From Anna

by Jean Little

  “Miss Williams started us off and showed us how. Dr. Schumacher bought the reeds and things. Some other people painted them for us.”

  Her chin lifted then.

  “I did weave it though, all by myself,” she said.

  Papa ignored her completely. He started with Rudi.

  “How could you have brought home this plant without the help of Mr. Simmons, Rudolf?” he asked.

  Rudi had no answer. If he had, he would not have dared to speak. Papa’s voice was terribly quiet but the words stabbed, each one a dagger thrust. He had called him Rudolf, too. That only happened when he was in serious trouble.

  Papa waited, just in case. His son Rudolf seemed to have stopped breathing. Ernst Solden turned from him.

  Gretchen knew she came next. She stared at the shabby carpet and wished she were somewhere else. Anywhere! She tried not to think of how Anna had looked standing up in front of them all.

  “And were you born knowing how to knit, Gretchen?” her father inquired coldly. “Who loaned you the pattern book? Where did you get the wool?”

  The others had not thought of that. Wool did cost money. Had Gretchen earned some? They darted little questioning looks at her but she went on staring at the floor. She knew, and Papa knew, that she had gone to him for that money and that she had sneaked away one of Mama’s knitting books. She had to have wool though. How could she have made anything without wool?

  Papa did not even wait this time.

  “Fritz, Frieda, we have no snow shovel. Yet you had two to work with. I thought the neighbours loaned them to you but they came from the air, did they?”

  The twins sat side by side on the couch.

  This can’t be happening on Christmas Eve, Frieda sobbed inside herself, to Fritz.

  Fritz, without saying a word aloud, answered her bleakly, This will be the worst Christmas of our lives.

  When Papa had started, Mama had reached out for Anna and pulled her down into a big chair by her side. It was as though she knew Anna’s knees had turned to jelly. Now, though, without letting go her hold on her youngest, she burst into angry speech. And she, too, was on Papa’s side against them! It was at the poor twins she glared, missing their misery, seeing only how white Anna had looked before she got her to sit down.

  “Your poor Papa was tired and cold but often … Do you remember, Fritz? Frieda, have you forgotten so soon — he stopped to help you with that snow while I went in to get supper. Maybe I am imagining things?”

  Nobody said she was imagining anything. They all knew she was going to cry again. One more minute and they would all be crying!

  Then Papa laughed instead. It croaked oddly, that laugh, but it was real. Still they did not dare to believe.

  “What are we doing?” Ernst Solden asked, the harshness gone as quickly as it had come. “Such trouble, such long faces on Christmas Eve. This will never do. All because Anna has given us a present. We should be singing.”

  He drew Anna up out of her mother’s sheltering arms and stood her in front of him.

  “Come, Anna, be happy,” he told her. “Every one of us would have been proud to make this basket. We can all use it — for years and years! And every one of us is proud of you, even if you did have help, because you did this thing with love and for Christmas. How did you keep such a secret for so long?”

  Anna swallowed hard, blinked back the tears that were stinging her eyes, and fighting to sound like her ordinary self, said, “I kept it at school till yesterday — and then under my bed.”

  All at once, Gretchen was standing up too. She forgot the awful unhappiness. She pushed close to Papa and grabbed Anna by the arm.

  “It is wonderful, Anna, your basket,” she blurted. “You never hinted. Not even once!”

  The ice was gone from their hearts, from the bright room.

  Frieda and Fritz talked together, their words tumbling over each other.

  “It is lovely …”

  “Could you teach me how …?”

  “Nobody guessed. Nobody!”

  “Nobody guessed about your presents either,” Anna muttered, shyness and delight washing over her.

  But Rudi still had not said anything. It was just a dumb basket. His flower was still the best.

  Looking away from the flower, because he could not help seeing the basket too, he caught his mother watching him.

  Rudi coughed. Then to his own surprise he found himself standing.

  “I don’t see how you did it, Anna,” he said with complete honesty. “You’re just a little kid.”

  Now they were all laughing all together at the surprise in his voice. Even Mama, still seated in the big chair, joined in. But her glance at Rudi made him feel taller, beloved again, almost his old self.

  Frieda spoke plaintively, breaking the last bit of tension.

  “Mama, I’m hungry,” she announced.

  So were the rest and they turned to their mother expectantly. They knew she had a feast ready. She had been baking every evening for the past week and, that very afternoon, she had come home from work early, shutting even Gretchen out of the kitchen while she put on the last finishing touches.

  Mama stayed where she was. Her dark eyes twinkled at them.

  “Not yet,” she said.

  “But, Mama …”

  “Anna’s guests are still not here,” Klara Solden said calmly.

  20

  One More Surprise

  “ANNA’S GUESTS!”

  Rudi, Gretchen, Frieda and Fritz stared at their mother. Anna tipped her face up and peered at her father through her moons of glasses.

  “Oh, Papa, you asked them!” she cried.

  “Yes, I asked them,” Papa smiled.

  How excited she was! He had never seen her like this, her cheeks so pink, her eyes shining. One of her braids was undone and her glasses were crooked. But her dimples! Had she always had dimples like that?

  She’s beautiful, her father thought.

  “We must wait,” he said, “but they’ll be here. Franz is bringing her in his car.” There was something in Papa’s voice.

  Isobel’s right, Anna thought. They are in love. Her smile grew even wider.

  “Let me go, Papa,” she said suddenly, “I want to look at my new things while we’re waiting.”

  The others were still exclaiming over the fact that Anna had guests coming, but she could not stand being the centre of attention another moment. She went down on her knees beside the tree and picked up Now We Are Six. She opened it and held it close to her nose. Good. It smelled all right. The smell of a book was important when you had to hold it so close.

  And she had a game, too, and the mittens. She pulled on the mittens and snuggled her hands up against her cheeks.

  The doorbell rang.

  “There they are, Anna,” Papa said. “You go and let them in.”

  She scrambled up from the floor and, snatching off her mittens, grabbed at her father.

  “You come too,” she entreated. “I can’t by myself.”

  Mama, worrying about what there was to eat, looked at her impatiently.

  “Don’t be foolish,” she urged, her voice sharpening just a little. “You are keeping them waiting.”

  “It’s all right, Klara. They won’t mind a small thing like that,” laughed Papa.

  He looked down into his daughter’s panic-stricken face. Gently, very gently, he teased, “I thought you were my independent child, my Anna who goes her own way,” he said. “You don’t need a hand to hold. Not you!”

  He was laughing at her. Her own Papa who never laughed at her!

  But now Bernard laughed at her every day. Isobel was always laughing at her.

  “You are funny, Anna,” Isobel often said.

  Even Miss Williams teased.

  And Anna did not mind. Not any more.

  “Please, please, Papa,” she cried, tugging at his sleeve, even smiling herself, but still wanting him.

  “Come on then,” he said and gave her his b
road hand.

  Holding on, she felt her courage return. She walked proudly. She, Anna, had guests.

  Not watching where she stepped, she stumbled over a wrinkle in the rug. She would have fallen if Papa had not kept hold of her.

  “There goes Awkward Anna!” Fritz laughed.

  She turned to glare but the doorbell rang again.

  “He said it for fun only,” Papa told her, tightening his grip on her hand.

  Anna’s dimples showed unexpectedly.

  “Hurry, Papa,” she begged, as though Fritz did not exist.

  Together they opened the door to Miss Williams and the doctor.

  “Merry Christmas, Anna.”

  “Merry Christmas, Miss Williams!”

  “Oh, it’s snowing! Look, Liebling, like stars!”

  “Fröhliche Weihnachten, Franz.”

  They were inside. The door was shut against the cold and the snow. Anna took her teacher’s heavy coat and staggered to the closet with it.

  The others had come into the hall now, too. Greetings flew. Then Mama spoke out over them all.

  “All right, Frieda. Now we may eat,” she said.

  They started to follow her, everyone laughing at Frieda’s red face.

  Questions came at Anna thick and fast.

  “Did they like the basket, Anna?” Miss Williams asked.

  “Did you surprise them? Did you keep it a secret?” said the doctor.

  Before she could begin to answer, the teacher added, “And your tree, Anna! Is it as beautiful as you told us it would be? So lovely you would not even try to draw a picture of it?”

  “Ja,” Anna said. “Ja, ja, ja!”

  They could not eat now! She must make Mama understand. They must go in and see the tree first. And there was something else, something she had planned to say for a long time but had kept putting off or forgetting.

  Only I didn’t really, Anna admitted to herself. I was just afraid.

  She was not afraid now. But first she must get Mama to listen.

  “Mama, Mama, stop. Wait!” she called out, as her mother went to open the dining-room door.

  Klara Solden turned. What now? Her mouth went tight. Then she remembered what she had learned that evening.

  “What is it, Anna?” she asked.

  “We must go to the tree first for just one moment,” said Anna.

  Her mother hesitated.

  But Papa nodded. “She is right, Klara,” he said.

  Mama let go of the doorknob and came with them. They were standing in front of the tree. It glowed. It was as beautiful as it had been in the very first moment when Papa had let them in to see it. Miss Williams’ eyes were wide with wonder.

  “I’ve never seen a tree lit with candles before,” she breathed. “Oh, it is lovely.”

  Anna had known she would like it. It was important that she see it before anything else.

  But now, now it was time for the other.

  “Maybe later would be better,” a voice inside her whispered. “Maybe you should wait until there aren’t so many people.”

  Anna had listened to that voice before. Now she shut her mind to it.

  “Mama,” she said quickly, while she was still brave, “I have to tell you something.”

  “Not another surprise,” Mama said.

  She was still concerned about the food, although really she did know she had more than enough. Yet Dr. Schumacher might be a terribly hungry man!

  She looked down and caught Anna waiting for her to listen properly. Oh, she must find time for Anna. From now on, she must always try to find time.

  “Yes, Anna,” she said, really listening.

  “I can speak English,” Anna announced.

  She giggled then, because the words had come out not in English but in German. Mama would not know what to think. Anna tried again, this time switching to her new language.

  “I can speak English, Mama. Not just a little bit. Really. I do it all the time at school. I even think in English now mostly. I do it … almost as well as you do.”

  She knew her English was better than Mama’s, but she loved Mama so much tonight.

  “English!” Mama said in amazement, forgetting the food entirely. “But at home you speak German only. Day after day!”

  “She certainly speaks English at school,” Miss Williams said. “She’s becoming quite a chatterbox. Isobel is leading her astray.”

  “Are you surprised, Mama?” Anna persisted. “Are you happy?”

  Klara Solden did not know herself how she felt. Her smile did not waver, but there was sadness, too, on her face, for an instant.

  “I have no German child left,” she said.

  “They are all your children,” Papa told her, putting his arm around her. “They are Canadian children maybe, but they are all yours, meine Liebe. Yes, Anna, she is surprised, and she is happy too.”

  “Mama, listen,” Anna rushed on, paying no attention to Papa for once in her life. “Listen to what I have learned for you.”

  She stood up straight, her feet set a little apart, her hands clasped behind her, her head high. Above her, her perfect basket stood on the mantel, holding Rudi’s flower. Taking a deep breath, she began to sing:

  “Silent night! Holy night!”

  “Ach, ‘Stille Nacht’!” Mama breathed. She was near tears again but only for a moment.

  Anna sang on in English:

  “All is calm, all is bright;”

  Gretchen joined her then, their two voices blending:

  “Round yon Virgin mother and child!”

  The other three children came in together on the next line:

  “Holy infant, so tender and mild;”

  Then the adults sang too, Miss Williams very softly in English, Dr. Schumacher, Papa and Mama in the language in which the words were first written:

  “Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh,”

  “Sleep in heavenly peace.”

  Anna led them on into the next verse. You could tell that she was seeing the shepherds, was dazzled by the angels.

  She is special, my Anna, Papa thought, watching her joyous face. I was right about her all along.

  But Anna did not think of such things. She did not remember being Awkward Anna. She did not tell herself she was Miss Williams’ “challenge.” She did not even hug to her heart that moment when, finally, she had become Mama’s “dearest, dearest child.”

  In her heart it was Christmas, and she was busy singing.

  Where Anna Came From

  by Jean Little

  About one hundred and fifty years ago, the Solden family, living in Germany, had a baby girl and named her Anna. When she was a teenager, her family moved to Canada and young Anna got a job working for Jane Mellis, the mother of six children, as their hired girl. The youngest of the six Mellis children became my grandmother.

  When Anna arrived, Grandma was a chubby little girl who was being teased unmercifully by her older brothers and sisters. When Anna discovered they were calling Margaret “Fatty” and laughing at her when she cried, Anna was outraged. She made them call her “Gret” and treat her kindly.

  When I was born, I was cross-eyed and I had very poor vision. We lived in Taiwan at first, but when we came to Canada, I was put in a special class for children who had poor eyesight. Our teacher, Miss Bogart, was a lovely woman and, that first year, she taught us to make wastepaper baskets for our parents as a Christmas gift. The baskets were carefully woven out of strong white reeds. On the bottom of the wooden base we printed our initials. Mine was painted green and it looked so perfect I could hardly believe I had made it myself. I was so proud of it.

  Then we moved to Guelph and I was enrolled in regular school. There the boys and girls chased me down the street, yelling “Cross-eyed!” after me until I cried. When I got home, Grandma did her best to comfort me and she told me about Anna Solden’s kindness to her when she was a little girl. How I longed for an Anna Solden to rescue me from my tormenters!

  I had no friends
in those years. I learned to find my friends in books. After a while, I discovered that I not only loved to read stories but I also loved to write.

  When I was a teenager like Anna Solden, I wrote a Christmas story called “The Gift” for my mother. It was about a little girl who moved to Canada and wove a wonderful basket. It was eight pages long. I did not want to write about myself, but I did want the girl in my story to come to Canada from a distant country as I had done. I needed a foreign name for her. I thought … and then I was inspired.

  “Anna Solden,” I told myself. “I’ll name her after Anna Solden.”

  Everyone liked the story and I kept it in a drawer with all my poems and stories.

  Years later, I turned the story into a novel.

  And there she was, my Anna, being teased, having poor eyesight, weaving a beautiful basket and learning how to make friends.

  And the kindness of a German teenager I never knew came down the years and filled my book with love.

  About the Author

  Jean Little is one of Canada’s best-loved writers for children. She has been called a national treasure, and is the author of fifty books. Beginning with her first novel, Mine for Keeps (published in 1962), Jean has continued to write novels, picture books and poems for children — for over half a century. Books such as Mama’s Going to Buy You a Mockingbird, Listen for the Singing and From Anna are classic Little. Some of her many other books include Dancing Through the Snow, Willow and Twig, Hey World Here I Am, One to Grow On, Once Upon a Golden Apple, Orphan at My Door, Brothers Far from Home, Exiles from the War, Pippin the Christmas Pig, Wishes and Listen, Said the Donkey. These have won her the Canada Council Children’s Literature Prize, CLA Book of the Year and CLA Honour Book Awards, Mr. Christie’s Book Award, nominations for the Geoffrey Bilson Award for Historical Fiction, and more. Her books have been published in many languages, and all but a few remain in print. Jean has also written about her own life in Stars Come Out Within and Little by Little. She has received several honorary degrees as well as the Order of Canada and the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee Medal.