Bitter frost and glistening piles of snow were everywhere, the sky was a cool frosty blue with a few lavender colored clouds. The bluish moment, the moment of transition was not far away. There was a moon low in the eastern sky. A slender bundled figure walked in the crunching snow. Di Blythe roamed restlessly all over the Glen and even into the Four Winds, but she kept out of the way of Lowbridge. Mumsy had looked thoughtfully in Di's direction at times, but she hadn't said anything. Alice had indeed done what she had promised and had gotten Gertrude a Christmas present, Di had shaken her head in amusement when Rilla had whispered on Christmas Day evening, with italics in her tone of voice, "Rosary Di, really? She´ll hate it, truly."
But when Di had glanced across the table at Gertrude, she hadn't noticed disgust in the noble features of the dark-haired woman, only something else, mild astonishment, as Gertrude's narrow pianist's fingers had carefully caressed the rosary.
On Boxing Day, the rosary had been on the table in Ingelside's other guest room on top of a lace-trimmed handkerchief, there had also been a photograph of Gertrude's fiance, Di had noticed when she had carried scented fir sprigs to each room in small vases. So, Di concluded that instead of jewelry, or sheet music, or a book, Alice had known what she was doing when she chose this. Perhaps the rosary appealed, to a mystical strain, despite the teacher's solid Presbyterianism. Di still bristled as she remembered the older woman's warnings, although they had indeed been necessary, Di was able to admit, if only to herself.
Di stopped at the snow-encrusted gate at the House of Dreams. It was pleasant to be back in Ingelside's warm embrace, but still, a slight nibble of anxiety fluttered. Ever since the foggy park encounter, with the police officers, in Autum, a gnawing fear had settled in Di's heart, which fluttered silently like a moth that never seemed to subside.
Di turned from the trodden path, into a small dense grove of scented firs that flourished near the old Moore house on cross-lots road. The silhouette of the dark house rose silent and somehow menacing, Di felt, even though it was just a house.
A little wearily, Di remembered Persis' anecdotes, about that house in past golden summers, when they had run on the reddish rocks, like two nymphs, it had felt like a treasure trove, behind every corner had been found a strange curio, or a faded piece of cloth, or a photograph. But there had also been rooms, upstairs, where Leslie had gone alone. Afterwards, Persis' expression had been closed. she had changed the subject, somewhat awkwardly, not at all gracefully, as even then had been her usual way.
Leaning against the resinous thick trunk of a bushy fir, Di confessed to herself that, she longed, yearned, for something, that feeling was like a small sharp thorn, which at regular intervals cut, sharply, cruelly.
Little Elizabeth's rich, delightful letters from Paris, which seemed to glow with the enchantment of blue evenings, and the places where Walter had restelssly roamed seemed so far away.
Di knew too clearly what Nan wished for, as subtle her beloved twin were not. At the Christmas service, Nan had glanced around and whispered quietly in a low voice, "Di, Do you notice the Over Harbor Crawford lads have come here, how nice."
And Di had glanced over the rows of pews, over the Merediths' pew and the seats of the MacAllisters and Howards, to the loft, where a serious line of slender fair youths in freshly pressed uniforms had stood stiffly, pale-faced, while Una Meredith's softly played organ music had sparkled in a dreamlike flood, and several of the Glen girls had thrown admiring glances in the direction of Crawford's lads. Di had barely stifled her sighs, for the rest of the service she was focused on the music.
A little later, in Ingelside's peace, Nan had said sharply, while folding napkins, "Di, you don't even try, unbelievable." Rilla's soft humming could be heard from the stairs and soon Rilla arrived in the living room and said calmly, "The mail arrived, quite a pile of mail - from everyone, what a lovely Christmas surprise it is! Apparently the Lewisons aren't organizing anything for New Year's this year, or so Mary Vance reported to Una and Una said it to me."
Di carefully removed her cold cheek from the rough bark, and straightening her back, she started walking towards Ingelside. Darkness had fallen, and the snow sparkled like thousands of diamonds.
Ingelside's kitchen smelled of mulled wine and cider, and Susan's sharp observations about the situation at the front and Jem's letter could be heard all the way to the living room. Gertrude softly played Auld lang syne, and the glowing, moving notes of that romantic ballad mingled to the almost too suffocating scent of white Christmas hyacinths.
Anne Blythe looked up from her teacup as Di came into the living room red-cheeked, but her eyes were shadowy and tired. So gently Anne inquired, "Was it a pleasant ramble, my dear. I will always remember how enchanting it was to wander in the last days of the old year, through the secret places of Avonlea, and gather memories and energy for the coming year."
Nan looked up from Jerry's letter, blushing, and cast a careful glance in her twin's direction as she said lightly, "Di, you have resin stains on your best coat." Di, accepted the cup of tea offered by Rilla and sat down on the floor next to the Christmas tree, and after a moment's silence she said, "Well, what is Jem writing?"
Nan, said lightly, " Ah, this and that, of course you know our brother. He apparently had a lovely time in London with Faith, last time they went dancing in a place full of romantic candles, and soldiers with their sweethearts. But it must be confessed that Jem looks so very exhausted in that photo, as does Faith, but they still seem happy. London in December seems like a dream, albeit a gray one in places. With all those various monuments and churches and sights and side streets."
Rilla, sat in the peace of her room, as light laughter of twins echoed from downstairs, she read again and again Ken's letter, the lines written in that dear, upright, sharp handwriting.
Rilla,
Here, too, the year changes in about a month. What it will bring, one cannot yet know. Perhaps this bloody tide will finally turn - but at what cost? Sorry for this gloomy words. Here we are still. I don't know if the information has reached you, but I am now a Captain, and I try to do my best for my men, and apparently I am good at it. Top brass seems to be satisfied with my work. It was snowing here the other day, and there was like diamond dust on the barbed wire, and I remembered a few lines from Walter's poem, Do you remember those lines about mermaids I recited to you at the Lighthouse that July-August night? But here, it's soon lights out, and my duties call, for Simmon and Cartwright are in a mood again, and I must end this missivie, but a few more quick lines. For Christmas, I asked Mum to send you something.
Hopefully you like it.
Your Kenneth
It was short, woefully. But that signature, "Your Kenneth," had caused Rilla several sleepless nights, as had the knowledge that Ken had now attained the status of Captain, apparently some time ago, but only in this letter had he written it to her. And with a smile, Rilla touched the elaborate gold, turquoise enamel brooch with tiny rose diamonds set in Forget me Not Flower, Leslie's taste was evident in every detail, and when Rilla turned the brooch over, she saw that behind it was Ken's latest photo placed in a oval locket. There, Ken was smiling, with shadowy eyes, dark hair slicked back.
With slightly trembling hands, Rilla placed the brooch in the box on top of Ken's letters, and as she did so she remembered what Aunt Leslie's letter had said.
Dear Rilla,
After receiving my son's sincere letter, I immediately went to a certain place in Toronto and looked at their jewelry, but nothing felt right. So I went through my own jewelry, carefully. This little brooch was my grandmother's.
I know she would be so happy and proud that you would perhaps to wear it.
With love
Leslie.
Snow was blowing in Kingsport as the last days of 1917 drew to a close. The theater in Kingsport was bustling and buzzing, as several shows were played to full houses. Exhausted, Winnie swept her unruly hair into a carefree bun, as she half-hummed the music of Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker, as the ballerinas had danced their pink ballet pointe shoes soft to full halls, as The Nutcracker along with a few vaudeville numbers, as Burlington Bertie, Adeline, or Roses of Picardy, were as ever holiday favorites, as she wiped the make-up off her face with carefree strokes.
There were powder stains on her knuckles, and there were wilted flowers in zinc buckets near the tattered sofa. A withered rose-colored lampshade cast a flickering light into that narrow room, which was full of miscellaneous stuff, an overstuffed clothes rack, a withered fern, old posters, and a Japonisere-style serm full of role-play costumes, a cream-white hem half trailing on the floor.
Suddenly there was a knock on the door of her dressing room, and glancing at the small clock, which read half past six in the evening, shrugging her shoulders, Winnie opened the door.
A sonorous voice said with polite self-awareness, "Miss Roberts, here are some lilies for you, to show my appreciation. Also, I want to invite you to dine at my club, tonight?"
And in amazement Winnie glanced at the huge bouquet of white lilies handed to her by Dorothy's brother, Royal, who was impeccably dressed in a black suit and burgundy tie.
Royal, glanced at Winifred Roberts, who stood a resplendent apparition, in a seasonal crimson thin silk slip, and a pink silk dressing gown, carelessly half open.
And in a strangled voice Royal said, "Of course I'll wait when you're ready." The almond-shaped dark eyes seemed reserved and perhaps a little amused, as Winifred replied quietly, "Thank you for your offer Mr. Gardiner, but I must decline it. Good night."
Dismayed, Royal looked at the scratched closed door, because no one had rebuffed him so bluntly in years.
A couple of hours later, Adeline noticed that a large beautiful bouquet of flowers had appeared on a table in Gardiner Hall and that there was a hum of contentment coming from Royal's study.
Two days later, lounging on Dorothy's soft divan under the palm trees, the crystal glittering, and watching with amusement as Isabelle tried not to look too long in a corner where two dark-haired women sat side by side, as Helene played the piano and laughter and bold jokes and social disputes echoed in the drawing room Winnie, said to Dorothy lightly, "Your brother tried to get me out to dinner with him a couple of days ago, to his club, he was at the theater all dressed up."
An amused twinkle came into Dorothy's dark eyes, as she said in her carefree charming way, "You might have gone, my brother is not terribly interesting, but when he offers something it is usually of quality, of course, for that is one Gardiner vice. And he has always been somewhat partial to redheaded women, so it's no wonder if he'd been watching your shows throughout the fall, my dear, because you're captivating, in your way, as you well know."
Ernestine carried the rich salad to the little table, to cheers and applause, and in passing remarked sharply, "You are right, my dear, but if your brother had happened to see certain performances of Winnie, in situ, as here, or in a few other places, in dear Helene's coffee-house, for instance, Roy would have tried harder, maybe."
Impishly Winnie finished her ice water and said lightly, "Was that a not-so-subtle hint, perhaps?"
The bright, fateful piano chords sparkle, in the salon, Winnie lightly jumped on the wide deck of the grand piano, as she struck a playful pose as she began to perform.
Satisfied, Dorothy looked around, everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, especially Madeleine, who strangely enough had arrived at the same time as Cousin Claire, and as the evening grew longer and the hours slowly passed Dorothy found herself witnessing a gentle, tenderly cautious love scene between her cousin and the Redmond Music Librarian.
And frowning, Dorothy thought and tried to remember, and then the fragmentary pieces clicked into place, and with supreme satisfaction she watched as her cousin, slowly she flowered into lovely living vivacious woman, that she had heard old rumours of. There was tint and stamp of Gardiner charm in Claire´s mien, that was in places hauntingly familiar to her, as it was almost twin to her own manner as she told vivid anecdotes of travels and life in abroad, but carefully skrited certain topics.
Isabelle bit the nail of her left thumb, again, and in frustration she tried to suppress her old rooted suspicions of Claire, but it was extremely difficult, although Madeleine's obvious happiness was extremely heartwarming to watch. It was cautious and timid, but definitely present, in everything. Madeline was talking to Dorothy briskly and earnestly, so she thought her chance had come.
With light steps, she slipped over to Claire and critically examined the dark-haired woman, whose features were strikingly similar to Dorothy's, but the differences were clear. Her dark curly hair was pulled into a low bun and she was wearing a modest dress with dark floral embroidery. Claire glanced calmly, somehow knowingly at Isabelle, and said quietly, in a voice that Isabelle thought would be more suited to a prayer room than a cheerful salon full of inverts, and shappics, "Ah, you must be Isabelle, and you're going to do the Spanish Inquisition?"
Unsettled Isabelle blinked, and said pointedly, "It kind of depends, I was the one who put Madeline's pieces together last time."
Winnie's voice rose painfully, deliciously sweetly in the background, the strains of some vaudeville song or other. Claire said quietly, emphatically, and lowly, "I see she had perhaps not a happy, but a contented life and career here among you. Here at my cousin's,today in the new year, the atmosphere is full of light, and love, no shadows at all."
Isabelle, suppressed a grimace, into her glass of champagne, for like a broken black-and-white film strip the scenes of years ago ran before her eyes. Madeleine numb, unkept, wandering, waiting, trembling, pale, and slowly, after days, weeks, and months, life began slowly, extremely slowly, to arrive again to that human ruin that had been Madeline, but something in her had broken, and Isabelle, despite all her efforts, her flirting, and her helpfulness, and her love, couldn't get there, even though she had tried, a thousand times.
And now, after years, years, the resurrection had arrived, once again in form of her, and it galled Isabelle so.
Smiling softly, Madeleine came over to Claire and said softly, "Ah, you've already met."
Isabelle looked long and seriously into Madeleine's dark eyes, and Isabelle forced a carefree, heartbreaking smile to her lips as she said lightly, "Honey, she´ll do, but now I have to go tease Helene a little."
Isabelle, rustling in her burgundy silk, slipped between the laughing and dancing women to Helene, and Winnie cast an amused glance in the direction of the piano, as the sparkling notes of Auld Lang Syne echoed into the air. The glittering glasses rose into the air, as the clock struck twelve, and the bloody year 1917 changed to 1918.