Chapter 8

The Presbyterian Church is a white wooden building with a small bell tower that contrast against the snow-covered mountains in the background. It is smaller than the church presided over by John Meredith at home, Rilla thinks, but at least Susan will be pleased to learn that there are not only good God-fearing Presbyterians out west but that they have a proper place to worship, too.

"I trust you know how to conduct yourself at church?" asks Aunt Dora archly as they walk towards the building.

She says it quietly enough so that no-one but Rilla will hear, but the sense of the question is obvious nevertheless. 'Don't embarrass me,' is what her aunt is truly saying, and the message is loud and clear.

"I'll behave," she whispers back and because she keeps her voice quiet, her aunt misses the slightly rebellious undertone to it. Just because she misbehaved once doesn't mean people need to expect her to cause a ruckus everywhere she goes!

"Good." Aunt Dora nods briskly. "Don't forget what we talked about either."

Again, the words she speaks have a deeper meaning that she won't say out loud for fear of anyone overhearing. To Rilla, the meaning is, once more, perfectly apparent though. What her aunt is saying it that she has to stick to the legend they developed, because if even her family may not know the truth about Rilla's identity, the same is certainly true for all the other people in the village.

Being familiar with village life and especially with how close-knit these small communities are, Rilla is aware that even sticking to the legend that Aunt Dora created for her, her mere appearance will be enough to garner interest. She is an outsider and as such, she is destined to draw attention under the best of circumstances, but certainly when attending church with the family of the mine manager.

She is, therefore, not surprised by the curious glances directed her way as she walks with the Andrews family, though no-one dares to stare too openly. The Andrewses, she thinks, must be aware of the communal attention as well, though they do a good job not to show it. Ruthie and Margaret lead their little group, their arms linked and little Janie trailing them closely. Having lengthened her strides, Aunt Dora falls into step next to her husband, seamlessly taking the arm he offers without so much as a look in his direction.

It leaves Rilla to make up the rear, at least until Johnny appears at her side. Mirroring his father, he holds out an arm to Rilla with a gesture that's both a little grand and a little ridiculous.

His smile, however, is open and friendly and for a moment, it even reminds Rilla of a younger Shirley. The very thought startles her briefly, because she took such care not to think of her family since coming here, but if there's anything she learned in the last few weeks, it's how to keep control of her thoughts, so she carefully moves them elsewhere. Instead of thinking of her family, she thus considers how odd it must look for her to walk with Johnny, who is almost a head shorter than her. It's not the kindest of thoughts, but she thinks it's a safe one.

Aunt Dora looks over her shoulder at son and niece, and while she keeps her face almost impassive, Rilla doesn't miss the tightening of her mouth. She knows instinctively that her aunt, who cautioned her not to get to close to her children, disapproves of her walking with Johnny, but is unable to do anything against it in public for fear of people noticing and starting to talk.

It's a little funny, Rilla muses, how well she has learned to read this aunt in such a short span of time.

Still, appearances must be upheld, as Aunt Dora certainly knows better than anyone and as Rilla has come to learn, too. So, she keeps her arm linked through Johnny's and keeps her head held high amid the curious glances the villagers direct at her as she enters the church with the Andrews family.

They sit in a pew very close to the front, just as they do at home, because both mine manager and doctor are prominent positions in a village like this and prominent members of society are expected to be visible. It means that throughout the entire service, Rilla can feel several dozen sets of eyes boring into the back of her head, but at least she doesn't have to look at all these strangers yet.

The service itself is fine, though Rilla reflects that it misses some of the feelings and the insights that she's familiar with from Reverend Meredith's sermons. She thinks that there are some people in Glen who would prefer the more mundane approach of this minister they call Reverend James, but to Rilla, it feels a little boring and stale. However, mindful of her promise to her aunt, she takes care to sit very straight and appear very attentive throughout the service, so that no-one could possibly claim she didn't pay enough attention to the good minister.

In the end, the service provides a small respite for her, because once it is over and they have left the church, the villagers start approaching immediately. First among them is a group of middle-aged women and, having spent many afternoons listening in on the meetings of the Ladies Aid, Rilla immediately senses that if she doesn't meet the approval of these women, she might as well not show her face in the village anymore.

"My dear Dora," proclaims one of the women loudly. "So lovely to see you have returned! And you have brought a guest, too!"

Certainly, she's not shy to get right to the core of the matter.

"It's lovely to be back, dear Mary," declares Aunt Dora with a markedly polite smile. "Travelling can be so strenuous."

She doesn't immediately move to introduce Rilla, as she latter can't help noticing, and she has a feeling that it's done deliberately on her aunt's part. It's not insubordination as such, but maybe, Rilla thinks, she's not the only one who is a bit irritated by all the open curiosity in her person.

"So strenuous!" agrees the woman named Mary. Her eyes briefly flit over to Rilla as she clearly considers how to ask about this stranger without embarrassing herself by being nosey, but then her face lights up as she appears to have thought of a way. "What was the purpose of your journey again, dear Dora? You left so suddenly, and no-one knew why!"

"Family matters, as I believe I told Agatha before I left," replies Aunt Dora, her own eyes seeking out another of the women in the group.

The woman, whom Rilla thinks to be Agatha, nods to confirm this.

"Are we correct to assume that your young guest is a family member then?" chimes in a third woman as she takes a step forward.

"She is, indeed, Bessie," confirms Aunt Dora. "This is Bertha Keith, who is married to the son of a relative back east."

Turning to Rilla, she indicates the women gathered in front of them. "Bertha, these are dear friends of mine. Please meet Mary Martins, Agatha Anderson, Bessie Samson, Caroline Reynolds and Pauline James. Mary's husband is the deputy of Mr Andrews at the mine, Agatha is the wife of our doctor, Bessie runs the local hotel with her husband, Caroline is married to our mayor, and Pauline is, of course, the wife of Reverend James."

Rilla nods, while she tries to commit the names of the women to memory. As she suspected, all five women are prominent members of village life as per their husband's professions, with Aunt Dora as the mine manager's wife completing the set.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Rilla quickly tells the women, before her aunt can find cause to be displeased with her tardiness. "It's such a beautiful place that you have here. I especially enjoyed your husband's sermon today, Mrs James."

Pauline James, who hitherto hasn't said anything, smiles, clearly pleased. "Thank you. I will make sure to tell him so."

"Please, do," replies Rilla, hoping that her little white lie about the sermon will be forgiven in the interest of politeness.

"What brings you here, Mrs Keith?" asks Caroline Reynolds, scuttling closer and eyeing Rilla with curiosity.

It's a rare case where her curiosity is helpful, alas, because it's only having the other woman's attention focused so firmly on her that alerts Rilla to being the one who's addressed. 'Mrs Keith' is still a moniker that takes getting used to and thus, not something she reacts to instinctively. In fact, she takes just a moment too long to react at all, causing Aunt Dora to take over.

"Dear Bertha asked me whether she could stay with us for a little while," she informs the other women. "The cause pf my journey was to collect her, since we didn't feel comfortable letting a young woman such as Bertha travel alone."

There's a low murmur of agreement among the women and having her age such addressed, Rilla briefly wonders how old they think she is and whether they consider her to be too young to be married. She remembers how before the war, Lillian Crawford from Over-Harbour was married at 16, but she also remembers how Susan sniffed upon hearing the news and how Cornelia Elliot raised her eyebrows tellingly. She thinks she also remembers that Lillian was a mother before turning 17, but these weren't things talked about openly and certainly not with her.

"Is your husband in uniform, Mrs Keith?" Bessie Samson wants to know, her gaze seeking out the thin gold band on Rilla's left hand.

"He is." With effort, Rilla resists the urge to fold her hands behind her back. "My, um, my darling husband is fighting overseas. He was shipped out several months ago and I… I miss him terribly, of course."

She doesn't think her delivery is very convincing. She hopes it will be enough to stick to the legend Aunt Dora created for her.

"Poor girl." Agatha Anderson's smile appears to be genuine, so Rilla returns it tentatively.

"It's especially tragic when newlywed brides have to send their husbands off to war," remarks Mary Martins and while her words are outwardly sympathetic, her smile is less so.

Remembering Lillian Crawford and her baby born too soon after a hasty wedding, Rilla decides quickly to add her own element to the legend created by Aunt Dora. "We were married last spring," she tells the women, making her words up even as she speaks. "He couldn't join up sooner because… he broke his ankle and had to wait for it to heal to pass muster."

Some of the women nod understandingly. "I'm certain you were glad it gave you more time to be together," comments Pauline James.

"I was, selfishly," agrees Rilla, finding that adding to the story helps her feel more comfortable with it. "We lived with his family, but we felt like the only two people alive when we were together." It's a cheesy sentence and she thinks she might have read something similar in a novel before, but she sees some of the women's features soften as she says it, so it can't have been the wrong thing to say.

"What brings you here to live with Dora?" enquires Caroline Reynolds.

Aware of Aunt Dora's eyes on her, Rilla remembers what she told her about hinting at not getting along with her mother-in-law, and she knows she must get this right. "Sadly, I have no family of my own left and while my husband's family has been nothing but kind to me, it was… a bit crowded, with all of us in one home. Aunt Dora kindly agreed to let me stay with her for a while, so that everyone could have a bit more space."

She hopes it's direct enough without making her seem rude, so she watches the women closely to gauge their reactions. When they nod and exchange glances amongst themselves, she thinks she brought her point across as directed.

"A house suddenly having two mistresses can make it feel surprisingly small," remarks Bessie Anderson in the voice of someone who knows what they're talking about.

"Especially when there are more changes to happen soon," adds Mary Martins and it takes Rilla several moments to understand that the older woman is alluding to her delicate condition.

She'd hoped to keep it hidden for a while longer and stayed wrapped in her large coat to that very effect, but she assumes it might have been a moot point from the beginning. She has no doubt that all these women have families of their own and that they know to read the signs, much as she tries to hide them.

Still, she manages to smile and reply politely until the conversation thankfully turns to other matters. Standing by, she listens as the women make plans for a sewing circle in the following week and resolves herself to find an excuse to not attend it. She must make a good impression, she realises, but she's also realistic enough about her sewing to know that any impression it leaves cannot be good enough to meet the approval of seasoned housewives like these.

She's a bit tired of the attention as well, so she can't help feeling grateful when finally, the five women take their leave, returning to their own families waiting for them.

"You did well," commends Aunt Dora without looking at Rilla as she watches her friends retreat.

"Thank you," replies Rilla quietly, keeping her own eyes straight ahead. "I don't think they believed me though."

"Of course they didn't," confirms Aunt Dora, quite plainly. "They're no fools. However, we gave them a good enough story for them to pretend to believe it, which amounts to the same thing."

Rilla isn't sure, to be honest, how believing her and pretending to believe her can be the same thing, but she isn't about to argue with her aunt. In fact, she's quite eager to get away from under her watchful eye, so when Ralph Andrews approaches them with two men in suits, she gladly takes the opportunity to slip away to the side.

She doesn't, for a moment, fool herself into thinking she is unobserved, because even having met the prominent ladies of the village society, there are still too many curious people left for the attention to waver from her person. However, as the villagers gather in small groups to socialise after the church service, she isn't put on the spot in the same way she was before, and while she doesn't miss the intermittent glances thrown her way, it feels a little easier to breathe.

Standing there and doing nothing, she supposes she also doesn't make for a very interesting subject for attention, so whatever people are thinking when they look at her, there's nothing much for them to observe. In turn, however, it gives Rilla a moment to look at them more closely, these strangers she's been sent to live among.

All in all, she reflects, they don't look so different from the people she knows from home. Glen St Mary and the surrounding villages are mainly populated by farmers and fishers, while these people here are almost exclusively tied to the mine in some capacity or another, but with everyone dressed in their Sunday best, any existing differences are not immediately obvious. In fact, but for the odd shape of the houses and the mountains looming large above them, she might as well be back at home.

Once she closes her eyes, the similarities become even clearer. She hears the laughter and excited chatting of children, exuberant now that the boring church service is behind them. The women talk family and household matters, like they do at home. As for the men, admittedly, she also hears some of them discuss matters related to the mine, but the majority of their conversations are firmly focused on the war, on that big battle near the French town of Verdun that has taken up a lot of space in the papers as of late.

She herself hasn't paid as much attention to it as she probably ought to have, because she was cut off from any news during the two weeks stuck in her room and it was difficult to keep up with the war's progress while travelling. In her defence, alas, it's a battle between the Germans and the French, so there are none of their boys involved, and while she recognises the selfishness of that thought, she cannot help be relieved that for once, her brothers and – and everyone else aren't in the thick of it.

"Hello."

The voice is very close to her and there's little doubt that it is addressing her.

Opening her eyes quickly, Rilla turns and finds herself looking up at a tall young man with blonde hair and a wide smile.

"Hello," he repeats. "You're new here."

Her instinct screams at her to turn and leave, but decorum keeps her in place. She cannot be seen to be rude and she may not cause a fuss, both of which will happen if she just leaves without a word.

"Hello," she thus replies tentatively. Outwardly, she tries her best to remain calm, but inwardly, she's frantically grasping around for a shred of the girl she used to be. The girl who chatted to boys easily and laughed with them and was hardly ever shy for an answer.

It's absurd, she thinks absently, that this same girl appears to have been lost the moment she got as close to a boy – man – as she possibly could.

"I'm Martin Martins," the young man introduces himself.

And it might be blamed on how intently Rilla is searching for the lost version of herself that she doesn't think to control her mouth before it blurts out, "Oh, I know you."

Martin Martins laughs. "If we met before, I'd certainly remember it."

Annoyed with herself, Rilla frowns, before, just a moment later, she remembers what befits a well-bred girl in such a situation, and lowers her head to hide both annoyance and frown. "I apologise. I assisted with some matters relating to pay slips for the mine the other day and your name came up."

"And you remembered it!" Martin Martins sounds pleased. "Between us, I always thought it's a ridiculous name, but if it means a pretty girl such as you remembers it, I won't complain about it anymore."

He is… rather forward, isn't he?

The Rilla of old, obviously, would have had a clever retort for him, before she would have fluttered away with a laugh and a look over her shoulder, but the Rilla of old wasn't weighed down by a pretended wedding ring around her finger and a new life below her heart. This new, unfamiliar Rilla burdened by both, therefore, takes a step back and moves her gaze to look past him.

"It was nice meeting you, Mr Martins," she informs him. "However, I believe my aunt requires my presence, so if you will please excuse me?

"Not willingly," he replies immediately, his smile widening.

He moves his hand forward, perhaps to shake hers, but Rilla anticipates the movement and hurriedly moves to the side, avoiding it. "Have a good day, Mr Martins," she tells him, before quickly walking over to where she spots Aunt Dora talking to a group of women that includes Mary Martins and Bessie Reynolds.

"You, too, beautiful stranger," Martin Martins calls after her, not so loud that everyone will hear, but certainly loud enough for Rilla not to miss it.

She doesn't turn, instead lengthening her strides, hoping to reach the relative safety of her aunt's presence quickly. As she walks, however, she becomes aware of several sets of eyes boring into her and, instinctively slows down.

Raising her head, she first sees her aunt looking at her, eyebrows raised slightly and disappointment written on her face. Letting her own eyes move onwards, Rilla sees, just behind Aunt Dora's shoulder, Ruthie Andrews, and, a little to the left, Mary Martins.

Both women are glaring at her.

It's those glares, as open as they're unexpected, that cause Rilla's steps to falter. She teeters, briefly, in the middle of his gathering of strangers, before her feet, of their own accord, start moving again. They carry her not towards the source of hostility, but to the side, until she comes to stand in the shadow of a small wooden building that provides some semblance of cover. It allows her a moment to catch her breath and put some order into her thoughts that were thrown into sudden disarray not so much by the brazenness of Martin Martins but by the glares of both his mother and her own cousin.

She hasn't yet had time to reflect what could have invoked their hostility, however, when there's a sudden feeling, distracting her. It feels like the flutters she's grown familiar with, only this time, it's stronger, more discernible. Not quite a kick, and yet…

In response, without truly thinking about it, Rilla raises a hand and cautiously places it on her middle. "I don't think we're very welcome here," she murmurs under her breath.

There's a beat, before she can feel it again, more clearly now that she knows what to look out for. It's weak still, but there's no denying it.

Movement.

It remained abstract to her, this child they told her would be hers, and yet, here it is – moving. A life, dependent on her, yet independent in its own way.

Her hand pressing down lightly and her mind filling with wonder, Rilla feels another, a familiar feeling rise within her. After a moment, she recognises it as defiance.

"Well, if they don't want us, there's still me to look out for you," she whispers, unaware yet of the lengths she will have to go to keep her promise.

To Guest:
Indeed, Rilla is really just a child herself and now she's having a child of her own without really understanding much of what's happening. She has a very steep learning curve ahead of her, far steeper than she can as yet fathom herself. For now, the main obstacle ahead is the impending birth of her child, but one way or another, things won't suddenly be easy again afterwards. Some experience are impossible to come back from and this, I'm sure, is one of them. It will leave her very much changed and set on the path for further growth as she navigates life beyond giving birth.
Rumours about ff-net folding have always bounced around without yet coming true, so for now, I'm waiting to see whether they ever will =). If so, I have all my stories saved on my computer (with several back-ups to boot), so if there's a day when this website will be no more, I'm sure I'll find another home for my writing, both the old stories and the current one. Certainly, I'm not going to disappear just like that! =)

To DogMonday:
Hello there! So lovely to hear from you again! I hope you're doing well and that life has happy, quiet times ahead for you =).
No soup tureen in this story, I'm afraid. This is going to be quite a bit more complicated and since a large part of the plot won't unfold until the war is over, there's a decent amount of ground to cover yet. We're not far away from the birth anymore though, so in that respect, things will pick up soon enough.
Regarding the father of Rilla's baby, the field is actually still wild open. We know he has a one syllable-name and if Rilla is to be believed, Carl isn't the culprit. That still leaves us with Ken, with Fred, or with someone else entirely. Truth to be told, alas, the father isn't even all that important currently. I mean, yes, obviously he played a significant role (and not in a good way!), but the question of paternity isn't the most important one right now. Whoever he is, he isn't there and he can't play an active role, so for Rilla and her current problems, he's fairly insignificant.
Going into this story, I knew that my portrayal of Anne and Gilbert wouldn't be met with universal agreement. I've had people agree with how I write them and I've had others disagree with it. I was prepared for that to happen and it's perfectly understandable, because we all have different visions of these characters. Personally, I think what plays a role in the differing interpretations is which canon version of Anne and Gilbert someone pictures as they read or write. If you take the spunky, unconventional Anne of the earlier books as your baseline, I agree it's a leap to arrive at Anne as I wrote her here. However, if you look at Adult Anne as LMM wrote her, it's not such a pronounced difference. Adult Anne and Gilbert, starting from circa RV, are written by LMM as having a fairly conservative, traditional outlook and as closely conforming to the social norms of their time. Young Anne certainly rocked the boat - Adult Anne never did.
For my story, I looked at the later Anne and Gilbert for pointers. Never forget that these are the people who would have sent both Mary Vance and Jims to an orphanage without batting an eyelash (and who, after blackmailing Rilla into accepting responsibility for Jims, don't even support her properly in his upbringing, but leave her out to dry as she figures out how to raise a newborn on her own). I'm not saying they turned into bad people or that they didn't love their children, but they also weren't the liberal, open-minded, universally accepting characters that we modern readers would like them to be.
Equally, I actually think they weren't particularly great parents when it comes to Rilla (and Shirley). In AoI we see Anne as a caring and attentive mother to Jem, Walter and the twins, but it sort of peters off after that. Shirley is pawned off to Susan basically from birth, and when we look at RoI, Susan also does the heavy lifting when it comes to the day-to-day aspects of raising Rilla. Anne and Gilbert are physically present and they're kind to Rilla when she crosses their paths, but are they actually emotionally available for her? I don't think so. Gilbert's longest conversation with Rilla in RoI is when he basically bullies her into taking over responsibility for Jims, and while Anne interacts with her a little more, we don't see them having deep, meaningful conversations either. When Rilla needs a confidant, she turns to Walter or Gertrude Oliver or her diary, not to her mother - and what's more, it doesn't even occur to her to turn to Anne. Thus, we have this teenage girl who is not only made to raise a baby on her own but also living through extremely scary and confusing times, yet we never actually witness either of her parents sitting down with her to explain what's going on or to reassure her or to comfort her or just to ask her how she's doing. When Gilbert is present, he mainly discusses the war's progress with Susan and Gertrude, while Anne sort of floats around the book without any visible purpose or goal. Neither of them is doing much when it comes to parenting their young daughter during her formative years while her life is being turned upside down by the war.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to bash Anne and Gilbert or saying that the way I view them is the be all and end all. I fully realise others may view them differently and I don't have a problem with that. I'm just trying to show where I'm coming from with my own interpretation of them. I don't see them as very supportive or attentive parents to Rilla and I see them as being quite conservative in later life. That influences my portrayal of them in this story, both in that they sent Rilla away to have the baby (which, given the era they live in, is actually the best of a host of bad options, so I'm not blaming them for it, even if Rilla will) and that they don't talk to her properly about it. I mean, they never had a meaningful conversation with her before - why would they start now?
In happier news: Dog Monday will be there to greet Rilla upon her return to Glen! I sort of decided that he's immortal anyway, so yes, he'll most definitely be around ;).