Miss Isolde Jessica Pettibone
15 Willowmere Avenue
Halifax, Nova Scotia
CanadaTo:
Miss Cecily Victoria King
King Farm
Avonlea, Prince Edward Island
CanadaMay 15, 1915
I am glad to hear that Milady Hammond is still her charming self. I remember Mrs. Hammond went into the Charlottetown Hospital because of the claim that she had a severe case of rheumatism in her brain. Arthur told her that her that that was impossible, that she was pretending to be ill, any ailment she claimed to have was entirely in her head and that she enjoyed the pretence of great suffering. Arthur, as you may have noticed, does not mince words. She swept out of the hospital with the air of a grand duchess offended. This did not prevent her from returning to the hospital when she really was ill and Arthur treated her again, under her protests. I know you're worrying about her state of health, but don't. When Muriel asked Arthur how she was, he replied, "Unfortunately, very much the same. I'm afraid there isn't ailment in present existence that could alter that fair lady's disposition."
The entire Pettibone family sends its condolences to you and young Daniel on the very sad loss of your beloved Digger. He was a faithful, true friend and a loyal companion. I remember the day you left for the san, everyone in Avonlea could hear him howling in agony all night long because he did not have his mistress Cecily near him. He will be sorely missed. I know no other dog can ever replace Digger in your hearts, but I must tell you that Arthur and I recently scoured every pet emporium in Halifax for the dearest little puppy in Canada and, at length, we found him, and sent him to Avonlea posthaste. We didn't feel it right for us to name him, so we leave that in your capable hands.
I really must be off. King Arthur and Father have managed to survive an entire day without arguing. Think of that. He swears he must leave soon to return to the hospital, but I want to be selfish and persuade him to stay. So to make up for it, I am going to be very selfish when you come and keep you for an entire year.
Your chummiest of chums,
Lady Isolde
Cecily's puppy jumped on her lap and licked her face. "If you don't mind, I am trying to put this letter away." Cecily hadn't officially named her puppy yet and was calling him Silly. There was a knock at her door. "Come in," she said.
Her mother entered. "Cecily, Philip's come to call, dear," she said in an exasperated voice.
"I saw his car."
"Don't you think you ought to go down to him?"
"No. I've given him my answer and his coming here every other day is not going to change my mind."
"Cecily," her mother began. "I know you don't want to marry him, dear, and no one wants to force you, but don't you think it's best to explain to him-"
"I have explained. Tell him I shall not see him," she replied, with an unusual tinge of impatience in her voice.
"Well, he's just outside talking to your father. I'll tell him...?" Janet waited for her daughter to give her a message to Philip.
"That he needn't come again."
Her mother left Cecily alone in her room. Cecily got up and went downstairs. Her sister and aunt Hetty were in the kitchen discussing childrearing.
"Cess, Philip's come again," Felicity told her, sounding rather exasperated.
"I am aware of that." Cecily wanted to go for a ride and she was taking her hair down, much to the silent distress of her sister and Hetty.
"Ya won't at least speak to the lad?"
"I'll none of him," she said in a singsong voice and, smiling, she opened the door and went out into the warm spring afternoon.
"What in the name of Providence has got into that girl, Felicity?"
Cecily managed to avoid Philip while she was outside and she saddled up Prince. She rode him out of the barn and she saw Philip speaking to her father nearby. She deliberately rode past Philip as fast as Prince could run, her golden hair flying wildly in the wind.
* * *
Morning dawned silently at the Pettibones'. Muriel was, as usual, awake before the rest of the family. Clive usually awoke before sunrise for a run and then settled back in and slept a few hours more. It was always she who silently knocked on each door to wake the sleepy and somewhat testy inhabitant. Izzy was awoken first. Muriel thought it best to allow Clive and Morgan to sleep as much as they could before they saw one another again. Izzy was busy in the kitchen when she heard her father's footsteps in the front hall. Muriel went out to greet him. She had left the kitchen with the intention of discussing the previous evening with Clive. The moment she saw him, she knew from his demeanour that he was not in a humour to discuss any unpleasantness in the Pettibone home. She knew the Pettibone tendency to keep things bottled up all too well. It was often a source of tension in the home. Clive was looking around the room with a confused and somewhat perturbed expression on his face. "It's nearly eight o'clock," he told his wife. "I've overslept. I've never overslept in my entire life."
Muriel placed her hands on his arms. "Well, there is always a first time for everything, my dear."
"I trust my second-in-command has everything in top order?"
"Absolutely."
"And how are the troops this morning?"
"Up to inspection standards, sir."
"Good," he replied.
"Izzy," Muriel called. "Izzy, dear. Why don't you go wake Morgan now?"
"All right," she replied from the kitchen. She past her father on the way to the stairs and he kissed the top of her forehead. Izzy slowly approached Morgan's door and knocked on it. She could picture him in his usual state, sprawled across his bed, snoring merrily.
* * *
Miss Isolde J. Pettibone
15 Willowmere Avenue
Halifax, Nova Scotia
CanadaMiss Cecily V. King
King Farm
Avonlea, Prince Edward Island
CanadaMay 16, 1915
Dear Izzy,
"We are all in uproar."
Actually, that is not really the case. I just am very fond of that quote from Pride and Prejudice. We are in a bit of a tizzy, actually. Mother, Father, Aunt Hetty and I are to stay with Aunt Abigail and Uncle Malcolm at their home in Charlottetown and attend the Spring Dance. Aunt Abigail and Uncle Malcolm spend a good deal of their time in the spring at their home in Charlottetown. It is a very fine home and I have been advised to be careful not to trip and break some expensive article that Uncle Malcolm brought back from one of his travels. Fancy that. If I could somehow manage to know when I'm going to trip and control myself when I'm about to, I wouldn't trip at all.
I suspect you shall not receive this letter for several days, as I suspect I have one from you already in the post. I write this while on the train to Charlottetown. We shall be certain to pay a call on Arthur, although I know his modern sensibilities do not coincide with such anachronisms as social calls. Aunt Hetty is constantly demeaning him, his medical abilities, and doctors in general, but I know if any other doctor at the hospital in Charlottetown tried to treat her, she would throw a blue fit.
I am looking forward to this trip with a mix of dread and excitement. Aunt Abigail is no doubt at this very moment checking over her plans to somehow inoculate me with the love of cooking and housework that I sadly lack. My aunt is determined to domesticate me come Halifax or high water. I've been able to learn to sew and bake well enough to meet Aunt Hetty's rigid standards with a modicum of success, but Aunt Abigail is still not satisfied. Of course, if I had agreed to marry Philip Long as we all know I should have done, I would have been able to rest assured that I would have a downstairs maid, a cook, an upstairs maid, a footman, and my own personal ladies' maid. You see? I would have nothing to do all day but twiddle my thumbs, hold tea parties, and contemplate my boredom. I would not find that advantageous in the least bit. I may not be able to cook, sew or bake very well, but I would do it if I had to; I would do it for someone I wanted to do it for.
I shall send you a complete description of the dance, although I wish that you could come as well.
I remain,
Your dearest friend,
Cecily King
* * *
Cecily was not thrilled with the prospect after overhearing her aunt's opinion of her ended relationship with Philip. It seemed everyone in Avonlea had an opinion about that and few agreed with Cecily's decision.
Cecily didn't really think of it. She was excited about the prospect of a dance. She hadn't been to one-a real one-any dance just for the sake of a dance since the war began. The Spring Dance was a tradition and would be held in spite of the war. Even Aunt Hetty seemed to approve of it. Cecily read in the papers of how it kept up morale and such things. The fact that Cecily had taken to reading newspapers had caused a minor stir in the King clan.
So it was all settled that the Kings would go. Daniel was to spend the evening with Felicity and Eliza, who spoiled him, and Felix…. No one knew exactly what Felix would do. Of late he'd taken to walking alone at night, out by the cliffs. This had given Janet such a fright that once she induced Alec to follow him. Felix always went to the lighthouse and stood on the cliffs, watching the black sea crash in white foam on the rocks below.
Felix, or anyone for that matter, couldn't go into the lighthouse now. It was tended by a genuinely disagreeable member of the MacVicar clan who was sometimes too drunk to keep the light burning through the night; the lighthouse that had been the most reliable in the province under Gus Pike's tenure as keeper. Felix used to go to sleep by watching its rotating beam in the distance. Now it, like everything else it seemed, was coming apart. There was talk of tearing it down. Progress, the townsfolk of Avonlea averred. Lighthouses are becoming obsolete. The wheels of change are turning, they said. Spinning out of control is more like it, or so thought Miss Cecily King.
The Improvement Society had fortunately prevented its demolition, however. The lighthouse was picturesque, Hetty argued. The tourists from the hotel could enjoy it. So it stood, although no attempts were made to replace Jake MacVicar as keeper.
Once, Felix had walked out to the light and found it had burned out. It's a good thing Gus isn't here to see this, he thought. The door was unlocked and he found the lighthouse empty. He climbed the stairs and lit the light. Gus had showed him how long ago. He tended it, never thinking of sleep, grateful for the view of the never-ending expanse of moving blackness before him.
* * *
Hetty, Janet and Cecily were to leave the day before the dance and Alec promised to follow them later. Janet wanted to get settled in at Abigail's and the two of them had a row during the trip from the train station to the McEwan's.
Malcolm was at home, playing baseball with Lucky, when the Kings arrived. He was perspiring and dressed rather casually when he met them at the door.
"Malcolm!" Abigail scolded her husband for his appearance. He seemed oblivious to it.
"Goodness, isn't this a surprise! I had no idea you folks were coming!"
"Malcolm," Abigail began in a strained, yet dignified tone. "I told you my sister and Miss King and Cecily were coming today."
"Good heavens, is today Tuesday already?"
"No, Malcolm. Today is Wednesday. I told you they were coming on Wednesday."
"Well," Malcolm boomed in his friendly voice. "I'm always glad to see any of you on a Tuesday or a Wednesday. Let them come in, Abby darlin'," Malcolm urged, oblivious of the fact that he was the one blocking the doorway. He moved back a bit as they entered. "Ah, Janet," he said, kissing his sister-in-law's cheek. "So good to see you. Alec's on his way, then? See, Abby? I did remember something. Miss Hetty, you're the picture of health, if you don't mind my saying so."
"Well, many thanks to ya, Malcolm McEwan."
"Ah, and Cecily," Malcolm said, putting his arm around his niece. "She's the bonny thing," he said proudly. Cecily lowered her head and blushed. "You're as pretty as the first rose of summah, Cecily, just like your Aunt Abby." With his arm still around Cecily, Malcolm drew his wife close to him and kissed her on the cheek.
"Oh, Malcolm! Really! Especially in front of an impressionable young lady." She paused a moment in order to collect herself. "Well, I suppose we should get everyone settled in, then."
Janet complained of a headache and went upstairs to lie down. Hetty wouldn't stay any longer in the company of Abigail McEwan than she had to, and announced that she had certain errands to run. Malcolm wanted to smoke his pipe, so he was banished to the outdoors. So Cecily spent an afternoon in the parlour with Abigail. Abigail seized the opportunity and incarcerated poor Cecily in a chair, bent over needlework. Lucky frequently barged in and pestered his mother. Cecily was actually grateful for the interruptions, because with her aunt distracted, she could look over at the bindings books in the bookcase that stood against the wall. "Cecily," her aunt's voice reprimanded her.
"Yes, Aunt Abigail," Cecily replied dutifully and bent her head over her stitches. Even Abigail had to admit she had improved, although not much, mostly owing to the fact that she had absolutely no interest in sewing or in any other domestic task.
The telephone rang. "Excuse me, Cecily," Abigail said and went into the adjoining room to answer it. With her aunt out of sight, Cecily quietly laid down her needlework, crept over to the bookcase and opened one of the glass doors. She pulled out a book she had been eyeing and opened it, eagerly and quickly reading the first page. "Cecily," Abigail's singsong voice came from the other room, sounding as if she knew what her niece was up to.
"Yes, Aunt Abigail," Cecily replied laboriously. She put the book back on its shelf and resumed her tedious needlework.
* * *
That evening at dinner, Janet, Hetty, and Cecily were seated at the McEwans' large dining table. Lucky was sitting across from Cecily, making impertinent faces at her when his parents weren't looking. What a lovely child, Cecily thought and smiled sweetly at him.
"You lift up your glasses and I'll pour you some cheer," Malcolm said, indicating the wine bottle he held in his hand.
"Wine?" Hetty asked in a shocked voice.
"'97. 'Twas a good year."
"Oh, no wine for Cecily, Malcolm," Janet said.
"Janet, won't you allow the girl to have a glass of wine? She's a young lady now, she ought to be treated like one, isn't that right, lassie?"
Cecily looked over at her mother. "Oh, all right," Janet conceded.
"Excellent. This'll put some colour into your cheeks, Cecily."
"Yes, Janet. I can't say I like seeing Cecily looking so pale," Abigail agreed.
"Well, Cecily has been rather cooped up this winter," Hetty began. "Fresh air and exercise should do the trick."
"And the dance tomorrow night with all of those handsome young soldier lads," Malcolm put in. "After all, the poor lads will be shipped off to the front soon."
"I've rather thought I'd like to go to Europe," Cecily said, astonishing everyone at the table.
"What could you do over there, Cecily?" Abigail wanted to know.
"Oh, I don't know. Poison the Huns with my cooking," she replied gleefully. Everyone at the table laughed.
"Would you take some, Miss Hetty?" Malcolm asked, indicating the bottle of wine he held in his hand.
"Oh, no," Hetty responded. "I don't drink alcohol. I only take it medicinally."
"Well, pretend you've got the flu," Malcolm said and filled her glass with wine.
"So, tell me all about the Avonlea Junior Red Cross, Cecily," Abigail said.
"I wish I could, Aunt Abigail, but I am no longer a member of that organisation."
Abigail put down her fork. "What?"
"I quit."
"Whatever for?"
"I got tired of Gwendolen Hammond running everything. Everything had to be her way or else. Gwendolen Hammond doesn't like me and she doesn't like the Kings."
"Well, Cecily, perhaps if you had been the president as they'd asked ya to, you wouldn't have had that problem, not that I'm blaming ya, child. That Mrs. Hammond is a pill and her daughter's just like her. I admit that the Hammonds are not on the same level as the Kings, but still, ya should have kept quiet about your differences, Cecily."
"I've kept quiet long enough, Aunt Hetty," Cecily replied calmly. "When Gwendolen planned that benefit concert and it all fell through, she blamed me for it, even though the reason it failed was all her fault. I didn't say a word then. Arthur and Izzy Pettibone told me to write a public letter of outrage to the Chronicle."
"Well, you are a King, Cecily," Abigail said. "And Kings do not get upset over such trifles as that."
"They were only kidding," Cecily replied. "The Pettibones-they joke around a lot." Wouldn't that be a nice change, Cecily thought.
"When they're not at each others' throats, ya mean."
"Well, then, Cecily, why don't you tell us about the telegraph office?" Malcolm asked.
"I quit that too."
"What? Janet, certainly you're not encouraging this behaviour?" asked a shocked Abigail.
"No, she is not," Cecily answered for her mother. "And I've also given Philip Long the shaft, a fact of which you are keenly aware. Would you like to tell me further how you disapprove of that?"
"Cecily King!" Janet reprimanded. "That is enough. There's no need for you to be rude to your Aunt Abigail. Either you behave at once or you're not going to the dance."
"I'm sorry, Aunt Abigail, Uncle Malcolm. I'm sorry, Mother, Aunt Hetty. Please forgive my outburst."
"Apology accepted, Cecily," Abigail said, speaking for all.
Cecily wouldn't look at her aunt. She felt horrible about hurting their feelings. But she was just feeling so frustrated. At least she could have a night at a dance where she wouldn't have to think about everything.
* * *
The next day, Janet, Cecily and Hetty had errands to run in Charlottetown. Cecily had sent one of her Paris dresses to a tailor's to have altered. Janet had decreed that she was afraid to touch the delicate thing for fear she'd ruin it. Hetty informed her sister-in-law and niece that she needed to make a stop at the hospital in order to get a prescription from "that Arthur Pettibone. And I suppose he'll insist on prodding me with some foreign-looking object, but that's the way it'll have to be, I suppose."
She stopped at the front desk and asked the nurse where she might find his office. Hetty knocked on the door. "Come in," Arthur's voice called. The door was unlocked, so she opened the door and saw him seated at his desk, shuffling piles of paper around. Hetty knocked on the side of the doorway. "Psst! Arthur," she said in a loud whisper. "Arthur!" she said again, louder.
Arthur suddenly looked up at her through his reading spectacles. He had his usual calm expression on his face, but Hetty reflected that she had never seen him looking frazzled.
"Miss King," he said, smoothing down his usually immaculate hair with his hand in an attempt to look dignified.
"I'm not interrupting ya?"
"No. Oh, no. I'm just-I'm just…." Arthur jumped up and began removing papers from the chair in front of his desk so that Hetty could sit down.
Hetty sat. "Is there anything the matter, Arthur?" she asked him as he was sitting. He immediately stood up and began arranging several toppled medical texts on his bookshelves.
"No," he replied. "I'm all right. What can I do for you, Miss King?"
"Well, it seems I've run out of that pain medicine you've prescribed for me. I'd like another prescription, if that's at all possible. Heavens to Molly, Arthur Pettibone! Will ya sit down?" Arthur had moved to another end of the room and was compulsively trying to make sure his coat rack was exactly perpendicular to the door. Arthur turned away from this task and headed toward his desk.
"I'm sorry, Miss King. I'm just a little-" He began shuffling through the papers on his desk looking for a pen. "Pain medicine, you say?"
"Yes, if it's not too much trouble. And why, may I ask, are ya behaving like such a buffoon? Has the circus come to town?" Hetty could see dark circles under his eyes through his reading spectacles as he wrote out the prescription. "You're not ill?"
He looked up momentarily. "No. Here it is," he said, handing her a small white square of paper that was crossed over with his steady handwriting. Arthur somehow found her chart in the mess on his desk. "I suggest you use them sparingly, Miss King. That's all I can give you."
"Six pills?" Hetty said when she read the prescription.
"I'm actually giving you more than I should." He consulted her chart. "I see you're due for your next appointment in a short time. I heard you asked for me specifically, Miss King. Am I to assume you've been reading up on the medicinal benefits of horse doctors?"
"Oh, don't let it go to your head, Arthur Pettibone. Of course, I know how difficult that may be for a member of your family. I am under the impression that you are among the least nitwitted of doctors that I have had the misfortune to meet up with in my life."
"Well, I'll take that as a compliment, Miss King. Now, you are coming for your appointment, aren't you? I don't want to have to go to Avonlea to hunt you down."
"Oh, I'll be there with bells on, I assure ya. There will be absolutely no need for a Pettibone to condescend to come to Avonlea. I suppose I'll be on my way now."
"All right, then," he said, smiling. "If you take it to the desk, the nurse will have it refilled for you. Good day, Miss King."
"Good day, Arthur Pettibone."
After Hetty left, Arthur went over to the window and looked out of it. Below him, there was the usual sight of soldiers, recruiting stations and examination tents. Arthur turned away out of anger and annoyance. But there was also this feeling that he couldn't identify; that he sometimes felt defiantly rising up him. He dismissed it and walked out of his office, intending to ask one of the nurses to help him make some sense out of that paperwork.
Janet had told Cecily to wait outside the hospital momentarily while she went inside to look for Hetty. Cecily was perfectly content to stay there. It was a fine day, and Cecily had had enough of hospitals in her young life. "Oh, Cecily, dear," she said as they were on the steps of the hospital. "Would you mind...?"
Cecily smiled wanly. "I know. Stay here."
Janet had another reason for coming to the hospital that she did not want known by her daughter or Hetty. She soon caught sight of Arthur Pettibone walking down the hallway. "Arthur," she said.
"Mrs. King," he said and smiled. "Hello."
"Arthur, I must speak with you."
His handsome face became concerned. "Are you ill, Mrs. King? Is there something I can do for you?"
"Oh, no, dear. It's not about me. It's...well...it's Felix."
"Felix?"
Hetty finished filling her prescription and entered the lobby. She saw Janet talking to Arthur by the desk. "Janet," she called. "Over here." Hetty approached them, and Janet quickly changed the subject of the conversation.
Janet looked over at her sister-in-law and smiled. "Hetty, hello," she said cheerfully. "I've just been speaking to Arthur a moment. He's volunteered to chaperone Cecily to Halifax when she goes to visit Izzy."
"He has?" inquired Hetty.
"I did?" Arthur asked.
"Chaperone Cecily?" Hetty asked him. Janet turned to Arthur with a look in her eyes that told him that Hetty was not to be privy to their conversation.
"Oh-oh yes, Miss King," he said. "I did. I would be delighted."
"Isn't that nice of him?"
"Well, I thank ya, Arthur. That's very kind of you indeed. I suppose that will save Alec a trip."
"Dr. Pettibone," another doctor called from behind the double doors.
"I'm coming," he replied. "Good day, Mrs. King, Miss King."
"Goodbye, Arthur," Janet said. Hetty nodded.
"I'm entirely finished here, Janet," Hetty said, pulling on her black gloves. "Where on earth is Cecily?"
"She's just waiting outside."
"Ya left Cecily outside? In Charlottetown? Alone? Amongst all of these strangers? Really, Janet King."
"Hetty, you're absolutely right. How thoughtless of me."
A nurse approached them. "If you would just fill out these papers, please, Miss King." Janet, whose thoughts were very troubled, was grateful for the release from Hetty. She left the hospital and found Cecily sitting on a stone block that was adjacent to the steps, merrily swinging her legs.
Hetty finished filling out her papers and turned to leave when she was surprised by none other than Sally Potts. Sally gave Hetty a toothy grin and Hetty took stock of how much lip rouge Sally was wearing in the middle of the day. "Hello, Miss King," Sally gushed. "How are you feeling? I was so sorry to hear from Mamma that you were feeling poorly."
"Well, I thank ya for the concern, Sally. I've never been better."
"Oh, there's no need to thank me. I'm always right near when someone needs a hand," she said. "My motto has always been: 'a friend in need is a friend indeed.'"
"Oh, yes, I'm sure it has, Sally." Sally was oblivious to the sarcasm in Hetty's voice and smiled gaily. "Whatever brings ya to the hospital? You're not ill, I trust."
"No, I'm perfectly well, Miss King," Sally scanned the room. "Have you seen Arthur Pettibone?"
At almost the instant Sally asked this, Hetty did indeed see, over Sally's shoulder, Arthur walking into the waiting room, consulting a document on a clipboard. He saw the back of Sally's head, his eyes grew large, his placid expression changed to one of fright and urgency, and he turned around and walked the other way. "No, Sally," Hetty replied. "I can't say that I have. I believe he's gone home to Halifax. He's quite ill, in fact."
"Ill?! He's ill? Is it serious?"
"Oh, oh, yes, quite serious, I believe. The lad is very poorly indeed. Perhaps it's something going around the hospital. I really think ya'd better leave, Sally."
"Oh, yes, Miss King. Oh, yes. You're absolutely right. I will go." Sally took out a handkerchief and held it to her face. "Goodbye, Miss King," she sobbed.
"Yes, yes. Off you go, Sally. Bye-bye, now."
After Sally had made her departure, Arthur emerged from the examination room in which he had been hiding. "Thank you, Miss King."
"Oh, don't think of it Arthur. Fancy a Potts thinking they're good enough for a Pettibone," Hetty tsked. "I thank ya, Arthur. Mind ya steer clear of Sally, now." Arthur smiled, nodded and continued in the direction in which he had been going when he had seen Sally.
With that, Hetty walked swiftly toward the hospital's exit. As she did, she at first didn't notice a woman about her age dressed in a soft brown travelling suit.
"Hetty!"
Hetty turned and looked at the woman. "Oh! Muriel Pettibone."
"How good to see you again!" Muriel said smiling. "How are all the folks back in Avonlea?"
"Oh, we're all fine, just fine."
"Are you in a hurry then? I don't want to keep you."
"I can't say that I'm ever in a hurry to spend any more time in this hospital than I have to. I'm not about to rush off, if that's what ya mean. But I'm always grateful to witness the rare event of ya setting foot on P E Island. Here to see that irritating boy of yours, I presume. Oh, but I suppose you think he's perfection."
Muriel's eyes twinkled. "How are you, Hetty?" She asked warmly.
"I can't complain."
"Well, I am so glad you decided to come to the reception I'm giving for my Kingsport girls. It will be so nice to see some of my old neighbours from Avonlea."
"Well, may I remind ya that you were the one who was itching to take off for Halifax, Muriel Pettibone. I told ya when ya left that I wouldn't set one foot in your home in Halifax. But since you've got yourself into the predicament, and seen the error of your ways, I supposed that I would drop in, for Dora's sake, of course. I think I'll bring Cecily along as well. The child seems to be in need of a change of air."
"Good!"
"And now I suppose I'll be off. I'm sure ya want to find Arthur."
"Yes, Hetty. Have you seen him?"
"Far more than I'd like to," she replied dryly.
"Well, Hetty," Muriel thought a moment and the smile slowly left her face. She and Hetty had known each other since they were girls, and Hetty had grown to be one of her dearest friends. "Hetty, actually, I'm not visiting. I'm here looking for Morgan."
"Morgan?" Hetty asked with concern and surprise.
"Yes. He and Clive had a bit of a falling out last evening. I thought perhaps he'd come to Charlottetown."
"Well, it's beyond me why it is that ya ever married into such a hotheaded family, Muriel Stacey. Oh, but I suppose the boy would have come to Charlottetown, with Arthur here." Hetty placed her hand on her friend's arm. "I'm here with Janet and Cecily. Would you need our help at all?"
Muriel took her friend's hand in hers. "Thank you, Hetty. Thank you."
"Well, it's the least neighbours can do for each other. Janet and Cecily are close by. You go find Arthur and we'll meet ya outside."
* * *
Janet and Cecily were waiting outside the hospital. They hardly noticed the now familiar sight of young men in uniform, beseeching nurses, parading officers and examination tents. The streets were clamorous; people were on makeshift platforms, shouting from every corner. Only scraps of what they said could be heard above the din.
"Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Cunard Line's Lusitania sunk by German torpedo! Calls from Lloyd George and Prime Minister Borden for the U.S.A. to join the war! One hundred and twenty-four Americans dead at the hands of Germans!"
"It is time for the United States of America to join the Allied forces! They have been silent for far too long! And now this latest tragedy! Mr. Wilson is still not moved enough to put up his fists!"
"The Canadian people must pressure the Americans...!"
"An open statement from the British Empire to the United States: Sister, will you not speak?"
As Hetty approached them, their attention was caught when they saw a young woman dressed in white standing atop a platform. A small crowd had gathered around it. Most of them were just curious, and some shouted comments to the girl.
"White ribbons," she was calling out. "Wear a white ribbon. Who will wear a white ribbon? Let us bring an end to this war. Who will be brave enough to stand up against this travesty, this injustice? Who will be brave enough to wear this ribbon?"
"You want to make a difference, lady? Join the Red Cross," said one man in the crowd.
She was unphased. "Who among you has had a son, a brother, a nephew, a husband sent off to fight? How many of you are forced to mourn their loss, or worse, wait weeks or months to know whether he is alive? Women, how many schoolboys have you seen walking in your towns and villages with a gun in their hands? How many more must be ripped out of Sunday school, ripped out of their boyhoods and forced to kill? I say not a single one! I say end the war! I say wear this ribbon! Who, who among you will do it? Who will be brave enough to wear this ribbon?"
"I will!"
"Janet King!" Hetty said in a shocked tone.
"I will," Janet repeated fervently as she climbed the steps that led to the platform. "I'll wear it." She found all the eyes of those around the platform, as well as those of several onlookers on her.
"Janet King, what in the name of Providence are you doing?" Hetty demanded.
"Standing up for what I believe in, Hetty." The young woman pinned a long, satiny white ribbon on Janet's arm.
"Hello," Janet said nervously. "Hello," she said again, this time louder and more confident. "My name is Janet King. I'm from Avonlea, on the North Shore. My oldest son, my son Felix, enlisted when he was nineteen. He was so young. He just wanted to see the world. He believed everything that he was told; that it was his duty to enlist. He would be letting down his country if he didn't enlist. He would be a coward if he didn't go to Europe and defend the crown. I don't know...I can't imagine what he saw over there, but it brings tears to my eyes every time I have to look at the pain in his. Now, I am going to wear this ribbon. I am going to wear it to church and to town meetings and to Sunday school choir practice. I am going to wear it to bed if I have to, until this war is brought to an end!"
* * *
Morgan was lingering near a fountain in the park next to the hospital. He saw Arthur approaching him. He had managed to get away from the hospital momentarily to meet his brother and had not seen his stepmother at all.
"I really appreciate you meeting me Arthur," Morgan said as he walked along next to his brother. Arthur didn't respond. He was rather annoyed with Morgan just then. Morgan had shown up at his apartment at one o' clock that morning. He listened to Morgan tell what had happened and had had very little sleep.
"Morgan, you cannot keep running off every time you and Father disagree."
"Oh, you're a fine one to talk, Arthur," Morgan reminded him.
"Yes, and I've regretted it. I don't want you making the same mistake."
"Father is so opinionated and stubborn and-and-"
"And when has he not been?"
"Arthur, please don't make me go back there."
"You know I wouldn't do that, Morgan. But sooner or later you are going to have to face him."
"I can't. I'm not like you. I never could stand up to him the way you do."
"Don't you think you could?"
"No! No, you-you say things and Father listens."
"Ha!"
"He does. Maybe he doesn't agree, but he wouldn't get so mad if he didn't listen. He's never heard a word I've said."
"That isn't true. What about when you told him you wanted to go to Dal?"
"I still needed you to talk to him. Arthur, for the last time, I'm not like you."
"Who are you like, then?"
"Mother."
"Wrong. She was never afraid of him and you know it." He walked away from his brother. "This is insane. I should send you back to Halifax on the next boat."
"Come on Arthur, you're acting like Dad."
Arthur stopped abruptly. He looked squarely into Morgan's eyes. His brows wrinkled together. "I am not-acting-like Dad," he said in a very measured tone.
"Yes you are." Morgan studied him a moment. "You've even got that look on your face," he said in astonishment.
"All right," he said, with annoyance still in his voice. "You can stay here. Is there anything else?" Morgan's expression told him what the "anything else" was. "How much?"
"Twenty dollars."
"Forget it."
"Come on, Arthur. I'll pay you back."
"Really," he asked sarcastically. "Do you know how many offensive drawings of the Prime Minister that amounts to?"
"I'm going to teach art. In-in the States."
"The States?!" He started to walk away from Morgan with a disconcerted expression on his face. Morgan followed. After a long silence, Arthur started in. "You haven't told Father about this, have you?" Morgan looked away. "How about Muriel, have you told her? It'll break her heart of you run off, and Izzy's too. Have you thought about that?"
"Look, Arthur, can't you stop being my big brother for one minute? This is my decision. This is what I'm going to do, and you can't stop me."
He could stop him. He knew very well that he could talk Morgan out of it. Morgan wasn't as stubborn as the rest of the Pettibone family, but he knew if he did, it would squash Morgan's determination. Morgan wanted him to stop being his big brother, all right, he would. This was a mistake that he was going to have to make for himself.
"All right," he said finally. "All right, I'll help you." A look of relief crossed Morgan's face. "But you're the one who's going to tell Father." Morgan's relief fled as swiftly as it had come.
* * *
Hetty was too outraged to acknowledge what had just happened. "I hope you're pleased with yourself, Janet King," was all she said.
"I am. Very pleased."
"Muriel," Hetty beckoned when she saw her friend. "Did ya find Arthur?"
"No, I'm afraid I didn't. I couldn't find him anywhere. I didn't find him in his office. I was told he was with a patient and then I was told that he wasn't in and...well, I've left a message at the desk. I could go over to his apartment now. I know right where he lives. Perhaps the best thing for me to do is go back to Halifax and wait. It isn't like Morgan to just run off like this. I'm certain he'll be back."
"Oh, no," Janet said. "You must stay the night with us here in Charlottetown."
Hetty allowed herself to agree with Janet. "Yes," she urged.
"No. I couldn't be a bother."
"You're not a bother. My sister and her husband have plenty of room and she always thought highly of you, and especially considering the circumstances, I'm certain she wouldn't mind."
"Ya can't go back to Halifax without finding your boy."
"I-I can't," Muriel began. "I don't know what's possessed him-what's possessed Clive! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lose my temper."
"Nonsense. There's nothing to apologise for. Cecily, you run inside and leave a message for Arthur to ring us at your aunt and uncle's. Run along, child. Muriel, ya look like ya could use a good cup of tea. We'll stop on Queen Street."
"Cecily and I will wait at Abigail's," Janet suggested.
"Yes. This city air isn't at all good for Cecily. Muriel, you and I can take a cab there."
"Oh, there's no need, Hetty. I do have my motorcar right down the street.
"I brought it here on one of the new automobile ferries," Muriel explained as they walked together.
"This is a new automobile," Hetty observed.
"Yes. My motorcar was getting rather worn out. And I'm afraid the boys had a rather unfortunate accident that I was never able to hear the exact details of. From all I've been able to discern, it involved Morgan driving, a rickety old fence and a very deep pond. Clive bought me a new one. Isn't it lovely?"
"I suppose. It's ah...very...ah...up-to-date," she said, attempting to settle into her seat, surprised that she actually found it rather comfortable. "That is not to say that I approve of such Godless Yankeeism, Muriel Pettibone."
Hetty and Muriel stopped at the fashionable tea room on Queen Street for a quiet tea. Muriel didn't feel much like eating, her thoughts consumed by her family.
"How is your family, Muriel? Aside from all of this? Izzy...and the boys?"
"Oh, Hetty. I just don't know. Clive thinks that everything the children do wrong is somehow his fault. Hetty, I knew going into this marriage that things weren't always going to be easy. I married a man with a family, not that I have any regrets. I love them all."
"Oh, certainly ya do. The Pettibones, ya know, are rather...well...."
"Yes, they are. And lately it seems that the more distance put between Clive and Arthur, the better."
"Oh, yes," Hetty said knowingly. "That old feud. I told ya in the beginning, Muriel. Clive and Arthur Pettibone are like two peas in a pod as far as temperament goes. They'll never get along."
"And as for Izzy...she seems happy but I get the feeling that there's something," she was saying. She used to always confide in Arthur but-she's just clammed up. I've asked Arthur. Either he doesn't know what's bothering her or he's not telling because Izzy doesn't want anyone else to know. That's like her, you know."
"Surely it'll pass, Muriel. Everyone's mind is on the war, including those of our young people. And girls Izzy's age are prone to being well-rather temperamental and high-strung. Why, I can remember my Sara-"
"That's just it, Hetty. Izzy isn't a girl anymore. She's a young woman. This war has changed her. Hetty, I was wondering. I don't know much about this but-it seemed to me that when we lived in Avonlea that-well, that Izzy had formed a sort of special attachment with your nephew Felix. Do you know if-"
"Oh! Certainly Felix hasn't had his mind on such things, Muriel. He's been ill, ya know."
"I do know that."
"Yes, and he's readjusting to living in Avonlea again and getting used to civilian life. I don't know if Felix's friendship with Izzy has really progressed to that point...or if it will."
"Is Felix better then?"
"Oh, yes. I daresay he's feeling much better. He's all over the pneumonia. It was a close call, to be sure."
"Well, we were all glad to hear that Felix had returned from the war safely. Is he going back anytime soon?"
"Felix has been discharged," Hetty told her. "He's done his duty to the Empire. Davey has been helping Alec on the farm while he recovers."
"It must be very difficult for Dora and Davey." Muriel said to Hetty. "They're so young to have such a responsibility thrust upon them."
"Really, Muriel Pettibone. You speak as though I've never raised the heir to a large fortune before. Although I admit, my Sara was brought up with her future in mind, to be sure. Davey and Dora, on the other hand, have had to rely on the charity of others since their poor mother died. Rachel and I have loved them fiercely, though. I'm sure they'll both turn out all right in the end."
"Well, you've done an excellent job so far, Hetty. Dora is very well liked at Kingsport and very responsible. Perhaps she will be able to attend school abroad when the war is over."
"I'm not so sure I want that for Dora, Muriel. Why, I don't know what's worse: the fact that my Sara is in Paris, with a war being fought, or that she is amongst all of those...bohemians."
"Oh, Hetty," Muriel responded. "Sara is being exposed to all different types of art and culture and ways of thinking. I should think you'd find that a positive thing. One does not live in Paris to remain closed-minded."
"Well, I agree that my Sara has always been a rather...well...broad-minded sort of girl, very much like myself, ya see. Her education, I have always felt, should be as broad as possible, as is suitable to a young lady of her station. Oh, but I do fear the propriety of exposing a young girl to...well...certain ideas."
"I'm sure you installed in Sara a very good sense of what is proper. We mustn't remain slaves to our own prejudices, Hetty. We should explore the riches that life has to offer."
Hetty wrinkled her brow and twisted her lips as she pondered the thought.
* * *
"Are you going to the May Dance tonight?" Morgan asked his brother as they walked toward the hospital.
"No, I am not," Arthur said firmly.
"Come on, can't you have a little fun? That hospital has a bad effect on you, do you know that?"
"I'm expected to be here tonight, Morgan," he said as he stood on the steps of the hospital. "And you have entirely too much fun." Morgan grinned.
"You should go, Arthur. It'll be fun. Lots of people we know from Avonlea will be there."
"Morgan, I am not going. Besides, at every single one of these seasonal affairs, someone invariably puts something in the punch and then the bastions of society show up at the hospital pickled to the gills and expect me to tell them what they're coming down with."
"But Arthur, you have come."
"Why?" he demanded.
Morgan reddened. "You-you just do, that's all."
Arthur was silent for a moment. "Is this about a girl?"
"No."
"Morgan," Arthur began in a knowing voice.
"One hour. That's all I ask. Please?"
"Oh, all right. One hour. Then I'm leaving."
"Thanks, Arthur. You won't regret this. I promise." A deliriously happy Morgan Pettibone patted his brother heartily on the shoulder and took off down the street, whistling.
* * *
"Well, you've certainly made a proper display of yourself, Janet King. I hope you're satisfied with what happened back there, because I'm sure it will be all over the Island by tomorrow morning. I can't make you support the war, Janet. But ya needn't call the King name into question and...and say such...things about our King in front of an impressionable young girl like Cecily. Oh, Arthur and Morgan Pettibone. Hello. What a lovely and unexpected surprise. How are ya? And how are all the Pettibones?"
"We're all just fine, Miss King. Hello, Mr. King, Mrs. King, Miss Cecily," Arthur said. He nudged his brother with his arm.
"Hello, Arthur, Morgan," Janet said cheerfully. "So good to see you both again."
Arthur nudged Morgan again. He smiled at them all. "Hello," he managed to say.
"Oh, Cecily, you remember my brother Morgan?"
"Of course I do. He used to tie my braids together."
The Kings and Arthur laughed. Morgan was unable to speak. He stood looking at the Kings with a huge grin on his face.
"Well," Arthur said. "It certainly was good to see you all again. Morgan, we should be off. Good evening."
"Good evening," Janet said cheerfully. Cecily was blushing madly and hoping that no one noticed.
* * *
"That wasn't...bad, Morgan," Arthur said to his brother, to try to reassure him. Morgan had gone off to a far corner of the building and was sulking against the wall. Arthur leaned next to him.
"No. It wasn't bad. Disastrous would be a better way of putting it. Would you just leave me alone?"
"All right," Arthur responded. "If that's the way you want it." He turned and went back to the ballroom.
He saw Sally Potts entering and he immediately turned around. In doing so, he almost knocked down Cecily King. "Arthur!" Cecily said in surprise.
"Cecily!" By this time, Sally had noticed him and she was coming closer and closer. "How are you? My, aren't you looking grown up!" He attempted to sashay Cecily away from the approaching Sally but it was to no avail. She was soon upon them.
"Cecily King," she said in her sweet, venom-laced voice. Felicity was not there, so she decided to turn her spite onto her sister. "How sweet you look tonight. I always said someone with your complexion should never wear green, but you almost make it look nice."
Cecily shared a look with Arthur. "I...thank you, Sally," she forced herself to say, wanting to rid herself of Sally's presence. "You look...nice too."
"Oh, Arthur," Sally cooed. "I heard from Miss King that you were ill."
"Ill?"
"Yes, she said you'd gone to Halifax. Oh, I'm so glad that isn't true-"
"I would love to chat with you, Miss Potts, but I'd very much like to have a dance with Miss King here. You would like to dance, wouldn't you, Cecily? Yes? All right. Excuse us."
"Um...I guess...." Cecily stammered out. She didn't mind dancing with Arthur, of course. He had saved Digger's life and he certainly was handsome. She hadn't danced yet and was anxious to. Arthur was a very good dancer, but she waited in dread for him to tousle her hair and call her "snookie" at any given moment.
"Thank you for getting us away from Sally Potts," Cecily said as she danced with him.
"'Twas my pleasure, milady."
"She's insufferable."
"I've noticed."
"I say, Cecily, I'm glad I caught up with you because there is an important message that I must impart to you from a certain eligible young man."
Cecily jumped the gun. "If it's Philip Long, I've heard it over and over again-"
"Philip Long? Don't be ridiculous, Cecily."
"Then who?"
Arthur motioned his head in the direction of his sulking brother. Cecily looked surprised. "You mean...?"
"I'm afraid he has a very bad case of you, Miss King."
* * *
"I'd like to know who that Cecily King thinks she is. Throwing my Philip over like that," Alice Long was saying as she watched Cecily dance with Arthur. She was surrounded by a flock of Charlottetown society ladies, all in their finest silk dresses.
"Those Kings always did think they were just a little lower than Heaven," agreed one.
"So now it's a Pettibone," another of the ladies said contemptuously. "The eldest son of a fine family, but his inheritance is a mere pittance compared to Philip's. And he will be obliged to share with his brother and sister, which Philip will not."
Philip joined his mother and her friends. "I think, my dear, you set your sights rather too low," Alice Long said to her son.
"Low, Mother?" asked Philip in surprise. "A King?"
"Her cousin Sara Stanley is worth ten times what she is-all the Kings put together, in fact. Cecily must be aware that she hasn't her cousin's inheritance. Sara Stanley's likely to return to Montreal one of these days. You'd do very well to marry her instead."
"But, Mother, I am not acquainted with Miss Stanley-"
"Nonsense, my boy. We have family in Montreal. As soon as you return from Europe, I will somehow manage an introduction."
"She's scandalously wealthy," assured Alice's friend.
* * *
Arthur found his brother plastered up against the wall by the punch table. "Why don't you go say hello?"
"Hello? To whom?"
"Who?" Arthur mimicked contemptuously. "Cecily King. You know, the one you've been staring at all evening."
"I wasn't staring. All right, I was staring. What difference does it make? Anyway, look, she's dancing."
"With her father."
"I can't."
"Well, go ask Mr. King if you can call on her. You think you'll get within two feet of her, you sly devil?"
Morgan half laughed at his brother's teasing. "I know what you think of courting, Arthur: it's anachronistic and prudish and the product of oppressive old biddies in lace caps who sit in horsehair chairs, clutching their smelling salts and labelling everything they disagree with as 'indecent' or 'improper.'"
"That sounds about right. Actually, I cannot think of a more romantic prospect than sitting in the Kings' parlour, sipping tea, gazing longingly at Cecily, with Miss King in between you."
"Miss King? What about Cecily's parents?"
"Oh, no, Morgan," Arthur assured him with mock gravity in his voice. "It would be Miss King." He looked straight at his brother. "Go on," he urged.
"I can't. It wouldn't be right to try to manipulate her attention like that. Father says that a gentleman-"
"Fine, I'll go dance with her," he said indifferently.
"All right! I'll go." He squared his shoulders and took a step forward. "Do you think she'll want to dance with me?"
"Dear lad, believe it."
"All right. Here I go."
Morgan reeled around to face his brother again. "Then what do I do?"
"Then unfold the passion of your love!" he urged. "Step to," he said and saluted him. Morgan saluted him back. "And Morgan?"
"Yes?"
"Don't step on her feet." He gave Morgan an encouraging pat on the back. Morgan nodded and took off in the direction of Cecily King. Morgan looked back again. "Woo her," Arthur urged.
"Woo," Morgan repeated, as if trying to convince himself. "Woo, woo."
Cecily was rather bored after she'd finished dancing with her father. She watched the couples whirling around the floor and longed to be out there. A couple of young officers asked her to dance, but she politely refused. She stood on tiptoe looking for Morgan, but did not see him anywhere. She found herself whistling, but stopped when some stately dowagers turned around and eyed her. She was back at the punch table, where Morgan had just been and poured herself a glass of punch. Cecily was oblivious to the fact that Arthur was standing behind Cecily near the punch table, making some extremely humorous gestures in order to gain Morgan's attention and to let him know where Cecily was. Suddenly, Morgan was beside her.
"Don't drink that!"
"What? Why not?"
"A-Arthur says people put alcohol in the punch," he explained, carefully taking the cup from her and placing it on the table.
"Well, that's nice to know after I've had two glasses."
"Oh," he said awkwardly. "I-I don't know if that's even true. Arthur...well...he has kind of a strange sense of humour sometimes." The nearby Arthur shot Morgan a look. "Would you care to-to-well...."
"Dance?"
"Yes."
"I'd love to. But I can't. Em Frewen says it will cause a scandal," Cecily recited, joking. "As Aunt Hetty has most likely lamented to your stepmother, I have recently 'jilted' my beau."
Morgan laughed. Em Frewen's sister went around with one of his friends from Dalhousie, and she had a reputation of being the giddiest girl in Halifax. "Well, we don't want to send Aunt Hetty to the hospital again. I don't think it would cause very much of a scandal if no one saw us." Cecily looked intrigued. "On the veranda?"
She took his hand and they crept toward the French doors. She began to feel light-headed. What had been in that punch?
Alec had been watching all that transpired between Morgan and Cecily and had narrowly escaped cardiac arrest. Janet approached him, smiling. "Just what exactly do you know about that Pettibone boy?" he asked her.
"Oh, you mean Morgan? Well, he's a handsome young fellow."
"'Handsome is as handsome does.'"
"Oh, Alec. It's nice to see a boy pay attention to Cecily who is...sincere." Janet's tone implied that she hadn't thought as much of Philip Long.
"Oh, it's not his sincerity that worries me, Janet. It's if he's anything like his brother."
Janet laughed. "Alec King! Well, I'm sure Morgan has very conventional views about things. And if he doesn't, well, did you ever see her look at Philip like that?"
* * *
Morgan was a rather awkward dancer, but Cecily didn't mind. He seemed more nervous than anything, a sharp contrast from the smooth, polished confidence of Arthur.
"Miss-ah-Miss King-"
"Cecily," she corrected. "It's always been Cecily."
Morgan smiled sheepishly. "Yes, I suppose it has. I was wondering if...well...if you'd allow me to...if you wouldn't mind that is.... I was wondering if..." Morgan stumbled, trying to ask if he could call on her and afraid to utter the fateful words. "If I could paint you," he said instead.
"Paint me?"
"Yes," Morgan said feverishly, suddenly realising that he really wanted to. "Yes, I want to paint you."
"Well, no one's ever wanted to paint me before. When?"
"Now," he replied firmly, taking from his breast pocket a small sketchbook that he kept on hand for what he termed "emergencies". "Yes, I want to paint you. Right now. Don't-move."
"But Morgan-" she began to protest.
"And don't talk."
Morgan threw himself into a nearby chair and began drawing Cecily quickly, wanting to capture everything about her. Cecily really didn't know what to think. She wanted to laugh with embarrassment and happiness. She felt very giddy. She thought that she was definitely drunk. But she daren't move. Morgan instructed her to sit very, very still. "Don't twist up your face like that, Cecily. It isn't natural."
"All right," Morgan said finally after about twenty minutes. He no longer felt uncomfortable in her presence. He felt that he'd got to know her while he drew her. "It's very rough but...I hope you like it."
Cecily gasped when she saw the picture. "You've flattered me," she said, blushing. "I'm not that pretty."
"I have not. That's you. That's the way I see you. You have to get used to the idea that you're worth looking at." She looked at him closely. How did he know? How could he tell? He sat next to her. She could feel her face growing hotter and hotter. His head came closer to hers and her heart beat at an alarming rate. Something within her pulled away, something that was scared. "I'm sorry," Morgan whispered. "I'm sorry."
Cecily changed the subject out of embarrassment. "Why did you draw me with wings?"
"Because that's you. You have wings, but they're pressed at your sides. You see?" he pointed to the picture. "You want to soar, Cecily King."
Cecily stood up. She was at once annoyed and pleased that Morgan knew this about her, that he could see into her like that. She had kept everything bottled up inside her for so long. "Don't go," he pleaded.
"I can't stay. I want to go off and do things but I can't and I don't think that my parents will allow it."
"Please, Cecily. Stay. You mustn't allow it to upset you. Your parents always think they know what's best for you. Trust me, I know."
"You don't understand, You've...you've been free and independent. All I ever wanted was to stay in Avonlea and run the farm. Now I'm not even sure about that. I don't know what it is I want anymore."
"Everyone is confused about their future at one point in their lives," Morgan told her. "What I've found is that it takes a good long bout of thinking before one decides anything definitely. I thought about everything I'd done in the past and used that as sort of-a sort of anchor.
"Have you given any thought to college?"
"College?"
"Yes. I firmly believe in the equal education of women. Why not give it a try?"
"Truthfully, I had thought a bit about Dalhousie, but I don't know...."
"Cecily!" he exclaimed, enthused. "That's wonderful."
"Morgan, you don't know my parents. They'd throw a conniption fit if I even suggested such a thing."
"Talk to them about it. You'll never know if you don't try."
"I'm afraid to."
"Don't be afraid. Fear is...well, it's...." Morgan couldn't finish. He knew too well about fear. "Whatever it is that you want to do," he told her. "You should do it. You shouldn't be afraid of what others will say-or do." Morgan's speech gradually slowed down. "I have to go back to Halifax, Cecily, but I'll write to you. That is-that is if...? If you want me to."
"I do."
Morgan reached out for her hand. "Keep that," he said of the picture. "I can draw another. I've got it all here," he tapped his temple. "I'd better go find Arthur."
"I can stay here," Cecily volunteered.
"No," he held out his hand. "Come with me."
He opened the door of the veranda and Cecily followed him.
* * *
Arthur decided that everything was in top order, so he decided to leave. Unfortunately, Sally had waylaid him at the door. "Miss Potts, please!" He managed to get away from her and then saw Muriel walking in. "Muriel!"
"Where is he?"
"I know I should have called when he came, but he needed time to cool off."
"Yes. Your father did as well."
"He's just inside with Cecily King. I actually have to get back to the hospital but I can wait."
"It's all right," she said, taking his arms in her hands. She smiled up at him. "We'll get through this. We always do." Arthur kissed her cheek. Muriel saw Hetty King, approaching her and waved her over.
"Mrs. Pettibone," two young officers said, approaching Muriel. They were friends of Morgan's from Dalhousie.
"Edward, Fred," Muriel greeted cheerfully. "I see you boys have enlisted."
"Oh, yes, ma'am," Fred replied.
"We feel it's absolutely imperative now, in light of recent occurrences," Edward added.
Muriel looked perplexed. "Recent occurrences?"
"Oh, yes, ma'am. We've just been on the wire reports. The Germans have made progress in their advance toward Paris."
Their attention to the subject of German advances was interrupted by the clattering of smashing china. Hetty King had her hand to her mouth, her expression worried to the point of terror. One frightened word escaped from her mouth: "Sara!"
* * *
Hetty stared out a window at King Farm. Between the lacy curtains, she could see the silvery grey post of a fence that delicate green leaves were beginning to grow next to. She remembered how Sara always loved to pick the flowers that grew near that old fence. They had been planted long ago by Hetty and Ruth but had run wild in the passing years. Every spring, Sara would come running home with some of the first blooms, her arms overflowing with them, a few flowers twisted into her hair.
Hetty felt gentle hands clasp her arms. Her head turned and she saw Felicity smiling down at her. "Won't you come on over to our new home, Aunt Hetty? I'm all moved in and Cecily and I would adore the company."
Hetty patted her niece's hand. "I thank ya, Felicity. I think I'll just stay at Rose Cottage this afternoon." Felicity witnessed a rare event: tears were streaming down Hetty King's cheeks.
"Aunt Hetty," she said with concern.
"I don't know what I'll do if anything happens to that child. I really don't. Oh, why did I let that girl run off to Europe in the first place?" Hetty King was coming undone.
"I'm sure she's fine."
"How can she be?! Over there, in Paris, with bombs falling night and day! Oh, Felicity. I haven't told anyone-the last I heard from Sara was nearly three months ago. I don't know if-if," Hetty couldn't bring herself to consider the possibility. "I don't know anything!"
"Aunt Hetty," Felicity said in a calming voice. "You know the mail is slow now because of the war. Sara could have written to you and you mightn't receive the letter for months. She might even be on her way home."
"But a telegram, Felicity, anything. I've heard nothing from her."
"You know the situation in Europe, Aunt Hetty. Every resource is being used to fight the war. Sending personal telegrams has become very difficult of late, else we would have heard from Aunt Olivia or Uncle Jasper."
"How can ya be so calm, Felicity? How can ya stand there and tell me Sara's fine when ya don't know-when ya can't know?"
Felicity stepped in front of her aunt and took her by the shoulders. She looked firmly into her eyes. "Aunt Hetty, I want you to stop this! Sara is fine. I know it."
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