It was a blazing bright October, in the Glen.
And it was common knowledge that the wedding of Mary Vance and Miller Douglas would be held later this month. Mary had announced to all and sundry that her mid of honor was to be Una Meredith.
That fact was to the denizens of Glen as sure as sunrise.
There were stream of curious souls to the house of Marshall Elliott. Quite a few of them were or had been former Junior Reds admired Mary Vance's hope chest, which was full of the most wonderful things, even lace dollies.
Irene Howard was later rumored to have declared to Betty Meade Sinclair, "It is quite extraordinary that a former Home child, as poor, poor Mary Vance was, as we all know, should get so far in life. The Douglases are one of the most successful families in the Glen, although they do not happen to live in Upper Glen, unlike certain other families of note. I'm sure Una Meredith sewed some of that number, the needle stitches don't tell who did them, for I don't think Mary Vance is that handy, in that matter, though she may imagine herself to be."
When Irene Howard's words reached Mary Vance's ears, as they always do, sooner or later Mary simply held out her fingers, hardened by hard work and pinpricks, to the doubters. There was a knowing look in her pale blue eyes that chilled the hearts of the girls of the Glen, for Mary Vance's angularity, her bossiness had not softened much over the years.
Mary Vance tossed her fair hair covered with a blue French silk scarf, as she noted, with her particular style, "Irene Howard would make a perfect client for Madame Arcati, whom I once knew, that clever woman was quite successful in her line of work, told the bored, for tired or lonely desperate souls what they wanted to hear with a right price. That man who shall marry Irene Howard, who ever it is, also gets her mother in the deal, and that's almost too much of a cross."
Curious slightly amused glances were exchanged, finally Minne Clow inquired, peering between the shelves of Carter Flagg's store, "Mary Vance, is it true that old Kitty Alec Douglas thinks you are inferior because of your background?"
In the shadowy back room of the store, Mary Vance stood by the billowing sacks of flour and lifted them lightly as if they were hay, and at that question she brushed a strand of blond hair from her face and said, "We'll rub along all right, old Kitty and I. There's got to be excitement in life." Soon, I'll have Miller to myself, we've got big plans for our future. Remember that you always stand your ground, because no one else will do it for you."
Afterwards at the Manse, sitting in the parlour, with Una by her side, Mary Vance remarked, " Una, sometimes I feel that nobody in the Glen has the right pluck. Where has the spirit and vigor that prevailed in the past four years gone? Sometimes I think I saw too much before I came to Glen, and the lessons I learned color my worldview, despite the insightful Cornelia's upbringing."
Una carefully placed her teal blue tinted teacup on the gold edged saucer - it was old Westian heirloom, and inquired, "Mary, Mary, are you worried?"
Mary Vance, looked thoughtfully around the familiar room that she had arranged and cleaned years, years ago, before Rosemary West arrived. Mary handed Una a small dish filled with sugar-grains, as the ration was finally over.
She grinned mischievously and confessed, "I'm looking forward to the wedding night. I know what to expect, of course, I want to belong to Miller completely. Belonging is important, but family is not only of blood."
Una felt her ears redden at the significance of Mary Vance's words, but her oldest friend's eyes showed nothing but determination as Mary clapped her hands together and declared, "Now to the point, I'm a bride, but I want you to have the most beautiful dress anyone has ever seen on a maid of honor. No, I won't listen to the objections, and it can't be blue, because you use that color too much, even if it suits you very well."
And one intoxicatingly bright day in late October, Mary Vance became Mrs. Miller Douglas according to the rules of all services of the Presbyterian Church.
Reverend John Meredith, while reciting the marriage formula, remembered for a moment the lonely and abandoned orphan girl whom his children had rescued from Taylor's hay barn.
Mary, was now a blooming bride, and beside her, straight-backed, was Miller, whose steady gaze was directed to his soon to be wife.
Una Meredith stood near Rilla Blythe, and saw how moved her father was under his formality, as he blessed Mary and Miller's marriage.
As Glen's choir began to sing a happy hymn, one of Mary's favorites, as the married couple amid cheers walked down the main aisle of the church, not in a stately way, as Betty Meade Sinclair had tried in summer, the tread of Mary Martha Lucilla Moore Ball Douglas was as purposeful as ever, as she carefully molded her steps to Millers, carefully taking account of his newly fitted prostetic leg. Her eyes were full of tears, with one feeling instant Una's own gaze met Mary Vance's, and in those pale blue eyes a pulse indescribable, un-utterable happiness at last gained.
After the service, Susan Baker noted to Anne Blythe " Rilla was a lovely bridesmaid to Mary Vance. It's quite remarkable, that Una Meredith is dressed in pale mauve."
Rilla, passing by heard Susan's words and, laughing softly she almost in her old sweet way, replied, " Una herself told me that Mary Vance forbade Una to wear blue, even though Una had already sewn that dress for herself. So the alternative was to dye it from its previous shade of pale blue to something else. Una further said, that she wants to honor the sacrifices of those who fell in the war, as do we all, as Rememberance Day is soon upon us."
The wedding guests dispersed, slowly amid laughter and playfulness, as an October wedding was not the same as a wedding in the heat and bloom of summer, because the weather could turn on a dime.
Una stood alone on the stone steps of the church.
The October wind blew red maple leaves into the air, barely noticing it Una herself had turned so that she could see everywhere, the main street of the Glen, along which the wedding guests were walking, up to Upper Glen.
Irene Howard's honeyed voice sounded suddenly in the silence, like a sting, "Walter Blythe, I can tell you with confidence, dearest Betty, that I believe that lovely youth possibly was carrying a torch for me, even if he did not say it, as he was so gallant and dreamy one. A woman knows always. I was crushed when he did not return, though so many others did, albeit maimed."
Una turned to look. Irene Howard's golden hair glistening, her features had a look of patient superiority.
Rilla's face had paled and her hazel eyes were dark, with sudden emotional rush. Her voice had her famous-cold pale tone, as Rilla noted, with cutting sarcasm learned at the bosom of Miss Oliver. "Irene, many liked my brother, as he was admired by all. I want to believe that he would not be succumbed to your particular charms."
Irene's sparkling laugh was carelessly sublime, it cut Una's nerves, her heart's throbbing sadness, as Irene went on, "Ah, sweet, innocent little Marilla, he was your brother, it is true, but you must not know that often when Walter came from Lowbridge, he tipped his hat to me with the utmost courtesy as he passed our house, there were other routes."
The light changed, and the deep bright gray clouds, their shade resembled the color of Walter's eyes, rolled to cover the light, the wind picked up and the first raindrops began to fall from the sky, as Una shook herself out of her numbness and felt Rilla touch her shoulder, reassuringly, as they walked quickly towards the Manse.
Rilla said in a soothing style, which Una felt as if the younger girl was trying to convince herself at the same time, " Una, pay no mind to Irenes usual sweet-honey poison, as she is always cutting others down, it is the way that she has, her words were completely unbelievable, why would my brother. It does not make any sense, not at all. Irene must have been moon-dreaming."
Afterwards, in the evening, in the peace of her own virgin chamber, Una Meredith took the carefully preserved letter from among her Bible, and read it, as she had done thousands of times before. Walter's high ideals shone bright, in it, and that one little line, was about her only, nothing else. And feeling uneasy, and heartsore, Una walked into the kitchen with aimless steps. Maybe baking would help
About an hour later, Rosemary Meredith smelled a aromatic scent a lovely light cake wafting from the kitchen. She saw that Una had just put the cake out to cool, but that cake was not the kind that was usually baked at the Manse.
Rosemary gently inquired, "Una, are you trying a new recipe?"
Una looked up, and there was inner turbulence in that dark blue gaze, as Una said quietly, "I got that recipe from Shirley Blythe, and I just noticed, when I started baking, that I'm tired of my own recipes."
Hearing those words, Rosemary felt a slight hope kindle in her heart, the same hope she had seen in Anne Blythe's eyes when they had watched Shirley and Una dance at the summer wedding, and on other occasions since. Dancing in public did not necessarily mean engagement, or even understanding, despite what Cornelia Marshall Elliott or Susan Baker observed. Still cautiously Rosemary ventured hope as she asked, "Have you been writing letters to Redmond lately?"
Una gave an noncommitted slightly absentminded hum, similar to as John did when his thoughts were on the books, as she focused on cutting the cooled cake, as she replied,
" Yes, to, Faith, Carl, and Jerry. I had letter form Shirley. He was excited about some lecture, as he criticized most desserts in Kingsport. I think that if Shirley didn't love flying so much, his secret ambition might be to be a pastry chef, as he like me, he finds baking soothing."
Rosemary placed her words extremely carefully, "Dearest Una, have you thought that you too could enroll to Redmond next term? That way you wouldn't be so lonely here, as your siblings are up at Redmond. Perhaps Household Sicence, would suit you, or Music?"
Una's slim fingers touched the blue and white towel, restlessly as she looked up at Rosemary. A small, shy smile had risen on her lips, as Una whispered, "Perhaps so."
It was sunset time.
Rainbow Valley was decked with alluring shadows and rising mist as Una Meredith leaned in her blue cardigan against a curved white birch.
Una closed her eyes, and remembered how one splendid afternoon Walter had sat in the grass. He had looked up from Edmund Spencer's pastoral poem "Colin Clouts Come Home Againe" as he had heard Unas steps rustle in the grass.
Walter's sonorous voice had been light and carefree as he had declared, " Music, the skill of it, the talent you have in your fingertips Una, is special, like poetry the notes tell their own story to the listeners, if they only know how to listen. I must admit that, I like your playing most like no one else here in the whole Glen. You let the music come, from your soul, you're not too smug, like one in Upper Glen, or one sweetly golden one, who brings me joy, too of a different sort."
Bells tinkled in the wind, and Una whispered quietly, with trembling lips, "Walter, I know you're not here, you're lying there somewhere in the soil of Courcelette, under the poppies, today Mary Vance married to Miller, it was a lovely service. Rilla staunched Irene Howard, quite well, even if her hints hurt, they always do. Sometimes I feel like I hear your voice in the wind. A lot of people have died here, it was the Flu, but there is peace in the world, and the golden future you dreamed of, for which you gave your life, it will happen, your siblings will take care of it, and I, I will always keep faith, where ever I happen to roam."