A small break from the usual and we look at Ken in this one.
Late October 1939
News is slow, it is always in the beginning.
Often before the war, he would often wake up to two tiny feet near his face as he opened his eyes. Sometimes Ken did wonder how Clara managed to sleep in such precarious ways. Rilla had always believed that past a certain age, children should sleep in their room. She trained Oliver and Rowena from a young age to sleep in their room as the books had told her to. With Clara, she found herself reluctant to have her out of her sight. This meant the infant spent her first year in her parent's room and consequently often found still between her parents any chance she got. This morning she was on top of the quilts with her blanket, thumb in her mouth as she clutched her teddy bear. He looked over to his wife who was still sleeping on her side with a shake of his head and a sleepy smile. He slid out of bed, as he grabbed his robe to ward off the chill of the morning.
Making use of the washroom and checking the weather in the front window in the library he could hear the other children come out of their rooms. He knew that Rowena would often try to downplay her need or want to cuddle at fourteen years old. How Oliver would tiptoe in, eyeing the bed before he settled to lay across the foot with his blanket and pillow.
He would give them a minute before he would come back, then yawning as he would motion for one of the children to push over, allowing him a small space to lie back down. Rowena would curl up against him on a rare occasion, her pin curls poking his arm despite her hair being covered by a silk scarf and her new earrings poking into his skin slightly. She generally chose her mother when it came to cuddling since growing into the young lady that she was. Rilla warned him often just how wrapped around his daughter's fingers he was. Though he merely shrugged it off with a sloppy grin. He didn't care how much he turned to mush when it came to his daughters. Rowena was a picture of Rilla with her reddish hair and hazel eyes, while all the charm and personality of a Ford. Clara was a Ford in looks but had the Blythe spirit from the beginning and he loved them to death.
It was a rare morning when Jimmy would join them, either he was just getting back from his overnight shift, ready to start work. This morning he was home and when he heard the other get up he decided to join them. This prompted to Clara climb over her parents with a blanket and teddy bear to cuddle with him.
Jimmy remembered too vividly the weeks following her birth, dark days when Rilla barely left her room. Grandma Anne stayed to help with the house and the children. Whispers about what to do, and how to help them survive. He also remembered Ken walking around the house, unshaven and quiet, spending any moment he could in the old cellar that was his darkroom. Watching him in his misery he took up smoking in the back yard once more for a few months. Before he got angry at himself enough to throw them out once more.
Later there was always a rush to get out the door with shoes and coats. Rowena would be fussing with her hair that didn't set the way she wanted it. Oliver would suddenly be complaining that his trousers were too short again, or his jacket felt tight around his shoulders. Clara would be posing prettily in the hallway mirror, preening at her pretty dress and hair ribbons as Rilla tried to get her into her coat and scarf.
"We're going to be late," Ken would tell them looking at his pocket watch, tapping his foot. He didn't stop mentally counting until they were all piled into the car.
Except for Jimmy who took his own that he got for himself used with some of his inheritance left from Mrs. Pitman as he had his plans later that day.
Church never interested him, not truly between all the kneeling and standing and sitting. Catholic these days, and not the Presbyterian or even Anglican because it was closer and Rilla enjoyed the sound of the choir and it was an hour on the dot mass, and Shirley and Lillian would be there as well with their children, who were raised primarily in the catholic faith.
They never spoke about it, they never told the family either but it also gained Rilla a small amount of favour in the Catholic hospitals when she was called to them.
Instead, they did mass, and then often had picnics in the summertime or they did before the war broke out.
These days Sundays are more sullen. These days it was more sombre, names of men—no boys who enlisted were prayed for out loud, names spoken and acknowledged.
He didn't want to hear it or think about it. Each passing week, each new poster he sees feels like a punch to the gut. So he does the only thing he knows how to do and Rilla doesn't like it.
He wakes to Rilla shaking him and he feels sweat on his pillow.
"You were dreaming and calling out," She tells him, caressing the side of his face. "What were you dreaming?"
"Something I hadn't dreamt about in years, I'm sorry if I woke you?" Ken says sitting up in their bed.
"I was up already," Rilla tells him quietly. "I thought I heard one of the kids were up but they were all asleep, but then I couldn't fall back to sleep."
"Still, sentiment is the same," he says sighing. He was itching for a cigarette but knew she would have his head if he smoked in the bedroom.
"I'm going to raid the fridge," he tells her. "I think some cheese or something will help my dreams a bit. Don't wait up for me," he says kissing the top of her head before crawling out the bed.
Rilla frowns, watching him go. She lays on her pillow, thinking about the latest news that had come from Europe.
She's still awake when Ken comes back smelling like smoke and mouthwash. She pushes him down into the bed kissing him deeply. This sort of thing always made them forget and sleep for a little while.
"Not now," he says quietly and Rilla sighs moving off of him. Because trust was based on respect and she knew if she told him the same, he would do the same. "I can't think let that right now, I'm not twenty-five with mental and physical capabilities to separate that stuff right now."
"Of course," Rilla says nodding her head. "I just…got ahead of myself. Do you mind if I open the window? It's just unbearably warm right now even for October?" She asks trying to hide the flush on her body, which is still humming despite the disappointment and understanding.
"I'll do it, stay," Ken tells her getting back up to crack open the window and looking at her through the moonlight of the lace curtains she had made and hung up a few years back.
He greeted Mrs. Clarke who was cooking before he wandered the house and found Oliver sitting on the sofa writing in his notebooks silently.
Oliver had grown into a quiet phase this year as he scribbled out poetry. He reminded both Rilla and Ken of Walter in many ways, with possibly a touch more of an edge to his personality of course. Both Rilla and himself had the same sort of edge to them, it would only make sense that their son would have the same. Though where Walter had been self-assured, calm and collected about his writing. Oliver was almost the opposite, no one was allowed to read his poetry. His English teacher praised him for his words, but his notebooks were his own and they respected that. Beyond that, he played his emotions out on piano when writing wasn't working or when he was bored in general.
"How was school?" He asked sitting down in his chair.
"Awful," Oliver said looking up.
"You know if you elaborate I can potentially help you?" Ken reminded him.
"What's there to elaborate? I hate most of my classmates, my teachers play favourites, and I hate school in general." Oliver says under his breath.
"UCC is a wonderful school and you are extremely lucky to go there," Ken says simply. "You can do anything you want when you graduate from it. I had an amazing time there when I was your age."
"Of course you did, you were popular," Oliver says bitterly. "You try being the strange kid, or did you even have a friend who wasn't in your realm of popularity? Of course not, if you have a choice to bring Rowena or me to a work function Mom can't go to. You always pick Rowena because god forbid you have me for a son, who can't play a lick of sports or any accomplishments that mean anything to your career."
"Listen to me son, I have not been proud to call you my son, and will always be proud to have you as my son," Ken takes him by the shoulder. "I take your sister because she always seems to enjoy that stuff more. Give her a pretty dress to wear and she's good to mindless talk for hours. You would be bored senseless in twenty minutes, thirty minutes if there was a piano around, forty-five if people listened or requested something, maybe an hour if we let you bring a notebook."
Oliver looks at his father flinching as his father's hand squeezes the bruise that was beneath his white school shirt.
Ken watches his son, noticing the flinch and then a tinge of purple on his jawline. Looking down at his son's hands his right is also bruised.
"Who did this," Ken asks him gently.
"It doesn't matter, I don't need your help," Oliver tells his father. "I don't need you to butt in and make things ten times worse."
"Ollie, if someone is hurting you," Ken reiterates as best as he could. "I cannot let that go, just the same if a teacher did this to you, I do not pay what I pay for them to abuse children."
"See this is why I never say anything, you always try to fix everything and you'll only make it worse. I'm sixteen I can look after myself, I don't need daddy's help or money." Oliver says moodily, wrenching himself out of his father's grip and grabbing his things. "Only two more years and then at least I can choose my university? Or is that predestined like everything else in my life."
Ken mainly looks at him, holding his hands up in defeat. "Well, don't forget to help with dinner, if you're not going to talk about it," he says standing up, feeling his body protest. He walks to the porch off of the dining room they only use for holidays, using the side porch to light up.
He sighs and inhales the smoke.
"I thought mummy told you to stop smoking?" Clara chirps at him in surprise, her hair in two braids that Rilla has put in her hair that morning and her pinafore a bit more wrinkly, but she climbs over the railing with ease.
"Yes, well, sometimes things aren't that easy," he says sighing. Putting it out, but while he craved the smoke, he didn't like doing it in front of any of the kids. "How was school?"
"We did school things?" Clara says after a moment. "I don't like numbers, numbers are hard and I was tired."
"You like numbers well enough to forever be counting things?" He says sitting down she so could climb on him. "Why were you tired, also were you colouring today?" He asks as he licks his thumb and tries to rub off a faint pink pot on her temple.
"I like counting, but adding them up is hard, it makes my head hurt which makes me tired?" She tells him honestly. "Peggy spatter red ink by accident."
"Ahh math, yes math can be difficult at times, but you will get the hang of it. You learned to read didn't you not? Math will be the same thing." Ken says, shaking his head at the ink. Maybe she would need a bath tonight?
"But I can't see what she writing sometimes. The whole chalkboard goes blurry and then I get yelled at?"
"They yell at you for not being to see?" Ken frowns. "They don't believe you?"
"I don't know. I asked to sit closer because I see it better, but she won't let me either." Clara says shrugging a shoulder. "I thought school would be fun."
"I'll talk to your teacher, and we'll make you an appointment with the optometrist and see what the doctor says about your eyes. Why have you never said anything?"
Clara merely shrugs not knowing
"Mummy complains when she's driving that she can't see things sometimes?"
"What do you mean mummy has trouble seeing things while driving?" He asks eyebrows raising.
"I don't know. She says bad words about signs and tells me to never repeat them." Ken sighs listening to her.
"Go change out of your uniform for dinner," he says lifting her off of him and patting her behind in the process and she runs off. He relights his cigarette and finishes it off.
Rilla would be late, having been called in according to the housekeeper. He wanders back into the room, hearing Oliver at the piano this time. He never had a formal lesson but he played like he did, learning a little from his Aunt Persis when she moved back to Toronto as she taught Amelia how to play on the old parlous piano at his childhood home.
It's dark and moody this time and something Ken doesn't recognize at all but knows better than to ask about it right now. Though the stack of Chopin, Debussy, and some Bach sat in the old piano bench for when he wanted it. He shakes his head, going up the stairs slowly, towards the library where he sits at his desk. He wants a drink, he always wants a drink these days and his bottle of rye that is hidden away in his cabinet calls to him.
Instead, he looks at the photos on his desk, the roll of film that needs to be developed from Rowena's birthday still. Shouldn't she be home soon? He gets up going towards the bedrooms frowning when he sees coming from the master bedroom, seeing him she looks panicked and hides her hands behind her back.
"Can I help you?" He says raising an eyebrow.
"I just needed something from mom's vanity….uhh…I used all of mine?" She blushes and it clicks in his mind and he nods his head.
"Do we need to go to the pharmacy? He asks looking at his watch. Oliver could watch Clara and they could make it before they closed.
"I'll be okay…" Rowena shakes her head, still blushing and turned, her skirt flying up slightly, showing off the cream-coloured bloomers. "Can I stay home tomorrow if I don't feel good?" She stops quickly to ask him.
"You know your mother doesn't believe that such an event should impact your life," Ken says after a moment.
"Well, she's lucky then," Rowena says under her breath before going towards the bathroom.
Ken sighs, heading back down the stairs, he could hear Clara in the Kitchen chatting around. Already dressed in a pair of pyjamas, something he didn't feel like arguing with given she had a bath the previous night. The doorbell rings and he looks towards the door, Ollie ignores it, and Clara looks at him and he goes to it.
"Persis," he says seeing his sister. "Did I forget something?"
"No, I was just in the neighbourhood and wanted to drop off a few things that I borrowed," She shakes her head. "No Rilla tonight?" She asks looking around as he lets her into the house.
"She got called out," he says simply taking her coat for her. "Coffee?"
"No thank you, but thank you," She says wandering towards the sound of the piano. "That's wonderful Ollie, I hope you wrote that one down?"
"Wrote what down?" Ken asks slightly confused.
"He wrote it," Persis says before Oliver could protest about keeping it secret. "I think if you went down a step in the middle in the bass, you would fill it out wonderfully."
"Thanks, Aunty," he says quietly, too embarrassed to continue with them around.
"How do you know he wrote that?" Ken asks as they walk away quietly.
"Well, I teach enough piano to recognize songs," Persis tells her brother with a simple shrug as they continue toward the kitchen. "Is Rowena around, I want to pass along her birthday gift. I feel bad that we were away when she had her party, and that I missed Gone with the Wind."
"I should be coming soon enough to Toronto officially, so I am sure you will get to see it. I would offer to show it to you but I did have to send it back within that week. It just worked out that it was Roe's Birthday, and yes she is around. She was upstairs dealing with a few things not too long ago." He explains.
"Is Oliver joining the cadet that is being set up?" Persis asks awkwardly after a moment. "George is, he's…he already told me that he will be enlisting when he's finished high school?"
"Cadets, I doubt it, Rilla would never allow it even if he wanted to," Ken blanches. "Georgie though….That can't be easy for you?"
"I was rather him go asking my permission to go, than for me to tell him to go do his duty?" Persis says quietly.
"Duty…it's a funny word," Ken says sputtering. "There is plenty of duty in this world that shouldn't involve death."
"So if he wants to go, you'll refuse to be your only son?" Persis looks at his brother sadly.
"I," Ken looks down at his fight. "That is his own choice and I will not stand between it, but we both know my wife Persis. She would rather die a thousand deaths than watch him go. Jimmy has already been excused on behalf of his employment unless he decides or they come to the bottom of the pile and draft."
"So you will just not have your boys go?" Persis asks him lowering his voice. "You went and did your duty, you don't expect your son to take your place this time around?"
"You don't know what I saw, or did Persis and if I can save him from that I will," Ken snaps at her. "As for my wife, she lost a brother to the last war. You lost nothing but having a good time. Forgive us if we want to spare our children and selfish ourselves from doing this all over again."
"Aunt Persis! I didn't know you got back?" Rowena comes breezing into the hallway, dressed in a house dress and slippers.
"Oh yes, I stopped by to leave these and tell your father that your grandmother's birthday plans have been arranged," Persis tells her handing over a bag.
"So you were talking about the war, Robert says he's going as soon as he can and will write to me when he does. He told me when he does leave he doesn't want anyone to even look my way. I made the joke that Daddy ask Mum to promise to not kiss anyone until he returned…which is so romantic don't you think?"
"Why don't you go open your gift and thank your Aunt before she leaves and before dinner?" Ken clears his throat gruffly. "Clara, what are you up to?" He calls out next deciding it was too quiet.
"She is helping me, Mr. Ford," Gloria calls out before stepping into the hallway. "Though she is feeling a little warm and looking peaky has she said anything about not feeling well?"
"I know and has ink all over her," Ken says shaking his head.
Persis kneels looking at her niece with a quizzical eye moving her bangs out of the way. "That's not ink Ken, that looks like a case of the measles that have been going around. German measles, but measles all the same though. The others have had them?" Persis asks.
"They did before she was even born," Ken says sighing. "Why didn't you say anything about not feeling well?" he asks Clara who shrugs.
"We were going to learn about Ribbit, I didn't want to miss it," Clara says quietly.
"Rilla is going to freak out over this." Ken shakes his head. "Come here," he beckons Clara and lifted her into his arms.