Avonlea, Canada
August 2012

Stop and say hello

"Sir?" asks the police officer, whose name, I believe, is Saunders, from the front seat.

Ken looks up to meet the man's eyes in the rear-view mirror. "Yes?"

"Asking permission to run them over, please?" elaborates Saunders with a nod at the reporters clearly visible a short distance away.

"Permission granted," replies Ken casually and leans back in his seat. When he catches me looking, the corners of his mouth lift in a smile.

"I think they're on private grounds anyway," I supply. "That entire driveway is already part of the Green Gables property."

That piques Ken's interest. "Is it? Well, we'll be sure to let them know. The entire driveway, you say?"

"I think so," I nod. "The gate might usually be open, but it's still there, after all."

"You might advise your grandparents to close it in the future," Ken suggests. "For security, if nothing else."

"I will," I agree, not pointing out that it's only our presence that called the reporters here in the first place.

They've discovered us now and rush over to try and get a picture. But Saunders closes the gap to the car in front of us, which is carrying more protection officers, and thus prevents the reporters from getting a snap of us through the windshield. With the tinted rear windows thwarting any attempts to photograph us from the side, all they're getting are shots of two SUVs going by. I imagine they aren't well pleased by it.

"You can drive up to that barn," I tell Saunders, pointing to the old grey barn that shields most of the house and yard from the street. "We can slip in through there."

With a nod, Saunders steers our car towards the barn door while the other car blocks the reporters from getting any closer. The moment we come to a halt, the young officer named Butcher jumps out from the passenger seat and holds open my door for me. Sliding out of the car, I quickly duck into the barn, keeping my head lowered. Ken is right on my heels.

"How did they know we'd be here anyway?" I grumble as I firmly close the barn door behind us.

"They probably followed your family, speculating that we'd come as well," answers Ken with a shrug. "Which they were right about."

They were. My family left an hour ahead of us, but as Ken still needed to finish up a couple of phone calls before it got too late in England, I opted to wait for him. Some of the photographers had stayed at Ingleside and snapped our departure, but a good chunk of them obviously decided to take a chance and drove ahead to Avonlea.

(Their presence makes me think back wistfully on the two heavenly days before they got wind of Ken's arrival. Life was gloriously peaceful, then. But I reckon it's no surprise that the moment information about his presence emerged, they descended. Him being here is international news and there's no way around it.)

Taking a few steps forward, Ken takes in his surroundings curiously. "This is an actual barn," he observes. "Is this a working farm?"

"Used to be," I reply. "It was built by some ancestors of Grandmother Marilla, but her father was the last one to actually do any farming. The farmland got sold off after his death. Nowadays, it's just a home with some outbuildings for storage and a chicken coop."

"Chickens?" repeats Ken with a smile.

"Vicious beasts," I declare darkly, thinking back to how they once pinned me into a corner of the coop when I was about five years old, pecking my legs and flapping their wings. It's not my fondest memory, to put it mildly, no matter how much Carl rhapsodises about what gentle and clever creatures chicken are. (As if!)

I can feel Ken's curious gaze on me, but, deciding against sharing this humiliating episode, I instead grab his hand and lead him through the barn into the yard that stretches between the outbuildings and the actual farm house. In front of it stands Beckett, who was in the other car and must have taken the path past the barn towards the house.

"Everything alright, Sir?" he queries, approaching in long strides.

Ken nods confirmation. "Everything's fine. You might want to warn those reporters about property boundaries and the consequences of trespassing, though. Rilla says the entire driveway is private land."

"We will make sure to tell them to withdraw to the public road," agrees Beckett.

Another nod from Ken. "Good." He hesitates for a moment before adding, "Could you give us some space today? I know the house wasn't searched thoroughly, but I'd rather not have someone hovering by my shoulder all day."

Beckett seems to consider that for a moment. "I believe we can do that, Sir. The area looks suitably private. We will be right out here until further notice. If anything untoward happens, you know what to do."

"I do," confirms Ken, though without supplying any further information. Instead, he turns to me and gives my hand a squeeze. "Shall we?"

I smile up at him. "Sure. Anytime you're ready."

There's laughter coming from the garden, so I direct Ken past the house and through the white picket fence. There, I pause for a moment, allowing him to take in the rather rambunctious scene in front of us.

"They seem to have multiplied," he observes.

Laughing, I shake my head. "My aunt and uncle are there with their respective broods. They easily double numbers."

This is the first time Ken is meeting the wider family, but after a week and a half on the island, he already seems to get along my parents and siblings quite well. Of course, it's hard not to get along with Jem (though he did slip in the customary warning about not hurting me or else) and Nan's interest in everything old, English and quaint is something for her and Ken to bond over. Di is being a bit prickly and Shirley a bit reserved, but that's too be expected. On the other hand, Ken and Walter appear to get along pretty well and even Dad came around during an afternoon spent listening to LPs (I might have napped for half of it). As for Mum and Joy, I know they'd make the effort just for my sake.

"Who are they? Your aunt and uncle?" enquires Ken, his eyes roaming around the garden.

"Aunt Dora is over there," I reply, pointing into her direction. "You might have something to chat with her about, actually. She's a pilot."

"Really?" He raises an eyebrow.

I nod briskly. "Yes and there's no reason for you to be so surprised about it. She flies much bigger planes than you ever did. International flights, too."

Ken laughs, raising both hands in defence. "Sorry. It's just that female pilots are still a bit unusual. But good for her."

"It is," I confirm. "She and Ralph turned the traditional model right on its head. He used to be a teacher – geography and PE, if I remember correctly – but became a stay at home-dad when their first child was born. Meanwhile, Dora is off to fly around the world."

"Impressive," commends Ken, sounding actually sincere. Then, craning his neck a little, "Which one's your uncle? Dora's brother, I mean."

Nodding in direction of Uncle Davy, I answer, "He's that one. He's an actor. His wife Millie makes concept art."

Frowning, Ken thinks this over. "Concept art?"

"Oh, yes," I nod and bite back a smile. "It's a bit odd. I don't know what she's working on right now, but her last project included pie crusts and roadkill. It was very well-received by critics."

"Pie crusts and… roadkill?" repeats Ken, blinking in confusion.

"Uh-huh," I confirm, the smile now breaking through. "It positively distresses Grandmother Marilla. She tries to be understanding for Davy's sake, but you can see it mostly just baffles her."

"Understandably," decides Ken, shaking his head in wonder. Then, obviously deciding to return to less bewildering matters, he adds, "You said your uncle is an actor. Have I heard of him?"

I raise my shoulders in a shrug. "I wouldn't know, would I? But his stage name is Davy Keith, so if you've heard about him, it'd have been under that name."

Ken considers Davy from afar, obviously pondering whether he's seen him before. "Is he famous?"

"Not very. He had some bit parts in television, but mostly does theatre work," I explain. "Mum said he's next play will be an interactive version of Richard III."

Once more, Ken's eyebrows shoot up. "Interactive?"

Laughing at his expression, I shake my head. "Don't ask! It's probably going to be weird. He's an… expressive actor, Uncle Davy is. Too expressive, some might say. He was once lined up as the second lead in a TV show but it got cancelled after the pilot."

"Ouch." Ken grimaces in commiseration.

I wave his concern aside. "That was years ago. He's probably gotten over it and if he hasn't, it's time that he does."

Smiling, Ken draws me closer to press a kiss to the top of my head. "How sympathetic you are."

"Always!" I insist with a saucy grin, causing Ken's smile to widen.

Standing on my tiptoes, I steal a quick kiss, but the moment our lips touch, Jem hollers, "Oi, you two lovebirds! Want to come and say hello?"

Rolling my eyes, I rock back on my heels. Ken squeezes my hand before tugging me along to where my family awaits.

"These kids are your cousins?" he asks quietly as we walk, almost stumbling over various children running around.

"Uh-huh," I confirm. "But we usually don't make much of an effort to tell them apart. We just lob them together as 'the twins' children'. If we ever need to assign them to their parents, the trick is that Dora's are the neat ones. Millie and Davy have rather a laissez-faire approach to parenting, see?"

Watching a small boy in a chef's hat, a pair of sparkly fairy wings and little else run past, Ken nods slowly. "Yes. I think I do see."

"Got to allow the little ones to express themselves," I add, hiding my smile at his confused expression. "Millie and Davy are big on the importance of expressing yourself. Dora and Ralph put more emphasis on good manners and good grades."

As if to prove my point, Ralph takes that moment to step up, a gaggle of children in tow. "Good afternoon, Sir," he greets Ken. "My name is Ralph Andrews and these are my children. I'm Rilla's uncle by marriage."

"Good afternoon," replies Ken. He looks over to me in search for an explanation, but I can only shrug. I don't know what Ralph wants either.

"Children, this is Cousin Rilla's friend. Your mother and I told you about him," continues Ralph and the children nod, staring up at Ken and me curiously.

But Ralph isn't finished yet. "Who knows how he is related to the man this island was named for?" he asks, casting a questioning glance at the children.

A small hand immediately shoots up. (He's not really making them raise their hands before speaking, is he? Someone needs to go back to work ASAP!) "Prince Edward Island was named for Prince Edward, Duke of Kent, who was the father of Queen Victoria."

"Very good," decrees Ralph. "And how is he related to Rilla's friend?"

Another hand goes up, but more tentatively. "Great-great-great-great-great-grandfather."

Looking at Ken, I can see him do the maths in his head. When he realises that the kid is right, a surprised look crosses his face.

"And does anyone know how the line continues from the Duke of Kent to Rilla's friend?" enquires Ralph of the children.

Alas, I've heard enough. (Of the words 'Rilla's friend', if nothing else.)

Just about resisting the urge to raise my own hand, I interject, "Uh, Ralph? Not that this isn't fascinating, but Ken and I need to make the rounds. Shake some hands, greet some people. You don't need us around for this, do you?"

"Not at all, Rilla," replies Ralph with a benevolent smile. "Not at all."

"Great! See you later, kiddos!" Grabbing Ken's arm, I quickly drag him away, not quite looking where we're going as long as it's somewhere else. (As we leave, I can hear a child starting to recite, "Duke of Kent, Queen Victoria, King Edward VII –")

Only when we're a safe distance away, do I finally stop. "Well, that was awkward."

(It's probably just as well I didn't take Ken to meet this part of the family until his stay was almost over. He gets along quite well with the rest of them, but Dad's siblings and their families are a lot to take in.)

"It was… a little odd," agrees Ken diplomatically.

"That's putting it mildly! Ralph is such a… teacher. It reminds me though; Whatever you do, don't let Millie talk you into sponsoring one of her shows or model for her," I warn him.

"And forego the experience of having my likeness rendered in roadkill?" asks Ken with a smile. "Some people might pay good money for it."

Deciding against a proper reply, I instead give him my most judge-y side-eye. He just grins back.

"Don't glare, Rilla. It is unbecoming," chastises a voice from behind me and I quickly swivel around. In my haste to get away from Ralph and his impromptu lesson, I seem to have dragged Ken over to where my grandmothers sit sipping tea.

"I wasn't glaring," I argue (and I wasn't!), but they both ignore it.

Instead, Grandmother Marilla gets up from her chair and proceeds to curtesy in front of Ken. Her knees crack in a way that surely must be painful.

"Your Royal Highness," she greets him.

Ken looks seriously alarmed. Grandma Bertha, who remains resolutely seated, raises a single eyebrow. (Who's judging now?)

"Please, Ma'am, there's no need for this," Ken quickly assures Grandmother Marilla, reaching out a hand to help her up again. "You can call me Ken. Or Kenneth, if you prefer."

But Grandmother is having none of it. "We defer to the position, not to the person," she explains matter-of-factly.

"Or we could just defer to neither," chimes in Grandma Bertha, toasting us with her teacup.

Ken looks to me for help. All his usual suaveness has been stripped reliably away by my family. If it weren't quite so embarrassing, I'd laugh.

"Maybe we could just not be having this discussion right now?" I suggest. But once again, I might as well be invisible for how much note they take of me.

"Bertha is not a royalist," remarks Grandmother Marilla, her tone leaving little doubt that she, for one, very much is.

(My grandmothers generally get along well, but when they disagree, they don't do it by halves.)

"You better believe I'm not!" declares Grandma Bertha. "It's an outdated, feudalistic system and I think it has no place in today's world."

Closing my eyes, I groan softly. I spent nearly two weeks preventing Di from beginning the very same discussion, but two minutes with Grandma Bertha and we're knee-deep into it. (I had some tentative hopes that I wouldn't have to introduce Ken to her at all, given that she was on an Arctic excursion until earlier this week. Originally, the plan had been for her to come to the Island after Ken's departure, but having heard about this gathering, she drove straight up from Halifax this morning.)

Ken clears his throat. "With all due respect, Ma'am, but if that's the case – and I'm not saying it isn't – it's up to the people to change it."

Grandma lowers her teacup and looks at him. "You're saying if the people decided they want you gone…"

She trails off, but Ken nods. "We'd go, yes. I mean… a King without the support of the people is just a man in a silly hat."

"Now she's going to try and start a revolution," murmurs Grandmother Marilla and I have to suppress a smile.

For now though, Grandma just eyes Ken curiously, obviously quite taken by his answer against her will. She looks ready to pick his brain on the matter some more, but thankfully, we're all saved by the arrival of Grandpa John.

"Ken, darling, this is my grandfather," I quickly introduce, grabbing Ken's arm and dragging him a few steps away from Grandma Bertha.

"My pleasure, Sir." Ken extends a hand towards Grandpa, probably to keep him from bowing or doing some other weird thing. (I don't think he would, but you never know.)

"All mine," replies Grandpa amicably, shaking the proffered hand. "Rilla told me you're a fellow Air Force Man?"

When Ken looks at me for explanation, I supply, "Grandpa was an air mechanic in the war."

"Then you did a lot more useful work than me. I've just been trained very thoroughly." There's a self-deprecating little smile on Ken's lips as he shakes his head slightly.

"And let us all pray that it will stay that way," Grandpa replies solemnly.

There's a moment of silence, with no-one knowing quite what to say to that, until I take it upon myself to inelegantly change the subject. "Have you been up to the house, Grandpa?" I ask him. "Is she ready to see us?"

For a moment, he appears startled by the question but then catches himself and nods. "Oh, yes. Yes. Yes, she is."

Well, then… no excuse to put it off any longer.

Grandmother Marilla reaches out to touch my arm in sympathy and I force a smile. She, of all people, knows exactly how much I am not looking forward to this.

"Come on," I prompt Ken. "Let's get it over with."

Nodding at my grandparents in turn, he accepts the hand I hold out for him and allows me to lead him over towards the house. It's only when we're some steps away that he leans towards me and asks quietly, "What are we doing and why does it need getting over with?"

Sighing, I cast a dark look at the house. "You'll see."

But before we make it inside, I spot Joy leaning against the cherry tree, phone in hand and looking decidedly pensive. Only too ready to delay it even longer, I make a beeline for her, dragging Ken along with me.

"Bad news?" I want to know as we come to a halt in front of her.

Joy raises her head, seemingly needing a moment to focus. "No, not at all," she answers once she's collected herself. "That was our lawyer. They finally dropped all charges. Against all of us."

"But that's brilliant, Joy!" I exclaim, smiling widely at her.

"Amazing news," agrees Ken.

My sister, however, remains thoughtful. "I have half a mind to send the decision to Honeyplace, just to show him he was paranoid about letting me go."

"Honeyplace is a senior partner at the law firm she worked for," I explain quietly when Ken turns to me for clarification.

"And a less aptly named man I never met," adds Joy. "There's nothing sweet about him. Nothing nice either. He's a –" She makes a vague gesture in place of the probably very unkind word she truly wanted to use.

"If he asked you to come back…. would you?" I ask tentatively.

Joy inclines her head as she considers her answer. "It's not going to happen, but… I probably wouldn't want to anyway. If one good thing came out of this entire situation, it's that I got to know a different kind of lawyering. I really enjoy working more closely with my clients and it's rewarding, helping these women. I'm not saying I want to do this forever, but for now, I think it's something I'd like to explore further." She pauses for a second or two, smiling wryly. "I just need to figure out how to get paid for it."

The thought of unresolved finances makes me grimace. Joy raises a questioning eyebrow, before realisation dawns on her face.

"Oh! You're going to see her?" she asks.

I nod, pulling another grimace for good measure.

Joy laughs mercilessly. "Rather you than me," she declares. "Remember to keep your cool!"

"I'll try," I mutter darkly, causing her to laugh even louder.

"Well, good luck with that." Pushing off from the tree, she claps me on the back as she passes us to re-join our family. Her step, I notice, is lighter than I've seen it in a long time.

"Rilla?" Ken's voice is a little tentative, which is unusual enough for me to tear my eyes away from Joy and look up at him.

"Do you want to tell me who's in that house?" he continues. "I'm beginning to feel a little afraid."

That makes two of us.

Letting go of his hand to loop my arm through his, I turn back towards Green Gables and take a deep breath. "Aunt Mary Maria."

We're walking again, but it's mostly Ken propelling us forward. "That doesn't sound so terrifying in and of itself," he observes.

"That's because you don't know her," I inform him. "She's… ugh."

Ken laughs and I glare at him. We'll see whether he's still laughing in ten minutes!

"She's Grandpa's cousin," I elaborate, if reluctantly. "She has no family of her own, so she has to bribe us into spending time with her."

"Bribe?" repeats Ken, still sounding far too amused for my liking.

I shrug. "Well, who do you think pays for our tuition? My parents aren't destitute, but putting seven children through college is a bit beyond their means."

"And this aunt…" Ken trails off.

"Her father bought Apple shares by accident in the 80s," I explain. "Which means she most definitely has the means. In return for her paying up, we have to be nice to her."

"How can you buy Apple shares by accident?" he wants to know, his expression one of incredulity.

Frowning, I try to remember the rest of the story. "Don't quote me on it, but I think he meant to buy shares in Apple Records. The Beatles' label, you know? By the time he discovered his mistake a long time later, his Apple shares had gone through the roof. According to family lore, he wasn't really the brightest bulb around."

"So a classic case of Fortune favours fools?" Ken asks, sounding far too delighted.

I sigh. "Most likely."

Despite me dragging my feet, we've reached the front door and I stop to collect my bearings.

"Just so we're clear," I tell Ken, turning towards him. "Me coming to Oxford depends on her bankrolling it, so you better support me in there. You meet dotty old women all the time on your job, don't you? And they seem to like you, so… you know, just do your thing, alright?"

He smiles, reaching up to tug at the end of my French braid. "You're adorable."

"I might be, but she certainly isn't" I try to impress on him. "So please remember to keep your guard up. If backhanded compliments were Olympic, Michael Phelps wouldn't be anywhere close to being history's most decorated athlete."

"Nice guy, that Phelps fellow," Ken remarks off-hand and I roll my eyes at him. Now is not the time to name-drop!

Pushing open the door, I reluctantly step into the dimly-lit hall. The parlour is too my left and I've just reached for the door knob when a voice from inside it calls out, "Is that you, Rita?"

Closing my eyes, I take deep breath and pray for calm.

Here goes nothing, I guess.


The title of this chapter is taken from the song 'Penny Lane' (written by Paul McCartney, released by The Beatles in 1967).


To Mammu:
Finland! I'd love to go to Finland one day. For reasons I cannot explain, it remains one of the few European countries I haven't visited yet, but I absolutely have plans to rectify that at some point. People tell me it's beautiful! I will, however, not eat any Rudolphs, no matter their tastiness ;).
Ken coming to Betty's wedding would have caused a media frenzy that would have been unfair to the bride and groom. I'm entirely with you on that (and so is he, hence why he stayed away). Also, I figured he should meet Rilla's actual family before being introduced to various acquaintances of an old school friend of hers. Meeting the siblings was potentially awkward enough, as you note, which is why Izzie was a handy ice breaker for me. She can be nicely employed when I need to combat general grown-up awkwardness. (No presents for the siblings. That would have been overdoing it, I think.)
Have lots of fun in the Netherlands and make sure to eat some Vla for me - the vanilla kind, of course, because clearly, that's the best kind ;).

To AnneShirley:
Do I remember you? Of course I do! In fact, I don't think I've ever regretted not being able to reach guest reviews quite this much, which has nothing to do with the stories or with reviews (though I always did and still do enjoy your reviews very much!) and everything to do with wondering whether you were well. Now, the logical part of my brain always knew you were likely just busy, but I still thank you for popping back in and assuring the illogical part that you were not, in fact, abducted by aliens ;). (Seriously, I understand being busy and I know life is more important than fanfiction. I'm just saying I'm glad you're well.)
I'll argue that one can never be truly saturated when it comes to Joan Baez's singing, but in the interest of a broader musical outlook, I threw
in some Beatles this week. And there's a stretch of Dylan-titled chapters coming up, so I'm hoping your approve!
I know very, very little about Avengers, so I'm mostly just going with that wikipedia and more well-versed people tell me. Jem as Doctor Strange was far too good to pass up though! (And yes, Scarlet Witch isn't the most creative effort from Jem, but if she really can influence her surroundings the way it's been described to me, Rilla absolutely wouldn't mind a slice of her powers.)
As you said, Rilla is really at a point in her life where the surreal juxtaposes with the normal. A day in her life can absolutely start by getting breakfast with Joy, continue with a visit to the park with Jake and Izzie and end in a fancy hotel with her royal boyfriend. I think that why it's actually good for her that she has her family to ground her, embarrassing t-shirts and embarrassing nicknames included. They're certainly all making an effort to welcome Ken, too, even though some struggle more with the sheer oddness of the situation than others. (Looking at you, Nan!) They're a friendly, inclusive bunch in general though and that's what Ken appreciates so much about them - much as it sometimes makes Rilla want to get herself adopted away ;).
Mina Wood is no-one, so no need to worry about her. I must disappoint you on the Shirley/Carl front though. They've been done a lot recently and I just wanted to shake things up a bit and do something else again, so there won't be any Shirley/Carl romance in this story. Sorry! They're friends though, if that helps a little?