It's true, when I think of WW1 soldiers I think of Tommies and ANZACs, not Canutes - if I slip into English-isms it is because that's what I've been exposed to, and despite my best efforts it still gets in like water in a teabag. Is it likely that a chip of porcelain could pierce someone's skin? Probably not, I didn't think about that part too hard because I was more interested in Willoughby's reaction: the lizard brain panic before the ego takes over. But I take your point and I thank you for it.
I debated the swearing for a long time. In the end I saw it as shorthand to delineate the differences between Willoughby and the Blythes. (It's also fun to let him rip -I won't lie!) However, I am very aware there will be some readers who will shrink at this and wish it wasn't there. I could easily have cut out those bits and left the 'petting' up to the imagination, but it's no good trying to write a story when you constantly think of how it's going to be received. You just have to go for it, if it bombs it bombs, at least you know you have honoured your voice.
I didn't know there was a superstition about broken china, I just remembered what my Nana used to do, so thanks for that little nugget, PB, it's beyond cool to hear from you. To the other guests, your comments are chef's kiss, and to Parno (I have lived in Australia for too long to call you the whole shebang) what can I say except thank you. After work tonight, I'll look up the story you've written.
love, k.
13
About the love making, well it went about as well as you'd expect. Ken needed ages to be convinced this time. He'd only just got up when Rilla arrived with her laden cart and hadn't even shaved let alone brushed his teeth. He was still in the same vest he wore last evening with its grass stains all over it. He smelled ripe too, he didn't know that Rilla liked his smell, or notice how her nostrils flared when he walked by her.
She followed Ken to the pump at the back of the cottage. There was no indoor plumbing here. He started trying to wash himself and work the pump at the same time, grabbing handfuls of icy water and splashing it over his face and into his armpits.
While he did this Rilla dashed back and forth from the cart. Bringing him soap, a face cloth, did he need a towel? Apparently not. He simply tugged up the bottom of his vest and dried his face with it. The skin of his torso was brown and lean and much hairier than she remembered. But then the last time she had seen him anywhere near close to naked he was sixteen and she was twelve. Holding his clothes and Walter's as the boys swam in the Valley stream.
He brushed his teeth next. He had a neat little kit of all the essentials that had been supplied by the army. A clever leather bag with lots of pockets that folded flat. Rilla asked if she could take a closer look at it, but Ken only said he had better get some hot water on so that he could shave.
"Don't worry about that – darling." It still felt strange and exciting to call him that.
"Coffee then, or tea," said Ken. "I think there's some tea in the house, though I can't vouch for how old it is."
How proud Rilla was to tell him that was all in hand. She had brought a whole new box of tea leaves, a pat of butter, a loaf of bread, some bacon, some milk and apricot jam.
She burned the bacon because that was Susan's specialty, she knew how to get it good and crisp. But the sandwiches were neat and even and the tea was perfect, Ken said.
They sat out on the grass at the back of the house like picnics of old. Ken had thought to bring a blanket out too, so that the damp grass (it was very shady out there) didn't ruin Rilla's white skirts.
"I'm sorry about the bacon," said Rilla because neither of them had said anything else for some time.
"I'm not," Ken grinned. "You know some of the men I served alongside were as tough as nails, Rill. Nothing could shake them, not collapsed bridges or sniper fire or gas. But there is one time I remember, when we got hold of some bacon, thick rashers of it. We were frying it by the side of the road when a fox came out of the woods and took the lot. The men all bawled like babies."
"Was it very terrible, Ken?"
"Yes and no. Some men had it better than us, and some poor souls had it so much worse."
"You stopped writing after Walter…"
"You stopped too."
They both knew why. So much water and such a flimsy bridge, one that seemed at every second would be washed away. They could stand on the bank and watch, of course, fretting over every creak and crack, but when did fretting do any good. It was easier not to have to wait for his reply and wonder if his letter was late or if he was dead. Easier not to hold her letters and wonder if he would ever get to hold her again.
"Let's not stop anymore." Rilla shuffled closer to him. She put her hand to his face, the cheek without the scar. "You believed me, didn't you, when I said it wasn't you that made me cry. I was overwhelmed, that's all."
"I should have warned you I was coming -"
"I wish Teddy had warned you about that crate, fancy leaving it in the middle of the veranda like that. Are you sure you didn't hurt your back?"
"Did he say something?"
"Teddy?" Rilla shook her head no, she was about to ask another question, but Ken got in first.
"How was he this morning? I bet you all woke up at Ingleside to find every pair of boots freshly polished." Ken had in fact felt disconcerted that his lance corporal had not come with Rilla to Four Winds too.
Rilla glanced down at her tan T-bars with the cut-out detail on the toes. She had been sitting with her legs out straight in order to show off her shapely ankles. Now she tucked up her feet under her skirts.
"Possibly," she said through a sip of warm tea. "I couldn't tell you – I was busy this morning."
"Ah well, I hope you get a chance to get to know him better, I think it would only be fair considering how much he knows about you."
"Really?" The little flame in Rilla's heart kindled bright, picturing her brave Captain in some dark and dismal crater, and she his light in the dark.
"He was especially impressed with the way you took care of Jims," Ken went on. "It must have been a wrench for you giving him up after caring for him like you did."
Jims. He talked to Teddy about Jims. It really shouldn't have been surprising, but it hardly matched her romantic vision.
"You can come with me when I visit the Andersons next week, if you like. They'll be back from their seaside holiday then -"
"And I'll be back in Toronto."
"Are you sure? Jem said he didn't understand why that would be the case. You should be able to demobilise at any dispersal station. There's one in Charlottetown."
"Charlottetown's no good," Ken said, "I'm expected to give my report."
He started gathering the tea things and she followed him with the blanket inside. They were doing the dishes next. Time was running out. Her family would be wondering where she was soon, and she hadn't got so much as a kiss out of him.
When he helped her bring in the fresh linen for his bed she tried again. As soon as the first sheet was down, she leapt on the mattress and bounced upon it.
"Rilla stop," he said gently, "we really should get on with this."
"I told you," she got up on her knees and wrapped her lithe arms around his neck, "I don't want to stop anymore."
So, he tried, what man wouldn't with Rilla Blythe squirming in his bed. But to Rilla all Ken seemed to want to do was lie very close to her. There was a water stain on the ceiling, cobwebs in all the corners, and the whole room smelled of burnt bacon. Funny that he never said what it was that made him cry.
She asked him if he would like to take it slowly and he lifted his face from her shoulder and nodded yes. They kissed for a bit until eventually his hand crossed from the safe place of her hip to zones more perilous. She was wearing a different corset this time. One that fastened at the front.
Rilla's breasts pricked with gooseflesh, Rilla's blush rising fast, Rilla's voice soft and assuring, and then tap tap tap on the cottage front door.
Rilla told him to ignore it and wait until they went away. Ken could not. He had slept through shelling in Valenciennes but those tap tap taps were as needles in his skin.
He leapt off the bed, tucked in his shirt and slicked back his greasy hair. He was at the front door before Rilla had buttoned up her blouse.
"Hello Una," she heard him say.
...
Next chapter to follow...
