RILLA-HIS-RILLA
Fiction
by
Hannah Saal
by
Hannah Saal
She had said yeth.
Rilla-my-Rilla had said yes. At last, after months of dreaming of the day he would return home and praying she would still be here for him, it was real.
Rilla opened the door and stepped out onto the veranda. They sat in the same places as that far away evening, when Rilla had calmed a screaming Jims and looked like the Madonna doing it.
Ken wondered where everyone was. Rilla explained they were all out, she was home alone. She ducked her head and blushed a little at that. Ken smiled to see it. He wanted some time alone with her, to talk, to remember, to simply breathe in her air.
She asked after his parents. They were well, thrilled to have him back on Canadian soil. He was happy to be back as well. But he’d lost too many over in Europe. He wondered at times why he had made it out when so many had not.
Rilla’s eyes darkened at that. Ken had heard rumor that one of the Blythe boys had not returned home, was buried in the unmarked earth in France. He had hoped it was simply that, a rumor. But seeing Rilla now, he saw the shadow of loss in her eyes, the pain of losing a friend and brother. He longed to hold her and comfort her.
She took a deep breath and explained. Walter would never come home now. She missed him sorely, all her family did. The loss had hit her mother hard. She was no longer the same happy mother of six she had once been. Her father was bearing it better, though slightly. Jem returning home had done much to bring joy back to the house.
Ken asked if Dog Monday had returned as well, now that his hero was back. Rilla laughed, Ken’s heart stuttered at the sound. Yes, Dog Monday was back from his vigil and could not be parted from his master.
They talked hours more, about the world before the war and the world to come after. It felt like a completely new world. Rilla agreed. Even here, in this small corner of the earth, the war had left a lasting scar and now they would all learn to live with it. They would all keep the faith, as Walter had instructed Rilla to do.
Ken stood and came to where she sat. He took her hand in his and raised her to her feet. He studied her hand. It wasn’t soft as he once had imagined, this hand had seen work over these last months and years. But it was still beautiful and smooth.
“I wish I’d brought a ring to give you.”
Rilla ducked her head, a blush on her cheeks. After a moment, she looked up and smiled at him, her starlight eyes shining, the dent in her lip as sweet as ever.
“I don’t need a ring, Ken, as long as I have you.”
He smiled. His heart pounded to hear her say so. He did have a ring in mind for her, he would speak with his father about it when he returned home. He wanted a ring on her finger, a proof to the world that she was Rilla-his-Rilla, at long last.
Rilla-my-Rilla had said yes. At last, after months of dreaming of the day he would return home and praying she would still be here for him, it was real.
Rilla opened the door and stepped out onto the veranda. They sat in the same places as that far away evening, when Rilla had calmed a screaming Jims and looked like the Madonna doing it.
Ken wondered where everyone was. Rilla explained they were all out, she was home alone. She ducked her head and blushed a little at that. Ken smiled to see it. He wanted some time alone with her, to talk, to remember, to simply breathe in her air.
She asked after his parents. They were well, thrilled to have him back on Canadian soil. He was happy to be back as well. But he’d lost too many over in Europe. He wondered at times why he had made it out when so many had not.
Rilla’s eyes darkened at that. Ken had heard rumor that one of the Blythe boys had not returned home, was buried in the unmarked earth in France. He had hoped it was simply that, a rumor. But seeing Rilla now, he saw the shadow of loss in her eyes, the pain of losing a friend and brother. He longed to hold her and comfort her.
She took a deep breath and explained. Walter would never come home now. She missed him sorely, all her family did. The loss had hit her mother hard. She was no longer the same happy mother of six she had once been. Her father was bearing it better, though slightly. Jem returning home had done much to bring joy back to the house.
Ken asked if Dog Monday had returned as well, now that his hero was back. Rilla laughed, Ken’s heart stuttered at the sound. Yes, Dog Monday was back from his vigil and could not be parted from his master.
They talked hours more, about the world before the war and the world to come after. It felt like a completely new world. Rilla agreed. Even here, in this small corner of the earth, the war had left a lasting scar and now they would all learn to live with it. They would all keep the faith, as Walter had instructed Rilla to do.
Ken stood and came to where she sat. He took her hand in his and raised her to her feet. He studied her hand. It wasn’t soft as he once had imagined, this hand had seen work over these last months and years. But it was still beautiful and smooth.
“I wish I’d brought a ring to give you.”
Rilla ducked her head, a blush on her cheeks. After a moment, she looked up and smiled at him, her starlight eyes shining, the dent in her lip as sweet as ever.
“I don’t need a ring, Ken, as long as I have you.”
He smiled. His heart pounded to hear her say so. He did have a ring in mind for her, he would speak with his father about it when he returned home. He wanted a ring on her finger, a proof to the world that she was Rilla-his-Rilla, at long last.
Hannah Saal is originally from northern New Jersey, and is a graduate of Harvard College (Class of 2017), with a major in English and minor in Folklore and Mythology. She's currently working as a paralegal at an IP law firm in Boston, living in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Her short story, “A Taste of Home, Lips So Close, Heart So Far,” has been accepted for publication in the 42 Story Anthology by BAMWrites. Her short story, “Thou Shalt Not Suffer,” was a finalist in Fairfield Scribe’s annual anthology contest. She has studied with Bret Johnston, Claire Messud, Martin Roper, Jamie O’Connell, Éilís Ní Dhuibhne, and Yiyun Li, at both Harvard College and University of Iowa’s Irish Writing Program. She wrote a novella as her creative thesis with Paul Yoon.