Anne Blythe sat in the parlor of the Manse. Moments earlier, the sparkling, bubbling music had flooded the room, as Una had been there, a pile of sheet music folders was neatly stacked on top of the piano, and all of them had initials, written in neat cursive, without extra flourishes, which reminded a little of what Katherine Brooke's handwriting had been in their Summerside days. Intrigued, Anne stepped closer and read, "M.E.S."
Rosemary's gentle voice came from behind Anne, and the slight clink and clatter of a well-laden tea-tray, as she mused, " Those notes dearest Anne belong to one of Una's professors, Sorel, her surname is. Una seems to be happy in Redmond, I think she's finding her place there, at least I hope so, because as you know, collage-level schooling wasn't in the cards for me, or Ellen. I've often thought that Ellen would have liked to enter Queens, but it was not possible, at the time, not for her. And because of this, I have proudly watched how Faith, Jerry, Carl and now Una are all blazing in Redmond, as they search for their own place in this new world that is slowly taking shape around us. What do you think of the recent news, dear Cornelia is of the firm opinion that Nellie McClung's most recent appeal, from articles to readers, on topics that would deal with heroism, generosity, neighborly kindness more than crime stories found in cheap newspapers, had the right style. And Norman Douglas in all forth about prohibition which apparently ended in British Columbia, few days ago."
Anne stirred her deep reddish-brown tea, and said lightly, "Dear, dear Rosie, as you know the temperance movement ruled the roost in Avonlea, as dear late had avid interest in WCTU. I have never hankered after certain alcoholic beverages, and certain laws have been in force here since 1901 and we have raised our young fry to that effect. It is also a social issue, and a moral one too."
Rosemary held the sugar bowl closer to Anne, and noticed that she seemed pensive, as if lost in memories.
Anne shuddered, as hazy memories threatened to surface, of Hammonds, the reek of cheap beer and sharp gin, and the quiet crying of children. Memories which had been repressed, for a very, very long time, but which Mary Vance's carelessly brittle words had brought to the surface, as Mary had been visiting Ingelside, with Cornelia, and her youngest, and Anne had overheard Mary say to Rilla, " My folks and relations were rotten, as the drink had torn them apart, and the squalor. I will give my family everything, and I will keep Miller in order too, fortunately he did not bring much bad habits from war, as for his pipe, luckily I happen to like it."
Resolutely, Anne raised her chin, as if to defy the past, her past that had not taken of old of her not since her first summer season of Green Gables, but it seemed that small tendrils of her old shadowy grey years as an unloved, undernourished child, still remained, embedded deep within her psyche, as psycholgists would remark, and with a pale smile, Anne accepted the sugar Rosemary offered, and said, " Well, tell me, I understand Una won a scholarship of some sort, for two years was it not so? As an Avery winner myself, I can tell you that it can smooth one's assimilation to Redmond, and I say with all my heart that Una will find her own place, and perhaps also kindred spirits of her own, I did in my Redmondian years. Oh, how fun we all had at Patty's Place, with Stella, Pris and impish Phil and dearest Aunt Jimsie."
Rosemary poured tea from a bluish teapot that was an old Westian heirloom into the teacups, as she replied, "Apparently a wealthy widow, now deceased, a former alumni of Redmond, created a coveted scholarship in her name, the Christine Stuart Dawson Stipend and Fund years and years ago, which can be awarded to talented future musician, or student that have certain aptitude for it."
Anne was startled a little when she heard that name, that she had not pondered over years, and years.
Afterwards, in the sunny peace of Ingelside, Anne opened one of her desk drawers and glanced at the diary she had written that September, in 1899, when she had been so unhappy, and Gilbert had been pale and overworked with work. When she had met Christine Stuart Dawson's damson tinted eyes, dark elaborate midnight curls, the alluring, irritating overtly polished superiority at dinner for the last, last time, as she had heard Christines laugh darkly fatally in the shady garden, as she and Gilbert had walked a round after dinner.
However now Anne confessed to herself that she found herself satisfied, she had her family who kept her memory alive, when the time would come, as she had done to Marilla and Matthew, and the late Christine Stuart Dawson would only be remembered as a name that carried an award, a scholarship, nothing more or less. There were no living epistles for the Dawson name.
Anne looked up from her diary, and in the mirror of her dressing table saw Gilbert's broad-shouldered figure, to step into their bedroom, there were few silver curls on his temples.
And suddenly Anne remarked, wanting to know, "Gilbert, the scholarship won by Una Meredith carries the name we both know, as it is the Christine Stuart Dawson scholarship, for an exceptional musician. Apparently somewhat similar to what my old Avery was, but a little rarer, I understand, at least that's what Rosemary said."
Gilbert's deep hazel eyes focused on Anne's face, appraisingly.
Anne's voice was neutral, but that neutrality could beheld hidden fire.
Gilbert sat down beside Anne, and touched his wife's shoulders, with his long-fingered hands, which smelled faintly of medicinal powders, Gilbert replied lightly, with a barest edge of teasing in his voice, " My Anne-girl, Christine wrote me on occasion, very polite letters, as the center of her life was her dogs, and travel, but in one of them she said she had founded that scholarship, as I if I remember correctly her words were, " It is perhaps somewhat ironic, dear Gilbert, that my own charity efforts have now proved fatal to my own health. I am now sitting in a sanatorium, and the prognosis is not good, so I want to give an opportunity to those who come after me, and who love music as much as I did, in my Redmondian days, as you remember, you were my cavalier. That's why I have given my late Andrew's lawyers specific instructions."
Hearing Gilbert's hushed words, Annes earlier slight satisfaction had evaporated, as she said, "I suppose her case was fascinating medically?"
The mirror reflected Gilbert leaning towards Anne, and placing a light, but lingering, passionate kiss on her forehead, as he replied, "I have learned that I cannot do everything, and with her case, I could not have. I said nothing of this before, for none of our children loved music as strongly as Una does. I am glad that Una won it, and I think that if Christine were alive, she would be pleased with Una's achievement, in her particular style, that light impish high-handedness, and social cleverness that sometimes reminds me of Phil Blake."
Amazed, Anne listened to Gilbert, trying and failing to see any similarity of her most beloved friend and her, for even in her thoughts, even after all these happy years, Anne did not like to recall certain Redmond years without a blush rising on her neck, as now.
As that tell-tale tide of color wooshed over Anne, Gilbert hid his smile, and took his wife in his arms, as he said, " Forget the past, the present is important. Downstairs, Rilla and Di are listening to Persis Ford's stories about the many amusements of Toronto. If someone had told me that Persis Ford would grow up to be politically active, interested in the suffragette idea, I wouldn't have believed it, but maybe I should have. Remember how many questions Persis always had for me, in their summer-season sojourns here."
In time Ford's departed to Toronto, and the House of Dreams was empty again. Many pleasant evenings had been spent there in the little garden, amid the scent of roses, just like in Rainbow Valley that had been filled with laughter, again as Blythes, Merediths and Fords had made merry there, but not like in old days of fish-suppers and fairytales.
There were rumors in the Glen that perhaps there might be another wedding in the winter, but none of the Blythes or Fords, nor Merediths confirmed anything. In Upper Glen Irene Howard closed a red folder irritably.
Carl Meredith, put a magazine clipping in a forest green folder in a better position. A small bubbling stream flowed merrily, as Una inquired, "Carl, Bruce is looking for you, apparently he's found an interesting dragonfly, what exactly are you researching so intensely?"
Carl glanced at Una, and said in an absentminded tone, "This is a news article about a massacre, an old one, with both human and animal victims."
Terrified, Una crossed her arms and whispered, "Why are you reading something so terrible on a balmy day like this, unless it is something that your Professors have asked of you?"
Carl's eye was distant as he fingered the cool, verdant, living grass, and felt how ant climbed on his finger.
He replied musingly, to Una "Before his wedding Jerry found this article for me, he thought it would interest me, although the darkness of the human soul is more Jerry and Jem's business than mine."
A yellowed newspaper clipping fluttered in the wind, and Una saw a small photograph, a yard, well kept-one, two figures side by side, an older man, and a young girl, the house burning behind them. In the photo, the girl's gaze was completely blank, but there was something familiar in her features.
Una leaned down to touch the girl's pale face and asked, "Carl, is this photo related to the incident you just told me about?"
Carl looked down, and shook his head, denying, "No, not at all, I've been interested in it myself, but unfortunately there is no information, maybe that photo was part of a different story, and there was a mix-up in the office, at least that's what Kenneth Ford suggested to me when I asked him about it."
Bruce's laughter rang out across Rainbow Valley as he shouted, "Carl, Carl, come, come, dragonflies are dancing, in the late sun!"
And so they were.
Shiny wings shimmering, a swarm of dragonflies flew through Rainbow Valley, like a small plane squadron might have done, Shirley Blythe noted, as he watched the glow of happiness on Carl's face, as nature showed to him yet another, pure, and simple miracle, there was a flush of enthusiasm on Bruces mien, and a hint of laughter deeply embedded in Carls eager smile.
Shirley, nodded to Carl, and took out of his pocket his pocketknife, which he, along with his silver cigarette case, had won at poker.
Shirley leaned back against a white birch, and began to whittle wood, as the dance of dragonflys swarmed all around him, ache of flying, hummed under his skin, he felt under his hands the control lever of an airplane, the slight vibration of the plane, and the wild freedom that was flying.
The fluffy clouds in the sky, which was pure blue, seemed to mock him, because he knew with intimate clarity, the feeling, the joy, that was when the plane curved skillfully through the clouds.
The blade of his knife glinted silver, and with a sudden, irritable gesture Shirley snapped open his silver cigarette case.
Una frowned as the soft scent of tobacco flooded Rainbow Valley, it didn't really fit here.
Shirley was slumped, leaning or as close as his mlitary influenced way allowed near Three Lovers. Shirley looked up at the sky, there was an intent, introverted expression on a handsome steady face, and the rolled cigarette slowly burned in his fingers.
Walter's bells jingled quietly as the wind blew playfully across Rainbow Valley.
Soon, soon, Redmond awaited them, as the summer season was nearly over, but now there was still time to enjoy the pastoral peace of the Glen.