Mary Leonora MacAllister Williams's wedding was a success.
Even if bride looked colorless as a mouse even in her wedding finery, or the groom, one Tim Williams, a bright lad, one of the choiristers form Lowbridge, not quite so radiantly clear or heartstopping tenor as Carl Meredith or so certain Glenians were heard to whisper, some did not belive it all, as if any Lowbridge lad could compete with any Glenians, but the rumour of Revereds lads singing was too strange to be credited, as everyone knew that Una was the only musical Meredith, and she almost had a degree to prove it, or would soon have, if one discounted Rosemary.
The wedding cake, which was ordered separately from Charlottetown, at great personal cost, caused quite a lot of crumbling among matrons and housewifes of Glen.
Quite a lot of former Junior Reds were hiding wide smiles, of faintly superior quality because Irene Howard finally got to be maid of honor. True to her Howardish ways, Miss Howard did cast lingering eye over the pianist after flowers had been thrown, and now radiant and flushing bride and groom were dancing among greenery.
All these things went on with a smooth routine, and a steady duty, resonant prayers of Reverend Merediths usual vague way, as choir sang suitable hymns with more bubbling feeling than was usual.
The fact that had had made most young lasses of Glen all the more excited and all dewy-eyed was the pianist, Victor Walter Chase, who had caused slight waves in the Glen from his first moment. Matrons of Glen still carefully whispered how pale Mrs. Blythe had turned, as she had met Mr. Chases gaze, after Laidies Aid Bake sale had finally ended.
Even the choir of Glen were affected, for as one of them whispered to Rosemary Meredith with the reddest cheek after the Sunday service. " It is so hard to concentrate, as Mr Chase is so passionately concentrated, and dare I say it even dreamy, as he does his thing with the ivories, and then there is that hair that fops over his forehead in the most romantic manner. I feel all funny and breathless, as it is time for high descant."
Rosemary had glanced across the pews towards the corner of the piano where Victor Chase's slender figure was visible, and Rosemary merely remarked in her usual way, "Nerves are part of the performance, even if it's a Sunday choir, trust that you can land on those high notes dear."
Afterwards, in the silence of the church, Rosemary critically examined Victor Chase, who passed her, politely, nodding, saying, "Mrs. Meredith, good morning to you. Excellent acoustics in this church, indeed."
In the dim light coming from the half-open door, that clear tenor and slender fair figure, reminded her startlingly of the late Martin Crawford, of her long lost past love, whom the sea had taken from her, and feeling thrown, at the sudden reminder, for the timbre of Mr Chase's voice had been disconcertingly similar, to Martin's, Rosemary found herself nodding only briefly, and perhaps uncharacteristically rudely.
In the empty silence of the Presbyterian church, Rosemary folded her arms, and exhaled aloud, aware, and grateful that no incense was used in the Glen church, and that the dead did not return to life.
Slightly worried for Una's sake, Rosemary noticed that Irene Howard had been lying in wait, in her best dress, and she seemed to be chatting animatedly with Mr. Chase, as they set off to walk from the church towards Upper Glen.
Victor Chase listened with one ear to the almost continuous monologue of Miss Howard, a fair-haired, relatively pretty girl, who seemed rather arrogant.
And finally Victor decided to be a little rude, although it was not gentlemanly behavior. "You sing, Miss Howard, but you have not considered vocal studies, although you are obviously quite musical, as is Miss Meredith, although she has a different instrument."
The cherry-red lips curled slightly and the honey-sweet voice took on a soft, slightly strained tone, as Irene Howard remarked lightly, "Oh, Mr. Chase, may I call you Victor. I take singing lessons, always in Charlottetown in the winter, my aunt has contacts there, of course they left during the war years. These little circles of ours, of course, are nothing compared to Kingsport, but I do my best, and I am said to be the best performer in the area, it is always pleasant to give my time and my art to the right kind of events, you know, I am always ready to practice. And as for dear, dear Una, the fact that she decided to go to Redmond after all was a surprise, but the piano suits her, as she has always been so modest, but rude and secretive."
Victor Chase smiled thoughtfully as he remarked, "Interesting thoughts, Miss Howard. I came here to play at a wedding, and when that wedding is over, my time at .Mary will soon be over, unless there are more weddings to come. The fact that I helped out on a few Sundays and at choir practice was an exception, though a pleasant one. Sitting in the practice room can be a lonely thing, so it's nice to get a taste of the community of the Glen."
A dark blue bicycle was bumped against an aspen tree, and, jumping on it, Victor Chase waved his hand and began pedaling in the direction of Lowbridge Road, exclaiming, "Have a peaceful Sunday baking and needlework, Miss Howard!"
When Victor Chase's bike had turned out of sight, Irene turned around and walked briskly towards Carter Flagg's shop, it seemed at once that she had failed to attract interest, incomprehensible that the pianist had not taken her up on her offer, it was clear, but there was still time.
Victor Chase was the most interesting acquaintance, since the advent of Kenneth Ford years ago, and fortunately he had no connections here in the Glen, so perhaps all was not lost, as Shirley Blythe was stil as maddenly elusive as he ever was, quite impossible to talk to.
Betty Meade Sinclaire and Mary Vance Douglas raised their eyebrows at Irene's exceptional good mood.
Una Meredith sat on the Parker family grave, and thought. It was strange that Victor Chase was in the Glen, for for a moment Una's two separate lives had merged, but his presence had not changed Una's own routines as much as she had perhaps feared, the moment Victor had sauntered towards her. Glen's summer life went on as calmly as usual, though it bubbled under the surface, as always in a village community.
Sometimes on Sundays Victor Chase would appear for afternoon tea at the Manse, carrying Papa's pile of books, usually Carl would dominate the conversation, in his occasionally absent-minded way, with him. Rosemary had tactfully lingered in the kitchen, or gone to Ingelside, on these occasions, which was very strange, but Rosemary had said nothing to her, not a word in passing, but still there was a slight weight of expectation in the air, of which Una was vaguely aware, which dissipated when Shirley joined the company, and the three of them, Carl, Shirley and , went fishing, as they sometimes did.
Una leaned over the headstone and scraped the moss and lichen off Alice's name, determinedly, and as she did so, she remembered how once, when she and Alice had been walking through the Glen after a prayer meeting, Walter had come up to them, passing them with a dreamy look.
Alice had remarked mischievously, "Walter Cuthbert Blythe, it is impolite not to tip your hat when ladies you know pass you, even in a village setting."
Walter had stopped, he had smiled gravely, even impishly towards Alice, and then the steady gaze of his bright grey eyes, dark in the summer twilight, had rested on Una, as Walter had said, thoughtfully, but cheerfully, in that way that only Alice could get out of him, "Laidies, I see here not, only a fair pair of faes, who have escaped from the fairies' court to the delight of us mortals."
Walter's ink-stained fingers had brushed away his little cap, as he had bowed gracefully, to them.
Alice's laughter had rang out, as she had said, "Well put, Mr. Blythe. I suppose you have again delved into the golden age, of Shakespeare, in your leisure reading, when you speak of us both as fairies, but Walter, we both are as human as any other girls here, with our dreams, hopes and secret sorrows."
And Una remembered how she had stood silently, beside Alice, wanting to join in but not daring to do so, as their gentle, literary-musicological banter had pulsed almost in competition with the evening song of the golden-throated blackbirds.
And a little later, with uncharacteristic sharpness, Alice had remarked, " Una, why didn't you join in the discussion, for you would have had several arguments which would certainly have enriched it."
Una had merely wiped her cuffs, intently, without raising her eyes to Alice.
There had been a slight irritated sigh, and then Alice had said with forced patience, "I have found that of all the Blythe boys Walter is the least observant in matters not connected with books, so if you wish to talk to him about anything, even at the church picnic next Sunday, you must break your silence, Una, you have known him for years, some men need a change of perspective, or so I have come to understand, and no, I am not talking about courting matters now, for that is different, but communication too, in a way."
And so it had been.
There had been that church picnic on a bright summer afternoon in 1913, when a great argument took place, between Walter Blythe, Carl Meredith, Alice Parker, and Una Meredith, and the matrons of Glen and Lowbridge had spoken in a tone of disapproval of the youth of the day, as the impassioned debate had gone on beyond the permissible limit, so that the Reverends Meredith and Simmons of Lowbridge had been obliged to interrupt it.
Una heard Victor Chase's voice say behind her, "Miss Meredith, you are hiding here, I see, I hope I don't disturb you?"
Una turned so quickly that she staggered slightly against the headstone, and felt Victor's arms wrap gently, warmly around her shoulders.
Unsettled, Una regained her balance, and took a step back and fixed her eyes on her shoes.
A gentle breeze rustled the leaves in the lilac bush, as Una heard Victor Chase say, "A beautiful cemetery."
Una looked up, and said firmly, forcing her voice to be calm, "A bit wild, if you compare it to Glen's, but I come here sometimes to think. Tell me, from whom did you learn of the Williams wedding?"
A faint smile rose in Victor Chase's dark blue eyes, as he answered briefly, "I happened to meet Professor Sorel in Kingsport, even if she is a riddle that is wrapped in a quise of a woman. When I asked questions she did the half irritated half-shoulder shrug, but I could see that she liked her stay here, even if her patience seemed to be at end, for the day, but then again she almost always seems one half note away from either silent eruption of cool rage or something more sinister like murder by axing someone, or stabbing them, with something sharp. These kinds of jokes are very bad taste, I know, but on occasion it feels good to be able to make them, but I would not say them to her, poor Simon might have done, perhaps that is why he was disqualified from the class, broken wrist or no. So I took the opportunity that presented itself, although you could have asked me in the first place, but I suppose you didn't want to bother me, or be indebted, Miss Una Cecilia Meredith."
Una took a deep breath in and replied in a barely audible voice, so low that Victor leaned closer to hear, "No, there were many reasons that I cannot tell you. It is interesting to hear your opinion of the Professor, although I do not think Sorel holds me, or anyone in such high esteem as you perhaps think."
Those large almond-shaped eyes of a dark, almost sapphire blue shade seemed to look fixedly into Victor's soul, as Una Meredith whispered, a slight blush rising to her alabaster cheeks, "But, perhaps selfishly, I am glad you are here, Mr. Chase."
Victor chuckled as he glanced again at the tombstone, and the dates, and said, "Would you perhaps like to go and light a candle for your friend?"
Sophia Crawford happened to be passing Lowbridge Episcopal Church at the moment when Una Meredith and Victor Chase stepped out of it, walking side by side, very close.
And two days later all Lowbridge and Glen knew that Una Meredith had been seen almost canoodling on the outskirts of a church of a foreign denomination with a foreign pianist from out of town. And when Irene Howard heard the gossip, she ran to her room and smothered her screams of rage on her pillow.
Tea and soft caramel coffee cake filled the Ingelside parlor, Rosemary Meredith and Cornelia Marshall Elliot having recently left, there had been an informal meeting of the Ladies Aid Quilting Committee, for the members of the committee were scattered all over the Glen.
Shirley Blythe was baking in the kitchen, as he kneaded the dough, it was the second rising.
He could hear footsteps and the soft scent of lily of the valley perfume mingling with the aromas of dough and yeast, sugar and eggs.
Shirley felt an overwhelming urge to tear the dough from his hands and run out of the kitchen into the fresh air, to have a smoke, to get away from that overly attentive grey-green gaze, but Shirley stood still and did his duty, and as Anne watched he made and finished two sheets of cinnamon rolls.
Shirley was startled as he heard Anne say with quiet emphasis, "I am so proud of you, Shirley. I always have been, you are in the same mold as Gilbert's father, John Blythe was, solid, and reliable, but though your outward traits are perhaps more Blythe, down to your coloring, you are still my dear boy. Susan is so proud she almost bursts, and the Laidies Aid is disgruntled, but cooking, baking is an essential life-skill, and I think your victory proved something to the Glen as a whole. Times are changing."
Shirley folded his striped apron more and more precisely, as the unrestrained words that had been simmering within him finally burst out lowly, "He wrote to me from the front, to Queens, and also later, I got encouragement from his words, although we did not usually talk there was understanding between us."
Shirley glanced quickly at, at Mother, her face had turned pale.
And then Shirley said quickly, "I tried to prevent it at Redmond."
"Prevent what, my dear," Anne asked sincerely.
Startled, Anne noticed how Shirley's straight-backed expression straightened even more as he said briefly, "That, Victor, I mean Mr Chase would come to play the piano here, in Mrs Meredith's place, for I thought it would be too much for you, and perhaps for Spider too."
Anne, was silent for a time.
And then she said, "No one can bring my son back, and when I saw Mr. Chase, it was a shock, though in my heart I knew he was not him. So there is no reason why we should not offer him the hospitality of Ingelside, for he has been a guest at Rosemary's tea table, I have been told so."
Shirley nodded, and replied, a slight dry humor coloring his voice, "Chase is surprisingly pleasant company, on occasion, though he cannot fish, but few can, especially a city man."
Anne laughed brightly, as she remarked, walking out of the kitchen, the smell of baking cinnamon-rolls wafting over her. "Oh yes, you got a letter in the afternoon mail, it seems to be from Toronto."
Shirley nodded.
A little later Susan Baker watched with mild concern as her dear brown boy seemed to be extremely absorbed in a letter, as he was sitting in one of the inglenooks, the sender's information on the envelope said to be from a certain Terry, but of course people in Toronto had strange names.
Nan, said lightly, teasingly, "Shirley, these cinnamon-rolls are excellent, but why did Di's roommate would write to you?"
Shirley, looking up from the thin letter, as he said matter-of-factly, "We're playing letter chess, have been for quite some time. She's apparently coming with Di to the over-harbour Collings wedding, Terry fills in the numbers, she has a form there."
A soft summer twilight flooded through the half-open windows, a playful light glinting on Gog and Magog's noses.
Anne opened her beloved Tennyson, and began to recite aloud, Claribel, Duet, CVX Spring.
Shirley, folded Terry's letter into his pocket, walked out onto the veranda, and leaned against the post. Maybe Toronto would be a better place for him too, as it had been for Di also, or so it seemed at the surface. Many things were better on the surface, but it never lasted, not long enough.
Desire, a slight nervousness throbbed in his veins, as Shirley's fingers lightly tapped the post, as with an irritated jerk Shirley opened his dented cigarette case, but did not light one. It was a matter of self-control. Shirley remembered Carl's mildly scolding words, "You smoke too much, Shirl."