The sky was a soft pearl gray, and then a soft soft pink sunrise colored the horizon with its bright glory. The gluf was calm, and serene. Owen Ford sat crouched on the sandy beach, his face showed faint traces of lines, now showing in stark, relentless light. His bright dark gray eyes were red-rimmed, and his long-fingered fingers were stained with ink. There was a feeling of autumn in the air, a few birches already had golden leaves, they sparkled in the middle of the greenery, like a secret golden treasure.
Anne Blythe listened with compassion and stinging pain to Owen Ford's broken, passionate confession, of his burning, frevent love towards Leslie, as she listened to Owen's reminiscences about Leslie's hair Anne squirmed in her seat a little remembering the moment when she had chanced to see Leslie in deshabille. Compulsively, compelled by a silent inner demand, Anne lied to Owen as he asked in a tormented voice, "Have you by any chance seen her hair open?"
There was resolute look in Owens eyes as he said in a low voice, " This summer, it's been unforgettable. I've gotten everything here that I never imagined I'd get. I've fallen in love with Leslie almost without realizing it, it just happened, slowly in thousands of individual moments. And now I must leave her, unable to give her any hope, or the friendship that friends do."
Anne, said gently, " We, here her friends and intimates, know well how challenging her circumstances are, and how unyielding in her sense of duty is."
Anne flinched when she saw a slightly bitter, passionate look on Owen's clear cut features, as he remarked, "Perhaps. But you too, Anne, only see what Leslie lets you see, on your visit to the house among willows. I've seen, I've experienced, and I've shared space with her, with them. It is indescribable, and too cruel."
Silence fell on the garden, as the sunset gilded the treetops, and the young handsome aspen rustled in the lone wind, the shadows lifted its every leaf into clear elven lovelyness amid pale pink rose of sunset-sky. The beauty of the tree and the view was unattainable, breathtakingly wonderful, and with his usual keen insight of all things beautiful Owen latched into it, eagerly.
Anne was happy to discuss a little about the unattainability of the aesthetics of beauty, as Miss Cornelia arrived, through the gate, breaking the mood with her practicality. Anne started to laugh, her laugh was a little strained, and it flirted with the edge of hysteria. Owen's lips curled into a small smile that was only skin deep. There were no emotions in it.
And then the next morning Owen Ford was gone.
Gilbert had gone to escort him, and returning to the House of Dreams, before his rounds, he remarked to Anne, "Anne-girl, I'm a little worried about Owen. I think he's worn himself out this summer, even though he should have rested. Recovering from typhoid is no simple matter, and although the conditions here have been ideal for recovery."
Gilbert noticed that Anne seemed pale and pensive, and with some concern he inquired, "Dearest, is everything all right?" Anne's eyes were their most greenish, as she softly twined her hands behind Gilbert's neck, and whispered, "Yes. Hold me close, please!"
The loose strands of hair from Anne's updo tickled Gilbert's neck as the soft kiss continued, and continued.
Finally, Gilbert pulled away with a contrite expression as he remarked, "Go visit Leslie, she must be missing you, even though her workload has lessened now."Anne's smile was wan as she murmured, "I will, but later. Breaking routines always upsets Dick, so I think Leslie has her hands full at the moment."
In the golden twilight of early autumn, Anne wandered around the Moore farm, but all the doors were locked and there was no light in the windows. Restless, Anne sat down on the back verandah to wait. But Leslie didn't come, by a shortcut. The geese were in their shelters. A low wind hummed in the willows. The next day Leslie was nowhere to be seen. And that was a bad sign.
Leslie stood in the middle of the parlor. Loneliness cut into her like a thousand branding irons. She could still feel the clatter of the train rails in her ears, and saw the cool, neutral expression on that handsome face, felt the weight of the envelope in her hand.
Leslie closed her eyes and remembered.
She had looked at Owen Ford. He stood looking pale and tired in the middle of the parlor, with packed bags by his side. And without looking properly at Leslie, he intoned with cool civility, "Thank you for this summer, Mrs. Moore."
Leslie's heart had been cut deeper by those words at that moment than anything she had experienced before in her life, even battering from Dicks fists had not felt like that. It was as if all light had disappeared from life.
The thin envelope contained the summer's tenant money, and Leslie shuddered as her eyes landed on that envelope, which was in the middle of the kitchen table. Written on the envelope in the clear handwriting Leslie knew so well, L.R.M.
Turning her back on the bookshelf, Leslie climbed the stairs upstairs.
A day passed, and then another.
Leslie sat in her own room with the curtains on the windows.
Everything was stale and dull, as life seemed to have lost all meaning, as the door had closed, as they always did.
Suddenly, Leslie raised her face from the pillow, and a quiet certainty lit up in her heart. There was a broken, half-stifled gasp. With resolute grace Leslie rose, and glanced out. It was now evening. The air was warm and humid and foggy.
A quiet decision was made, with determined, restless steps Leslie walked towards the shore, towards the cove and the sandbars.
The moon had risen and everything was misty gray, ephemeral and Leslie wandered aimlessly, burning shame throbbing inside her. Moodily Leslie turned and looked at the sea glistening in the moonlight, it was black and inviting.
A stifled scream escaped her lips as she turned and ran blindly, through the sand.
And then, as if by some old faerie spell, Anne was in front of her.
Anne's expression was gently loving, and slightly concerned as she inquired, "Is everything all right, dearest Leslie?"
A bitter laugh escaped Leslie's lips.
The sand crunched under their feet.
Anne, while listening to Leslie's repressed frenzy, and partial self-loathing tinged outburst, noticed that Leslie seemed in this moment to be as possessed. There were spots of crimson in her cheeks, as she declaired," Tell me true, you hold me unwomanly, as I had dared to love, him utterly unsought. It's so shameful, but if I had realized I would have fought back, but it didn't that's enough. I don't want to talk about my folly, anymore."
Gilbert rowed with flexible strokes, and the little flat where Leslie had come on the sandbar was trailing behind their boat.
The moon shimmered and it covered Leslie's features in its glory, as she watched the water flowing by.
Anne's warm, loving embrace was like a balm for Leslie's love-starved soul. Anne noticed that Leslie was holding herself aloof, stiff in that embrace.
Later, drinking hot tea in the glow of the fire, Gilbert remarked, "Leslie was very quiet tonight. What was she doing in the sandbar on a night like this, I wonder?"
Gilbert felt that Anne's answer was a little evasive, as she replied, "Oh, maybe today was one of Dicks poor, bad days, and she wanted to relax." Anne looked at him mildly reproachfully, as she said uncustomary sharpness, "Do not talk of might-have beens, it is too cruel. If only everyone could be as happy as we, my beloved."
That night, with the moon and stars shining in the sky, and the mist covering the Four Winds, in the House of Dreams, a light burned in the bedroom, for a long time.