From Anna

by Jean Little

  She was not sure about taking the ride, though. Mama was so fussy about them taking rides. Then she looked at Dr. Schumacher again.

  “I would like a ride,” she said.

  “How about you, Eileen?” he asked then.

  “No. I’ll be a while yet,” she said. “Thank you anyway.”

  “I’ll see you at eight, then,” Dr. Schumacher said.

  Anna, putting on her coat, almost missed those last words. Then everything Isobel had said fell into place.

  Miss Williams and the doctor — in love!!

  Anna was glad Isobel had gone. She would not have known what to say to her. The whole idea would take getting used to.

  The girl and the man drove along in a comfortable silence. He did not pester her with the usual grown-up questions.

  “That basket of yours is beautiful work, Anna,” he said once. “You can be very proud of it.”

  “Yes,” said Anna simply. “I am.”

  But when she got out of the car, she did remember to thank him. She even invited him in, although her parents would not be home yet. Mama always invited people in. At least, she had in Frankfurt.

  “Another time, little one,” he said with a smile.

  Anna walked into the house humming to herself. He had called her “little one” the way Papa did. And, long ago, he had said she was “as light as a feather” and “a challenge.”

  His hair is grey, though. He is too old for Miss Williams, Anna decided.

  Then the image of her lovely basket rose before her, and, forgetting the doctor and her teacher, she went slowly up the stairs, hugging close to herself her Christmas secret. Somehow she must manage not to tell.

  The time passed like a turtle dawdling. But bit by bit, it did go by. At last it was the final day of school, the day before Christmas Eve.

  That night Anna carried her basket home clasped in her arms as tenderly as if it were a newborn baby.

  As she walked, she thought of how Isobel had laughed till tears ran down her cheeks when she went through her dictionary. Ben had been struck speechless by his poem.

  “May I put it on the bulletin board?” Miss Williams asked.

  Both Ben and Anna blushed. Ben nodded.

  “The kid’s a genius,” Bernard said proudly, as though it were his doing.

  Then she had produced his rubber bands.

  “Oh, Anna!” Miss Williams had gasped, laughing almost as hard as Isobel had a few moments before. “Don’t you have any respect for my peace of mind?”

  Anna had shaken her head. Both her dimples had showed.

  “Watch it, kid,” Bernard had warned. “You’re getting as fresh as a Canadian.”

  “I am a Canadian,” Anna told him.

  She had left the piece of marzipan on Miss Williams’ desk when the teacher was out of the room for a moment. The teacher had not discovered it before Anna left. She was glad. It was such a small bit of candy.

  She still had Dr. Schumacher’s at home. Maybe Papa would help her to deliver it — maybe they could drop it into his letter box.

  She was nearly home. She hugged the basket more closely and kept an eye out for her brothers and sisters. There was Frieda, shovelling the Blairs’ walk. Anna breathed quickly. But she got safely by. Frieda did not look up.

  The others were busy when she entered the house. Nobody paid any attention as she walked across the hall and up to her alcove. She tried hard to walk as usual. Her feet kept wanting to leap and skip. When the curtain was drawn, she knelt and hid the precious basket away under her cot.

  Excitement bubbled and boiled inside her when she went back downstairs but she went on walking sedately. She had kept this secret for weeks. She could get through one more day.

  Rudi was out late that night. Gretchen was shut in her room, knitting frantically. The twins whispered together. Mama and Papa looked tired but happier than they had been. Anna watched everyone and waited for the hours to pass. She counted the hours.

  A full twenty-four, at least!

  Her parents would have to work the next day even though it was the day before Christmas. They might even be late. They would probably not have the tree ready till at least eight o’clock. Maybe nine even!

  Now Mama was looking through Christmas tree decorations they had brought from Frankfurt. Some were broken. Was the angel broken? No — there she was in Mama’s hand.

  All at once, Anna could stay there no longer. Without a word to anyone, she got up and went up to bed. If she had not escaped and lain still, her face turned to the wall, she was certain the magnificent truth would have burst from her.

  One more day, she chanted. One more day!

  But the clock chimed eleven before she fell asleep.

  18

  Christmas Eve

  THE NEXT NIGHT, as soon as Papa had his coat off, the five children were sent out for a walk.

  “As if we don’t know what they’re doing,” Rudi scoffed.

  He had only just come in. His cheeks were still red from the wind.

  “You like it as much as we do, Rudi, so don’t pretend you don’t,” Gretchen said.

  Rudi did not answer, but Anna knew Gretchen was right.

  “Can’t we go home now?” Fritz begged for the hundredth time.

  His big brother consulted their father’s watch, which had been loaned to him for this exact reason.

  “Fifteen minutes longer,” he said.

  “Fifteen!” Fritz wailed.

  It sounded like eternity.

  Anna thought fleetingly of what Isobel had told her. Isobel had helped choose her family’s tree and had joined in trimming it. The Browns would not celebrate Christmas till tomorrow morning. There would be no candles, only coloured lights. Isobel had thought Anna’s way was “queer” — but Anna felt no envy.

  Poor Isobel, she thought instead.

  Then, suddenly it was time. They ran up the walk, bumping into each other in their hurry. They got out of their coats. All eyes were on the door to the living room, tightly closed. Even Rudi forgot about being oldest.

  “Ready, Mama?” Papa asked.

  “Ready,” Mama said, behind the door.

  Papa threw it open — and there, before their dazzled eyes, stood the Christmas tree!

  Anna could not have described it, although she saw every detail: the glass balls, the tiny candles blazing. There were candy ornaments too, circlets of spun sugar, chocolate balls done up in silver paper. At the very top, the small angel perched, her gauzy wings catching the light.

  The Soldens marched in singing. There was no English now, no thought of it. The song about the Christmas tree had to be in the language of the country from which it had come, long ago.

  O Tannenbaum, o Tannenbaum,

  Wie grün sind deine Blätter!

  As they sang, Anna felt she might burst with joy.

  Next Papa read the Christmas story and prayed. Then he was handing out presents. Anna had expected maybe one present or two. But no! Soon she held a pair of cherry red mittens Mama had made for her without her ever knowing.

  She must have done them late, after I was in bed, Anna thought. She knew how tired her mother was at nights. She swallowed and hugged the mittens to her.

  There was a game too. Snakes and Ladders, it was called. Anna opened it up and looked. With her glasses, it was easy to see. It wouldn’t be like the old days when nobody wanted her to play. She would show them what she could do with this game of her own.

  “Thank you, Papa,” she said. “Mama, thank you.”

  “Something else for Miss Anna Elisabeth Solden,” Papa said.

  It wasn’t a doll with curly hair and eyes that opened and shut. That was what Isobel wanted. It was something which pleased Anna even more.

  “A book!” she breathed.

  It was called Now We Are Six. Papa had written inside the front.

  “For my Anna, who loves to read poems, with love from Papa.”

  How had he known? Oh, of course he knew about her l
oving poems! He had taught her many by heart. But that she could read a book by herself? An English book! She raised wondering eyes to him. He caught her look and smiled.

  “Miss Williams and I had a talk,” he said simply.

  Anna blushed. She would bring home A Child’s Garden of Verses right after Christmas. She should have done it before.

  Throughout the excitement of opening their presents, though, all five children were preoccupied, thinking more of the gifts they had to give than of those they were getting.

  How amazed Papa and Mama were going to be! Stunned!

  “How about some carols,” Mama suggested.

  Rudi held up his hand like a young king.

  “No. Wait,” he commanded. He turned to Gretchen, his blue eyes blazing. “You first, Gretel,” he said.

  Gretchen had her things hidden under the couch cushions. “Papa, Anna, get up!” she ordered.

  She had made each of her parents a scarf. A soft yellow one for Mama, a bright blue one for Papa.

  “The colour of your eyes,” Gretchen said to Papa.

  Mama’s had a special lacy pattern which had kept Gretchen busy counting stitches for days.

  “Lovely, Gretel. So beautiful,” Mama said proudly. “But I told you …”

  “I know,” the girl told her, “but we all have something, all but Anna, of course.”

  Anna tensed but remained silent.

  Mama was draping her scarf around her neck. It set off her dark hair beautifully. Gretchen glowed. She sent a sidelong look at Rudi. Beat that if you can, it said.

  “Twins,” Rudi directed.

  “Our present is for Papa,” Fritz apologized to his mother.

  Fritz and Frieda had wrapped up the parcel in special paper they had made.

  “Like Canadians,” Fritz explained.

  Papa opened the package carefully. Inside was a pipe and, with it, pipe tobacco, a tobacco pouch, pipe cleaners and matches. The twins had started shopping, sure they had a fortune to spend, but by the time they had bought their father everything they thought he would need, their funds had vanished.

  “Perhaps you could smoke it too, Mama?” Frieda suggested.

  “Maybe … maybe,” Mama nodded solemnly.

  They all burst out laughing then, the twins laughing hardest of all.

  Papa had difficulty getting his pipe started. He had never smoked a pipe before, he admitted. The entire family watched with interest. Anna sat on her hands and fought to keep herself from dashing up for the basket. It should be last, she was certain. She was the youngest.

  Papa puffed thoughtfully. Then he coughed.

  “A fine pipe, twins,” he wheezed, wiping away tears.

  Tears of joy, Frieda told herself happily.

  “A truly magnificent present,” Papa went on, holding the pipe away from himself and regarding it with respect.

  Rudi left the room then. The rest waited eagerly. Although their brother had walked out so calmly, they knew he was terribly excited. His present was sure to be something extraordinary.

  He returned carrying a tall, scraggly poinsettia. Without a word, he held it out to his mother. Mama held the chipped pot on her knee and gazed up at the red flower which came just above her eyes.

  “Rudi, a real Christmas flower,” she gasped, her dark eyes wide. “How did you get this? We never had anything prettier, even at home in Frankfurt, did we, Ernst?”

  Rudi reddened. Slowly at first, and then all in a rush, he made his confession.

  “I meant to get something a long time ago, but I didn’t even notice the days going. They needed me at the rink because I’m the fastest skater really. When I went to try to get work, all the snow had all been shovelled. I thought I could be a delivery boy but everywhere I asked, they said no. You had to have a bicycle.”

  The family sat listening silently as his words stumbled on. This was so unlike Rudi, always proud and right. He gave them no chance to interrupt. He wanted to get it over with. He was past the worst part now. He put his hands in his pockets and relaxed.

  “Then I went to Mr. Simmons’ flower shop. It was … last night. I was sure there would be nothing. But he’s nice at church and I’ve seen him in your store, Papa. And he said, ‘Are you Ernst Solden’s boy?’ I told him yes, and how I’d tried for a job but couldn’t find one. I didn’t beg, though, Papa.”

  “I know that, Rudi,” Papa said. They all knew that.

  “Well, he said if I wanted to take a couple of last-minute orders to people who live near here, he’d give me a plant nobody had bought. That’s why I was late getting home last night. I was working,” Rudi ended proudly, as pleased with himself as ever.

  “It is beautiful, Rudi, and you were a brave boy to keep trying that way,” Mama said warmly.

  “Papa, don’t you like your pipe?” Fritz asked anxiously. Papa had let it go out.

  “I do. I do indeed!” Ernst Solden said, picking it up and holding it as though it were precious. “It takes getting used to, that is all, Fritz. Right now, I cannot pay attention to everything else and smoke my new pipe properly all at the same time.”

  Fritz smiled with relief. Rudi frowned at having his moment of triumph interrupted. He wondered suddenly if Papa really did like the twins’ present. That pipe tobacco had a strange smell. Rudi tried to breathe shallowly.

  Mama was still lost in admiration of the poinsettia.

  “I do not know where to put this,” she hesitated, touching the red leaves lovingly. “Perhaps on the mantel …”

  She got up and tried the flower there, setting it right in the centre in the position of honour. Papa had to hold the plant for her while she actually moved the chiming clock to one side. When the flower was centred, she stepped back and studied it. Everybody else studied it too. It was important that it be right. It was right — exactly.

  “Perfect,” Mama said, turning to face her family.

  In that moment, Anna was gone. She who always walked heavily, uncertain of where her feet would land, now slipped from the room without a sound.

  “Anna …” Mama started to call after her. Ernst Solden put out his hand quickly and touched her arm.

  “No, Klara. Wait. She’ll be right back,” he said.

  The others had not even seen Anna go. They were telling each other all over again about their adventures getting the gifts: how Mama had nearly caught Gretchen knitting more than once, what trouble the twins had had deciding which pipe to choose, the places Rudi had had to deliver flowers.

  Mama put her hands over her ears.

  “Oh, it is good Christmas is not every day!” she cried. “I am nearly deaf.”

  But she was still worried about Anna. Whatever Ernst said, maybe she should go and see. The little one should not be left out.

  And then, there stood Anna herself with the wastepaper basket.

  19

  From Anna

  IT WAS NOT WRAPPED. But Anna had stopped at Papa’s desk and found a piece of plain paper. On it she had printed briefly, in large letters,

  The letters wobbled and were uneven because, despite her care, she could not keep her hand from shaking. She had folded the paper and hung it over the edge of the basket. Now she simply thrust the whole thing at her mother and said in a voice which was almost defiant, “There. I made it at school.”

  Mama stared at the basket and then at the child who had pushed it into her hands. Her eyes were disbelieving. Her mouth opened but no words came out. Papa, who had sat down, started to get up again. Then he smiled a slow smile and sank back in his chair. This time, it was up to Klara.

  At last Mama’s voice returned.

  “Anna! Oh, mein Liebling, how … how wonderful! I cannot … Ernst, look! Do you see? Anna has given us a basket. You did not make this, Anna, your own self?”

  “Yes, I did,” Anna said, standing straight. She felt like a giant, like a soaring bird, like a Christmas tree with every candle alight.

  Mama turned suddenly away from the small bright face be
fore her. Her hands trembled too as she set the basket down for an instant. Then she reached up and took down Rudi’s flower. In its place, she put Anna’s green and gold basket, and in the basket she placed the flower. The poor pot which held it no longer showed. The poinsettia glowed, lovelier than ever.

  As Mama did this, nobody in the room moved. Nobody spoke. Mama herself broke the silence finally. She stood, looking up at basket and flower, and she said in a choked voice, “I was the blind one all this time. Dr. Schumacher should have given me the glasses.”

  The words made no sense to Anna. Mama had perfect eyesight. The other four children were also bewildered. But Papa said quickly, “It has not been only you, Klara. We have all failed to see.”

  Before anyone could figure this out, Mama whirled around and caught Anna to her so swiftly that the girl had no time to dodge. She hugged her small daughter close.

  “Tonight … tonight you are the dearest, dearest child,” Mama said.

  She knew Anna would hate to be cried over but she could not help it, and after all, it did not matter. She went on hugging Anna harder than ever, trying to put into the embrace all the other times when Anna had needed to be held and had been hurt instead.

  Anna squirmed.

  So this was how it was! All this glow and warmth inside and around you, and yet a wrongness there too, because the others were being left out.

  Rudi won’t like his flower to be in my basket, she thought.

  She remembered Gretchen offering to knit something from her, Anna. Suddenly she was sure Gretchen had meant to be kind.

  And the twins … how must they feel? They had given Mama nothing.

  “Don’t, Mama,” Anna mumbled, pulling to get free.

  Rudi spoke then, his voice loud and hard.

  “She must have had help,” he said.

  Right away, the two older girls nodded.

  “Anna didn’t make that herself,” Fritz backed up his brother. “She couldn’t.”

  Papa was on his feet with frightening abruptness. He towered over them, taller than they had ever seen him.

  But Anna spoke first. “You are right. I did. I had help,” she admitted.

  She stood apart from Mama now and faced her brothers and sisters. Her voice, which had been high and clear with excitement moments before, had dulled, grown almost hoarse. But she went on, explaining how the miracle had happened.