Victor Walter Chase was feeling content as he roamed the streets of Kingsport. At a busy intersection, a familiar figure caught his attention as someone hurrying along nudged past a figure of a slim woman dressed in a loose khaki-colored jacket carrying a worn pale leather bag over her shoulder.
Victor Chase found himself holding his breath, as Professor Sorel, only glanced behind her, he could almost see that cool, almost freezing expression, in her greenish-hazel eyes, which was extremely neutral, as she continued walking calmly, sweeping her gloved hand, over her shoulder, once, second, third time as if to wipe away the unwanted, sudden touch.
Victor Chase, remembered the whispers in the corridors of the Redmond about Professor Sorel, the ruthless academic competition between the professors, and how Sorel was not really even entitled to be a professor, some of the naysayers whispered, only a supervisor, but because Redmond wanted to be in with the times, and because there was a certain amount in the Christine Stuart Dawson Fund, allotted to a female teacher, the board, amid grumbles had granted Sorel that title, with the provision that her teaching performance would be impeccable, and above reproach, and so it had been, in these handful of years, during which Sorel had been in Redmond, but what where her origins, her beginning, no one was completely clear. Sorel did not do any confidences, to her pupils, at least, nor to anyone else, so it was assumed, as the rumors swirled, as they ever did.
Victor Chase, as he was passing a church remembered anew how quietly Una Meredith had lit the candle with a gliding grace, as its narrow light had reflected its light on the gilded letters of the plaque. Around them the church had been almost empty, it had seemed to Victor that Miss Meredith might have wanted to make some other gesture, but his presence had prevented it.
Afterwards, they had walked in the gray, bright revealing light of early autumn through rustling piles of leaves, in silence. Politely cornering Redmond's science faculty, Victor had said, "I shall leave you, now, Miss Meredith."
Una Meredith had looked half up, any other girl's face that glance would have had an appropriate sense of flirtation in that gesture, but Miss Meredith did it naturally, modestly, crisply, as she nodded.
At the same moment, a blond youth with an eyepatch, and a taller dark-haired youth, with a military bearing, gathered Miss Meredith, and closed her in their embrace, as the blond exclaimed, " Una, always doing good works, I see, your hair smells like incense, Mrs. Marshall Elliot would be horrified, but not Mother Rosie."
Miss Meredith, smiled, and there was a deep touching gentleness in that smile, it was a moonlight soft one, as she murmured, "Oh, Carl, how are your insects?"
And at the same moment, Victor Chase found that the youths were looking at him with pale faces, as Miss Meredith said softly, "Carl, Shirley, here's Victor Chase, he too studies music at Redmond."
The dark-haired young man looked steadily and long at Victor's face, as if to compare something, and the blond one, whispered something almost inaudible, it could have been a name. The silence continued, slightly uncomfortable, and sticky, like spilled molasses syrup, as Victor shifted his weight, his left leg cramping. With a muttered, half-bitten oath, he bent down to rub his leg, feeling Miss Una Meredith's sympathetic gaze, burning, and to escape it, he said lightly, " An old souvenir from Flanders, it aches, and cramps, sometimes, battle-field surgery did what it could, the nerves are stuck, or so I was told, but I can walk, many lost more."
And those words broke the frozen silence, as the youths glanced at each other, and nodded to him, as one did with other comrades in arms. The blonde one, with a barely noticeable gesture flicked his eye patch and the dark haired youth held out his long fingered hand and said simply, "Shirley Blythe, formerly of Flying Corps, well met, Mr. Chase, and this is Carl Meredith."
Victor Chase, nodded, and bowing slightly to Miss Meredith, he said, "Well, met, unfortunately I have errands, they will not wait, although it would be pleasant to stay here longer, have good evening, all." A muffled conversation seemed to start behind him as he walked away, but Victor couldn't be entirely sure, it could just be the rising wind.
Shirley Blythe leaned back on the lumpy couch, in the parlor of HayCorner as Carl whistled some tune and then suddenly Carl said, "That encounter few days ago with almost the ghost of our Walter was remarkable, wasn't it?"
The tea water whistled loudly in the gas ring in the kitchen.
Emphatically, with a Blythe determination, Shirley said, "Mr. Chase is not my brother, although he seemed quite have his likeness at first sight, but there are differences, coloring for one. He was never musically inclined, and Mr. Chase is."
Carl blew his tea, and muttered, "Im worried about Una."
Shirley glanced at Carl and said, "Dead people don't come back, even if we hope they do. There are no miracles in this life, not that kind."
Carl looked at Shirley and then he whispered, "It rattled you, did it not?"
Shirley didn't answer, not directly, but his fingers tapped the surface of his silver cigarette case.
Into the silence, then Carl said, "The weekend's coming, how about you bake a cake?"
Steadily Shirley glanced at Carl and remarked, "Meddling are we now?"
Carl's smile was carefree and golden in the gray light, as he noted, "No, I happen to like your cakes, and I need nourishment, to tackle my research paper, it is coming along quite well."
Arguing could be heard from the stairwell, "Most are all victims to the various atmospheres, a proper setting, a balmy evening, stars, and scent of roses, or a proper look after enough cognacs in the library, before port wine, you know." Why are you always so hateful? I'm always hateful to those I like a lot. Really, Really and truly so. Well darling, if only I could believe that."
Una Meredith, followed attentively as Professor Sorel played immersed in the music, as shimmering Bach flowed under those almost child-like fingers.
Una glanced towards Professor Sorel, as she leaned against the window sill.
In this gray September light, her hair had a slight reddish tint, it could be reflection from blazing maples. She was slim, but somehow steely, instead of the usual black, the Professor was wearing an old cream shade, which made her even more colorless than usual, Una suddenly wondered her age, she did not seem to be middle-aged, not quite. But then again war years had aged many beyond their years.
Una turned the sheet music, and began to play Schubert - Winterreise, D. 911: N. 17, Im Dorfe, and as those notes flew by, she pondered everyday life in the Glen, the things that were never spoken to others. Afterwards Professor Sorel remarked, in a pleased tone, "Miss Meredith, a little less choral next time, even though it was a Bach, as for that particular Schubert, well done."
And while walking towards the library, Una overheard how a few steps ahead of her a tall man exclaimed to his companion, "I know what those conditions are, but it's incomprehensible. My dearest chap Bernard often tells me that after certain meetings he always has to take an encouraging cognac or two. Perhaps something must be done, something must be found."
Una walked faster, as it was obvious that politicking and turf wars were everywhere, their scale just varied, this wasn't about Laidies Aid sales, or lace plucking competition or fundraising.
The library was quiet, and by chance one of the newspaper rooms had old issues of Kingsport News and the Daily Maritime Herald on display, out of habit Una glanced through a few issues of the newspapers.
Quite by chance her attention was drawn to a familiar photograph, but this time the photograph was titled, "Fiery Tragedy."
Una read the short description, but it was written in a bloated, sensationalist style, but the description didn't say anything about the girl in the photo.
The Kingsport sky was as bright gray as Walter's eyes had been, as the rain slowly began to fall, and with a hum, Una disappeared into the crowd.