A soft, impenetrable, cool mist lay on the ground, obscuring visibility. It was August 8. It was quiet east of Amiens, river Somme was just a black stain. Allied high command was waiting for the signal. The exact coordinates were set, and the men were in place. On the other side of the river were the Australian Corps to the south of the river in the center of fourth army's front, were the CEF, all three divisions. In the ranks of the Second Division, Captain Ford glanced at the silver pocket watch that Owen had given him when he turned 16. The hands of the watch slowly moved into position. Around Ken, his men, waited, nerves tight, someone muttered a prayer, another growled curses, one bit his lip broken, bloody, his eyes haunted. And here, among the men of the divisions, there were certainly acquaintances, perhaps even friends, old ones, too. Some would surely die today, in this attack, were maimed, or killed, lost in the mud, which was always so cold, regardless of the season, but that could not be thought of hands of the clock struck, 4:20. A soldier's moment, just one moment that was endless.

And then, at that moment, the ground shook deafeningly as 3,700 British and French guns opened fire. The artillery barrage severed German lines of communication and extremely quickly, in a few hours the planned attack had progressed, overwhelmingly quickly.

Ken wiped his smoke blackened face. His hands ached, under his boots were bullet casings, spiky barbed wire, and broken hand grenade stumps, like rotten apple stumps. Adrenaline bubbled through his veins as he noticed Private Willam Parker exchanging a few words with a soldier wearing a German uniform. Several prisoners had been taken during the last hours, as the enemy's positions had been overrun. The youth held up his hand, as Private William Parker, calmly took something from his pocket, and unsheathed a narrow, beautifully decorated razor, as he leaned closer. The prisoner swallowed, and said something fiercely in a low voice that Ken couldn't make out.

Another voice said quietly, "Will, focus. We have work to do. Leave it alone. He's surrendered, and agreements must be honored." Ken noticed that Private William Parker, was standing stiffly, but then he turned on his heel, and with a short nod, snapped the razorblade shut, and with a whistle, something that made the German prisoner's face contort, strode away, kicking the bullets as if they were pebbles.

Narrow, slender Andy Parker, with blood stains on his face, nodded to Ken, and said lightly, " Sometimes my brother has to be watched, so that he doesn't go to extremes, Capitain, it usually is my job. Will has a temper, and we got bad news in the mail earlier." Andy Parker's dark blue eyes were strained as he caught a bullet in his hand and tossed it into the air.

The dug-out around them was shambles, among the dust, blood, and casualties, Ken bent and picked up a small book, its pale blue cover flapping almost loose, and lightly he patted it. Frowning, Ken flipped through it. The gilt pages were tarnished, but clearly loved, with old-fashioned fracture writing, there were underlines.

Andy Parker, smiled wryly and said, " Captain, there could be a worse souvenir than a collection of German poetry." Ken found himself nodding, as the POW standing by the wall said something quickly, and in such an accent that Ken couldn't catch it.

And to his surprise, Andy Parker's expression hardened, and he nodded his head toward the doorway, as he remarked, " Duty never waits, let's take him among the rest."

Afterwards, this first day of the Battle of Amiens would come to be known as Schwarzer Tag des deutschen Heeres. The Allies made a big breakthrough that would start the end of times, twilight of the past four years.

Rilla Blythe sat in Ingelside's living room, and wrote a lively description in her diary of Mrs Matilda Pittman, for future reference, what an adventure, a scrape it had been, as Jims had stumbled of the train, near Marwood. The dominating personality of that strong-willed old woman had been all-encompassing, but the most important thing was that she had seemed pleased about Jims, as he with his dimples, had been not at all choosy of his affections, it had been most peculiar.

Afterwards, Rilla had asked Jims, "Sweetums, were you afraid of Mrs Matilda Pittman, at all?" Jims had raised his bright brown eyes from his toys and declared, "Black and white old woman, was interesting, I liked her, she smelled like lavender. Why doesn't anyone here smell like lavender? So I blew her kisses as long as I saw her, until the road turned, and she disappeared from view. I like trains, the way they move and smoke." Resolutely, Jims concentrated on unpacking his toys, as was his usual habit, always at certain intervals, so Rilla just pressed a small kiss on the child's blond curls, and crept downstairs.

In the kitchen, pans clattered, as Di baked something, with Susan hovering nearby. The teatime offering was delicious little sweetbuns, with carefully regulated grains of cardamom in them, and when Jims saw them, he was overjoyed. Susan, sniffed and remarked, "An odd recipe, but I must admit these don't look bad at all, although I wouldn't necessarily offer them to Laidies Aid. I'm glad you had time in Redmond to keep up your skills, Di."

The early August light shone warm through the open windows, as Nan remarked, " During our last days in Redmond, Di visited a place, baking must have been part of her duties, there, as she perfected that sweet dish there, I think. We all did our share of baking at Primrose Hollow."

Di split her sweetbun with a knife in a single cut, and said sharply, with a pointed glance to Gilbert, "Nanlet is right, but nothing beat certain recipes of Alice's that she sometimes baked when the mood struck her, and they worked brilliantly despite the rationing, in them there were raisins and other things."

Anne tilted her teacup, and said in a conciliatory style, "Di, dearest, I'm sure if Alice needs comfort Gertrude Olivier can give it."

Rilla exclaimed, loyally "Gertrude, is lovely, she as a way, with her."

Di smiled a little wryly as she replied, "Dearest Spider, we all know you think that Miss Oliver is above all judgment, but her prickly portents, her ways, are not for everyone. Alice in her grief, she needs, delicate, but firm handling, to divert her focus."

At those words, Nan coughed slightly, as she remembered what she had once witnessed, in waterfogged mirror, as she said lightly, in strained voice, " Surely Gertrude is well versed in most things, and shades of sorrow. She will do an admirable job, if their paths cross in Lowbridge."

Di stirred her tea, and thought of Alice, her guarded coolness, which so quickly turned into warmth, which still held secrets, the trick had been to pay attention, to sifts, of expression, of signs of nervousness, or. And Getrude, knowing too much, the whole idea was completely impossible. Alice would keep her counsel, her sorrow, until it would burst out of her, some way, if not it would be teased, twined out her. Thoughtfully, Di crumbled the sweet bun on her plate into pieces.

Anne glanced attentively at Nan, and said with a light emphasis, " Di my dear, that care, of your friends reminds me of my own memories of my olden Avonlea and Redmond times. Friends are indeed important, at one stage of life they mean everything, but there is also other things in life. I want you to be happy my dear, even though happiness seems to be too much to ask for in these times we live in, but still, the greatest wish in my heart is that all my children can be as happy as I have been, and that you find your own path, even if it isn't straightforward."

Rilla, buttered a jam sandwich for Jims and said, "Di, Betty Meade wanted to know if you happen to have anyone in uniform?"

Di, looked up from her plate and said flatly, "Rilla, your last few years have been spent with the Jims and while you've been doing brilliant work with the Junior Reds, I've had my hands full. Mumsy, Dorian Gardiner is starting his own newspaper. He's asked me to join it, firmly I will consider it. Also, there is my publishing agreement with Sherwood, which includes another work, the contents of which are not specified. This would all mean moving to Kingsport, but there is no rush for this, as these things always take time."

The teaspoon fell from Anne Blythe's hand onto the tea saucer. Gilbert noticed that Anne's face was pale as she inquired, in a slightly trembling voice, "Has Dorian Gardiner perhaps made any other suggestions to you?"

Nan, burst out into a hearty laugh, and said softly "Dorian Gardiner is like a brother to us both. And if he really comes to visit here at some point, you'll notice it with your own eyes. There will be no lovelorn, long looks toward us, I can promise that."

Rilla chuckled and remarked, "Well, I did say something to Betty, that you've never been one to lose your head, to a pretty looks of a handsome lad, unlike some of the other Glen girls I could mention."

Nan, interjected mischievously, "Rilla, tell me, how is Olive Kirke these days? Has her campaign for Clive Howard progressed at all?"

Susan poured more water into the teapot and pointedly remarked, "If Clive Howard marries Olive Kirke, then the Kirkes will gain more influence in the village. Although the Howards are no longer as influential as the family was before Mr. Howard's death, whether it was in 1910, Mrs. Doctor Dear?"

Anne Blythe replied thoughtfully, "Cornelia Elliot would remember better, but Mr. Howard must have passed away that year. From then on Caroline Howard became quite impossible slowly she withdrew from Laidies Aid affairs, focused solely on dote her children, her impossible demands, or so at least that's what the rumors said at the time."

Susan pointedly remarked, "They are simply full of pure Howardiness, which is a sense of entitlement that just doesn't fit here, and that sense of slyness of Irene Howard, and that Clive, quite decorative, though in his VTC uniform, walks with the rest of the patrol. It's not patriotic to criticize, but I'll do it anyway, over 15,000, our boys are over there, even at this moment, putting their lives on the line, and even beyond that."

A glum silence hung over the living room after Susan's emphatic words. Di glanced thoughtfully at Walter's photo, and Nan felt her head start to ache, and nervously she clutched Jerry's ruby, the warmth of that beveled stone was comforting, as it ever was.

Ingelside's phone rings fiercely, demandingly, three rings. Anne puts her hand on Gilbert's shoulder, caressingly, as he hastens to answer it. The music sparkles, in the living room, as Di plays, a soft waltz-like tune, and it's an unreal backdrop, to yet again, for another summons, to House of Howard.

Clive Howard, inquired tiredly, "Irene, I heard you were using the phone." Irene stood pale and red-eyed, in the corridor as she was holding an enamel bowl with damp, crumbled linen towels in her hands. And she nodded and buried her face in her hands and murmured, " I asked for the Doctor's consulship, this is no ordinary flu, Mother is slipping, as Dr. Blythe warned us, this would only be a matter of time. Go say goodbye, Clive, quickly before Dr. Blythe arrives, I think she would like that."

Clive Howard, bent over Caroline Howard, in the over-feminine shadowy room, came a raspy, dry whisper, "Oh, Gregory, how I've waited for you to come. Why did it take you so long?"

Alarmed, Clive glanced at Irene, who was standing in the doorway of the room, Irene whispered, sharply "Her state of consciousness is changing, she has imagined that Father is here." Clive, nodded stiffly, and stroked his Mother's cheek with his cold fingers, just as his late father did, every time he came home from his office.

Caroline Howard furrowed her brows, and said hoarsely, "Clive, promise me you'll get married, remember you're Howard, we have standards. Look after your sister, Irene isn't as strong as she seems."

There was a low murmur from the downstairs hall, as Irenes resonant tones were clear. Clive nodded and pressed a light kiss to Caroline Howard's forehead. On the wide stairs, Clive met Dr. Blythe's weary gaze, as the Doctor sympathetically squeezed Clive's shoulder as he strode into the sick room.

Two days later, at the breakfast table, where the toast was again burnt, Clive noticed that Irene was dressed in black, as it was suitable. Stunned, Clive blurted out, "At what point did you have time to go shopping, because I swear you haven't left the house in days. Or did you have that dress lying around somewhere in the corner of your wardrobe?" But unlike usually that siblingy taunt did not take, as Irene just said tiredly, " To be an Accomplished Lady, one must always be prepared for all options, including losses, familliar or others."

Under a clear blue August sky, Glen Cemetery held a row of fresh graves, the latest of which was Caroline Howard's. Tired John Meredith, leaned against the door of his church. He couldn't remember the last time he had performed funeral rites so often. There was careful wariness in Gilbert Blythe's eyes, as he had stood in Blythe's pew during Caroline Howard's funeral, and watched the congregation of Glen. The turnout had been mixed, but Glen's choir had performed brilliantly, or so John had pieced out from Rosemary´s and Una´s remarks, after service had ended.

Days went onwards, in their own pace.

Bruce Meredith, was restless. Stripey was missing, it hadn't been seen for several hours. Una had tried to comfort Bruce with ration biscuits, and music, but Bruce had furrowed his eyebrows in a very Ellen-like manner, and said curtly, "Una-moon, I'm old enough to find my own biscuits, and music too." Una had wiped her hands on a towel and put the tea to brew.

Two hours later, Bruce came into the kitchen, red-cheeked and eyes burning with excitement, and pulling Una out of the apron into a shed choked with vines, and there on an old sack rested Stripey, with a cadre of newly-born kittens. Stripey opened her caledon's green eyes, and a soft purr echoed through the shed.

And that evening Bruce asked with earnest eagerness, "Papa, can a Presbyterian priest baptize kittens too? I want to give them good homes, but I want to keep one myself too." John Meredith, smiled with trembling lips, for that question was as similar as Carl could have asked in the Maywater era.

Gertrude Oliver was sketching out her lesson plan for the upcoming fall term in her mind as she passed Alice Parker, who was leaning, looking exhausted, her black skirts fluttering, against the wrought-iron gate of Lowbridge's Episcopal Church. Gertrude stepped up to the blond girl taller than her and said, "Did you come from the service or are you going there?"

Alice's face was pale as she looked up, expressionless as she murmured, "Neither, actually, for the last service I was at was my mother's funeral, and I find the idea of the normality of the usual rites somewhat offensive, to her I mean, though I believe she would like me to hold on to them, but I'm not sure I can."

The thrush sang three times in the bush before Gertrude replied, "Rilla Blythe naively imagines that I'm comforting, which I'm not usually, but with her I often make an exception."

What might have been a glimmer of a smile crossed Alice's face as she replied, "I've found that as a general rule I don't take kindly to gentleness and platitudes, Miss Grant, so don't change your ways because of me." Gertrude swept the loose hair out of her plait, as she said, " I do not intend to. I wish you a good early evening, I hope with time you will find what you are looking for, whatever it is."

And with that keen, but usetting observation, Gertrude Oliver went on her way, leaving Alice Parker standing, as the church bells began to toll the congregation to Evensong Service.

To escape the call of the church bells, Alice half-ran to a corner of the cemetery shaded by a lilac bush.

Kneeling on the yellowed grass, Alice closed her eyes, as she did so, she heard a soft superior whisper in her memories, "God obviously didn't help? What else can one imagine some red-faced priest enjoying his power over his parishioners, all those penance litanies, and kneeling on the rails, in public or not. But I'm sure if you came from confessing your sins, you were delightful while doing it."

Christine's soft laugh was heard behind her, as she remarked, "You were and are, so pretty when you kneeled for me." Trembling Alice had raised her eyes, higher.

A small clock ticked to mark the hour. Even breathing was challenging, as small, fits and starts, small ripped moans, traveled, as she tried to contain them, it was futile. Waiting, was agony, the suspense was coiling, as arousal trobbed, very soon beads and strands of wetness would start to drip down the inside of her thighs. In the borderlands of flickering consciousness, Alice became aware that the scent of French rosewater and creamy cocoa mixed together, as Alice felt the light, sharp touch of fingernails on her neck, as Christine murmured, deceptively sweetly, "There there, darling, let it all go, isn't this better than confession would be?"