Chapter 9

"Stay away from Martin Martins."

Surprised, Rilla turns and find herself face to face with Ruthie Andrews.

"Stay away from Martin Martins," her cousin repeats, her eyes narrowed and her voice barely more than a hiss.

Rilla blinks. "Excuse me?"

"You heard her well enough," interjects Margaret. "Keep your hands off Martin Martins!"

"I…" splutters Rilla. "I'm not…"

"Don't lie!" snaps Margaret. "We saw you talking to him this morning after church!"

Struck mute, Rilla looks from one to the other as she tries to grapple with what they're accusing her of.

"He just…" she begins.

"Don't you dare accuse him!" cries Ruthie, interrupting her. "It was your doing, you were luring him in. He wouldn't have spoken to you otherwise."

The notion is so absurd that Rilla almost wants to laugh. The very idea of her trying to lure in that odious Martin Martins is plainly ridiculous, but how to explain that to her cousin?

"I promise I'm not interested in Martin Martins," she assures, doing her best to appear very calm and serious, despite the absurdity of the situation.

"That's what you claim," stresses Margaret, "but how do we know you're telling the truth?"

She'd tell them to ask him, but when she looks back upon her brief encounter with the man and how he wouldn't leave her alone, Rilla doubts that he'd agree with her view of the situation. Certainly, he failed to pick up on how uncomfortable she felt.

"I'm telling you," she therefore informs Ruthie and Margaret with a shrug. "It's your choice whether to believe it or not."

It's impudent, she knows, but this isn't a conversation she wants to be having, and certainly not right now. It's been a long day, starting with the church service and her being introduced to the village inhabitants, and it left her feeling exhausted. With dinner over, she was honestly looking forward to going to bed.

Instead, she's being cornered about a man she couldn't be less interested in.

"Why should we believe anything you say?" Margaret demands to know, thus making it obvious that this discussion is far from over.

"Yes!" Ruthie calls out. "We know better than to believe you!"

This draws Rilla's attention. She's tired and wants nothing more but to leave, but these women are strangers to her, as she is a stranger to them, so if Ruthie claims to know not to believe her, it alludes to her having information Rilla doesn't necessarily want her to have.

"I don't know what you mean," she carefully replies anyway, because she remembers Aunt Dora's warning not to reveal her situation to anyone, least of all her cousins.

Ruthie, alas, isn't to be placated. "Something is wrong with you. Don't think we don't know it!"

Rilla swallows, suddenly feeling nervous and at the same time, no longer tired in the least. What she thought was an absurd but harmless conversation is turning into a possible minefield and she recognises that she has to be alert and awake for it.

"You come here," continues Ruthie, increasingly agitated, "without any warning and claim to be our distant cousin when we never had any distant cousins. My mother always said that Uncle Davy is the only living relative she has left, and suddenly, there's a whole family of cousins she never mentioned before? It doesn't make sense!"

"It's a very distant relation, I think," Rilla protests weakly, even knowing that it's not a very good argument.

"If so, why would she travel half the country to get you at a moment's notice?" asks Margaret archly. "No sane person drops everything merely because of receiving a telegram asking to help a very distant relative."

She is, Rilla can't deny, perfectly right. What Aunt Dora did for her was a lot to ask under the best of circumstances, but certainly for a family so loosely related that no prior contact ever existed. Truthfully, she doesn't even know why Aunt Dora did it for her, but she assumes the reason lies in the shared time her aunt and mother spent at Green Gables under Aunt Marilla's tutelage. If her mother truly helped raise Aunt Dora and Uncle Davy as she was told, Rilla supposes that might be enough to bring someone to travel half the country to collect a wayward honorary niece.

"Aunt Dora has a very supportive nature," she remarks and even, to her own surprise, finds herself meaning her words.

"Not that supportive," mutters Margaret darkly, inadvertently giving a further hint that when Aunt Dora talked about mothers-in-law not getting along with their son's wives, she was speaking from experience.

"She's no fool and neither are we!" asserts Ruthie, ignoring the words of her sister-by-marriage and instead looking directly at Rilla. "We know something is wrong with you!"

"I assure you you're mistaken," Rilla replies, hoping that her lie might be forgiven as a necessary defence. "I'm just who your mother said I am, and I have no interest in Martin Martins. I'm married!"

Whether forgiven or not, it's apparent that neither Ruthie nor Margaret believe a word of what she's saying. The latter just narrows her eyes and asks sharply, "Oh? So, what's the name of that husband you claim to have?"

She should have, Rilla realises in some distant corner of her brain, foreseen that the question would come, and she should have prepared an answer. She understands this with the clarity of hindsight that is never of any help once the chance to prepare is past. Accordingly, it's of no help to Rilla either as she mentally flails around for a name to present to the women opposite her.

As a second passes in silence, followed by another, Rilla knows that her window to give an answer is quickly closing, but her mind remains blank. All of a sudden, it's like the only male name she can think of is 'Martin' and she knows it's not a name she can say.

"Can't remember the name of your husband, huh?" Now, Margaret's voice is almost mocking, the tone of someone who senses they have won.

"Ken," Rilla hears herself blurt out. "Kenneth."

It's not the name she meant to say. It's a name that's never far from the surface of her mind and hasn't been since she was a foolish little schoolgirl, but it's not a name she meant to speak out loud, certainly not now and perhaps not ever. It's only that her mind was blank and her mouth took over and now she can't take it back anymore.

"Kenneth Keith?" repeats Ruthie doubtfully.

Rilla shrugs. It's not a name any sane parent would give their son, but then, as she could point out, neither is Martin Martins. She knows, of course, that it's better not to say anything to that effect, but good sense hasn't always stopped her before.

"It's no worse a name than Martin Martins," she thus remarks, raising both eyebrows.

Ruthie splutters in response. Margaret is oddly quiet, as if she can't find it in her to disagree.

"He's my husband," Rilla states when neither of them says anything, thus wading deeper into the web of lies strung around her. "He's fighting overseas and I'm waiting for him. I have no interest in any of the men here." This last sentence, at least, is the truth for once.

"Are you implying Martin Martins is a coward for not being in uniform?" cries Ruthie, clearly indignant. "I'll have you know that he's incredibly brave! He would have been the first to sign up, but he is needed here to help run the mine. We can't afford to lose him."

Somehow, Rilla doubts both Martin Martins' bravery and his importance to the mine, but she recognises it as a discussion that's not worth having. Looking at Margaret's slightly annoyed expression, she even feels the other woman agrees with her assessment, but poor Ruthie is clearly too far gone to view the man with anything approaching reason.

"I'm certain he is," she tells her cousin anyway, hoping to make her voice sound both calm and calming. "I never meant to suggest otherwise."

Ruthie just harumphs in reply and folds her arms across her chest, obviously offended in the name of a man that Rilla fears isn't as interested in her as she is in him. It's not something she is about to say out loud either, alas, so she just shrugs a second time and decides to leave Ruthie to it.

"I'm tired," she thus informs the other women. "If you will excuse me?"

There's no answer from Ruthie, offended as she is, but Margaret takes a step forward and studies Rilla closely for a moment. "I still think something is wrong with your story," she remarks, her voice low and her eyes sharp.

Having taken care to meet Margaret's gaze and keep eye contact throughout, Rilla now decides that she's truly had enough of this oddest of conversation. "Believe what you will," she replies, just a little tartly. "I'm heading to bed."

Without giving either woman a chance to say anything else, she turns on her heels and walks straight to the door leading to the hall. Only when the salon is safely behind her and the door closed firmly, does she stop and breathe a sigh of relief.

She can't say whether the conversation went well, all things considered, but she's certainly glad it's over. Still, for some reason, as she stands there in the hallway, she feels herself welling up. It's stupid, she knows, because she doesn't care what Ruthie and Margaret think, and yet, to her own annoyance, she feels a tear run down her cheek.

Angrily, she wipes it away.

"Are you alright?" comes a voice from her left, succeeding in startling her for the second time in mere minutes.

Turning, Rilla sees the maid, Daisy, standing in the kitchen door at the other end of the hallway. She's wearing coat and hat, and Rilla assumes that she just meant to go home after clearing away the remains of their dinner.

"I'm okay," Rilla replies, while hastily wiping away another tear. She's teetering on the spot, unsure whether to go towards Daisy or turn for her room instead.

"You look exhausted," the other woman remarks bluntly. "Do you want some hot milk?"

She does, Rilla can't deny, but she also doesn't want to keep Daisy from going home, which makes her hesitate. Thankfully, the decision is taken from her when Daisy waves for her to come closer. "I'll make you some," she offers, before disappearing back into the kitchen.

Following her tentatively, Rilla enters the kitchen to find Daisy already pouring milk from a jug into a pot. Seeing it, this small act of kindness, Rilla feels like she might start crying again, but she takes a few deep breaths and manages to calm herself, just.

"Please sit," Daisy asks when she hears Rilla entering, looking briefly over her shoulder.

Rilla does as she is told, sitting down on a chair at a sturdy wooden table. "Thank you." Instinctively, she rubs her back that's been aching all day. She's glad to be off her feet.

"You're welcome." Daisy smiles as she fires on the stove. "I can't imagine you had a pleasant conversation in there." She nods in direction of the salon.

"It was…" Rilla pauses as she searches for the correct word, "interesting."

Daisy laughs. "Nicely put. I know they can be a lot."

"Nicely put," echoes Rilla, allowing herself a smile of her own.

"I'm always a bit annoyed with my parents for giving me the same name as her," Daisy tells her, lowering her voice slightly as she does.

It takes a moment for Rilla to make the connection, but then she nods, understanding. "Daisy is a nickname for Margaret."

"It is," confirms the thusly-named woman. "I don't think the Andrewses ever realised, but yes, I'm another Margaret."

"And not happy about it?" Rilla guesses. She didn't have a chance to really speak to Daisy before, certainly not since their brief exchange on her very first night here, but she feels she can trust her. Undoubtedly, it feels like a more comfortable conversation than she just had with Ruthie and the other Margaret.

"Not happy about it," agrees Daisy. She seems to think for a moment, before adding, "I shouldn't be unfair though. It's a good position and it pays well. Mrs Andrews always make sure I get a day off each week and that I don't have to work too long in the evenings."

"Except for today," Rilla points out, gesturing to where her milk is heating up on the stove.

Daisy shrugs. "I'm doing this because I want to. You looked like you needed something to pick you up after your talk in the salon."

"They thought I was interested in one of the local men," Rilla relays. "A Martin Martins?"

"I saw him talk to you today after church." Daisy nods knowingly.

"I'm not interested in him whatsoever," Rilla stresses, feeling the need to make sure that Daisy doesn't think badly of her, too.

"Of course you aren't." Daisy sounds like it's the most obvious thing. "I know Martin Martins. He was in the same class as one of my brothers. No sane woman is interested in him."

The assuredness of her disdain makes Rilla laugh. It also distracts her for a moment, so that she doesn't immediately remember to ascertain, "Besides, I'm married, of course."

Daisy, having turned back to the stove to pour the hot milk into a cup, makes a sound that can only be described as 'doubtful'.

"I am!" Rilla emphasises, growing slightly nervous. After all, her entire tale depends on people believing in her marriage, or pretending to, and since Daisy already guessed about her condition, she can't let her guess about her lack of husband as well.

However, Daisy remains unmoved. Placing the cup on the table in front of Rilla, she nods at her left hand. "Your ring is turning your finger green. Real wedding rings don't do that."

Looking down, Rilla sees to her horror that there's truly a green tint to her the skin of her left ring finger, right where her supposed wedding ring sits.

"Maybe my husband can't afford a real one?" she suggests weakly.

Daisy shakes her head, unconvinced. "You're not the kind of girl to marry a man who can't afford a real wedding ring."

Rilla blinks, now confused more than horrified. "How would you know?"

"You're used to all this," explains Daisy plainly. "Sitting at the front of the church, having someone cook your dinner… It's familiar to you."

It is, Rilla can't deny.

"You're no orphan," Daisy deduces, not looking like she has any doubts in her words.

"No, I'm not," Rilla confirms with a sigh. At this point, further denial would just make them both looks stupid. "My parents asked Aunt Dora to take me in. I also have five older siblings." She pauses, briefly, before remarking to herself, "I wonder what they told them."

"Your siblings?" asks Daisy.

Rilla nods. "My oldest brothers are in Europe, the others are at college. We used to exchange letters, but I haven't received any since coming here and I don't know if I will. I wonder what they told my siblings to explain why I'm not writing anymore."

She hopes it's nothing to concern them. She'd hate for Walter to be worried for her.

In response, Daisy makes a sympathetic noise and nudges the milk cup a little closer to Rilla. Obediently, she takes a sip. The milk spreads warmly in her stomach, reminding her of childhood comforts in a nice but bittersweet way.

Briefly, silence falls, before Rilla volunteers, "You were right about me being used to all this. My father is a doctor."

Daisy grimaces. "No wonder they sent you here. For a doctor's daughter to get herself into the situation you're in…" She trails off, but of course there's little doubt about what she actually means.

On Rilla's part, it causes her to hesitate, feeling a little wary all of a sudden. Having just raised her cup for another sip, she now lowers it again and places it carefully on the tabletop.

There's brief confusion on Daisy's features as she notices that something is not quite right, before understanding visibly dawns on her. "Oh!" she exclaims. "Oh, no! I'm not judging. One of my sisters was in the same predicament some years ago."

It is the first time anyone has mentioned to Rilla that there are other women out there with the same problem she has. Logically, she should have known that there would be others, but when your own life is consumed by such a monumental problem, it's easy to lose sight of anyone else out there.

"What did she do?" she asks, almost eagerly, in the foolish hope of a solution preventing itself.

"My parents took on the child as theirs," explains Daisy. "My mother was only 38 at the time, so young enough for it to be plausible. It gave my sister a chance to start over. She's now married with more children of her own and her son is being raised as our beloved younger brother. My parents dote on him and everyone else is kind enough to pretend not to know anything."

The way Daisy tells it, it all sounds very simple, but Rilla still needs a moment to mull it over. Her own mother will be fifty shortly, so what was a solution for Daisy could never have been a solution for her. Instead, she's here, pretending to be married and virtuous when she's anything but.

"Pretending," she murmurs absently, before taking a sip of milk. "So much pretending."

"We pretend all the time," Daisy reminds her. "My parents pretend that their grandson is their son, my sister pretends she never had a child before marriage, you pretend to be married, Mrs Andrews pretends she isn't managing the mine instead of her husband… and everyone else pretends not to know."

"So, she really is running the mine!" Rilla can't help sounding pleased at having deduced this very fact already.

"Everyone knows she is, and everyone pretends it's not the case," confirms Daisy. "It's nonsensical, but what are we to do?"

Indeed.

Thoughtfully, Rilla drinks another long sip of warm milk as she mulls over everything she just learned. There's a lot to consider, about society's expectations and what they all do to meet them, but what truly piqued her interest and remains on her mind is the information about Daisy's sister.

"Did she ever tell you how it happened?" she hear herself ask. "Your sister?"

Daisy raises both eyebrows. "I thought you'd know more about it than I do."

Rilla squirms on her seat, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. She doesn't look Daisy in the eye, instead lowering her gaze to the half-filled milk cup in front of her.

"It… it all happened very fast," she admits quietly. "We were kissing and before I knew what was happening, we were lying down on the sofa and…" She shrugs, helpless, as she runs out of words to say.

"It doesn't sound very romantic," comments Daisy, but her voice is sympathetic as she does.

"I… I'm not sure. I don't suppose so," Rilla agrees cautiously. If she's honest, she never considered whether it was romantic or not. She never allowed herself to think about that evening long enough to decide how romantic it was.

Daisy, by the looks of it, doesn't need any more information to make up her mind though. "Whoever he is, may I say that I'm not impressed by him?"

"He didn't force me," Rilla states quickly, almost reflexively.

"I hope he didn't," stresses Daisy. "But what I'm wondering is whether you wanted it to happen?"

Yet another question that Rilla never truly considered before.

"I… I'm not…" she stutters, "I… I don't know. I didn't think about it. I really don't know."

Daisy clucks her tongue, as if to indicate that this proves her point. "When someone kisses you and lies down on the sofa with you, I say you should want it," she declares decisively.

The thought is so unfamiliar to Rilla that she can only sit there and shrug, helpless in light of these questions she has no answers to.

Perhaps sensing that, Daisy reaches out and pats her arm. "You won't have to depend on him anyway, you'll see. Now that you're here, they'll find you another husband."

If her remark was meant to pacify Rilla, it instead serves the opposite purpose. Already robbed of her speech earlier, she can do but gape now and whisper, aghast, "Husband?"

"Of course," confirms Daisy, sounding very sure of herself. "In a few months, they'll announce that your husband was killed in action, turning you into a widow in the eyes of the world. You'll have to mourn him, naturally, but eventually, you'll catch the eye of another man, perhaps a soldier returning from the war. You're pretty and they're counting on men to take note of that. Obviously, the likes of Mary Martins will know to keep their sons away from you, but there are always young men working in the mine who don't have family nearby. Once one of them has fallen for you, someone has to reveal to him that you were never really married, but by then, he'll be too far gone, and I assume they'll sweeten the connection for him with a plump position in the mine administration and a sizeable dowry supplied by your parents. He'll marry you and help you raise your child, and everyone will continue to pretend not to know what happened."

Daisy looks quite pleased with her skills of deduction, but only until her eyes land on Rilla, who, she assumes, must look as horrified by the prospect as she feels.

"Oh, don't look at me like that!" asks Daisy, squeezing her arm lightly. "Don't mind me, please. I'm just babbling. I have no idea what's going to happen. It will probably all end up happening very differently from what I just said. It's all in the future anyway. First, you have to have your baby, so it's only right that you focus on that!"

The prospect, somehow, doesn't make Rilla feel much calmer at all.

To Guest:
Thanks a lot for your kind words! They were very heartening to read for me and are deeply appreciated. Obviously, I understand that not everyone is going to agree with my interpretation of certain characters, and it's honestly something I not only don't mind but find genuinely interesting. It's fun to debate about how we see things differently, as long as it's done respectfully and in good spirits! I knew, going into this, that not everyone would agree with how I'm writing Anne and Gilbert here and, as expected, I've had some people agree and others disagree with my particular view. For the plot of this story to work as planned, alas, they have to act the way they do, because if they happily embraced Rilla and her baby with open arms and defended them against the world... well, I suppose that would still be a story, but a rather short one ;). As you said, sometimes, we have to tweak things to fit the plot, and I'm very glad that it's something you (and others as well) understand!
As for Martin Martins, he's obviously odious, but quite a bit of fun to write ;). Rilla clearly shudders at the very thought of him and if I knew him in real life, I'm sure I would agree, but as a writer, he's fun to write because he's so unapologetically awful and is super convinced he's God's gift to womankind - mistakenly, of course, but I don't think he's big on introspection, bless him.
I understand that, given my previous 'track record', Ken is a strong contender for the baby's father. I'm not saying it isn't him, mainly because for now, Rilla isn't saying either. Whoever he is, he's far away and not helping, so his identity, for the moment, is almost inconsequential. If Rilla told everyone about him, it wouldn't change anything right now, so for the time being, the baby's father is almost a bit of a non-figure.