Redmond term rolled onwards, and before anyone had time to turn around it was time to prepare Professor Bernard's latest favourite idea, a musical concert and a wine evening.
At the tea table of HayCorner boardinghouse, Una sat mixing cake batter, as Shirley tried for a lark to improve Marilla Cuthbert's renowned plum puffs, by making the batter a little lighter, using some rice flour in it.
Carl's butterfly books were in a messy heap everywhere, as were his specimen boxes, one beautiful cabbage butterfly had flour stains on its glass, like fallen snow.
Una noted in a tone of voice that to some might have been a complaint, "Of course we are all quite frazzled about the timing of it, it is too close to the end of term."
Impishly Carl, while stealing one of the gingerbread bisquits, remarked, "Think of it as a Presbytery Elder meeting, but it probably goes a little faster, the decision-making, that is, than in the congregations and committees."
And then the evening dawned.
A hall in Redmond had been set aside for this purpose, wine and ciders were waiting, in the coldroom, and in the aisles nervous musicians stood with sweaty palms, or calm like cool buttermilk.
The hall was filled with the expectant hum of the audience.
Simon Harquart stood still in the wings, and looked curiously at the bright stage, where a woman dressed in pale, clean bluish-gray silk glided onto the stage. Simon nodded to Victor Chase and whispered "Do you know who that one is?"
Victor Chase, looking carelessly at the stage and noted, "Simon. Maybe you should get some glasses, it is Professor Sorel, naturally."
Simon, glanced at the stage once more and said in amazement, "Is it really? She truly can dress for an occasion then, most transformative, as the Professor usually looks, as if she were feeding a pack of feral cats, in her off-hours, I mean, that certain kind of invisible but dowdy, if you know the type, Victor?"
The audience applauded, wildly, as the Professor rose from the piano, made a delicate curtsy, and walked over to them.
Victor observed that Simon swallowed nervously, as Professor Sorel's gaze passed them by.
This close, Victor observed that Professor Sorel did not wear any scent, nor did Miss Meredith, to whom Professor Sorel said in a low voice, something, before Miss Meredith's turn came.
Afterwards, in the heat of the concert hall, as the buffet table creaked and the people, the audience, mingled, Victor Chase, sidled into a corner, where Miss Meredith's midnight blue skirts were visible, and said, "Well done, that Ravel was resplendent, even luminous, suitable for this."
Una looked up and noticed that Victor Chase was holding two glasses in his hand, in which flickered almost golden in the lights.
With a demure, evasive movement, Una said, "Thank you, for that gesture, but it's already late, I do not partake."
At the same time the orchestra and first violin began to play, tenderly blooming Sibelius, and one by one the remaining guests began to dance.
Victor looked at Miss Meredith, long and earnestly as he said, "As I said, music is pleasant on these occasions, and dancing is not at all obligatory."
Remarkably relieved, Una leaned against the wall paneling and listened to the pulsating, bright notes of the violin, all too aware of the proximity of Victor Chase, a few polite steps away as a burning flush creeped across her cheeks.
There was a wedding at Glen St. Mary, this time between Fords and Blythes on a certain freezing day, during Christmas season of 1923.
It had not been a winter of discontent, not to all.
There were ponsettias and ivy almost nymph-wild twirled all over the reception hall, not Ingelside, for otherwise the guests would not have been able to fit in. The wedding arrangements, table-charts, had resembled war plans, with color-codes and all.
The smell of the spice cake and the wedding cake was delicious, as it was time to cut it, with all ceremonial suitable pomp and circumstance.
Nan hid a smile that Di did not even attempt when Jim Anderson declared, " Willa, you are beautiful, but must I now call you Willa Ford?"
Shirley Blythe watched as Rilla beamed with satisfaction, in her confection of a lace dress, in Kenneth Ford's arms as the waltzes started.
Darkly striking Gertrude Grant, was waltzing in her husbands arms, in a most dreamy gaze in her formerly so flashing eyes. One could not suppose that Gertrude was always ready to pour doom and gloom, like a little raincloud of sibyllic portents, but perhaps she had a off-day, as she had been maid-of honor, for Rilla, despite not being maid in years.
Shirley was feeling bereft, for Carl was talking eagerly across the room with golden Persis Ford, as they had done in previous occasion that had thrown them together. Di cast careful glance towards Persis, Carl looked up, and grinned at Di, in his most charm-filled way. Di nodded back, and then two had became three, in that particular corner, there were brusts of golden-silver laughter, ebbing like shimmering light.
Shirley looked up, as a warm voice inquired with a torontoian twang " You have the look of someone not caring about weddings, much."
With an inner sigh, Shirley turned, and glanced at the unknown girl standing there, who looked at him steadily, calmly knowning twinkle in her mien.
Her coloring was a likened to a nutbrown maiden, of Ingelsidean parlance, with delicate features, there was something faintly exotic about her.
There seemed to be hint of a smile lurking, in her features, even when she affected solemn countenance.
She, glanced at Shirley lightly and said, " Im Terry. I do not care weddings, very much either, but there were gaps in numbers so."
Almost without realizing it, Shirley smiled, and said, "if it was only for numbers and formulas sake, then, I am Shirley." That smile, it blossomed into sparkling radiance, which lightened her features, as Terry looked around and remarked, ""Dancing would be expected, but my heels are killing me, I really rather not."
Shirley nodded, as it was a most sensible observation as they began to slowly converse.
Una Meredith, was in the process of wiping surplus cake, from Mary Vance's children's faces, as Irene Howard rustled past her in too-red taffeta, Irene's floral perfume was on this occasion even more cloyingly sweet than most dessert-wines, ss she clearly prowled in the direction of Kenneth Fords Torontoian flock and his cousin ribald and golden blond Leo West.
The hired orchestra played something up-tempo, and joyful.
Cornelia Marshall Elliott remarked to Rosemary Meredith, "Providence's plans and my own prayers will always be fulfilled, eventually."
Slightly curious, Rosemary noticed that Una handed over Mary Vance's children to Mary and Miller, sans cake stains, passing the pale-faced and overdramatic Amy MacAllister, who was looking longingly in Carl's direction, her lemon yellow dress as mismatched to her colors as ever.
Una exchanged a few words with the orchestra, and slowly the music changed, into something else. Seductive, gentle, and passionate, reminiscent of Scottish dances, their wild rhythm, but this was something else, brighter, and more primal, as the violins and cellos pulsed.
Happily Rosemary watched as Carl, Persis, Una, Shirley, and the dark-haired girl who was leaning on Shirley's arm, in a pale gold dress, danced in a circle, like a Ceilidh, but not quite, and the circle grew wider, and wider, as in turns most of Blythes, Merediths and Fords, joined in Annes and Leslies laughter mingled together as it had done in the olden, golden years.
A bit later, Owen Ford, glanced thoughtfully at the narrow newspaper clipping and the black-and-white photograph that Una Meredith handed him, as and said gravely, " The picture, it haunts, me, I don't know why, maybe it's that girl's expression. I feel as I should know her."
Owen Ford, frowned, for something about it seemed extremely familiar, and cautiously he took his red-covered notebook from his pocket, and quickly wrote down the information in shorthand, and smiling that gentle smile that he had bequeathed to his children, he remarked, " I promise nothing, of course, but I'll do what I can if I shake the archives a little, and see what comes up."
With a smooth moonbeam smile, Una Meredith had vanished anew among dancing pairs, this time, she was dancing with her brother.
Out of breath, red-cheeked from dancing, Una drank lemonade, as she heard Susan Baker remark to Shirley " That girl you danced with, she seems competent, and sensible, though the gold tone at the wedding, is an unconventional choice."
Shirley's voice was gentle, as he replied, " Mother Susan, I am satisfied, as I can be."
Cornelia Marshall Elliott and Ellen Douglas were sitting together, as Una walked past them, just as Cornelia inquired, " What was that earlier music, it didn't seem Presbyterian enough."
Una turned, her blue skirt flaring wide, as she replied, " It was Sibelius."
Cornelia Marshall Elliott snorted, as she murmured, "Sounds just like a brand of ready-made bread."
First Blythe-Ford-wedding, and perhaps, there could be second Ford one, in the cards, as Irene Howard whispered to Betty Meade Sinclair.
Betty glanced around and remarked, "I don't think Persis Ford is interested in the circles here, Irene, not even Meredith's, even though she danced with Carl, they do look lovely together." But Irene had already flounced away, from Bettys side, as there were so many webs to spun, here, so many rumours, and scandals to spread.
This was an occasion that was an occasion in Glen annals, that all could tie to, as frost and snow sparkled like first-water diamonds and Glen was peaceful oasis, but too, too small Una noted, with restless smile, towards star-studded sky.
Winter had silenced bells in Rainbow Valley, they too waited for springs tender promise.