Ingleside was a whirlwind a few days after Ken's departure. Her siblings, all busy packing to go back to school, her sisters arguing about clothing and space for books. While Shirley seemed to just toss things into his bag and call it a day. Mostly Rilla finds herself wandering the house unsure of what to do with herself. It was after a moment of uncertainty of the book in her hand, that she went to her father's office.

"What going to happen?" She says quietly in her father's office as he writes out his patient charts.

"What do you mean?" He looks up at her.

"This—…This?" She asks motioning to the thing that makes her feel sick in the mornings. "I know you gave me a book but I—, I don't understand it?" She says quietly.

"Oh, of course, I didn't think…" he says nodding his head and looking up at her. He stands up, looking in his bookcase and looks through it for a moment.

Morgan on Expecting

"This should give you an easier read to start with," he places the book in her hands taking back the other one. "It's meant for first-time mothers."

Rilla nods her head.

"Please know that if you have any questions you may always come to your mother and me," Father told her. "These weeks and months will be trying for you. I know, Ken''s sacrifice makes it easier in the eyes of society but there is no reason to…"

"Mother was an orphan, who wasn't well cared for?" She says to him.

"She was, and her life before Green Gables was not always safe," he nods his head.

"She would never forgive me," Rilla says quietly.

"Your mother would understand," Her father shakes his head disagreeing with her.

Rilla still can't believe him though. She wanders to her room and closes the door curling up she cries silently until she wakes up to a knock on her door. She rubs her eyes seeing her mother in the doorway.

"Lunch is ready you should try and eat something." She says with a voice of concern, her Mother.

"I'm not that hungry," Rilla tells her. "My head aches and I just want to be alone, please?"

"Very well but I'll have Susan bring up something light if you do want something before dinner," her mother says before coming in to kiss her forehead.

She stares at the ring on her finger for the longest time. The simple gold band, the emerald and pearls, but somehow it had the power to make everything right in the eyes of society. It shouldn't have been possible, but it was somehow. She was married.

It still doesn't feel real, nothing felt real anymore. Her body was a stranger and a reminder of what happened.

Why would anyone willingly marry her? How could he attach himself to her shame?

How?

She lies ignoring the tray of food. She ignored everything and everyone who checked on her. Ignoring dinner calls and food altogether.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she rids herself of the cotton and steel that moulds her body. Pulling about the laces and then unhooking the front, until her corset was off and she was just in her camisole and drawers. She looks, in the mirror and pokes her stomach in disgust, pushing aside her underthings to see the skin until she can't look at herself anymore. She pulls on her robe and takes her pitcher to the washroom, filling it with hot water. It doesn't feel much different, still soft, she peels off her camisole, unbuttoning her drawers meaning to wash quickly in the bathroom.

There are barely any traces of the bruises that had been placed on her body, still, memories flash brightly in her mind. Struggling as hands pawed at her, pulling at her under things until they saw flesh.

She reaches for the pitcher hot—hot water that came from the tap, it's still scalding as she dips her rag into the water. She cries at the burn but attacks her body with it, the ghost of their touch never leaves her mind and body. She rewets the cloth, and without thought attacks her thighs with it. Tears leaked through her closed eyes as she sobbed, her body shaking with the memory of them touching her there and the shooting pain with every movement that made them go inside of her.

This child inside of her, one that grows each day, a reminder that makes her sick, a reminder that won't allow her to ever forget. The thought makes her sick, sicker than she feels every minute of the day.

She throws on her nightgown, hiding it all from view.

She looks around the white walls, photos of the family and magazines she pinned to the wall. It's her little room, but it doesn't feel like it anymore, even the memories tarnished this room, or was it Ken letting her curl up to him that made it different?

She must have fallen into a fitful sleep when someone shook her shoulder.

Father's worried eyes and her siblings were all watching from the doorway.

"Go to bed," he tells them sternly.

"It's okay Rilla you're safe, just take a few deep breaths," Her father tells her running his hand over her head lovingly. "You're safe." He repeats until she's caught her breath.

She clings to him, tears still streaking down her face. She takes a drink of what she thinks is water from a cup, but it is warm milk, with a little bitter aftertaste."

"Just something to help you sleep that's all," her father tells her "You need some good sleep."

She only can nod her head, the ring on her finger feels heavy and she looks up at him with wild dream-like eyes. "Stay with me, they are everywhere...all the evil I hate it..."

"Of course," Father says, brushing her hair back from her face, "just like when you were little and sick. I read to you from your storybooks and you would curl up into my side—hair in two braids, and a flannel nightgown.

"Why can't I forget?"

"You may never forget, but over time it may not hurt or be as frightening to you," Gilbert says watching her yawn in his arms. "Do you remember the story about the twelve dancing princesses you used to make me read to you?"

She can only nod her head now, eyes dropping with every passing moment.

"I love you Rilla, always." He whispers. "It's alright to be angry at the world, know that. Feel that."

"Min Anderson needs some help," Her father says over the dinner table. when it was just the three-four of them if you counted Susan. As her sibling caught the early train to Redmond, and Shirley went to Queens. "She doesn't live too far, I was hoping that you Rilla could help her with the baby until she gets on her feet a bit more. It will help you gain some experience and keep yourself busy until you're not able to anymore?"

"But—," Rilla says confused and horrified.

"She survived then?" Mother says relieved.

"Barely, whichever doctor who helped with the delivery missed a part of the afterbirth and I had to remove it for her. She'll come around though, named the little boy James though, Jims for short after his father." Father explains simply.

"Has she heard anything from him at all?" Mother says again.

"That I do not know," The doctor shakes his head. "This is wonderful Susan, and the basket was appreciated as well."

"Why me!" Rilla exclaims and both of her parents look at her.

"Pardon?" Her father asks looking at her.

"Why do I have to help? Should I be helping with the war instead?" Rilla tried to argue, not wanting to think of babies. She didn't even like babies.

Her father raises an eyebrow at her outburst.

"Because it will be good for you to get out of the house, Mrs Anderson needs help and sometimes the best thing to do is to help others. You may learn from her and most of all you may gain a friend and experience," her father says sternly but his eyes softening slightly. "Just try for a little bit, eventually you will be stuck here at the house and this will help you combat that restlessness." He says as if his mind is made up.

"That is true, you may not want to leave the house for a while come springtime." Her mother says. "You need to learn how to live in the world again, especially if you wish to make the trip to visit Ken anytime this year as was spoken about."

Rilla can only nod her head. There was little point in arguing over it. Her parents made up their minds it seemed. She takes a bite of her dinner and learns that it does not taste like it usually does.

"Oh my!" She says rushing towards the sink. "That tastes positively rotten."

Susan huffs from her spot but remembers the circumstances takes the plate from Rilla's place at the table and goes toward the ice box for something else. Rilla could have anything she wanted these days if Susan could manage it.

The Anderson's house was small and dingy, when she knocked gently on the door she wished she could run away. The door opens though, and an older woman looks at her. Mrs. Conaway thinks her father once said her name was Meg. All Rilla knew was that she was a brash old lady who drank and smoked.

"Red hair must be the doctor's Daughter," she says leaving the door open for Rilla whose nose upturned slightly. The Blythes weren't the only redheads of the community, Mrs. Conover still has speckles of red in her hair.

"Rilla Blythe—," She starts not sure what name to use anymore. Ford felt too strange to use, even if technically it was her new last name.

"The bedroom is off to the side," She is told and Rilla goes towards it and finds Min Anderson is still pale and sickly, but her face is filled with pure joy as she holds her infant.

"You must be Dr. Blythe's daughter," She says looking up. "That's my Aunt," she explains, her voice was young sounding, and beneath the tiredness and waning illness. She was still young looking with golden blonde hair and bright blue eyes. "Isn't Jims the most precious baby you've ever seen?"

Rilla wants to say that she hasn't seen many babies, she avoids them at church at all costs.

She steals a peak at the red-faced infant, forcing a smile. "He is very…handsome," she settles with. A complete lie, the infant looked like a potato, a wrinkled little potato. She doesn't know what to do, but she sees a basket of clothing half-finished, and another basket of blankets. She takes a deep breath, and ties on her apron. She pushes open the windows and ties back the curtains. She cleans up and sorts through the baskets, answering Mrs. Anderson occasionally.

"You're married?" She notes the ring on Rilla's finger.

"I…" Rilla stammers, hiding her hand. "Circumstances made it so."

"Circumstances? You're a baby yourself?" but then she remembers the gossip and the story, the lingering scar of a cut on the young girl's forehead. "Oh, the harbour search!"

Rilla flinches enough that the other woman notices.

"I'm sorry, that was careless of me," She says trying to apologize.

"It's fine," Rilla says trying to brush it off. "Can take this back home with me? I can finish them for you?" She asks also thinking that maybe she can get Mrs. Meredith to help with a few not so sleazy or cheap clothing. Would her mother be sewing for her one day?

By the time she leaves, the house is more orderly and not once did she have to touch the baby. Who stayed contently with his mother, and not once did she ask Rilla to take him. She has Susan show her how to boil and wash the little gowns that were made, and she even fixes up a few on the sewing machine afterwards. However, she feels like her work is as mediocre as the young mothers which makes her feel guilty for thinking how cheap they looked. What happened to the darling lacy little things she saw babies wear to church?

"What does a baby need?" She looks at her mother. "For Mrs. Anderson, I thought I could help her get a few things. She barely has a blanket for it?"

"Well, they need gowns, and sleepers, cream for diaper rashes and lotion for their skin. Gentle soaps for washing," her mother says looking over towards the doctor who was busily writing but had the look of listening on his face. "A small file and scissors, little mitts sometimes help as well. Receiving clothes for spit up and eventually wooden blocks and toys to keep them distracted when old enough to play around on their stomach roll around."

"Do you think if I…if I pick up a few things for her?" Rilla says. "Would she accept it?"

"I'm sure she would be very gracious about it," her father speaks up. "Though, buying those items…are you ready for such things? It will further cement things and you will receive more questions you may not wish for?"

"I'm going to have them no matter?" Rilla frowns.

"We'll go into town this weekend, we can look in on a few shops and get you a few things as well," her mother tells her and her father nods his head.

"Very well," he says simply as the telephone rings. They all look at it, and her father goes for it first. "I'll be there as soon as possible," he says.

"Where too?" Her mother asks. "Shall I tell Susan to pack you a snack?"

"I'll be fine, just over the harbour," he says taking his things to his office. "You got some mail from Toronto as well. He passes her the letter.

September 1914

Dear Rilla

I'm not really sure what to write, but as an English major, I should be able to spin a letter.

Being back in Toronto is strange after everything but being back at school feels as normal as it can be. A lot of my class is gone, and I'm not entirely sure when I will see them again, a few men remain, Jackson because of his sclerosis and Edmund for his poor hearing in one ear. Max and Jeremy plan to finish up his year before enlisting. A lot of men are here actually, so there are others of course, but out of my group of friends, and the old football team, there is a total of twenty of us, when there were almost forty of us in the English department that I knew about in my general year? The lady co-eds run the campus now, which is strange and I have never been more aware of my actions or words around them.

Persis took the news as well as I expected. She was shocked, I know you and she doesn't really correspond and she mostly writes Di but please ignore if she does send you anything that seems rash. She…is naive about many things and not always the most…she doesn't always see the larger picture when it comes to things. She is a city girl who has lived by the rules of the city and society. She was more worried about another than either of us.

To which I won't hide from you, I had to meet up with a lady I had spent time with last winter. She took it as well as expected, luckily we were in public but it's over and done with and I don't have to worry about it. I had to tell her the truth, but she was too horrified by it that I have a feeling she will never gossip about it. We said goodbye and to told me that when she suggested that I be a hero, she never expected that I would turn into one who rescued the Princess

Please don't think I regret my choice or decision I would choose what I chose a hundred times over. I would choose to help you always. I hope you are doing well, and that you are sleeping even the smallest amount. It can't be good for you, or the baby if you aren't sleeping, so please try for me. The same goes with eating, I stole a book from Mother's bookshelf, and it said that eating a balanced diet is a must.

Speaking of my mother is writing to you. I hope that is okay.

Stay strong

Yours Kenneth