bark of laughter, "and Josephine has barely begun."

"That's what I mean. Though my laundry has increased somewhat of late."

"Yes, of course. But she's not upending dishes or trailing toys around and discarding them in random spots. Thomas must tread quite carefully these days." Marilla regarded her friend quite frankly as she thought her future through. "Oh, it's all ahead of you my dear, but I wouldn't change a thing."

"Naturally," murmured Marilla wondering quite what she had taken on.

Pouring a second cup, Rachel enquired, "and were you happy with the christening?"

"Happier than wee Josephine, that's for sure and certain."

Rachel laughed, "that's a good thing, she sure let us know her feelings.

Marilla smiled sheepishly, "she did, didn't she."

"I wonder if she'll always be so outspoken?"

It wasn't seemly to say so, but Marilla half hoped she would be.

"I had a nice chat afterwards with Mrs McDougal. She seems like a nice woman."

"She's been very helpful, as have you," Marilla added hastily lest Rachel take offence. "It was she who suggested nursing Josephine afterwards."

"Yes, that was good advice," replied Rachel rubbing her ear at the memory, Josephine had a somewhat high-pitched cry.* "Well, I'm pleased you're getting lots of good advice. It's not easy navigating motherhood. We all need all the support we can muster." Marilla heaved a small sigh of relief. "Anything the matter?"

"Not at all, I'm happy you're not annoyed that I'm getting help from other quarters."

"Of course I am, never let it be said that I'd stand in the way of you and advice, Marilla. Takes a village and all that. No, I'm delighted there are people who'll help. Can't expect me to take on the whole burden, that's what."

Sipping her tea and taking up the cake plate Marilla asked, "and did you have a chance to talk to anyone else?"

"A few people," Rachel replied. "Oftentimes I'm really too busy to stop and chat with folks, even the neighbours. It made a nice change." She outlined the various conversations she'd had. Marilla had been unable to talk to many people as Josephine had been fussy, so this was a nice way to find out the gossip, albeit second-hand.

"Now, have you heard the news?"

Not in the habit of reading the newspapers, Marilla was ignorant; though she supposed this latest missive came from their unsettled southern neighbours. "News?"

Rachel took up the latest edition of the Avonlea Gazette and read out loud, "Confederates fired on Fort Sumter in South Carolina. U.S. Major General Richard Anderson surrendered the fort.

"Goodness gracious," ejaculated Marilla.

Squinting at the paper, Rachel continued:

Fort Sumpter which has been held by the troops of the Federal Fort against the Southern Carolinists since the secession, has fallen. Major Anderson and his forces after a gallant struggle of some forty-hour duration, in which he sustained heavy and continuous fire from the batteries of the Secessionists, which not only greatly damaged the fort but also set on fire the wooden structures within it; struck his flag and surrendered to the revolutionists.

Rachel set the paper down and looked at Marilla gravely. "There appear to be no casualties at present, but I can't see that continuing, can you? That whole country is a powder keg."

"Oh dear," replied Marilla, feeling quite sick about it all. "I wish they wouldn't come to blows over it."

"Slavery is a terrible wicked institution, Marilla."

"I know, of course it is. But still, all those people. I pray it will be resolved quickly."

Rachel took up her teacup and nodded furiously. "Naturally, naturally."

Steam curling up from his pie, Matthew beamed up at Marilla who had just placed it before him. "Looks delicious, thank you."

"My pleasure."

"So, tell me," Matthew asked. "What is this," he waved his fork in the air, "what did you call it, barmisa you mentioned the other day, you have me intrigued."

"Mitzvah," replied Gideon. "Bar mitzvah." He paused, his eyes shining in the candlelight as he recalled. "It marks the passage into adulthood." He looked across at his audience, listening raptly. "The boy must learn a passage of the Torah, the bible, he explained. "Which he presents to everyone at the synagogue. It's a big thing. You have to um, to sing it the way the Rabbi does." He sighed at the memory and smiled at them both. "It was very stressful. I had worked very diligently on it for weeks."

"Goodness, that sounds like an important affair," Marilla said admiringly. Gideon nodded.

"Sounds like my idea of a nightmare," added the shyer Matthew.

"That too. But after it's all over then everyone joins in for a big party."

"Can't say I'd enjoy that part either. Think I was better off having it done our way," Matthew remarked.

Gideon laughed, "maybe so, Matthew. Maybe so. But it was a solemn occasion for me, and then a huge relief when it was all over."

"What did you recite?" Marilla asked after a pause.

"Well, it was in Yiddish, so I won't bore you now, but I prayed for peace."

"That is always in short supply," Marilla said, feeling suddenly emotional. She got up from the table for a moment, ostensibly to fetch more water for the table, but in reality, because she needed a moment after her conversation with Rachel earlier that week. The news of those shenanigans down south took quite a lot out of her emotionally, even though it was at a remove. She smiled a mite too brightly when she returned. "And what happened next?" All that Gideon ever said about his family informed her that there were most likely rituals as there appeared to be about everything they did.

"Not much, we just sang and ate and danced until we dropped."

"You do that a great deal, it seems."

"Oh yes, life is to be enjoyed, we savour it and make the most of our celebrations. Life can be short and brutal; we make the most of the good times."

"Well, I can't fault you for that either."

Gideon smiled, "no. It's not a bad outlook is it."

"You seem a bit out of sorts," Gideon remarked later that night when it was just the two of them by the fire. "Everything alright?"

Gathering her thoughts Marilla stared into the embers while Gideon sat by her side and waited patiently. Eventually she started, "it feels like we have been living in a time of peace." Gideon stirred next to her. "Oh, I know you'll call me naïve; you'll say that there is always unrest somewhere, but it has seemed that here in North America we have been above all that. As though we left all that behind when our forefathers moved here. But I visited Rachel this week, you'll have heard more about it than I, but I do worry about the news from the States. I hate to think of fighting breaking out again."

"It's a good cause, Marilla. It's worth fighting for."

Marilla sighed and rested her head against his shoulder, "I know, of course it is. Slavery is wicked and must be stopped. I know that, but I fear the death and mayhem that's to come."

"I'll pray it won't be too awful."

"As will I," she smiled up at him. "With both of us praying, how could He ignore us?"

Gideon kissed her on the top of her head and squeezed her hand gently. "Indeed."

"It does make me glad though," Marilla added.

"Hm?"

"That you chose to come here rather than the States."

"It never was in consideration. I had always heard good things about this part of the world."

"I'm glad."

"And it only got better."

Her mood improving, Marilla cheekily enquired, "and when did that happen?"

"The day I helped a certain young lady up from the ground."

"Oh, that day," Marilla smiled. "Yes, that was a good day."

They watched the fire's embers collapse into each other until silently Gideon got to his feet and taking a firmer grip on her hand, led Marilla upstairs. Once they got to their room he murmured, "that was a good day and all the days thereafter have just gotten better." Marilla nodded her agreement as he removed her dress and undergarments.

Despite their prayers the news that came out of America only worsened. The losses on both sides were dismaying. Groups of men met at the mercantile to discuss war tactics, and hitherto unknown place names such as Sumpter, Gettysberg, and Bull Run became part of the lexicon.

Interestingly despite Marilla's initial concerns it was Gideon who was most affected. No matter where he travelled, what he sold, how he tried to divert the conversation; it all came down to the latest casualty numbers. They were devastating, men dying in droves. The papers were full of distressing details; how men died, what they died of, battle tactics, graphic pictures. It was all too much. Day after day after day the news followed Gideon around until he felt besieged himself. It did not help that he had no one to talk it through at the end of the day. He'd set up camp as usual, then lie down with thoughts of war swirling around in his mind. Came here to get away from all that, he thought. Seems worse than ever.

Eventually he found himself at home in Marilla's warm and comforting arms sobbing like a baby. "Shh, shh," she said rubbing his back, mystified for he was not usually so emotional. Initially no words came out for he could not even manage that. But eventually sat down on the parlour sofa he managed to pull himself together. "it's just so awful. And I, I don't know ketzele. I don't know if I can, if I can…" he sighed, not really sure what he was going to say next.

Marilla was worried, she'd seen him go out week after week coming home more distressed each time. "You know," she said, interrupting his train of thought. "I think perhaps you would be better setting up store here, rather than going out. I've been pondering it for a good time now. Ever since," she patted her stomach. "Always hated you going off. Worries me."

Gideon sat up straight and stared at her. "Do you really mean that?"

"I do. I suppose we'll have to change the way we manage the business."

"We?" murmured Gideon feeling heartwarmed and enveloped in love.

Marilla glanced at him her eyes narrowing, "yes, 'we'."

"Oh, I'm not criticising. I just feel so loved right now, supported."

"Always my darling. I love you, Mr Hoffer."

"As do I ketzele."

"I do like the way you call me that."

"You do? You weren't so happy the first time."

"Perhaps not, but it's our name. I've had many manglings of my usual name over the years, but only you call me kitten." She leant back as he walked his fingers up her thigh until he had her purring in ecstasy.

* My daughter's cry made the Nazgul sound like pussy cats