Joy of Ingleside
Ingleside
Kingsport, Nova Scotia
September 2016
Ingleside was silent as Joy Blythe whispered down the wide, parquet-floored corridor toward the kitchen. Past the office where her father's many diplomas and awards tested the limits of the built-in bookcase, past the spacious library with its glorious two-story windows beginning to glow rosy in the dawn, and through the soaring entrance hall where Nan and Di had assembled enough luggage and furniture to outfit an entire dorm. Joy noted with approval that they were taking along one of Grandmother Marilla's braided rugs, though the various furry, sequined, and zebra-stripe pillows suggested that their domestic decor would be . . . eclectic. She only hoped their new roommate would have a sense of humor about it.
Joy turned the corner, skimming past the living room and the vast fireplace that Mum and Dad had kept intact even as they renovated and expanded the rest of the house. Mum believed that too old houses are sad and too young houses are crude, so they had aimed for the best of both, incorporating bits of Ingleside's original architecture where they could. They re-installed the moulding on the new ceilings, re-framed the original stained glass sidelights on wider doors, and used the salvaged balusters as uprights for the library bookcases when they took out the stairs. As a result, Ingleside did not feel quite as new as it was, always retaining the flavor of the older house while providing every modern convenience to the inhabitants.
As she passed the dining room, Joy realized that she was not, in fact, the only person awake. The dulcet tones of Josh Groban crooning from the kitchen could only mean that Susan had her own ideas about breakfast on this most important of mornings. Joy rolled to a stop in the doorway to watch the tight gray bun bob along as Susan sprinkled cinnamon over a rectangle of dough on the marble-top island. When she joined the choir in their ecstatic You raise me up, Joy gave herself away with a fond chuckle.
"Now, there's the real secret to your cinnamon rolls," Joy said, smiling as she glided into the room. "I never realized they needed encouragement as well as yeast."
"A little inspiration never goes amiss," Susan sniffed. "How are you feeling this morning, dearie?"
Joy waved away the perpetual question. "You must have gotten up very early if that dough's already had time to rise once."
"Indeed I did not. Shirley started it."
"Susan." Joy put a note of reproach in the name, but it was still a moment before Susan realized her mistake.
"Oh!" She sighed in exasperation. "John. John started it. It's just so hard to get used to a change like that at my age."
Joy was not unsympathetic. She still caught John's old name on the tip of her own tongue several times a week, but they'd had all summer to practice.
"I know you're doing your best," Joy said gently. "But he wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."
"At least John is a good, Christian name," Susan said grimly as she rolled the dough into a tight spiral. "Young people come up with all sorts of odd things these days. But John is a name that will wear well in the washing."
"Where is he, anyway?"
"Running, of course."
Of course. How very silly to think that a little thing like starting his freshman year at Redmond would cause John to alter his routine even for a day. Perhaps that's why the announcement of his name change on his 18th birthday still felt like a surprise five months later. John wasn't one to try on new names like Di experimented with hair colors or Walter with poetic forms. He had probably been planning the change for years.
When Susan had set her cinnamon rolls in the pan to proof again, she began to chop green onions and chilies. Joy settled herself in the little nook beside the squashy armchair under the windows, looking out past the mudroom, over the circular driveway, and to the vibrant late-summer garden beyond. Dr. Jekyll was perched primly along the back of the armchair, his orange bottlebrush tail twitching as he watched a pair of cardinals flit tantalizingly from one bird feeder to another. He paid Joy no mind and she made no move to disturb his entertainment.
Instead, Joy turned her attention to the music. No one could persuade Susan to give up the portable CD player she carried back and forth from her cottage to the kitchen, but the rest of them were connected to the house Sonos system through their phones. Dad took great pleasure in demonstrating its powers to visitors, particularly at the annual Christmas party, when Ingleside was thrown open to friends, colleagues, and neighbors. But the doctor had no power over Susan's little CD player, which got along perfectly well without wifi.*
Joy scrolled through her playlists, looking for something upbeat that wouldn't make Susan glare at her, but before she could settle on something mutually agreeable, her attention was redirected by the slamming of a car door in the driveway. She looked up to see a jet-black SUV and a bobbing crown of carrot-colored curls peeking over the roof. A moment later, a tall form bounded up the back ramp and through the mudroom like a loose-limbed puppy, letting the kitchen door bang against the wall when he opened it.
"Jem!" Joy squealed, flinging her arms wide for a hug.
Her brother obliged, depositing a flimsy cardboard box and a bouquet on the island and bending to embrace her. He had inherited Dad's long, strong arms, the sort that seemed made for lifeguarding and giving the very best hugs. How Joy had missed him this past year, and how good it was to have him home and safe at last. Text messages and FaceTime were all very well, but Joy was relieved that he'd decided to come back to Kingsport for medical school after all. He'd been back more than two weeks, visiting Ingleside practically every day, but it still felt like a treat to see him.
"Take a first day of school selfie with me?" Jem asked, producing his phone and crouching down beside her. Joy gave a thumbs up and grinned as he snapped the photo.
"When do your classes really start?" Joy asked as he tapped away on his screen.
"Orientation starts tomorrow and then classes on Tuesday."
They were interrupted by a pointed cough from Susan.
"Susan! Good morning!"
"Jem. Shoes, please."
"Oh, sorry!" Jem said, backtracking to the mudroom to take off his shoes. He rummaged for a pair of Dad's house slippers and reemerged with a sheepish smile and a hug for Susan as well. "Sorry. I've gotten out of the habit."
Joy took the opportunity to investigate the box, which contained a very acceptable quantity of blueberry fritters.
"You're up early," she observed as Jem handed her a plate.
"Had to be," Jem smirked. "Rescue Ducks is on at 6:30 and you know I never miss an episode."
Joy rolled her eyes. "Please, no. It's Saturday and I absolutely refuse to think about those pestilential little birds when I'm not on the clock."
"I love it!" Jem teased, rummaging in the cupboard for a vase. "This morning, Drake and Mallard had had some sort of run-in with a surly beaver. Though someday you'll have to explain to me why they need to wear lifejackets in the water. They are ducks, after all."
Joy groaned. How many pitched battles had she fought over the inscrutable laws of the Rescue Ducks universe? The other writers barely seemed to care about continuity, let alone basic logic. All they cared about was dashing off scripts that got past Higginson's not-very-exacting standards. No one else was bothered over the nonsensical decision to color Lucky bright pink when all the other Rescue Ducks had stylized-but-realistic plumage, nor that Mack wore a full slicker and sou'wester when he was obviously a duck and thus already impervious to wet, nor that Canard . . .
"I always watch til the end so I can see your name in the credits," Jem continued without mercy.
Joy was spared the necessity of replying by the timely arrival of Dad. It was odd to have him home on a Saturday morning, but he must have made arrangements with Dr. Wilson to cover for him. After all, the first day of school came but once a year.
"We weren't expecting you so early," Dad said, giving Jem a hearty slap on the back. "Hope you aren't giving your sister a hard time."
"Never," Jem agreed, winking at Joy.
"Rescue Ducks is on Netflix now, you know," Dad said as he filled the coffee pot, hazel eyes twinkling with real pride, even as Joy squirmed. Dad maintained that there was nothing unworthy or ridiculous in earning an honest penny by writing for a hit show.** It was a very sensible position, but Joy could not reconcile herself to it. Luckily, Mother was more sympathetic to the indignity and they had had many long and reassuring talks about the difference between writing for the sake of one's bank account rather than the state of one's soul. Rescue Ducks let Joy save up her own money and keep a flexible schedule with plenty of time to work on other writing. She really couldn't complain. But oh, those blasted lifejackets!
When Susan assured them that it would still be an hour til breakfast, Jem and Dad went to carry the twins' belongings out to Jem's car with much discussion of futons and bungee cords and roof racks. Joy wiped her sugary fingers on a dish towel and turned once more to the question of music, but got no further than she had before.
The mudroom door clattered open again, admitting a rosy-cheeked John, brown hair disheveled and sweaty from his run. Joy watched through the kitchen windows as he exchanged his sneakers for house slippers, marveling as she often did these days that her littlest brother was all grown up. She could easily remember the tiny baby her parents had brought home after so many arduous weeks in the NICU, and suddenly felt older than twenty-five has any right to feel.
John came in through the kitchen door, nodding a silent greeting toward his sister before taking his place at Susan's side. If anybody else had leaned over the counter to nick bits of Spam out from under her knife, Susan would have told them off in a hurry, but she only smiled at John and nudged a larger piece in his direction. He was her own darling boy, after all, and he was leaving. Redmond might only be a ten-minute drive across Kingsport, but it was still a change, and Joy had not doubt that Susan felt it keenly.
Joy did not grudge them their closeness. She loved Susan, of course, but had never been able to enjoy the voluntary bond that attached John and Susan in mutual affection. Now that she was an adult, Joy appreciated Susan more than she ever had as a resentful teenager, but that had quite a lot to do with the fact that Susan had retired when Joy graduated from Redmond, and no longer worked as her personal aide.
These days, Susan spent her time tending her calceolarias or teaching John the secret to shiny-shelled macarons, at least when she wasn't at church. There had been many homes open to Susan when she retired — she had standing offers from her sister Matilda, her niece Gladys, and her Cousin Sophia — but she had elected to stay in the little garden cottage she had occupied for the past two decades. There was always a cup of tea and sympathy there for the Blythe children, and Susan still joined them for festive occasions. After all, it was a different thing altogether to associate out of pleasure than necessity.
"Have you already packed the car?" Susan asked, opening the top half of the double oven and popping in the pan of cinnamon rolls.
"Yes," John assured her patiently.
"You have your skates?"
"Yes."
"And your paperwork?"
"Yes."
"I have this for you." Susan retrieved a pretty tin from the counter and presented it to him without ceremony.
Joy craned her neck to see what might be inside, catching only the briefest glimpse of delicate tea cookies in shades of green and pink and goldenrod before John replaced the lid.
"감사합니다," he said, flustering Susan when he bent to kiss her cheek. "They're exactly the Susan brand."***
She shooed him out of the kitchen with orders to take a shower, looking pleased despite herself. Joy's conscience gave a pang; over all the years she and Susan had spent together, Joy had never learned more than a few simple words in Korean. But again, their relationship had been professional, where John regarded Susan almost as a second mother. He had even accompanied her to the Korean Church on occasion in his childhood, which was an honor never bestowed on any of the other Blythes.
"Are you going to Bible Study later?" Joy asked, making an effort to show interest.
Susan cracked eggs into a bowl. "Yes, and I am staying to lunch with Cousin Sophia afterward, so you will be alone with Rilla. Can you manage?"
"Rilla's sixteen, Susan. She hardly needs a babysitter."
"Who needs a babysitter?" This from Mum, who had floated into the kitchen that very moment in black cigarette pants and green top embellished with an oversized pin proclaiming "PROUD REDMOND PARENT, CLASS OF 2020" that was sure to delight John.
"No one at all," Joy said emphatically as she accepted a greeting kiss. "I think you may rest assured that Ingleside is quite safe from the patter of little feet for the foreseeable future."
"Ah, but the future is never foreseeable, is it?" Mum laughed.
"Indeed it is not, Mrs. Dr. dear," Susan agreed.
Mum admired the flowers Jem had brought, then tied on an apron and inquired after the most useful employment. Susan directed her to concoct a fruit salad, which she was still doing when Nan and Di appeared in the doorway.
"Something smells wonderful," Nan proclaimed. "How can we help?"
"You'd better go look after your luggage," Joy advised them. "I think Jem's tying things to the roof of his car."
Nan peered through the kitchen windows and gave a little yelp, hurrying out through the mudroom to intervene before catastrophe befell them all. Di, unconcerned, helped herself to a blueberry fritter. The pastry was nowhere near as brilliant as her hair, which her stylist had done in a striking ombre pixie, indigo on the undercut and moving through royal blue and sky to the frost-spiked tips.
"Will you and Nan be alright with just Jem to help you move in?" Mum asked. "Dad and I can come over after we get your brother settled. We'd love to meet your roommate."
"We'll be fine," Di assured her through a mouthful of doughnut. "Besides, we're not expecting Faith til the afternoon, so no sense waiting around. I'm sure you'll meet her sooner or later."
"Has Nan met her?" Joy asked.
Di shrugged. "She's seen her around campus. And we've FaceTimed with her a couple of times this past week. It'll be fine."
Joy shot a skeptical look toward her mother, only to see it mirrored back to her in matching gray-green eyes. Bringing in an unknown roommate at the last moment was hardly a recipe for domestic tranquility. But Persis Ford had left the twins in the lurch by accepting a place off the waitlist for a year abroad in Milan, and there had been quite a scramble to keep their plum three-person suite at Cooper Hall.
"Remind me again how you know this girl?" Mum said with one copper brow arched.
Di leaned against the island and licked sugar from her fingers. "She's on the basketball team with Ariana. I've met her a few times at team parties. Her suite fell apart because the other two girls had a blow-out fight over the summer and aren't speaking anymore. Housing said they'd find us a third when Persis left, but Ari knew Faith was looking for a room and that's that."
"And you and Ariana are on good terms?"
"Mum, we broke up like a year ago. It's fine. Don't worry so much."
Mum did not look convinced, but there wasn't a lot to be done at this point. Joy supposed that this unknown Faith could hardly be worse than Nan's freshman roommate, who couldn't get it through her head that yes, nut allergy included peanut butter and no, it was not safe to consume the stuff morning, noon, and night in a room where Nan was soon afraid to touch any surface. Well, if it came to it, Dad could pay another visit to the Housing Office; Joy doubted that two years was enough time for the staff to have forgotten him.
The cinnamon rolls were beginning to smell a good deal like cinnamon rolls. Susan arranged ovals of rolled omelette on a platter and handed a plate to Di to display the remaining doughnuts. These were carried out to the dining room with due reverence and the table set with china rather than the ordinary dishes. It was a silly little tradition, treating the first day of school as if it were a minor holiday. Still, Joy could remember these breakfasts all the way back to the day she started kindergarten. She had had new pink glasses, and remembered Mum and Dad each holding one of the newborn twins as Jem scarfed down waffles and Walter examined the minute details of his new velcro shoes. There would only be a few more like it, what with John off to college and Rilla's sophomore year of high school starting next week.
"RILLA!" Someone had evidently asked Di to rouse the youngest Blythe, which she had decided to do with volume rather than proximity. "RILLA! Breakfast's on! Wake up!"
Instead, she summoned only a fresh-scrubbed John, who took his place at the table in silence, though the dirty look he threw in Di's direction said plainly enough that he wished she'd stop screaming. The others trooped in from out of doors, Nan and Jem arguing the finer points of bungee etiquette while Dad helped Susan carry in the coffee and juice. When Rilla did not appear, Mum went to fetch her, leaving the rest of the family to fill their plates and start without them.
Before the first forkful could be eaten, a tinny fanfare from the head of the table interrupted the general clatter of plates and cutlery.
"No phones at the table!" Jem and Di chorused as one.
"I know, I know!" Dad said, smiling down at his phone. "But I think you'll want me to take this one."
He accepted the call, then turned in his seat so they could all see the smiling, gray-eyed face on the screen.
"Walter!"
There was a general uproar as various Blythes clamored for a better look. Walter beamed under a knitted beanie, his black hair grown long enough to peek out from under the band and his finely modeled nose slightly sunburnt.
"Happy first day of school!" he waved. "I think I got the time right, didn't I?"
"Perfect," Di assured him. "We were just sitting down to breakfast."
"Where are you?" Jem asked.
"Kathmandu. I got in yesterday and have a few days to see the sights before the retreat starts."
Nan rested her elbows on the table and leaned closer. "How long will you be gone?"
"A month or so. We'll be trekking through the Himalayas from one monastery to another and then doing meditation retreats at each. No cell phone, no internet. It's glorious!"
Joy stifled a little snort. It was slightly difficult to reconcile Walter's professed Luddite ideals with the carefully curated Instagram account that documented every dew-dappled blossom and artfully distressed tile floor he had encountered during his travels this summer. Every once in a while, he'd drop in a quotation from Yeats or Kerouac for variety. It was at least as embarrassing as the damned Rescue Ducks, though no one else seemed to notice.
Mum came in, trailing a bleary-eyed Rilla in camisole and fuzzy slippers.
"Walter!" Rilla exclaimed, waking up all at once. She took the phone from Dad, tucking a ruddy-brown curl behind her ear and asking earnestly after the details of Walter's recent travels. Mum followed on with raptures about the view visible in the background while the others chewed as quietly as possible. Joy allowed Jem to pour her a glass of juice and nibbled a slice of omelette until Rilla passed the phone to Susan.
"Hi, Susan!" Walter beamed. "And hi, Joy!"
"Silent retreat, eh?" Joy asked. "Are you allowed to do any writing?"
"Nope. I can't even bring a notebook. It's all about mindfulness. Getting rid of distractions. Noticing small things."
"And prayer?" Susan inquired.
"Of course," he agreed. "I'm really looking forward to the spiritual aspects of the practice."
Joy forced a smile as she took the phone. "It sounds very . . . peaceful."
"I hope so," Walter nodded. "And how are things with you? Cartoon still going well?"
"Swimmingly."
"Making any progress on your novel?"
"Uhhh . . ."
Jem flew to Joy's aid by flinging an arm around her shoulder and turned the full wattage of the Blythe grin toward his brother. "Hey, Walt! You have proper hiking gear, right?"
Joy gladly surrendered the phone to a discussion of socks and thermal layers, feeling annoyed at her own annoyance. It was a perfectly ordinary question, but it grated all the same. Surely another writer should understand, shouldn't he? But no, Walter was irritatingly prolific for someone who claimed not really to write but merely to serve as a vessel for the muse. Some of his stuff wasn't half bad either, which only doubled Joy's irritation.
When Walter had provided satisfactory answers to Jem's quizzing, he finished his rounds, asking the twins to say hello to mutual friends and wishing John luck at Redmond. Then, with a final wave and a promise to Mum and Dad that he would call or write sometime before Thanksgiving, Walter blinked out of existence.
"I hope he ends up enjoying himself," Di said as she munched a cinnamon roll. "A month's an awfully long time to be stuck there if he doesn't."
Nan poured herself another cup of coffee. "I think he's more in danger of being over-inspired. All that natural beauty and no notebook to write it down!"
"I just hope he packs lighter than the two of you," Jem smirked. "It's like a Griswold family vacation out there."
The twins protested that packing two people's belongings into a single SUV was the very definition of economy.
"Really?" Jem teased. "I'll bet you dollars to donuts that the two of you have packed four times as much as Sh . . . John."
Joy flicked her gaze toward John, wondering if he had heard the slip. If he had, he did not react to it, eyes riveted to his plate as he ate his eggs.
Mum covered the awkward moment by chiming a spoon against her teacup.
"Another First Day of School!" she said, smiling around the table at them all. "I had planned to make an excellent speech about mutual help and earnest striving after knowledge, but I'm afraid I can't remember a word of it.**** Instead, I will only say that I'm so very proud of you all and hope that you will have the most delightful year, full of fun and friends and maybe a leetle studying."
"Hear, hear!" Dad agreed, raising his coffee in salute.
*/*/*
When they had cleared the dishes and finished the packing and hugged their various goodbyes, the Redmond-bound Blythes piled into their vehicles. Joy waved farewell from the veranda, watching the cars until they disappeared around a leafy bend in the road.
Susan checked her watch. "Cousin Sophia will be waiting for me. Are you sure you girls are alright on your own?"
"We'll be fine Susan," Joy said through gritted teeth. "Anyway, I think Rilla's headed back to bed."
"Good idea," Rilla yawned.
Susan frowned, but did not scold. She checked her handbag for her Bible and the most recent issue of Horizons — "The Magazine for Presbyterian Women!" — which bristled with pastel post-it flags. Then she waved goodbye and freed the Blythe girls to improve the day as they saw fit.
When Susan and Rilla had both gone, Joy skimmed down the hall to the library, sliding the faux-French doors shut behind her with a sigh of relief.
Alone at last.
She wheeled past the plush sofa and book-lined walls to the desk tucked beneath the soaring windows. No ducks today. She had a session with Sylvia at 3:00, but until then, the day was full of nothing except possibility.
She opened her laptop. No distractions, she thought, closing her email and Twitter. She hesitated over the iMessage box that ran perpetually at the left side of her screen, seeing that Jem had already sent their selfie to the family chat thread, his red curls exuberant next to her sleek brown plait. She'd check in later. But for now, she closed that, too.
Then Joy created a new Scrivener document and stared at the blinking cursor.
Notes:
* "The doctor, quite unmoved, responded that the law must be observed, and the Ingleside clocks were moved on accordingly. But the doctor had no power over Susan's little alarm.
"I bought that with my own money, Mrs. Dr. dear," she said firmly, "and it shall go on God's time and not Borden's time."
Susan got up and went to bed by "God's time," and regulated her own goings and comings by it. She served the meals, under protest, by Borden's time, and she had to go to church by it, which was the crowning injury. But she said her prayers by her own clock, and fed the hens by it; so that there was always a furtive triumph in her eye when she looked at the doctor. She had got the better of him by so much at least." Rilla of Ingleside, Chapter 30: "The Turning of the Tide"
**"The Reds will think just as I thought—that you, being like nine out of ten of us, not overburdened with worldly wealth, had taken this way of earning an honest penny to help yourself through the year. I don't see that there's anything low or unworthy about that, or anything ridiculous either. One would rather write masterpieces of literature no doubt—but meanwhile board and tuition fees have to be paid." Anne of the Island, Chapter 15, "A Dream Turned Upside Down"
***감사합니다, (gamsahamnida): thank you (respectfully). (Though if anyone who speaks fluent Korean wants to beta read, please let me know!)
****Anne of Avonlea, Chapter 5: "A Full-fledged Schoolma'am"
Hello, all! After spending a long time on the WWI and WWII stories, I thought it would be fun to do something lighter. This is a modern AU adaptation of Anne of Ingleside, Rainbow Valley, and parts of Rilla of Ingleside. I'm not saying it will be all puppies and rainbows 100% of the time, but I'm going for TV dramedy, not a war story.
A word about organization: this story is organized into "seasons" like a TV show. Season 1 will cover the Fall 2016 semester. After that, I'll take a break and if I'm still having fun, I'll write Season 2. I'm hoping that breaking it up that way will be good for my stamina, my publishing schedule, and making the structure of the story clearer. My intention is to publish on Fridays.