by Nancy M Bell
“Not that many, thank goodness. I don’t know why your father insists on a late night before Christmas Day. The boys are bedding down out in the hayloft, it’s not so cold out that they’ll freeze. Drag the pallets out of storage and get fresh linens from the press. Set them up in the front parlour and make sure the fire will last the night. Don’t put any little ones near the stove, mind.” Mother hurried off still muttering to herself.
Annie started when George ghosted by her with a light touch to her waist and a secret smile just for her.
Chapter Nine
Christmas Day was a blur of noise and colour and, for Annie, chockablock full of work. There was no time to steal even a precious minute with George. It was hard not to keep searching for him with her eyes. The few times their eyes met it was like an unspoken communication passed between them and filled her with happiness. Annie had never felt anything like this before and was at sixes and sevens to know how to deal with her emotions.
Finally, the festivities were over and the guests were preparing to leave. Father was talking to the Millers in the front hall while George waited a respectful distance behind them. Annie took the opportunity to be near him with the excuse of fetching him his coat and hat. She was inordinately pleased to see the mitts she’d given him sticking out of the pockets. Her fingers lingered on his as she passed him the coat and she thrilled at the light in his eyes as he took the garment. The spell of intimacy was broken by Father slapping Mister Miller on the back and wishing him Happy Christmas and a prosperous New Year. Her ears burned with rage earlier when she overheard her father complimenting Mister Miller on his charitable nature for including the ‘English orphan’. Pompous, both of them. It’s Christmas for heaven’s sake, it shouldn’t be about what the neighbors think, but about being kind.
Annie hid her flushed face and hurried to gather the wraps of the next set of departing guests. Her head was full of plans to see George before he left in January. George, her fiancé. The thought gave her a queer feeling, as if she were embarking on a great adventure with no idea what to expect. There was no one she could talk to about it. Even if she confided in one of her girlfriends somehow it would get out and it was too new and precious to spoil by sharing it with someone other than George.
* * *
The weather took a turn for the worse sometime in the early hours of Boxing Day. The blizzard lasted almost a full five days and the drifts were piled so high on the fields and the roads that travel was impossible. Annie spent more hours than she cared to count out in the wind and snow shovelling paths to the barn, the pig pen, the chicken and sheep house and the well. The water in the buckets froze quickly and it was almost a full time job keeping them free of ice. Father finally moved the pigs and sheep into the barn. They herded them along the narrow cleared path with no incident. Annie and Mother bundled the chickens up and took them to the barn as well. With the loft still full of fragrant hay and the heat the cows and horses threw off the water buckets only had a skim of ice to break. Annie smiled at the chickens making themselves at home roosting on the stall partitions and scratching in the straw.
She sighed, finding eggs in the morning would be a chore, but at least the silly things wouldn’t freeze where they sat. Her thoughts were never far from George and as the days ticked by the possibility of seeing him before he went to the train became slimmer and slimmer. In the privacy of her room, hers alone now that Rotha was in Trenton and Alice gone off to Ireland, she replayed every moment of that magical night on the landing. She smiled every time she crossed the landing and started downstairs. If she closed her eyes and tried hard enough she could actually see him sitting there waiting for her.
The new year of 1917 came and went with no letup of the cold and snowy conditions. Annie fretted at the deep drifts that kept the family isolated from news. The only information came by word of mouth from those brave or desperate enough to slog through the weather to reach medical help. Father was still the only person a lot of locals trusted to administer to their bodily needs.
There was no word from George and Annie sometimes worried the things she remembered from Christmas Eve were just a sugar plum dream conjured up by her imagination. But late at night, tucked warmly in bed when by rights she should have been asleep, she replayed the innocent caresses and kisses, especially the kisses, and knew it was real.
* * *
The weather finally broke in mid-January. Thank goodness for the January thaw, Annie thought while the eaves dripped the melting snow that would transform into rainbow icicles as night fell. Of course, it also meant the darn snow melted into slush making sloppy going when she went about her chores. Wet snow and mud clung to the hem of her skirts and found its way through the seams of her work boots. Bother, she would have to rub them with sheep grease tonight even if they wouldn’t be quite dry after evening chores. If she left them too near the kitchen stove the leather would crack, but otherwise the interior would still be damp and cold come morning.
Muttering, she sidestepped to avoid a small icy lake lying in the middle of the barn yard. A faint ‘hallo’ carried on the wind causing her to whirl around and look toward the end of the snowy lane. The sun reflected off the blanket of white setting her eyes to watering. She blinked to clear them and raised a mittened hand to shade her face. Yes, there was a small figure, black against the heaped drifts, fighting its way toward the house. Chores forgotten for the moment, Annie gathered her sodden skirts and hurried back to the house.
“Someone’s coming!” She closed the door behind her to keep the heat in and shucked her snowy boots in the small mud room off the kitchen. “Mother, Father! Company coming up the lane,” she called into the interior of the house. From the study came the sound of a book closing sharply and then Father’s footsteps as he went to the front door. Annie glanced at her filthy hems and shrugged. It was most likely someone come to see about a medical ailment or to see if Father could come out to a patient too sick to come themselves. Warming her hands at the stove for a minute to thaw her fingers, she filled the kettle and set it to boil. No matter what the purpose of the visit, a pot of tea and biscuits would be in order. Annie smiled. Mother refused to acknowledge she was no longer living in the high society of Dublin, every visitor no matter how ragged was offered tea and biscuits and polite conversation if they were so inclined. If any one came expecting a tot of whiskey to warm them they were sadly mistaken. Father was a teetotaller and refused to have drink in the house. She wondered if he guessed about Steve and Evan’s now neglected stash under the floor boards of the wood shed.
The thought of her brothers made her think about the war and that made her think about George and Peter. Her pulse quickened, maybe the caller came from town and had thought to bring the mail and Father’s much anticipated newspapers. Maybe there would be word from George, a note left for her at Arlo’s, if not a real letter. There wouldn’t have been enough time for a letter to get to her, even if it was just coming from Valcartier in Quebec. She paused in the act of pouring boiling water into the tea pot to warm it. Imagine, George is in Quebec! It must be so exciting to see all those new places. Why, I’ve never been farther than Renfrew or Killaloe. I wonder does he have to speak French? I would be so lost, Father insisted I learn a bit of Latin, but French?
“Annie, I declare I don’t what is wrong with you?” Mother hurried into the room her shoes tapping impatiently on the wood floor. “Quit your woolgathering and wet the tea.” Shaking her head and throwing her daughter speaking looks, Ella Baldwin bustled about taking down the good cups and saucers and setting out the biscuits reserved for special guests on a dainty Irish linen doily on the cake plate. “Bring the tea in when it’s ready.” She stopped in the doorway, cake plate in hand and took in Annie’s dishabille, eyes narrowing in exasperation. “Never mind, do get cleaned up and then join us in the parlour.”
Annie blinked at her mother’s back disappearing through the door into the hall. Me? Why ever do they want me in the parlour? Oh, Lord don’t
let it be bad news. Her hand shook so the hot water spilled from the tea pot onto the counter. She threw a dish towel over the puddle and swished the remaining water around the china pot before dumping it into the slop bucket. Setting the now warmed teapot on the counter she reached for the tea caddy. Measuring the correct amount she added it to the delicate china pot followed by the boiling water. The knitted tea cosy looked oddly cheerful when she drew it over the pot and left the tea on the table for Mother to collect. The murmur of voices came from the half-closed door of the parlour and she was sorely tempted to listen for a minute. Instead, she gathered her heavy skirts and took the stairs two at a time. Annie shimmied out of the skirts and underskirts, leaving them in a puddle on the floor before changing her stockings and pulling on a clean but serviceable brown skirt and blouse. After all, once the business with the visitor was done she still had chores to attend to.
Annie gave her hair a lick and a promise, shoving the hairpins back into her bun. There was nothing she could do about the tendrils drifting around her temples right now so she would have to do.
Rather than bound down the steps in the way that made her mother sigh, Annie went slow, taking the time to compose herself for whatever lay ahead. She paused at the parlour door and rapped with a knuckle. Father insisted on his privacy and she would never dream of entering a room he was in without permission.
“Come, Annabelle,” he ordered.
She pushed the door open and stepped in. Mister Miller sat in the Morris chair opposite Father by the fire. Mother was perched on the love seat, the tea tray before her. Annie halted, her heart in her throat. What is Mister Miller doing here? Fear sent the blood rushing from her head. Did he find out about me and George somehow? How could he? George would never have said anything.
“Annabelle, where are your manners?” Father frowned at her.
“Hello, Mister Miller.” Annie dropped a tiny curtsey, just like Mother insisted was proper.
“Good day to you, Miss Baldwin.” He smiled at her, blue eyes twinkling. “You’re far to grown up a young lady now for me to call you by your Christian name.”
“Come sit down, child.” Father waved her further into the room, indicating she take a seat by her mother.
Annie was grateful her skirt hid the fact her knees were trembling. She glanced at her mother in inquiry and received a faint shrug in reply. So Mother has no idea what is going on either. The knowledge did nothing to calm her nerves. I wonder where Ivan is.
Father leaned forward and set his tea on the small occasional table between the two men. “So tell me, Seth. What brings you all the way out here with the roads in this condition?”
The humour in Seth Miller’s eyes faded and he glanced at Ella. “I finally managed to get into town this morning and Arlo asked if I’d mind collecting your mail.” He indicated the waxed leather satchel leaning against the chair leg. “Your London papers are there and some letters…”
“That was very kind of you, Seth—”
The other man held up a hand to forestall him. “There’s something else and I agree with Arlo it couldn’t wait.”
Mother gripped Annie’s hand so tight it hurt, her other hand pressed to her throat. Annie glanced at her, her own heart thundering in her ears so she could hardly hear the two men. Seth Miller reached into an inner pocket of his coat and pulled out something that crackled like folded paper. “This came a week ago, but the roads have been impassable or Arlo would have found some way to get it to you sooner.” He handed the folded paper to Father. Annie looked on fascinated, like being enthralled by the cold dark stare of a serpent.
Carefully, Father unfolded the telegram. For she could see it was a telegram now. Black spots clouded her vision and she realized she was holding her breath. Mother drew in a quivering breath and squeezed Annie’s hand so her nails bit into the flesh. His eyes moved as he scanned the brief message and then passed his hand over his eyes.
“What is it, Harold. For God’s sake tell me.” Mother’s words were choked as if her throat was too narrow to allow them to pass.
“It’s Steve,” he said, eyes still on the yellow paper in his hand. “He’s been reported Missing In Action.”
“When, when was it?” Annie was amazed she could speak.
“November. In France, near some place called Ancre. In the Somme, I believe,” Father’s voice was emotionless.
“I’m sorry to bring such bad news.” Seth cleared his throat. “There’s still hope of course, Missing in Action means he could be in hospital somewhere unable to say who he is.”
“Or her could be dead. Oh my poor baby.” Mother dissolved in tears on Annie’s shoulder.
“Mister Miller’s right, isn’t he, Father? You know the papers are full of stories about fellows people thought were dead suddenly reappearing. If he was gassed maybe he can’t talk…” She patted her mother’s back awkwardly. It was so unlike the woman to display any emotion at all, let alone in front of male company.
Father roused himself and seemed to notice his wife’s distress for the first time. “Take your mother upstairs, Annabelle. She’s had a shock. Get her to lie down and I’ll be up with a potion to calm her shortly.”
“Yes, Father.” The last thing Annie wanted to do was leave before she found out all there was to know about Steve, but Father had dismissed her and there was no point in arguing. Besides Mother was likely to weep herself into a faint if she kept up the way she was. “Come, Mother. Wouldn’t you like to lie down for a bit?” She stood and pulled the woman up with her. “Good day, Mister Miller,” she said before guiding her out of the room and up the stairs. It was strange to be in her parent’s room. Annie couldn’t remember if she’d ever been further than the threshold. She helped Mother lay down and got a cold cloth for her face, wringing it out in the basin by the window. Cold fingers closed over hers when she laid the compress over Mother’s eyes.
“Thank you, Annabelle. You’re a good girl,” she whispered before her hand dropped to the counterpane.
Stunned Annie stared at the supine woman. It the kindest thing she could ever remember her mother saying to her. That fact scared her more than the contents of the telegram.
Chapter Ten
Leaving Mother resting, or at least not weeping now, Annie bolted down the steps hoping to garner more news of her brother. She skidded to a halt at the bottom and smoothed her skirts, tucking a recalcitrant curl behind her ear. Father and Seth Miller stood in the parlour door. Both men looked up at the sound of her footsteps on the hall floor.
“Annabelle, please see Mister Miller to the door, if you will. I must write to your sisters.” He paused, his chest expanding with a deep sigh. “And Evan, I suppose. Though Lord only knows how long it will take to reach him. Please find Ivan and break the news to him, your mother is in no state to speak to the boy.” Father shook hands with his guest and disappeared into his den.
Annie cleared her throat and led the way to the front door, Seth Miller following behind. She retrieved his coat from the hall tree and held it out to him. Relived of the heavy weight she gathered up the still damp scarf and mitts. In a matter of moments she dug through the container of heavy knitted woolen mitts kept by the front door and produced some dry hand coverings which she handed over.
“Yours are still damp and it’s far too cold to be going out with wet mitts.” She added a long scarf to the offerings.
“Thank you, Miss Baldwin.” Mister Miller accepted the items and glanced over his shoulder down the hall. “I have something for you.” His voice was almost a whisper.
“For me?” Annie took a step back in surprise.
“Yes, hush my dear. Keep your voice down. It’s from George. I promised I would get this to you but the opportunity hasn’t presented itself until now. I am sorry it coincides with the bad news from France.” He pressed a small parcel wrapped in worn calico into her hand. “I think it best if your parents don’t know where you got this from, or indeed that you are in possession of it at all.” H
is eyes twinkled with humour. “If I understood George correctly the token is in the way of a promise made and an understanding.”
Annie clutched the package in shaking fingers, her heart too full for her to speak. She nodded, blinking back the tears stinging the back of her eyes.
“He’s a good lad, for all that he’s an orphan without two pennies to rub together.” He patted her arm. “You could do far worse, my dear.” Mister Miller took a step back and raised his voice. “I must be off while the daylight holds. Good day to you, Miss Baldwin. Harold,” he spoke over her head.
“Seth, and thank you for coming all this way to bring us news of Steve.” Father emerged from his study.
Annie shoved the small parcel into her skirt pocket and closed the door behind the visitor. She turned to find Father regarding her with an odd expression on his face.
“What were you discussing with our guest? I was surprised to hear voices in the front hall when he should have been on his way long ago.”
“Nothing of any consequence, Father. His outer garments were still damp so I looked up some replacements for him. It didn’t seem neighbourly to send him out into the weather without warm clothing. Especially after he came all this way to bring us news of Steve.” Her voice caught on her brother’s name. Please, Lord, let him be safe.
“Very well. It was kind of the man to come out in these temperatures. Go check on your mother and then I believe you still have chores to finish.” He dismissed her and closed the study door behind him.
Mother appeared to be sleeping when Annie peeked in the door. She slipped into her own room and changed into warmer clothes and added an extra pair of stockings before going down to the back mud room. She paused in the hall and then collected the tea tray from the parlour. Depositing them on the counter in the kitchen she tidied things a bit. It was vexing the girl who usually did the more menial house chores wasn’t able to come on a regular basis in the winter months. The extra chores fell to Annie, of course. She grimaced. Oh well, the dishes could wait, as could her muddy clothes still on the floor of her room, the stock could not.
