Chapter 18

I enjoy living in Charlottetown. I know it doesn't rival the big cities like Toronto or even Kingsport, but one can't deny that there's so much more to do than in Glen. Just yesterday, I went to the shops and while it would be wasteful to buy clothes I don't need, I enjoyed strolling past the window displays. I imagined myself being a cosmopolitan woman with the funds to buy deliciously rich furs and the opportunities to wear intricately beaded evening dresses with opera gloves and pearls around my neck. As you know, I have neither funds nor opportunity, but sometimes, it's fun for a girl to dream.

My green hat that always looked so ostentatious in Glen fits in much better here in Charlottetown, so that alone is an advantage of me coming here. I did tell you about my green hat, didn't I? It's the perfect shade of green and goes so well with my hair, but between us, I neither had the funds nor the occasion for it either. Mother judged me for its purchase in the way only mother can, and being as stubborn as I sometimes am, I swore to wear it as long as this war goes on. It's a beautiful hat, but I've never felt comfortable wearing it since and can't wait for the day when I can cast it aside and you and Jem will return to us.

Looking up from the letter she is writing, Rilla's gaze moves to the window and for a moment, she just sits there, staring out into the darkness. It's long past midnight, but nightmares having woken her and the fear of their return keeping her awake, sleep is not to be thought of.

She can't see the boarding house's garden in the darkness of night, but she knows that if it were light, the garden would present itself in an autumnal coat. Another summer is taking its leave from them, the third summer of war and the third summer since they learned the most painful of goodbyes.

Over a year passed since she last saw Walter and more than two years since Jem left. On her desk, next to the window, is a double frame holding photographs of them both, but the black-and-white depictions don't fully capture the likenesses of her brothers. Jem's vibrant red hair is colourless and dull, while Walter's soulful grey eyes look ashen and without life.

What unsettles her, most of all, is that increasingly, when she thinks of her older brothers, it's their black-and-white likenesses that she pictures before her inner eye, as the photographs slowly replace her own memories of them. Absently, Rilla wonders if there will ever come a day when they become fully black-and-white in her mind.

Once she realises the thoughts she is having, she shakes her head, angry at herself. It won't do to think negative thoughts like these, and that fact that she thought them at all makes her feel disloyal to her brothers. Of course she will remember them, lively and colourful as they were, right until the moment when they return home and she can finally wave goodbye to that awful green hat for good.

Earlier this week, Shirley was kind enough to take me to the movie theatre to see The Innocent Lie. I never saw a motion picture before, but I'd heard of it and was curious to experience it myself. It's marvellous, don't you think? Shirley tried to explain the methods they use to make it all possible, but as you can probably guess, I'm not very interested in such details. I cared about the story much more, which was pleasingly dramatic and full of unexpected twists. Shirley just had to make fun of the romance and also insisted that they depicted amnesia wrongly, but Shirley also said that he expects them to develop talking movies in the next couple of years, which sounds frankly impossible.

I'm not here to look at shop displays and watch motion pictures, however, so the majority of my time is taken up by studying. I left the Glen school over two years ago and as you know, I was never a born scholar. I can't make words do my biding the way you and Nan can, I'm not naturally curious like Jem, and I'm certainly not clever the way Di and Shirley are. I was only an average pupil in our school at home and I doubt I will ever amount to anything more here at Queen's. I'm working hard, however, and doing my best, even if I'm unlikely to ever make it to college like the rest of you did. I guess that even as a Queen's pupil, I'll leave academic brilliance to the twins and just continue to be pretty. It's what I've always aspired to anyway!

Sighing, Rilla lies the pen down briefly and flexes her fingers. Not wanting to upset her brothers far away at the front, she ensures to write her letters in a light tone of voice, and having a secret to keep, she does her best to mimic her old self so as not to give rise to suspicions.

The events of the past year didn't make her more interested in academic pursuits, despite being now enrolled at Queen's Academy, but it did cure her of some of her vanity. She knows she's pretty and the mirror hanging above the washbasin confirms this every morning, but what has prettiness ever gained her but heartache and pain?

Looking down at her letter, written in her own looping cursive handwriting, she feels a sudden desire to write about all of that, too.

After all, this is Walter. He might be gone, over an ocean to fight a war on the other side of the earth, but he's still her Walter, her big brother who never made fun of her and never ridiculed even her most childish follies. Whenever something weighed on her heart, it was Walter she could turn to, Walter she could talk to, Walter she could look to for comfort. Without fail, he would console her and reassure her, making the world look less bleak by doing so.

She doesn't think she ever kept a secret from Walter, and thus, to keep this biggest of secrets from his knowledge now feels wrong to her. It was easier while she was in the west, cut off from all contact by her parents and Aunt Dora, but writing to him now, she feels a sudden desire to tell him everything.

Surely, Walter would not judge her. Walter, who never judged her, would not begin to do so now.

Picking up her pen, she rolls it between her fingers, feeling torn. Better sense tells her that some things should never be put to paper, but she's so tired of the secrecy, so tired of the lying. Who can she tell about what happened if not her brother?

Who can she tell about her son with the downy hair and the soft cheeks and the dimpled upper lip if not Walter? Who can she tell about the short, confusing, precious moments when she held her baby, his warm weight solid in her arms, if not the brother who always understands? Who can she tell about how they snatched him from her, denied his survival to her and took him to a place far away from her, if not the one person she used to share everything with?

Gripping her pen tighter, she places the tip back on the sheet of paper, but doesn't initially move it. Instead, she presses down on it with a little too much force, causing a small ink spot to appear on the page. She watches for a second as the ink spreads, threatening to cover what she already wrote, before abruptly raising the pen again.

The ink continues spreading for a moment longer, before it halts, just a hair away from the words written on the paper. Rilla looks down on it, that dark spot of ink on the white sheet, illuminated only by the circle of light cast by the lamp sitting next to her on the desk. Then, slowly, she takes an unblemished sheet of writing paper, lowers the pen onto it and begins to write.

As you probably guessed, I didn't come to Charlottetown primarily because I discovered my sudden interest in academia. I came here because Shirley suggested it and while I'm not entirely sure what made him think of the suggestion, I agreed to it to get away from home. I know it sound odd, because while I always dreamed of the glamourous capitals of the world, it was never more than a dream. Leaving Ingleside and leaving our parents never truly crossed my mind before, but when Shirley suggested it now, I couldn't see an alternative to it.

I still don't know exactly what mother and father told you about my absence earlier this year, when I was sent to live with Aunt Dora and her family out west. Whatever they did tell you, it wasn't the truth. I wasn't sent away to help her, I was sent away in shame, to have my baby in secret and far away from home. Yes, you read that right. I had a baby while I was gone. The birth was horrid, but my son is perfect. I only held him for a few minutes, but I remember him so clearly. He has a dent in his upper lip, just like I have, and buttons his eyes like they tell me I do as well.

You will be disappointed in me, I'm sure. You're justified in your disappointment. I didn't want this to happen and while I can barely remember what happened to lead to it all, I don't think I wanted that to happen either. I know it's a shameful thing and I know it makes me a bad person. It was a sin and I understand I deserved everything that came afterwards. I can't feel ashamed of my baby, however. I should be, I'm aware, but whenever I remember him, it's not shame I feel. Whatever happened to bring him to this world, he's innocent of it all and my sins aren't his.

What hurts, more than anything, is that I can't be there for him. You know I never liked children and I still don't, but it's different with my own child. He's lives because of what I did, and that makes him my responsibility, don't you think? I'm his mother and it is my task to protect him from the world, especially when he's so small and defenceless himself. They took him away and I don't know where he is, but the world won't be kind to a lonely child born out of wedlock such as him, and who else is there to protect him but me?

I don't know where he is and I don't know how to find him, but I remember that when I held him the night after he was born, I knew that he was mine to keep. Aunt Dora didn't agree and I assume our parents don't either, but it's difficult to listen to your elders when you know, deep down, that what happened isn't right. I don't claim to have better answers, but I know that I won't forget him, however much they want me to. It would be easier, I know, to forget and carry on with life, but how do I carry on when life is nothing like it was before?

You always had answers for me when I myself had none, my dearest of brothers. I don't expect you to have answers for me now. I just hope you won't judge me too harshly for what I did. I didn't mean to be bad, and I didn't want to sin. Despite everything, I'm still me, though I'm not the same I was before. I know that I love you still, brother-mine, and I hope that despite everything, you can still find it in you to love me, too.

Her heart beating inside her chest, Rilla raises the pen and looks down at the words she's written. They seem unreal to her, yet at the same time, the starkness of ink against paper makes them undeniable. She doesn't suppose they make much sense, but nothing about this has ever made much sense to her.

She doesn't think Walter will be able to help her this time either, and she's not sure writing to him is a good idea, but she feels that this silence is more than she can continue to bear. Perhaps it was inevitable that she must tell someone sometime, and who to tell but Walter?

When, having folded the sheets of paper and put them into an envelope, she gets up from her desk and returns to her bed, she feels a little less weighed down than before. Curling up under Mrs Procter's quilt, she feels a bit less afraid of the nightmares as well, hoping tentatively that perhaps for the rest of the night, they will leave her in peace.

Whether it's the fact that she finally gave words to her thoughts, or whether she's just too tired, she does sleep soundly for the rest of the night, with no nightmares waking and torturing her. Therefore, when she gets up in the morning, she feels more well-rested than she has done in a while, despite the nightly interlude of letter writing.

She clutches said letter, addressed, sealed and stamped, when she goes downstairs for breakfast, holding on to it especially tightly. Sitting down on the table, she places it right next to her plate, unwilling to leave it out of her sight.

"Good morning," greets Shirley, lowering the newspaper to look at her.

"Morning," Rilla echoes.

"Mrs Procter is out for the morning," her brother informs her. "Please help yourself."

With their landlady being gone, likely to go to the market, breakfast offers fewer options than normally, but there's still plenty of food to fill them for the day. Selecting a browned piece of toast, Rilla spreads butter on it evenly, followed by a healthy dollop of marmalade.

"Any news?" she asks, indicating the newspaper Shirley is still holding.

Her brother makes a thoughtful sound as he re-folds the paper. "There's a new offensive being launched at the Somme front, fought by French, British and other imperial troops," he relays. "The British army deployed so-called 'tanks' to support the attack."

"A tank?" Rilla repeats, wrinkling her nose in confusion. "Whatever is a tank?"

"A big, armoured vehicle. From what I understand, tanks run on tracks instead of wheels, making it easier to navigate them in difficult territory," Shirley explains.

Taking a bite of toast, Rilla nods at the newspaper. "Are there any photos?" Despite her brother's explanation, she can't honestly imagine what these 'tanks' look like.

Shirley shakes his head. "None as of yet. I'm sure there will be, soon."

It's not that Rilla is particularly interested in army machinery, so she accepts his answer without further questioning. Much more important, anyway, is what else there is or isn't in the papers.

"The casualty lists…" she begins, before trailing off, because some questions need not be finished to be understood. Her hand holding her toast hovers in the air, but she doesn't take another bite as she waits for an answer, holding her breath.

Again, Shirley shakes his head. "No-one we know."

Of course, that only means that there are other names filling these lists, names of strangers who're fathers and husbands and sons themselves and whose deaths will bring unbelievable anguish to their loved ones. In light of that, Rilla knows, she shouldn't be relieved that it's their names filling the columns of the casualty lists, yet selfishness means she's relieved nevertheless. For now, the reaper passed by them, again.

"A letter to Walter?" asks Shirley, interrupting her thoughts.

Instinctively, Rilla places a hand on the letter by her side. "Yes. I wrote it last night."

"You were up late," he observes. "I still saw a light in your room after midnight."

Briefly, Rilla eyes him in suspicion, but Shirley's face is earnest and calm. He's not judging her for staying up late, she thinks, merely sharing something he noticed.

"I had to step outside in the night," he clarifies when seeing her eye narrows. "The light shone into the hall from under the door. That's how I noticed."

"I couldn't sleep, so I decided I might as well make good use of my time," Rilla replies, her tone outwardly light, yet with a clipped undertone that warns him not to ask any further.

There's a brief pause as Shirley looks at her, and while she can't read his expression, something about it makes Rilla feel uneasy. So often, Shirley gives her the feeling that he knows so much more than he lets on, and it never fails to unsettle her. As someone with a secret to keep, people who might possibly know too much always leave one wondering, she's found.

But when Shirley speaks, it is, as always, perfectly innocuous. "I'm sure Walter will be glad to have your letter," he merely remarks, before turning away to pour himself another cup of tea.

Adopting a careless tone of voice, Rilla states, "I hope so. I planned to ask Mrs Procter whether she's allowing me to take over her kitchen on the weekend. I'd like to make some bonbons for the boys, though I thought I'd already send the letter today."

It would be easier, certainly, to simply use the Ingleside kitchen during their next weekend stay at home, but Rilla hasn't felt inclined to return to the Glen even for a visit, and thus, hasn't suggested anything to that effect since coming here. She thought Shirley might, because he only rarely spent his weekends in Charlottetown in the past, but for some reason, he hasn't yet returned home this school year and never suggested it either.

"I can post it on my way to school," Shirley offers, meaning the letter.

Perhaps too quickly, Rilla shakes her head. "I'll do it myself, thank you. I wanted to visit the library before lessons anyway."

This, at least, isn't a lie.

"Anything I can help you with?" he asks.

"Depends on how good your French is." Rilla grimaces slightly. "Otherwise, I'll simply continue with my plan to try and find an English translation of the story we've been assigned to read in French."

"For French, you want Nan to help you." Shirley sounds genuinely apologetic.

Rilla smiles briefly, to show that it's alright. "Since she's not here, I'll take my chances at the library."

She does just that, making her way towards the library building after breakfast, with a brief detour to the post office to send her letter. However, as the post officer reaches out to take it, she feels unexpectedly reluctance to let go of it, her fingers clutching it tightly.

"An important letter?" asks the elderly post officer kindly.

"To my brother," Rilla hears her own voice answering. "He's in France."

"He's lucky to have a sister like you, writing to him," assures the post officer. "It looks to be a long letter, too."

Rilla nods, mechanically, as she slowly prises her own fingers off the letter and surrenders it to the post officer. She watches as he checks the envelope to see whether it's correctly addressed, before stamping it in a fluid motion and dropping it into a basket by his feet.

The letter thus out of her sight, Rilla is left looking at the basket, feeling the fervent hope inside of her that writing this letter wasn't a terrible mistake after all.

To Joanna:
Once more, you do an excellent job of expressing the thoughts and motives I'm aiming to give to my characters, specifically Anne and Gilbert (especially Gilbert in this case)! Yes, of course he loves Rilla and while the amount of children and the customs of the time meant he didn't spend as much time with any of his children as he most likely wanted to, that doesn't show a lack of care. Similarly, his recent behaviour towards Rilla is not without fault, but not without care either. He tried to find a solution to the problem that would be best for her, and he had to believe in that solution, even if there must surely have been doubts. As you say, she's young and slender, so the doctor in him must have known that the birth can't have been easy, but Rilla was well by the time he saw her again, and since neither she nor Dora revealed any troubles before, he concluded that the birth wasn't overly problematic. Now, Rilla has told him in no uncertain terms that it was incredibly difficult both physically and mentally, so Gilbert has to face up to the fact that not all parts of his plan worked out. That realisation alone adds a whole host of emotions to everything he must already have been feeling about the situation, so there's a lot for him to work through right now. At the moment, you're absolutely correct that he and Rilla aren't in a position to talk calmly and honestly, but a small first step has been made, so now it remains to be seen what they make of it in the future.
Anne's support to Rilla is absolutely crucial in ensuring that Rilla gets to go to Queen's! With Shirley's support, Rilla tries her hand at a little manipulation and the help she receives from Norman and Miss Cornelia doesn't go amiss either, but ultimately, I think no-one but Anne could have swayed Gilbert to give his permission. It is, certainly, an attempt by her to make amends with Rilla, and also, I believe, a sign that she's truly trying to understand Rilla for once. Anne's instinct would have been to keep her close, not to control her but to re-forge their relationship, but she recognises that Rilla needs something else, so she's putting her daughter's needs first, even against the will of her husband. It's just a few lines, but there's so much happening between those lines, and I'm glad that you and others picked up on that!
Yes, we will get a lot more Shirley in upcoming chapters and that will also include his reasoning for not yet having signed up. Excellent catch on the timeline, too! As you can see, Walter is also pushing to the front of this story - for better or for worse...

To Guest:
Gilbert had absolutely no intention to allow Rilla to go to Queen's, so your surprise is absolutely justified! I'm sure most characters where quite surprised by his permission as well. After what happened, his instinct is to keep her close to home where he can watch over her (though that's partly irrational, since she was at home under his watch when she fell pregnant, too). For her to leave for Queen's, live away from home in a town where, theoretically, a lot more trouble awaits her, very much goes against his plan for her. However, Anne recognises how important it is for Rilla to leave and have a change of scenery, so she's the deciding factor here. Since Rilla's return, Anne has been thinking about how to make amends and now she sees an opportunity to truly support her, and also to show that she trusts her. It was absolutely an important step for their relationship for Anne to help Rilla, as it was important for Rilla to open up to Gilbert near the end of the chapter. There's a lot of anger involved in that scene, but also a lot of honesty, and it's the first true sign for Gilbert that all isn't well and that all won't be well. Time isn't going to heal this one and neither will distance, so now that Rilla has allowed him to see a glimpse of the truth, it's up to Gilbert to do something with it. We'll see what he makes of it, once her words have had time to settle and register!