Chapter 6
When they finally leave the train, they do so at a small station with a single platform and a low wooden building sitting alongside it. It's painted a bright red and the name written on its side in large white letters is entirely unfamiliar to Rilla.
"Are we… did we arrive?" Rilla asks, unsure whether they've really reached their destination or whether this is just another stop along the way.
"Yes, we're here," confirms Aunt Dora. She doesn't look at her niece, instead keeping her eyes fixed on the road leading past the station.
"I wired ahead from Calgary," she murmurs, more to herself. "Someone should… ah, yes. There he is!"
She has but said the words when Rilla also sees a simple horse-drawn carriage turn around a corner. They're the only passengers who got off the train at this station, so when the horse moves towards them in a lively trot, it's easy to surmise that the carriage is here to pick them up. This assumption is further backed up by the boy driving the carriage raising a hand to wave, before stopping the horse to a halt right next to the station building.
"Come on," Aunt Dora prompts. "No excuse to be idle now."
Picking up her small bag, she strides towards the carriage in quick steps, leaving Rilla with no choice but to follow. Over the past couple of days, she's gotten somewhat accustomed to wrangling her own, much larger suitcase, though more often than not, there was a kind and helpful gentleman to help carry it for her.
Now, there's just the two of them and the boy, so Rilla drags the suitcase behind her along the platform. She has just reached the steps leading down to the road when the boy jumps from the carriage.
"Wait!" he calls out. "I'll help!"
He can't be, Rilla thinks, more than 12 years old, so his strength doesn't exceed hers by much, if at all. She's grateful for his help nevertheless and together, they manage to heave her suitcase up to sit on the back of the carriage.
"Thanks," she smiles briefly at the boy, who beams back brightly in return. He has a kind, open face and a slightly cheeky expression that reminds her of a younger, more carefree Jem.
Aunt Dora, meanwhile, has already taken her seat in the carriage and watches as Rilla climbs up to join her, while the boy secures the suitcase and bag, so they won't come tumbling down during the ride. He obviously takes his task very seriously, and only returns to the driver's seat of the carriage once he's satisfied that their luggage is secure.
"My youngest son, Johnny," Aunt Dora explains, causing the boy to turn and grin at them both.
"Of course, Ralphie and Willy, my older two, are in uniform," adds Aunt Dora. The boy's grin slips from his face, and he looks forward again, bidding the horse to start moving. Obediently, it falls into a trot.
"I'll join them when I'm old enough!" announces the boy – Johnny – and even without seeing his face, Rilla doesn't miss the fierce determination of his words.
"The war will be over before you're old enough." Aunt Dora's voice is clipped, even a little dismissive, but when she sneaks a look at her, Rilla thinks she doesn't look very sorry not to give up a third son to the war effort any time soon.
Johnny, clearly, thinks differently. "Just four more years!" he cries defiantly, causing the horse to fall into a canter at the sudden loud words.
As Johnny hurries to parry the horse and bring it back to a trot, Rilla reflects that he looks at least two years younger than he is, poor boy. At least, she thinks, the risk of him running off to join the army by lying about his age can probably considered to be negligible. She assumes his mother likely isn't sorry about that either.
"Four years is a long time," Aunt Dora informs him simply and there's a note of finality in her words that closes the matter efficiently.
Because Johnny clearly knows his mother better than to argue and Rilla doesn't have much to say, as she hasn't had much to say all throughout their journey, they all fall silent for the following minutes. With only the even sound of the horse's hooves on the dirt road to accompany their drive, Rilla has a chance to look around and take in her surroundings.
The road is lined by low wooden houses with unfamiliar-looking square fronts, so different front the sprawling, gabled farms of her home. The houses sit next to each other, much closer than they do in Glen, but not nearly as densely built as in the large cities they crossed in the last few days. There's what looks to be a school, a grocery store and several wooden churches. Driving past a larger building, Rilla sees a sign advertising it as a hotel, while another building is labelled as housing a hospital. It's curious, she thinks, because what she initially thought to be a town now doesn't look much larger than a village, and she's not sure why a village this size would need to have its own hotel, not to speak of a hospital.
The most curious thing about this place, however, are not the square-fronted houses or the existence of a hospital, it's the proximity of the mountains.
The train carried them towards these mountains ever since leaving Calgary, but now that she's right beside them, looking up at the mountain tops rather than surveying them through a train window, they somehow look even less real to her. She heard about the Rocky Mountains, of course, during school lessons and from a tale her father once told her about the time he, too, lived out west for a few years as a boy. She forgot why, or even where he was, but she remembers him mentioning mountains so high it's impossible to imagine without seeing them, to which her mother replied that there's nothing she can't imagine. At the time, Rilla thought her mother was right, but looking up at the mountains rising ahead of her now, she's not so sure anymore.
The village is nestled right at the foot of three particularly jagged mountains and as the sun sets behind them, they cast an eery shadow over the collection of houses below them. As Rilla looks up at the mountains contrasting sharply against the orange sky, she notices strange shapes a little way up, looming above the treetops.
"Mines," states Aunt Dora, clearly having seen where her gaze strayed. "It's a coal mining village."
Rilla nods, though the words don't mean much to her. Coal, she thinks, is what trains are run on and she's vaguely aware that it's mined inside the earth, but that's all she knows on the subject matter. She can't say she ever felt driven to know more.
"This is Bow River," announces Johnny from the front as he steers the horse towards a bridge crossing a river of quite remarkable size. It's nowhere nearly as wide as St Lawrence River, of course, but much more impressive than the little Glen brook that Jem and Jerry Meredith liked fishing in when they were younger.
Crossing the bridge, they leave the village proper behind and continue driving along the riverbank. To their other side, there's dense foliage and ahead of them is what looks to be a small railway. For a brief moment, Rilla wonders whether this isn't their destination after all and Aunt Dora intends to take her even further west, but then Johnny turns the carriage left and up a driveway.
The house lying at the end is more reminiscent of what Rilla knows from home, a two-storied gabled house, painted a cheery yellow with a large veranda wrapping around it. If it wasn't for the surroundings, with the river on one side and the mountains on the other, it wouldn't look very out of place in Glen either. Somehow, the thought provides a surprising measure of comfort to Rilla, far away from home as she is.
Climbing from the carriage, she follows Aunt Dora to the front door of the house. Johnny stays with the horse and out of the corner of her eye, Rilla sees a man who looks to be a hired help heave their luggage from the carriage.
Inside the house, four people have assembled in what might be considered a welcoming committee, only they don't look particularly welcoming to Rilla. Only the little girl smiles shyly at her, while the older man and the two younger women appear distinctly more reserved.
Looking at their faces, Rilla realises suddenly that she has no idea what they know about her or about the reason for why she's here. It makes her want to recoil, but, just in that moment, Aunt Dora wraps her hand around Rilla's upper arm and pulls her forward.
"This is Bertha," she declares, thus answering the unspoken question about what her family knows about Rilla, which, clearly, is nothing at all. "She's the wife of a distant cousin of mine and she will stay with us."
Indicating the older man, Aunt Dora adds, "This is Ralph, my husband."
Her husband?
Rilla frowns, confused.
"Aren't you at the front?" she blurts out, only realising the faux pas once the words have left her mouth.
She presses her lips together, but it's already too late. Aunt Dora, having turned, gives her a look that cannot be misinterpreted as anything but displeasure. It's a look she utilised much during their journey and that Rilla has thus grown to be rather familiar with.
Spurned into action by that look alone, Rilla wants to apologise, but her aunt is already speaking again, putting on a cheerful front for her family even while her narrowed eyes firmly keep Rilla in check. "You must be confusing Ralph with my son Ralphie, who was among the first to volunteer. Ralph, as the manager of a coal mine, is indispensable and can do much more for the country here at his post than in Europe."
Catching herself, Rilla hurries to nod. "I apologise for my mistake, Mr Andrews."
Ralph Andrews being at the front, she understands just a moment too late, is clearly just another lie in this pattern of falsehoods they created around her and her special condition. Everything else considered, she supposes it's not the most relevant of lies and will certainly be easier to remember than the new name she received just hours ago.
Bertha Keith.
This one, she must be careful not to forget.
Looking at Ralph Andrews, she tries to gauge his reaction to her mistake. This, after all, is his house and she's already displeased his wife enough by just being. She cannot risk angering him as well if she doesn't want to be cast outside in this strange, strange place they call a coal mining village.
Happily for her, alas, it doesn't seem like Ralph Andrews even noticed, or if he did, he doesn't appear to care. In fact, he has to be prompted into movement by Aunt Dora raising both eyebrows meaningfully at him.
"It's no problem, Miss – uh, Mrs…" Helplessly, Ralph Andrews trails off, looking from his wife to the stranger in his home.
"Keith," Rilla is quick to supply, pleased with herself for remembering. "Bertha Keith. It's nice to meet you. I'm very grateful for being permitted to stay here. You have such a lovely home, and the surroundings are just breath-taking."
It is, she muses quietly, probably the most she's said at once ever since leaving the island, but it's good manners to be polite to the owner of the house she is to be a guest in. Certainly, Aunt Dora looks almost approving for once, though Rilla assumes it's not so much approval of her but of Susan, to whom she owes thanks for whatever manners she has.
"Mrs Keith," repeats Ralph Andrews, looking like he's still very much struggling to wrap his mind around Rilla's mere presence. "It's, uh, a pleasure."
The uncharitable part of Rilla can't help wondering how this man is supposed to run a mine, but before she can come to a conclusion on the matter, Aunt Dora is already nudging her forwards again. Moving past Ralph Andrews, she now finds herself face to face with the two young women.
"This is Ruthie, my older daughter," Aunt Dora introduces one of them, who looks to be around the same age as Rilla herself. "She and Johnny are named after my own dear parents."
Looking at Rilla over her shoulder, she narrows her eyes, an expression which Rilla knows to mean that she's expected to do something, and hurriedly. There's a brief moment, before Rilla understands what's asked of her and remarks with all the cheer she can muster, "Of course, John and Ruth Keith! My husband's relatives told me so much about them. Their passing was deeply mourned by everyone."
She hopes, dearly, that she remembers correctly about Dora and Davy Keith being orphans like her mother. Otherwise, why would they have come to live at Green Gables?
Because no further reproach from her aunt, silent or otherwise, is forthcoming, she deduces that her memory served her well this time. Secretly, she breathes a sigh of relief, but outwardly just keeps smiling. She doesn't feel much like smiling, but if makes it easier to get through introductions, smile she will.
"Janie is my youngest," continues Aunt Dora and indicates the little girl, whom Rilla estimates her to be around seven years old. The girl is currently hiding behind her father's legs, but with some coaxing, peers around them to shyly wave at Rilla.
Having waved back at little Janie, Rilla instinctively turns to the other young woman, whom she hasn't yet been introduced to. She's a little older than Ruthie and Rilla, possibly around the same age as her own sisters.
"Margaret is the wife of my dear Ralphie. We were all so delighted when they married just before he left for Europe," assures Aunt Dora and thought she smiles while saying so, there's also a tightening of her mouth that Rilla finds to be quite telling.
It seems to her that when Aunt Dora spoke about young people marrying too soon because of the war, he spoke from experience. Considering that Margaret's smile doesn't look anymore genuine, the same probably applies to what she said about how common it is for young brides not to get along with their mothers-in-law.
Certainly, she thinks if Margaret had found Aunt Dora's approval, she'd have long ago been turned into a Maggie, to go along with the theme of the other children's names. Realising that, she's halfway glad that there's no way to make a nickname out of Bertha.
"Dinner should be ready presently," announces Margaret sweetly.
"Yes," chimes in Ruthie, her gaze fixed on Rilla with a mixture of curiosity and… what? "You must be hungry."
"Actually, I'm rather exhausted," replies Rilla. "If it's all the same, I think I'd like to go and lie down."
It's probably rude to decline dinner, but she truly is exhausted after days of travel and also quite eager to escape from the scrutiny of all these eyes on her. She's not sure she can sit through dinner at all and besides, her stomach has been feeling funny for a while. Food is the least thing on her mind right now.
For a moment, Aunt Dora frowns at her, obviously agreeing about the rudeness of her refusal, but then something within her appears to relent. "It was an arduous journey," she states. "If you want to rest, we'll see you in the morning."
Then, before giving Rilla an opportunity to express her thanks, she turns and call out loudly, "Daisy!
The girl thus called appears so quickly that Rilla thinks she must have been waiting for her summons in an adjoining room. She's not much older than Rilla herself and wearing the simple uniform of a maid. Keeping her eyes lowered, is also the only person in the room not staring at Rilla.
"Yes, Mrs Andrews?" she asks.
"Show Mrs Keith to her room," orders Aunt Dora. "Afterwards, we're ready to eat dinner."
"Certainly, Mrs Andrews," agrees Daisy, the maid. Her eyes flickering towards Rilla, she adds, "If you will please follow me, Mrs Keith."
After once again expressing her gratefulness at being permitted to stay with the Andrewses, wishing them all an enjoyable dinner and hoping they will have a good night, Rilla follows the maid from the room, along a hall and to a good-sized bedroom. The bed comfortably fits two people and with one look at the carved headboard, the landscape paintings adorning the walls and the finely worked quilt thrown over the foot of the bed, Rilla deduces that this is the official guest room.
She hadn't thought about where Aunt Dora would have her stay, but given her aunt's constant disapproval at her actions, she would have considered a camp bed in the kitchen to be more likely than this guest room, which is nicer than any room she's ever slept in. Looking back, she must admit that she didn't think the Andrewses would be comfortable enough to have such a nice guest room either though.
"I hope this will do, Ma'am. Do you need any help unpacking your luggage?" enquires Daisy and nods at Rilla's suitcase that someone placed by the door.
Rilla shakes her head. "No, that's fine." She already resolved to only take out her nightdress and leave the rest of the unpacking for the morning.
"Very well, Ma'am. Shall I bring you some dinner to your room?" offers Daisy.
Again, Rilla declines with a shake of her head. "That's very nice of you, but I'm not hungry. In fact, I've been feeling squeamish all evening. There's this –" She breaks off, instead moving her hands in the air in a fluttering motion.
"Oh." Daisy smiles unexpectantly. "That might just be the baby."
Rilla starts, her breath catching in her throat. She isn't entirely sure what it is that unsettles her, whether it's how easily Daisy surmised that there's a baby at all or whether it's the unexpected reminder of the nature of her predicament after she herself did her best to forget about it for so long.
"The fluttering feeling," elaborates Daisy, her smile growing uncertain at Rilla's silence. "My sister said once that's what it feels like when the baby first starts moving."
Swallowing heavily, Rilla manages a nod. "Maybe you're right."
She turns away, though she can feel Daisy's eyes on her, and bends down to open her suitcase. The young maid, having been trained by Aunt Dora, clearly understands the silent dismissal and walks towards the door.
"I'll leave you to it," she declares quietly. "If there's anything at all I can help you with, please just call me."
"I will. Good night, Daisy," Rilla tells her without turning.
"Good night, Mrs Keith," replies the maid and moments later, there's the sound of the door closing.
The moment she's alone, Rilla breathes a sigh of relief. Leaving the half-opened suitcase be, she instead sits down heavily on the chair in front of the vanity. Looking up, she sees herself in the mirror, the first time she gets to properly study her own face since leaving Ingleside.
Plainly put, she looks as exhausted as she feels. Her eyes are shadowed and her face is strangely peaked, the paleness of it making the red hues in her hair stand out more starkly than usual. She thinks she might have lost weight, which is odd, considering her circumstance.
Her circumstance.
She's been careful never to think about it too closely during her journey. In her mind, it was only ever 'her circumstance', 'her situation', 'her predicament', while she cautiously avoided thinking about the single one reason for why all this transpired, namely, the baby currently growing inside of her.
A baby. Inside of her.
The thought is unreal, improbable, impossible. For there to be a baby, a real human person, growing in her body, is plainly unimaginable, even for a daughter of Ingleside, who inherited some of her mother's boundless imagination.
Except there's the feeling again, the gentle flutter she first ascribed to an upset stomach. Only now that she focuses on it, does she notice a rhythm to the flutters that confirms it's not her own body responsible.
It's something inside her body. A baby.
Her baby.
Instinctively pressing a hand to her midst, Rilla slowly raises her head. From the mirror, her own face stares back at her.
It has never looked so terrified.
To Anne Shirley Blythe:
Indeed, it's a very long and lonely journey, both literally and figuratively. There are kind souls in this new place that Rilla was brought to, and there will be more kind souls to accompany her path so that it won't always be lonely, but parts of it certainly will be and it will also be a long one - much longer, I think, than she can possibly anticipate now.