1.

Valancy appreciated her father-in-law, but it was a relief to escape his mansion for a while to go visit the construction site with Barney.

Their new house was well in progress, a sweet thing that would be small and homey when finished. Well, small by Montreal standards. She and Barney had made the plans carefully, talking over what would make for a house that they could love nearly as much as their Blue Castle. It would have different charms, of course. Warm red brick instead of rough wood, neighbours to befriend, a guest bedroom; Valancy needed to remember to pick up some of the quilts from her hope chest next time they went back to Ontario.

It was a chilly fall day, and days of persistent rain had left the broken ground in front of them thick with mud. But—Valancy gasped in delight. There were dandelions blooming around the edges of the property, a scattered second autumn bloom of the kind that sprung up every few years. The bright yellow flowers seems to call a cheerful greeting, as if the woods themselves had come and left them as a "welcome home" gift for her. She remembered thinking in their haunts in the Mistawis that the flowers were too gaudy to belong amidst the subtle woodland beauties. Here they looked just right.

"The house is progressing in good time," Barney said as they watched the builders move with purpose about the site. "We should be able to move in within a few more weeks."

Valancy leaned into Barney's side and sighed, eyes still lingering on bright yellow blossoms against brown mud and red brick. "I wish it could be today."

"Me too, darling."

It.was hard being back in a house where she didn't have full ownership of her space. Oh, Doc Redfern was the soul of generosity and would not say a word against anything she might choose to do in his mansion. But it still was his mansion, and she found herself tiptoeing through its grandeur as if it were another of those museums they visited on their honeymoon trip through Europe. Look but don't touch.

Valancy knew freedom now, and she needed it.

2.

Mount Royal was a beautiful oasis in the midst of the bustling city. Valancy and Barney had a picnic lunch packed, and were having a delicious ramble through the woods up the hilly slopes. They had already found and picked a small basketful of oyster mushrooms to take home and cook for supper, and the walk continued to be full of delights. The October sun shone dappled through the falling leaves, the air up here was sweet, and Barney had wandered from the path yet again because he saw something worth a closer look. Valancy was perfectly happy.

"Come look, moonlight," Barney called to her. "Beech drops!" The forested slopes they’d been wandering through were mostly oak and hickory, but here was a cluster of beech trees. By the smooth grey trunks, delicate purple and white flowers were poking up, just barely visible in the leaf litter—a hidden wisp of magic, waiting to be discovered by those who knew where to look.

Barney was writing another book, this one about the wildflowers of Europe, but Valancy could tell already that the book after that would be inspired by Montreal.

As they continued up the path, hand in hand, Valancy watched a flock of dark-eyed juncoes flitting away from them through the stand of hickories ahead. They were almost to the top of the mountain, where they would be able to look out over the city. She could already see the huge metal cross ahead above the trees, erected on the summit only a few years ago. It would be busier at the peak, but Valancy and Barney planned to pause only briefly to admire the view. They would continue deeper into the woods before pulling out their lunch.

3.

Valancy had only heard of this art exhibition because someone had invited Doc Redfern, undoubtedly in the hopes he would spend money on art rather than because anyone really thought he might be interested. Doc Redfern had left the invitation sitting carelessly on one of the many pointless decorative side tables in his enormous foyer, and it had caught Valancy's eye.

Modernist art by local painters—Valancy was curious. The exhibition was open to the public, and so here she was.

The artists on display did not all work in the same style. Some landscapes were bold and colourful. Others were insipid, washed out and vague. Some of the nudes were beautiful—lively and natural—but there were several topless women who seemed so posed for the viewer's enjoyment that she disliked the artist on principle. Even the poor art fascinated her, though. It was nothing like the detailed grandeur of the old masters of Europe, or the sentimental works she'd grown up with. Ordinary women stared out at her from blocky, colourful canvases, and city streets were painted with the same dreaminess she would expect from a pastoral scene.

It was fun, Valancy had learned on her honeymoon, to go through a gallery and have her own opinions about art, with no reference to how she "ought" to think. And this was a whole new kind of art to think about.

As she stopped in front of one painting, a girl next to her leaned over and said, "I love this one, don't you?"

Valancy considered it. The painting was of two women, one looking away, the other turning her head toward the viewer. The expression on both of their faces was uncompromising and stern, and they seemed uninterested in the attention. One woman's arm pulled the other woman possessively close. The overall effect on Valancy was somehow both offputting and compelling at once. "It's amazing," Valancy said, sincerely.

"I haven't seen you at one of these before," the girl said. "Are you new in town?"

Valancy turned to look at the girl, who was smiling easily at her.

"My husband and I just moved here a few months ago. I thought this exhibition looked fun!"

The girl's smile widened. "Yes! This is a bit of a bigger one, but there's art exhibits on all the time really, if you're in the know. Montreal is a great city for artists."

"Oh, are you an artist?" Valancy asked. "Are any of these paintings yours?"

"Ah, no, I just dabble in painting," the girl said with a laugh. "My friends are all much better than me. I just have fun."

"I'm sure your art is better than some of what's on the walls here tonight," Valancy said.

The girl's cheeks pinked with delighted mischief. "Ooh, you're not wrong! Oh I absolutely must introduce you to—" And she took Valancy by the hand to bring her along as she made for the other side of the room.

Valancy, a little bewildered to be so suddenly adopted, nevertheless followed along with pleased curiosity. And by the end of the evening she had met an amazing variety of independent-minded women who all disagreed on what made for good art, received several impromptu lectures on art history, and had been extended an invitation to a beginners' painting class. She rather thought that she would accept.

4.

It was nearing lunchtime one Sunday, and Barney had heard of an interesting foreign food called bagels which could be found in the Jewish neighbourhood, so the two of them caught the streetcar up Saint Lawrence Boulevard.

Valancy loved taking the streetcar every chance she got: being carried swiftly through Montreal on a vehicle powered by modern electricity. Old Lady Jane had been left behind in Mistawis where she would be needed next summer. Here in the city, they got around fine without her.

Staring dreamily out the streetcar window, Valancy watched the busy streets pass by. It was fun to explore the city which had grown so much in the years since Barney last lived here. St. Lawrence was a bustling thorough-way in the centre of town, but everywhere they went, Montreal was changing. There was a fabulous new movie theatre in the neighbourhood they were moving to, and it seemed like no matter where they went there was busy construction: schools, shops, churches, and house after house. A number of the new houses were huge and bursting with details intended to show off the owner's wealth. Valancy pitied them and their poor taste.

When they got to the Montreal Bagel Bakery, the bagels were as delicious as promised, dense and chewy and subtly sweet. Though it was November, winter was not yet upon them, so they wandered back along the path the streetcar had taken them, meandering east towards the river.

In the heart of the old city, the Notre-Dame Basilica stood the same as it had for decades, and on impulse, bagels long since consumed, they wandered in for an afternoon service. Its grandeur did not and could not live up to the simple, honest feelings that had gone into her up-back church in the Mistawis, but nonetheless it was impressive. She was delighted to look up and see the ceiling painted blue and covered with innumerable golden stars.

Most of the service was beyond her, full of unfamiliar ritual and mumbled in Latin as if nobody mattered but the priest. But when the massive organ played the hymns, resonating through the whole building, she understood why a person might want to worship at a place like this despite it all.

She could still feel the music thrumming through her body when she and Barney walked out the arched wooden doors back to the street in the sunset. And then she found herself filled with the awe that the artifice of the Basilica had failed to inspire: an enormous murmuration of starlings painting the sky with its mysterious, fluid shapes.

Parishioners on their way home flowed chattering around her as she stopped in her tracks, Barney beside her. They watched the starlings together in the growing dark.

5.

"What a beautiful home!" Doc Redfern said with enthusiasm as he stepped into Valancy and Barney's new-furnished house for the first time. Valancy knew it didn't match his own tastes or expectations, so it was kind of him to say, she thought. But she loved her new home passionately. It felt friendly to her, comfortable.

She took Doc Redfern's coat and ushered him into their parlour for tea. He settled into an armchair with a groan, and accepted his teacup. "Ah, thank you, my dear," he said, and then he spied the plate of little cakes on the side table. "Oh you do spoil an old man like me!"

Barney came down the stairs from Bluebeard's Second Chamber to join them, only a little hesitant. Months of staying with his father while their house was being built had improved the relationship enormously, but Valancy could tell he still felt awkward about things.

"Hi, Dad," he said as he joined Valancy on the settee.

"Bernie! How's your writing going?"

Barney smiled. "Oh, getting on. Nearly done the current book, I think. My editor will be pleased to not have to chase after me for it."

"I can't wait to read it," Valancy said.

"I'm sure it's wonderful," Doc Redfern agreed heartily, as he reached for a cake. "I picked up your first book the other day, after you let on to your little secret. I must say I don't understand it all, but you've always been a clever boy! Such a way with words. Any father would be proud."

Barney cleared his throat twice, and Valancy could tell he was pleased. "Well, thanks," he said. "That means a lot."

And it did, Valancy thought. Barney had always protested that his John Foster books were trash, but he put his heart into them, she knew he did.

She was grateful that Doc Redfern was being careful with Barney's heart.

Valancy took a sip of her tea, and let it warm her from the inside as she settled into the conversation.