Yeah, regression. Such a good point. That's the trouble with sequels, how do you bring in internal conflict when they've already gone through their journey and realised who they are in the story before? I got my hook from the last chapter of RoI when Rilla was musing on her loneliness and feeling that she might as well take a Redmond course because she didn't know what else to do. And the way she told herself she was only a passing fancy to Ken, and she would never trust the word of a man again. So, it was loneliness, boredom, and suspicion that I started with and went from there. And it was Ken who intensified those feelings because he couldn't connect with Rilla fully, he was less adventurous (physically at least), and he was withholding information about himself. I think Rilla (like Una) had fallen into a role that required more maturity and evenness than her young years would normally require from her. Her sisters got to be part of something while Rilla was compelled to stay home and be a mother. Nothing wrong with that but it is a big ask between the ages of fifteen and twenty. Being a good manager is a wonderful talent, but it also might hint at a need to keep things in order because there is a tumult inside you that you want to keep in check. Was there a wildness in Rilla, I wondered: enter Teddy to answer that question. I didn't know any of this when I was writing it. The kernel of this story started because I had always liked the chemistry between Una and Ken from an unfinished story I began in 2015. I was looking for something to get my teeth into because I hadn't written anything for such a long time, and that seemed like an interesting challenge. The scene I had in my head never featured in this story at all. It was simply Ken and Una playing the piano together, while Rilla and Teddy were singing. There was a crossroads moment when I was writing, when there was a choice for Una to go onto Toronto with Ken. Which way to go? And I chose for Una to not have Ken be reason she changed, I wanted her to change because of what she realised about herself. That meant she needed to go home and work it out without him being around. And that's when I knew I had to write a sequel because I just have to know what's going on between those two! Thank you ALL so much for your thoughtful comments. I can't believe this whole story will be done and dusted by Friday! Love, k.
63
The spare room was dank and close the way rooms with the curtains pulled on a sunny day often are. The mirror, a grand gold-leafed affair, was cloaked in a blanket, and there was a blanket laid over Mr Killick too.
Rilla let Teddy enter first, then followed with some fresh flowers from the garden. Some of them got a little squashed as he pivoted on his heel and walked straight into her.
He waited in the hall while she laid them on the dresser.
"Teddy?" she whispered, "aren't you coming in?"
His hands were deep in his pockets, and he was looking very unsure. Rilla left the room and pulled the door to, as though she didn't want Mr Killick to overhear. It surprised and touched him how easy she was with death. He hadn't reckoned on that, or the fear that was now threatening to consume him.
"I haven't seen him properly… just glimpses. I'm a little afraid, I guess."
Rilla was confused, Teddy had lived among the dead and dying for years together; she had a fair idea of the kind of violence he endured. Mr Killick looked like a man in quiet repose, anyone would think he was having a lie in except for the fact that he was still wearing his shoes. They were covered in the red dust from the roads he had walked to get here and would certainly leave a rusty mark on Mrs Lynde's much prized quilt. Susan would have something to say about that.
The clock ticked loudly in the hall, beyond that they could hear Susan chatting with the foxes, which were curled up in their crate by the stove.
"We'll go in together," she assured him. They were doing that anyhow, but he seemed to have forgotten. "I know you'll feel better once you see him, Teddy."
"That's the thing," he muttered, "I'm afraid when I go in there and look at the fellow that I won't see any of myself in him. I realise how selfish that sounds but that's my feeling."
Rilla recalled the way Teddy was always studying photos, noting likeness and difference. He wasn't exactly an orphan - not the way Mother was - but she understood his hunger for a tribe.
"Anyone in your shoes would feel the same. Come on," she said.
They entered the spare room a second time, Rilla pulled the blanket back without hesitation. Teddy was staring at the covered mirror.
"See darling, he only looks like he's sleeping."
He didn't really. Edward Killick looked very pale and sunken even in the pink light filtering through the rose chintz curtains. His spirit had left him. The bones that held his body up were drawn to the surface, the way the wind reveals a buried shell. And the cloth around his head, keeping his jaw shut tight, made him look like he was suffering from a toothache.
Teddy inched closer and fingered the man's belongings laid out on the small table beside the bed. The rings that Anne had removed when his hands had started to swell, the silk handkerchief salted with his sweat. The ticket stubs, a gold and emerald locket that must have belonged to his wife, and a paperback edition of Walter's poetry.
"I used to think these poems were for those who would never grow old," he said. At first Rilla thought he was talking to her. "But they're not, those men have gone on to a deeper peace than anything we could win. These poems are for the people who still have work to do. Walter knew it would be hard - he reckoned such work was beyond him, but he still believed others could do it. He had faith in people, Grandfather. Thanks for having faith in me."
As he said this, he finally gazed upon Edward Killick's face, and no - he could not find any trace of himself there. Not in his hands clasped together over his barrel chest, and they certainly didn't have the same taste in clothes. Teddy returned the blanket up the sombre, murky tweeds, the stiff high collar and natty bow tie. Over his face and even the pillow he rested on, until his dusty oxblood Oxfords peeked out the end.
Teddy looked at those shoes, he frowned, he smiled, he ran his fingers through his hair.
"Oh my word, would you believe it… Rilla, look! His shoes are laced just the way I do it, in a criss-cross fashion. I must get my narrow feet from him."
Rilla only nodded, what else was there to say, and waited when Teddy darted out of the room. She could hear him chatting with Susan in the kitchen, then he reappeared with a rag and a tin of shoe polish.
He pulled up the stool by the dressing table and sat himself at his grandfather's feet. "Let's get these good and shiny," he said.
The room was filled with the smell of good strong nugget, and the rag flashed in his hands. Rilla kissed Teddy's cheek and left him to it.
...
Next chapter to follow...