Leslie, found that she yearned, no cleaved to structure, to order, which was missing from her current situation. It was, too, too ephemeral, that faint liminal space, where she spent her days as brilliant balmy days of summer season wore onwards, like pearls in a glittering chain. Leslie glanced once more at the old yellowed Queens certificate, the ink was dull and the varnish seal was clear, still after all this time.
Faintly she was stacking stock of her possible new, fulfilling paths. The hustle and bustle of Montreal had struck her, with its living vibrancy in those anxious days as Leslie had wandered all over hospital. One corner of a waitingroom there had been a stack of printed leaflets. The almost silent steps of Nurses and other professionals had been balm. And God knew that she had experience of one kind of nursing, or caring work, after thirteen years. A woman's position was always to be some kind of vessel, one way or another, but those Nurses they had seemed to have more agency, with their starched uniforms, and coolly competent manners. Now Leslie regarded it anew that creased, folded leaflet, with more interest than before.
A plan was slowly forming in her active mind.
A way perhaps was to be found, to be useful to others, to give back happiness, to make other families whole, with the help of Doctors. Perhaps in the Autum she could travel to Montreal and began her life anew, there in the hustle of metropolis, but the thought of Anne, of that warm friendship diluting into mere correspondence, stilled Leslies hand, whenever she was about to dip her pen into ink and write to Montreal for further information.
Anne, Anne.
Those evenings with Anne, in the House of Dreams surrounded with laughter and love and with little Jem were a blessing and a balm. Certain occasions Leslie couldn't look towards at Anne properly, because she felt that perhaps Anne expected too much from her. Anne only laughed gently in her silvery way, as she noted, " My dearest Leslie." That keen, loving attentive, even enchanted greenish-gray gaze, passed over Leslie, those narrow fingers touched the lacing of her bodice corsage, as Anne had mused, "that fresh, lovely style that you wear, it is simply charming."
Anne's fingers had softly stroked the layered skirt, had touched the necline of simple blouse, with its silken braided crimson ribbons. Leslie had suppressed a shudder, and Anne's expression had changed from light-hearted to serious, in a heartbeat or less.
Anne's arms had slowly wrapped gently, lovingly, and above all safely around Leslie. At that touch, slight as it had been, her breathing had sped up. A slight panic had bubbled under her skin, with one breath that feeling had slowly broken, into fragments, splinters, as Leslie had almost bonelessly slumped into Annes embrace, there had been tears prickling in her eyes, which Leslie had mercilessly suppressed, with steely control. Those warmly loving caresses. Slowly, Leslie had allowed herself to trust that Anne wouldn't hurt her.
The mint liniment had smelled intoxicating, it had been a lovely counterpoint to Annes everlasting lily-cologne, under which there were faint traces of milk scent, as House of Dreams had been calm and still around them, in that golden, fleeting moment.
One afternoon sitting on a window sill, Leslie watched the sun sparkle on the roses of the House of Dreams, a moment earlier she had put down a volume of Cowpers verses, which she had eagerly browsed for about an hour, but Cowpers uplifting and visionary verses, such as "There is a fountain filled with blood" that had been used for hymns, didn't lift her spirits.
The atmosphere at the parlor was filled with domestic harmony Susan's tea tray was fragrant, Gilbert lightly inquired about the news of acquaintances from years in Avonlea, as stack of letters had come from Green Gables earlier in the week.
Anne and Gilbert and Cornelia Bryant recounted old humorous narratives, with a wim. When there was a lull in the spirited, even tangy conversation, Leslie raised her voice and remarked, "I received a letter from George Moore, and he wrote that he will return to the sea this coming spring, as he finds it easier to return to the old routine. Seasalt is in his blood and he misses the roar of the sea and life of a sailor. I interpreted between the lines that his assimilation in Halifax was perhaps not easy, too many changes. But fortunately there is also good news. She was engaged when Four Sisters sailed, she kept her faith, all these years. So, the wedding bells are jingling, for George in fall. George was extremely interested in coming to visit, as he would like to show his fiance P.E.I and the Four Winds, area, so naturally I agreed."
Anne found it a little strange to hear the news about George Moore, but the romance of that Leslie's narrative was very uplifting to her. Gilbert looked lovingly at Anne's features, as he noted with his best Blythe way, " Anne-dearest, mild opposition keeps life fresh, don't be my little echo, I couldn't bear that, unlike John MacAllister's wife they say she is, up over harbor- like."
At those careful, skillful words, the slight tension that had fallen in the parlor subsided as first Anne and then Leslie laughed harmoniously together. Their laughter sparkled harmoniously, like silver-golden rain, or slpendid half note of lovely musical chord.
At that moment morose looking Susan arrived on the doorstep, and slightly alarmed Anne half rose from the couch, saying, "Susan, Susan, isn't Jem all right?"
The loyal hand-maiden of House of Dreams looked reassuringly to Mistess of House of Deams as she noted with her usual wim, " That Blessed little lamb, sleeps like an angel he is, never fear! But I have bad news, this week has been quite catawampus, the bread did not set, I suspect Carter Flagg over at Glen, his batch of bread yeast was spoiled, even if he would argue against it. Then I turned around in the kitchen, in a hurry as it is such a small space, more of a jam-cupboard than a proper kitchen, and that oven is temperamental to say the least, that big Avonlea-era plate was broken, with the greenish-glaze trim on the border, then there was the issue with Doctor's shirt and starcht, as you know. Today, just moments ago I received a letter in the afternoon mail from my sister, Matilda Clow. Apparently she has broken her leg, even no-one in my family has ever broken any of their God-given limbs, she pleaded my help. I have to live with her for a spell, unfortunately, as blood is blood."
Cornelia had noticed how as Susan's news had broken, Leslie's face had slowly brightened. And then she exclaimed, sincerely, " Anne, Anne. Can I come here and help you when Susan is gone? I'm ever so lonely in that house in the evenings, even though it's summer. Strange how the haunted place seems now, and sometimes I get so morbid fancies that I can't sleep when I listen to the wind humming in the willows. And a couple of days ago in the twilight I noticed that a wanderer had slept in the barn. And I don't even have a dog anymore, to sound alarm, if needed."
Gilbert noticed how eagerly Anne, with the reddest cheeks, agreed, in most joyful manner as she murmured, " Leslie, dear, we will have so much fun together, you settled in our sparest of spare rooms, we can laugh, take walks and cook and do crafts together."
The light had turned golden, so with a smile Leslie rose from her seat, and declared, "It is settled then. But now, my geese are waiting for me."
Quietly the parlor emptied. Susan went to do her inventory, grumbling internally that she would have to hand over her kitchen to someone else, even momentarily, even though lovely Mrs. Moore seemed competent in culinary arts. Gilbert slipped to his study to write up certain case-notes, the duty of village doctor was never-ending, but the fight with Great Destroyer was worth it all.
Cornelia lingered, cradling her teacup in her capable hands, as she noted with an meaningful emphasis, " It is truly Provedential situation that Leslie lives here when Owen Ford broads with me. He is coming here from Vancouver, or so the latest missive noted, it was a short and hurried, but polished. This way spiteful gossip and old cats will not meow so loudly. I remarked only other day to old Louisa Baldwin, the Baldwin farm was a next door neighbor to the Abner Moores place, she had raised the roof, as Leslie will not wear mourning, but I stauched her, I can assure you of that."
A little worried, Anne noted, "I wondered about that, but Leslie, she hasn't said anything to me about it."
There was grim, but resolute look in Cornelias rosy mien as she noted, " She would not, I think. It is the independent Westian strain in her nature, Anne-dearie."
On a warm August evening, with hope in his heart, Owen Ford walked with steady steps of red moist road, birdsong sparkling in the roadside trees towards Ingelside. With careful loving eyes he looked at every detail of that house. Persis Leigh's roses smelled intoxicating, he noticed everything from a distance, his whole attention was fixed on the scene that unfolded to his eyes.
Leslie sat on the floor, her bluish skirts fanning around her. She pressed sweet little kisses on the red haired baby's hands, the baby was cooing softly. Her golden hair shimmered, she was like an earth-bound seanympf, she was his Melisande.
Eagerly, Owen stepped in and uttered, her beloved name, in low tone, "Leslie."
Anne noticed that the color in Leslie's face changed, at that resonant tenor of Owen Ford. Her cheeks turned pale, that sudden paleness only added to her loveliness. Leslie felt how her heart was pounding, the conflicting emotions were suffocating her, as Owen Ford's large brilliant dark gray eyes gazed so steadfastly into her own, Leslie involuntarily extended her hand, chilled by the sudden rush of emotion, to Owen.
That evening was filled with queer tension. Anne and Gilbert listened to Owen Ford's catchy and inspiring stories, of his work in various newspapers and bylines in Toronto, and his most recent trip to Vancouver, but every now and then Owen looked at Leslie's upright figure.
Leslie sat quietly, all silent. She was alluring, captivating presence.
Leslie made her excuses as she slipped away, upstairs.
And with glum feeling Owen Ford said without his usual charm, "Thank you for the evening, friends, I'll see you soon. Miss Cornelia is waiting."
Carefully, as Owen had left Gilbert noted with a teasing smile, "Anne, what is going on here tonight? All evening there has been tension and a frantic charge here. Owen looks at Leslie as if her holds the keys to Paradise, Leslie is pale and tragically beautiful as Cerceis rose from the waves. And you have your plotting sparkle on your eyes, my dearest wife."
Anne cast a mildly loving look towards Gil as she remarked lightly, "Nothing that exciting at all. And as for Leslie, she's acting ridiculous, and I'm going to tell her."
Twilight had fallen.
Leslie was sitting in the guest room by the window, she felt the hot red and pale alternate on her cheeks, her head was spinning. It had been a shock to meet his eyes, because those eyes had shown wordlessly everything that also glowed in her own heart, stinging with cutting shame, but the cage was no longer there. Surely he had only come for a courtesy call on these shores.
Quickly Leslie wiped her cheeks and arranged her expression, in her most cool as Anne stepped in, Leslie whispered with reproach to Anne, "Did you know that Owen Ford is coming here?"
An expression rose on Anne's face that was ambiguous, and she noted with brazen frankness that stunned Leslie for a time, "I knew."
Anne continued mercilessly, "Dearest, I give you a prediction, the days of sorrow and hard luck are over for you, Owen is here, and you are free, so dearest, do fold those tragic airs, in herbs and lavender, I believe the rest of your life will be happy, as the shadow of Venus did grant you a gift after all, your love for Owen."
That night, as Anne and Gilbert's muted, sonorous laughter could be heard in the distance to Leslie's guest room, she rested in her bed, wide awake, as dawn slowly arrived, as slowly hope began to bloom in the secret chambers of her heart.
And the next afternoon, as Owen Ford arrived at the House of Dreams, they went for a walk, to the reddish rocks.
Owen cautiously, admiringly looked at Leslie's pure profile as the blue of the sea formed a brilliant background for her white-clad form, cautiously with trembling fingers Owen touched Leslie's arm.
Leslie's splendid golden head gently, carefully leaned against Owen's worn shoulder as they both looked out to sea. Their hearts were too full.
Seagulls circled in the sky, and the salt grass smelled intoxicating.