Cold fog shimmered. It rose from the torn, churned ground like curtain. Sky was slategray.
It was 05.00 am on 21st August 1918.
Dark, torn black dirt that seemed to go on forever, tracks of tanks, under the dirt,whole regiments, in pieces, on both sides. And there, as a silvery ribbon bend of the river that had had its fatal echo, the Somme.
An indescribable commotion echoed somewhere, nearby instinctively Jerry ducked for cover, and a private next to him muttered a curse in a low voice. Jerry took a deep breath, but his hand was steady as he touched his weapon, it didn't shake.
The men around him looked at the landscape unfolding in front of them from mist, with varying expressions, some were numb, others mildly eager, but only mildly, because those who took risks died faster than others. Death would come anyway, but when it would never be known, perhaps today?
The crowd around Jerry was electrified. Everyone did a textbook perfect pose, with military accuracy, as was custom by now, it was rote. A polished form that didn't have to be thought about anymore.
The thunder of the cannons only increased, from the direction of Albert.
Ahead, Jerry saw tanks rolling into the theater of war, of Somme he recognized, new Whippet and Mark V tanks.
Jerry's section of CEF was part of, British Third and Fourth Armies did commence offensive operations, in the same location that had been so fatal to Allies earlier in the spring of 1918, somewhere there was also Courcelette, along the flowing Somme.
There was cover fire, creeping, creeping artillery barrage along the front, in a steady rhythm. In a faint way, Jerry recognized the steady tapping of their machine guns, the boys were in a hurry, as Jerry crept through the damp fog, following the rest of the group, nerves on edge, ready to shoot every shadow he saw.
The soil of the Somme stuck to his boots, as Jerry waded through it, through countless sacrifices, his mood was coolly grim, not bloodthirsty, although the ecstasy of battle was hobbled many of his comrades, for here crystallized so many injustices.
The hours passed, the battle raged, fiercly.
Automatically, Jerry loaded his rifle with numb fingers, and wiped the bayonet clean of blood. The sadows, his enemies shivered, noisless into the soil of Somme, like fallen leaves. Bullets whizzed, they almost moaned. They were payback from Walter, every one of them. The king's shilling was a heavy price, a blood price that was paid at every step.
The wind picked up, and the bend of the Somme sparkled.
Gasping, Jerry wiped his face with a muddy, bloodstained hand. In the hum of the wind, Jerry could hear an unreal flute playing, and in the golden light of Somme front gleamed. And the enemy, German Second Army retreated, slowly.
Afterwards, exhausted and numb, the privates who were still alive did what they could to relax, after the intense attack, all day in the killing fields. The rum circulated, Jerry noticed that Private Simmons' tattoo needles were back in use. Blue-gray cigarette smoke was thick in the air, it almost covered the smell of blood and gunpowder. There were blood-stained bandages around the limbs of some of the privates.
One of them nodded to Jerry as he passed and said, "Reverend, we survived, again. Can you say a few words to Tilling, while our military chaplain is busy?"
Jerry glanced in the corner where Tilling's stork-like figure stood stiffly. And with careful steps Jerry approached Tilling, who met Jerry's sympathetic gaze with his own staring, slightly introverted green gaze. Tilling whispered, " Thou shalt not kill. What do you make of that Commandment now? We've broken it, we're breaking it. We sin, here, to our fellow men."
Helplessly, Jerry glanced at his own bloodstained hand. He tried to find words that would help Tilling, but he couldn't find them, because the truth of the words that the other soldier had said, the truth of them was painful. Finally he said, "Mercy is infinite, I want to believe so and even though our hands are bloody, it is a justified act. We are fighting for our existence, otherwise the alternative would be annihilation."
A narrow grin appeared on Tilling's pale, cracked lips as he remarked, "As it is told in Matthew 24.6–7 and Mark 13.7–8."
Jerry frowned as he replied, "The Book of Revelation is useful to many, but I wouldn't necessarily interpret our circumstances from it, even though it is quite Hellish here."
Private Craddock, raised his rum ration in the air, and declared, "We've got them on their way, and tomorrow it's on once again."
Jerry touched the inside pocket of his military jacket, there were Nan's letters, tied with her pink silken hair ribbon. Jerry remembered especially one of Nan's clear, perceptive visions of life on the home front, all Glen's little disputes. Cautiously, he fanned out the letters, looking for what he had been thinking. The creamy letter was a perfect contrast to Jerry's stained uniform as he spread the sheets on his knee as he drowned into Nan´s curlicued words, yearning to escape.
Private Gerald Meredith
ID: 1130155
CEF
France.
June, 1918
Ingelside
Dearest, Earlier today after the service, your father cornered me with a few books, all related to early Christianity in Rome. Nemoralia is coming up in August, when I mentioned it to Di, her expression turned thoughtful, and a little later I noticed how engrossed she was in one of Walter's letters. I think that these two things might have a causal connection, because I remember that at one point my brother was interested in the different seasonal celebrations of Ancient civilizations, and their transformations related to Christianity. In another life, my brother might have studied theology if he hadn't loved poetry, and the written word above all else.
I can confess to you that I am surprised at how grown up little Rilla is, which is only natural since she is almost 19. She and Mumsy have become much closer as a result of our time in Redmond, which is understandable. And she, Rilla, I mean, she has become a very efficient manager, and she runs the local Junior Reds, with flair, she doesn't really get involved in the arguments between the girls, but tries to stay above them. Of course there are exceptions.
Her little war with Irene Howard, still going on. Di has taken part in it with quite relish, which has been interesting to notice. Alice is in Lowbridge, so there is no one who understands Irene, because they have sometimes worked together, and I remember Alice saying that Irene is easily handled if the conditions are right. But really, who would want wrangel any person from House of Howard! The mind simply boggles!
My stay at home has been longer than I expected. Dads is drowning in work, there is a quite virulent and peculiar strain of flu, circling around. Please my love, will you be careful?
Beside me, Di enthusiastically reads Dumas, Valois romances. Yesterday she received a letter, I noticed that my twin seemed happy. Mumsy tried to start a conversation about the sender of the letter, but Di was demure, of details, as she sometimes can be. And in the kitchen, Susan is rattling her dishes. Dinner is starting to smell, fried chicken, apparently.
I have spent several hours in the place where we said our goodbyes. I find myself walking our usual routes, around the Glen, and sometimes even the Four Winds way, and every blade of grass is its own memory of you. About us, and what we will build together, according to our promises. I have several plans and dreams that I need you to fulfill. Your ruby hangs around my neck, as always, I haven't taken it off once since I got it from your father by proxy. I'm waiting for your hallowed ring to give the necklace a companion when at last we can declare our love, to the whole world.
You smiled at me, you kissed my hands in the scented mist of fir trees, and I don't think you know how my pulse rose when I felt the touch of your lips on my skin, and for a small moment I wavered in my firm convictions, as suddenly, yearning was flaring in my veins. But instead of being Delilah, to your Samson, I only smiled at your passionate words when you tried to clarify your thoughts to yourself as well. I have returned to that moment often in my dreams, and in my journals, because writing helps to structure my reality. This chaotic mess where random encounters are suddenly negative, even among villagers, here.
It's strange that Glen seems to have shrunk, I didn't expect that to happen. But on the other hand, I've lived with my own schedule over Redmond, and here in Ingelside rhythm of life is strongly determined by Dads words, especially now.
Fortunately, Ingelside's bookshelves are wide, and the weather has remained beautiful, because if I didn't get to walk in nature, to do communion with it, I'd be climbing the walls.
Rilla's laughter radiates, and just now Di changed the novel to the piano. Sparkling music, with severe undertones of heartache, shimmers, and I wonder once again, where exactly does my beloved twin find these notes? They are almost distressingly apt.
You are in my thoughts, every moment, Jerry. Here's a small snapshot from home, from the middle of the homefront to somewhere over there, where you are, hopefully safe, among other soldiers, far from the dangers of an active attack.
Loving you forever,
your
Nan
Suddenly, a silver gray flask was pushed in front of Jerry and a voice said, "Meredith, your sweethearts letter is all well and good, but today we all walked the halls of hell and won, despite the losses. So, take it and drink. Sometimes principles can be bent."
Jerry, sniffed as he recognized the spicy and molasses scent of the rum. And glancing around he noticed that everyone was looking at him, so, ears red, Jerry took a small sip, not even a quarter of a gill, which was the usual dose. Rum seared his mouth, and sinuses and he coughed.
There was good-natured laughter, and general joking, and then as usual someone started humming, If You Were The Only Boche In The Trench, Fred Karno's Army.
His blood heated with rum and survival, Jerry with flushed face, and finally with shaking hands, as the shakes, started to come, slowly, as Jerry tried retired to rest. The promise contained in Nan's letter came to his dreams, of warless tomorrow and them, their lovely golden future.
Doctor Parker's house, old rambling affair in Lowbridge was quiet, the furniture gleamed and the light scent of lemon was over everything. On the small table was the morning mail, a few circulars, from the Lowbridge Ladies' Society, addressed to Mrs Dick Parker, front post, a letter from Andy. Will wrote less often. On top of the piano was a pile of sheet music, and on the music stand was an open sheet of music that read, Bellini - Adelson e Salvini - 'Dopo l'oscuro nembo'.
Alice carefully stopped at Papa's study door and knocked. Dick Parker's voice was muffled as he replied, "Ach, komm rein, liebe Nachtigall!"
Alice, slipped in, carrying in her hands a tray with a bluish teapot and two thin teacups, their greenish porcelain glistening in the dim light.
Dick Parker looked up from his notebook and said in his gentle gruff way, "My child, you didn't fight your way to Redmond, years ago to give up now. You've been an invaluable help, to me, but now it's time to move on. She wouldn't want you to abandon your dreams, or other aspirations neither."
Cautiously, Alice poured tea, and held out cup, giving her time to gather her thoughts. Finally she replied, "What do you mean? My studies are over, in Redmond. Where do you think I should go?"
In the bright light of the morning, Dick Parker's face looked gray, and wan there was gray in his reddish hair and mustache, it was clearly visible. Dick, cleared his throat and said lingeringly, "Last week I happened to run into Gilbert Blythe, we did a consultation together. He mentioned that the twins were going back to Kingsport, at least for a while, to do Red Cross work there. Could you consider going with them if you like?"
With a slight fond smile on his lips, Dick glanced at his youngest daughter. Alice sat straight, in her black dress, her face serious, clearly dismayed, or deep in thought.
Dick added, "I'm sure there are people you can live with, in Kingsport. Things like this are going to work out one way or another. I want you to do what makes you happy, over-sacrifice has never been your style and I can't stand it more than that."
Dick noticed how Alice's slender fingers trembled as she cut even slices from žemlovka, sweet bread pudding with dried apples and raisins, spiced with cinnamon, the smell of which had been wafting from the kitchen for a few hours. The smell of the dessert combined with the malty scent of the tea, was alluring.
Finally Alice looked up and said, "It seems I have a bit to reflect on, then."
Alice playfully embraced Papa, and was relieved to find that his shoulders under the slightly worn housecoat were as bearish as before, despite his appearance and the deep shadows under his eyes. In his gruff way, Dick, said, "Run a long now. Go to Glen, it should be safe to do so at the moment. Let me return to my work."
With a fleeting smile, Alice planted a light kiss on Papa's cheek and scapered, leaving behind a light scent of honey and nutmeg.
A little later, as the uplifting romantic strains of Strauss's Morgen echoed, in the living room. Dick wiped his eyes and uttered, "Our child will find its way, I'm sure, as you did my love. How I miss you. And this song brings you so close."
Alice Parker glanced toward the fork in the road. There Glen loomed, Una and others. The ripeness of August sparkled everywhere. Wide fields nearby are heavy, with golden, tawny harvest. Busy Glenians are everywhere, over fields. Carter Flagg, Norman Doulgas, his voice raised in booming argument, with handful of Crawfords and Kirkes. There is even, pale and wan Clive Howard, doing his bit, with half of his VTC volunteers with him, doing the heavy lifting.
A vigorous figure wearing overalls is tying the slats with fierce vigor. She leans on a pitchfork. Her hair is covered by a soft blue scarf, the ends of which fly in the gentle wind. Alice walks to the edge of the field, and raises her voice, to effortless resonance, "Hello, Mary Vance."
Mary Vance's pale blue eyes squinted, as she straightened her back, and exclaimed, in her brassy, bossy manner, "I'd bet there's no gathering in Lowbridge with as much spirit as we do now. Alice, what brought you to the Glen now?"
Alice remembered what Una Meredith had once remarked in passing, "Mary Vance likes plain dealing, so if ever your paths cross, be straight with her. She can be overbearing, but she has quite way with her Mary does."
Smiling slightly, Alice replied, "Papa, ordered me out of our house, and he let me know that walking in the direction of the Glen is now allowed."
Mary Vance, swung her pitchfork in an arc and said sharply, "Well, a pair of hands is always needed, or are you the same kind as the Ingelside girls, none of whom are seen here."
Minne Clow and Olive Kirke walked hand in hand along the road, and cast long glances at the youths wearing VTC uniforms.
Mary Vance snorted as she noticed Clive Howard waving a colorful handkerchief at Olive Kirke.
Mary Vance cast a sly glance in Alice's direction and remarked, "Perhaps you could soften Irene up a little if you see her at the Glen. She has been quite troublesome lately, even to the point of making Una nervous, and you know what a saint Una is."
Alice nodded thoughtfully.
Then Mary Vance added, cautiously, "I hear Di Blythe's been getting a lot of letters from Kingsport. Maybe the wedding bells will chime for her in time, too, which I never thought I'd see, not after what I happened to witness last summer season, behind Glen's schoolhouse, some such lassie nonsense, kissing games, without a boy. Well, I guess there weren't any boys around, there always aren't, as most of our lot is away at war."
Alice, startled and to cover it up, she said soothingly, "Just like you said, Mary, kissing games, of all sorts."
Mary Vance, shot a sharp look in Alice's direction and remarked, "That milk and honey routine doesn't work for me, I'm too hard boiled. I'm just saying that people see what they want to see, logical explanations everywhere until there aren't any."
A sudden coldness, shook Alice's shoulders despite the warmth of August, as Mary Vance turned neutrally and said, "This is only as friendly advice, I'm sure you understand." Whistling, strains of Aurelia, Mary walked back to her task, leaving troubled Alice standing on the reddish road.
Alice clearly remembered that sveltering evening when it had been too humid to sit in the shade bluebell woods, because it had been too far. Di had in her impish way remarked, "It's shady behind Glen's schoolhouse, for the branches of the old silver willow almost slant the ground, and there's a wide bench where we can eat, for you packed in your usual way too much food, for such short stroll."
Di's fingers had been stained with ink. Her lips had tasted a little like strawberry jam, not cherry this time. Alice had rested on the gray bench, as Di had whispered in her ear roughly, "When Glen's schoolboys played kissing games at recess, I tried to avoid it, but I always couldn't. I closed my eyes, I imagined, something indescribable, already at that time."
Alice had softly remarked, "It was a pleasure to be there, fulfilling a long-planned dream, then. You were persuasive, but seriously speaking, if anyone happened to see." Shadows had danced over Di's features, as she had murmured, "Yes."
Vivid memory of those light, strawberry-flavored kisses of Di´s had been surprising, as surprising as Mary Vance's words, which had been a shock. Alice hurriedly walked with reddened cheeks up the Upper Glen road, towards the Glen town hall.
Cautiously, Alice stepped inside, and almost immediately she met Irene Howard's self-conscious gaze. That wide deep blue gaze seemed slightly reserved, even haunted, unusually open, without social airs, and calculating cattiness.
The beautiful piano glistened in the light, its reddish-brown cover shimmered.
Everything was still.
The two blonde girls in their black mourning clothes just looked at each other in deep silence. Finally, Irene said stiffly, "My condolences on your loss." Alice, nodding in her lofty way, said, quietly emphatically, "Likewise."
Irene sighed.
And curiously, Alice walked closer and inquired, cautiously with her particular way of gossamer deftness, which she usually did not use with anyone but Nan and Irene, "If you want to talk, can I listen?"
Alice found Irene's shiny oval nails biting into her fingertips, as she murmured, "The house is so empty without her. There's only two of us left, rattling around there. Why is social and the purient sympathy of the neighbors so hard to bear?"
Alice, placed a comforting hand on Irene's shoulder.
Irene froze, but then a fingered hand as long as Alice's own lightly squeezed her hand.
Alice in a faint way noticed that Irene's hair smelled like tuberoses, and that same perfume that Christine Stuart Dawson had been wearing brought a heady feeling to the pit of Alice's stomach, and carefully, Alice loosened her grip, wanting distance, her eyes falling on the piano.
Irene's expression was questioning as Alice said, "Maybe you want to practice something together?"
A slight smile appeared on Irene's lips as she nodded eagerly, as she said honeyedly, more in her usual style, but Alice had already seen the cracks in Irene's armor, "I'll choose first, you can take what's left."
For about an hour the music shimmered in that townhall, a jumbled set. Then Irene cast a calculating look in Alice's direction, as she remarked, "We once performed a trio of Carmen. I've often wondered since how you might play with Chanson Boheme, would you like to try?"
The challenge was thrown.
Amused, Alice glanced at Irene, the other girl seemed genuinely interested though.
With a delicate shrug Alice concentrated, remembering all the advice she had been given. Soon fatal, notes split the air, as Alice´s creamy golden voice shimmered, in those well-known seductive, playful verses.
Irene remarked, "You've evolved, you're not as scared as you used to be."
Stunned by this analysis, Alice gasped, "What do you mean?"
Irene replied seriously, "Before, you seemed afraid, you were not completely with yourself on stage, you were a little unsure, little things, a touch of hesitation, here and there, but there is no trace of that anymore. You have become quite good, maybe even a challenge for me , or you would be if we had the same voice register."
Alice chuckled in surprise as she remarked, "Irene, you can always be counted on to put things in perspective, in your own way."
Irene sniffled slightly, but unlike usually this time that gesture, did not express disapproval.
In a mild way Alice inquired, "And your brother, how is he doing?"
Irene threw a sharp look in Alice's direction and said in a honey-sharp manner, "It is completely pointless to cast your nets in my brother's direction, for he has an understanding of sort with Miss Kirke."
Alice, smiled as she answered with complete honesty, "Irene, I can assure you that I have no ulterior motives, I only asked out of curiosity. And I am ready to be among the first to congratulate them when any official news appears."
Irene nodded, in a mollified way.
And then, the door to the town hall opened again, and in stepped Di Blythe, who blinked with obvious curiosity as she saw the tableau that Irene and Alice had formed.
The calm, even slighty friendly atmosphere dissipated in an instant, as Di and Irene locked their eyes and with peculiar twisted little smile, in her lips, Irene said lightly with a sting, "Dear Diana, you came too late, we managed quite well just now without pianist, didn't we Alice? Give my best regards to sweet Rilla, and Una Meredith, whose minutes from the last meeting of the Junior Reds are not as effective as they could be." And with that, parting shot, Irene rustled away.
The silence seemed to pulsate.
And all too clearly Alice felt a blush rise to her face, as Di pointed out, quietly, "You've moved on to Irene now, haven't you? Odd thing your letters didn't say anything about that, a Howard's such a low bar."
In faint voice, Alice murmured, "Diana, don't be absurd, you know very well that this was a chance encounter."
Impishly Di grinned, an irresistible Blythe smile, at Alice, as she said, " You walked into that, I could not resist the temptation, though it was poor form to do so."
Di studied Alice carefully and slightly worried. She seemed even more delicate than before, but there was also a sense of dimness in her, even grayness in places. Grief and sorrow did not elevate her. It was hard to be suddenly so close, without warning, after all that had passed, so Di was stunned into silence, after that bit of teasing. Alice said gravely, "Thank you for your letters, they have helped." Di, nodded weakly.
Alice, walked over to the piano, and played one shimmering scale. The notes almost seemed to dance. Di leaned against the piano with a straight back, and glanced at Alice, who said quietly, with intent, "I met Mary Vance when I came here, we talked a little. She is very astute, and knowledgeable, of all things, it seems." Di, laughed carelessly, as she remarked, "Mary Vance imagines she knows all about how things are run here, and is not shy to say it, if she is given even half a chance to do so."
Alice threw a straight look in Di's direction as she remarked, "Nevetheless, she surprised me with her knowledge. Apparently she happened to pass by Glen's schoolhouse one evening last summer, she only gave mild warning, nothing more. I gather that before coming to Glen she has lived quite colorfully, there are still traces of that to be seen, in her."
Di, stilled. It wasn't flight and freeze stance, not nearly, but close. With effort Di choked out a sound that could have been a shocked murmur. Suddenly Mary Vance's searching, appraising eyes made sense. Di had imagined it was just typical Mary Vance attentiveness, but that wasn't the whole truth. The silence deepened again, and in faint voice, Di murmured, eventually, "Thank you for telling me."
The look in Alice's violet tinted eyes was appraising, but warm, no longer distant, as she said, "I gather you have received several letters, from Kingsport, from certain thespian, I gather?"
A sunny smile lit up Di's features as she glanced dreamily at the piano and said, "Yes." A whole hidden world of meanings was in that little word.
Alice, gathering her thoughts, said, "I'm glad for you. Papa suggested I come with you and Nan to Kingsport, if that's all right with you?"
A steady look in her vivid eyes, Di nodded, as she replied, "Why not. So Sue's original plan will come true, we'll spend some more time together, all of us. How many letters do you owe Madeleine, I wonder?"
Alice, crossed her fingers, as she answered evasively, "I've tried to write to her, but the words won't come."
Di, observed astutely, "Madeleine is patient. I predict all it takes is two pots of tea for you to sit down with her and open your heart. How are they doing over there, I suppose?"
The August heat wave punished Kingsport, so much so that even the roses were wilting, and as the evening dim fell over that old coastal fortress city, it barely made difference.
Isabelle, glancing inquisitively at Madeleine, casually inquired, "Well?"
Madeleine put her teacup down on the worn table. Her voice limpid with warm humor, as she replied, "Well, as you can see, I'm back from Muskoka´s wilderness."
There was a watchful look in Isabelle's pale green eyes. And like thousands of times before over the years, Madeleine felt that if she wanted to, Isabelle could be more than formidable, if one crossed her.
Madeleine smiled lightly, as she continued, "The walking routes were delightful, and the weather held fair. We had quite time there, away from, well. It was needed."
There was a rougish twinkle in Isabelle´s eyes as she remarked, "Sure, I can well believe it. All that fresh air, and exploring unknown paths, together, all those trees, clear water lakes."
Madeleine choked.
Isabelle's auburn hair was pulled up into a braided crown as she said in a calculatingly innocent tone, "Or was I wrong?"
Madeleine threw a napkin at Isabelle, she dodged it laughing softly.
An expectant hush had fallen on Helene's café.
Winnie stood, slim, shapely, silhouetted, amid the bluish shadows, shadows coloring her skin a faint rosy hue, as Winne declaimed almost in an everyday tone, affirmatively, but then as the song progressed, the tone changed, and the psychological pain of love's loss surfaced, as a cutting, furious one that bubbled under, her calmness, like a hurricane.
Winnie crossed her arms, with sleek charm. That one move seemed to underline both loneliness and loss. Her voice shimmered, sharply resonant, with haunting tearful raspiness.
The audience was completely motionless and silent.
Afterwards, after an almost stunned silence, Madeleine whispered, to Isabelle, "Winnie is on quite a roll today, there won't be a dry napkin in the audience soon." There weren't, either.
Other side of Kingsport, Claire, turned as the key turned in the lock, rattling.
The attic apartment was bathed in candlelight, as Madeleine said, "Everyone was in fine form today, they send their love. You shouldn't have waited, it's late."
The look in Claire's dark eyes was serious, as she replied softly, "This heat wave doesn't bother me, it's homey, besides, you needed this night out. It's not good if you're too wrapped up in things, like you sometimes do."
The thin old-fashioned summer gloves slipped into their box, and the shoe spoon clattered, as Madeleine, hummed her assent, all the while navigating the slippery buttons of her practical shoes.
There were twelve deep red roses in the vase. The mirror reflected the flames of the candles.
The bluebell tinted dress rustled, as Madeleine stretched.
Claire held out her hand and said invitingly, imperiously, "Although I am patient, there are limits."
Shadowy contours of linen covered limbs were familiar, as they were, yet again mapped out, in a frenzy of caressess, in slow waltz of pulses, surrender and in the rhythm of rediscovery.
The morning dawn rose, always as punctual, it was waiting with its gauze, when someone died somewhere.