Chapter 13

The collar itches horribly and Rilla has to resist the urge to claw at it.

She's wearing a mourning dress lent by Aunt Dora and it's only due to her sitting in church that she hasn't yet torn it off her body. The stiff taffeta rustles uncomfortably loud whenever she moves, the long sleeves leave her sweaty and the high lace collar rubs the skin at the back of her neck raw. It is, plainly put, the least comfortable dress she's ever worn and the stark black colour only makes it worse.

The sickening farce of the mourning dress isn't improved by the stares she can feel boring into her back. It feels just like the first day she attended church, when no-one knew her and everyone wondered what her story was. They learned her story soon enough, whether they believed it or not, and as they did, interest in her person dropped to an overall more bearable level.

Now, however, as she returns to society after weeks of confinement, curiosity is once more firmly focused on her, especially because of the special circumstances surrounding her person. No-one in this church is aware of what truly happened in the past weeks, but they know the story that Aunt Dora told her group of friends, from where it spread throughout the village inexorably. Aunt Dora, without a doubt, intended for it to happen just like that, but for Rilla, the increased interest turns a simple church visit into something that feels akin to running the gauntlet.

Her lying-in being prolonged by an especially long road to recovery, she hasn't been among people in an unusually long time, and given the changes that happened since, it feels like an even longer time, closer to a lifetime than mere weeks. There's a moment now that cut her life into a 'before' and an 'after' and she doesn't know whether the two can ever be reconciled.

If only her collar wouldn't itch so!

She balls her hands into fists to resist the urge to scratch her neck. Then, for good measure, she flattens her hands again and pushes them beneath her thighs, so that she's effectively sitting on them. Being thus moved, the skirt of her dresses rustles, which immediately draws her aunt's attention. Over Janie's head, Aunt Dora gives her a sharp look that Rilla, in a split second, decides to ignore. Keeping her own gaze focused straight ahead, she pretends to be engrossed in Reverend James's sermon instead, though it's no more interesting than the very first sermon she heard of the local minister.

In truth, barely a word the reverend says even reaches her ears. Instead, her mind is moving this way or that, rarely keeping hold of any thought for more than a second and unable to focus properly on anything at all. She can't decide what to feel or think, except that she desperately wants this sermon to be over and yet, also dreads having to encounter the amassed village inhabitants outside the church when it is.

Unfortunately for her, even Reverend James with his penchant for droning comes to a close eventually and before Rilla knows it, she's following Aunt Dora and her husband from the church, the taffeta rustling as she walks. During her time spent lying in bed, spring gave way to summer and as she steps through the church doors, the sun's bright light falls on her face, making her blink.

Momentarily blinded, she stops on the steps leading down from the church entrance, unintentionally forcing the people following behind to sidestep her as they leave the building. Becoming aware of being an obstacle, Rilla quickly moves to the side, but her moment of hesitation meant the Andrews family moved on with her. Looking around, she sees Aunt Dora already surrounded by her circle of friends, while Ralph Andrews is conversing with a group of men that is largely made up of the husbands of the women now talking to his wife. Margaret and Ruthie have been absorbed by a flock of young women in colourful dresses, while Johnny has given in to Janie's pleas and is currently hoisting her up unto his back.

Everyone else thus occupied, Rilla steps to the side, preferring to join none of the groups her family members are engaged with. She almost dares to hope for a moment of peace that allows her to observe the people gathered on the square in front of the church, but the second she begins to relax just a fraction, her momentary peace is already disturbed.

"Mrs Keith!" exclaims a voice to her right.

Her head whipping around, Rilla sees Martin Martins approach her in long strides. Her first instinct is to turn and flee, but there's no place she could go to and with her cumbersome skirts, she likely wouldn't get far either.

"Good day Mr Martins," she greets him warily. A quick glance around tells her that there's no-one close to rescue her, if there was anyone inclined to rescue her at all.

"My mother informed me of your loss," Martin Martins states as he comes to stand beside Rilla. "So tragic."

"Tragic," Rilla parrots, sounding unconvincing even to herself. Thankfully, the man standing next to her doesn't appear to notice.

"To lose child and husband so close together must be devastating," he continues instead, his own tone of voice far too unconcerned, given the topic of conversation.

It's part of the legend, naturally, for her imaginary husband to have been killed in action during her own lying-in. With action on the Western Front still focused on the fighting around Verdun, the British and Canadian forces haven't been engaged in a major battle since the previous November, but in this war, no day is ever not deadly, and any soldier can fall any moment.

Thinking about the orchestrated demise of her fictional husband Rilla can never help but wonder about her real brothers and friends, out there in France and facing very tangible danger every day anew. Having not had any news from any of them, nor from anyone back home, she can only hope that they're well and trust in the fact that if something were to happen to them, her parents would tell her, despite everything.

Surely, despite what she did, they wouldn't keep it from her?

Or would they?

It's a horrifying thought and it must show on her face, because even Martin Martins doesn't miss it. "You've gone pale," he observes. "Did I upset you?"

It's a foolish question, Rilla reflects, because if she truly had a husband and he truly died, of course speaking about him would upset her. Not wanting to prolong her conversation with Martin Martins, she chooses not to point that out though, instead lowering her eyes and murmuring, "It's alright."

"It must be a difficult time for you," remarks Martin Martins and taking another step closer to her. "If you ever want to talk to someone about it, I'm happy to be a shoulder to lean on."

Yes, Rilla finds herself thinking, with how close he's standing to her now, she doesn't doubt that he wouldn't mind her leaning on his shoulder. "Thank you," she mutters, her head still lowered, while attempting to shuffle away from him at the same time.

"If I may say something to cheer you up," adds Martin Martins, leaning forward to bridge the small distance Rilla managed to put between them, "you're looking exceptionally beautiful today. The black makes your hair shine more brightly than ever."

As his words register, Rilla feels her hand ball into fists, and this time, her itching collar is not the reason.

The nerve of him!

Did she ever think men were romantic, their words poetic and their compliments flattering? Did she truly listen to a man once with lowered eyes and a beating heart? Did a man's words really take her breath away in the past?

What a goose she was!

What a foolish, incorrigible, gullible goose!

"Thank you for your kind words, Mr Martins," she chokes out, because even in the face of insolence, decorum must be kept. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must…" Not having come up with an excuse in time, she leaves her sentence open, instead gesturing vaguely towards a nearby group of people.

"Mrs Keith! Wait!" Martin Martins starts to protest, but to no avail. Having already turned, Rilla strides away from him.

She doesn't look where she's going, only focusing on getting away from this man whose compliments she might once have cherished and who only succeeds in sickening her now. What she did to pique his attention, she doesn't know, but if even a mourning dress and the aftereffects of illness on her too-thin face aren't enough to deter him, she doesn't know what will.

For now, getting away from him is the only solution she can think of, so she doesn't stop walking until having rounded the corner of a nearby house. Standing in its shadow, well out of sight of Martin Martins, she catches her breath and closes her eyes against the dizziness still overcoming her at inopportune moments.

"Are you feeling alright?" asks a voice, startling her for the second time in mere minutes, only that this time, it's a voice she's been eager to hear for weeks.

"Daisy!" she exclaims, opening her eyes and quickly turning towards the other woman.

She hasn't seen Daisy since those night-time moments when she brought her son to see her, and since Rilla still isn't entirely sure whether she imagined those minutes in a tired, drug-addled mind, it might have been before then, when Daisy brought her mother to give a piece of her mind to Aunt Dora. Rilla is reasonably sure she didn't imagine Daisy's mother.

"How are you?" she asks Daisy urgently. "Did you get into a lot of trouble?"

Daisy smiles wryly. "Mrs Andrews didn't appreciate my mother and me sticking our noses into her family's business. She told me to leave the next morning."

Rilla nods, feeling a pang of guilt. If, at first, she thought Aunt Dora was merely keeping Daisy away from her room, she had to face that Daisy was no longer working in the mine manager's house when she finally rose from her lying-in. Her replacement is a shy, middle-aged woman from the village who rarely talks but whose cooking almost rivals Susan's.

"I'm sorry you lost your job for helping me," Rilla apologises, feeling genuinely wretched. Daisy, after all, was the only person to stand up for her when she herself couldn't and for her to face such consequences because of it feels deeply unfair.

Daisy shrugs in response. "My mother made Mrs Andrews write me a good recommendation letter by reminding her how much I heard and saw in that house. I won't get work here because few can afford a maid and those wo can won't hire me now, but one of my sisters is married in Edmonton. I might go live with her and look for employment there."

Rilla nods, because it's a sensible plan, but at the same time, she feels her stomach clench at the thought of Daisy moving away. Without her, this place will only be bleak.

"We'll write, won't we?" she asks.

With a smile, Daisy nods. "That'd be nice. I'll be sure to give you my sister's address before I leave."

Rilla has a feeling that Aunt Dora won't approve of her writing to Daisy at all, but somehow, she cares much less about what Aunt Dora thinks than she used to. She knows, however, that Aunt Dora will come looking for her soon, so she must use this opportunity to find out once and for all what happened to her son.

"My aunt said my baby died," she states, therefore, very bluntly.

If the sudden change of subject surprises Daisy, it doesn't show on her face. "I heard."

"She said he died within an hour of being born," Rilla adds. "And yet, I remember that you brought him to me later in the night. I remember it so clearly, but I was so tired and that doctor had given me injections before, so I can't be sure whether it happened or…"

"You didn't imagine it," Daisy assures and just hearing those words makes Rilla feel lighter than she has in weeks. In fact, she feels almost light-headed and she has to reach out to put a hand on the wooden house wall to steady herself.

"I don't know what Mrs Andrews told you, but that boy didn't die," Daisy continues. "He was small, but looked healthy to me and I overheard Dr Anderson saying so, too. He was certainly alive when they took him away the next morning."

Abruptly, Rilla raises her head. "They took him away?"

Daisy nods. "Mr Andrews and Reverend James did. I don't know where they took him, but they drove away with him early in the morning. Mrs Andrews told me to leave not long afterwards, so I don't know anything more, but one of my cousins saw them return in the evening by train, so I assume they must have gone to Calgary or Edmonton."

Her knees going weak, Rilla leans against the house wall, not trusting her legs to keep her upright on her own. "He's not dead," she whispers.

"He's not," Daisy confirms. She's smiling, but there's a worried expression in her eyes that Rilla, overwhelmed as she is, doesn't notice.

"I need to tell her," she murmurs, almost fervently so. "I need to tell her that I know he isn't dead. She must bring him back when she knows that I know!"

There's a brief, loaded pause, before Daisy states quietly, "You can't tell her."

Rilla frowns, shaking her head, certain that she must have misheard. "What are you saying?"

"You can't tell her that I brought him to you, or that I told you that he was taken away in the morning," Daisy implores. "You can't tell her that you know he survived, because I'm the only person who could have told you that." She looks stricken, knowing fully well the impact of her words, but she doesn't waver.

"But… but… why?" Rilla stammers, swaying slightly on the spot.

"She would ruin us," Daisy explains, quietly but surely. "She told me that if I said a word to anyone about what I know, she'd make sure my entire family becomes destitute. They all work for the mine, my father, my brothers, my uncles. If Mrs Andrews decided to take their jobs, we'd starve. Mining is the only thing they know how to do, and Mr Andrews could make sure no-one in the area hires them anymore. My brothers would have to sign up with the army to bring in a living, all because of what I did!"

Slowly, Rilla lets her head drop back against the wooden wall behind her as Daisy's words sink in. Her first instinct, of course, is to rail against them, to protest the unfairness of it, to ask why she should sacrifice her son for Daisy's family, but while she can't disavow her own vanity, she isn't selfish by nature. She has two brothers at the front, and she knows, with quiet certainty, that she can't sentence a friend's brothers to the same fate, not when death could be the outcome.

Turning her head, she looks at Daisy, before nodding, her heart growing heavy. "I understand."

"I'll help you find him if I can," Daisy promises, nearly frantic. "I don't know if there's anything I can do, but I will. I will write down everything I remember, and I will ask around whether anyone saw anything that morning. It was early and I'm sure they were careful, but someone always sees something in this place."

Just like in Glen, Rilla thinks absently. She feels numb and cold, despite the warm summer sun.

"I appreciate it," she tells Daisy tonelessly. After the excitement and hope she felt just moments ago, she is now bone tired, sapped of her energy by the realisation that while her son is alive, he is beyond her reach, perhaps indefinitely so.

"I'm sorry," whisper Daisy, looking herself like she might cry.

"It's alright," Rilla replies, even if it is anything but that. "Without you, I wouldn't have met him. Without you, we might not even have survived. It's alright."

She leans her head back against the wall, looking up at the sky. It's the same blue sky like at home, with the same sun shining through the same white clouds. Only the tips of the mountains visible at the edge of her vision are wrong, a jarring reminder that home is far away.

"Bertha!" the voice calling out jars even more than the mountains.

"Aunt Dora," Rilla states without moving her head.

"I'd better go," remarks Daisy, rightly so. "I'll be in touch, I promise."

Rilla nods, her gaze still fixed on the sky above. She hears, without seeing, the soft footsteps of Daisy leaving, to be replaced only moments later by the heavy rustling of skirts that signify Aunt Dora's arrival.

"What are you hiding here for?" asks her aunt once she has come to a stop.

"Nothing," Rilla tells the sky.

"Nonsense," snaps her aunt. "I saw you talking to Martin Martins earlier. Was he the one who was here with you? You must show more decorum! You're a grieving widow!"

"I'm not," Rilla corrects, calmly, without looking at her aunt.

Aunt Dora clucks her tongue in disapproval. "To them, you are. With time, we will find a new husband for you, and it might as well be Martin Martins. It's not that Mary approves of you, but that boy always knew his own mind and his preference for you is clear. If we marry you off to him, maybe Ruthie can finally get him out of her head, too. Jane knows several prospective husbands for her in Winnipeg who make far better matches. One way or another, that is all in the future though. For now, you must look like you're grieving your husband if you don't want people to start talking!"

It doesn't escape Rilla's notice that her aunt deems Martin Martins to be a perfectly acceptable husband for her, yet beneath the notice of her own daughter, but she doesn't have it in her to get upset by it. She knows, after all, that she's damaged goods and her marital prospects thus severely diminished. Once, the realisation would have made her feel annoyed, but now, she finds she doesn't care.

"So, let them talk," she states, still in that calm voice, but finally moving her head to look at her aunt.

Aunt Dora presses her lips together. "You've gone mad! Maybe you had too much sun after being indoors for so long. We certainly can't let anyone talk. We can't risk ruining your reputation!"

"My reputation – or yours?" asks Rilla, the unfamiliar calmness slowly falling away to reveal a very special sort of defiance. "I believed for so long that all your lies were made up to protect me, my future, my reputation, but that was never the case, was it? It was always only about you and your family. You never cared what happened to me or –" her breath catches briefly, "– or my child, as long as your family's reputation was protected."

"Poppycock." Aunt Dora's voice is very clipped and the expression on her face almost pinched. "You're over-excited. You don't know what you're saying."

'Yes,' Rilla wants to scream at her. 'I know what I'm saying! I know everything! I know that you lied to me about my son. I know that he isn't dead. I know that you had your husband take him away. I know it all!'

But, painful as it is, she doesn't say the words. She can't make Daisy's family fall into ruin, so she holds her tongue, even if it's among the most difficult things she ever had to do.

Instead, she tilts her chin forward and looks her aunt in the eye. "I'm going home."

The words, just as they are, come as a surprise to her, almost as much as they must be to her aunt. She didn't consciously resolve to go home, but looking at the woman in front of her, who threatened Daisy's family, who lied to her, who took her child away and who, on top of it all, now wants to marry her to an odious man like Martin Martins, she knows with sudden clarity that she can't stay with her for a day longer. Having lived a sheltered life before, Rilla never knew hate, but looking at her aunt, she feels a strong sense of loathing and it leaves her in no doubt that she must leave.

"You're doing no such thing!" Aunt Dora exclaims.

"I'm going home," Rilla repeats, feeling herself fill up with an unwavering certainty. She meets her aunt's eyes without blinking or looking away, her resolve steeled by a streak of stubbornness all her own. It's the same stubbornness that made her hold on to the ostentatious green hat her mother disapproved of and that kept her quiet when she noticed her body changing late last year, only that now, the stakes are so much higher.

"You're not going anywhere," Aunt Dora snaps back. "I won't allow it!"

"If you don't, I'll go back there, stand on the steps to the church and announce to everyone that you took in a wayward, pregnant, unmarried girl who isn't even any blood relation to you." Rilla only recognises the threat in her words once they have left her lips, but she makes no move to take them back.

Aunt Dora huffs in indignation. She opens her mouth as if to reply, but then closes it again and breathes out heavily through her nose. Her face is pinched and Rilla doesn't think she's ever seen her so angry. Still, she holds her aunt's gaze without flinching, standing very straight and refusing to give in.

For several long moments, they stand opposite each other, both unwilling to look away and signal defeat – until, suddenly and without warning, Aunt Dora abruptly moves her head, breaking their eye contact.

And just like that, Rilla knows she has prevailed.

To Guest:
You raise some excellent questions that Rilla will also have to grapple with in upcoming chapters. Who, indeed, came up with the idea to tell her her child is dead and when was it decided to tell her so? Is this Dora acting on her own, without the knowledge of Anne and Gilbert, or did Rilla's own parents instruct Dora to do so? Certainly, whoever made the decision did so both because they thought her unfit to be a mother and because they wanted to give her a clean slate to carry on with her life as before, but of course, that's never a decision for a third party to make without consulting the mother. So far, Rilla wasn't involved in decisions regarding herself or her child though, so it's the adults firmly calling the shots - until now, I should say, because in this chapter, we see Rilla claiming agency for the first time and refusing to be pushed around. It's a small victory, but unfortunately, it doesn't mean that she is free from the influence of the adults in her life. How long it takes until she can reclaim her son, therefore, remains to be seen still.

To DogMonday:
Ah, but don't be fooled by Rilla and the supposed "third person narrator" ;). The narrator might call themselves such, but except for short glimpses into the minds of other characters, the entire narration firmly displays Rilla's thoughts and feelings. Since Rilla is extremely biased, so is the narration and so is the depiction of others. Rilla certainly sorts everyone else into "good" and "bad" categories, firmly on the basis of how their actions affect her in any given moment. She has, however, little insight into their motives and little interest in understanding why they do what they do. Motive can never be divided from action though, and when judging an action, one can therefore rarely disregard motive.
Take, for example, Anne and Gilbert, whose actions have been much discussed, but whose thoughts have never been revealed. They could, certainly, have prepared Rilla better for what's ahead and they could have been more sympathetic towards her, but working within the social constraints of their time, their decision to send her to Dora wasn't cruel. They could have cast her out to the streets or sent her away to a home for unwed mothers, where things would have been even more dire. Instead, they sent her to live with a relative, where they could reasonably assume her to be well-cared for and safe, so that she could have her child away from the prying eyes of home and, afterwards, continue to live her life without stigma and shame. I still maintain that they picked the best possible decisions here. As for their behaviour towards Rilla... perhaps they didn't prepare her better because they didn't want to scare her and perhaps they weren't warmer towards her because they wanted to make the separation easier? I'm not saying that was the case, but if it was, their behaviour would have been misguided, but not cruel.
Similarly, I think we can all agree that Dr Anderson treated Rilla horribly, and I'm never going to say it wasn't. However, does the good doctor see it that way? Perhaps not. Perhaps he simply saw a potentially dangerous situation for mother and child and acted as quickly as he could, without thinking to explain his actions. He did, after all, provide Rilla with proper medical treatment and even analgesics to make things easier for her, so he wasn't out to harm her or make her suffer more than necessary. Now, that doesn't negate the effect his actions had on Rilla, but taking possible motives into consideration, "cruel" can, again, quickly become "misguided".
And as for Dora, whose actions have had the biggest impact on Rilla so far, her behaviour has very much been a mixed bunch, too. Dora never wanted to take Rilla in, yet, she travels half the country to get her, offers the nicest bedroom in the house, provides her with a place to stay during the pregnancy, even attempts to prepare her for what lies ahead - all at the risk of ruining her own family's reputation. Up until then, Dora wasn't very warm towards Rilla, but her actions can't truly be faulted either. Certainly, things are much more problematic now, but again, consider possible motives. When Dora didn't call the doctor, did she do so to put Rilla in harm's way - or does she perhaps know that Dr Anderson is not who one wants around when labouring, and tried to spare Rilla that experience? (She didn't, but she could have, is the point.) When taking away Rilla's baby, is she doing so out of cruelty or to do give Rilla a chance to move on with life unencumbered? When telling her the baby died, is she trying to hurt her or is she merely trying to provide closure?
My point is, we simply don't know why the other characters act as they do, because Rilla doesn't, yet we firmly see and judge them through Rilla's eyes. That's not to say all their actions are correct or excusable, because some of them very definitely are not, but if the others were to get to tell their side of the story and explain their motives, they might not look like the villains that Rilla considers them to be. I'd even wager that if someone were to ask Dora, she'd point towards Daisy as the bad guy, because Daisy allowed Rilla to bond to a child she can't raise, so to Dora, that's where the true cruelty lies. I don't agree with that assessment, but it shows that so much is in the eye of the beholder - and with this story so firmly seen through Rilla's eyes her way of thinking clouds everything else (just as I intend, actually).
And lastly, let me assure you that I never meant to lash out at you, not in my earlier reply and not here either. I'm simply trying to explain my own thoughts, but I know that in writing, it's sometimes difficult to hit the right tone of voice, so I apologise if I failed to do so. I guess that just like a review can cut deeper than perhaps intended, a reply can seem more defensive than it was meant to be. On my part, I certainly mean no ill!