New York City, USA
March 2012

Does your conscience bother you?

"…and then Mr Briegel asked me into his office and told me they'd like for me to stay on after I'm done with college. With a real contract and proper salary and everything." On my screen, tiny Di breaks out into a wide grin.

"That's great, Di!" I exclaim.

"Yes, congratulations!" adds Joy and smiles proudly.

Nan was already beaming even before Di got her news out, obviously having been told before. It's the twin thing, I guess. Even with half a country between them, they never fail to keep each other updated on their lives. Excepting Jerry, Di was also the first to know that Nan had been accepted in UofT's PhD program in child psychology, starting in autumn.

"It's a real opportunity," continues Di. "I mean, obviously, I don't know whether I want to stay there forever, but to be given a place in such a great research team right out of university is a big thing."

The institute is a well-respected centre for health-related research based in Winnipeg and Di has been working for them as a part-time laboratory assistant for roughly two years now, so their decision to give her a proper job after she gets her master's degree probably isn't all that surprising. But still. I'm glad she's happy.

"What about you, Joy?" asks Nan and her expression turns sombre. "Any news on the job front?"

Joy grimaces.

In the weeks since she got fired, she's gotten somewhat used to talking about it, but it's clear that the entire situation still weighs on her pretty heavily. As it would, really. I doubt there'll ever come a time when it won't at least sting.

"My old employer made it totally clear that there's absolutely no chance they will ever take me back. And as long as this investigation is hanging over my head, I'm toxic to everyone else as well," Joy is just explaining to the twins. It's a little hard to see on the grainy image of the screen, but I think she's trying for a smile. Without much success, mind.

"How is it going?" enquires Di. "The investigation?"

"We've got a specialised lawyer on the case and she's quite confident that she can resolve it. But it's going to take a while," answers Joy.

Nan nods. Di makes a humming sound. It's clear that neither of them knows what to say.

"Alas," now Joy manages a smile after all, "it gives me lots of time to spend with the children, which is nice. They seem to enjoy having more Mummy Time, Izzie especially."

Of course, Jake, who is old enough to grasp most of the situation, also enjoys having his mother home more, but I know he worries. He's a sensitive chap and Joy being sad makes him sad as well. Sad enough that I haven't yet dared to make it worse by telling him about my own plans.

"Have you met up with Tracy recently?" I ask my oldest sister, hoping to steer the conversation into less problematic waters.

Ever since that day in my apartment, Joy has been trying to be a support to Tracy, to the point that she sees much more of her than I do. (Because I might have forgiven her, but that doesn't mean I'm back to trusting her as well.) I don't know whether Tracy knows that she's Joy's project now or whether she cares, but in addition to hopefully helping Tracy, it gives Joy something to focus on and surely, that must be a good thing.

"Tracy is Rilla's friend with the awful husband, correct?" checks Nan.

"The very, very awful husband?" emphasises Di.

On the screen, Joy nods. "We've found a charity that supports women who are financially dependent on their husbands and with their help, we've been trying to work through her debt. I hope that if she has that under control, it will make her feel more independent and maybe make her assert herself more around the husband."

"Or she might actually leave him one day," I grumble.

"It's a big step. These things take time," Joy reminds.

I know that. Still, I hope for Tracy that she finds the strength to cut loose from him. Otherwise, I fear that in two years' time, she will be back to square one. To say nothing of the abuse, which won't stop just because she has cleared her (his!) debts.

"I got talking to one of the women helping at the charity and she told me a little about what their clients go through before they seek help," Joy continues. "Some of those stories were truly awful."

"Victims of domestic abuse tend to blame themselves," knows Nan, resident psychologist. "And that precludes them from rightly blaming the abuser, which means they won't leave them. Because in their reasoning, it isn't the husband's fault at all, it's their own fault for not being good enough. Not that being 'better' ever helps anyone, because an abuser will just find another excuse."

Di glares darkly at no-one in particular. "They should all get locked up."

"Yes," agrees Joy with a sigh. "Yes, they should be."

But they won't be, hence why the world needs charities like the one Joy just described.

"Ken's aunt is working with charities focusing on domestic abuse, trying to bring the issue to the attention of a broader public," I tell my sisters. "But he says it's not something that most people like being confronted with. Much easier to give some money to the animal shelter with the cute little puppies than to focus on something that would make them feel uneasy."

"The human race is an ignorant one," mutters Di and shakes her head mournfully.

No-one seems willing or able to contradict her, so for three or four seconds, we all fall silent. Finally, it's Joy saying, "Speaking of Ken –"

But she gets no further, for Di interrupts. "Yes, speaking of Ken. What did I read about him and Lady Hilda Whatsherface?"

Nan visibly perks up. "Have you really been reading the Daily Mail?" she teases.

"I have," replies Di with her haughtiest expression, "and I felt my brain cells dying in scores. Which means I am now due an answer to make up for my sacrifice. Rilla, spill!"

I sigh heavily, to leave it in no doubt that I am only answering under duress, but knowing it to be the past of least resistance, I do anyway. "The article got it wrong, right down to the poor girl's name. She's no more a lady than you or I are."

"Doesn't her grandfather have a fancy title?" wonders Nan, wrinkling her nose in thought.

"Apparently so." I shrug. "So does her father, but a low one. She's an… Honourable or something?" That's what Ken said, anyway. I wouldn't pretend to understand the British title system.

Both Di and Nan seem to mull that over, so Joy takes the opportunity to speak up again. "What I meant to ask before Di hijacked my question," this with a marked emphasis, "was whether you've heard back about that graduate program yet, Rilla?"

That gets both twins to sit up straighter, almost identical looks of curiosity on their faces. (They might not look alike, or act alike very often, but there are times when you get these flashes of uncanny resemblance and this is one of them.)

"I have, actually," I answer slowly, biting back a smile. "I got in."

Joy beams. "Congrats! First choice?"

"Uh-huh," I nod.

Di clucks her tongue impatiently, while Nan enquires, "Does either of you want to share what you're talking about?"

"Rilla got accepted into the graduate program she applied to," explains Joy.

The look of pronounced surprise on the twins' faces is almost enough to make me feel a little insulted. Me wanting to pursue a graduate degree isn't that hard to believe, is it?

"Where are you heading?" Nan asks, a second too late.

Actually…

"Oxford."

That draws the strongest reaction yet. Di gapes. Nan blinks several times in quick succession, as if trying to dislodge something stuck in her eye.

"Oxford, England?" she finally queries.

I nod.

Di bursts out laughing.

(I can't even blame her. When Ken first mentioned that he'd be doing the new Master of Public Policy at Oxford and would I join him there, I, too, laughed at him.)

"No way you got accepted into Oxford!" Di exclaims.

(That's what I told Ken, too. "There's no way I will get accepted into Oxford," I told him. The very thought was absurd.)

Still… it's a little different coming from Di. I'm allowed to say it. I'm not so sure whether she is.

"Yes, I did," I reply, a little sullenly.

"Sociology, was it?" This from Joy, obviously with a view to diffusing the situation before it can build into something more.

Nan immediately jumps to her aid. "What made you chose sociology?"

Truth to be told, I didn't chose sociology, per se. It was merely… the default option? The thought of doing another year of English or economics was abhorrent to me and they allow students with a non-consecutive bachelor to take the master's degree in sociology, so long as you assure your interest in the subject. Additionally, it was one of the few courses with a March deadline, allowing me to actually get an application together before the time window closed. And lastly, not only do they accept one in four people for sociology, compared to the one in ten for other programs, it also 'only' calls for a 3.5 GPA, not the 3.85 they want for, say, English literature. And, well, not that I ever had a 3.5 GPA, but… my grades are undeniably closer to a 3.5 than they are to a 3.85.

Not that I can actually say any of this though. They're already looking at me all funny as it is.

"It seemed like an interesting addition to my education," I therefore answer with a shrug, hoping they'll accept it as an answer.

Nan nods, though to what extent she believes me and to what extent she's just trying to keep the peace, I don't know.

Di, meanwhile, frowns deeply. "That doesn't explain how you got accepted though."

"I applied. I got accepted," I reply, pursing my lips slightly. "It's straightforward."

"No it is not," Di immediately disputes, shaking her head as she does. "I mean, I love you, Rilla, but this is Oxford and you're, well, you, and they day you get offered a place at Oxford is the day hell freezes over."

"In that case, I suggest you get out your jumpers," I reply sarcastically.

My sister choses to ignore this. "I don't want to upset you, but you can't deny that you don't have the grades for Oxford," she remarks instead.

I don't. I never did. Even with my grades markedly looking up this year, I don't have what it takes to Oxford and we all know it.

"They don't solely look at grades," Joy interjects anyway. "They have letters of motivations and recommendations to consider as well, and work samples, too. And Rilla's application was good."

It was good, I think. Joy and Dan helped me with it, back before the immigration issue blew up in our faces, and even Ken pitched in when he was here for a glorious week late in January. I mean, it probably still wasn't the best application there ever has been, but I do think it was solid.

"Not that good," Di argues. "Even the perfect letter of motivation wouldn't have gotten Rilla a place at Oxford on her own merits."

Well, thanks a lot.

"I got a place though, so joke's on you," I inform her, aiming for haughtiness.

Di pulls her mouth into a twist. "You got a place. I'm questioning whether you got it on your own merit."

Is she implying…?

"If you're suggesting that Ken pulled rank and made someone offer me a place, you are mistaken," I snap. "Which I know because I very specifically asked him not to and I know he wouldn't do it against my wishes."

He did offer, though not in so many words. I explicitly forbade him from getting involved, even at the risk of having to study at one of the other universities I applied to and having to commute for a year. I have my pride, after all.

"He probably didn't even have to do anything," points out Di. "Chances are, the committee members at Oxford took one look at your name and decided to do their future king a solid and accept you."

I…

"Can they do that?" Nan asks, her brow knitted into a thoughtful frown.

Di shrugs. "It's an opaque process. Officially, they will claim her recommendation letters were just so very good or some other nonsense."

"Maybe they were? What do you know?" I reply, sounding sourly even to my own ears. "And why do you care anyway? Anyone would think you're begrudging me this."

"I'm not," Di is quick to deny. "Not on a personal level. But morally, I think this is wrong."

"Diana." Joy's voice is low and warning.

Tossing her head a little, Di argues, "I'm right and you know it, Joy. If Rilla got offered a place because of who she's dating, that means someone else lost out on that place. Someone who truly earned it."

"You don't know that." Joy's lips are pursed in disapproval and I feel a rush of gratefulness.

"And you can't be sure that it isn't the case," is Di's immediate reply. "Look, I wish Rilla all the best, but if she got that place through nepotism – and everything points to that having been the case – that's ethically wrong. Actually, it's wrong on a lot of levels."

"I'm still here, you know," I mutter. "And I can hear you."

Di turns her eyes to the left, apparently having moved them from Joy's image to mine. "I know you are. And I'm sorry I can't tell you what you want to hear, but I won't pretend that I don't disagree with your choice to take this place."

"What would you have me do, then? Decline it?" I ask, raising both eyebrows as high as possible.

Letting go of a breath, Di seems to think this over for a moment. "If you at least wanted that place…" she finally replies. "If you at least wanted to go on studying, that'd be better. But let's face it, Rilla, you have no interest in spending more time at any university, not even Oxford. You're just doing this for him and frankly, I don't think that's a good enough reason."

"Di," murmurs Nan, reaching up to awkwardly tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Sociology, Nan!" Di exclaims, throwing her hands up. "Rilla doesn't care about sociology any more than you care about nuclear engineering or I care about Massai poetry. It's merely a convenient excuse to move to England and I just think that if that was the objective, it'd be better to be upfront about it rather than take away a place at Oxford from a person who truly wants and truly deserves it."

Wow. That was… direct.

(She's wrong though. I think my interest in sociology does exceed hers in Massai poetry by quite a margin.)

Joy looks like she wants to say something, but I shake my head vehemently and she closes her mouth again. Nan bites her lip.

"I realise that you have strong feelings on the matter, Di, but you must forgive me when I tell you that your moral convictions don't rule my life," I remark, barely able to keep my voice level. "So, quite frankly, why won't you just go to hell?"

I don't give her an opportunity to say anything more. In fact, I slam the laptop shut with much more force than necessary, just about controlling the impulse to push it off the bed as well.

That went a lot worse than expected. In fact, that was a total disaster.

Just great.

Just sodding great.

Staring at the closed laptop, I try to control both my breathing and my thoughts, but haven't had much success with either when my phone suddenly rings. Warily, I lean forward to look at the caller ID, but it's just Nan.

"Hey," I greet, feeling suddenly very tired.

"Hello," comes Nan's concerned voice. "Are you alright?"

I wave my hand vaguely to brush away the question, before realising that she can't see me, now that we've switched over to plain old phones. "I'm fine," I assure instead.

"Don't mind, Di, please," asks Nan. "She doesn't mean it personally. I have no doubt that she wishes you all the best. It's just that… you know how strongly she feels about equality."

"She left it in little doubt," I mutter, letting my head drop forward and squeezing my eyes shut for a moment.

"If it makes you feel any better, Joy was chewing her out when I left the Skype call," Nan tries to comfort. "She seemed to have it all under control as well, which is why I thought I'd check on you."

Making a thoughtful sound, I push the laptop further away from me. "But Joy agrees with her about the equality thing," I remind. "She might not have said anything just there, but she feels at least as strongly about it as Di."

"Generally speaking, she does." I can practically hear the smile in Nan's voice. "But this is you we're talking about, so different rules apply. If it's your happiness at stake, Joy can be almost as flexible about her principles as she is when it concerns her own children. She's about as protective, too. Whenever we were mean to you as kids, we could count on her intervening and giving us a talking to. In contrast, she never has been able to stay mad at you for longer than three hours."

For a moment, I mull this over in my mind. It's true that Joy has always had a protective eye on me when we were children (which, curiously, hardly ever extended to Shirley at all, despite him being even younger). And she was very quick to forgive me back in February, wasn't she?

"But isn't it unfair to chide Di? It's not like she hasn't got a point," I argue anyway, focusing back on Nan and the conversation at hand.

"Actually, no, she doesn't," corrects Nan, sounding almost cheerful.

Huh?

"Elaborate, please?" I ask.

There's a rustle and I can practically see Nan settling more comfortably into a cushy chair with too many pillows, before she explains, "The way I see it, she might be right about the inequality of this, but she's wrong to be blaming you. None of this is your responsibility."

"How do you work that out?" I wonder, frowning. "I'm the one offered a place at Oxford that I very likely didn't earn."

"Ah, but you didn't make the decision and therein lies all the difference," points out Nan, sounding pleased with her logic.

I still don't get it.

My silence must have given me away, too, because Nan makes an impatient sound. "Alright, look at it this way: Did you, in any way or form, try to do something untoward to better your chances of getting a place."

I shake my head. "No."

"Did you hint to Kenneth that he might get involved?" Nan asks pointedly.

"Not at all. In fact, I explicitly forbade him to!" I stress.

"And did you leave a little note for the application committee to find, reminding them that you have friends in high places?" my sister questions further.

Now, I know she's heading somewhere with this, but I can't help feeling a little indignant that she'd even need to ask. "Of course not!"

"Then you didn't do anything wrong," Nan decides. "You applied, just like everyone else does, and you got accepted. There's nothing morally questionable about that.

"But what if they only accepted me because they looked at my name and linked it to Ken?" I want to know. (I hate to admit it, but Di's reaction did leave me feeling unsure about this.)

"Then that's on them. They made the decision and if they made it for the wrong reasons, it's on their conscience, not yours." Nan sounds reassuringly convinced as she says it and there's nothing I'd want more than to believe her.

Still…

Gnawing on my lower lip, I think over her words. "But shouldn't I put it right?" I finally ask.

"How would you? By declining the place?" Nan clucks her tongue and suddenly sounds very like Di. "You don't even know for sure whether someone else was denied that place and whether, if you stepped down, it would be passed on. And besides, how can you be sure they didn't create an additional place for you? Or that they weren't truly bowled over by your application?"

"Unlikely," I murmur.

It's not false modesty either. I might have liked the idea of Oxford truly being interested in me, but Di's right on that account. As a student, I've got nothing to offer them.

"But possible," decrees Nan. "So, don't let yourself be swayed by Di being a snob about it. In fact, don't let yourself be swayed by Di being a snob about you wanting to be with Kenneth either."

"Not that she was wrong about that," I admit. "I don't particularly want to continue studying. I mostly just want to be with him."

"And no harm in that," Nan immediately replies. "Di is just being difficult because she's going through a tough time herself, romance-wise."

This is news to me, I must say.

"What about…" I break off, racking my brain for the name of Di's latest girlfriend. "Was she called Natalie?"

"Natasha," corrects Nan. "And they broke up last weekend. Which is why Di is inclined to be cynical about love right now."

Poor Di. That does explain rather a lot about why she was feeling so… confrontational today. From what I gathered before, she didn't think she and Natasha would go the distance, but still. She must be hurting.

"It's understandable," I remark, feeling myself soften a little towards Di.

"It is," agrees Nan. "Doesn't mean she's right though. There's a time for sticking to principles and there's a time for compromising to keep a relationship strong. And, just between you and me and the bedpost, I think that sometimes, Di would benefit from a little less principle and a little more compromise in love."

Just between me and the bedpost, I think that Di would benefit from a little more compromise in general. I love her, but she can be pretty unyielding sometimes.

Swivelling back to our earlier subject, I ask Nan, "So you don't think it's wrong of me to want to move to be with Ken?"

She laughs. "Are you kidding me? I'm surprised you haven't yet! Jerry and I just had to navigate the distance between Montreal and Toronto and that was hard enough. You two have an entire ocean between you!"

That's true, isn't it? Nan and Jerry did the long distance thing for two years, but at least they were in the same country and saw each other regularly. Ken has been here just twice this year, for a week late in January and an extended weekend earlier this month.

(And there's an irony to the fact that even though the world knows about us now, we still keep holed up in my apartment. Partly because Ken doesn't want to give anyone an exclusive photograph of us together and partly because we want to savour the precious time we have. Whenever I had to leave for university while he was here, I did so only most reluctantly. I usually left Ken to the care of Mrs Weisz during those hours, which delighted them both. He denied it, but I have a sneaking suspicion he even read some Nora Roberts and Jill Cooper novels in preparation.)

"You understand me wanting to be with him then?" I'm not sure I mean it to be a question or not, but it comes out as one.

"Of course I understand you," assures Nan. "Long distance is manageable for a while, but it only ever works temporarily. I should know, after all. And it's not like he can just move to wherever he wants to, so it makes sense for you to go to him. It's a big step, but I understand why you're taking it."

I let go of a long breath. "Thanks. That means a lot."

"Anytime." A beat. "Besides, phone sex is nice and well in the beginning, but it does get rather lonely rather fast, right?"

"Nan!" I screech.

On the end of the line, Nan laughs. "Sorry, couldn't resist."

"Well, try," I grumble, but suppress a smile of my own.

"Oh, look on the bright side," replies Nan, still clearly teasing. "Soon, there'll be no need for you to rely phone variety anymore."

Gee, thanks.

"So long as the British let me in," I point out, if mostly to keep her from talking about phone sex any longer. "I still haven't had a chance to look into possible visas yet and who knows, maybe they'll take offence that I had a job at the ice cream parlour that summer after tenth year?"

"I shouldn't think so. After all, there's an Ancestry Visa you can use and that hardly has any caveats attached to it," remarks Nan, brightening at the thought. "I looked into it a bit when Jerry briefly considered taking a job in London last year."

Huh? I didn't know he had been offered one.

But Nan's still talking. "Dad's mother – his real mother – was British. And with a British-born grandparent, us little wildlings from the Commonwealth are allowed to return to live in the motherland."

"Was she really? British, I mean?" I ask, skipping over the visa part and right to our grandmother. I know next to nothing about Dad's birth mother. With Grandmother Marilla around, it always seemed disloyal to ask.

"Born in Scotland, I think, but she must have lived in England for a while as well," relays Nan. "That's how she and Grandpa met in the first place, from what I gathered. He went over as a soldier during the war and when he returned to Canada, he brought a wife with him."

My frown deepening, I rack my brain until I unearth some half-buried information on the matter. "He was a plane mechanic, wasn't he? Grandpa, during the war."

"Something of that sort, yes," replies Nan vaguely. "Of course, him going was what led to the initial falling out between him and Grandmother Marilla. They were sweethearts, but she disapproved of him going to war and put out an ultimatum. When he went anyway, she broke up with him and by the time he returned, he was already married to Grandmother Millicent."

"Seems a little extreme of her," I muse. "Of Grandmother Marilla, I mean. Back then, most men were soldiers, weren't they?"

Nan makes a thoughtful sound. "She'd lost her older brother Matthew not too long before. Killed in action at that French suicide mission they sent the Canadians on sometime early-ish in the war. I'd have to look up the name. Or ask Grandma Bertha. She'd know"

I never knew this. How come I never knew this?

"How come I never knew this?"

"It's not something anyone likes to talk about much. I think the memory is still somewhat painful," explains Nan. "Most of what I know, I only learned about because I went and picked Mrs Lynde's brain some years ago. According to her, Grandmother was very close to her brother and his death hit her hard. The thought of having her boyfriend go as well was apparently too much for her and she tried to pressure him into staying."

"Which just led to her losing him completely," I conclude.

"Not for good," Nan points out.

No. Not for good.

Gathering my thoughts, I ask, "Any more family lore you want to share?"

Nan laughs. "No, I'm good. I don't think there's much more of it anyway. Mum's father had some ancestors fighting for Irish independence back in the day, but nothing recent. Think Easter Rising and related events."

I groan. "Great. If the press ever finds out about that, what's betting they're going to paint me as a gun-toting revolutionary out to secretly overthrow the Royal Family and create an Irish super state?"

(Never mind that my only personal experience of Ireland comes from a weekend trip to Dublin back during the Geneva days. And honestly, I like a good book as much as the next person, but let me tell you, they're most definitely overcharging for admission to Trinity Library!)

"I'm not going to bet against it. Those journalists come up with the most amazing stories," Nan informs me cheerfully.

Yeah. Don't I know it.

With a weary sigh, I let myself drop backward, coming to lie diagonally across the bed. "Now, about that visa you mentioned…"

The title of this chapter is taken from the song 'Sweet Home Alabama' (written by Ed King, Gary Rossington and Ronnie Van Zant, released by Lynyrd Skynyrd in 1974).

A/N: Due to technical issues, this chapter isn't beta-read. We couldn't get the proof-read version from oz diva to me in a workable format, so you're getting this as is. If there are mistakes still in there, they're on me. If you find one, you can keep it ;).

To Mammu:
Someone from the old days! Hello and welcome back! You sent me on a trip right down memory lane with your review and what a fun trip it was. So thanks for that! And please never hesitate to leave me a review. I cherish them all and yours certainly made me smile :).
I'm sorry to hear you had a bad day (airports are never fun places to be stuck at and especially not when one has somewhere important to be) and hope the weekend was at least a little improved. And if my story did help even a little to make the bad day a bit brighter, I'm glad.
I can't promise you fluff just yet, but look out for the chapter after next. We should be coming up to a stretch of fairly fluffy chapters with that one. And as for a happy ending... well, without wanting to say to much, I see this story as a modern fairy tale (rather than an anti-fairy tale), so we're not gearing up for an ending of grief and despair ;).
I also very much hope there will be an ending! I promise that I'm absolutely resolved to finish this story and generally speaking, my track record isn't too bad either. I apologise for never finishing the translation of the old story you used to read (I did finish the German version and its three sequels though), but I was a teenager back then and translation was a lot of hard work. I just lost interest in doing it at some point and when I came back to it years later, I realised the story just wasn't that good and I'd better put effort into newer, hopefully better stories. And here we are, I guess.
Anyway, I was very happy to hear from you and even happier that you're enjoying the story. I'd also love to know what you think of this (or any other) chapter, if you feel like sharing :).